this will mean nothing to you in five minutes

2011-09-03T18:41:00.000-07:00

this blog is now out of service.

malloryapril.tumblr.com

Once a lazy kid, always a lazy kid?

2011-03-26T07:07:00.001-07:00

Anyone who knows me, knows I am not an athlete.

I am the girl who failed gym class in high school from voluntarily "forgetting" her clothes too many times; the girl who quit every sport before it started; the girl who hung out by the Ritchie's slush cart on Field Day; the girl who would rather spend countless hours in the art closet, than ten minutes attempting to run a mile; the girl who was too shy to go to the gym in college for fear that someone would see how out of shape she was.

I've spent my life assuming that I am only this girl. That I am lazy, weak, not "cut-out" for athletics, and that this is the way it will always be.

I've recently made the decision to not allow my past to define my future.

Destruction has let me see that the future is not static. It is, instead, something that we form and create ourselves. When I was 19, I had my heart broken and, in the aftermath, was forced to build a new path for myself. All those 'WE' expectations suddenly became 'ME' realities. I found that the lives we plan are often nothing in comparison to the lives we can make for ourselves. After many emotionally challenging months, I built a life that was mine--and it has turned out to be fantastic. This time was proof that we don't have to settle for what we expect to be our truth or our future. Suddenly, the possibilities were ripped wide open. I directly saw that life truly is what you make of it.

*****

I was 20 when I started to run. I don't remember why I did. In the beginning, I couldn't run longer than a minute without feeling like I was going to vomit. Every part of my body hurt with a throbbing ache. My lungs felt tight and weak. It seemed entirely impossible that this would ever get easier. I followed a Couch-to-5K plan, and 6 months later, I was able to run--slowly--for 20 minutes without stopping. To some this may be nothing, but to me, this was triumphant. It still is. Since then, I have run, on and off, for the past three years. I ran my first 5k earlier this month. And for the first time in my life, I beat my sister. My always-the-most-athletic-in-our-family sister. I never actually boasted out loud...but you better believe I did in my head. I beat her! (and I beat that weak-old-tv-loving-couch-potato-quitter-Mallory, too!)

******

Running is arguably the most important thing I have ever brought into my life. It is something that I used to fear and now find myself craving. It still hurts like hell. But, on the flipside, it has allowed me to develop a deeper connection to the mysterious and incredible nature of living in a body. I hear ancient truths in the beating of my heart, the aching of my thighs, and the build-up of my sweat.

There is a very deep mindfulness that can come from just feeling each step--one after the next after the next--as you propel yourself forward. The world is open when you realize each step is going in a direction that you choose--its just your mind and your body, moving through the world. And there is that moment, with just you and your feet, when you realize--wait a minute, this is me...and I'm running. Out-of-shape, self-defeated me. If I can run, there is no one on the face of this earth who can't. What a liberation.

Its for all these reasons that I've made the entirely insane decision to begin training for the Philadelphia Marathon.

Out-of-shape, self-defeating me...training...for a MARATHON.
(...but hell, no matter what happens, I will be running more than I ever have...and I will still be surprising myself by looking into the mouth of a 26.2 mile beast and saying 'yeah, I might be able to do that...')

2011-01-21T20:23:00.000-08:00

creased and worn,
the little sheets of
forgotten paper
crawled together
and lay, one atop another,
calmly bound.

(I've been writing in the morning when I wake up, and weird things seem to be showing up in my words)

2011-01-19T21:27:00.001-08:00

all at once
a crimson line reaches
through almost every layer
of the thick coat you wove yourself

2011-01-18T15:11:00.000-08:00

This is a letter I wrote to the members of my Art Therapy Studio class.
I thought to post it on here so I wouldn't lose track of it.

"
...Before the class began, I had very few thoughts about what it would be like or how it would unfold. As I set up my paints on the first day, I felt a surge of anxiety and nostalgia. I remembered sitting in my parent’s dingy basement at sixteen, splashing paint all over a piece of scrap drywall. I remembered crying, heartbroken, painting out a letter to myself in my first apartment. I remembered sketching on a bumpy tour bus, driving through Tokyo with my father. This all came rushing back so quickly, I knew this was going to be an intense week in the studio.

