Gaddian

Interview 1.0

2012-02-12T22:24:00.004-07:00

Perry: Ok. So. *Crunches cookie*
This is Perry Sabey.
PS. I did not hack Sera's account. She is typing this. You can ask her yourself. Ok, un-PS. How is everyone today? I am fantastic. I'm afraid to say anything else because then you are going to type it. *covers mouth* NO NO!!!! I didn't want her to say that! Oh geez...

Hmm... So anyway back on track. I'm pretty awesome and Sera must agree because... well just because.

Ssss... No!!!

Amber bail me out here! She's putting everything I say in a blog post. And I mean everything I say! We need something interesting to say in this post. Anything. Puppies!

Amber: You should describe your perspective on her blog.

Perry: New paragraph. Ok. So. Sera is pretty creative and she does lots of really interesting things. If you haven't seen some of her... things... You obviously aren't reading this on her blog. BUT! If you have read her blog and haven't seen any of her other talents you are being currently deprived of certain joys you could otherwise be receiving. Sera's turn now. Explain things from your point of view Sera. You talk and I'll type.

*pushes Sera over*

Sera: Laughs hysterically. Hem hem. I haven't written since July. I don't really know what to say... which is why I haven't written since July.

Perry: Well, what is one of your recent highlights that you'd like to share with the audience?

Sera: The audience? I have an audience? Well, I am about to have a Youtube channel dedicated to my music, and I'm really excited about it! But tell the audience to not get excited just yet, because the first few videos are just going to be covers of other people's songs. I will let the audience know the add- no, what do you call it... the LINK! Soon. :)

Perry: That is absolutely wonderful! I'm sure that we, the followers of Gaddian, will be sitting on pins and needles waiting for your upcoming releases. By the way, this interview doesn't have to go all night, it's totally up to you.

Sera: Okay, ask another question.

Perry: Will do! So if we can ask, what has inspired you to produce a channel specifically for your music rather than for all your uploads?

Sera: Hm. Good question. Michelle from California asked me a question when I visited. Well, two questions actually. The first one was: What do you like doing? The second one was: What's stopping you from doing it? And realizing I had no answer to the second question, concluded she made a good point. And the truth is I wanted to change myself into the person I wanted to be, so that I could get the things I want in life.

Perry: Well I think I can speak for all those listening... reading in, when I say that I applaud that decision, and I hope you have success and that any challenges you face will only strengthen your resolve to see it through.

Sera: Thanks Perry!

Perry: And I think we're just about out of time folks. As always, we appreciate you listen-READING in, and if you would like to make a donation to Sera's musical adventure, feel absolutely free to make one right here! Until next time, always brush your teeth. Goodnight!

Twin!

2011-07-29T17:54:00.001-06:00

Isn't this cool!? It's a usb Cryptex! I think I'll have to get myself one of these! Or make one I suppose!

And in other news - I'm off to Twin Falls! See you soon!

I Only

2011-04-11T21:49:00.001-06:00

I have no energy. I'm shuffling around my house in a hopeless haze. My belongings are strewn about my floor as though I were some cardboard-box obsessed slob. I nicely fold and smooth each article of clothing before placing it specifically perpendicular to the sides of my suitcase, calculating in my head both the likelyhood of using each article of clothing before the one beneath it, and the likelihood of messing it all up on the first day of my arrival, at which point I hyperventilate at the thought of arrival, and start over with my previous calculation.

I am paranoid that my packing will take up too much of my time, seeing as I have so little of it. And that no matter how I spend that time, it will never quite be spent good enough. I know that no matter how well I spend my time, I won't have enough of it to get everything done that I need to before I leave.

And then I think, I'm just not cut out for this. I have never done this before and I don't have it in me to knock on door after door selling something I don't understand to people who don't like me.

Truly, I am a wreck. I can't think about anything but this summer plan, and yet I am completely incapable of thinking about it thoroughly enough to rid me of the fears I have. The only thing I can think of is how terrible and how stuck I'm going to be. What if I am no good at it? What if I try really hard and I just can't do it? Then what?

But I've promised myself I'd stick it out, so I will. Still... I am terrified. I pack my bags, I say goodbye, but I have no courage. I clean my house, I prepare my car, but I have no faith. I make my promises, I preach of dreams, but I am scared to death.

Because really, who is there to pick me up when I fall this time? No one. I only, can retrieve my fallen pace, and I only, can encourage my feet. I only, can look myself in the eyes and say I can make it. Somehow I have to convince this shaken heart to believe in itself. Somehow I have to present the idea to myself that this will be worth it, and that that is not just a cliche phrase.

The Only Stoneless Grave

2010-10-16T21:25:00.002-06:00

Doesn’t feel like home yet
Driving to the new house
Fifteen minutes in
Night turns me around
Up a gravel road
Lined by sentinel trees
Which loom over my decision
Frightening me almost
But not enough to turn back

Slowly, so as not to interrupt
Those who are sleeping
Gravel crushes against itself
Underneath the foreign tires
As headlights illuminate stones
And I creep the car forward
And backward again
Attempting to locate in limited light
One spot in particular

Even though wind blows
I know it’s not the cold
And I’m unsure if it’s the darkness
Or the mission I’ve undertaken
That gives me these shivers
For which this scarf does nothing
As I stand in this garden
Which I haven’t been in
For a long while

Sometimes one has to just
Do a thing instead of thinking
So that it’s not too frightening a task
You taught me that
So I park my vehicle
And quickly shut the door
With myself on the other side
Letting pride to take over
And lead the rest of the way
To the frightening destination

There is still no tomb stone
Just a plastic marker in the grass
Broken rusty and dirty
Waiting to be replaced
With little inspiration
Especially when compared
To the one next to it
Bold dark stone with tiny stars
Given flowers unlike this one

Unsure why I’ve come
Standing before the expectant site
Afraid of what to say
That it might sound wrong somehow
To me or the invisible
But honestly it was never meant
To sound like poetry
Just simple honesty
Straight forward honesty

So it comes out
Accusations for the hurt
And expression of the pain
That might have been prevented
By the absence of a choice
That is frighteningly permanent
And regretfully affecting
Providing questions to which
The answers will never satisfy

Strange I suppose.
Home is where the heart is.
Lame phrase.
What happens when
Your heart has been broken?
Are you homeless?
Forever lost between worlds?
As I stand in the garden,
Before the only stoneless grave.

It's past my bed time

2010-09-30T02:09:00.003-06:00

Yuck. It's 2:11 am. And I'm writing a blog.

Apparently I haven't got the whole 'getting to bed at a decent hour' thing down yet.

BUT I have got other things down as of... three days ago. I'm learning about productivity. I've heard the things I've adopted into my daily routine, but I've never put them into practice, so I thought I'd share since it's done wonders for me.

Normally, I waste approximately 80% of my time on the computer, and usually that's due to one simple habit that I've learned to correct. That habit is: EMAIL. I've learned that I do not need to check it six or thirteen times a day, and I do not need to check it first thing as soon as I turn on the computer. What this does, is it opens up the online world where it is SO easy to get distracted (listening to songs, finding interesting videos and status updates on facebook, reading articles and clicking links all over the place). And if I do need to check my email for business reasons, I can do that, and simply ignore emails from friends etc. until I have time to deal with them. Regulating hat I spend my time on like this, makes my work time at least 100% more productive.

The other major thing that helps is breaks. Forcing myself to get up and make food, or clean something means when I get back I can focus that much more on the task at hand because my brain has had a break from staring at the same object for hours. And sometimes breaks provide a moment of introspection about the task wherein I realize a lot of it can be done away from the computer, thereby increasing effectiveness again (less distractions away from the computer).

I think I want to get this getting to bed at a decent time thing down because I'd like to see more awesome sunrises in my life. Sunrises are one of the best things (besides the people) about living in Southern Alberta and I don't take advantage of it because I sleep in. Which is why I bid thee goodnight. Sleep tight!

Protect Your Teddy Bear

2010-09-24T02:28:00.003-06:00

It came as much of a shock to me, as to the reflection in the mirror: I was wearing pink.

Not just one fleck of it, no. An entire outfit dressed in pink. Yuck. And what's worse, it was a poodle skirt. And in my own hand nonetheless, a black poodle had been drawn on the pink skirt with permanent marker.

Could it be? Who was this strange person staring back at me? Did I meet her somewhere? In the 50s someplace? The name sounds familiar, but the person that goes by this name would never dare dress herself thus. She abhors pink. And yet here she is, staring back at me with hair tied back, pink scarf around her neck, vibrant pink poodle skirt dressing her lower half while exclaiming "I chose this. I voluntarily purchased these items and dressed myself in them."

And that's when it hit me that who ever this person was that now stared back at me from the mirror, was not the same person as the one a few years back who stared at me from the same mirror.

For those who know me well, (as I thought I knew myself) it would not only be odd, but completely bizarre to see me walking around in such girlish attire. But recently I came to the conclusion that I'm rejecting part of who I am by rejecting those things that symbolize feminism. I reject them purely for the sake of rejecting them, not because I've tried them before. Not because I like something else better. I just hate the idea of being a woman. Girl, fine. Woman, no. So I rejected the color pink, make-up, and high-heels... heck even the simple things like scarves, gentlemanly gestures, and skirts. Anything that pointed to my being a woman in this society.

So in an effort to regain some balance and become a little less of a tom-boy, and maybe more accepting of who I am, I have begun an experiment. Today, I wear pink... With a friggin poodle on my skirt. Maybe I'll change my mind about pink. Maybe I won't. But at least I can say I tried. But I'll steal your teddy and forget where I placed him before I ever try high-heels again.

Sometimes

2010-09-21T22:54:00.010-06:00

                  I find
                        it's not so impressive
                              sometimes

                  when I ask a question and
                  SomeoneAnswersItQuickly

      I mean,

            yeah that is impressive
                        to some degree

      But to have

                        One Good Answer

                  even if it takes

                              ...more
                                          time...

                              or
                              ...more
                                          thought...

                              is
                              ...more
                                          impressive...

                        ThanOneFastAnswer

            And yet,
                  sometimes,
                        more impressive
                              than both

                  is the answer

                        "I don't know"

      Which takes more courage
                        more trust
                        more love
                                    enough to be ok
                                    with not knowing an answer

            And sometimes
                        ...silence...

is the perfect answer.

More than One Photo

2010-09-21T15:38:00.002-06:00

It's raining outside the window. I can see God's water droplets cascade off the roof, dripping unpredictably. I walk out into the chilled surroundings, and breath the gorgeous fresh air into my lungs. The cool slight breeze carries with it the scent of my surroundings. The smell of freshly cut wood, recently trimmed grass, and wet pavement fill my lungs and soul with the new and invigorating beauty of this freshly bathed world. I find my eyes close automatically as I breath in, and can't help the slight smile forming at the corner of my mouth. Today is a good day, I think to myself. Given, I am on a street with next to no traffic, in a beautiful area with trees all about me and beautiful green grass lining the path I plan to take. And the reason that I've come here today is amazing too. So of course it's a good day.

The sunlight penetrates the clouds and provides a blanket of fabulous bright color to the houses and vehicles down the street, reflecting through the stilled droplets of rain. I fold my arms at the chill and take a satisfied first step towards my destination. As the rain wets my hair, I realize that at this rate, my day looks to be one of the best of the best days I've had in a long while. For some reason, the fact that it's raining makes this day that much more special. To some, it might be disheartening to be married on a rainy day. Maybe I would feel different if I were the one getting married.

I'm just one of the photographers though, so I get to notice the things that make this day amazing. Like the way the rain sparkles like little gems in her hair, and the way the clouds provide a blanket of light perfectly illuminating their faces, and the way the day feels so much happier as we all cuddle together for warmth. Sometimes words just won't say it right though. Sometimes you've got to be there to feel it the way it sounds, and to see it the way it feels.

It's a beautiful world.

Together

2010-09-21T02:39:00.003-06:00

I can't tell if that is my stomach being hungry, or loneliness. There are times I envy married people because it's a less lonely world (and not just for the easy meals). For those of you who know me well, you know how hard it is for me to admit something like that. I don't like the idea of being completely vulnerable and open with someone, and yet I feel as though I miss it dearly. How truly marvelous it is for those who are married to share that safe world together where it's ok to be vulnerably open with the other. How beautiful to be able to share life and all it's wonders together.

That is something I miss. If I ever had it. To laugh, to smile. To hope, to hold. To lift, to comfort. To praise, to play. To dance, to sing. To grow, to live. Together. To live in the beauty of the moment or the rush of the day, or the schemes of special occasions, or the calm of summer reading, or the invigoration of discussion, or the chase of the dreamers dreams... together. Any and all become a cure to the lonely soul. And possibly hungry stomachs.

Not Just Mess

2010-09-20T19:09:00.006-06:00

If you ever decide to rob me, check the bible. That's where the valuables are.

Most ELSE of value lies on the floor. To be stepped upon, unfortunately. Microphone... video camera... CD player... even a portable sewing machine (don't ask). I would like to insist that this is just my way of reinforcing the belief that "stuff" in comparison to people, isn't worth all that much in the end. Just joking. I don't actually leave stuff on the floor for that reason. It's just a junk yard for a short/small amount of time (hopefully!!) until I get my mind sorted properly. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: The state of my room directly correlates to the state of my mind. If one is messy, the other will be also.

And messy - my mind is. It's a jumble of half-hearted successes and whole-hearted failures. When an opportunity comes my way, I'm likely to misguidedly refuse to take it due to my lack of cognitive ability in that moment or I may accept with momentary clarity of mind, only to thwart myself later (once again) with a lack of cognitive ability. Either way, you can likely imagine the state of my room, as half of it is whole-heartedly organized with shelving, drawers, labels etc, and the other half is half-heartedly "almost" organized on the floor in different semi-quadrants of my room by what would be defined as "mess". And I wish that every time I removed an item from the floor, some part of my life would magically unravel itself and grab hold my brain to say "a good idea for you to chase right now would be [insert high-priority activity]".

But it's easier for me to ignore the messy room for now, just as it's easier to socialize away my problems, and simply procrastinate the things I know I ought to get done. I've learned lately that I say "yes" to all sorts of different activities, to avoid the inevitably uncomfortable ones. I wish I were a little more on top of things because there are many things I would like to succeed at and seem incapable of succeeding at. Unfortunately, I have big dreams, lots of pride and a very SMALL attention span. All in all, not a good combo for success.

Is it silly to hope for that to change? I'd say no: step one is to hope. Step two would be to DO something about that hope. Which I will call faith. Step three would be to thwart the challenges that make me want to quit by exercising faith a second time to persevere enough to actually SUCCEED. (^^ you can tell I think too much when...)

There's a whole lot of wishing on my part, that I could get up the guts to be more than I am. I believe I can achieve success, but for some reason it's hard to make it real. I wish it were more than wishing. I've come a good distance through this journey so far, but I have a ways to go yet. But I'm a speed junky and don't like to wait. Apparently I have a lot to learn.

Stories end. Life doesn't.

2010-07-14T11:32:00.002-06:00

Life keeps happening, doesn't it? It's actually a strange concept considering how many stories I'm used to ingesting via movies and books. In all of these stories, there are endings. Sometimes things nicely wrap up and resolve themselves, and other times it just ends messily. Either way, you can always predict one thing: The story will end. But life isn't like that.

I think that life ought to have stopped for me some time ago considering how nicely everything seemed to be fitting into place, and how awesome an ending it could have been for a movie or novel. The main character wants courage, friends, and a lovely home. The main character is afraid of everything in life, has no friends, and is a vagabond. The main character goes through hard challenges, bests the challenges and becomes courageous and happy with everything they had originally hoped for. The End.

But like all good novels, strange and unpredictable twists are thrown in last minute which completely shake the foundation of the audience (in this case, myself), and test the newly acquired abilities of the hero. Strangely enough, it feels that I closed one chapter of my life recently (the one with the happy ending wherein confidence replaced fear), only to find that there was another chapter already in the making. Beginning the story by living in fear and living in the shadows of unknown outcomes, my life was somewhat small and unexplored. Afraid of trying new things, afraid of people, afraid of myself, afraid to live... That was me.

Some time ago, I faced a few changes in my life that have completely swathed me in new experiences where two simple ingredients have changed the world I used to know. In the first chapter of my life, I would have let my fear guide me when faced with a tricky situation and taken the easy way out. But then I stumbled upon faith in God and this strange thing I call Doing-it-even-when-you're-so-scared-you-are-shaking-bad-enough-you-could-stick-yourself-in-the-arctic-and-warm-the-place-up. Otherwise known as choice. The world I now know is bright, hopeful and full of light. Choosing to do something even when it's freekin' hard, or when I can't speak I'm so scared, is the difference in me between now and then.

I smile more. I trust more. I have confidence. I see truth. And I am happy.

And then the next chapter of life hits.

There's this family move... and reaching toward a mission... and a crazy stressful job... and the recording of my music... and this out-of-the-blue guy... and an attempt at publishing a story... and rifts and bonds of friendship... And all at once, I am faced with myself. Did I REALLY learn my lesson? Did the main character hold to the values she learned? I ask myself this briefly, each time I take a new step past one of my old fears. I look at my metaphorical reflection and exclaim, "No. See? This is who I am now. And I can conquer this fear too," then I step forward and choose to make waves in the ocean on page 1037 of chapter 2.

And I know I couldn't have this without God. I didn't have this courage before I knew Him. He taught me what it is to be happy and to love and to live. He taught me to trust again, and to enjoy the moment. He taught me to see through eyes I have never seen with before, and because I see what I do now, I know He is.

"I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."
C. S. Lewis

Again and again, I can not deny what I know, because again and again He's shown that He lives. God lives, and because He lives, I live. And now, I want to share what I know. It's burning like a fire, steady, warm and contagious... But this doesn't mean I don't make mistakes. I've hurt people and I don't mean to. Even so, I've learned that making mistakes isn't bad. Failing to learn from them kinda sucks, but even that isn't "bad". It just kinda sucks. It makes people less happy. When people hurt other people, it just isn't as happy as it could be. And that's what I believe wholeheartedly. That life is meant to be happy. That's the point. Chase dreams, live happy, make friends, share, serve, be together. This is happiness. This is real. This is the moral to the story for the last chapter I've been through.

I hope this next chapter has as good an ending as the first. Life keeps happening, and now, I'm finally ok with that. I'll embrace it even. I am finally free, and I've got a freekin' awesome sidekick. Come on, Life. Keep happening.

Cold Hard Cash

2010-05-22T09:28:00.005-06:00

I'm cold.

About to head out into more cold.

Wind too...

But it's money so that's a good thing. And my sister will be with me, so that's good too. In gorgeous British Columbia no less. Paid to just hold signs for people about a store closing. Sorta laughable, really. We're being paid to stand there, with our arms out-stretched for 5 hrs.

I don't know if I'll have enough money to pay for rent this month. I've already handed them post-dated checks, so if I don't have the money it'll bounce... er... I just have to tell them not to cash them yet, buy I hate broken promises, and sliding under the table at the right second, just barely making it by...

Hands up, how many people would like to be rich? hehe...

I actually wouldn't put my hand up in answer to that question. I want to live a rich life though, and I want to have opportunities for wealth in my life, and I want to give richly of my resources. but I don't want to "Be Rich". It'd be easier to give though, if I had more money to give. Easier emotionally that is. It's hard to give away a portion of my income out of generosity to ungrateful receivers. It would be easier if my pride wasn't invested in the bills I gave away, because I have so little of them. And so in that sense, part of me wishes I were rich so I had more money to give. The other part of me thinks it's better to learn the ability of swallowing the pride to give away the small amount I have. This part of me insists that if I have more money, I'll just hold on to that money and not want to give it away because my pride will cling to it as well. Which ever amount I have.

Toodles till laytah'!

Glow Stick Dance

2010-04-18T14:46:00.003-06:00

This is a project a bunch of us worked on. We had tonnes of fun. I wish you could see the little things we had on there, but the footage wasn't the best. I'll upload another version when possible. There's a rocket ship that goes across the stage, and a superman symbol at one point. The other video will show it better.

Renovation of Words and Thoughts

2010-04-10T09:19:00.002-06:00

Think, think, think... and then think some more.

I don't know what on earth could be more difficult for me at this precise moment than trying to re-write professional articles about insurance companies.

First, I'm trying to "rewrite" which means reword, rephrase, rearrange something that already exists. It's easier to build a house than to renovate.

Second, I'm rewriting the work of someone who writes professionally and has had years and years of practice. And here I am, thinking to myself - I can (or should) do a better job than that! Yikes!

And lastly, it's a *$#@*-en insurance company! The embodiment of frustrating terms and nonsensical lingo, topped off nicely with the cherry of "This may be so boring I think my brain just died".

Oh dear. I just had a realization. I'm complaining about work. That's so cliche I don't want to talk to myself.

Ok, quick, think! What are 10 things I like about this job?

1 It gets me money :D
2 There's no commitment after I finish
3 I don't have to physically exert myself (is this bad or good?)
4 I get to learn about something I would never study on my own
5 I get to practice my writing skills
6 There isn't as much pressure as other jobs
7 It's very laid back
8 I can take as many breaks as I want (provided I get the work done)
9 Nobody is looking over my shoulder to see if I did it.
10 I can feel accomplished when I'm done.

