Politics

So much going on politically in the States now. And I'm so far removed from it all. But I was rereading one of my favorite Mary Oliver collections the other day and came across this poem. It's so fitting, so I thought I'd share.

Of the Empire

We will be known as a culture that feared death
and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity
for the few and cared little for the penury of the
many. We will be known as a culture that taught
and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke
little if it all about the quality of life for
people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All
the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a
commodity. And they will say that this structure
was held together politically, which it was, and
they will say also that our politics was no more
than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of
the heart, and that the heart, in those days,
was small, and hard, and full of meanness.

~Mary Oliver, Red Bird

Summertime

[credit]

My life, tomorrow, will errupt with activity. I will be teaching an English camp in the morning from 9am-12:50 pm, and then I'll be heading to work as usual from 2-9. The camp is 10 days long and I must have temporarily lost my mind, because it coincides with our summer break here at ELP. Which means that instead of a week off, I will have a week of teaching middle schoolers who can barely say their ABCs English. But I will have my afternoons free. And I will have a nice chunk of change in the bank afterward. I'm also this week catching up with my running plan. I'm living in week 5, but running week 4. I think I will sleep well. So, there's that.

Also, I wanted to tell you that last night I was propped up on my elbows, lying on my stomach in bed, reading Why I Wake Early, a collection of poems from Mary Oliver. And after I read page 43, I had to flip over onto my back, sling one hand over my chest, and let the tears soak back up into my eyes as I stared at the ceiling. This poem devastated me. Just devastated me. 91% of that devastation was from it's beauty and perfection. The other 9% of the devastation stemmed from the fact that I didn't write it first. Not that I'm capable of Mary Oliver quality. But whenever I read good writing, really good writing, there's some twinge deep in my chest. It's related to regret and I think it's a cousin of jealousy. But not quite. Anyway, back to being devastated. It was just that good.


It's the middle of summer, so I will share this mid-summer poem with you. Be careful. You might have to flip over onto your back and take a few deep breaths. I plan to live in this poem for the next two weeks.

Luna

In the early curtains
of the dusk,
it flew,
a slow galloping

this way and that way
through the trees
and under the trees.
I live

in the openmindedness
of not knowing enough
about anything.
It was beautiful.

It was silent.
It didn't even have a mouth.
But it wanted something,
it had a purpose

and a few precious hours
to find it,
and I suppose it did.
The next evening

it lay on the ground
like a broken leaf
and didn't move,
which hurt my heart

which is another small thing
that doesn't know much.
When this happened it was about the middle of summer,

which also has its purposes
and only so many precious hours.
How quietly,
and not with any assignment from us,

or even a small hint
of understanding,
everything that needs to be done
is done.

~Mary Oliver

P.S. I wrote this post instead of scavenging for my dinner tonight. Because sometimes, poetry trumps hunger.

June is Here

June is a very special month, my lovelies. Why? Because I am setting some limits and reaching some goals.

Welcome to June. This month I am telling myself, "No Ma'am!" in my most Southernest of accents. I was reading an essay last week that bowled me over. Wendell Berry writes, in his masterpiece Faustian Economics, "...our human and earthly limits, properly understood, are not confinements but rather inducements to formal elaboration and elegance, to fullness of relationship and meaning."

And I've been telling myself, "Why not?" for so long. I'm tired of that mentality because it's getting me nowhere. I'm fat, unhappy, and lazy. So, welcome to June! In this month, which is a completely reasonable amount of time, I will tell myself no. I'm doing this for a few reasons. One, I'm bored with being lazy. I'm bored with indulgence. I'm bored with "Why not?" Two, I'm ready to see what I can do. I'm ready to start functioning within limits I set and seeing what I can achieve.

So, onto the NO MA'AM list for this month-long project:
No Spending
No spending means, well, no spending. We are buying groceries and gas, along with cat and gardening supplies. And that's it! No daily coffee purchases, no little pens and pencils at the stationary shop, no impulsive online shopping. We accidentally saved a lot of money last month. And I thought, hey, what if we tried to save a lot of money on purpose? What could we achieve. I've been reading Ashley's A Story of Debt. I've really been inspired by her focus and intentional living. Although I don't have credit card debt, I do have a blessedly-interest-free family debt to my Papaw who loaned me a hefty sum for my Master's year in England. Turns out it's the best money I've ever owed anyone, but that's no reason to stretch this out longer than it has to. I want to really focus on making large payments more often and also, of building up an emergency fund. So, I figure if every few months we do a 'no spending' month, it might become our habit to save rather than spend.

No TV
I'm not a big television addict as it is, and that's mostly why I'm cutting it out altogether. Kenny and I usually watch TV when we eat lunch together. But I find myself completely vegging out in front of the tube on the weekends. And sure, it's a lovely time to rest and zone out for a while, but it's like a time-suck I can't escape. Once I watch one hour, the next four are sure to follow. And the weekends are precious time where I can order my days any way I like! Why would I waste them on stupid TV shows I've already seen and don't really enjoy? I will continue to watch 44 minutes of commercial free Glee once a week on my computer. I mean, Glee is quite addictive, but now that I'm all caught up, there's only one episode to watch at a time anyway. (I watched episode 21 right before writing this post! Love it.)