I had not painted—really painted—since at least two years before that moment in class. Studying Fiber arts in school, my work became highly planned and very conceptual. I absolutely fell in love with the fibers medium, diving so deep in it that I forgot any other material existed. In my years of academic studio art, criticism and gallery proposals, I had forgotten the essence of why I made art in the first place. I had forgotten what it felt like to just create something with no thoughtful reasoning. It felt as though my art—my best friend, my teacher, my heart and my eyes—had, over the years, become my distant—albeit successful—business associate. Back in the studio, I felt a pang of anxiety in my stomach looking at the white paper in front of me. I tried to approach this incredibly sad, frustrating realization with an opportunistic viewpoint—as though this, right here and now, was my moment to reconnect with my estranged love. She was staring right at me.

During these first awkward minutes, I desperately needed the group’s spirit and unspoken support to get things started. Immediately, I felt it. The synergistic energy that reverberated through the space in the studio was palpable, with the rhythmic swish of brushes and the scrape of palette knives dancing through the air. As Shaun began beating his drum in the other room, the space took on a different, spiritual identity, with thick amber waves of warm supporting sound holding my head high and helping me to feel at peace. Without this atmospheric symphony, the awkward silence between myself and my paper would have been crippling. We hadn’t spoken in ages. Where would we begin?

Like ambient chatter at a busy party, I let the sounds I heard around me lead me to begin engaging with my paint. Freedom and comfort quickly followed. Before I knew it, my hand was floating across the page in front of me, aimlessly and happily making marks in dozens of colors. It felt just like old times. We were laughing, telling stories, asking questions on the paper. Time flew. At the end of this first experience, I looked at the work in front of me and felt a pervasive sense of gratitude. Because of this remarkable space and the allowance to fearlessly paint, this image had been given life and was looking back at me. I turned around to see dozens of bright paintings strewn across the room, all freshly awakened, greeting their makers and the whole studio space with glowing vibrance. We had all been on the same path at the same time.

...All of these interactions led me to awaken to something I had forgotten about in my quest to produce artwork in the past. The work we make—the images, the shapes, the colors, the forms—are all independent entitites. They live and breathe and speak when listened to. Somehow, at some point in my life, I had locked these expressions away in a vault, only allowing the ‘best’ images to come out.

The third day of the studio, I wrote in my journal:
“My art has become a slave to my ego. It has become a second class citizen, held to impossible standards, forced to serve my own selfish drives or stay silent—discriminated, disrespected—How do I liberate you?”

In the process of witnessing the performances on the final day, I felt as though this question had began to be answered. The simple, profound act of creation, when distilled in the safety and security of being witnessed, becomes a remarkably freeing and rebellious behavior. These actions are among the purest in their intention, focused entirely on the process of creation, without worries for an expected product. There is no ego drive, no hope for special recognition, no worries of aesthetic success. In the forum of a performance, art making becomes incredibly mesmerizing. To watch a creative expression as it arrives—to be crumbled, torn, stamped or stitched—is much like witnessing the birth of a child. The work becomes an ambassador, a storyteller, and a map to an unknown place. Allowing the mysteries to unfold as they are created is the polar opposite of the enslavement I feared. Now I try to remember to focus on the process, and listen to the wisdom it has to impart before I become overly worried about the aesthetic product.