Whew! I think I made it out of the cliche. And now that I've officially taken the detour and found my way back again, I'm off to work.

Think... think... think...

When I leave... I'm going to miss this place.

2010-04-08T20:15:00.004-06:00

Ah home. A disgusting kind of home, but home none-the-less. The keyboard has become a sort of reliable safe-haven for me. I turn to it when I'm upset, irritated, excited and intrigued. I may be deluded in calling this little piece of hardware 'home' and be misinterpreting entirely the function and purpose of this item. It may in fact, be the embodiment of the disease itself which we casually call 'addiction'.

Not that I would want to admit such a word aloud in my own direction. Flaws are such embarrassing things. Yet I must at least for a moment entertain the idea that I rely on this many-toothed object for intellectual sustenance. How odd to me the irony this presents. The keyboard: a strange box-like shape with box-like keys, grime between them and invisible grime on top. Ick. I try to ignore the grime. Just as I try to ignore my own.

But I do say, I'm called to this object. This urge to place my fingers, to write, to create! Then again... It seems to sap from me my brain power. Whereas moments before sitting down here I have many topics to explore with the world - the moment I sit, my mind is emptied and I begin to get this headache that will not leave for hours.

Maybe it's not the keyboard's fault. Nor the fault of the object this one is connected to. Maybe it's the humming fan. Yes that might be it. Grimy cluttered desk with such a frustrating noise, and all these useless papers. Humbug. Is this really what I call home? I suppose I'll miss it. I plan on leaving this place soon, and I think I might miss this desk... this keyboard... this screen... that insistent annoying humming....

Ok, not the humming. I'll be glad to leave that. Oh wow. I am a sentimental freak.

I'm missing a keyboard I haven't even left yet.

All this, to lead us here.

2010-04-06T22:25:00.003-06:00

I have a story
To tell you.
Let me in for a moment
And sit me down
And here, hear me out.

It’s been a long journey
And many adventures have taken place.
I’ve traveled on high roads,
Through windy valleys,
And abandoned towns.

I’ve found homes and lost them.
Found love and kept it.
Forged bonds and broke them,
And regretted my mistakes.

I’ve lost the ones I traveled with,
Forgotten the dreams that lead me,
And made new ones in their stead.

And all this, to lead me here.

The moments of time
Were drifting like sand
That caught in my clothes,
And washed out again.

The emotions of my heart
Cascaded with the rivers
That I stood clean in,
For brief and chilly moments.

I re-patched plans with battered strength,
I lost many pieces and to find them again,
With empowered steps I told discouraged tales,
Together and apart we were scattered down the path.

And all this, to lead me here.
After all this, do you think it was worth it?
Do you think the journey had purpose,
If all it did was lead me
To this one last destination?

Perhaps in the rain on new skin,
And in the whispers of the trees…
Perhaps in the shouts of laughter,
And in amused silences of thought…
Perhaps in the exhausted breathing,
And in the cold late shivers…

Perhaps my aim was forthright misdirected,
With the thought that
I had any control over the particulars
Of such a journey,
Or any design in it's purpose.
Perhaps all this was only ever meant
To lead me here.
To tell you this story.
To tell you what it means
To live.

The Portfolio

2010-03-30T14:27:00.004-06:00

I finally have something to show off for the work I've done, although I still don't feel that it's quite professional enough. But I'll get a better portfolio as I get more work, and the point of this portfolio is to help me get that work so that I'll have a better portfolio and get better work. All in all, I'm just crossing my fingers that something good will be-fall me.

http://serajohnson.carbonmade.com/

Thanks everyone for your helpful comments on my last post. I appreciate input. :)

How to take down the Board of Directors (metaphorically)

2010-03-28T16:02:00.000-06:00

There is something I want to put a name to. But I feel watched like a rodent being hunted just in mentioning it. There is a name for this thing that I wish to speak out loud, but I fear the hunter. Who is the hunter? I think it is several people, myself included, locked in the room of the Board of Directors. And yet the hunter can be summarized into one horrific word: Fear.

I want to say it though. I want to tell myself out loud that I know it’s name and I know where it is, and let myself know that I’m coming to find this… this… thing.

There are oceans to sail, mountains to climb, souls to meet, adventures and dreams to discover, and while I sit here writing all these things that I ache for in my heart, I feel a part of me slip away because I know that it’s all just wishful thinking. The Fear will not let me have these things. It will not let me take risks. More than anything else in this world, the innermost workings of my soul seem to Fear the one thing I ought to already have, and that I want most: a Life on Fire.

To live, to feel excited, elated, empowered, on fire! And oh how I envy this in other people - when they are alive, with a glow in their eyes - I can not. I am filled intensely, immediately with the Fear. Overpowering, petrifying, damning… I remain shackled and hunted. At any point when I let out for a moment the desires of my yearning soul for adventure, love, or life, I am turned directly over to the Board of Directors who unceremoniously and predictably steals my feet from beneath me and leaves me hopeless, struggling and fatigued.

I am so very tired. So very tired of the battle that is constantly raging and killing inside. So much of my life has been stolen by the phrase “What if …”. I fear life - really living - more than this half-dead state I am in. How backwards is that? What happened to that Flame? Where I can I go to access it? If the hallway that leads to the Board of Directors is in my physical form, then is not the Flame of Life hiding somewhere in here too? Maybe I just need to explore these rooms some more… these corridors, and storage rooms in my head. But the problem is, if I go exploring and I get caught, I’ll go straight back to the Board of Directors. And somehow I always feel that my mind gets wiped of any and all traces of the Flame, so I have to start from scratch if I want to search again.

In other words, if I begin searching for a way to make me feel excited and happy, the Fear will immediately kick in, and find me, and haul me off, stealing any chance I had of becoming excited or on Fire. So maybe what I need to do is find a way to get rid of the Board of Directors. They aren’t doing a very good job of directing… Maybe I can get rid of them. If I get rid of the army on one side of the battle, then I should be able to stop the war.

So how do I get rid of the Board of Directors?

June Beetle

2010-03-09T14:42:00.003-07:00

I've never seen a roach fall out of a sock before. Or maybe it's a June Beetle. It's dead unfortunately, so I can't ask it by which name it is called. It's dehydrated too...

It wasn't my sock though. No, it was some sock from some factory in China. It sat on the little hanger in the Dollar store. It gives new meaning to "If you get it from China, you probably shouldn't put it in your mouth." And yeah, I know that we don't normally put socks in our mouths, but it does not encourage me to put my foot into it either. Quality control, anyone?

And well... The truth of the matter is, I was actually going to buy the stretchy sock to pull over my head for a ninja mask for a costumed dance performance. Not anymore.

I brought the bug home. Does that mean I stole it? I mean... I didn't pay for it... or tell the cashier....

o.O

Quiet musings...

2010-01-21T10:01:00.004-07:00

Our sponsored child ran off.

Well, we don't actually know what happened to her. But she isn't there anymore. We got a letter in the mail that said that she was gone. It then promptly asked us to sponsor someone else.

You know what's funny? I think I miss her. I never knew her. Knew nothing about her other than that she was a little younger than me, lived in Romania, didn't smile in photos, and liked to draw pictures of trees. Or at least that is what we got the most pictures of when she was required to draw something sentimental for her World Vision Sponsors.

I think I miss the strange sensation of comfort. I knew in the back of my subconscious mind that somewhere in the world, vicariously through my parents, I was making a difference in someone's life. I had done good. Somehow. Like crawling into a warm bed after a hard day, the knowledge that somewhere out there, in the vast confusing mess of things, something made sense to someone, something good was being done, and someone felt better - was a great comfort to me. Strange.

I am looking at the never-ending-paper-folding birthday card that came in the mail for her birthday. We are supposed to sign it, slip it back into the envelope and mail it off to her to show her that we are thinking of her. I'm sorry to say we don't usually. Think of her that is. Maybe I can only speak for myself. I wish I had cared more, enough to notice something special about her. After all, she was just three years younger than me. You'd think I would relate more. It must not have registered in their computers yet that she was gone, before they sent the card. I played with it till I broke it. I taped it back up. We can't send it now. Not only because it's patchily fixed up, but because she's not there anymore.

It's a strange emptiness. Like someone broke into the house and stole the kitchen chairs - weird, confusing, disorienting, and potentially life-altering. But of course, people get over it, buy new chairs, and move on. I'm not sure I want to.

I think I will keep the card. Maybe I'll meet her someday. Probably not. But I think I'll keep it anyway. I think I'd like to remind myself that there are people out there who I can help. Even if they are across the sea, don't like to smile in photos, and draw trees when they have no idea what else to draw. And maybe someday I'll give them a birthday card. It'd be fun if it endlessly folded into itself.

Things I learned today

2010-01-20T16:04:00.005-07:00

I learned two things today of very high importance. They both have great significance to living a happy and fulfilling life.

First, I learned that if you know you should do something, but don’t really want to, write it down on a list of other happy things you want to do, and don’t do anything else on the list until you get it done. And then, not because you are permitted to, but because you are instructed to - laugh after you complete the task as though you were a crazy maniac.

This will a) make you look crazy and frighten off people who may deposit on your lap future projects that you don‘t want to get done either, and b) helps you feel like you accidentally took over the world - thereby reinforcing the effectiveness of the priority-list-making-technique.

The second thing I learned is this: DO NOT PUT THUMBTACKS IN YOUR POCKETS - especially if you have thin pants - that are not jean. After which, I learned to NEVER FORGET THAT YOU PUT THUMBTACKS IN YOUR POCKET. I also learned to, NEVER PLAY YOUR GUITAR BY RESTING IT ON TOP OF A POCKET THAT HAS FORGOTTEN THUMBTACKS IN IT.

Very uncomfortable. And somewhat shocking. And simply thoroughly embarrassing.

ETERNITY - ʎʇıuɹǝʇǝ

2010-01-18T15:40:00.004-07:00

Yay! It worked. So this is mostly for you, Ryan. Karen, this is what I wanted to send.

And for the rest of you, well here is something fun I made because Ryan had an idea to turn the text upside down so you could read it any which way. You can turn your head upside down and read it that way too.

:)

Love!

TJEd Presentation

2010-01-12T08:04:00.002-07:00

This morning I had the opportunity to wake up early and present some information on the Thomas Jefferson Education book by Oliver DeMille. It was a pretty incredible read and study. I was able to look through the George Wythe University site briefly, which supplied me with some information that I found to be gem-worthy. I did not put it in the slide presentation. It's called the "5-4-3-C" foundation, which intrigued me. It stands for The 5 pillars, 4 mentors, 3 fundamentals and Community.

Basically, The 5 Pillars of Statesmanship are:

Classics
Mentors
Simulations
Field Experience
God

In any given classroom, there are 4 mentors present:

The instructor
The work they are studying
other students
God

The three fundamentals of GWU are:

Read
Write
Discuss

And lastly, Community:

Community is simply the belief that students should be well rounded, thinking of other students, lending assistance, reaching out where one knows more than another and so forth.

I hope you enjoy the presentation. For any more information, there's the book "A Thomas Jefferson Education" by Oliver DeMille, and the website of George Wythe University.

1. Shake hands with a celebrity

2010-01-11T14:34:00.005-07:00

Quite some time ago, somewhere in the vicinity of a year and a half or more, I went to Waterton with a foursome group. There was Christy, Dustin, Davis, and some other kid I still can't recall the name of.

We went to Waterton - a really great national park during a time when the grounds were impeccable - the perfect season for exploring. I didn't feel like hiking so much as just wandering around and enjoying it all. Davis was of the same mind set. We kicked around for a while enjoying the scenery and then after quite a few hours, the other three came back from the hike, and we went for ice-cream in the tourist part of town.

I noticed a sign across the street about some sort of appearance by David Suzuki. I absolutely loved watching his television programs as a kid. I loved his insight, and his stories, and of course the pictures. After the initial shock/wow-this-guy-is-actually-here, I mentioned to the people around me that there was this great opportunity to meet this famous person right across the street from us.

We headed over to the book store across the street, and immediately I saw him. I saw David Suzuki. Not in his glamorized form, but in his disheveled appearance of a book seller.

But that was it. I personally didn't go talk to him. Jon, Christy, Dustin, and the other guy all went up and talked to him. Shook his hand. Inside I was shouting "NO! This is MY personal hero! This was MY hero, and they didn't barely know who he was! How dare they go talk to him when I couldn't!"

But that's just it. I couldn't. It's not that I didn't, or shouldn't. I could not.

That haunted me the whole trip back. The question kept going around in my head, "why couldn't I talk to him? Why couldn't I shake his hand?"

Since that time, this experience has been relived by me over and over again as I have met incredible individuals who I can not speak to or confront in anyway. I've watched members of the 70, celebrities of note, and acquaintances whom I respect greatly all pass before me like pages of a book I wished to skip. And each time I have questioned myself. "Why? Why didn't I speak to them?"

And since then I have found an answer. And the answer hurts. I couldn't talk to any of them because I was afraid that I was so insignificant that I was unlovable. So insignificant that it didn't matter what I said or did, they would either take no notice of me, or barely tolerate my frustrating intrusion on their world. I have come to understand that fear that I am just another face in the crowd, unlovable and despicable and I do not wish to pester them. For they, of all people do not need to be pestered by people like me.

Yesterday I realized something different. Someone who I consider amazing was leaving on a mission. I don't really know him all that well, but I've seen him quite enough to realize that he is open and giving almost constantly. Every time I have seen him, he has a smile on his face, and a compliment for someone, and always always genuine. I couldn't speak to him. In the same way that I watched Davis, and Christy and Dustin go shake David Suzuki's hand, I watched my friends go talk to and congratulate this man.

At first I sunk into the same depressed state as with Suzuki. I lowered myself down with thoughts like "Who would want to talk to me? I stutter, and I'm awkward. I'm a nobody to talk to someone so amazing."

But then I just stopped. "No. I don't like this. I exist, and I'm proud of that fact, not embarrassed by it. I don't need to be ashamed of who I am." It surprised myself. For some reason I didn't want to let others get what I wanted, while I just sat there, jealously envying them. I wanted to want, and be ok with wanting.

I'm ok with who I am. I don't need the rest of the world to reach out to me before I get what I want. This is new, and I'm still adjusting, but I'd like to prove to myself that this is really what I believe.

So, this is to the Next Celebrity I have the opportunity to meet: I'm shaking your hand. Not because I want your contact, but to prove that I can do it. To prove that I am ok with myself enough and believe that I am not of lower rank than you. Sorry if that's inconvenient or intrudes on your little world, but that's life, and if shaking someone's hand intrudes on your world, then that's an interesting fact about you, not a sin on my part. And maybe we can even have a decent conversation. I think that would be nice.

Pictures of last Winter

2010-01-06T13:55:00.005-07:00

The story

2009-12-10T00:45:00.004-07:00

This is a story. It's not exactly happy. It's just how I'm feeling. I think I just wanted someone to hear me out. Talking doesn't seem to work, so I'm putting it in pictures. It was therapeutic to do.

I'm not looking for judgment. Just looking to share.
(you'll need to click on the picture to see anything properly)

What we hope to see

2009-12-07T20:17:00.004-07:00

Rainer Maria Rilke wrote over a century ago:

You must give birth
to your images.

Fear not the
strangeness you feel.

The future must enter
you...

Long before it
happens.

I didn't entirely understand what this meant. It didn't make sense to me at first. Then I read it backwards and it made more sense.

Long before it
happens.

The future must enter
you...

Fear not the
strangeness you feel.

You must give birth
to your images.

Chance for Flight

2009-11-27T23:47:00.005-07:00

has a chance /
doesn't want to stay here /
sees an opening in the sky /
dives forward /
is afraid /
pulls back /
falls /
can't stand /

can't fly /

must move /
must climb again /
there is a chance /
an opportunity /

lunges forward /
only to fall /

cannot lay here /
must not stay /
much too vulnerable /
will not stay /

stands on feet /
breaths in /
looks up at hill /

so much distance /
for what /
don't know /
doesn't matter /
better than staying here /

places foot in front of foot /
decides to continue /
finds it hard to /
hates trying /
doesn't know what's at the top /

what if it's the same /
will it be worth it /
hard to tell /
it's so far /
but staying here is /

doesn't finish thought /
can't finish thought /
can't process /
won't process /

tear falls down /
wants to stop /

it's too hard /
is the struggle is worth it /

just one foot /
in front of the other foot /
just one more /
and one more /

looks up from grass /
stops moving /
is at the top /

stares at sky /
watches clouds /
breaths in /
cries openly /

one chance /
one last try /
maybe it's what they said /
maybe it will be worth it /
the journey might be worth it /

tries again /
jumps /

YSA Centennial Dance Performance

2009-11-19T10:54:00.003-07:00

There's just no toothpaste left.

2009-11-17T01:06:00.001-07:00

I have begun this journal, only by forced and contrived motivation, as though I were squeezing an empty toothpaste tube with all my might, to extract the only speck left of remaining desire. Unfortunately, the only thing keeping my fingers on these unforgiving keys (even though I have only just begun) is fear of a poor grade.

And that, is poor motivation, indeed.

See, the problem is I have lost all motivation to continue. As is, I am finding it not close to, but entirely impossible to write what I am supposed to be writing (that of my volunteer learning experience, and my thoughts related thereto), and cannot find within myself reason nor willpower to press on in a task that not only seems taxing and frustrating, but also seems meaningless and humiliating. Instead, I see only two solutions to the issue of having nothing more to say on my ‘volunteer learning experience’. The first solution being, that I could B.S. my way through the course, and come up with a whole slew of topics and interesting lies that would both entertain, and convince the reader that indeed, these events and related thoughts were legit. This solution does not appeal to me, which is why this has not become another journal entry about my experiences; I’ve strategized my way into spacing out the journals such that I would be required to contrive memories I don’t recall in order to fit the mould of the course outline.

I believe that solution is not an option. The second solution I see, is this: I could explain and relate what I am learning through the class itself, the frustrations thereby, as well as the realizations I am having about how I deal with obstacles in the way of my successes.

In this class, I am finding it very difficult to understand exactly what the goals are that the students are expected to reach. I’d like to summarize what those goals appear to be: a) to provide a structured setting where students can acquire new learning experiences relating to their interests, b) to provide fresh and positive experiences for the students within in local areas to foster a sense of community, and c) to encourage students to foster giving and generous attitudes and behaviors beginning with volunteerism.

When looking at the general trend of increased apathy among the younger collage-age populous, these goals seem decently out of reach and difficult to accomplish. I do not want to imply that I think either that the goals are too lofty or that (with my next set of thoughts) I do not respect and admire the goals as presented. However, I believe the purpose of this class would more easily and effectively be reached, were there some positive adjustments made. I have put a lot of thought and energy into these ideas because of the stresses and issues brought into my own life, regarding an inflexibility in this seemingly individually tailored class setting.

One problem I have found covers most of the issue, and so I feel best going into it first. As I have hitherto hinted, I am under the impression that this Community Service Learning class is meant to be personally tailored to individual volunteer experiences, allowing for better student learning, understanding and motivation. But this is not the case. I realize that there is a direct need to conform to outside curriculum in order to qualify as a recognized credited course outside the Lethbridge College, but I believe it is possible to both satisfy the curriculum, and provide more flexible course requirements because this is an individual, outside-the-classroom course. Students are expected, for instance, to have written a specific amount for their reflective journals, yet the journals are meant to be reflective, implying that it is flexible to the experience at hand, else students are prone to either cut down on their thoughts in order to cram them into the two pages requested, or they must come up with extra to fill the white space when it was a dull week, or they were sick part of it.

The flexibility issue permeates other areas of the course as well, such as volunteer experience selections, and requirements for class presentations to a next to empty room, which is part of a structure that does not allow room to take into account a lack of students in the course.

I have come to realize the strange opposition which confronts me at this time, which is an inner struggle of morals and decency, versus the easy route out or conforming in such a way that it becomes necessary to force-fit expired memories into the framework of this course (aka B.S.). I have tried to work out a happy medium in my mind, of both true events which have taken place in my work for the Southern Alberta Art Gallery, and of events that could easily be conceived as such. But being morally centered as I try to be, I cannot bring myself to concoct lies for the sake of a good grade.

In an attempt to be reasonable, I assumed I could record thoughts on my experiences at a rate which suited my volunteer experience, as I was under the impression that the journals were a form of documenting that a student had completed the hours requested. Since my hours seem to be more spread out than others in the course (about 4 per week), I assumed I could write journals according to the hours I had spent rather than the weekly requested pace. I have been trying to space out my journals accordingly because this would allow me to continue documenting the progress as I go, all the way to the date of completion, instead of trying to force two pages worth of activity and thought out of an experience worth at most one page (such as washing glass for four hours last week because they couldn’t figure out what else to do with me).

As I go on, I realize I have not been getting the hours I need to fulfill the fifty-hour requirement. I’m sitting at 17.5 hours, with a maximum projection of 37.5 hours, and asking for more hours at the gallery feels like the biggest waste of time. When I go to the gallery, although I enjoy the people I work with, I’ve never worked so slow at either shining glass or washing floors, and I do this to avoid having nothing to do for the next half hour. When I think of asking for more hours, I begin to lose any remaining bit of motivation I have in completing the assignment.

