"He loved constantly, instantly, spontaneously, without thought or words."

"That's what he taught me."

Reminiscent. That's how I've been feeling the last couple days. At first I thought I was getting lonely, but I don't think that's what it really was. First off, by meaning of the word, loneliness would imply that I'm alone. Secondly, I think it would mean I don't want to be here and that things most likely aren't going well. Neither is true. I am not alone. I have plenty of friends and family physically close enough that I could get to them if I felt the need, and even more that I could call literally whenever I needed to talk. And things are going well.
I think reminiscent fits because while I am happy here and very much enjoying everything and everyone, I do miss my friends and family back home. I miss being apart of things that I know are great, and being there to celebrate with and for them. Change. I do not regret, nor would I change, the way it is happening to me right now.

I am reading Lamb by Christopher Moore. Mostly for Lent, and partly because it is one of my favorite books and I haven't read it in a while. I hope your Lenten journey is all it needs to be. And if you don't do lent, then I hope you're having a great week.

p.s. If you're having trouble thinking of a birthday/Christmas gift for me. I would love to have some kind of print of my last post, the poem Shake the Dust. Handmade or store-bought will be accepted with equal enthusiasm.

“Love is not something you think about, it is a state in which you dwell.”

Shake the Dust

This is for the fat girls.

This is for the little brothers.

This is for the school-yard wimps, this is for the childhood bullies who tormented them.

This is for the former prom queen, this is for the milk-crate ball players.

This is for the nighttime cereal eaters and for the retired, elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters.

Shake the dust.

This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,

for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,

for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,

for the nighttime schoolers and the midnight bike riders who are trying to fly. 

Shake the dust.

This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half-English and half-god.

Shake the dust.

For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy,

for those gym class wall flowers and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,

for the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers,

for the girl who loves somebody else.

Shake the dust.

This is for the hard men, the hard men who want to love but know that is won't come.

For the ones who are forgotten, the ones the amendments do not stand up for.

For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to and then are never spoken to. Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself.

Do not let a moment go by that doesn't remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.

Do not settle for letting these waves settle and the dust to collect in your veins.

This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling,

for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone.

For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips, for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.

This is for the tired and for the dreamers and for those families who'll never be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.

This is for the biggots,

this is for the sexists,

this is for the killers.

This is for the big house, pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers and for the springtime that always shows up after the winters.

This? This is for you.

Make sure that by the time fisherman returns you are gone.

Because just like the days, I burn both ends and every time I write, every time I open my eyes I am cutting out a part of myself to give to you.

So shake the dust and take me with you when you do for none of this has never been for me.

All that pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls for you.

So grab this world by its clothespins and shake it out again and again and jump on top and take it for a spin and when you hop off shake it again for this is yours.

Make my words worth it, make this not just another poem that I write, not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all.

Walk into it, breathe it in, let is crash through the halls of your arms at the millions of years of millions of poets coursing like blood pumping and pushing making you live, shaking the dust.

So when the world knocks at your front door, clutch the knob and open on up, running forward into its widespread greeting arms with your hands before you, fingertips trembling though they may be.

-Anis Mojgani

"Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent."

"It takes a touch of genius -- and a lot of courage -- to move in the opposite direction."

One week in Virginia. It's gone so quickly, as I had expected it would. And I expect it will keep going this quickly, maybe for a few more weeks. I find myself more comfortable here than I expected. At least more comfortable more quickly that I expected. I think the feeling can be best described as going to a physical place that you know like the back of your hand. Somewhere you can see in your mind no matter where you are. Somewhere you are comfortable being at, no matter what you're doing there. For me, that place is Camp McDowell. It's a comfortable place, and no matter why I'm going there, I know I'm going to have a good time because I am so familiar with the place. I know the people who work there. I know how stuff is "supposed" to go. I hope you have somewhere like that. And somehow Innisfree feels like this comfortable to me. I don't know how or why it is this way, or what the next year holds. But being here is a good thing for me where I'm at.

Also, I went to church this morning, and it was good. I really enjoyed being there, I usually do in almost any church. The people were really friendly, and the priest gave a really good sermon. I'm pretty sure I'll go back next week, and most Sundays that I can. I knew I wanted to go to church if I could while I was here. I've always found life goes better If I have a good church community to go to. Episcopalian is the spice I like best right now. Whatever works for you on Sundays is ok by me.

Irrelevant side note: In almost 25 years of living, most times I still don't know what to do with my hands.

"In order to form an immaculate member of a flock of sheep one must, above all, be a sheep."