Now, a week after all of these remarkable experiences, recalling my studio time with all of you has brought me back to that grateful, reverent state of mind. I often forget that a potential wellspring of enlightenment lives inside our minds and bodies every second of every day. It will bubble to the surface any time I take a moment to notice the insurmountable beauty and mystery that lies in the things around us, as well as the quiet, unexpressed visions within us. These moments of clarity often come in short bursts, like the flashbulb of a camera or a splash of cold water to the face. Maintaining those spontaneous junctures of understanding and awe becomes exceedingly difficult as the minutes pass, often leaving me desperately searching for what that beautiful feeling was and why I had felt it. In our studio, this clarity came less like a splash to the face and more like a massive, tumbling wave—with force, density and overwhelming power, lifting me up and carrying me to another place. I was able to gain a very rare sense of strong, consistent connection to this unique, creative energy within me and the universal brilliance within our community as a whole. For this wonderful gift, I thank you all with all my heart.
"

2010-12-10T18:03:00.000-08:00

"Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."
-CARL SAGAN

(this photograph was taken in 1990 by Voyager I)

2010-12-09T12:02:00.001-08:00

i feel like i'm sitting on the shore
with my feet timidly poking at the shifting tide;
every once in a while, gaining the confidence to
let the icy water cover my ankles,
but never going any further.

i have yet to really dive and feel
my whole body soaked to the point of frigid saturation;
to smile wide as i let the salt sting my eyes
reemerging from a choking wave that crashes on my head.
to feel that real calm as i trudge back to the shore
and find a plush, dry towel waiting to wrap me in earned warmth.

i really want to dive in. i want to swim across the rip tide, feeling its overwhelming tug but never letting it drag me out to sea.
i'm not doing what i should be doing right now.
...
i am not giving myself the time to really be in school.
i am working too much, reading too little.
i am skimming the surface on too many endeavors,
not engulfing myself in any one.

its definitely time to reconsider things.
...

(and now today,
for one reason or another,
i feel like i am drowning in decisions.)
...

2010-10-11T20:06:00.001-07:00

I haven't written on this in a really long time.
That always seems to be my habit. I don't know if that will ever break.
But I'm glad its here for times when I need it.

I need to say, before I forget, right this minute, I am happy.

Things aren't all exactly as I'd like them to be. I miss love. I miss free time. I miss complete stability...but in its place, I can feel life changing in quietly monumental ways. And it feels good.

...
Do you ever feel surprised and impressed that you've made it this far? Like you don't remember when you stopped being a child and became something else? Someone else? Lately, I can actually feel time pass...like the weight of the wind when you stick your hand out the window of a moving car. I sort of feel like I'm in that thick, constant wind.
And it's not scary.
It's just there.

I don't even know what I'm trying to say. But I needed to write that down.

2010-06-25T11:36:00.000-07:00

People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you're not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are "The Advertisers" and they are laughing at you.

You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity.

Fuck that. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It's yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. You can do whatever you like with it. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head.

You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don't owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don't even start asking for theirs.

-- Banksy

2010-06-25T11:11:00.001-07:00

(...and i want to see this, too)

2010-06-25T11:02:00.000-07:00

I want to see this movie!

2010-06-23T18:26:00.001-07:00

I've decided to start some new projects a.s.a.p.

one involving cake, and one involving library books. i'll divulge later. i just need to make sure i don't forget that these things NEED TO get done. for these two.

2010-06-23T18:25:00.001-07:00

WE ARE NOT DOING GOOD THINGS RIGHT NOW.

(this is the second time i've linked to something my friend shaun posted on facebook. he's a good resource)

2010-06-18T23:05:00.001-07:00

"i'm realizing that all these questions about what kind of music you like and what you do and whatever are really pretty irrelevant...you don't really know what feels right until you can smell the person and be a part of the chemistry, that's what real compatibility is."

(super late conversations can lead to some astoundingly accurate statements like this one. i'm going to miss living here.)

2010-06-18T22:49:00.000-07:00

i had a really beautiful day and night.

caught up on the phone with my best friend, went shopping downtown, ate the biggest and wettest italian sandwich EVER at deluca's, finally bought new mascara, got dinner and drinks at galway house, and ended with friends laughing around the kitchen table.

way too many blessings to count.

it's easy to lose sight of how great the people around you are.
it's easy to forget how lucky you are to have them.
today, i tried my hardest to truly be grateful for--and receptive to--the gifts and guidance my friends are always willing to give me.

it may be hard to always remember, but
i don't know what i'd be without them.