As a solution, I’ve spoken to Leslie, and hope to procure another volunteer placement on the side, soon. It would be working at the shelter as far as I know, perhaps teaching art classes. I will be looking into it as soon as possible, but I’m still sitting with an empty toothpaste tube in my hand, trying to squeeze more paste out of it. The motivation is just all used up.

I broke my car. Metaphorically. Futuristically.

2009-10-13T23:34:00.005-06:00

...sigh...

Dean sat down today, and turned on his computer so he could talk to his son. They used Skype. I walked by the room, and heard talking and laughing. How beautiful, I thought. I was jealous of him. Jealous because he keeps his car in good condition.

I don't keep my car in good working order. When it breaks down, I take it to the shop. Because I need a means of transportation. Dean looks after his car, works on maintenance, cracks, oil, windshield repair... He hardly ever needs to take his car into the shop. It hardly ever breaks down.

Do you see what I'm saying? Dean looks after his car, like he looks after relationships. He doesn't wait until they break down before he fixes them, he gets on his computer, and talks to people he's not close enough to talk to in person! He gets out the phone and has real communications with people! I, on the other hand wait until my car has broken down before I fix it. If that! I'll fix it if I really really need it! If I don't need my car, I won't fix it! What a selfish disaster I am!

I don't change the oil in my car!

...sigh...

I'm taking a moment to analyze myself. It doesn't seem to be helping my mood. The relationships around me flounder. The relationships not around me (ie: out of circle of friends) are less than floundering, but rather non-existant. I just don't talk to people. I don't change the oil in my car.

Ugh. Maybe this will help. I'll be taking on the challenge of the computer hiatus. I shan't be on for the next two weeks, in hopes that something good will come of it. Maybe I'll be forced to talk to REAL people, instead of facebook, fake people. Maybe I'll have to square with myself and actually send letters.

Goodbye cruel world. Was nice knowing you.

...sigh...

Making Time

2009-09-24T00:22:00.003-06:00

Where am I tonight? Same place as usual as a matter of fact... I don't seem to ever be at any other desk when I begin typing on my blog. How uncanny. hmm.

I have a brother, as most if not all people who look over my blog are aware, who's name is Duane. I mention him today because I'm rather fond of his idea. Simple, and yet... Oh WOW so difficult. I think I want to try this idea... But before I get all carried away, analyzing this my future project, let me mention what exactly it is, so that perhaps other people may me inspired.

Now, I don't have my sources directly from Duane, so I don't know the exact timing of what he's chosen to do, so don't shoot me if I'm wrong. Duane has chosen to take a hiatus from using computers for 1-2 weeks as I understand it. It's like a less extreme version of the monastery Trevor and Hawley went on some time ago. Was it one week you two took off? These two, (Trevor and Hawley) took a week or so off of regular life, to abstain from electronics, clocks, phone calls, recorded music, and pretty much all else normal people rely on. This way, they were prone to spend more time with books, self-composed thoughts, and other basic intrests of life we take for granted.

Now what Duane is doing, is a less extreme version of this, but I wonder how much better it might be in one way in particular. See, the monastary secluded from people as well, which was part of the purpose, and in no way wrong, but with Duane's project, it allows for a focus more directly on other people, and more real life, human contact rather than email, chat, and video logs etc. The focus is brilliant, and to think of all the time I waste here-on, in front of this screen, and the alternative being spent in front of real-live people, or even books which I can then turn and discuss at length with people, well the thought leaves me almost a little bitter that I didn't think of this earlier.

It is like when I fast from food, I find that I now have so much extra time in which I can bring my focus away from the kitchen and back into and onto things that matter and things I meant to get done but didn't have 'time' to do before.

I would like to set time away to do this. The thought even is hard. But it looks worth it. Not that I'm starting just yet (so don't blast me out of the water Trevor, when I turn up on the computer tomorrow), but the idea has started. It's an idea I'd like to bounce around.
More phone calls, less chatting online.
I like it.

More human contact, less wasted time.
I love it.

:D

"Ordinary Boring Molecule of Water"

2009-09-19T21:36:00.002-06:00

Ha! I think this is my favorite Calvin and Hobbes comic to date. hahahahahahahaha....!!

Excuse me while I make my exit from learning how 'normal' people behave. I think I would rather be an abnormal individual, than a normal carbon copy of the next guy over.

2009-09-16T16:48:00.001-06:00

Fulghum

2009-09-16T15:13:00.004-06:00

My favorite author, is Robert Fulghum. I've read good books, (lots of them) but it's always been unimpressive as the Author gets high on themselves and has a name that's recognizable. They lose touch with that part of them that first begged them to write. They lose the reason they started. And yes, they are skilled, and yes, often they continue printing good messages or great story lines... But few authors have that spark for writing that they had when they began.

And though I couldn't pin down what by definition that 'spark' is made of, I know it's there. Call it what you will, and label me crazy, there's a spark of inspiration that almost draws through the words on the page, the eyes of the author themselves, alive and excited.

I find that Robert Fulghum has continued this spark. How ever it is that he has done it, he stands out in my mind. Even though sometimes vulgar, or off topic, he connects his soul to the words, and the words to the reader.

"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge-
That myth is more potent than history.
I believe that dreams are more powerful than facts-
That hope always triumphs over experience-
That laughter is the only cure for grief.
And I believe that love is stronger than death."

Robert Fulghum

Amen.

PS... I have a site for awesome quotes. Robert Fulghum has a few among them.

Complete and Content

2009-09-14T21:49:00.003-06:00

The hallway is empty. It doesn't take long to gather the appropriate information from the visual display to conclude that yes, it is empty. Yet it's fragile, I think. Fragile moments, left momentarily in silence. Like bated breath, holding... waiting... like glass...

So easy to break.

Each moment, flitting by like a lazy autumn insect, drifting through and around every other insect; easy to lose track of, and only in one place for a single moment. They come, and they go, and we may try as we like to catch these moments like the autumn bugs that escape us, but at least in comparing to my own experiences trying to catch those tiny flying bugs, I either am unsuccessful in snagging them, or I end up with a small smudge of guts on my palm. Moments are equally as fleeting. I try to catch them, hold them, recall in perfect memory the taste, feel and emotional aura of the moment. But I'm never left with the whole picture. There are always gaps missing.

I hope some day to be other than I am. To be content to sit, and wait; to experience life as it is, and let it be what it has formed itself into. I hope to be in every way content to be in the present, and content to love. As is, I look down the hallway, see nothing there, and comment that I wish it were different. I wish I had more. More time, more security, more love. But like the insects flying about, I am unable to catch these hopes and dreams of more. I don't believe it is wrong to want more, for I believe that what I really want is more contentment with that which I already have. Content with my time, content with the security I feel, and content with the love I already have.

If I dream for more, and chase after it, I may kill the very thing I want. I must wait, and be in the moment. Content to feel, content to be. Watching the bugs as they pass by. And someday soon I hope I am what I wish to see in the mirror. I hope that some day soon, I'll take the time to see what is really in the hallway: everything I need. It's more than just about what I see.

Loving By Letting Go

2009-09-09T12:31:00.004-06:00

To Let Go does not mean I stop caring for you.
      It means a new form of trying is to let you be.
To Let Go does not mean I abandon you,
      It means I realize I can't control you.
To Let Go does not mean letting you take advantage,
      It means I allow you to learn through natural consequences.
To Let Go does not mean piloting alternatives for you,
      It means I hope you choose to affect your own destiny.

To Let Go is to admit powerlessness
      Which means the outcome is not in my hands.
To Let Go is not to change or blame you.
      It's to make the most of myself.
To Let Go is not to take care of your feelings,
      It's to care about how you feel.
To Let Go is not to fix or judge you,
      It's to support and accept you.

To Let Go does not mean I shelter you from truth,
      It means I offer you experience and growth.
To Let Go does not mean I regret the past,
      It means I grow and live for the future.
To Let Go does not mean I criticize or regulate you,
      It means letting us both become what we dream we can be.
To Let Go is to fear less and love more.

      To Let Go might be the only way to love.

Oh the Things we Think About

2009-08-18T22:47:00.002-06:00

I'm tossing thoughts about like I were distractedly plucking the grass on the front lawn while deep in conversation elsewhere. My mind feels burdened by the processes and unresolved issues it probes into and out of, hour after hour; in and out, never settling on an answer or solution. Do clocks ever tire, I wonder? If you were to spin around enough times, don't you think you would get dizzy?

I'm finding that the amount of things pressing in on my consciousness, begging for a moment on the stage of my awareness are not only large, but largely unwelcome. As I begin to delve once again into one thought or another of some deep importance or at least significance to my near future, it has become a priority of sorts for my brain to desperately attempt to distract me. I begin by settling it out in my mind that yes, I do need to resolve the issue of schooling, or housing, or finances, or social gatherings, or promises I've made, when my mind screams loudly in my head and points at the nearest object, stating loudly in my conscious mind "THIS NEEDS YOUR URGENT ATTENTION", at which point, I assume, the only way to calm this loud, obnoxious and entirely agitating voice within my head is to do the thing which it has just taken the liberty of screaming at me. So I do the dishes instead of sorting out my coming school semester. And I check my email instead of sorting out what my plans regarding housing are for this next few months. And I run outside, and look at the stars or even CLEAN MY ROOM to avoid dealing with finances, or social issues or other promises I've made. ANYTHING to get away from reality...

Please...

... please...

But my thoughts are persistent, and since I never resolve anything about them, I continue to make the same mistakes, dishing out the same promises, the same goals, the same responses, the same, same, same...

Someone wise once said "If you would know your past, look at your current situation. If you would know your future, look at your current actions."

When I heard it, I couldn't stop but write it down. It had to be done. It was just one of those blinding moments. You know the sort; when your brain starts screaming at you, and you can't exactly plug your ears, because well, it's inside your head. So I wrote it down, and later found it on a piece of paper, and took it to memory because what else am I supposed to do with an epiphany that is brain-blinding-inside-your-head-screaming-at-you-to-write-it-down that you just re-discovered on a piece of paper? Of course you are going to take it to memory... or at least write it down somewhere else before trashing the paper.

At any rate, now that the tangent is over, I was talking about how I do the same things over and over and I yield the same results, and therefore I am angry with myself. I am fairly upset because it's not what I used to be, and I seem worse off than I once was. Now how is this possible? I don't understand how I could have come so far from where I was.

But I don't know what to do to change. I'm at an unfortunate intersection where my thoughts are being tossed around like lazy green grass, and I want to do something about it, but don't know what to do. And all the while, even while typing, my thoughts go back and forth between thoughts. For instance; liveliness and lack of motivation; music and moments of silence; hope and haunting despair; family and forgotten love; power and impotency. How is it that the sacred and meaningful can be so easily abused, and simply by my own thoughts? I should be able to control this. But it seems bigger than me. I would cry out for help but for three things: 1. I would seem weak. And 2. No one would come to save me. And 3. Even if someone did, I wouldn't accept the help. I'm in a mess and I have to dig myself out.

Now what?

Riddle Me This

2009-08-15T13:10:00.004-06:00

Riddle me this:

How many blossoms unopened at best,
may land in the autumn, forever in rest.

Have they been let fall? What is it yet,
for the blossoms to fall, is it hope or regret?

So riddle me this.
Riddle me this:

What is to know, and less for to see,
if truth is obscure and barely your need?

For the words on the page, seem idle and weak,
but simplicity begs the truth that you seek.

So riddle me this.
Riddle me this:

I can't lift it up, as I can't change a view.
Impossible to steal, yet stolen from you.

Now ought I to try, not to refrain,
stealing the stolen back home again?

So riddle me this.
Riddle me this:

The chill of the winter, may shatter the road.
The heat of the summer may liquefy gold.

What is the virtue, of knowledge untold,
when hope chills the heat and warms winter cold?

So riddle me this.
Riddle me this:

Were the signs not enough, shown through the law,
of natural preference in a leaf with no flaw?

Or the beams of the sun, or wind now explained?
Yet interpret you will, away and ashamed.

So riddle me this.
Riddle me this:

Could the mouse do much better than the dragon to chase,
or the fish than the horse in winning a race?

Compare to the truth of fear versus faith,
how is the message, and how would it change?

So riddle me this.
Riddle me this:

Encased in the moment, forgotten in time;
was in fragments shattered, like forsaken signs.

Is there hope to recover, or sight to regain,
or neither an answer for nothing to feign.

Please riddle me these
Riddle me this,
I beg and I plead
you will not dismiss.
Riddle me, riddle me,
Riddle me this.

Sera Johnson © 2009

Superhero

2009-08-02T14:07:00.008-06:00

I lean back in my chair, head cocked to the side, confident and full of myself; pretending I am a superhero. I lift one eye brow with a slight grin. 'I can do anything' I whisper to myself. 'Because I'm a freekin' superhero! And superheros have super powers.' I grin widely.

But then I glance back at the computer area in front of me; papers scattered about, bits of old projects left unfinished on top of the printer and left on and around stacks of CDs. Around my feet lay wires tangled with themselves from old and broken parts of who-really-knows-whats. I'm not really smiling anymore.

Among the heaps of junk and potentially useful items is a College catalog with course listings. I let out a sigh and sit back in my chair normally, snatching the book out from under a pile of old art work. I flip it open to some papers stuffed into the pages. Enrollment papers for the coming semester. 'I want to go to school', I tell myself, in a less than convincing voice. Barely audible. I stare at the book for a bit but then I toss it back onto the pile, and set to work on getting rid of some of the mess.

I shuffle through some papers lying on the desk. I look back at the computer screen, and see a face smiling out at me. It's the face of a baby. Amy. She's only a month old. Her little face smiles out of the computer screen, the rest of her body wrapped up warmly in the embrace of her father. His face smiling along side hers. I put down the papers and look at the picture on the screen. 'Hi Amy.' I say. My heart begins to ache a bit. It must be so comfortable there, in her father's arms. He's got a hold of her snug and tight. You can tell he's not going to let go of his little girl any time soon. How peaceful it looks to be a part of that picture. 'I want to be a mother', I begin to say, less audible than before.

I bookmark the page, and close the window. Why was that painful to look at? I decide to change rooms and I go get the papers I left with my church books. I begin leafing through and find the notes from church I took earlier this morning. Notes about being kinder to people, and about what faith really is, and about what separates hope from belief. There on the corner of one piece of paper is the scribbled words 'Note to self: Go on a mission'. There's so much that intrigues me about the gospel. I believe it. I want to share it with people. 'I want to go on a mission', I say. But am I too scared, I wonder?

I continue working on recording the notes in other places so that I can throw out all the bits of paper that have been collecting over a period of much-too-long. But I don't know how to throw some of them out. Some of them are pieces of art work, swirls and lines, shaded pictures mixed in with my notes. How do I throw those out? They aren't exactly masterpieces, but they aren't exactly transferable to some other place, and I still want to keep them. After a while, I stop. I go back to the computer chair by the window. I'm not interested in sorting papers anymore. I'll leave that for some other time. When I care more. Maybe I'm bored. Maybe I'm ADD. Then again, maybe I don't care if I'm ADD.

But, what do I care about? I wonder to myself. What do I want to do? I've got a job. I work at a daycare. I could keep working there. But for what? But I don't really want to work there anymore. Working there isn't what I want to be doing in a few months. Maybe it's because I am not dedicated, and I just don't want to do something I'm not enjoying, or maybe it's because having worked there has made me dislike children, and I think that is wrong. So I ask myself again, 'what do I want to do?'

'I want to start a business', I say, half wishing someone was listening so they could give me some sort of motivation. It would be amazing to change the world in some way through a business I created. The truth is, I want to begin changing the world through my efforts to help people. I want to help people all over the world. 'And I want to travel too'. I hear the words come out, but by the time they are out, my mind has already moved on. I want to travel, but what about all the other stuff I want to do? Do I have the guts? Do I know what's coming? Can I do any one of these things and not miss out on the rest?

I sigh. I lean back in my chair, and cock my head, looking out the window. 'I want to be a superhero', I say. This time I can barely muster up the words. 'Maybe then I'd have the guts to try something. Anything. Even if it was just finishing clearing up this messy room. I'd do something exciting. After all, I'd have super powers.'

But nothing changes. The leaves aren't even rustling in the wind. It's all the same. Same as when I looked out the window the first time. And I'm not a superhero. I don't have super powers. And I can't bend the rules.

I sigh again. I wish someone would push me in some direction. Then I wouldn't have to choose and come up with my own motivation. I'd just have to keep the momentum.

I get out of the chair, and begin cleaning the papers off the desk. Frustrated, and weary I trudge on, hoping somewhere in the mix and confusion of it all, someone will save me from the fate of the unfortunate soul, born as a regular. Not a superhero... Not even a sidekick... Not super at all.

Cold

2009-08-01T23:24:00.007-06:00

I lean on the sill, looking out the window,
Trying a gaze past the reflection of night on the other side.
I see one arcing flash of light and a drop of water on the pane.
I count the drops briefly as they begin to steadily beat against the glass.
Thunder. They start hitting the glass faster, and I can't keep track of the numbers.

It's not cold yet, but it's lonely.

I sit with my face pressed close to the window.
I imagine the rain turn to frozen shards of crystal,
And I imagine a fire licking the stone in the fireplace beside me.
Warm and safe on this side of the glass from the inevitable frozen air.
I close my eyes for a brief moment, and wrap my arms around myself.

I'm not cold, but I'm lonely.

Another flash of light illuminates the streaks of water in the night air,
Reflecting the illumination inside every single droplet,
As though each were given a moment of glory, suspended in the air
Until the lightning finishes connecting the sky to the ground.
And I feel a shiver course through my body from top to bottom.

I'm not cold, but I'm lonely.

I witness the lightning strike over and over until I long for warmth.
I hear the thunder shout until my heart aches for anyone's reply.
I watch the rain run down the glass until I feel tears on my face.
I shiver and silently wish for some sliver of assurance
That it's ok to be lonely and let tears of aching stream down my face.

But no one says a thing. There's no one around.

Now I am cold.
And I'm still lonely.

2009-07-29T08:06:00.002-06:00

Maybe silence will carry the words
Because I know speaking them

Would ruin them

Maybe there are blueprints for a bridge
That could be built to mend hearts

Further apart

Maybe there is time to learn to run
Fast enough that pain won't catch up

Even fade away

Maybe there is simply nothing
More to be said
Maybe distant hearts aren't
Meant to mend
And maybe pain is nothing
In a retrospective end.

Everything means Nothing

2009-07-15T18:51:00.000-06:00

I can’t think of a proper introduction. I tried using an empty bowl of chili but that didn’t work. So be prepared to just jump into hard core philosophy. 1, 2, 3, go!

This world that we live in is full of physical objects, obeying the scientific laws that command the world into order. In this world, we find only a series of facts, certain physical attributes, actions preformed or emotions experienced. There are atoms that make up every object you see. There is energy or potential energy in everything you see. The world is full of facts.

But this next sentence is the sentence that means everything. Everything means nothing.

Let me emphasize that. Every single thing in this world means exactly NOTHING. Absolutely, thoroughly NOTHING at all. The chair you sit on, the table you eat at, the body you use, the emotions you feel, the food you eat all mean nothing. There is nothing in this world that holds any meaning what so ever…

…UNTIL you believe in it. That is, until you give it a name, a reason, a history or choose how you will respond to it, there is no meaning what so ever in the world.

There is meaning only in our beliefs.

The sunset it just a bunch of chemicals in the atmosphere, and light rays bouncing through from the sun’s chemical reactions. It is fact, and it is meaningless until a human lets the sunset into their personal world, and believes it is something of worth. Sunsets are beautiful, vibrant, inspiring, amazing. But sunsets mean nothing at all if you don’t believe in them.

If someone says “I love you”, the sounds mean nothing at all. Sounds emitted through the use of a human voice box which allows sounds to form and travel through the air which is in turn carried to another person’s ear. But as soon as those sounds are interpreted, given a name, a reason, a history… as soon as those words are believed… Those words can mean the world. I love you. Is there power in those words? Absolutely. That is my belief.

It is our beliefs that shape our individual worlds.

The truth is, that the world is exactly what you say it is. There is no getting around this. You can’t escape believing. It happens as naturally as choosing one thing over another. It happens, and even if you try to avoid it, that in and of itself is a belief. And the world shall be shaped just like that.

What he feels

2009-06-27T20:09:00.005-06:00

I always thought that it was my fault. I've been told my whole life that every time I screw up, every mistake I make, Christ suffers for me. I've been told that every time I hurt or cry, he feels that too. I've been told that every miserable moment, Christ has been there feeling right along side me. And that depressed me so bad. If you think about it, Christ hurts so intensely because of us. He feels not only our sicknesses but all of our stupid choices that make us upset! He would be so miserable, why would he do something like that?

But someone told me, that if he feels our sicknesses, it's because he's been there with us, watching and feeling along side us our whole lives. That is so reassuring because that means that if I feel happy, and if I feel successful or serve others and feel love, Christ is privy to that. Christ feels what we feel, he is along side us, every step of the journey. The more happy we are, the more happy he is.

Christ paid for my sins, and felt for my pain, but rejoices in my gladness. He feels my love. The more love I have, the more love he feels. Therefore the statement rings more true: "For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man." It brings him glory as we succeed and become more perfect.

