Sometimes, I can't make words say what I want them to say.
I want to say: I could live here forever. I want to be in this moment, always, with you.
I want to say: I know what it was, about that dream. I wanted it to be real. I wanted to be floating there, out in space, alone and cold, seeing everything that had ever happened contained in that orb.
I want to say: This is important. Listen. My heart is always calling yours.
I want to say: The way the sun looks today makes my heart feel real.
I want you to understand it, when I say these things to you.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
A Bunch of Baloney
Today, I saw a man walking down the street in a black trench coat and a top hat. I sure hope that means Halloween is coming, not that time travel has finally been invented and the world is soon to be spiraling out of control. I think the former is correct because top hat man was on a cell phone. Generally, time travelers from 1824 don't know about cell phones.
-------------------------------------
Currently there are two boxes full of fruit turnovers and strudel-like desserts sitting on my coffee table, looking at me forlornly. I don't actually want to eat them, but I didn't go to the gym today, and the rebellious part of myself says EAT THEM, YOU MIGHT AS WELL.
It is weird that when I want to do something "bad", I want to do it REALLY BAD. For example, when I think "hee hee, I'm going to stay up a little bit later tonight, because I can!" usually turns into "uuggahahhhggg it's 3AM!!! WHY!!!???" and "I don't feel like cleaning my room right now" turns into "THROWING CLOTHES EVERYWHERE". Well, that's a bit of an over exaggeration on that last one. But the mess does escalate quickly.
Anyway, this is a boring blog posting. Sorry.
Yours,
Tiffany
-------------------------------------
Currently there are two boxes full of fruit turnovers and strudel-like desserts sitting on my coffee table, looking at me forlornly. I don't actually want to eat them, but I didn't go to the gym today, and the rebellious part of myself says EAT THEM, YOU MIGHT AS WELL.
It is weird that when I want to do something "bad", I want to do it REALLY BAD. For example, when I think "hee hee, I'm going to stay up a little bit later tonight, because I can!" usually turns into "uuggahahhhggg it's 3AM!!! WHY!!!???" and "I don't feel like cleaning my room right now" turns into "THROWING CLOTHES EVERYWHERE". Well, that's a bit of an over exaggeration on that last one. But the mess does escalate quickly.
Anyway, this is a boring blog posting. Sorry.
Yours,
Tiffany
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Phalange is a Funny Word
Hello friends. It is rainy and this song makes me feel a little bit melty. Because they just took that pop song, and they acoustic-ed the crap out of it. And that is nice.
Today, I finished learning how to knit a mitten. Too bad mine ended up looking like a mitten specially designed for an individual with multiple-phalange amputation. Poor freaky mitten.
Also, I ate delicious desserts at my friend Steph's house. Also, I watched "Clue". Which is awesome, and nothing like I imagine freaking CANDY LAND is going to be as a film. Or Monopoly, for that matter. Unless the Monopoly movie has someone picking up the edges of the board and shaking it vigorously while yelling "EARTHQUAAAAAKE!!!", it will be a waste of my life to watch it.
The end.
Because you're amazing,
Tiffany
Sunday, October 24, 2010
All Things
He makes all things work together for the good of those who love Him. I am not Lo-Ruhamah. (Hosea 1).
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Birch Tree
Well, I've debated about posting this for a long time, now.
I wrote it when I was at my lowest point, when I thought my life was over. It's a stream of consciousness piece, which is what I tend to write to release my feelings.... and, at the risk of putting a damper on a blog that is usually so positive, I've decided to share it. Sometimes it feels good to share things that hurt. Not because I want others to hurt with me... but because I want to release it, push it forward and out of my life. It's pretty obvious in the piece what situation prompted me to write it. I have been dead for a long time now. And I'm beginning to learn, finally, that God isn't done with me yet. He wants life for me, and life to the full. One horrible event can't remove me from His will. A thousand horrible events can't remove me from His will. So, here it is.
---------------------------------------------------------
And you cannot grasp it, she thinks, her mind wandering far, deeper, into the small hum of the fluorescent light, burying itself in the rise and fall of passing cars outside her window. You can’t grasp it at all. She laid back on the bed, spreading her arms wide above her head, feeling the cotton pull of the coverlet on her cheek. My life is ticking, she thought, and sighed, pushing air into the dimness of the evening room. This is waste, she thought. She didn’t cry; her eyes were too dull, her tear ducts rusted from misuse and bitterness. Tomorrow will be better.