2010-06-13T17:17:00.001-07:00

my plants are acting as my current boyfriend.

we hang out after work,
they give me free dinner...

its a really nice relationship.

2010-06-13T16:54:00.000-07:00

"Forget monoculture, in our fields or in our heads; imagine instead a thousand different communities, adapted to the physical places they inhabit, sharing insight and difference, appreciating small scale and large heart. Where no musician sells 10 million copes, but 10 million musicians sing each night."

Bill McKibben, in Adbusters #90

2010-06-12T15:10:00.000-07:00

All goes onward and outward....and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

I pass death with the dying, and birth with the new washed babe
....and am not contained between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike, and every one good,
The earth good, and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of the earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
fathomless as myself;
They do not know how immortal, but I know.

2010-06-12T14:41:00.001-07:00

This week marks the end of my preparations for my work at Gateway, and the beginning of a relatively normal schedule for the rest of the summer. Yay!

****

I spent a few hours on friday learning more about the artists and their individual histories. After reading all different types of stories, I feel so blessed to be a part of this stage of all of their lives. If there's anything I know well, its the feeling of satisfaction and dignity that comes from making things. I am still feeling kind of overwhelmed to have found a way to harness that energy.

Because of these people, I'm feeling fulfilled & enthusiastic.
(even as I pass through little moments of loneliness & longing)

****

A FEW MORE REASONS TO FEEL SATISFIED:
my tomato plants have little baby green fruit on them,
my cucumbers have sprouted pretty yellow blossoms and twirly vines,
and my potatoes are growing too fast for me to keep up with trenching them!

and lastly,
THIS IS MY NEXT DAY OFF:

2010-06-05T17:33:00.001-07:00

i'm starting to see--even in moments of loneliness--that I am never as unhappy as I used to be during yucky times in the past.

There seems to be something always holding me up.

As if the strength of my own backbone can keep me tall even when the weight of a thousand tiny problems is determined to pull me down.

...that isn't to say that those problems can't bend me and pull me to the point of nearly cracking.
They can.
They're doing that right now.

But,
there is something else I'm feeling.

...excitement, willingness to alter the way I look at these problems.
...mental clarity, that all things change and grow, without control--
that the hard times pass as fast as the good,
and in all moments it's important to
feel them, befriend them, live in them.

savor the happiness as the reason for living,
convert the sadness into a moment to learn.
(like turning feces into fertilizer)

*******

AND ALSO, DON'T FORGET:

even Conan gets hurt.

2010-06-03T17:18:00.000-07:00

ANDRE ETHIER.

so awesome.

2010-06-03T17:02:00.000-07:00

This is why I love this place so much.

2010-06-03T16:51:00.001-07:00

A QUICK RECAP
**********
I graduated college.

The season is picking up at the farm .

I planted potatoes, tomatoes, arugula, lettuce, stevia, parsley, mint, lavender, cilantro and cucumbers on my little porch.

I dyed all my bleached hair to a simple light brown, to make it easier for me to let my real hair grow. Quitting the peroxide is definitely overdue.

I started working at Gateway Arts. It feels really wonderful to be doing the things I love, and getting paid for them.

************

I feel grateful and excited for what is to come.

(...I'm not very good at updating consistently. I think its because my thoughts come in little bursts and waves. If I don't capture them right away, they have a tendency to float off)

2010-04-30T16:37:00.001-07:00

just spent a beautiful day with myself.

It didn't start off beautifully. It started off really cranky. But as I let the heat of the sun soak through my cardigan, and I ate some lunch on a patch of grass, it got better...and then it kept getting better.

I saw a beagle puppy.
I got a vanilla ice cream cone, with rainbow sprinkles.
I bought The Blue Pages, which I've been meaning to buy. It makes me feel empowered.
I passed a man with eyebrows that looked like Jake Gyllenhall's.
(I nearly died.)
Walked home feeling tired, but in that good way--the tired that happens after walking for a few miles, when you sit down and all the nerves in your legs are ecstatically twitching and dancing because they just got woken up after being dormant for the entire winter. The good kind of tired.

