My Current Sentiment

The red sunrise at dawn
Satisfies the lustful eyes and is gone—
Only to be followed by a storm.
And the eyes knew this end all along.

A-M

An Ode on Unattained Contentment

I looked at Your tree,
And was about to deem it dead--
For it was bare and leaf-less.
I was thinking about Your redemption
As I saw birds resting in its barren branches.
But then, I remembered
It's not dead at all--
I caught sight of its stable, mighty trunk,
Planted firmly in the green grass.
And I remembered,
That even plant life goes through their own seasons.
Even though it looks dead to my eye,
It is far from being so.
It is as alive as ever;
Resting within itself,
Content within itself--
Not concerned with providing beauty for humans to marvel at.
But only concerned with resting for now with its Creator--
Knowing, with full assurance,
That it will once again sprout beautiful leaves...
All in God's time.
It does not envy the Evergreen
Who stays clothed all year long.
It delights in its vulnerability--
It's inability to hide behind its coverings.
Oh the joy it finds
When the green buds appear in the spring!
Oh the joy and sorrow it feels at the same moment
When its leaves begin to turn,
Shades of orange, red, and yellow!
For it knows they are about to fall and die.
But the colors bring the tree such delight!--
Even while it mourns their loss.
And God sustains the tree through the winter.
And comforts the tree.
Multitudes of birds
Spend their mornings resting in its branches.
Within it, hosts of sparrows bathe their loved ones
And sing songs of love and life,
Amidst the barren branches.
And so, the tree is filled with companions.
The tree is not left alone.

I'm sitting in my math professor's front room. This chair's pretty damn comfortable. I bet she grades my 15 hours of proofs sitting here.

There are books and cds and records all around me--on the floor, in piles, on shelves. The aroma of cabbage and cornbeef lingers after a hearty St. Patrick's Day celebration last eve. mmm, now that's some good irish cookin'.

The sun is is shining in through her window facing south. I can see the dust on her bookshelf, on her odd lamp, on her dead plant. Yes, this is a math professor's humble abode. The lack of decoration and conservative amount of furniture reminds me of me. I'm all about drapes from Goodwill. I eat that shit up.

I'm here kidsitting three 12 year olds--2 boys and a girl. One of the boys, David, started crying earlier over a bowl of fruitloops because his rat will probably be dead by time he gets home today. Schema is her name. She's lived a good, long life, he said. He's going to miss her. They had a real bond.

His tears reminded me how fragile we human beings are--and how most of us spend our lives trying to convince ourselves and others that we are not.

What's in a Sactuary?

I’ve found myself sitting alone at a cold, plastic table inside PCC in Fremont at 10:30 on a Monday night. The table is off balance and wobbles as my left elbow leans on it to dig my fork into a huge piece of vegan, wheat-free carrot cake. I’m looking out the floor-to-ceiling window thinking to myself, “I wish the world were a safer place.” In that thought I am only thinking about me. In that moment I am only wishing the world were a safer place so that I could go for a walk outside at night and not worry about being followed or harassed or raped or molested. I’m thinking of no one else. I want to be alone right now. I want to walk outside right now.
So since the world is not a safe place, I have to go with “Plan B for Restlessness.” There is too great of a possibility that “Plan A for Restlessness” will prove harmful to my well-being. So I swallow the last bite of carrot cake (which is largely white, sugar-filled, vegan frosting) and turn my phone on silent. Plan B consists of walking up and down the aisles of PCC and reading the ingredients and nutritional facts of any item that catches my eye. Anything labeled “wheat-free” or “vegan” or “dairy-free” is sure to receive at least five seconds of my devoted attention. There’s something about being surrounded by foods that don’t make you feel like shit. It’s both comforting and encouraging. It makes me feel like there’s someone on my side—someone who understands.
It’s quite amazing how a grocery store has become a sanctuary.

The Desperation of the Faithful

When will You come through?
And do that which You said You'd do?
For thousands of years
We've been waiting for You--
And I'm weary of waiting.

There are flowers blooming
Out of concrete boxes.
And no one's welcome
In their neighbors' houses.
I thought by now
We'd have stopped waving crosses.
No one knows who You are.

What more do You expect us to do?
Some get along fine without You.
But those who seek are lied to.
And I'm tired of watching them die.

You scolded us for worrying
About what we would eat.
But they haven't seen
More than bread in a week.
Her baby died
Because there was no water to drink.
When will You come through?

~Anne-Marie written around 6 pm on 9/5/07 sitting outside of
Revolutions Coffee in Greenlake

Neptune Coffee Part 1

"I hate feeling like I can't feel--
Or rather, feeling like if I do I will cry until I pass out.
It's like a temporary, protective numbness--
But I feel it wearing off.
It's perpetuated by busyness--
And situations requiring dishonest smiles.
It allows me to sleep at night
Without racing thoughts and too real of nightmares.
But again...
I feel it fading.
I guess this stage that is passing is what they call denial.
But I haven't denied the facts.
I have denied the feelings.
And they're demanding to be heard.
They're refusing to be submissive.
I'm usually all about equality, equal rights, freedom of speech, etc...
But I both repress and oppress my emotions--
As if they aren't worthy to be heard.
As if they're not valid to feel.
I think the next stage is what they call anger...
I guess it's time I got angry."

~Anne-Marie 8/29/07

Animals & Humans

I took Benedict for a walk tonight at about 10 pm. He's a Boston Terrier I'm dogsitting.
As we were out walking and I'm talking to him like he's a person, we happened upon the most
beautiful shadow of a leaf-filled branch of a tree. Even though it was a shadow produced by artificial light, it was so intricate and precise. I had to sit down on the sidewalk and just stare at it--take it in. I found myself saying to Benedict, "I wish you could see this. I wish you could understand the beauty of this shadow in front of us!" And then I found myself wondering what kinds of beauty he experiences that I don't see. I wonder what kind of relationship he has with our mutual Creator.