What is a life all about? I’m stuck inside. The whisper blue of the morning sky peered, wonderingly, around the edges of the curtains. She woke up, and was still muffled beneath the layer of discontent that lay, like a robe, on her limbs and enveloped her thoughts. Take them captive, she thought. Make every thought captive. This day will be better than the last. She shifted herself and slid her legs onto the floor, and passed a bed-warm hand over her face, pushing droopy bangs aside. She exited the bedroom, and leaving her footprints behind her, and it started again.
This ache is ending without end, she thought. I am ended; the pain is unending, I’ve reached the finishing of myself. There is no upwards trajectory, there is no way to rebound and she cannot see any way to grow. I am a stunted plant, said her heart. I am a plant without sunlight, even the deep sea plants need nourishment. I am a plant adrift in the sea, rootless. She opened the door to the cupboard, and reached for a box of cereal. Filling a bowl, she sat at the melamine table, running her finger over the chips on the edge. She felt like she was suffocating, her soul buried in gray. As she ate, she wondered why. She couldn’t compose a proper response, and didn’t expect to.
When he left, he took precious things with him. He took the ring back, the beautiful ring with its high-mounted center stone, that shone rainbows in bright sun and glaring fluorescent bulbs. He took the part of her that believed that she was worth chasing and convincing and proving one’s value to. He took the remnant of her belief in her own beauty, that tender rosebud surrounded by disease and death. That rosebud was now his boutonniere as he quit the apartment, and as a robe he wore her dreams for the future, glowing verdant green. Knit of scenarios imagined and re-imagined over the span of years, the robe was dreams of sweet-faced babies, of a home well-kept, of love so wild that it was still humming with vibrancy in old age. It was all gone; he took it with him when he left.
What will I feel, when other pass through the passageways of sacred ritual, she thought. It will be burning jealously, nestled in the deep of my stomach, curling around my spine like a lick of flame, smouldering coals reminding me of the things I have lost, what I have forsaken, what has forsaken me. It will be sadness like tall white birch tree with bark peeling like tears, stark and naked and cold. It will be dullness, dead thoughts, life extinguished. It will be like death, undying.
If I can’t resurface, she thought, I will drown in this room. She saw her life stretched, like a birch tree, her life splintering as the barren branches stretching forth into grey skies, cloudy winter. She saw her days, stretching out before her and fading out into meaninglessness and repetition, a certain placing of the plate at the table, a folding down of the bedspread, a positioning of shoes at the door. This is all my life will be, she thought. This is a room with bars for windows, this is life in a cage.
This is death, undying.
-----------------------------------------------------
Once, my heart agreed with Solomon when he wrote that "the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind". I was dead. I am still emerging from death. But I am reaching for God's promise that He has "come that they may have life, and have it to the full". God told me I would have a full life with Him. I need to cling to that, know it. He is not finished with me yet.
I wrote it when I was at my lowest point, when I thought my life was over. It's a stream of consciousness piece, which is what I tend to write to release my feelings.... and, at the risk of putting a damper on a blog that is usually so positive, I've decided to share it. Sometimes it feels good to share things that hurt. Not because I want others to hurt with me... but because I want to release it, push it forward and out of my life. It's pretty obvious in the piece what situation prompted me to write it. I have been dead for a long time now. And I'm beginning to learn, finally, that God isn't done with me yet. He wants life for me, and life to the full. One horrible event can't remove me from His will. A thousand horrible events can't remove me from His will. So, here it is.
---------------------------------------------------------
And you cannot grasp it, she thinks, her mind wandering far, deeper, into the small hum of the fluorescent light, burying itself in the rise and fall of passing cars outside her window. You can’t grasp it at all. She laid back on the bed, spreading her arms wide above her head, feeling the cotton pull of the coverlet on her cheek. My life is ticking, she thought, and sighed, pushing air into the dimness of the evening room. This is waste, she thought. She didn’t cry; her eyes were too dull, her tear ducts rusted from misuse and bitterness. Tomorrow will be better.
What is a life all about? I’m stuck inside. The whisper blue of the morning sky peered, wonderingly, around the edges of the curtains. She woke up, and was still muffled beneath the layer of discontent that lay, like a robe, on her limbs and enveloped her thoughts. Take them captive, she thought. Make every thought captive. This day will be better than the last. She shifted herself and slid her legs onto the floor, and passed a bed-warm hand over her face, pushing droopy bangs aside. She exited the bedroom, and leaving her footprints behind her, and it started again.
This ache is ending without end, she thought. I am ended; the pain is unending, I’ve reached the finishing of myself. There is no upwards trajectory, there is no way to rebound and she cannot see any way to grow. I am a stunted plant, said her heart. I am a plant without sunlight, even the deep sea plants need nourishment. I am a plant adrift in the sea, rootless. She opened the door to the cupboard, and reached for a box of cereal. Filling a bowl, she sat at the melamine table, running her finger over the chips on the edge. She felt like she was suffocating, her soul buried in gray. As she ate, she wondered why. She couldn’t compose a proper response, and didn’t expect to.