I'm really looking forward to the summer, and carrying these little bits of happiness around with me.

2010-04-15T09:03:00.000-07:00

so things are growing warmer.
the days are getting long and sunny, and i'm back at the farm.
(very happy to be there)
ALSO
i got hired to be gateways weaving studio assistant this past week!
this is my first REAL art/human services job!
I feel so blessed to be given the chance to work with the amazing people there. I'd have done it for free (and have been for months!)
...
I look forward to the opportunities this career path might offer me. I'm happy to have found something I can really love this much.

(This is a drawing by one of the client's at gateway.
It's of another client at gateway, who likes to do rag weaving and smile a lot.
They're both remarkable.)

bla bla

2010-04-08T21:19:00.000-07:00

It's really hard to live in this world when you realize how much is at stake. It becomes easier when you push yourself to realize that you don't really own anything so you can never really lose it. I've been making art work and giving it away with this idea in the back of my mind. It's been an exercise toward selflessness. This week, I took it one step further and started exploring vipassana meditation at a beginner's class in Cambridge. I'm so glad I did. It has made me think more and more about the things that are true and definite in our lives, and what these things can do to calm my fears.

Even the things I can say I "own"--my mind & body--are actually made of borrowed pieces. In due time, I will die, those pieces will scatter, and they will make new things that I will never see. This is a fact.
I am made of thousands of tiny parts of other people and other places. When I am done with this body, I will become a part of thousands of other people and thousands of other places. This is a fact.

It feels incredible to think that I can stop chasing and grasping the things that make me happy. They're all going to go, anyway. So instead, I will control what I can control and I will let go of what I can not. And while I am here, I will eat amazing food and wear soft sweaters and make things I want to make and kiss people that I want to kiss. It's all going to go away, so why not love it while its here?

And even though I am on the pursuit of release,
I still want more shoes.
I still want to buy what commercials sell.
I still hope to get married.
&
I am still an American who eats at McDonald's Drive-Thru.

(...and who also eats her roommate's boyfriend's birthday cake for dinner)

2010-03-27T08:04:00.001-07:00

things looked as though they were floating up, and then came back down to reality again.
oh well!

focus on this, mallory:
i had a good day yesterday.
i was upset by something beyond my control,
so i reacted by making strawberry shortcake, and focused all my energy on how super delicious the homemade whipped cream was.

yeah, i felt a little sick after four servings, but i'd rather feel sick from food than sick from disappointment.

...maybe this is bad advice...but it tastes so good!

I'm having some for breakfast.

2010-03-18T22:10:00.000-07:00

So I decided that I am not going to let myself be frustrated by all the things beyond my control.

instead, I called my grandmother for advice.

"Oh, dear. What happened?"
She told me to not stress. That I'm young and that things will happen in due time. She told me not to worry so much. She told me my grandfather walked out of the room when he could tell she was talking about being heartbroken. I laughed, because he's a big sweetheart but you wouldn't know it when he acts like that. I was so glad I asked her for guidance, because I trust her. I was so glad she knew how much I trust her.

how could i not? she's been here for years.

i'm really beginning to see how every lousy moment is a chance to generate a whole bunch of lovely ones.

2010-03-18T20:46:00.001-07:00

"This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body..." -walt whitman

(...this is just in case i forget)

GRADUATESCHOOL!

2010-03-15T18:00:00.000-07:00

when i was in high school, i was infatuated with sabrina ward harrison's journals.
yes, they are corny and sometimes a bit emotionally dense, but i was always amazed by her spirit of empowerment and fearlessess that she conveyed in her artwork. since then, i've never gone very long without having a journal. I believe wholeheartedly in the power of expression to help aid in our recovery.

now, about 8 years later, I just got into Lesley to work toward a master's degree in Art Therapy.
its funny how no matter what I do, the things I really love stay the same.
I'm going to keep following them.

