cleansing

it's interesting how a shower is remarkably similar to crying.

i realized that a cure to one form of pouring water is just another form of pouring water.

submergence, prayers, peace.

The Alchemist

Oh how I love this story!
And even though it's only been a couple of months since I read it the first time, different parts remain within me now.

(I think that it's not mere coincidence that a random conversation with a friend overlaps so many of the topics that I just read about. At least three times in our conversation, he just mentioned things in his life that were amazingly similar to ideas in the story. I love life when situations of that nature occur. It makes me smile. Somehow I think that coincidences are not coincidental.)

These are the lines that I liked...

"It's not a battle of good against evil. It's a war between forces that are fighting for the balance of power, and, when that type of battle begins, it lasts longer than others- because Allah is on both sides."

And God only rarely reveals the future. When he does so, it is for only one reason: it's a future that was written so as to be altered.

"It's not what enters men's mouths that's evil," said the Alchemist. "It's what comes out of their mouths that is."

Remember that wherever your heart is, there you will find your treasure.

One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.

The wise men understood that this natural world is only an image and a copy of paradise. The existence of this world is simply a guarantee that there exists a world that is perfect. God created the world so that, through its visible objects, men could understand his spiritual teachings and the marvels of his wisdom.

Listen to your heart. It knows all things, because it came from the Soul of the World, and it will one day return there.

Your eyes show the strength of your soul.


...but this is the part that gave me the chills:

The boy turned to the hand that wrote all. As he did so, he sensed that the universe had fallen silent, and he decided not to speak.
A current of love rushed from his heart, and the boy began to pray. It was a prayer that he had never said before, because it was a prayer without words or pleas. His prayer didn't give thanks for his sheep having found new pastures; it didn't ask that the boy be able to sell more crystal; and it didn't beseech that the woman he had met continue to await his return. In the silence, the boy understood that the desert, the wind, and the sun were also trying to understand the signs written by the hand, and were seeking to follow their paths, and to understand what had been written on a single emerald. He saw that omens were scattered throughout the earth and in space, and that there was no reason or significance attached to their appearance; he could see that not the deserts, nor the winds, nor the sun, nor people knew why they had been created. But that the hand had reason for all of this, and that only the hand could perform miracles, or transform the sea into a desert...or a man into the wind. Because only the hand understood that it was a larger design that had moved the universe to the point at which six days of creation had evolved into a Master Work.
The boy reached through to the Soul of the World, and saw that it was a part of the Soul of God. And he saw that the Soul of God was his own soul. And that he, a boy, could perform miracles.

saturday

oh car rides...

The Taming of the Shrew!

the seating:

last night,

after driving through the hills with benny for a few hours,
i decided that friends are like hugs from God.
sometimes i don't even ask for them, they are just there.

and after he dropped me off and i closed the front door,
i think i smiled on the inside
not only because i felt cared for
but also because there seemed to be a mutual understanding
a kind that only exists on certain occasions
and it brings a sense of peacefulness that was not present before.

this peacefulness may not last for a long time,
in fact when i awoke this morning, it was already partially gone.
but at least for some small interval of time,
i felt like everything was perfectly okay.
and it is those moments which i am very thankful for.
:-)

in reaction

to seeing This is England.

what are you doing?
writing.
what are you writing?
my thoughts...you can read it if you want:

rain water from my eyes

i never used to be a big crier.
not to say i wasn't sensitive
or that i lacked a heart (as i was told once in a joking manner...because i didn't cry after seeing the notebook. give me a break. jeez.)
anyways, i don't really know when that changed
but sometime this year, it started and it hasn't stopped.
now i cry, probably at least once a week, it seems like a lot more.
in reaction to my own life,
or in movies,
or just things i see when i'm out in the world.
it's just sad, a lot of things in life are just sad.
maybe i just notice it more than i used to, or maybe it just affects me more.
i think in the past i merely failed to see the bad that exists.
not even consciously
it just didn't resonate
purely happy and sweet things in life stayed with me

and people used to wonder how i always walked around with a smile on my face
not one of those false ones either
(the ones that people place on their faces every morning to make the rest of the
world believe that everything is perfect in their hearts and minds)
i honestly don't think those pretend smiles appeared on my face.
i can assure you they do now.
not every day
it's just i now understand

a beautiful mind

to what extent do we all retreat into our own alternate realities?

crystalynne

even though i don't think she reads this,
i just have to thank my sister.
thank you for giving me understanding
thank you for helping me think a little more rationally
thank you for being accepting
thank you for reminding me things are okay
thank you for loving me
thank you for giving me hope
thank you for making me laugh

you are my friend
i love you

Stories of God

a new perspective.
i think i'm going to reread this book.
these are some of my favorite parts:


He had endowed the birds with wings, so that on earth too there would be something like the angels.


But what makes a dead person different from someone who becomes serious, turns away from the passing scene, and goes into seclusion to quietly consider the answer to something that has tormented him for a long time? In the midst of people, you can't even remember the Lord's Prayer, much less a certain ominous subject that perhaps is made up not of words but of events. A person has to go off somewhere into an inaccessible, silent place--and maybe the dead are people who have withdrawn from everything in order to reflect upon life.


She had looked upon him so fully and so long over the hours she had been alone with him that it seemed to her that he had tumbled into the depths of her dark eyes and perished there and was now beginning within her a new and eternal life, the one in which he, as a Christian, had believed. With this new sensation in her young body, she stood through many long days on the roof and searched for the sea...Up there, Esther gave birth to a tender blond child.


"I've been sad," he said hesitantly. "I thought- but you're not at all miserable," he suddenly blurted out. Klara smiled.
"You've heard my story?"
"Yes, that is-"
"Oh," Klara interrupted him when she saw his features becoming troubled, "it's not people's fault that they talk about it otherwise. The things we experience often cannot be expressed, and whoever talks about them inevitably makes mistakes anyway."

root beer float day

will now forever be held on August 5th!