When he left, he took precious things with him. He took the ring back, the beautiful ring with its high-mounted center stone, that shone rainbows in bright sun and glaring fluorescent bulbs. He took the part of her that believed that she was worth chasing and convincing and proving one’s value to. He took the remnant of her belief in her own beauty, that tender rosebud surrounded by disease and death. That rosebud was now his boutonniere as he quit the apartment, and as a robe he wore her dreams for the future, glowing verdant green. Knit of scenarios imagined and re-imagined over the span of years, the robe was dreams of sweet-faced babies, of a home well-kept, of love so wild that it was still humming with vibrancy in old age. It was all gone; he took it with him when he left.
What will I feel, when other pass through the passageways of sacred ritual, she thought. It will be burning jealously, nestled in the deep of my stomach, curling around my spine like a lick of flame, smouldering coals reminding me of the things I have lost, what I have forsaken, what has forsaken me. It will be sadness like tall white birch tree with bark peeling like tears, stark and naked and cold. It will be dullness, dead thoughts, life extinguished. It will be like death, undying.
If I can’t resurface, she thought, I will drown in this room. She saw her life stretched, like a birch tree, her life splintering as the barren branches stretching forth into grey skies, cloudy winter. She saw her days, stretching out before her and fading out into meaninglessness and repetition, a certain placing of the plate at the table, a folding down of the bedspread, a positioning of shoes at the door. This is all my life will be, she thought. This is a room with bars for windows, this is life in a cage.
This is death, undying.
-----------------------------------------------------
Once, my heart agreed with Solomon when he wrote that "the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind". I was dead. I am still emerging from death. But I am reaching for God's promise that He has "come that they may have life, and have it to the full". God told me I would have a full life with Him. I need to cling to that, know it. He is not finished with me yet.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Old People Forget to Post, Too...
WOW. I know I have said this probably a zillion times since the creation of this blog: I am a bad blogger. I forget about this blog on a bi-monthly basis, at least.
So, being no-longer-a-student is weird. Really weird. My entire body is thrown into revulsions by merely thinking it, but I actually miss going to school. HOW HAVE THINGS COME TO THIS?!
So, now I'm a working woman. Doing things that working women do, like go to bed early and eat nutritious lunches and buy cars. What?? That's right! I bought a car. It's a green Honda Civic, and I love it, and I have decided to name it Theodore. Too bad I can't drive it yet. But, soon! THEN THE ROADS SHALL BE MINE.
Anyway, see, I'm not in bed yet and it's making me use all sorts of capitalization where none is needed. I'm old!
Goodnight, my lovebirds!
Tiffany
So, being no-longer-a-student is weird. Really weird. My entire body is thrown into revulsions by merely thinking it, but I actually miss going to school. HOW HAVE THINGS COME TO THIS?!
So, now I'm a working woman. Doing things that working women do, like go to bed early and eat nutritious lunches and buy cars. What?? That's right! I bought a car. It's a green Honda Civic, and I love it, and I have decided to name it Theodore. Too bad I can't drive it yet. But, soon! THEN THE ROADS SHALL BE MINE.
Anyway, see, I'm not in bed yet and it's making me use all sorts of capitalization where none is needed. I'm old!
Goodnight, my lovebirds!
Tiffany
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Chain-Researching, Vacuum Cleaner Hose, and Stuff
So, me and the internet have this thing. Basically, I spend massive amounts of my life reading about things that are useless, because my brain is a giant information-sucking baleen whale that inhales useless factoids instead of brine shrimp.
I am guessing that that is what baleen whales eat. Oh. They eat zooplankton. I stand corrected. SEE?! THE INTERNET IS A PLAGUE OF KNOWLEDGE.
Seriously, though. I can't stop. It's like I have this extremely rare form of ADD which compels me to research everything that even remotely interesting. And then, I chain-research things. Like, I'm all researching the proper care of pet rats (because, you know, I might want to own a rat someday, and WHEN THAT DAY COMES, I will need to know how to do it correctly), and then it suddenly occurs to me that I should research the use of lab rats for experimentation, and then PETA. And then I'm watching a video about cruelty to circus elephants, and I suddenly think; WHAT THE HECK. HOW DID I GET HERE?! It's disturbing.
Anyway, so my life is really exciting, basically. Because I probably know more about proper rat care than you do.
