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May. 4th, 2008


(no subject)

And am I born to die?
To lay this body down!
And must my trembling spirit fly
Into a world unknown?

A land of deepest shade,
Unpierced by human thought;
The dreary regions of the dead,
Where all things are forgot.

Soon as from earth I go,
What will become of me?
Eternal happiness or woe
Must then my portion be.

Waked by the trumpet sound,
I from my grave shall rise;
And see the Judge with glory crowned,
And see the flaming skies!

- The Sacred Harp, 47b Idumea; Words by Charles Wesley, tune by Ananias Davisson

I am a great complainer
That bears the name of Christ;
Come, all ye Zion mourners,
And listen to my cries;
I’ve many sore temptations
And sorrows to my soul;
I feel my faith declining,
And my affections cold.

I wish it was with me now
As in the days of old,
The glorious light of Jesus
Was flowing in my soul,
But now I am distressed,
And no more relief can find,
A hard, deceitful heart
And a wretched, wand’ring mind.

It is great pride and passion
Beset me on my way,
So I am filled with folly
And so neglect to pray;
I am so weak I stumble,
And so I’m left behind,
While others run rejoicing
And seem to lose no time.

- The Sacred Harp, 141 Complainer; Words unknown, tune by William Walker

Hark! How the gospel trumpet sounds!
Through all the world the echo bounds;
And Jesus by redeeming blood
Is bringing sinners home to God
And guides them safely by His word
To endless day.

Thy blood, dear Jesus, once was spilt
To save our souls from sin and guilt,
And sinners now may come to God
And find salvation through Thy blood,
And sail by faith upon that flood
To endless day.

- The Sacred Harp, 99 Gospel Trumpet; Words by Charles Cole, tune by E.J. King

Just some songs that spoke to me lately.

Mar. 27th, 2008


New post

New friends-only post. :)

Feb. 15th, 2008



First we conceive the "I" and grasp onto it.
Then we conceive the "mine" and cling to the material world.
Like water trapped on the water wheel, we spin in circles, powerless.
I praise the compassion that embraces all beings.

- Chandrakirti

I am continually struggling with the concept of truth. More specifically, the concept of absolute truth in regards to religion.

There are many things right now that are difficult to reconcile with what I have always believed, how I have been raised, my 'gut' reactions to things... I pray for wisdom, but worry that if wisdom finds me, it will contradict my comfortable definition of spirituality.

At the moment, I want to believe certain things -- and at the same time, feel something like a heretic for my own attitudes. I'm at a bit of a stalemate with myself.


Jan. 25th, 2008


I am a hippie.


I think that this is the coolest thing I have seen in a long time.

Also, I think that the solution to my wardrobe/clothing/style anxiety may be found in simplifying my wardrobe, drastically. While I was hunting around on the internet for more resources about Quakerism (I am going through some kind of religious experience; more on that later), I found the Quaker Jane website; the site is maintained by a woman who is a plain-dressing Quaker. By this I mean she dresses in the anachronistic, fully-covered, bonnet-wearing manner that we often associate with the Amish or Mennonites. While not all Quakers observe plain dress, there is precedent for it in history, and I found myself weirdly drawn to this. For some reason, I have always been enchanted by the idea of clothing setting a person apart -- I saw a pair of nuns, dressed all in white, in th bookstore the other day and I was absolutely enchanted. That's the only word I can think of to describe it.

So I may be looking into something like modern plain/modest dress. By my understanding, this is not like what the Amish wear, but more like a pared-down (by which I mean drab) version of the clothing Orthodox Jewish women wear. I found some interesting websites with a lot of beautiful, but simple and well-made clothing for women who were Orthodox Jewish or Islam, things like that...
I will undoubtedly write more about this later, too. In a more cohesive, coherent format.

I've been spending a good bit of time in the chapel lately, thinking and pondering and wondering.

It's strange, but since discovering the Quakers, I feel like so many things have been leading me to this path in life. My anger and pain as a result of mass, organized worship, my fear of rash emotionality, my understanding of wisdom, divinity, and my interest in other religions... It all seems to have found a place here.

As I said, you can anticipate a number of posts from me in the next few days... My experiences of God, my experiences with clothing, my experiences with church services, and just a lot of thoughts in general. I am going through a big period of adjustment and revision right now, and think that journalling will be a beneficial way for me to express myself.


Nov. 17th, 2007


(no subject)

We all lead such elaborate lives. Wild ambitions in our sights. How an affair of the heart survives days apart and hurried nights, seems quite unbelievable to me.

I don't want to live like that. I don't want to love like that.

I just want our time to be slower, and gentler. Wiser. Free.

We all live in extravagant times, playing games we can't all win. Unintended emotional crimes take some out, take others in.


(Too many choices tear us apart. I don't want to live like that. I don't want to love like that.)

I'm so tired of all we're going through, I don't want to live like that. I don't want to love like that.

I just want to be with you. Now, and forever. Peaceful. True.

- "Elaborate Lives" from Aida, lyrics by Tim Rice, music by Elton John.

Aug. 28th, 2007



THIS JOURNAL IS NOW FRIENDS-ONLY. Comment to be added! :)

Jun. 9th, 2007

touch me

I will wade out.

i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun into my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                    with closed eyes
to dash against the darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
          Will I complete the mystery
              of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

-e.e. cummings

Feb. 13th, 2007

bed, hands

Love Affair

There was a love affair in this building.
The kind of love affair
Which every respectable building must keep as a legend,
Slowly festering through an innocent "by the way,"
Or "have you heard".
He was perfect except for the fact that he was an engineer,
And mothers prefer doctors
And lawyers.

Yet despite this imperfection,
He was clean-looking and respectable-looking.
And you'll never find a mother
Who doesn't appreciate a natural man,
So he grew healthy aloe vera plants by the window,
Healthy teeth in his mouth,
Healthy hair on his head.
He grew healthy wavy brown hair on his head:
The kind, the kind that babies always go for
With sticky little fingers.

- "Love Affair" Regina Spektor (11:11)

Feb. 8th, 2007


A voice has even a wider appeal than a fortune.

The Lord knew he would marry her if he could! Marriage would be an incident, not an end with her; he was sure of that. If it were not he, it would be some one else; some one who would be a weight about her neck, probably; who would hold her back and beat her down and divert her from the first plunge for which he felt she was gathering all her energies. He meant to help her, and he could not think of another man who would. He went over his unmarried friends, East and West, and could not think of one who would know what she was driving at -- or care. The clever ones were selfish, and the kindly ones were stupid.

"Damn it, if she's going to fall in love with somebody, it had better be me than any of the others -- of the sort she'd find. Get her tied up with some conceited ass who'd try to make her over, train her like a puppy! Give one of 'em a big nature like that, and he'd be horrified. He wouldn't show his face in the clubs until he'd gone after her and combed her down to conform to some fool idea in his own head -- put there by some other woman, too, his first sweetheart or his grandmother or a maiden aunt. At least, I understand her. I know what she needs, and where she's bound, and I mean to see that she has a fighting chance."

- from The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather

This made me think of him, for reasons that ought to be obvious.

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