Partake in the Magic

2009-06-25T21:46:00.003-06:00

I am taking a childcare course online, and during one of the activities, I came across this poem, which I would like to share.

A Child’s Mind

Eyes open wide
In wonderment
The children pressed against
The classroom window
I told them to sit down

John said
But Miss! A star has fallen in our field
I saw no star
Till bending down to child height
There, in the grass
I glimpsed the dazzling light

A Star?
A piece of broken jam-jar
Catching the rays of a low January sun.
Educationally, it would have been sound
To follow up with a lesson
On how the glass reflects the sunlight

I couldn’t
To forty children
Who had just seen a star

- Author Unknown

Can you place yourself here? I imagine the dilemma. Do I break this child's heart, or do I tell him the truth?

Do I explain the chemistry behind the beauty of a rainbow? Or do I respectfully hide the answer to a question that hasn't been asked, as to why flowers grow to be so stunning?

Doesn't it steal away the magic?

On certain nights, I look up at the sky, and on special evenings, the stars transform, they are no longer burning balls of gas millions of miles away, but beacons of truth, silent and refined, near singing with their majesty. So simple a view, but so powerful a message. So how would it seem right to break the heart of a child who believes in something so beautiful as a star having fallen in a field? The child sees something that for that one moment, while looking out onto a barren field, is truth because they believe it.

I imagine that if I were that child, I would wander outside after class and scoop up that jar, and take it home, to show to all who would allow themselves to partake in the magic, that this was a fallen star.

But maybe once I got out to the field, and saw the jar for what it was, I would recognize it, and only need one look before saying 'Oh... It's just a jar.'

But even then... Even after having thought that a star had fallen, to be disappointed by finding that it was just a cup of class glass out in the middle of a field, I would esteem it as magic. I would know that it was just a plain and simple jar, ugly up close, and seemingly unimportant, and yet it would be magic to me. Because I know that it was just this simple bit of glass glimpsed from the classroom window that had made such stunning beauty as to catch the gaze of the entire classroom. Because of the beauty of the shimmer, the brightness of design, and the truth of the light, I would scoop it up anyway.

I would take it home, and though I would not parade it as a star, I would showcase it as a miracle. I would show all who would allow themselves to partake in the magic, that this simple object was all it took to steal my breath away and show me something miraculous.

From small, simple and ugly things, miracles are born if we only allow ourselves to partake in the magic.

Gender issues...

2009-06-11T23:00:00.002-06:00

Oh wow.

I am not sure if I like facebook.

I get so caught up.

I signed up for a group that is called "Protect True Marriage" and then there was this update from the group, so I clicked on it... and that took me to a little place to vote on gay marriage vs. traditional marriage... and from there I got into a discussion with people online about the subject. And there was so much discussed!

Some people showed up and just "flamed" one another, meaning they trash-talked one another instead of discussing the topic at hand. But some people were very informative. I learned a bit about what other people think. I completely disagreed with most of them, but it really opened my eyes as to their thoughts. A lot of them used the Bible to back them up, but when inspected, it did not yield in their favor. And I'd give examples but it's almost time for bed.

Did you know that only 38% of people who voted, thought that marriage should be kept traditional? On the other hand, 62% thought gay marriage should be legalized. Interesting. That means it's pretty swayed online. More people who are computer savvy think gay marriage is ok.

I thought that fact was very very interesting. Almost all in the forum/discussion was in favor of gay marriage as well. My theories include the idea that most people with the same-sex attraction have had experiences in their childhood or later in life that dissuaded them from feeling attraction for the other gender. Whether that be through abuse as a child, neglect as a teen, or terrible relationships later in life, I believe it is through experiences that these feelings are fostered.

There is a documentary I plan to watch on the topic, that I will post my thoughts on after I've seen it.

My Father's Footsteps

2009-06-07T22:51:00.004-06:00

Not long ago, and yet what seems ages for me, lived a man with a million dreams. Dreams to fly a plane, to make lots of money, to be an artist and to be someone his father would be proud of. These are only some of his dreams. This man was like Edison. Trying one thing, then another and then another until finally: light!

I really wish I could be like my father. Because although he had a million unrealized dreams, many became true. Most did not but his short life encased many, many beautiful experiences that I am not even capable at this point of making into realities. He has been to Europe, Japan, and Australia. He has flown his own plane, sky dived 100 times and biked across Canada. And so much more.

Here I sit next to my computer, typing out in words something so deep I feel as though I were about to split apart. It's not about the traveling or the excitement and rush of diving from a plane... it's about looking life straight on and proclaiming "Come on! I dare you!"

I can't do it. I never could. There is something broken in me that won't let me be reckless or bold. It won't let me love or hold onto joy. Any joy I do feel is held for less than two seconds at most. I can't cry either. And because of this, I cannot dream.

Not long ago, and yet what seems ages for me, lived a man with a million dreams.

I wish I did.

Forever Intertwined

2009-06-07T22:46:00.002-06:00

As though spools of thread
are rolled out and complexly
tangled and mangled by the cat
I attempt to trace the threads free

Each one a familiar life
entangled with a thousand more
connected to and connected by
weaving around the floor

With such a lively tangle
the task is more than daunting
even impossible I'd wager
to finish before yawning

Who could I call to unravel it
and try to untangle our lives
or prove that one will not affect
another's way of life

Impossible and useless
to separate the thread
it just gets more entangled
as we roll the paths we tread

Webs of Power

2009-06-07T21:50:00.002-06:00

I look up and see my own reflection in a borrowed mirror. The reflection is not smiling. The thought passes through my consciousness that my feelings at this moment, and all my accumulated thoughts are insignificant. There are billions of other people on this Earth at this precise moment, many of them staring at their own reflection, and all with complicated emotions. All of them insignificant.

But as I stare at myself, a new perspective shifts into view as though I were taking off a blindfold. It's a simple thought, but it changes everything. I begin to smile at my reflection. For the revelation I have just discovered will affect everyone around me. And the revelation is this: Everything I do affects those around me; they in turn affect everyone around them, and those affected affect others and it goes on until I have managed to affect the entire world. Day after day I unknowingly affect others, and unknowingly I consent to being affected by those around me.

As I look in the mirror, a thought of intricate webs, thorough connections and unseen paths of energy compel me to smile. If this is all it takes, why not give it a try?

What a strange new world of responsibility and freedom as I stare at my own reflection... because in the exact same way that my face reflects in this borrowed mirror, my smile may reflect in the eyes of those around me, and maybe we won't be so insignificant after all.

Language Barriers

2009-06-07T14:42:00.003-06:00

I think I knew English a lot better when I was a kid. I may know more words now, but I don't use them as much. I remember randomly talking to people in the hallways and on the bus to and from school. I would look out the window and randomly comment on how green the weeds were today, and a conversation would start. There was always something to talk about whether it was why we didn't need to wear seat belts on a bus, or who ran the fastest in the track meet, or possibly what the meaning of life was. There was always an available topic at hand.

And yes, there were certain people I sat next to on a frequent basis, and so it was easier to talk to them because I knew them well, but when those seats were full, there was no problem sitting next to someone else and striking up a conversation. When I was elementary school age, I didn't filter my thoughts so much as I do now, based on what I think the other person thinks about what I say. Somehow my English must have been better back then because now I don't have a single thing to say.

There are bus rides and car rides, church pews and front lawns, side walks and rooftops, and in all these places I see people sitting, standing or walking and I turn away drawing a blank as to what to say first, and then I don't say a thing.

And then I find the real clincher at home. I get in and turn the computer on. I turn it on and log into facebook, because that's where everyone posts what they are up to. See, I don't have to ask anyone what they are up to, they just post it online. And if I see them in person I don't need to ask what they did last weekend, because I already know. They might not know that I know, but I do. And so there is one less topic conversation starters, because I already know all about last weekend. I saw the pictures.

And those people who have made the choice not to post their current activity online where all can see, well I don't see them anymore. I don't know what's going on in their life, and I don't ask because I'm busy being bombarded with all these other updates of other people's lives, so much that it's hard to care what so-and-so is up to. There's just no time.

I just used facebook, and used what little English I had left to communicate to the people who took the time to post pictures or status-messages online. And I saw less of people's faces, yet we pretended we were friends by chatting back and forth on the internet, without really getting into deep conversations because, well, deep conversations are reserved for face to face interactions.

I read on facebook what other people are doing, but we don't even chat anymore. I just post what I'm doing, and they post what they are doing, and we feel satisfied that we are socializing and hanging out. And then every once in a while we do more and actually chat, but it's rare and I don't know what to say.

I think that's what God feels like when he can see what we are doing, but we don't take the time to pray and tell him how we feel about what is going on in our lives. He sees the events, but he wants to hear it from us, to hear from our perspective what is going on in our lives. He wants to talk to us. I think I'm not very good at it. I think I need to improve my English.

Womanhood Rant Continued...

2009-06-07T00:57:00.003-06:00

Not too long ago I posted a blog entry entitled: "Womanhood Rant". After reading my post, my adopted uncle Mark sent me an article that I thought some people would find interesting (Hawley, you commented on my rant so I thought you might like this second opinion... It's been here for a while stagnating). You can read the document here if you want.

In response to the article he sent, I wrote him an email that I would like to share:

Firstly, I am at peace with the issue of womanhood and content to sort it out myself, by saying this: Both man and woman are equal. It is more complicated than that though, so I will explain.

Both man and woman are equals; individuals and partakers of this challenge that we call life. Both genders have roles and the individuals strive to grow, develop, learn and teach. Both are trying to be the best they can be. People will be much less likely to confuse their personal worth with their roles, after the individuals are considered and presented in nonjudgmental ways, free of biases and understanding that it is ok to have feelings, needs, desires, successes and failures. We will be ready to accept ourselves for who we are, no strings attached, nor having this need to feel jealous of the other gender or feeling a need to take on the other's role. We will be ready to take the next step, which is to accept the responsibilities such as priesthood and the correct and worthy, authoritative use of it; and womanhood and the gift of nurturing, creating and moving lives. But that's after we see ourselves for WHO we are instead of WHAT we are... We are first individuals, and secondly, we have roles.

These people, whom I have been among, have become confused about who we are, and how to accept ourselves, first as individuals, because we confuse our worth with our roles, instead of understanding that the divine God chose to love us as we are, no matter what, and that because he loves us, he gave us these gifts of gender and roles.

If that idea were explained, then a lot of this confusion would disappear, but I also think it would be nearly impossible to explain this to someone. I mean how can I explain to someone that they have worth? They have to feel it. They have to discover it themselves. I've tried to explain to people how they have worth in and of themselves but they can't grasp it unless they feel it themselves. So how could I expect anyone to satisfy my desire for this explanation, when the explanation is wanting? There is no way I am aware of to explain a feeling to someone unless they have previously experienced that feeling.

The main confusion between genders is based on the confusing belief that roles and responsibilities are of higher priority than individual needs and worth.

We all make mistakes and we all learn to try.

Both man and woman are equal because we are all human.

Firefly Cyprus Christina

2009-06-05T18:51:00.005-06:00

I am in love with this song (Firefly) and the message in it.
The lyrics are so extremely powerful.
I hope you enjoy and catch the message.




It’s a question that drives us
To where we must go
It’s the unknown that drives from us
What we want most
But the firefly sits in the corner and rests

It won’t care if you stare
But believe me, it’s best to let go
Don’t just go with the flow

And the firefly comes to you
Sits on your finger

It shudders and shakes
But she wants you to go with her now
Follow her out there, and…

The firefly is spreading her wings open wide
Thinks the sky will come crashing down,
Fall to her side she’s afraid,
But her fear slowly fade

So fly with the firefly
Fly side by side
Escaping the chains that held you from life
Don’t look down
You’re over the edge

Jump, take a leap of faith
Jump, take a leap of faith

[CHORUS]
It’s a question that drives us
to where we must go
It’s the unknown that drives from us
What we want most
but the firefly sits in the corner in rest

[CHORUS x 3]

Jump

Fifty-five dollars for what? Nothing.

2009-05-27T22:50:00.003-06:00

Guess what! I have no criminal record. That's right. I sent in my $55 to the police station, so that they could go find out that I had done nothing wrong. How messed up is that?

And what's with everything in this world being represented on paper? Everything that a person is, everything that a person owns, can be found on pieces of paper. Paper to show that you were born, paper to show that you were baptized, paper to show what grades you got in school, paper to show you graduated the school system, papers to show what you bought at the store, papers to show that you are innocent, papers to show that you own property.

And they even have papers to show that you REALLY ARE dead! Not just pretending to be dead I suppose... maybe there's a lot of people out there who fake death... Dunno. Why else would they need a death certificate?

I think there's too much paper being passed around every day that represents items, time and people. It's rather like insanity. Why do we think that individuals are tied to these little things that sit in our wallet, with our pictures and big numbers on it? If this little card is stolen, there we go, down the drain. That's our IDs, and if they get taken, we're erased from reality. So what if the computers malfunction that recognize that little card and then we truly get erased from the system? That's all it would take... for our numbers to be accidentally deleted because of natural disasters, or some sort of machine malfunction that contains the files on the... on the... well where ever the big files go where police men take $55 from you and then spend a couple minutes looking on four databases to find out if you did anything wrong. The information goes somewhere, and that would really be unfortunate if numbers were misplaced or servers went down and thousands of people's lives essentially, went down the drain... like a blip.

I think our system is too reliant on numbers, statistics, and pieces of paper. What would the world be like if we took all that away, and actually had to go out and get to know the people in out neighborhood? Would it really be that much of an unsophisticated chaotic place? I don't think so.

And personally, I'd like my money back.

Change

2009-05-24T23:05:00.000-06:00

Change is always inside of us, no matter how much we desperately want to curse, blame or give credit to our surroundings or environment.

A little while back I had a moment of different feelings that I have never felt before. It was so distinct. The feelings were simple. “There is such a change coming your way that you will take leaps where you took baby steps before.” And I didn’t know what to do because I was driving a vehicle at the time, and when something that direct and that blunt hits you that strongly, the first impulse is to stop, stare blankly, mouth agape and just sit in shock, but I can’t exactly do that while driving a car. Instead, I pressed the gas harder and stared wide-eyed ahead, a smile forming on my lips and no words to express. It was such a huge feeling of excitement that washed over me that I sped my vehicle WAY over the limit for quite a distance before I came to again and realized how much over the limit I was going.

And for a while I held the thought in the back of my head, and said nothing to anyone. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. Because maybe I had just dreamed it, maybe it was just the sunshine, maybe it was just my imagination. But here I am and over and over I am finding myself staring at a ladder that is leaning against the very walls that not long ago I stared at and saw as obstacles.

The change is in me. I am what’s changing. The ladder has always been there, but I have never seen it before. Now I see the ladder and I see a way over the walls and as it becomes clearer that it is this opportunity to climb the ladder over the wall that I am supposed to take. It is this change, in these future moments. I battle the fear inside and take a step closer to the ladder, and as I do, I feel such joy!

It’s so exciting to see the path laid out ahead of me like this. For so long it’s been a path that has lead to a wall. But now I see that there is a way over the wall and my journey is opening up. The path is leading to the ladder, not the wall, and I couldn’t see that before. The wall is fear, and the ladder is courage. The other side of the wall holds so many frightening experiences… exciting experiences. To hold back would be stupid. The opportunities are endless once I cross this wall. This is what I believe it is like to fly. This is what it’s like to have change.

Perpetual Motion Machine

2009-05-20T22:47:00.003-06:00

I feel overwhelmed and I wish I could change. It's funny, in more of an "it's ironic" kind of way than in a "hahaha" kind of way. I feel overwhelmed, and it's seemingly 100% my fault.

I plan on doing a myriad of things and set them in motion (therefore the feeling of being overwhelmed), and then I put off the next step of each project until either it's too late or it's cutting it so close that I might as well give up because there isn't much chance of success at that point. And so I question after the fact, why did I do that? Why did I wait that long, or why did I not do that one important thing? It was just a phone call after all, or it was just a short drive away, or it was just a moment of listening... So why didn't I do it?

Maybe we can all relate... Or maybe I'm just one superly unique person who has flaws beyond any human comprehension and I'm alone in this world. But I doubt it.

I am about to brain storm for a bit... Let's see if I can pin it down. Maybe you will be able to relate to what I uncover... or maybe not.

Let's see... I put off doing these things that are important to me so that... I can feel like a victim when it doesn't pan out... and that would pay me off because victims are pitied, and pity is a form of attention or love.
Or maybe I put off doing the things I want to do just because it's easy, and I'm lazy and like the easy road out.
Or maybe I want to prove to myself that I'm right, that I can't actually make any big change in this world, because I want to stay safe and if I were to actually reach out and do those things I'm trying to do, I would be making waves and changing my world and putting my pride, my safety, and my heart on the line.

Maybe that's why... yes the last one sounds more right than the rest.

Well brainstorming is over. And now I feel stumped again. Because I want to change. I want to change so badly, but there's this problem again. A problem where I try to prove to myself that I can't actually make any big change in this world, and any sort of change of myself would be big... So I automatically set myself up for failure, just by the mere fact that I want to change and I have programmed myself to resist change at all costs.

Oh it's confusing. Ouch my head... I'm leaving. Going to sleep now before I cause more damage to my brain... Oh if only I could change...

I'm no doctor, but I have things to say.

2009-05-18T22:08:00.003-06:00

I'm not a doctor, and I'm not a mommie. A doctor would care about a cut. And a mommie, well mommies always care. But Stephenie doesn't seem to care that I'm not a doctor and that I'm not a mommie. She doesn't care a bit that she doesn't even know me. She tells me about her cut anyway.

Stephenie is a little three year old who one day at work (I work at a daycare) took her finger, and after staring at it for a bit, strut over to me and stuffed her finger in front of my face. I said "what Stephenie?" and she told me, "I fell off my bike yesterday and my finger got scraped on the cement. See? I still have to wear a bandaid." And I smiled and gave her finger a kiss, which apparently was what she wanted, and then I ushered her back onto the play room to play with her friends.

I think it is so simply beautiful that a child can talk to me about the tiniest thing and believe that I will care. What a powerful gift. What if we all could simply tap into that ability to say how we feel, and what we are thinking, and what is going on in our lives? Little Stephenie wanted to know that I cared, and I think that's what we all want. But no one can ask us what's going on in our minds or in our lives if we don't show them some part of it. We may wonder why no one asks, why no one cares, and the answer is we don't stick our fingers in front of anyone's face and say "This is what happened to me yesterday. See?"

Perhaps the solution as to why no one asks about our lives is that we don't ask them. And so maybe we need to learn to ask questions like kids ask questions. Out of curiousity or care for other people. Or maybe 'just because'. I hope that I can be curious like a little child and be willing to share what I think and what I feel with those around me, trusting that they will care about my sore finger, even though they aren't doctors or mommies. I hope you can too.

So what happened to you yesterday? I went hiking.

Learning to walk

2009-05-16T23:21:00.003-06:00

I’ve pondered to myself in the quiet wee hours and in moments of hectic turmoil about how good I am. I wonder to myself, 'was I a good person because I smiled at that person? Is that what makes me good?' I present questions to the air to be answered by silence and more questions. Then I ask 'does it make me a bad person that I don't want to wear pink?'

And still I get no answer.

I've thought long and hard about choice and agency. It seems that God was so adamant that we have agency. And yet, I wonder to myself, if I do anything good what so ever, credit goes to him? Where then is the incentive to do good? I need credit, simply for motivation sake. I need some sort of feed back that I'm a better person or deserve happiness because I did good. Else, God says 'You do what you will, but if you do good, then give the credit to me.' And I say, 'ha. I'm no fool.'

But then I got thinking. (As usually happens when I'm awake or conscious... which makes me wonder: are we sleeping or awake if we are knocked unconscious?) Anyway, I got thinking. Why would I give God credit for something that I did myself? I asked, 'why would I, who did all the work, say to my maker that he gets credit for how I used my time? Yes he made me, but I'm a living choosing being, so why does that give him gratification and glory every time I do something good? Does that mean I don't get any credit if I do something good?

And then I had a thought that I don't know how it got there (this was a while back, mind you). I'm not sure if I saw the action, or heard it somewhere or made it up, but it explained the answer very well, and maybe the credit goes to him. ;)

It’s a very simple analogy. It's quite simply like a child learning to walk. The child must be prompted at first by parents to take those steps, mom once or dad another, urging the little one forward. The parents teach the child to take steps and use their feet in the process of learning to walk. Then, as the child begins to learn, the parents are needed less and less to guide them in walking, but then the child needs the parents to lean on when they are learning to tie their shoes, and to steady them as they learn to ride their bike or to pick them up if they fall down. The child needs them there to give them support and love.

The credit at first goes to the parents that the child can walk, and even after the child learns to walk, there is credit due the parent, but it's almost entirely due to their coaching of the child as they learned how to walk. The child eventually learns to walk on his or her own but the child learns to choose when and where to walk, and that is not to the parent's credit. Where, and when the child walks is no longer credited to the parent, only that they taught the child to walk.

In the same way, God teaches us goodness, or truth, and we give credit to the help he gives, but then God gives us wings to fly and we choose where to go. He prompts us, gives us signs, but he will not force us, it must be our choice to fly back to him.

