I am a dreamer

I've been reading love poems before bed & for awhile now they've made me feel a little sad & a little lonely as I close the anthology to fall asleep, but also grateful for the beauty.


Tonight I am no more in love than I have been other nights, and I am no less single.  Yet tonight I feel hopeful.
I did not have a date today.
I did not meet "someone" today.
I spent time with myself
                  by myself
and I began to remember
                        myself.


Who I am.
That I dream
& for what I dream.
I feel no more sure that my dreams
will come true,
nor of the path toward my
dream destination,
let alone the next step.
But I feel hopeful,
remembering
I am a dreamer.

Sailing

Caution: These thoughts are not all my own.


Am I Where I Want to Be?


-Where do I want to be?
-Am I where I want to be?
-How do I get there?


The way I'm going ... does it lead to life?
                                                 or death?

PURSUE LIFE.

Who do you have in your

life you can confide in?

                  rely on?

...................................................................................

I've always felt that life would carry me like a sailboat to where I am supposed to be.

(Caution: I don't actually know the first thing about sailing, I just dream about it a lot.)

This series hangs in my room above my bed. See - I do dream about sailing.

Today in the midst of our fancy Easter lunch, talking about cultural concepts of time and the importance of understanding that in the study of scripture, my dad revealed that while we (my family and our native culture) conceptualize "the future" as being in front of us, in Congo (where I was born) the future is considered to be at our backs.  As time flows like a river current past our standing-still selves (or maybe we're in a canoe?), the past lies as a vista before us and the future remains unseen and unknown.

I feel caught somewhere in the middle; I see my past, I consider it often. But I also feel as though I've seen what lies ahead.  Sometimes, just sometimes, I try to control and direct the present to become what I would like it to be, neglecting its own innate purpose.

This is where we, as a people, get into trouble.  When we manipulate the natural order of the universe to suit selfishness, we wreak havoc on the way things ought to be.  We erode our topsoil for farmland to grow commodity crops to create cheap calories.  We leach our soil with toxins, spilling them into our water, upon which all life depends.  The life and death of entire communities in the United States depends upon the influence of the corporations who make this destruction not only possible, but appealing, in pursuit of profit.

I am not arguing for inaction. Rather, consider the necessity of slow action.  The introductory questions hail from a sermon entitled, "U-Turns Are Allowed," in which Pastor Greg Ellis used the illustration of a driver missing their intended freeway exit and discovering that they are subsequently traveling in the wrong direction.  When I find myself behind a steering wheel, this is a common source of anxiety for me.  Behind my handlebars, however, I rarely worry about failing to follow explicit directions.  Traveling slowly allows plenty of time to consider all the options before choosing a specific direction.

Tomorrow I will pedal to work, and I will work at the pace of my young friends who are taking years to create the greatest masterpieces of their lives: themselves, humankind, our future.

Smart Phone

I got a smart phone.  This makes me feel "more connected" than ever before.  I don't know how I feel about that; I know it doesn't make me feel happy.  No more getting lost by bicycle or other means.  One step further from my once-hermetic life.  Will I rely less o other people now that I have this little machine?  Will I spend less time with my own thoughts?  I've gained this piece of technology.  Who will I lose?

Sundays

I feel infinitely left out on Sundays because I am still unsure of Deity.  I want to enter into the conversation, but I feel like a little kid again, with older siblings and adults carrying on a conversation without ever so much as looking my way, except maybe to "shush" me and ask me to wait until later - a later I'm sure will never come - a later they will forget about in the meantime.  But when they do remember, long after we've parted ways, they will pray that I will "just get it" in my own time.

Meanwhile, I will take the conversation about the Myth of Redemptive Violence and file it away with John Paul Lederach and the study about how children as young as six months can identify and show preference toward "helpful" characters and my own theses on the impact of violent hero characters in the media on our children's character development, perpetuating this Myth.

My narrative differs from the narrative of the church-folk conversation and, despite my fancy high-heeled church shoes, when I leave this place I hope to put my foot to the ground and travel slowly, carefully, through the woods, listening to the land.  I learned today that after Cain said to God, "Am I my brother's keeper?" God answered, "Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground."  I will listen.  The ground and the rocks will cry out.  I want to halt my ongoing conversations of everyday life for this.