Also, I am eating a "Fibre and Omega-3" granola bar right now. Because I thought, you know, I am probably one of those people who are all like, "pfft, I don't need any more of that junk in my life", and meanwhile, my intestines are like, turning into a pile of tangled vacuum cleaner hose.
Yeah, like that. So, I thought I'd better buy them. Because you never know.
Yours forever,
Tiffany
I am guessing that that is what baleen whales eat. Oh. They eat zooplankton. I stand corrected. SEE?! THE INTERNET IS A PLAGUE OF KNOWLEDGE.
Seriously, though. I can't stop. It's like I have this extremely rare form of ADD which compels me to research everything that even remotely interesting. And then, I chain-research things. Like, I'm all researching the proper care of pet rats (because, you know, I might want to own a rat someday, and WHEN THAT DAY COMES, I will need to know how to do it correctly), and then it suddenly occurs to me that I should research the use of lab rats for experimentation, and then PETA. And then I'm watching a video about cruelty to circus elephants, and I suddenly think; WHAT THE HECK. HOW DID I GET HERE?! It's disturbing.
Anyway, so my life is really exciting, basically. Because I probably know more about proper rat care than you do.
Also, I am eating a "Fibre and Omega-3" granola bar right now. Because I thought, you know, I am probably one of those people who are all like, "pfft, I don't need any more of that junk in my life", and meanwhile, my intestines are like, turning into a pile of tangled vacuum cleaner hose.
Yeah, like that. So, I thought I'd better buy them. Because you never know.
Yours forever,
Tiffany
Saturday, April 17, 2010
"Come down from the mountain, you have been gone too long"
I am done school.
I am DONE!
This doesn't seem possible to me. If I don't want to, I never have to write another academic essay or sit through another exam ever again. This is awesome, and terrifying. Aside from my graduation, I don't foresee ever being back at my campus ever again. It's sad... but at the same time I'm so happy, I could hug a bear, or something.
So I just finished reading a novel (because I can read for leisure now, you know) called "God in the Alley" by Greg Paul. The author is involved with Sanctuary church in downtown Toronto, which is a church that ministers to those who are "down and out"... the homeless, the addicted, the prostitutes -- those who are largely either ignored or abused by society as a whole. Anyway, the book was about "being" Jesus and seeing Him in every circumstance... even ugly ones. There were many stories of Paul's friends in church and their deep, deep pain and struggles, and discussion on how God is there, in it, with you. The stories were heartbreaking and I was extremely interested in them, but the most impactful part of the whole book came at the very end. In the final chapter, Paul talks about how it's natural to think "oh, I am imitating Christ when I am perfect, pure and strong". But the paradox lies in the fact that it's not then when we display Jesus best, or when we rely on Him most. Paul writes:
"Of course, the biblical writers encourage me to be strong (in the Lord, and in the strength of his might, according to Paul), exhort me to be pure, and call me to faithfulness. These are the behavioral goals to which I ought rightly to aspire. However, these stories of my friends reveal a peculiar paradox: I am more likely to have Jesus revealed to me and through me in weakness than in strength, sinfulness than in purity, or doubt than in perfect faithfulness. If I can sum up all these 'failures of the spirit' ... with the single term brokenness, then I come to this astonishing conclusion: Jesus is found in brokenness."
Jesus is found in brokenness. I guess I am ready to find Him -- again.
Oh, here is Sanctuary's website: http://sanctuarytoronto.ca/programs/church.php. They do great things (and I've even been there. For realz.)
Hearty heart heart,
Tiffany
(also... enjoy this song. It's called "Ragged Wood" by Fleet Foxes... and you should develop your appreciation for this band. They are the coolest.)
I am DONE!
This doesn't seem possible to me. If I don't want to, I never have to write another academic essay or sit through another exam ever again. This is awesome, and terrifying. Aside from my graduation, I don't foresee ever being back at my campus ever again. It's sad... but at the same time I'm so happy, I could hug a bear, or something.
So I just finished reading a novel (because I can read for leisure now, you know) called "God in the Alley" by Greg Paul. The author is involved with Sanctuary church in downtown Toronto, which is a church that ministers to those who are "down and out"... the homeless, the addicted, the prostitutes -- those who are largely either ignored or abused by society as a whole. Anyway, the book was about "being" Jesus and seeing Him in every circumstance... even ugly ones. There were many stories of Paul's friends in church and their deep, deep pain and struggles, and discussion on how God is there, in it, with you. The stories were heartbreaking and I was extremely interested in them, but the most impactful part of the whole book came at the very end. In the final chapter, Paul talks about how it's natural to think "oh, I am imitating Christ when I am perfect, pure and strong". But the paradox lies in the fact that it's not then when we display Jesus best, or when we rely on Him most. Paul writes:
"Of course, the biblical writers encourage me to be strong (in the Lord, and in the strength of his might, according to Paul), exhort me to be pure, and call me to faithfulness. These are the behavioral goals to which I ought rightly to aspire. However, these stories of my friends reveal a peculiar paradox: I am more likely to have Jesus revealed to me and through me in weakness than in strength, sinfulness than in purity, or doubt than in perfect faithfulness. If I can sum up all these 'failures of the spirit' ... with the single term brokenness, then I come to this astonishing conclusion: Jesus is found in brokenness."