(feeling really excited, and optimistic.)

2010-03-15T10:23:00.000-07:00

things are hopeful and then they aren't hopeful.

but atleast its comforting to know that i have the capacity to be fearless and the ability to still be open to someone even when it hurts so badly.

i just hope for a day when it doesn't have to hurt again, because this is getting really exhausting.

lisa gave me the best advice:
"be in a relationship with yourself. you're taken."

2010-03-13T16:08:00.000-08:00

i love rob ryan's paper cutouts.
he writes (and cuts) so beautifully.

2010-03-12T14:56:00.001-08:00

last night, my grandmother told me i had beautiful penmanship.
she's the only person who has ever said that.
almost everyone complains about how illegible it is.
i'm glad she's around, and understands me like no one else does.

2010-03-08T06:41:00.000-08:00

every year, i forget what the world feels like without the cold wind slapping me in the face. every year, i get a chance to meet the feeling of warmth all over again. today the air is calm and smells like thawing soil. i couldn't be happier.

(seriously, so grateful to have made it through another long cold winter.)

sometimes, i'm a 14 year old.

2010-02-18T21:38:00.001-08:00

solid proof that love exists.

(seriously, though. ROYALTY.)

THE FOREST (a long entry.)

2010-02-17T22:10:00.000-08:00

"This is what I believe: That I am I. That my soul is a dark forest. That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. That I must have the courage to let them come and go. That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women. There is my creed."
— D.H. Lawrence

I read this quote within an article a million years ago and felt really moved by it. Soon after I read it, something really beautiful happened.

The other day I was talking to someone about this and it reminded me that I needed to write it down.

*****

One Easter, when I was probably sixteen, my mother was going to throw away some old Lilies that were on the outs. I took them from the trash and decided to go and leave them on the most forgotten looking grave I could find. It seemed to make sense to not let them go to waste. I had also just got my driver's license, and was looking for any excuse to be in my car. I went to a cemetery in Wilmington, right down the street from the little house I grew up in.

I ended up finding a man who died in 1888. His name was Silas Carleton, and he was buried beside his wife and children. Whatever living family he had obviously never tended his grave. The only thing that proved he had ever been alive was a slab of weather-worn granite. I gave him the left over lilies.

The cemetery was on my way to school. Even weeks after my lilies had completely decayed, I visited his grave. Things are really tumultuous when you're sixteen. For one reason or another, this old dead man seemed to give me a bit of a break from everything. I don't remember exactly how or why it happened, but at some point I started to talk to him. I would pull up beside his plot, sit in my car and allow myself to think out loud.

He never asked questions and he never judged. He never doubted my intuition or acted as though my teenage problems were too small to worry about. He just was there and let me speak. Usually when I talked to him, I would bite my nails or twist my hair. I started to take pennies--something that always seemed to be around--and stroke them while I spoke. I let the pennies become a vessel for my thoughts and worries. When I was done, I'd always take them and tuck them at the base of his grave. He became a spot in the ground where I could leave my problems.

So, back to that quote.
I read something for one of my English classes in senior year that included this D.H. Lawrence quotation. To think of the 'soul' as a layered, complex space--a forest--instead of a single, quantifiable object was pretty incredible. I've always had trouble understanding the traditional concept of a 'soul'. Just in my relationship with myself, there seems to be so many nuances and complications that make it kind of impossible to understand my 'soul' as a measurable thing. Lawrence's illustration helped me to understand what the complex landscape of a 'soul' could look like.

Later on that week, for one reason or another, I was looking up name meanings on the internet. After looking up my own name, all my friends names, my mother and fathers and sister's names, I thought to look up 'Silas'.

Silas is a Latin name, which means 'Man of the Forest'.

You know that feeling of shock and excitement you get when you are a part of a really lovely, intricate coincidence? I think that might be what 'God' is.

*****

ENOUGH.