It's just how it is. No offense.

2009-05-09T23:22:00.006-06:00

I'm not entirely sure how to say what I want to say. But niceties aside, I think I will be very blunt to get across how I feel. This post does not apply to everyone who reads it (especially those who don't know me well, and those who live a great distance away). I'm not sure what the result of this post will be, but I'm willing to take a chance. I need to say these things, and I think this may be the best way of doing that. If I've contradicted myself somewhere in this post or previous, I apologize. I am imperfect. And lately it's been grating on my nerves how all my flaws are pointed out. I realize I have them, and I am sorry for not being perfect. If it is unacceptable that I am imperfect, please leave me alone, and find someone else to befriend you, because I will not be perfect any time soon. You will be wasting your time. And once again, this does not apply to everyone who reads this.

That said, I apologize for the lack of (positive) emotion in this post. I realize I've been fairly heartless lately, and I take responsibility for that, and regret that though I dislike being heartless, I could really care less what you think.

Now onto the needs I've had for a while that are not being met. I have some personal specific needs that aren't being met, and I am going to list them here. I have begun to wonder if I am searching out the fulfillment of these needs in the wrong places. Maybe my friends are incapable at this time of assisting me with these basic human needs.

The needs that I have include:

being a follower for once instead of the group leader, so as to have a break from planning and carrying the loads of leadership
having an occasional person take a specific interest in my life and the happenings therein without the usual look of boredom or change of subject
being heard out, all the way through without any judgment
if I look upset, (and I don't require this every time), but if people would kindly not ignore me, leave me or turn away when I'm upset
and finally, every once in a while it would be nice if when I look upset, someone could ask me to come talk to them privately, and then ask me what's going on in my life that seems to have gotten me down, that would be great.

Thanks.

Questions unanswered

2009-05-09T21:02:00.002-06:00

I was required to write a letter for work, which discussed the idea of cultural diversity in child rearing... Well it got me thinking. So I decided that I would post some of my thoughts.

The letter required that I describe my attitude towards 'child rearing' and 'child guidance'. It was also to describe my personal values, beliefs and cultural practices and how these influence my attitude.

The first thought I had was... what's the difference between 'child rearing' and 'child guidance'? They seem to be so closely related, they are pretty much the same thing. And then was supposed to state my attitude towards it. Well, my attitude towards the idea is fairly simple. I believe that it is incredibly important for children to have an upbringing, a child rearing if you will, wherein the child is given ample opportunity to explore, create, learn right from wrong and develop at their own rate. This is something that the teacher or child care professional (or parent) should be able to provide for the child through their environment.

The childcare professional (or parent) should base all decisions from as correct a set of principles as they are privy to, and never let their emotions or background issues get in the way of communicating or teaching a child. Any communication should be with the intent to teach and care for the child. But this doesn't happen all the time. A lot of people slip up. We aren't perfect. So it's kinda hard to expect this of everyone. All the time anyway.

These are my beliefs, and these beliefs come from my cultural and family background, and they have a firm grasp on how I deal with kids and adults as well. So culture is definitely a factor for me when it comes to looking after children.

I have to admit a weakness now with this concept of cultural diversity. I am of the belief that certain cultural practices are superior to other cultural practices, and quite a few of these practices are ones that come from my own cultural background. One might say I am biased.

One example would be that I believe that it is never OK for one child to hit another, and yet in some cultures it is considered a natural consequence, and would better help the children to understand that they don’t like being hit so they shouldn’t hit others. There are many different examples where morals become involved and I have to choose between my own cultural beliefs and the child's parent’s cultural preferences.

For instance, religion is very well ingrained in some cultures of the world. At our day care, we say a prayer to Jesus before lunch with the kids. What happens if a child tells me that their parent doesn’t want them to say the prayer? Do I enforce it anyway? Ignore them? Talk to the parent? Obviously the latter is the answer, but it still becomes a sticky situation. Other situations may arise and be even more sticky. So where is the line? Where does cultural diversity and morality cross?

I don’t have the answer. I know there must be a procedure to deal with this kind of thing, but I don’t know it. And I may disagree with it, but either way, I will consent to abide by the procedure, because I want to keep my job, even if it crosses my personal beliefs. But I’m forced to question, is that right? Is it better that I abide the procedure than fight for my beliefs? Once again I don't have the answer.

Am I supposed to teach evolution? Or am I supposed to teach creationist ideas? Am I supposed to support gay/lesbian inclinations? Or am I supposed to refuse the ideas from being spread? Obviously I have my own beliefs, but am I going to be stepping over lines of cultural diversity if I suggest or imply my own beliefs?

I can tell you

2009-05-02T01:02:00.004-06:00

'Hello', says I,
To the world at large.
And then in a whisper
I say
'did you see me?'
And then I hide my eyes.

'Oh yes,' say I again,
To the audience I see before me,
'Oh, yes,' I whisper,
'I have come to tell you a story.'
And then quieter I say,
'But it's a secret so don't tell.'

And I look at the dead flowers
From last year,
And I look at the yellow grass,
And the naked tree,
And I say
'Can you hear me?'

'Because I'm about to tell you a story.'
And the tree sways,
And the grass stills,
And the flowers are dead;
So they don't move.
But it's been that way.
Since last year.

So I begin:
'This story is about me.'
I say to the nature,
'And it's about yesterday.'

My dog is inside,
And no one is listening.
Except for the trees,
And the grass,
And the dead flowers.
They can't really hear me,
Which is why I tell them the story.

'Yesterday,' I continue
To no one in particular,
'I cried really hard.
Yesterday I screamed.
Silently,
So no one would hear me.

'And I locked my door
So no one would see
The red around my eyes,
Like what happens when I cry.'
The tree sways,
And the grass stills,
And the flowers are dead,
So they don't move.

'And I screamed at the injustice,
Of everything I hate.
I screamed at the world
That I needed someone
To just hold me.
To ask no questions,
Just hold me.

'And I saw the picture of my father,
And I looked at his face
In the desk top picture,
And I screamed at him.
In pain.
Wishing he were there.
But the screams were silent.
So no one heard me.

'I want to keep it that way.'
I say to the audience.
'No one heard me,
And that's how I want it to stay.'
The tree sways,
And the grass stills,
And the flowers are dead
So they don't move.

And I tell them.
I tell the world at large.
The secret.
The secret pain,
That I screamed out.

And the tree
And the grass
And the flowers
Kept my secret silent.
Because they can't talk.
But I can.

And maybe now that I've told you,
The trees and the grass and the flowers
Can breath again,
Let off their loads,
And turn green again.
They've kinda been waiting a long time.

Mind Games

2009-04-27T23:55:00.003-06:00

There's a part of me that wants to sit down and write everything that's been playing through my head. And almost literally it has been playing through my head, like a movie re-run on the stage of my imagination. Scenes from past events, current events, and future experiences; they run over and over and make me dizzy with confusion. And I want to just sit down here and let my fingers take on the role of the script writer, flying over the keys into the world of stories and make-believe, hoping that some sense will come of my desire to express myself.

But there's another part of me here too, that says (firstly) "Sera, you ought to be asleep right now, what on EARTH are you still doing up!?" To which I have no reply. No satisfactory answer. All I know is that I'm not following a schedule or logic for that matter, and instead I sit here waiting for a thought to strike me as though I were waiting for lightning to suddenly pierce my thoughts and thereby provide the answers to my quarries. And so this second half of me sits here scolding myself for siting here without understanding or reason for doing so. None that can be explained anyway. Not by logic to that half of my brain that is demanding those answers.

I've had this happen before. I've had feelings, and reasons I thought one way, that I couldn't figure out, and I knew there were reasons but I was left unable to give any reason at all for them. Later on of course, much further after the opportunity to have done something about the feelings, I found myself in a quiet room pondering when suddenly the thought hit me and I realized what the source was, and the reason for the feeling. But by then it was much too late. The person I was speaking to had probably forgotten the conversation, and was on to other more noble efforts, while I stewed on the thought at hand. And so here I am trying to come up with a reason for that half of me that is demanding a sensible answer. And I just don't have an answer.

So now I have a dilemma. I've got one half of me saying "Express yourself and find answers" while the other half says "Go to bed before you say something you'll regret"... meanwhilst I recognize that I've chosen the path directly in between. I've sat down as if to begin expressing myself, but have not allowed myself one word about how I'm actually feeling. Instead I've side-stepped the whole issue.

Which makes me think a little bit here about the phrase that I've come to adopt "How you do one thing is how you do everything." I agree fully, and now if I support that quote so whole-heartedly, I must take a moment to consider that indeed, I live life like I have done this one thing. Which is true. Here I have ridden the line in between going and staying, in between jumping in and sitting on the beach, in between yes and no. And I live life like that. I now realize that I live my life by the word"maybe".

I think I should change that. But for now it's time for bed. I'll have to say what's going on in my head at some later time. Maybe once I've done some figuring out. But shhhh... My favourite re-run is about to start, and I don't want to miss it. I might find the answer this time.

Traveling Teddy

2009-04-24T11:12:00.003-06:00

It was grade two, and I thought our teacher was very cool. To all of us kids she was amazing. She was one of those teachers that when you look back on the memories, you can't help but smile. Kids would flock to her and give her hugs at the beginning of class, give her little thank you notes and other tokens of appreciation. She made every class fun and made it exciting to learn, live and go to school.

At the beginning of the year, she told our class that she had a teddy bear. And not just any teddy bear, no. This was Traveling Teddy, and he was special. See, Traveling Teddy had been all over the world with her, packing along his mini suitcase where in lay a little bottle of real toothpaste, tiny Teddy pajamas, swim trunks, a little hairbrush, a camera and many other teddy-sized necessities.

And then she told us that she was going to let Traveling Teddy go home with us kids for a sleep over. She explained that everyone was to put their name on a piece of paper, and put it into a bowl, where she would draw from to see who would take Traveling Teddy home on the weekend. Who ever had their name chosen would be given Teddy, the suitcase and the camera to take pictures of what Traveling Teddy experienced while at their home. She said that Teddy wanted to go to friendly places, and so when someone was mean, Teddy didn't want to go over to their house anymore, and they had to win back Teddy's friendship, otherwise Traveling Teddy wouldn't come over.

So every Friday, a name was drawn from the bowl and Traveling Teddy along with his suitcase and belongings would be carefully placed into the arms of a very excited boy or girl. All during the rest of the week, it was a common topic to guess who would be the one to take home Traveling Teddy on the weekend. Traveling Teddy would sit on the file cabinet during the week, and Mrs. Powell would take him down after each day back to her home where the two of them lived.

Every week I waited anxiously for my name to be chosen, and every week someone else's name was picked from the bowl. It was finally almost the end of the year with only two months left, and names were being put back into the bowl for a second chance with Traveling Teddy, and I still hadn't had a chance to have him over. I thought it wasn't fair, so I went and talked to Mrs. Powell. I told her I hadn't had Traveling Teddy yet, and she told me that my name must have fallen out of the bowl at some point. She said that Teddy had wanted to come over to my house because I'd been so friendly with everyone, but it was just a mistake that the paper had fallen out. Mrs. Powell wrote my name on a new piece of paper and put it into the bowl. She told the person who was about to take him home for the second time that they would do it next week since I hadn't had a turn yet. She said Traveling Teddy would be in my care over this upcoming weekend. The day I took him home was different though. That day, Mrs. Powell wasn't there. Another teacher read from a note that she should give Teddy to me. I took Traveling Teddy home, hoping to show Mrs. Powell the pictures I took and how happy Traveling Teddy was with me. And he was happy that weekend, I made sure of it. Teddy did everything I did. We went on the swing together, played with my other stuffed animals, and ate food together. When the weekend was over, I slipped some Monopoly money in his wallet inside the suitcase, so that he would have a bit of cash with him when he got back to school.

Monday morning, Mrs. Powell was back, and all the kids gave her hugs, but she didn't look well. She looked pretty sick. Pale mostly. I gave Traveling Teddy back to Mrs. Powell, and she put him back on his file cabinet and watched us from his podium. Mrs. Powell didn't get better. Throughout the next few weeks substitute teachers became more frequent, and Traveling Teddy had to sit on the file cabinet over night instead of going home to keep Mrs. Powell company. Mrs. Powell had made sure that the substitute teacher knew that it was important that every kid had a chance to take Traveling Teddy home on the weekend. But soon we had a permanent replacement, and Mrs. Powell would only come to visit. At some point Mrs. Powell must have taken Traveling Teddy home with her, because he wasn't on the file cabinet anymore. The principal of the school came in and told us that Mrs. Powell had cancer and was really sick. He said that this was the last year she was going to teach, and that we should probably all say goodbye to her.

Someone decided to give Mrs. Powell a large cotton teddy bear for everyone to sign to give to Mrs. Powell. Everyone in the class signed it, and all the teachers too. We gave it to Mrs. Powell to help her get better. It was our version of Traveling Teddy. But after a while, just before summer break, I was returning books to the library and noticed that our big, white bear was sitting all alone on a shelf in the library. Looking up at the big white Teddy, no one had to explain it, I knew what it meant. I felt tears run down my face.

That night I went home and picked up my own Teddy bear. I looked at his ruffled fur and worn black nose. This would be my tribute to Mrs. Powell. I made him a cardboard suit case, and I put monopoly money in it. This was my Traveling Teddy. And I would make sure Teddy wanted to sleep over every night, because he saw how friendly I was to everyone. I found my Traveling Teddy some red overalls, and I tucked him into bed beside me. And now, he has been to all sorts of places with me. And he's been in many photo shoots. I still tuck him in to bed with me, but he sleeps with his overalls on.

Mrs. Powell left a mark on me, not through her stuffed bear though. She knew she had cancer, and she decided to spend her last year teaching us in that grade two classroom, exciting us for life and learning, and giving us opportunities to grow and be better people. She gave part of her life to us, and shared some of her light. And for that, Mrs. Powell, I sincerely say Thank You.

My Hands

2009-04-23T16:18:00.005-06:00

The ground was hardly stable. It was like walking on a cloud.
I couldn't tell if I was falling, or if I was standing on the ground.

Then slowly through the mists, a light shone ahead of me.
Not enough to guide my step, but just clear enough to see.

While wandering in faded light, I glanced down at my hands.
They were stained with all this dirt, that was sins and stains and sand.

With more light ahead of me, I saw the figure of a man.
And as I drew a little closer, I took notice of his hands.

He turned to me behind him, and I looked into his eyes,
Amazed as his entire figure, emanated light.

I hid my hands behind my back, sure I should never show.
Never was he to see these hands, when his were clean as snow.

Each speck of dirt reminded me, of all my past mistakes.
I didn't want to show him, in case he wouldn't let me stay.

'He should never need to witness, the uncleanliness of wrongs
His life is pure and spotless', these were my inward thoughts.

He came near to my side, and gently spoke my name.
I couldn't look at his face, the idea was mixed with shame.

He pointed to a gate, and said “My Father dwells inside.”
If he meant what I thought he did, I had to go and hide.

But Father came out of heaven, welcoming his son.
Then he looked at me and said, “What about this one?”

The shame filled my soul, as I tried to deflect his gaze.
I couldn’t bear to show him, how badly my hands were stained.

With his hand upon my shoulder, my brother spoke for me.
“Father, this one’s mine. Her hands through mine are clean.”

He took my hands in his, and wiped the stains away.
His palms now stained with my own sin, there was nothing I could say.

From his hand the stain dissolved, and now a scar remained.
He waved me into the Father's arms, and then he turned away.

I didn't understand it, how his love could run so deep,
How could he erase my sin, and pay the price for me?

And I suppose I can't come close, I may never understand.
The fullness of divinity, why the Savior cleaned my hands.

-Sera Johnson © 2009

Question of Perfection

2009-04-20T23:17:00.004-06:00

The question of the evening is: What makes something perfect?

I realized that there is either no such thing as 'perfect', or every single thing is 'perfect'.

Imagine looking at a bowl of soup, and wishing you had something to use to get the soup out of the bowl and into your mouth without getting your fingers or chin mucky. Then imagine a perfect utensil for this job. Maybe you think of a large straw, or a spoon of some sort, or an elongated bowl or something. Well each of these things would be useful and one of them would likely work best, and in this situation, it could be labeled as the 'perfect' utensil. But then imagine the same utensil in a different situation. Now you've got a spoon or straw etc and you've got a plate of spaghetti noodles. 'Now what?' You ask yourself, as you try to get just one blasted noodle onto that spoon. Now, is that spoon still perfect? Yes it's perfect for the soup, but we aren't staring at soup anymore... So is the spoon perfect?

If we say 'yes' the spoon is perfect even though we are staring at spaghetti, then it would not be a huge leap of logic to assume that most if not all things are at some point 'perfect' somewhere or sometime else in this world, but perhaps not here or now. Yet on the other hand if we say 'no', the spoon is not perfect as we stare at spaghetti, then it would not be a huge leap of logic to assume that there is nothing that is perfect in the world because we can always find at least one situation where in the object would not be useful or 'perfect'. It is a matter of perspective as to whether you say 'yes' or 'no', and that is what makes the spoon perfect or not. It's a matter of timing, opinion, and the ultimate goal.

Timing:
At one point in time my shoes were perfect. A perfect fit, and perfect comfort and perfect style. Now they are worn, dirty and frankly imperfect. At one point in time the bow and arrow was the perfect weapon, now outdated, guns are preferred for hunting. Timing helps decide when something is perfect or not. So perhaps everything is perfect, somewhere and sometime in the world, but just not right there or right then.

Opinion:
Priorities and goals of different people also conflict in the quest for perfection. One person may deem some project or invention perfect, but that's according to their standards, and to another it is imperfect because of the standards they have set out for it. Opinions affect the final say of whether something is perfect or not because who or what is to say whether or not something is perfect unless it has some sort of observer to say so.

The ultimate goal:
And of course, who or what can to say that something is perfect unless there is something to measure it against such as a goal or an ideal. Otherwise there are just things in this world with no particular greatness or value to them other than the mere fact that they exist. The ultimate goal of the creator of the object/invention says whether or not the object is perfect, judging between its beginning vision and end product.

And if we present something that is perfect for a job, useful in every function, and then add to it, does that make it imperfect compared to when we started? My opinion is that no, I think not. Because, at the time of its first presentation, it was appropriately perfect for that time, but as time goes on, I think there tends to be a greater need and therefore has the potential to be perfected again. Like a hairdo. One is perfect for school, whereas another hairdo is perfect for a luncheon with the Queen of England.

Please Hold. ...Resurrection Difficulties...

2009-04-19T11:00:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I wonder why we need to be sealed for "Time and all Eternity" to each other. I mean, what's going to stop me from hanging out for the rest of eternity with Jason? Or Emily? Why would I suddenly be thrust out of their presence because we weren't sealed together?

There are two answers I see.

The first answer is that I won't be thrust out of Jason's presence or Emily's, because we can associate with who we want, but being sealed for "Time and all Eternity" as a couple in marriage, is different. It allows for a couple to abide the laws of heaven, and have future families, within the laws of heaven. And it some how allows us to be closer together. It's some kind of commitment thing... But yeah.

The second answer is a little more complicated. We are all made of Earth, and when we die, our bodies go back to the Earth. Has anyone else had this thought, that you have particles that are part of you that were once part of some guy back in Asia who died thousands of years ago, and then his body fed a plant that was harvested much later, and then you ate the fruit of that plant? Particles that are in you may have once been some ancient guy in Asia, so it would make sense that there has to be some sort of order to the particles. Something has to tell the particles and molecules in all this confusion, for the resurrection's sake, where to go. The sealing powers of families and spouses ensures that there is an order to the spirits, which then has claim on the physical. Particles will be organized and belong to individual people, with names and places in this vast world. Maybe this is why we need sealing powers: to differentiate and yet connect us all. It may not be true, but it's there for the thinking.

I'm sure there are other answers, but these are the ones that stuck.

Forgotten Lessons

2009-04-18T22:06:00.007-06:00

Hello. My name is Sera. I pronounce it "Sarah" though. I can spell my own name now. My middle name is harder to spell. I went to kindergarten once.

I remember the big blocks we used to play with. I played with Jeff and we made dinosaurs out of the blocks together. The dinosaurs were as big as I was. That was the first time I was told that I should clean up after myself. We had a lesson on it. I remember the blue frilly shirt mom picked out for me to wear and the pink clothes with skirts that I don't like anymore. I remember the fake food we would pretend to eat during play time. The teacher told us not to really put them in our mouths, because of tiny invisible things called germs or something. I remember using little stuffed animals and tiny kid-sized pillows to sleep on when they turned out the lights. I was usually the only one awake during nap time. I never slept very well. I remember my favorite white bear that I took to nap time with me, and I remember other kids fighting over the rest of the stuffed animals. I cried when kids called me mean names.

Things were so much easier back then. When I was small.

If someone stole my toy or pulled my hair, I could go cry. It was so simple. It would make it all better... After the teacher scolded them, of course. If I had a runny nose, I could wait until the teacher gave me a tissue paper to wipe my nose with, and that was okay. If I fell and scraped my knee, it was okay to cry about it, and the teacher would help me up and take me to the sink and wash my cut and put a bandage on it. And it was not a bad thing to feel hurt back then. It was okay to cry. It was normal.