No Eating Out
Obviously this is a sub-heading of No Spending, but it deserves a little paragraph all its own. Because this is only June 2nd and I have quite a few more days to go through, I'm still ecstatic about this one. I've been getting up and fixing our lunch and then figuring out what to cook and pack for our dinners. Kenny and I both work through dinner because we go into work after lunchtime. We have cute little lunch boxes that I took like, twice before. But now, it's so much fun to figure out what I can use to fill up the three containers for dinner. Today I cooked a macaroni pasta for lunch with fresh onion, garlic, peppers, and a sprinkle of cheese. Then, I cooked rice and made Korean rice balls (ju mok bap) with dried seaweed (kim). I also fixed green salads with an olive oil and balsamic homemade dressing. The third container was filled with carrots, cucumbers, a banana, and fresh watermelon slices! I love dragging out dinner over my entire 2 hour break at school. I always see if I can make it all last until 5. I don't eat after 5pm anymore because it makes me so incredibly fat. Anyway, I'm trying out new recipes, shopping with more focus, and making my husband about as happy as it gets. He's always been in charge of meal times and now that he doesn't have to worry about it, he's a free man! Anyway, I'm having so much fun fixing our little dinners. We wasted so much money on eating out. It's actually incredibly cheap to eat out in Korea, but I wasn't eating healthy. And this way, I can be in charge of what goes into my body.

No Excuses
Tomorrow will be my second day of the Couch to 5K program. I started on Tuesday. I can't wait to get out there tomorrow morning. I've been complaining for a few months about my ballooning Belly and back fat, but I haven't done anything about it. I've made all sorts of excuses about how my work schedule had me eating dinner after 10 p.m., how the gym was too expensive and far from our house, how my clothes were stupid and nothing fit. But I decided that I was tired of making excuses for myself. I don't want to allow myself to be like this, especially after just last summer I was the thinnest I'd been in a long time and wearing stuff I wore in college. In 6 months, I've gained so much weight, it's stupid. Yeah, I'll always be a ChubbO Chubbington on the inside. My passion for food is insatiable. But with this No Eating Out, I'm hoping to take my passion in a different direction and train my body to want what's good for it. And running again is making me feel more confident and optimistic about my body. I'm tired of hating myself. So, I'm doing something about it.

If anyone wants to join me, just let me know! And I'll leave you with this poem from Mary Oliver, that says everything else I want to say. Summer's here, y'all!


The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Good, Good Friday

Death, be not proud, though some have called you

Mighty and dreadful, for you are not so;

For those, whom you think you do overthrow,

Die not, poor Death, nor yet can you kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but your pictures be,

Much pleasure, then from you much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with you do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

You're slave to Fate, chance, kings and desperate men,

And do with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,

And better than your stroke; why swell you then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And Death shall be no more; Death, you shall die.

~John Donne: Holy Sonnet X

That is the Good Friday Morning reading in Following Christ: A Lenten Reader to Stretch Your Soul by Carmen Acevedo Butcher. (I know her!) And I thought it was so appropriate because the flowers on our veranda have been sick and weary of the dark grey skies and weather. Like me. But today, they seemed to perk up and behold the sunshine. A few more good, good things on this Good Friday:

You didn't really think I'd post two times in a row without squeezing in some photos of the kitters, did you?

Have a lovely, rejuvenating, death-conquering, redemptive Good Friday, y'all!

Required Reading

I'd like to share this with you today. 

A poem from Mary Oliver's book of poetry Red Bird. 

Maker of All Things, Even Healings

All night

under the pines

the fox

moves through the darkness

with a mouthful of teeth

and a reputation for death

which it deserves.

In the spicy 

villages of the mice

he is famous,

his nose

in the grass

is like an earthquake,

his feet

on the path

is a message so absolute

that the mouse, hearing it,

makes himself

as small as he can

as he sits silent

or, trembling, goes on

hunting among the grasses

for the ripe seeds.

Maker of All Things,

including appetite,

including stealth,

including the fear that makes

all of us, sometime or other,

flee for the sake

of our small and precious lives,

let me abide in your shadow -

let me hold on

to the edge of your robe

as you determine

what you must let be lost

and what will be saved. 

On Blood

If you are a man, you may not want to know.

If you are a woman, you already do.

           ***

My body betrays me

every month,

sometimes twice.

I cannot count the days

because my internal calendar

seems to have slipped out with 

everything else that seeps 

around and into cotton weave 

in the dark parts of the day.

I sit in a small stall

my knees kissing the door

angry at the bright stain there

despite all the necessary and

supposedly sufficient measures taken

to staunch

this generous cave within me.

I wash my hands, scrubbing and soaping,

because it is everywhere

under my fingernails and on my thumb

even at my wrist. 

I cry while the water runs in the sink

because I still do not feel clean.

It's too much, I whisper.

It pushes against me

eager to escape. 

I cannot keep it underneath me. 