2010-02-03T08:11:00.000-08:00

Since mid-January, I have been saying that I couldn't believe winter was going so fast. It seemed nothing like all the other endless boston winters through which I've suffered.
I hadn't yet hit that wall where I just want the cold and the snow and the darkness to stop. I think today I hit it.
My boots are too heavy. I want to sit in grass. My skin is fully transparent, and I forget what it feels like to walk without 5 pounds of wool on my back for warmth. Really though, how much longer will this go on?!

(p.s. the lovely david shrigley made this snow man.)

2010-01-24T18:24:00.001-08:00

morbid

2010-01-21T21:19:00.000-08:00

"We had a memorial service for Isaac a few years back, and I spoke and said at one point, 'Isaac is up in heaven now.' It was the funniest thing I could have said to an audience of humanists... And if I should die, God forbid, I hope you will say, 'Kurt is up in heaven now.' That's my favorite joke."

*******************
i just recently found out that a million episodes of frontline are on PBS.org for free! i just watched the undertaking, a story about a small funeral home and the experiences of its undertakers. It got me thinking about my own demise, and the loss of the ones i love. I have always found the only true, reliable source of comfort in all situations tends to be hope. That doesn't mean hope that the dying will become well, or the hope that i myself will never die--more the feeling of hope that comes when i realize that from nothing, all of this has materialized. a century ago, none of these people i love existed as they do now. in a century, none of them will exist. as surely as this is all going to end, something new and beautiful will begin, that i may never see or experience.

i just believe that you don't need to feel comforted by the hope that you will see the deceased again in heaven or in another life. it is comfort enough that you have lived, have seen what you have seen, and are given the incredible gift of living your life with beautiful people you will eventually lose. this whole experience is so spontaneous and fleeting, what does it matter if it lives on forever? it is living right now, and that can never be altered.

i'm not sure i'm happy about writing this in my blog, but my paper journal is too far away and im thinking this too heavily to not write it down.

(if i die any time soon, please realize that i don't want to be alive somewhere else. it would take away from the beauty of being alive in this place.)

2010-01-13T10:55:00.000-08:00

the eyewriter

this was posted on my friend shaun's facebook and it's too incredible to not repost.

geriatrics

2010-01-13T08:52:00.000-08:00

So I was up late again at my mum and dad's last night. Usually that means I end up unintentionally watching the worst of the worst on television, like the Colon Cleanse infomercial and the 700 club. Somehow, I was lucky enough to stumble on THIS amazingness on PBS around 2 am:

So incredible. It's on again tonight at 9 on wgbh. Watch it!

As if I needed another reason to adore the elderly, it's stories like this that remind me of how resilient we all are. We are forced through so many different stages of life and in the end, we are then forced to face death. Still, there is an undercurrent of happiness, satisfaction and even hope through all of these times. It sort of makes all these silly things we stress over seem so trivial. There is so much to be done, but there is still plenty of time to do it all. I hope when I'm an octogenarian, I have such a sense of humour about myself and about the approaching end of my life.

a very good weekend.

2010-01-03T16:57:00.000-08:00

one of the best in a very long while.

friday night, all the cousins and i went to the burren for a few drinks, and wound up at jj foley's in the south end to meet up with tony gillan (visiting from inis mor). there is very little I love more than spending a chunk of time relaxing with my family--especially the ones that are not here as much as i wish they were. nights like this make me want so badly to go back to ireland this summer.

on saturday, we all went skiing. though it was blistering cold and windy, peggy and i both managed to not fall at all. i like to think its because i'm an expert skiier...but i'm sure it had a lot to do with the wind being so strong that i couldn't go too fast.

i need to remember how it feels to spend time like this. i've needed a rest from being anxious about this or that for a very long time. i have found no better way to recharge than to laugh until i pee my pants with my family in somerville.

new!

2010-01-01T13:46:00.001-08:00

The first day of a new year. I remember being eight and thinking it was so amazing that I would be thirteen years old in the year 2000. Here I am, ten years later, without anything figured out. It's as if the moment I've sifted through the pile of mess in front of me, there is a new pile freshly laid.