But I can't solve my problems like that now. Problems are so much harder today. Grown ups don't like it when others cry. I think they don't know what to do because they're all the same height. They're the same size now as the teacher was back then, back when it was okay to cry. They don't know if they should be like the teacher and help people up, and clean their cuts, or if they should be like any other kid from class and cry along with them. After all, we are all the same height now. And instead, in the middle of the confusion between being teacher or class mate, they usually leave, not sure how to deal with what they left back in the room. And the other tall person is left where they were, feeling sad, and still crying, and now a little ashamed that they cried in front of another tall person.

Did I miss that lesson somewhere? The one that told us kids that it's still okay to cry, even when we grow up? Did someone forget to tell me that sometimes people need a hug when they cry, because we all need to feel? Did the teacher just not know that people need love and care, even when they are all grown up? Did she just forget to tell us? Or did her teachers not tell her that if she scraped her knee, it's okay to cry? And that it was normal?

Well, I must have missed those lessons. But I've found out through my own life that sometimes teachers don't know everything. Sometimes nobody knows anything, and all we have left is our feelings, and all we are, is confused little kindergarten kids. Someone out there should let us know that it's okay to feel lost and confused and that it's okay to cry. Someone should tell us that it's still normal.

I am someone.

It's okay to cry.
It's normal.

I think they forgot to tell us that.

2009-04-17T11:00:00.002-06:00

I have truly begun to realize the convenience and quite frankly, the joy of elopement. After planning my mother's wedding, a bridal shower, and been part of several other weddings and plannings... I am amazed at the time, preparation and stress involved. It's so incredibly hectic to try and organize every article of clothing for the wedding party, and the table arrangements, and the little kids with their little tuxes, and the microphones and equipment...

I've decided I want to elope.

I want to elope just to get away from all the stressful people who think that two bags of potatoes and five bags of buns and two massive containers of mayo and all the many bags of veggies, as well as the three turkeys won't be enough and that we must get more! I finally get why people get stressed on their wedding days. I used to think it was because people planned on certain things being there like a grand staircase or a red carpet or a specific outfit for the groom that made it stressful because it just didn't work out, and they just want these things so badly... that it must be... But it's not because of all the planning or even because of lack of planning... it's because there are so many people that think that it must be done a certain way and won't accept 'no' as an answer! And because people don't cooperate. At least that's what I think.

But I won't be eloping.... because I know my mom would really hate to miss it. So... Ok, she can come...

... but then if I let her come, I should probably let her husband come...

...and if they come then his parents should probably be allowed to come...

...and maybe my brothers would want to be there if my mom was there...

...and their wives and kids shouldn't be left out...

...and food should probably be provided especially if there is a good distance to travel...

...we should probably get a building booked to have a dinner...

...because that already is a lot of people...

...And if we have food, then tables and chairs would make sense...

Wow... weddings are stressful... I should just elope.

Darkness exists due to the absence of light.

2009-04-10T19:25:00.002-06:00

I must have been fairly bored to be staring at my hand so intently. The way the light hit it just so.... I’m sure I looked equally odd when I held my hand still and moved my head down to get a look at the shadowy underside of it. But luckily no one was in the room, so there was no witness to my odd behavior.

It was about that point when I came to a conclusion about light and darkness. Here is an observation, which can be seen at any point in time by any person with access to the sun, a candle or even a child’s plug in night light; it’s not new information. I relate the metaphor to life. Light being anything that uplifts and makes one to feel better in the long term. Darkness being anything that depresses and makes one feel worse in the long term.

Here is the metaphor.

You can light a candle or lamp or turn on a light in any dark room, and the result is a spreading of light through out the whole room, the brightness of the light depending on the power behind the source. Light spreads in all directions, insistently outward, bouncing off the white walls, traveling quite a distance into and around the room, and reflects off of mirrors. In this way, light is shared and spread all over. The light naturally disperses everywhere, lighting everything it can reach.

But these qualities are not reproducible with darkness or shadow. A shadow or darkness cannot spread every direction through the room by lighting a ‘dark’ source, or bouncing off the walls or reflecting in a mirror. Darkness doesn’t spread itself or naturally disperse like light.

I looked at my hand and noticed that the light is only blocked in small areas by objects, and that that is what causes shadow. The light source is there, and then the object blocks the light source's reach to a certain area. That's what darkness is. You can't burn a dark candle, and make a shadow light. You can block the light to small degrees by placing objects in the way of the light, but shadow and darkness does not spread like light. You can have a singular shadow from an object, but there is no type of burning, spreading darkness.

There is one more piece to this. And that piece is that candles, or any light needs a source or fuel. It needs energy or fuel to keep it going. The only power the darkness has over the light besides blocking portion of it's reach, is the power of giving up or drying up. When the fuel runs out or the source dries up, there is darkness. So if we continue striving, hoping believing and trusting, we have power over the darkness, but as soon as we give up, darkness can take over. Other than our own hope drying up, light and goodness prevails.

This is the metaphor I came to realize while staring at my hand. Oh the things we think when we are bored. And yes, I am very glad for the blessing of every once in a while, having nothing to do, being bored enough to stare at my own hand and the light casting shadows on it.

... the Sun

2009-04-09T10:14:00.003-06:00

I shouldn't be sitting here right now when I've got a wedding to take care of, but I had to sit and say something here.

I'm going to throw all my cares in style of wording to the side, and all my worry that I might convey this right, out the window.

I normally try to make my posts interesting and intriguing. But I'm not going to do that right now. If this post turns out to be interesting, or in any way engaging, it's purely coincidence, or perhaps subconscious genius... but let it be known it not intended, therefore anyone trying to glean some sort of intellectual thought from it will find the next part less than the usual. I just feel that I want to express feelings going on at the moment.

The sun is shining through my window and I want to be outside. There is something about the warmth of the sun that to me is like a comfort blanket that children wrap themselves in to feel safe and secure. But I won't be going outside. Even though the sun is beckoning, and I have a little time now to spare, I will not be going outside. I can excuse it by saying I have duty to preform now for the wedding preparations, but excuses are my specialty, and no matter the warmth and longing, it's easy to see ways to get myself out of going outside into the sun. I do know however that if I wait too long, doing this and that for the wedding and other things that the sun will go down and evening will be here, and that's always fun too, but even then I don't think I'll have time. I think things we want should be scheduled some times. Even though I want to go out into the sun right now, I won't be going into the sun. It's a terrible longing to excuse away. But it must be done because there are things to do. It is fact, as well as excuse, which is the irony that plays with my head. They are both true, the fact and the excuse. I excuse my self by the fact that there are things to be done. They seem unavoidable, and a partnership. If there were no excuse, the fact would still exist that things ought to be done now, and if there were no fact, there would be some other excuse... perhaps because there is so much to be done. At least right now.

In any case, my time has run out and I ought to go now. The sun will have to wait till another day when I'm not so busy, or I'll have to wait til midnight when I can frolic in the cool air and bask in the light of the stars.

Recent projects...

2009-03-25T23:24:00.005-06:00

I would like to post a couple projects I've been working on. Here, the first one is the background for my mom's wedding invite. It's done from scratch, and I'd post the other parts to it, but I don't think she'd want her face floating all over cyber-space.
This second one is what we are thinking for the set up of the gym where she is getting married. There is a stage at the end that we hope to find stairs for that will allow for a very epic wedding. We'll see how that pans out. :)

And lastly, there is this one of a cell phone... it's just one part of a very big project that I did recently. The link to the full project is here, but you don't have to bother reading it all, it's rather boring.

A Thomas Jefferson Education

2009-03-25T22:31:00.004-06:00

I think I've been going about this all wrong. I've been posting thoughts on philosophical things, and on things that are not tangible. I do research everyday on something or other and I never have anything to show for it. I do research on dancing, hunting, scavenging, theories, DNA, artistic whims, specific inspiring people, and all sorts of strange and random things. I don't ever DO anything with the information, however. I was reading on the Thomas Jefferson Education forum site about how parents get their kids interested in topics and projects, and essentially excited about the idea of learning, and I realized that I don't do what they suggest, and so as a consequence, I loose everything I was excited about learning.

I don't know why I was looking on the particular thread that I was, since I don't have kids, but everything seems applicable on that site because they run off of correct principles that can be applied to every part of life.

I hope that in the future I can begin to really put my heart and soul into learning, like they suggest. The problem I discovered is that I put effort in, but to the most minimal degree. To the point that my curiosity is satisfied, and that is it. I put the same amount of effort in, that I give to making a salad. I chop up ingredients, and I toss it in. And then when I can't find anything else in the refrigerator, I declare the salad done. But for a real meal (real learning), I want to search other places (stores, garden etc), not just the internet (refrigerator). In my learning, I want to take time to re-think and ponder the things I am "tossing into the salad" and decide whether or not certain things should really go in, or how they should be processed in order to taste best. Eggs for example would be better cooked than raw. I want to add other parts to my educational meal, and not just salad. I want to make a full meal of my learning, and maybe go shopping (library) for other ingredients (information), and really study what I'm researching, instead of casually trusting that Google (the pantry) and Wikipedia (the cupboards & fridge) know best.

There is so much to learn, and so much to fully engage in... Here on the internet information is so limited. Here, information is available to the degree that ice covers a lake; the surface is a few inches thick on the internet, while books harbor literally volumes of information, like the rest of the lake harbors water.

Which gets me thinking. Maybe it's because I'm lazy and I don't want to go the extra mile (somewhat literally) to go search through volumes of material for something that I could just as easily find on the internet, or ignore. But when it's researched thoroughly in books, there is so much more than what we would have originally set out to find, that can continue to peak curiousity. So many more related topics and levels are presented, a deeper understanding, and terms within the field are used to better understand the topic, in a deeper, thorough way.

It's such a huge ocean out there that I'm just beginning to understand that I really want to swim in. I only recently went to Australia, where for the first time, I swam in the ocean. It's nothing like I've experienced before (not to mention the excruciating sun burn afterward that I'd never experienced before...). The salt water rushing at me with great force so that I got knocked over; the sand running in between my toes, and around my feet; the tiny creatures swimming madly to get away from the strange big moving thing in the water; the horizon touching the water so that they melt together into one color; and even lizards coasting beside me on the foamy waves. It's something no bathtub has ever reproduced! This is the contrast between the internet research, and volumes of information at a library, and other sources.

Have you ever delved into a dictionary or encyclopedic volume at random and produced strange facts? It is so easy to become interested in things, and curious. I'm very excited to begin. I'm looking forward to mending my ways. But this does not mean however that I will be no longer posting philosophical things, instead I will be adding to the posts I already create, with my further research.

2009-03-17T15:52:00.002-06:00

We don't succeed in spite of obstacles, we succeed precisely because of them.

One small miracle: others pray for miracles

2009-03-13T12:10:00.005-06:00

Just a short thought here. We read about miracles happening in the scriptures, and then we wonder why we don't see any amazing miracles now. About a year ago, I began praying for miracles, and during that time, I saw amazing events take place which I couldn't explain away by the word 'coincidence'. Since that time I stopped asking to witness and be apart of miracles, and I haven't seen any. Maybe I'm just not looking, and I haven't recognized them.

But this got me thinking... If I can pray for miracles and see small miracles in my life or in the lives of those around me, why not assume that if everyone were to pray for miracles, we would see more miracles day-to-day? Or maybe we would begin to recognize miracles in our lives? Except I wouldn't want it to be for the reason that we feel we need proof. "Prove to me God, of your existence and power!", but rather just to ask for miracles to take place where they ought to take place in our lives and the lives of those around us, if only we were to pray for them. Like grease for a car, life would run more smoothly, methinks.

:)

Becoming Identical vs. Becoming Unified

2009-03-07T21:52:00.005-07:00

Please read Ryan's orriginal blog, which others of you can read here, because then I think this will make more sense... I figured I should write my thoughts here, instead of in the comment under his blog.

Ok. I bet you already knew this, Ryan, but I had the thought, so I wrote it down. :)

Just by presenting this question, about individualism vs. unity, I believe you are being an individual. Simply by offering this question out to us (the readers), you are being an individual, thinking and expressing your thoughts. And by posing the question, you inspire others to think about and consider answers. Without your 'individualism' in this instance, methinks we wouldn't have this common ground to work our thoughts off of to better understand one another. Without 'individualism', there would be no reason to try to understand one another, no reason for developing 'people skills', no reason for these simple basic life skills, that are obviously needed to cope in life.

Without individualism, there would be no need for understanding different perspectives which we can obviously tell, that there is a need for. If God wanted us to have no differing of perspectives, in order to be 'unified', He would have needed to take away every thing that gives us any differing characteristics. We would need to be the same in skin color, gender, size, and be identical in every way (which I think is the real issue here, the confusion between becoming identical and becoming unified). In order to be 'unified', he would need to allow us no human contact due to the differing of perspectives, simply by our different visual perceptions. Yet this is not the case.

Individualism provides us an opportunity for understanding, and therefore of unity. If our thoughts are understood by each other, then we can grow and develop towards being edified, and therefore, unified. It is through being edified that we find truths, and correct principles, which are anchors in life that once understood, begin to unify us.

We have our individuality, our own personalities, our own flares, but still we can have a common understanding which brings us out of the slums of mockery, slandering, and other attitudes which further us from each other. This common understanding is greater than we are. It's not just understanding one perspective out of the thousands, but God's greater perspective which sheds light on how everything works, and why people are the way they are, and how to interact and live by correct principles. But this does not mean it steals our tastes, goals, tendencies, talents, passions, love or individuality to become unified through understanding.

I suggest that it is this 'individualism' which spawns the ability to attain 'unity'. I believe that it is due to, and because of our individuality that we are able to be unified.

Womanhood Rant

2009-03-04T02:09:00.002-07:00

I made sure to get up early. To dress well and make myself presentable. Even though I was super tired. I then drove the two whole blocks to the building. Yes. I drove the whole two blocks. In a car. But it’s cold out there, I reason to myself, and it’s winter and I’ll be late if I walk. Of course this is the same rationalization I use every Sunday. And one would think I’d plan ahead, and just get up earlier so that I could dress warmly, and walk the two whole blocks, but by the time I think of it, it’s time to go get in the car so I can get there on time.

So I’m sitting there. First class, and they start talking about ‘Womanhood’. I nearly rolled my eyes, picked up my stuff and drove the whole two blocks back home. But I only rolled my eyes.

When they start talking about ‘Womanhood’ my mind shifts into full gear, and I begin analyzing everything they say, trying to pick out that something, anything at all that I must have missed so entirely last time. Because last time… and the time before that, and the time before that… and the time before that… I was just as confused as the first time.

‘Womanhood’ is one of those topics that I don’t know what to do with. I get annoyed and depressed with the topic because when they talk about women, they either make them out to be better than men because we can have babies (gasp!), or they say “It’s all right, you’re special too… we just can’t think of a reason how exactly, so just trust us ok?”

They tell us “Men have the priesthood, and are the head of the house. They have the priesthood and the authority so that they can serve you, and provide for your needs, and everything is about you, you, you, and the priesthood was given to men so that they could better appreciate you, and learn to serve you… blah blah blah…” Or they say “Men have the priesthood, which is an amazing power directly from God, and men lead the church, and lead the home… but don’t worry, you don’t need to feel like you’re useless, you can have babies and men can‘t! So… ha!”

Great. I sarcastically sigh. They never really equalize it. They try so hard. They keep saying “Don’t worry, men and women are equal!” But they never give any support for this argument. It’s so easy to say.

I know that I see this through a filter that I’ve come to accept over the years, but that’s because I have seen no evidence to support that statement “Don’t worry, men and women are equal!”
We have no life, we’re pregnant for ten months, during which time our mobility and activities are limited, and then after we have a kid, we clean and care for the kid, while the guy goes off and does fun and important-type stuff…

There are lots of mothers out there who become pregnant with a child for ten months, and that is hard enough, and then she has to breast feed the kid every three hours or something every day, no matter if it’s night time, 3am or not, and don’t forget that she has to change the diapers and all that wonderfulness. They’ve got these babies inside them for ten months, and then once they give birth, the baby is stuck on the outside for another year or so ‘til they learn to walk, and then these women go and have another one!

‘Womanhood’ isn’t just about giving birth and raising kids. I’ve heard many talks and lessons about how great women are, and it’s always tagged in there somewhere, that everything we do is all tailored to the idea of giving birth and raising kids. Well, I beg to differ. I want to hear just one talk, one lesson about how individuals are great. How women are individuals and men are too, and that that is the reason God made us, so we could live and be people of agency to make good choices and come up with good ideas. This is what I feel is missing from all of those talks and lessons and speeches on ‘womanhood’. They say it’s first and foremost about raising children. But I say it’s first and foremost about the potential for being amazing people. It’s not about being living, breathing, reproduction machines. I have joys and talents and desires and ideas and ambitions. I am a person, disassociated from the idea of having children.

I am a person first, who gets up early in the morning on Sunday, gets dressed and makes herself presentable even though she’s tired. I am a person first, who has strengths and flaws and decides drive to a church building every Sunday that’s only two blocks away. Yes, I’m flawed, but I’m an individual first, and then second there is this amazing, sacred duty encompassed by the word: “Womanhood”.

Just Dancing

2009-02-20T16:51:00.000-07:00

The rewards of labor

2009-02-04T13:31:00.004-07:00

I thought this diagram was pretty cool. I saw it when I was... well a lot younger. The colors were very impressive to me at the time, since it wasn't very often I saw a rainbow in a grown-up's book. So I sat looking at the picture for quite a while before I asked my mom what it meant. At that point in time, I was simply drawn to the pretty rainbow, and so of course, when presented with the choice of which one I thought I should choose, I wanted the rainbow one.

I've since come to realize that there is so much more to the diagram, with much more depth than just a pretty hour-glass shaped object vs. the brownish icky (I swear it looked worse in the book) diamond shaped object. The principle of the comparison is actually quite spectacular. The main principle of this diagram is that what you do now, will affect you later. Whether we choose to do something positive and uplifting (sharing our lollipop with the next kid over), or something negative and depressing (hiding out lollipops from everyone else), we can not avoid the fact that there are consequences to every choice we make. "There -- are -- ALWAYS -- consequences!" As would that guy off of that movie (Jumper) say.

It gets harder and harder as we strive to do good, to keep doing good. But if we endure, if we stick it out and keep on, eventually it will turn around and we will find it becomes easier because the rewards outweigh the challenge. An example of that would be lifting weights. As we lift them, we could realize that it hurts, it's hard and we don't like it. But the more we do it, the stronger we become, and the easier it is. And for some reason people get happy because they can lift big weights. And happiness is the ultimate reward for our actions. We have to keep in mind the long-term happiness though, not the short-term surface-type happiness that can be stolen away in an instant once our environment changes.

True happiness is not dependent on any outside influence.

This means that the happiness we feel in any given situation where 'something made us happy' can be stolen away from us if the situation had been opposite what it was. For example, if someone says "I think you look very attractive today", that might make you happy. If it does make you happy, then the opposite would also stand. If they said "I think you look ugly today", then that would make you feel unhappy. The goal though is to be happy even if someone says something that can be taken offensively. The goal is to stay focused on the big picture and realize that even if the world around you is a mosh pit of chaos, or a battle field of arrows aimed at you, or a jail cell of injustice... You can still be happy. Or at least at peace with yourself.

One way to do that, is to be grateful all the time, and looking on the bright side of things. If someone says "I think you look ugly today", you could be grateful that the implication is that the rest of the days, you look beautiful. Or you could be grateful that they pointed it out before you walked out the door so you could do something about it. Or you could be grateful that you don't care if they think you look ugly. Or you could be grateful that you have some duct tape in the drawer. See? All these bright, happy... happy thoughts.

It's the point of this life. "Everlasting Happiness"

Too long for a text message

2009-01-25T01:02:00.006-07:00

It's painful today and I don't know the reason. I have come up with an answer that at least gives me a starting point to figuring out the real answer. My heart almost literally hurts in my chest. It is so close to real pain it's like staring at a photograph of someone I know; it's real, and yet it's fake.

The reason for the pain is simple and it's small. It's something we all want, or need. There are four needs that every person has, and when one is not being fulfilled then we hurt, and we need and we crave and we find a way to get a substitute if not the real thing. Those four needs are:
1. to survive
2. to love (and be loved)
3. to feel important (have a purpose)
4. to have variety (and grow).

I would love to see if any of my friends could guess which one is missing for me right now. But I won't be that cruel to leave it for the guessing. Obviously I'm surviving, so that one can be crossed off. I wonder what you would pick though... I would guess you would pick variety/growth because I don't have a job yet. But that's not it.

I'm not going to directly state which one it is that I am lacking. I thought I wasn't going to be that cruel, but honestly, who really reads my posts anyway? I can't be cruel if you aren't reading it. I am pretty much just typing a journal entry here.

My issue... the reason for my pain right now is that no one asks if I'm hurting or why. I'm human. I hurt. Social custom is to ask "How are you doing?" and appropriate responses are limited to "Fine, thanks. Yourself?" But no one ever means it. When some one really wants to know how you are feeling, they ask, "You look a little down today. Is everything alright?" I'm seldom asked that. And somehow I am asked that question less frequently when I am feeling down and hurt. People want to know how I am feeling when I'm in a good mood, and when I'm happy it's so easy for them to say that they will be there for me if I ever need someone to talk to... But by how many people have I heard that, only to be let down when I'm hurting like this? Way too many.