It spreads out around me 

like a heavy crimson cape.

There's nothing left to do

except to yell at everyone all day

and kick the copying machine.

I'm Full Up

Full up with good things. 

Today was a day where I wanted to slice myself down the middle and open myself up wide enough to encompass the world and then sew myself back together, everything nice and cozy in there. Can you feel it, world? 

I have been finding beautiful treasures under my fingernails, beside me on the subway, and in my email inbox. Sometimes they are small and other times they are life-size. Some I am uncovering, wiping away the layers of dust that have made their home on top. And some are shiny and new. 

I am missing Thanksgiving at my house this year and I wonder what's on The List. My mother always takes a yellow legal pad and writes and writes for days before our family meets to eat and talk and eat some more. And before we eat, she reads her paper. I miss my mother and her beautiful, grateful heart that lives in awe of the good things that continue to rain down into her life and the lives of her children. 

This is my list, mom.

I am thankful for a rock of a family that cannot be moved or torn apart or shaken. A family that is whole and fully gracious and loves, loves, loves, the pants off of everyone who takes a step inside it. 

I am thankful for the partner I have in life- the way he leads me to new places and makes everywhere we go home. 

I am thankful for generous and good friends back home that distance cannot silence or mellow. 

I am thankful for generous and good friends I've met here that give me hope and make me laugh and appreciate community.

I am thankful for all the comments and little notes in my email I've received from people I do not know, but who encourage me and tell me they enjoy reading what I write. You don't understand how much your words keep my words coming. Writing is solitary (and boring to watch, as Audrey Niffenegger says) and your kindness breaks into the room where I so often find myself alone. I am not lonely here. Thank you. Thank you.

This is a short list. Because I happen to be thankful for a gym membership, which I fully took advantage of this evening. And I'm also thankful for long, winding conversations with my almost-husband that have kept me up late. And I'm thankful for poetry like this:

I, 59

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke's Book of Hours

It's Sermon Sunday- Rilke Style

Yesterday I bought a toaster oven. It is awesome. I had my first piece of toast this morning, and I remembered how much I love the sound of the knife spreading butter and jam across the crackling surface of the bread. That scratching was immensely satisfying for no reason at all, and I took joy in it. 

Also, I am continuing to swim through Rilke's Book of Hours. I want to share another of his poems with you. So, dress your heart up in its Sunday best and sit down. Allow yourself to be vulnerable for a few short minutes in this day. My favorite parts are bold. 

I, 17

She who reconciles the ill-matched threads

of her life, and weaves them gratefully

into a single cloth - 

it's she who drives the loudmouths from the hall

and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.

In the softness of the evening

it's you she receives.

You are the partner of her loneliness,

the unspeaking center of her monologues.

With each disclosure you encompass more

and she stretches beyond what limits her,

to hold you. 

I feel that I am breaking the sacredness of the moment perhaps, by putting my own small and insignificant words after Rilke (I mean, who speaks in the hall after good writing is read?), but I want you to know how earnestly I am longing to weave these ill-matched threads I've been given, how desperately eager I am to stretch beyond these things that limit me (they exist in abundance), to reach over them victoriously and to hold Love. And after holding Love, to be so full up with it that I've no choice but to love others with it. Genuinely and authentically to love the ajumma stepping on my foot, the girl pushing me in order to see her reflection in the window. And most of all, to love those who love me. 

Go, stretch beyond your limits. Weave a beautiful and pleasing garment from the seemingly ill-matched threads in your life. And I'll meet you there, in Love's house. 

...And She's Back

I’ve been ill. That, and I’ve been thinking. Sometimes thinking makes me write. Sometimes thinking makes me wait. And these days, it’s the latter.

I have things to tell you, dear reader. I want to tell you about the people in my life (a forthcoming series in the making, debuting next week, or this weekend if I can’t wait, called Imagine All The People. Tell your friends. Seriously); I want to tell you how Kenny taught me to eat oranges in a hotel in Israel at Christmas; I want to tell you about “my” dogs in Korea; I want to list a few things I don’t understand and ask for your readerly wisdom; I’d like to talk to you about walking and falling in love with the sound of my feet against the sidewalk; and I'd particularly like to write some hate mail to a fellow expat on the train today. See? So many things to tell you. But right now, I’d like to share with you what I’ve been reading.

I find the weirdest, most wonderful books here. First, I found Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko, which I am still copying out by hand, feeling the beauty of every adverb, every comma, every perfectly placed word. And now I’ve found more Rilke. I’ve read Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet more than once, as I’m sure all writers have. But I’m now reading some of his poems that have been collected as Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy. The German poems are printed across from the English translation. And this reminds me of my good friend Carmen, who is a pro translator and incredible woman who can speak German (and a buncha other languages too, for that matter).

Rilke is making me think. And leading me into deep places. I am taking my time wading in the dark waters here. And it’s pleasant, a little bit scary, and it’s stirring me up. Which all good poetry does.

I have uttered this poem and prayer for three days now. Speak this poem, please. It makes all the difference.

I, 12.

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, please forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.