Either way, this will be my resolution: to write more! Whether or not anyone reads, whether or not it is just on paper or on this computer or on little bits of napkins, I want to continue to write.
(and to get into graduate school.)
(and maybe someday quit biting my nails...but let's be realistic.)

lovely times.

2008-12-01T17:04:00.001-08:00

!
Thanksgiving was so wonderful.
No pictures, though I wish I had taken some.
I ate so much turkey and pie and potatoes.
AND I knit a whopping 30 (!!!!) squares while home.
There is something so magical and therapeutic about spending time with grandma and grandpa.
Like the times in Puerto Rico a few years ago. I want to go back sometime. Especially with them.

P.S.
I got the Kuhlman scholarship!
Though they did spell my name Mallori, it's my first scholarship ever so I feel very proud!

The semester ends in two weeks.
My review is on the 19th.
I have a lot to do.

Wait.
Why am I on the internet?

president elect and a knit a thon

2008-11-11T15:19:00.000-08:00

wow
what a busy two weeks.
the pine street inn knit-a-thon was this past sunday, and it ended up being a fun time. from 11-5, myself and 84 other people pieced 46 blankets...which is 21 more than last year so it was a definite success!

ALSO.
the end of the semester is heading towards me at a ridiculously fast rate.
I'm knitting with all my heart...and attempting to learn gaeilge at the same time!
we will see.

AND LASTLY.
the obvious (and wonderful) news is that MY CHOICE for president ended up being the NATIONAL CHOICE.
I couldn't be more proud!
(plans to attend the inauguration are in the works)

election excess

2008-10-28T20:07:00.000-07:00

WOW.
I am ready for this thing to be done. I went home to visit my parents today and my dad gave me this t shirt he bought through his union. I am wearing it, despite the fact that I am not a teamster.

I'm well aware that I have a tendency to be one of those jerks who doesn't watch a football game all season and then gets revved up for the Super Bowl. Despite the fact that I've only recently become deeply interested, I actually care about what could happen, so the stress and excitement is taking up a huge chunk in my mind. In my internet wanderings, I found an article that Caroline Kennedy wrote for the New York Times in January of this year called "A President Like My Father". I knew that people had been using the JFK comparisons, but had no idea it came straight from the Kennedys themselves. Quite a poignant comparison.

I also found this adorable story about Obama, Japan. (Obama translates to "small beach" in Japanese. They are just so damn cute.)

That's the last I will say about that until I know what's going to happen to me for the next four years. I can't think about it anymore.

ALSO
I recently joined ravelry.com after a really sweet woman working at A Good Yarn in Brookline told me to take a peek. Something about seeing everyone's work and excitement for knitting and crocheting has been making me feel confident and proud of my chosen path as a fibers student. I started work on my squares for the Purl for a Purpose Knit-A-Thon this afternoon, and they moved pretty quickly. I am so excited to start exploring the humanitarian power of handcrafts. Hopefully the whole thing will be fun and succesful. Either way, my hands ache and I don't see any rest for them in sight. They better get used to it.

Rhinebeck and Blog Revival

2008-10-21T17:24:00.000-07:00

for some reason i abandoned this thing.
how come?
it's a nice thing to have to jot down bits and bobs.
maybe i'll try again.

here goes!
...

last weekend I went to the NEW YORK STATE SHEEP AND WOOL FESTIVAL (lovingly called Rhinebeck by everyone else). I have to say it was a wonderful time. The drive was long, but Ashley and I had fun cracking inappropriate jokes and counting the silos and Obama signs...

and obviously the whole trip was completely worth it, the moment I saw the first angora goat...and left with a bag of romney roving, a peruvian alpaca sweater and a new set of peace fleece needles.
PICTUUURES

i think i might maybe like this.

2007-03-17T20:58:00.000-07:00

travelling a thousand miles from home,
i figure out what home is.
(in art, and time for query?)