Now here is a little tip, a bit about my inner workings. When I am asked if everything is alright, I don't disclose what is bothering me, because I am waiting to see if they really care. Are they going to ask again? Do they really care, or are they just feeling guilty, and so they feel pressured into asking? Do they know me well enough to know that I need a nudge? And now that I've told this to any who are still reading and didn't give up on the first paragraph, it will be harder yet to tell people why I hurt. I can tell when people are asking out of curiosity, guilt, shame, vs. care, love, concern. It will be harder now to tell people why I'm hurting when they ask because who ever you are, you will now know what I want, and feel I need, and that means that you may try to give it to me, and when or if you do, I will notice. Since I've lacked it for so long, I will notice if it is given to me, like rain in a drought, I will notice. And I will know it is not genuine, because I know that it is only since I have written this post that you are asking. Thank you for good intentions though.

The other piece to this issue is that I feel that once upon a time I had someone who didn't need to be told to ask me if everything was alright, he skipped that step and went on to asking "wanna go for a drive so we can talk?" See the difference? He knew me well enough to know that something was wrong, and that the best way to help would be to talk about it with me. Life doesn't seem fair now to have stolen the only person who knew me well enough... I've lost my best friend and it's hard because no one has known me so well, and it's such empty hope to wish I could have anything like it again. To have someone who doesn't need to be told that this is how I work, but who figures it out on their own.

No one gives me this gift, so I have tried to give instead. I've tried to be that person who gives and fulfils that need for others. Another tid-bit about me is that when I want something, I'm usually the one to offer it. If I want a back rub, I usually give one. If I want someone to make me food, I go to the kitchen and make food for others. If I want a blanket to keep me warm, I offer one to someone else to keep them warm. I do this in the hope that they will realize that they liked what I did and might return the favor. It seems greedy and self-centered perhaps, but I have the preconception that it is wrong to ask for anything, so that is my way of asking. That in and of itself is wrong (to believe it's wrong to ask for anything), but it's subconscious, so there isn't much I can do about it right now. I'm working on it, but it's slow going.

So I have been trying to be the one who doesn't need to ask if everything is alright, but to ask if the person needs to talk... And I'm not perfect, I can only try. But giving and giving like this with no return hurts too. Eventually I run out of me to give. And that's why Brian, I haven't been replying to texts or emails. I just can't give anymore. Don't care anymore. I need someone to care about me for a change. Maybe I'm the one that needs the backrub or the food or the blanket. Maybe I'm the one that's hurting and I'm the one that needs someone to ask what's wrong, or better yet, ask if I want to go for a walk so that I can talk. Like I said, it's complex. And now you see why it wouldn't work to text all this to you, hey?

Begin...

2009-01-21T22:04:00.005-07:00

I have decided to place my fingers on the keyboard now, in the hopes that my thoughts will spill out once my fingers touch the keys. Instead of debating each thought, doubting each idea, and quitting before I begin, I have placed my fingers down... And now it would seem I am too far along to quit. See how that works? Brilliant really. And not of my own creation.

My brother said once that when he doesn't want to do something, but knows he should, he throws his shoe over the fence, so that he has to climb over the fence to get it. That way he gets done what he didn't want to do. And so here I am, placing my fingers on the keys, and lo and behold they begin to hit buttons and strange symbols appear on the screen. Strange. And just like my brother, "I lean over the edge far enough that I can't back out because I'm already falling into the water."

That's where I would stop if I were given the opportunity to leave this post as is and still retain some self-dignity. But alas, though no one but myself would know that once again and as usual I didn't finish a post on here, I would know it, and would be upset with myself if I didn't finish. And, given the topic, it would prove even more satirically ironic towards my self-esteem to quit now. See, lately I've been quitting with incredible frequency. I have begun lately to quit before I begin, with such frequency that I can only relate this occurrence to one other act of my life! So, it would mean a great deal if I did finish this post. I need to begin to finish again. I have taken a subconsciously great care not to finish what I don't even begin in the nearish past, and I wish to change this.

Therefore this post.

And now that I have tossed my shoe over the fence, by telling myself I must finish this post in such a way, you know that this is the only reason you are reading my words. Because I guilt-tripped myself into doing it. :D I leaned over the edge til I couldn't help but fall in.

And not to change the subject, but seemingly so: am I not always talking about fear? Because I was just about to. I was saying just a moment ago that I quit too often. The reason I quit is because I am afraid. Several of what I would call 'problems', have entered my life. In my dictionary, a problem is simply 'something one does not know what to do with/about.' And why do I not know what to about these problems entering my life? Because of fear of failure. Fear of failing halfway through. So I am finishing this post because I fear that I won't.

(And little did you know, that I didn't finish this post. In fact I took a 2 hour hiatus from writing it. But since you ARE reading it, I suppose I DID finish didn't I? Well, that's a good thing.)

---------------

Thought of the day:
"Brother David Steindl-Rast : Gratefulness is the key to a happy life that we hold in our hands, because if we are not grateful, then no matter how much we have we will not be happy -- because we will always want to have something else or something more."

"Buddha:Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful."

To be grateful, is to be happy. It is that simple, and that complex. I could explain, but if you didn't understand it the first time, well then you should at least be grateful you could read it.

Just a Drawing...

2009-01-06T17:47:00.000-07:00

No meaning behind it. Er... I don't think.

2008-12-21T12:34:00.001-07:00

December 18th 1:50 (Aus time)

2008-12-18T17:25:00.002-07:00

We got off the plane, and WOW what a contrast. There is so much difference between the US border patrol and the Australian Border patrol. They started cracking jokes and I was so stunned, I just stared back at them thinking "Can they DO that? Are they allowed to do that?"

Squinting at them... Cocking the head...

Not just one of them either. About 3 or 4 different employees. All cracking jokes. Wow... what a contrast... They are NICE... Are they allowed to be? hehe... I'm glad they are!

December 18th 12:01 (Home time) 6:01 (Aus. Time)

2008-12-18T17:18:00.002-07:00

So inbetween turning off and on the lights in the cabin/ seating area, we skipped a day. The 17th of December passed in a few seconds. I finally fot up out of my seat during our 13.5 hour flight, and found my ancles to be swollen as well as my toes.

----(time passes)-------

It's been an hour since I wrote last, and all the swelling has gone down pretty much. Amber, Mom, and Roxsane all had the same issue.

It's really cool looking our the windows. The clouds below are teh only thing we can see. I believe we are still over teh ocean right now. The sun is out and it has illuminated everything. It's very angelic or heavenly. I took some photos of the ocean when the clouds parted. I's excited. This is going to be so new!

----(time passes)-------

WE'VE LANDED!
& THERE'S NO SNOW!

and my next thought is... "Where's my deoderant?"

December 16th 9:13pm

2008-12-18T16:54:00.003-07:00

Different airport, and different carpet.

San Fransisco. Excuse the judgement, but this carpet is very much more bland than the last one.
More people. Everywhere. Laying on benches, sprawled out, sitting crosslegged. Makes me wonder what some of them are thinking... but not really. It would take too long to discover what everyone was thinking.

There is a very interesting social psychology going on here. This it the United States. Very interesting... Keep that point in mind here. Roughly every five minutes a female voice comes through the intercom with an extremely interesting statement. (The last statement I heard, ironically, took place at 9:11pm) The statement was like (but not exactly like) this: "San Fransisco Airport has a threat level Orange. Help us keep the threat to a minimum by keeping bags attended at all times, and reporting any suspicious activities or persons, and any baggage that is left unattended by calling 911."

Qua?

I could look at anyone, and I'm sure I could find something suspicious about them. Everyone is suspiciously abnormal (some of them in a normal kind of way).

There is a mindset here that was not present at the last airport. The last one (Canadian may I remind you) said the same basic thing (about not leaving your bags unattended) but they said it without all the kerfuffle about threats or breaches in safety something or other... They seemed at least a little bit more in control. They never said anything about 'Orange'. If anyone is familiar with the forest fire scale, it goes from green (no risk of fires) to yellow (slight risk), ro orange (risk of fire), to red (extreme risk of fire). So that makes me site the question "Qua?" We are in a threat level Orange? Is that constant here at this airport or just since 9/11?

At least it's a little bit warmer weather. But their carpets are still numbingly bland.

December 16th... 5:40pm

2008-12-18T14:02:00.000-07:00

This is day one. I am staring at carpet... That is, when I'm not staring at this pencil and the page beneath it. Every few minutes I glance out the enormous windows to somehow satisfy my curiosity regarding our flight. There isn't very much that glancing out the window provides in the way of updated info.

At one point, one jet plane (the largest I've seen so close up) went round in circles on the run way for seemingly no reason. It appears to have parked on the runway itself, blocking traffic... don't ask me though, because I'm Canadian, and apparently Canadians don't know anything.

I'm staring at the carpet wondering "Is this Canadian soil or American?" We have finally passed through the lineups, boarding pass area, border, and luggage checking area. We deduced that most of the officers assisting us MUST have been American, because they didn't laugh at our jokes or smile when we smiled at them. And that doesn't shine well for the American populous, but it's the most logical conclusion here at the border.

We have passed the border line where they scrupilously checked us and re-checked us to make sure that we aren't terrorist threats. So my question is, have we crossed onto American soil? Here in Calgary, beyond those winding hallways and 'dutiful' border patrol officers, is there an American sanctioned spit of land that is American soil? Is the carpet I am staring at, claimed or purchased by the Americans?

Anyway, our floight... well we missed it. The first one anyway. We are trying for the second one now. The first time we hadn't located my aunt yet because of a delayed connecting flight. So we re-scheduled and here we are. FINALLY.

No offense to Americans... I love most Americans. It's just the border patrol Americans who tend to show no emotion other than irratableness, and give off the distinctive aura of being smarter than all Canadians, thereby placing us kindly in the "Stupid Canadians" slot.

I look out the window again. It will be good to leave those mounds of snow behind. And the Americans.

Opinions and Wars

2008-12-03T01:23:00.006-07:00

Every person on this planet has views on every issue that is presented to them. Even if that opinion is simply that they don’t care, they still have an opinion. Sometimes or most times (which ever way you prefer to look at it) people disagree on things. Views differ. And that is where other people claim that wars start. The claim is that wars are started because of disagreements. But I disagree.

This is where my opinion differs from the claim of those who have gone before me. I would submit that wars, battles and arguments are not caused by differing views, but by the lack of two things.

The first thing is the ability to communicate. If there is no desire to communicate, then differences can build into arguments, and arguments into battles, and battles into wars. Communication is key to solving roughly (by my estimates) %40-%50 of those issues and differences. It’s the understanding of each other’s opinions that solves the need of avoiding contention. Most opinions are drawn from logical and heartfelt life experience upon which people draw truth from. But every person experiences life from their own perspective and thereby experience a different truth from the next person. It is these life experience opinions that sometimes clash with each other, but understanding that we all had good reason for the opinions we hold, would eliminate a lot of the contention right at the start.

The second thing that causes war, is the battle within. There is no way that anyone completely at peace with themselves would find the need to fight or argue, or maim others with words. Someone at peace with themselves would for instance not take offence to someone blaming them of a crime, as they know that they are innocent. They would be open and willing to hear the perspectives of others because they would not feel threatened. They would have no need to hold grudges against anyone, as they would be at peace with themselves and not care what others thought, judged, or did of them. That said, I don’t mean that they wouldn’t care at all what was done, judged or thought of them, but that they wouldn’t care to the extent that they base their worth on it. And that is the difference.

Our worth is infinite and we as a general statement we don’t realize that. If we did, perhaps we would be at peace with ourselves. And perhaps there would be no more contention, arguments, battles or wars. High hopes… I know… but then again, so is inner peace.

And now, that is my opinion. This is a chance to communicate, understand and be at peace with yourself. Opinions anyone?

This is your chance. So take it.

2008-11-23T22:16:00.000-07:00

I don’t know what got into me, but I’m glad it did. It’s not often that I do this sort of thing. In fact, I have never done this sort of thing in my life.

I was sitting in my car, facing toward the park, headlights dead as night, and darkness already fallen. The only light was the one above my head in the car, and the one over that that we call the moon. I pulled out my paper to scribble down some lyrics that had been buzzing through my head. Pens malfunctioning, I scoured my purse for something to write with. Four pens that didn’t work; what were the chances of that? As I continued to search, I looked around the vehicle and noticed a truck about six stalls over. It took only one glance to realize someone was inside it. In the driver’s seat was a figure, head bowed and not moving. I didn’t think much of it, as I continued my pen searching and thinking. After waiting a while in the car as words danced about me, I figured it was best that I get going, and I pulled out, aware of the truck with the lonely figure inside. I pulled away and drove from the park, turning home. I felt the desire to go back and ask if the person inside was ok.

And that is where the story would have ended had it been me only a few months ago. But this time, I chose something different. Something inside me said ‘Sera, this is your chance. So take it. You’ve been afraid for far too long. This is the time to turn around and do something. Be courageous.’ I fought it for a bit but then decided the voice was right. This was the time, and here I was, face to face with myself. Would I do it? Would I go back and offer assistance?

Even though I was alone?

This experience wouldn’t have ended up on my blog if I hadn’t turned back around. I made an adjustment in my course, and turned left at the light instead of going straight. Flipping around, I drove to the parking lot where the truck still waited, figure still bowed. I pulled my vehicle up beside theirs and got out.

No one was with me. No one was going to save me if something unexpected happened. No one was going to help me figure out what to do. Did I mention that I’ve never done this sort of thing before? I knocked on their window, feeling a little bit like a creeper, but knowing I was doing something that I couldn’t back out of now. The young man inside lifted his head and asked what I wanted, in a curious kind of way. He rolled down the window when he couldn’t hear, and I asked if he was ok.

Please don’t go expecting that I save his life at this point or something, because I didn’t. And this story is about me, not him. Sorry to be so self-centered here, but I don’t know the rest of his story. I don’t know if he was praying, having a hard day, or just sleepy. All I know is that he told me that he was ok, and thanked me for my concern, and then I excused myself for bothering him. I have no idea what went through his head. I have no idea why he was sitting there in that parking lot. I have no idea if my asking was anything more than a smile to him on a down day. I hope I helped, but if nothing else, I sure helped me.

I realized tonight that I don’t have to wish to be a different person anymore. I can do anything, when I face my fears. Even though it may seem small, I am better for it. After this experience, I realized that I really can do anything. I just need to listen to that voice that says ‘Sera, this is your chance. So take it.’

Like I said, I don’t know what got into me, but I’m glad it did. It’s not often that I do this sort of thing. In fact, I have never done this sort of thing before… but I hope to do it again and again and again.

Empty Christmas Boxes

2008-11-12T10:02:00.002-07:00

My brother has an entrepreneural company making videos (commercials, short videos, and wedding videos) and was making a commercial for his company's website just to say "Merry Christmas" to potential customers. The implications consisted of the replacement and reconstruction of our living room with boughs, ribbon, stockings, fully decorated Christmas tree and of course fake Christmas gifts impeccably wrapped up and placed aesthetically beneath the tree.

For a short time the living room morphed from serenity, to disaster zone, to Christmas set, and then back again. Mean while other rooms in the house filled up with empty Christmas decoration boxes, greenery and book shelves. Chaos reigned for a time, yet through the chaos, we were given an early glimpse into the Christmas spirit. The tree set up in its usual corner, lights blazing like momentary beacons, there was something peaceful about sitting in the Christmas set. While sitting on the couch, staring up at the decorated tree, color coordinated ribbons and bows, and the angel waiting like a cake topper, an excited child that had already been excited for Christmas for a while, jumped up and down on the couch, couldn't resist touching the stockings, and looking up the chimney. It was so easy to sit there, taking in the Christmas spirit... in early November.

There is so much to Christmas that draws me to it each year. I always feel a little reserved exclaiming my excitement for Christmas because I worry the interpretation would be that I focus on getting gifts and that that brings me the Christmas spirit. But I'd like to settle this here by saying why I feel so excited when I look up at the tree, see the snow out the window or smell ginger cookies.

The most exciting things about Christmas have nothing to do with gift getting in the physical sense. But I do get gifts; huge gifts that can never be wrapped. Like putting up Christmas decorations with family, and giggling about all sorts of things; making snow forts, sledding, or snowball fights; running around in Santa hats everywhere and exclaiming to passers-by 'Merry Christmas!'; making gingerbread houses and decorating the little people that go inside (of course while doing so, being serenaded by Christmas music); sitting next to the fireplace warming up after being outside in the cold snow; sneaking around town dropping off anonymous gifts at door steps; coming up with creative gifts for each person and then mischievous ways to wrap them. But all of this would be nothing without others. Friends and family are the reason for it all. The reason for Christmas spirit.

Sitting on the couch, gazing into the fire, eyes resting on the wrapped gift boxes, I see the days when we gather together those of us who aren't able to, or don't make time to, and actually spend that time with each other, laughing and having fun. Unwrapping gifts is just an excuse to gather us together. Doesn't matter what is under the tree. For all I care, they could be empty Christmas boxes.

Can we shake the sleep?

2008-11-07T09:32:00.005-07:00

I lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. I haven’t been here that long, because I usually skip from topic to topic so fast I loose track of where I started and eventually fall asleep, content to muse on the thoughts tomorrow. I don’t bother getting out of bed to do anything about the thoughts. Fear is such an easy thing to obey. And this time is no different than the last.

My thoughts run from the latest book I wanted to pick up, but never got around to, to how I should have re-phrased my words in the last conversation, or thrown a spontaneous party at my house just because I've never done that before. My head tosses around ideas lazily as though it were half-heartedly searching through my shirt drawer for something to wear, chucking each article of clothing onto the floor after a simple glance, only to stuff them disorderly back in, dissatisfied.

Usually, my patterns of thought lead me back to the topic of assertiveness. My thoughts track patterns through my head as though they were animals attracted to a drinking hole. Eventually every thought leads to my assertiveness, or lack thereof.

See, the problem is that I have so many things I want to do, and I have motivation too, I just don’t ever get started. It is frightening to start. Fear holds me back from all the activities I want to do, but just don’t do. ‘What if I make a fool of myself?”, “What if I embarrass someone?”, “What if I fail?” Doubtful and fearful questions pelt my thoughts ceaselessly until I give in to the fear, and decide that I didn’t really want to do it anyway. Fear is so overwhelming. Such a fraud, but so overwhelming. So how do I get rid of it? I have come to the conclusion that it takes faith. It takes believing in something better and hopeful to get rid of the doubt and fear. And less self-centered-ness. If I think about others, and think hopefully, I think it will work out. I hope it will, anyway.

The funny part is that it probably takes the very quality I don’t have in order to get the quality I want. It probably takes being assertive to get assertiveness… But isn’t that how most qualities work? If you want to be humble, practice being humble. If you want to be brave, practice being brave. If you want to be happy, practice being happy. I think it’s just that I am not experienced with this quality yet.

In my bed, my thoughts are as usual unanswered or dwelt upon because I’m looking for the answer that’s easy, because thinking takes too much energy. I’m in bed after all. Where is the answer that is going to fall into my lap?.

Hmmm…

I’m not going to find it like this am I? I actually have to get out of bed this time and do something about it… don’t I… Hmmm…

Maybe…

Maybe I’ll try something new this time. And maybe I’ll like it. Maybe it won’t be so scary. And perhaps… It might work this time.

Jerusalem Construction

2008-10-27T13:05:00.009-06:00

(J.S. Matthew 1:12, 15)
When you, therefore, shall see the abomination of desolation, spoken of by Daniel the prophet, concerning the destruction of Jerusalem, then you shall stand in the holy place; whoso readeth let him understand...
Neither let him who is in the field return back to take his clothes...

My first question after reading that was 'What did Daniel talk about regarding the destruction of Jerusalem?' What ever it is that he spoke about, it's a sign that we are supposed to watch for. We are supposed to watch for signs of His coming, and this is one of them. When this sign happens, we are supposed to go to the "holy place" which I interpret to mean to the temple. Hinckley was known for his dedication in setting up temples all around the world. His goal was to have one temple within a days journey for all Saints. He, being a prophet may have had this purpose in mind; knowing it is the 'last days' and knowing that events were about to unfold very soon, it seems he thought it pertinent to have a temple within a day's journey for all Saints in order to gather to them when the prophecy of Daniel (regarding Jerusalem) happens.

The referenced prophecy of Daniel was a hard to figure out at first, but I think I understand it now. It was confusing because it used the word "he" instead of specifying, it was difficult to figure out if he meant Satan, the world in general, or the Anti-Christ. But after studying it for a bit, I feel that it makes sense.

70 weeks (roughly 1.3 years) are given to finish construction in Jerusalem under the impression that it is for the Messiah. Seven weeks (almost two months) will be given for the blue-prints to be passed around and analyzed, before the actual construction will begin. The street and wall of Jerusalem will be rebuilt. During a 62 week period (a little over one year) of construction, the 'Messiah shall be cut off, but not of himself' which sounds like his name (and the reason for the construction) will be forbidden. The 'prince' (the same one who initiated the construction) will destroy the city and sanctuary, ('and the end thereof will be with a flood') which sounds like a conspiracy to me, because why would you set up construction for something that takes over a year to build, and then destroy it? It would make sense if the act of destroying it were blamed on someone else though. Frame someone else.

