My tongue is in my hand…

Like a journal

Posted on: November 13, 2008

it’s just writing it out is my way of acknowledging, challenging, facing it, for myself, processing always, developing…the more I do this, the easier it gets to put it here instead of in a paper journal, hidden in  drawer, tied with a leather strap, or on scraps that I lose…although, to be fair there are pages upon pages in my work/school notebook. typical me 🙂

I think about how I have such a hard time now getting things done without the connection.  I always craved the connection before, but now it’s possible, though not always happening.  The possibility is enough to eff me up a little.  I was able to conjure the connectivity more before.  I was less needy??  Because there were less possibilities??

i know I have to keep moving forward with this and I’m questioning the best ways to do so.  I don’t want to be overwhelmed.  I don’t want to be rushing.  I don’t want to be waiting.  i always thought how nice it would be to have someone guiding me, a real person.  I think that’s the draw to poetry, in part, coming from lyrics.  Lyrics guided me, lyrics are poems.  I don’t know why poems.  They’re concise (sometimes) they flow they can’t be wrong they can be cryptic?

I don’t know about grad school.  I mean, I kind of do, but I don’t.  I think , sometimes, when you are better than you were but you’re not as good as you once were you start doing the things you used to do and it’s really hard and you get frustrated, but you’re just out of practice.  I am capable.  I sat on my potential for so long, it’s taking some time to reinflate it.  That’s cool, it’s cool.

No one can serve both God and money, that verse came back to me again today.  If my life were sectioned off by faith struggles, this year would be the money one.  Not trusting money over God. Not needing money over God.  Not believing in money over God.  Not depending on money over God.  Not moving for money over God.

The best part of broken is open.  The best part of crying is letting go and the willingness you feel when you are broken to accept help, to give up is sometimes the only thing that saves me, laying out my hands open in defeat and begging, begging. Or better, is resting, just laying, resting in hope and trust and nothing else.  Needing absolutely nothing else.  Doing nothing else.  Asking, trying, nothing else.  Simple communion.

And thank you for answering the phone.  Something is better when you do and that may just be something weird with me, but that’s why I suck it up and ring and ring because I need it.  Maybe you have people in your life that serve the same purpose I do, or I serve no purpose for you per say, but it is not that way for me.  You are not interchangeable, unfortunately, so there you go.  Silly.

I don’t want to miss this, I don’t want to forget, I don’t want to float too far off in my ideals that I forget my grounding.  I like balance, or more, I like tapping into various parts of me simultaneously.  People act like that’s not a possibility, but it is, for everyone. Everyone with dozens of options and aspects available to wear at the same time and intertwine, they serve such good purposes that way.

This is exactly how a journal looks for me, minus handwriting I question upon looking back and some scribbles.  It’s a good thing just writing and writing.  It’s funny to call it writing, when I’m typing.  I should write more writings and stop seeking such immediacy.  I think that would do me some good. Besides I’ve got the schoolwork.  I keep acting like I can’t do it, but I can.  It’s not the last minute at this time, so I could actually do it.

I guess hungry is just a character trait.  Where would I be if I were easily satisfied?  I guess that wouldn’t be me.  But who is it?  Who really is?  Who doesn’t deep down want a little more of something in some form?  Right?  That’s why we keep moving to the next day, there’s something in the next day we deem worthy of because there’s always the option to not.  So, I say, everyone’s believing something.

Stained glass is probably my favorite right now.

I’d love to talk to someone for a really long time about things in my mind.  But I think, that too much talk takes away the writing.  But not enough talk leaves the writing dry and shallow.

I’m going to hate myself and my phone in the morning for what I’m about to do with my alarms so I’ll get up.  🙂


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