Windy Seminary Day

The internet is down again due to a Northwest wind storm of sorts, and because Comcast sucks (at least once a month our internet goes fritzy). Last night while I was trying to sleep, and trying not to think about my upcoming wedding, I heard a loud crashing noise outside and then something scraping against the side of the house. For some reason I didn't get up to see what it was, I just speculated that it might have been the plywood knocking over the grill. I dreamt that I tried to look outside but my view was obscured even though in real life I can see where the grill is from my window. This morning though, I did look and it was as I had imagined exactly, the grill was sprawled forward, revealing its many greasy rusted stains running down its back like sweat that had never been wiped off. I felt bad about it because I had discovered it when I told Joel (housemate) about it, I almost felt guilty, like it was my fault the grill was so exposed and fallen. I told him that I thought the noise was a branch hitting the grill, but in fact, I had suspected it had fallen over. What causes this sort of strange deception I wonder? Often, I try to appear that I don't know things that I know. I like to appear less than I am sometimes, or at least, different than I am. I recently accosted Hans(fiance) about doing the same thing to Luis and Silvia (his housemates), I felt he was being disingenuous with them, a little sneaky, I told him he wasn't trusting them. As right as I was about Hans, I only knew he was that way because I am that way. The thing is that trust is terribly scary and vulnerable stuff and sometimes I'm cowardly.
I drove to school reluctantly this morning, hot lemon and honey as company and peanut butter toast in hand, and the wind was pressing everything this way and that. I saw two Comcast vans and one Quest van parked on the side of various streets in Southeast Portland, their frantic drivers outside in puffy jackets holding various wires and gadgets in their hands. I almost wanted to yell out the window, “Are you fixing my internet?” But I thought that might slow down the actual internet fixing process. Looking back on it, I wish had yelled something because hours later, still I have no internet and I think I'd feel less bitter about it if I had expressed my frustration to the puffy jacket guy. When I arrived at school my usual 5 min. late, my classmates were listening to some tabernacle singers and jotting down their impressions. Apparently I had a little peanut butter on my face that I discovered about ten minutes later, but in that moment I tried my hardest to write down my impressions of the song. “Choir in heaven, angels singing,” I wrote, then, “wind blows where it will and we try our best to fix our things,” on the line beneath it. I figured, while they were listening to the song, I was listening to the wind on the drive over.
Next up, we were to share our impressions of this choir song with our “learning communities.” This is difficult for me because I am in a group with three very intellectual guys, there is one in particular who, whenever he speaks in class I cringe inwardly and sometimes my heart literally hurts. One of the first times I spoke with him, he shared that he tries not to talk to anyone or build relationships because he wants to go to theological war with everyone. So in short, my learning community is scary and threatening sometimes. But, as we shared today I heard something in this man that I was endearing. He shared that he hated choir music of the kind we heard because he, at one time, was taken in by it, but now found it shallow, empty and peitistic. I heard what I can only describe as bitterness in his voice, he reminded me of a friend from college who had a similar temperament, and also my ex-boyfriend, intellectual men who have a difficult time with church and community and often get lost in their heads. When I heard him talk about how he doesn't want to build relationships unless he agrees with someone's doctrine, my heart ached because it seemed to me that he had been burned badly somewhere on his journey. The thought made me angry and sad as well, but sadder even, that it was clear that his response was walls and walls. I almost felt grateful that he was so glaringly honest and not given to hiding anything back, a quality I both admire and sometimes revile because I wish I could do the same, but also feel terrified to do so at the same time. So, even though he doesn't seem like a safe guy to befriend, I prayed for him today because it seems like he is hurting and needs help.
I don't share much of myself in this little group, but I listen and try to give input where necessary. Today this man and I went to make a comment at the same time, and we deferred to each other, and then he spoke. That was when I really felt for him, but then I didn't get a chance to speak. I didn't feel bad about it because it seemed he needed to say what he said, and I was only trying to say something so I seemed engaged and intelligent. But, I sort of feel strange about it now. Like, somehow in class I've lost my voice and become timid with myself, distrustful. Should I feel so intimidated? But I've come to wonder if it matters at all what I say in the four walls, under the roof of the Seminary. Still, there is something I can't quite pin down about what this experience is teaching me. It is difficult, but I want to keep going on to see what is next I guess. At least, I have to try and trust and let the wind take me where its going.

Wet Mind Boxes

I wrote this poem during the year that Hans and I were living in different cities, and at a time when I was still adjusting to life outside the Reservation. I have been reminded lately of that time and its challenges, which are similar to those in my life right now. My professor was talking about a ceremony that the Israelites used to do during this time of year during the Feast of Booths. In Israel it is the harvest season, but also the end of the dry season, so water is scarce. So they hiked from Jerusalem to the Pool of Salome for seven days to draw what little water was left and they poured it out in front of the temple as they processed with Psalms. There was something about this that has felt insightful and important. As if to say to God, it is dry, but I am seeking you and showing something tangible, an offering of water that is so precious at the end of the dry season. In my heart I know that in the dry season I don't travel to the water and pour out my offering to God, but instead seek out numbing agents to pass the time. But, when I heard about this I knew that I was like the Israelites, that I needed to continue to dip my cup in the water of life and ask for help again and again. So I share this in hopes that indeed, this is the end of he dry season for me, as I persevere to trust God to give what I need. Also, to remind myself of the many gifts of love and grace, like puddles in the road, I've been given along the way.

Wet Mind Boxes
November 2008

From the window, in my room,
The spacious skies seem like doom.
Form the strange, conscious, moons,

that throw, and throw, and throw.
The distance burns us dry
As empty as the vacant

House next door, the eyesore.
Then the rain falling on the pane
Says something to muddled brain.

Sings pattering like the steps
Of children dancing 'round brooms.
Says something about time,

Waiting-patterns of grace on
The cusp of the face, of the face,
The face of every created thing.