White Birch

If today is not a White Birch kind of day, then I know nothing of what is.

It's music for a rainy day.
but when the rain is freezing.
so it's become snow.

Snow and Scales

I live in a little room. in a little house. in a little town.
Snow fell from the sky for the second time since moving here four months ago. This time successfully creating a white blanket, a clean canvas to paint some thoughts over.

I am.
nobody's wife. nor girl... and that is okay. And one day, it will even be good.
I am.
wrestling with what is important

.Some things that aren't making the list:
- what I wear, or, how I look
- school and degrees//Money
- Happiness and Easiness and Comfort
- Anything past this day, this moment.
- Deadlines, Dates, Rushing

I keep changing. Where I live and who I know keeps changing. What I believe and how I act upon it keeps changing. My emotions keeps changing.

Change keeps your spirit from drying up. Change keeps you growing, Keeps pushing you into uncomfortable shapes so that you learn and become a further prepared instrument.

If I am The Lord's instrument, what do I sound like? Am I a brass, string, woodwind, percussion? Brought to His lips or held in a firm grip? Soft and melodic? Deep and earthy?

At any rate, I am valuable because I am one of them, and my scales are uniquely known.
and my scales are uniquely known.

The sadness

This sadness is not a wild crashing wave. It does not ebb nor flow to beat its heinous fists on my face and back til I finally fall.

No.

It is slow and steady and constant. So slight that I barely notice it rising until it is expanding in my lungs and then it finds its way out and down my face.

There is a certain person who I miss everyday. and everyday I try to be around people. but at some point I am alone. and that is when I notice The sadness has come.

What I mean to say is that it just seems like The sadness must prove something. Because it is so rare that I find myself this overcome by an emotion so pure to be one substance, a water, a sadness felt from loving someone so darkly and deeply and ignorantly and not being able to be with them at any capacity.



Are we meant to be with some people?
Is love a choice we make or that is made for us?
What do you let lead you: Your head or that heart?



This is a painting (by Ran Ortner)

Hope

There are some things, events, articles, spectacles, people that fall into your life from The Vastness That Is that give you so much hope.

so
much
hope.

be thankful for them



What has given you hope the past few days?

Past Lives

A while ago I had a discussion with a dear friend on past lives.

Now, past lives are the sort of thing I chuck into the astrology/karma/ouija board/Fantasy Fiction Novels kinda drawer, all of which are sort of fun in their own way but are indeed completecrap.

But I guess if I had to be some peoples in my past lives here are my guesses:

King Arthur... no explanation here.



Emily Dickinson... this used to be Helen Keller, but I think I've graduated Helen and have moved onto Emily. The idea was that I am uh...chaste...and awkward...and a girl. Plus, Emily has this wild side and understands how going to church isn't always as great as going into nature and letting the sky be your steeple. Yeah? no? At any rate, I've been (un)known to write down a few poems and dillies myself, so there ya go.

not her:


but her:



I imagine she is saying: Oooooh! Would you look at this flower! I feel like quite the lady!


Finally, my last guess would be Luna Lovegood.
Oh wait...
Guess HP got mixed in... Definitely need to clean out that makebelieve junk drawer.
Anyway, here she is in all her SpaceCadet glory:


I imagine she is saying: ...oh wait, Who am I? I thought the camera might have been over there? Yea, I couldn't find any clean pants, do you think my dad will notice I borrowed his?


I also like that everyone gets to be someone famous in a past life. I mean, no one is ever Thomas Filbrown who did nothing, nothing really at all. He ran for mayor and lost, and he died in his sleep. I have a feeling in a past life Thomas Filbrown was someone really great though, someone famous even! Like... Abraham Lincoln:




Who were you in a past life?

I feel...

Like this

yuck.


How do you feel today?

Wesley

When I was a child, and by a child I mean in 7th grade, I had a really wonderfully imaginative best friend.

The two of us didn't really do much except for sit around and dream up the most magnificent futures full of garden parties, beautiful old houses in exotic locations, and the two best friends,James and Wesley

, who were going to fulfill the boyfriendly aspects of said lives.

Yes, we created imaginary boyfriends.

I am not embarrassed
{except for quite a bit, I really am}

Now that the facts are in the open:

Wesley is
mostly Holden Caulfield with a little less mental illness and a little more hopelessly in love with me.
He is a genius and doesn't know how to handle it, causing him to be socially awkward.
He can play the guitar like a mf riot
He looks slightly reminiscent of James Mcavoy
He is secretly hilarious
He wants to live anywhere but the U.S.

One time I was in an airport and over the intercom a lady announced, "Would Wesley and James please come to the desk located at gate 32D." My heart stopped. I wanted to drop everything and run as fast as I could to the desk located at gate 32D. But I couldn't because I had a plane to catch. Don't we all?

For me, that plane is N.
N. is my {real life} boyfriend. He is not Wesley, but he is everything I need. He is not particularly mysterious or hilarious or a genius, but he is truly, really, very much so what I need in this life. He has other-worldly wisdom, kindness and gentleness unmatched, the best and most sincere laugh, and a deep sense of humility.


Life never turns out the way you dreamed it might, but I don't think that is any good reason to quit dreaming. While part of me will always have a spot for Wesley, I'm glad he isn't real. N. is reality and it is good.


Now, I stumbled upon the picture this post starts off with. I saw it and just stared. That is him, that is Wesley.

Hello Wesley,

What we had was really magical. But I had this plane to catch and it's
taking me somewhere, to home. To a place I was created for, but have never
been before.
Please take care and send my love to James.

All the Best,
M.


What is a plane you had to catch? Or rather, what is a dream you moved past to experience good reality?

Wasting Time

I needed to waste time.

I was supposed to meet a few friends for Guacamole at some generic, yet delicious Mexican place at about 9: 15 and I knew I was going to be early. Too early.
I pulled out of the neighborhood I currently reside in (the minority of the time) and noticed this road. It wasn't necessarily a side road. I'd seen cars purposefully take the turn onto it before, I just had never done so myself. So I decided that What The Heck, I'll drive down this random road I'd never notice before and see where it put me. It bent and curved under a canopy of dark trees, giving no sign of where it was going to pop me out at. And then it ended, and I was so much closer to my destination than I had hoped to be. DRAT
I had found a Short Cut.
At any other time I would have been pleasantly surprised, but I was hoping for more of a scenic-drive, a Long Cut if you will. What else was there to do but continue on my way? Driving through downtown, I noticed a simple brick building with it's lights on. The paned windows were propped open and various gadgets were hanging in the window. What were they? I can't really say, just technical, mechanical silhouetted do-dads. I thought it looked really lovely. I thought, "I should take a picture of this." And given my need to waste some time, I pulled a 'U' and parked and walked to take this picture. I turned on my camera and got about 5 worthless shots of the place and my battery died. DRAT. I suppose it looked better in person anyway, as most things do. The more I think about it the more I remember this foggy little memory of going to that building when I was in elementary school. Signs were made there, I can't really say for sure, but I think nice and noble traffic and street signs were assembled there. I walked back to my car and saw that I had managed to waste more than enough time.
I was going to be late.
So I sped off, and was late but not too late, just the right amount of late where no one is particularly annoyed yet.

Later that night I caught on fire and now have these tiny little charred dots on my legs.
But that is an entirely different story for an entirely different day.



What was the last thing you were unfashionably late or early to?