It says 'and unto the end of the war desolations are determined.' That sounds like someone was planning the 'war' and 'desolations'. After the desolation and destruction, some kind of covenant takes place over the period of one week. Perhaps a covenant to keep silent about what happened? Also during that week, 'sacrifice and the oblation' (sacrament? prayer? thanksgiving?) is caused to cease, and forbidden.

This is my interpretation of what Daniel prophesied. But suffice it to say, that even if the interpretation is wrong, the events of the construction of different sections of Jerusalem over the period of 70 weeks will happen and then will be destroyed and flooded. This is a sign to pay attention to. When we find out that Jerusalem has been destroyed, Jesus tells us (in J.S.M.) that we should go to the holy place.

Hinckley had the forethought about this, and took action. We should too. I've wondered why they haven't been prophesying lately at general conference about the near future, and have come to the conclusion that really, they have been preparing us the best they can. There is nothing more important now than our spiritual well-being, once the calamities hit. Hold a current temple recommend. That will be the key, the ticket, the passport if you will.

There are reasons for the warnings, and reasons for the signs, and reason why the focus is on spiritual growth rather than physical prophecy. The prophecies have been given, the signs have been spoken. It's time to prepare, and time to listen.

Who's listening?

Safety Net

2008-10-20T01:39:00.004-06:00

It's much too late to be up and writing a blog. "Who gave you permission?!"

Ah well. This one is more of a blog entry than a intellectual something or other. I have something I need to say about my life that may be of some use to others. I don't know that it will, but I hope it will. Otherwise this could be a journal entry for all I care.

I'm feeling a little odd lately in a "I wish that made more sense" kind of way. Thoughts buzz around like a basketball in a tournament, and each time it is passed around from though to thought it makes feelings, some indecipherable, reliant on my ability to read my own mind. But that's the tricky part. I'm the only one who can explain myself to myself and yet I don't know why I'm feeling the way I am on certain topics. Why is that? I seem to be the only one who can get inside my head and I can't even figure myself out. How am I supposed to figure anyone else out?

At this point I want to slightly change topics. I want to explore the concept of metaphorical safety nets. I've been feeling odd like I said before, and I realize it has to do with my insecurities and my fears. I don't want to get involved with anyone, because of a fear of hurt. I don't want to expand my 'circle of influence' because I don't want to become vulnerable by spreading myself too thin. All of these situations in my head call for the same thing. Safety nets. I need back up plans. People I can fall back on to catch me if I need it. Places of security that I can turn to that are going to hold me up in emergencies etc.

I am not going to wrap this up all nicely since I don't know how. It's more of a proposition to try creating safety nets than anything else. I think it's what I need since advice and common sense points that way. Growth can only happen if we reach outside our comfort zone, but if we reach to fast we might fall, and we need a net to catch us sometimes. That's what I'm looking for. Growth.

A pocket of emergency cash, an extra change of clothes, a supportive friend, a back up plan... things to fall back on.

One Thousand Shells and a Million Ocean Waves

2008-10-14T21:33:00.010-06:00

I've been to the ocean twice in my life, once when I was too little to remember and once this last summer. When I was too little to remember (about 5 or 6), we went to the ocean to collect the final clue at the end of a treasure hunt for real buried treasure that my aunt had hidden in a box beneath the sand. I think she created all the little golden trinkets within the box, and I wonder now where they have gotten to, because in our family, we never throw things out.

I don't remember very much about the ocean other than the a snippet of the crazily sharp cliff rocks, a glimpse of the expansive ocean, and a large dead crab that convinced my 6 year old self that I never wanted to set foot in that monster-ridden water. About four years ago, I decided I wanted to go back, mostly because I'd forgotten what it was like, and had heard it was fabulous. 'Going to the Ocean' was something I put on my 'to do list'. The one most of us write at some point in our lives listing the things we want to accomplish before we die, unless we only have one thing on that list which is: to write that aforementioned list.

There are about 35 things I've written on that list, and some have been able to be crossed off. It's one of the most exciting experiences to go over that list and pre-live those experiences, and cross off others. But I find that the more I go over my list, the more I add to it, as though each thing I've done previously adds two items to the list, and at the rate I'm at... well, I will never finish. I've acquired a driver's license, but now I've added to the list that I want to go on a spontaneous road trip, and that I want to travel to Egypt. I've gone skiing, but now I want to go snowboarding, and skydiving. I've been accross Canada, but now I want to go to Peru and to Austrailia. And more than dreaming, I hope these goals will come true. Interesting though isn't it, how the more we do in life, the more we want to do. Like going to the Ocean.

Although I can now officially cross it off of my 'to do' list, I feel the need to put 'Going to the Ocean' on the 'Things I should do again sometime' list. Last summer at the ocean was spectacular. When we first got to the beach, I noticed a shell on the ground and thought 'This is beautiful! Unique! I should keep this!' As we continued down the path to the beach, more and more of these little shells lay scattered about our feet. I eagerly picked up shell after shell. Once my feet touched the sand though, reality stole me from my 'lucky me' mindset as my eyes rested on the thousands of little black shells that littered the beach like unwanted waste. I dropped my thoughtful collection and only picked up the most significant, unique and precious ones to take back with me as tokens of remembrance... including a couple sand dollars, random bubble seaweed, and of course, some small dead crabs. Apparently I couldn't get around that lovely... dead... smelly... piece of the experience, so I decided to take some home with me.

The waves, the starfish; the driftwood, the sand... Another expereince to check off my list. And now I've added to my list again. To travel to more beaches around the world, and to dance on the beach as the sun goes down. My list will never stop growing, for as each chapter of life's adventure draws to a close, somewhere two more chapters have just begun.

Fairly Deep for a Dream.

2008-10-11T11:59:00.001-06:00

Last night I had a dream. I thought it was interesting enough to share. Normally my dreams follow a nonsensical pattern jumping around randomly as a crazy story. They usually revolve around me, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stayed the same for the whole dream. Sometimes I am a duck, superman or some video game character. I change frequently enough.

This dream was interesting because I wasn’t part of it really, and neither was the dream. It was like I was an observer, still aware that I existed, but more concerned with the events than in where or who I was. I witnessed my dreams forming in a way I found different, and profound.

I saw one dream playing out before me, people in the kitchen over exaggerating something, and then like a movie, it zoomed out from the scene and showed bits of paper floating up away from the scene I had just witnessed. The pieces of paper were torn up scraps but each one had an individual drawing/scribble on it. These pieces floated up and I followed their course until I was no longer aware of the scene below me. There were hundreds and hundreds of these little pieces of paper.

You know how in dreams you can just tell certain things about what is going on? Well, I had the knowledge that these little pieces of paper with little scribbles on them were pieces of unused dreams. The scribbles were representative of the pieces of the dreams that had never been used by the dreamer because the dreamer unconsciously decided to take the dream in another direction, and so the ideas that the dreamer never saw became these pieces of papers, carrying the thoughts that floated away.

Then I became aware that I could use these pieces of paper to form any dream I wanted, like a painter with a new set of paints. All of these pieces of dreams could be put back together and then form whole dreams. I became the creator. But I don't know what happened after that, I just remember that part of the dream.

The thing I am realizing is that there is truth in this dream. It’s a metaphor. We really can piece together the thoughts and feelings that we forget about, the ideas and epiphanies we can’t remember and piece them back together and make our lives, new experiences, and masterpieces out of them. Visualize what we want to see, and the pieces will fit together. But not all dreams are good dreams, so we have to pick and choose which pieces to fit together to form the thoughts and realities we want. There are worlds we don't see that we can still use perhaps. Worlds of ideas not fully formed, waiting for someone to take them and put them into a picture to become something beautiful.

Fairly deep for a dream.

Herald

2008-10-08T12:38:00.013-06:00

LETHBRIDGE HERALD
Established Nov. 8, 1905

“As long as there is paste in
its pot or lead in its pencil,
The Herald will bow to no
one and endeavor to do
justice to all. It will spare no
effort to obtain legitimate
news from whatever source
it might come.”
- from The Herald’s
first editorial

Beautiful isn't it? Something that lets us know that we will always find truth in their words. Something we can trust. Something in these days found lacking.

They've printed that in every single edition of the paper since 1905. I've enjoyed seeing it on every paper I've picked up, always on the opinion page, bottom right corner... letting me know that they are holding to that promise.

It's not there anymore. As of Saturday, September 20th 2008, that assurance was taken out. Of course they don't mention anything about that change specifically because at this point we are all so distracted with the new look of the entire paper (new heading, new way of numbering pages, new structure to the columns) that we over look these little things. But this was very shocking to me. It's looking more and more like the Calgary Herald, in both design and standards. The Calgary newspaper has very low standards and in my opinion, is corrupt.

It was easy to see the contrast between the two newspapers, as not long ago we had subscriptions to both. They came to our door day after day, loading our home with scores of papers, which accumulated into several large and precarious towers as we stacked paper on top of paper. Even now we have a stack building on our table, but at a much slower pace since we are only subscribed to the local one.

The Calgary Herald had all kinds of crazy stories in it. Contradicting itself in more than one place and differing in accounts from the one our Lethbridge paper told. Most usual of the Calgary Herald was the scare-tactic it used on the front page everyday, making the events enormous and catastrophic, only to ignore it the next day. You can see my worry now, when the Lethbridge paper changed its look and became more like the Calgary newspaper. It's not the layout that I am concerned with, but the content. The most shocking part of the transformation, was the removal of that editorial promise, bottom right hand side on the Opinion page of the newspaper.

It may be that I am jumping to conclusions, but one thing is bothering me about the missing promise. They may still tell the truth, humans have the ability to do so. But to remove those words is to no longer set and hold to a standard at all. They haven't replaced it with a new promise, they have removed it. Which means they no longer have any standard to abide by. No need to tell the truth. Nothing to live up to. The promise has been removed. They can say whatever they want... or whatever someone else wants...

her·ald: [her-uhld]

1. a person or thing that precedes or
comes before; forerunner;
harbinger: the returning swallows,
those heralds of spring.

2. a person or thing that proclaims or
announces: A good newspaper
should be a herald of truth.

Playing chess

2008-10-07T23:37:00.005-06:00

I move my knight over to the left and try to block the queen from taking advantage of my castle. I would rather it was my knight than my castle... she took my other castle… Great. Well, maybe I can move my pawn in the way… Nope. That didn’t work. I’ll try to distract him by placing my pawn over here. Maybe then he won’t attack my castle…

This is how I play chess. I base my moves on how best to defend my pieces. Not even particularly my king, just defend my pieces… that it. That is my strategy. And for anyone else's information, if you want to win while playing against me, all you have to do is get at my king, and automatically you'll win. I don't try to get at the other player's king, so eventually, they will win.

Anyone familiar with that phrase “How you do anything, is how you do everything.”? I realized tonight, that how I play chess is how I live my life. I base my choices and ‘moves’ on defensive positions, playing it safe, and not going outside of my comfort zone. And guess what, I don’t win anything. I loose even in the situations that are a ‘no-brainer’ to the average ‘chess player’.

So far, I’ve found that any ambition I undertake falls short of my expectations, and I tend to plan on getting out of the disaster instead of avoiding it in the first place. It is my mind set. I’m sure others have these kinds of experiences, and see it in themselves as well. How you play chess is how you play life. Do you play by watching other people do it first? Do you recklessly place pieces all over the chessboard? Do you carefully and thoughtfully place a piece at a time, sure that you will win? Do you guess, and rely on chance? Do you know the game so well that you feel confident in playing anyone, but when it comes to checkers feel like an amateur?

I've already stated how I play chess, and I’m changing my game plan. Not sure how yet, but I’m never sure of each step until I take the one before it. I think my first move is to take my castle, (the one I’ve been safe-guarding) and move him into position to be ready to take out the king. It’s a difficult first step, and I would rather stay safe than exert myself… but isn’t that what I am trying to overcome?

Maybe I can win. Life is here again, at my door. Do I let him in? Maybe I'll sit down and play chess with him. And maybe this time... maybe this time, I'll win.

My question is extended to you: ‘How do you play chess?’

The Parable of the Prince

2008-10-01T23:31:00.003-06:00

There once was a prince who was not a boy of fondness, but never purposely unkind. One day as he passed by some shops, he pocketed a few apples from a seller’s cart. On the way down the street, a man from the crowd remarked to the prince “Sir, a friend of mine has been stolen from in unfair trade. This is against the law, what would you have me do of it?” I think you might know the man.” The prince looked at his fellows, and turning back to the man, shook his head and replied “I know of none. Yet I know well that it is not me.” and after a salutation, carried on his way.

Down the road the group of friends stumbled into a cart, causing it to fall and spill produce across the road. “Come now, let’s off to the town fountain. So as not to make ourselves in the way of these people.” The prince remarked. Once there, a man at the fountain said, “Prince, I know of a friend who turned away from me when I was in need, this friend having already taken substance of me, and then no return whatsoever in my need, Sir. Is this not an unpaid debt? What would you have me do of it?” At which the prince looked upon the man and then to his fellows. “I would not know, Sir, yet I know well that it is not me.”

Wishing to make less of himself so as to avoid any others in the crowd, he led his group to the library. Surely here no one would make a nuisance.

Yet here a man lay on the steps leading up to the library, badly bruised and sore. The prince was decided and went on in. “Someone else will help the man. Royalty has no place aiding simpletons.”

As fate would have it, a man approached the prince and begged his audience alone within the library. “Sir, I sorely need advice. My brother lay dying in battle, and cried for help to a passing medical officer, yet the medical officer after seeing my brother’s status said ‘it is not my place to help someone of lower rank.’ My brother is now dead. I feel the medical officer is to fault. What would you have me do of it?”

At this the prince feared the man knew his heart and ran from the library. His friends and the man on the steps, were no where seen, neither cart of produce nor the apple stand.

Suddenly he fell forward, people laughing at his disgraceful appearance. A mob of thieves took to the jewelry on his fingers and wrists, and stole from his person as he vulnerably lay on the street. After they let him alone, he stood and began to make his way home alone, bruised and sore.

He was almost to the castle when he saw the man from the street who now he recognized as the same from the fountain and library. Wondering how he couldn’t have noticed him as the same fellow, the prince sat down exhausted by the road and looked up at the man. “You are right, Sir. Harm has been done to your robbed friend, and as debt unpaid to you, and yet again to your brother as he lay dying. And I have done these things. What would you have me do of it?”

The man looked down at the prince, dirty clothes, bruised and tired, and beckoned him. “Come and see what has been done.” And together they walked up the last of the way to the castle.

The man with the apple cart, stood before him. “Sir, I apologize.” Said the prince. “I have taken of your stores and thought only of myself. What would you have me do of it?” The man smiled and shrugged “Perhaps you are mistaken. I have come to the king to sell of my stores. Some other apple seller perhaps? I know well that it is not me.”

The boy stood puzzled, and yet saw the man with the produce cart that he had overturned. Turning he said, “Sir, I know that I ought to have helped you to get the produce back into your cart. It was a debt in effect for I had caused it. And now what would you have me do of it?” The man smiled and shrugged. “This cart has four wheels, Sir. The best four wheels in the town. They have never tipped for I would have known it. Perhaps you are mistaken, for I know well that it is not me.”

Perplexed and confused the boy found the man that had been left upon the stairs of the library. “Sir.” The boy said humbly. “I have deep need of forgiveness from you. I have wronged you deeply. I could have caused your death, and I know I must have caused you great sorrow. What would you have me do of it?” The man smiled and shrugged. “Surely I would have remembered being close to death? Perhaps you are mistaken, for I know well that it is not me.”

The boy turned to the man who had thrice questioned him. “How, Sir? How is it done?” The man held out his hands for the boy to see. “When you understood your own pain, you understood theirs. I have felt your pain and I have felt their pain. I have healed their hearts. This is my gift. What would you have me do of it?”

Fire!

2008-10-01T12:40:00.008-06:00

Fire! Fire! Everyone get out!

Fires are deadly. Scary. Fast. I always thought that putting water on a fire put it out. And don't worry. I didn't burn my house down. And no, no one else burned my house down either. There was a video that I just watched that is important to understand. I'll explain what happened in the video so that it makes more sense because it is in a different language. Basically, they have a pot of grease that's on a regular stove that has caught fire. They take a long stick and simulate someone naively pouring a scoop of water into the fire to try and put it out. The results are both incredible and terrifying.

Originally before I saw that video I thought "Oh, it's not that bad. If I put water on a grease fire it would just spread the fire out a bit and really if I just put enough water on the fire it would eventually be diluted enough and spread far enough that the fire would have no fuel left. It would have to burn up much faster."

Ooops. Yeah, no.

Isn't it conveniently ironic though? I mean we are always trying to put out fires aren't we? I am at least. Trying to solve the latest puzzle, mend feelings, understand the world. There is always something that is burning out of control that sometimes I end up sticking a metaphoric cup of water on and FOOF! It goes up in a plume of smoke. Good intentions... bad method.

See, water isn't always the solution for putting out fires. It's the situation that calls for or against water. There is proper uses and times to smother, smack, and cool the flame. Individual situations call for individual methods to put out the fires in our lives. One situation may call for being quiet, while another, being quiet could mean super-heated anger.

For now, let's choose to stay safe. Heads up: don't pour water on oil fires.

Last leaf... Summer is nigh.

2008-09-25T15:18:00.005-06:00

Thank you Karen for sharing that video. I've heard so much about this before, but never yet so concisely, and current.

In the world as we speak there is so much going on. You know those people who walk around with signs who say "The End is Nigh!"? They are right this time. I'd be out there with them, but I think my time is better used in other ways.

I want to mention my thoughts on the video. I've been paying attention to the updates in the economic markets and such. With the economy so low (as it is RIGHT NOW), we (Canadians, Americans and probably Mexicans) will be begging for some kind of savior to give us peace of mind, and the basics of life. People will beg for a savior from the monetary crisis we are in, and what will the government do to save us? Obviously, they will save us by combining the monetary systems of Canada, Mexico and the USA. And since that premeditatedly won't work, they will save us by giving us these chips.

What do we do about it? I don't know if there is any way we could think of that these people haven't already thought their way around it. All I know is to pray, read scriptures and prepare for the worst, which is for the first time in my own life, right around the corner.

Explanation...

2008-09-23T01:07:00.002-06:00

I had to edit my big blog post so that it would be understandable, and readable... It was getting too long. The last three were meant to be one, but I felt that they would still work individually, and would make most sense that way, so I cut them up. Hope you enjoy!

Belief Prison

2008-09-23T01:02:00.005-06:00

I was sitting outside, beside our foggy glass picnic table, basking in what was probably the last of the summer sun when some sort of tiny flying bug flew randomly over to where I was and underneath the table. After zigzagging around a bit as though it were searching for something important it had lost in at the beach, it suddenly (like bugs do) zipped upward, obviously expecting to keep the upward momentum. It hit the glass again and again and again, trying to fly up. It bounced a rough full circle around the underside of the table, eventually stopping to clean itself.

I’ve seen this natural phenomenon over and over where the stupid bug doesn’t understand that simply flying over and up would have much more effective results. Sometimes it needs to fly down, over and up, which yes, is a bit too complicated for an insect, but if only they could wrap their infinitesimally small minds around it, there wouldn’t be so many dead wasps and other insects trapped in windows, bug traps and empty upside-down peanut butter containers.

Many people (if not all) in some aspect or another are like that little bug. The glass is like the beliefs we hold about the universe. If we believe something is so, so it is. We say to ourselves that it is so, and it is so. It is our own beliefs that may set us free or imprison us. The insect didn’t understand the glass, and most of us don’t understand the invisible obstacles and walls that hold us from accomplishing the amazing. We can’t see clearly through the glass, because our beliefs of the world are skewed. As always, we see the world the way we believe it is, because of past experiences, and ‘that is just how it is.’

We can’t tell exactly what is on the other side, yet we faithfully continue pummeling with all our weight against the glass surface, sure that there is something of worth on the other side worth wrecking ourselves over. Maybe it’s all the pummeling and brain damage the little bugs receive that make it impossible for them to connect the dots that going around or under would save their lives.

For us, it is hard to keep trying after failing again and again. We can choose to give up and curl into a ball to die like most insects do, or fight for a way out of our self-imposed belief prison. And yes, if we keep fighting while holding the same beliefs then we will have the same experience, and probably receive brain damage.

We all have those grudges, insistencies or stubborn tendencies to live certain ways. We insist on slamming up against the obstacles we could so easily get around, if only we could wrap our minds around the simple changing of beliefs. It would save us most frustration and give us time in the long run.

Sometimes, we can hazily see what’s out there but we run away from it, believing the sight to be false, and we don’t want to trust in the false, right? So we curl up and die. Just joking, we don’t die, but metaphorically speaking, we kill off faith, hope and the belief of something better. The part of us that says “try, live, and learn.” So we give up. And that is the worst thing to do in this life. That coming from one who’s given up too many times.

If only we could see, that moving over a little bit, adjusting our belief, allowing room for the unknown, we would fly out from beneath the glass, and become free.

"Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe." - St. Augustine