Jesus is found in brokenness. I guess I am ready to find Him -- again.
Oh, here is Sanctuary's website: http://sanctuarytoronto.ca/programs/church.php. They do great things (and I've even been there. For realz.)
Hearty heart heart,
Tiffany
(also... enjoy this song. It's called "Ragged Wood" by Fleet Foxes... and you should develop your appreciation for this band. They are the coolest.)
Friday, April 16, 2010
There are Powerlines in Our Bloodlines
April 15th 2010
I know that people usually don't read blogs where the blogger posts a long litany of song lyrics. Wait, maybe that is just me. Probably because I have the attention span of a bumblebee. Anyway. Here are some lyrics that are jangling around in my heart right now. Mostly I can't figure out my emotions, and I fluctuate WILDLY from deep, deep despair to bright sunny joy... it is a confusing time. Things are changing rapidly and I don't know what to cling onto, other than to God.... anyway, I hope you enjoy these lyrics, and the song that goes with them. You could even listen and read at the same time if you wanted to.
"The Engine Driver" - The Decemberists
I'm an engine driver
On a long run, on a long run
Would I work beside her
She's a long one, such a long one
And if you don't love me let me go
And if you don't love me let me go
I'm a country lineman
On a high line, on a high line
So will be my grandson
There are powerlines in our bloodlines
And if you don't love me let me go
And if you don't love me let me go
And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones
My bones
I'm a money lender
I have fortunes upon fortunes
Take my hand for tender
I am tortured, ever tortured
And if you don't love me let me go
And if you don't love me let me go
And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
I am a writer, I am all that you have home
Home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones
My bones
I know that people usually don't read blogs where the blogger posts a long litany of song lyrics. Wait, maybe that is just me. Probably because I have the attention span of a bumblebee. Anyway. Here are some lyrics that are jangling around in my heart right now. Mostly I can't figure out my emotions, and I fluctuate WILDLY from deep, deep despair to bright sunny joy... it is a confusing time. Things are changing rapidly and I don't know what to cling onto, other than to God.... anyway, I hope you enjoy these lyrics, and the song that goes with them. You could even listen and read at the same time if you wanted to.
"The Engine Driver" - The Decemberists
I'm an engine driver
On a long run, on a long run
Would I work beside her
She's a long one, such a long one
And if you don't love me let me go
And if you don't love me let me go
I'm a country lineman
On a high line, on a high line
So will be my grandson
There are powerlines in our bloodlines
And if you don't love me let me go
And if you don't love me let me go
And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones
My bones
I'm a money lender
I have fortunes upon fortunes
Take my hand for tender
I am tortured, ever tortured
And if you don't love me let me go
And if you don't love me let me go
And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
I am a writer, I am all that you have home
Home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones
My bones
Monday, March 22, 2010
"and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you"
March 22 2010
Fear is the way your love dies
Choking like a necklace, too tight
A mask of false emotion
Grayscale on the red
But I can surface if I want
If the tide is not too heavy
I can break the filmy connection
Between water and sky
There is love
Trembling at the corners of each scene
If it evades, I can still seek
To wrap its hope-warm hands around my waist
I am not lost
I am hidden, a little, like thin dust under a rug
I am there, hibernating
Indomitable.
My love can be stretched
Worn in places, in places almost destroyed
But the almost keeps me anchored
The almost holds on to me, like a thread tied to my finger
I won’t let go, if you won’t.
Fear is the way your love dies
Choking like a necklace, too tight
A mask of false emotion
Grayscale on the red
But I can surface if I want
If the tide is not too heavy
I can break the filmy connection
Between water and sky
There is love
Trembling at the corners of each scene
If it evades, I can still seek
To wrap its hope-warm hands around my waist
I am not lost
I am hidden, a little, like thin dust under a rug
I am there, hibernating
Indomitable.
My love can be stretched
Worn in places, in places almost destroyed
But the almost keeps me anchored
The almost holds on to me, like a thread tied to my finger
I won’t let go, if you won’t.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