This attentiveness to the land, to the purpose of land and the tragedies of the land, this is why I travel by bicycle.

Falling

Sometimes people talk about falling in love,
and sometimes it really is like that.
One day you're living a very pragmatic existence,
soon you're sitting up late on your best friend's bed trying to convince yourself you're not falling in love
(When you both know you are).
A couple months later when He moves away, you seek solace in the arms of a friend, heaving sobs from a place deep within yourself you didn't even know existed before Him.


This falling is much more subtle, much less dramatic.  All week long I've been picking my way along the desolate rocky shore, searching for glimpses of something not lost, something I know must be there.  Rarely do I spot it, shining from beneath a shallow pool , partially obscured by snail shells.  I treasure the fleeting beauty of these precious stones.


Yet as I stand above, looking down into these pools, their depth grows infinitely deeper.  i might choose to dive in but know my breath could not hold for such a journey.  I take a seat and stare across the sea toward the horizon.


On this eve of a new day I wonder: Will I take one step forward and set sail on the endless sea of sadness or will I continue my hunched pace along the beach, hoping for something more?

Birthday

On Monday I celebrated my birthday, my 25th birthday.  I wrote this that night near midnight.

It's my birthday, my 25th birthday.  I suddenly feel a little hesitant heading int othis year without much reflection.  Tired, even.  25. In some way, that's supposed to be significant, right?  I can rent cars without paying extra daily charges.  I'm supposed to have a quarter life crisis ~ for which I'm open to suggestions.

I briefly thought about quitting my job here and moving to Mexico City to live with my sister and brother-in-law and to take care of my nephew.

My friend Elise, at the request for suggestions, paused and thought about it then said pointedly, "You know, Emily, you already lead such an adventurous life - there's no need for one."

Adventurous.  This is not a word I would have used to describe myself.  I feel I pale in comparison to my friends and acquaintances.  I work nearly 50 hours a week, I'm beginning to dabble in church commitments, I spend my free time daydreaming about work and planning for work.  I like to visit my grandparents and sometimes I just wish for more quiet in my life.

I once sat, exasperated, across a coffee shop patio table from a now-ex-boyfriend and I banged my head down on the table.  "I just need to meditate!"

"So do." Then he drove me home, gave me a hug and a kiss and left me there, quiet, still and alone.

I ache at that memory, at that big empty space.  I remember standing in my un-air-conditioned house on that sweltering day, marvelous.  I stand at the edge of a field of crisp, amber wheat beneath a pure blue sky.  Oceans of yellow and solid, steady blue.  I am awash in it.  I long for such lazy, hazy days when my spirit rises up around me, my back pressed firmly into the the land on which I was born, the aromas of my wheat-filled childhood wafting up around me, releasing their pollens into that eternally steady sky; the sky of promises, the sky on which I rely.

If I knew how to dance to ask for rain, I would do so now.  I would ask the gods of the sky to look down upon me and see this lonely child looking up to them, basking in their glory, wondering, wondering, asking for wisdom as I open this next chapter of my life.

I hope for this year to step off of solid ground and set sail on a sky so blue it reflects the bright light of the sun.

Having Been Warned in a Dream

Feliz Dia de los Reyes from Mexico City!

These guys (the 3 Kings) are some of my favorite characters.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe it's their mystical following of a celestial figure to right where they're supposed to be.  I like to think maybe it's like this past summer when I just knew I was supposed to embark on a solo bicycle journey to Nashville, TN.  Sometimes you just know.

But I'm sure these guys had plenty o' people saying, ¨Hunh? Why?¨ and ¨What are you doing?¨

Then, when it was time for them to set out on their mundane journey home, they actually paid attention to what they considered a significant dream, which as it turned out, altered history.

Sometimes I have dreams that offer clear, concise directions.  These dreams I take to heart and consider each time I come to an intersection.  Some dreams aer bigger than others (THE dream, for instance, that I've been carrying at the center of my heart for as long as I can remember; the dream around which I've oriented my life thus far), while other dreams pertain to smaller theaters in my life - a recent dream about a toilet, for example.

I just hope that have the courage to pursue the true route encouraged by such dreams, even in the face of the death penalty.