Eduardo Galeano

I just came across this man yesterday reading a random book and began to investigate more about him. From the interview and scraps of quotes I saw of his so far, I want to learn more.

“Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty: that, one magical day, good luck will suddenly rain down on them – will rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn’t rain down, yesterday, today, tomorrow or ever. Good luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is tickling, or if they begin the new day on their right foot, or start the new year with a change of brooms. The nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing. The nobodies: the no-ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way. Who are not, but could be. Who don’t speak languages, but dialects. Who don’t have religions, but superstitions. Who don’t create art, but handicrafts. Who don’t have culture, but folklore. Who are not human beings, but human resources. Who do not have faces, but arms. Who do not have names, but numbers. Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the crime reports of the local paper. The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.”

Eduardo Galeano

branch of science.

“The study of shadows is a very important branch of science.” pg. 5353 (The Book of Knowledge).

Agreed.

nothing can surpass

In a fantastic little book called “The Book of Knowledge” (written for kids, but enjoyed by this adult), I came across this photo with the following caption: “Sports are a characteristic of college life, and many a man learns quickness of mind and eye in the playing fields and gymnasium. These men are out on a skiing expedition. Skiing was introduced from Norway, and quickly became a popular sport in Canada. A tramp on skiis, through the snowy fields, in midwinter, sets the blood coursing rapidly through the veins and gives a feeling of joy in life that nothing can surpass.”

I think this applies quite well to right about now here in ol’ SEA, as the snow just keeps on comin’. Setting the blood coursing rapidly and joy in life that nothing can surpass.

terrariums

Terrariums have made me happy lately. Especially ones like this:

(found at twigterrariums.com)

And a friend recently told me that there is a place in Ballard (The Palm Room) that feels like summer and wonderfulness, where I can take classes and make my very own terrariums as I learn the art. As many as I like (for a price, of course). This might be just the ticket to scare away the winter blues.

“Pregnant with Hope”

I still have much, much to learn about immigration in our nation and all of the nuances and injustices and heartaches therein. But a friend of mine is gracious and knowledgeable and daring in her passion in this area. Attached is a recent article that she wrote about this topic. I think this is something we all need to step into more and more.

Cote

joy and sorrow.

I’m stealing this from a friend, who sent this via email a month or so ago. It’s beautiful.

Kahlil Gibran’s “Joy and Sorrow”

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

simple.

Somehow this image sums up visually to me right now how I want to see the world and savor the simple things around me. Love it.

(photo credit: tinywhitedaisies.tumblr.com)

MSF

I just watched a documentary that I have been meaning to watch for quite some time: It is titled “living in emergency“, about doctors working with MSF/Doctors without Borders, a French NGO working in war-torn countries. It left me with a lot to think about… and a deep familiar ache. As well as a deep gratitude and respect for my uncle, who is one of the doctors featured in the film.

Life feels almost trivial after watching something like this, and it seems hard to remember that the little life I lead is good, as well. And that loving those around me is rich and beautiful. And that liking beautiful things and enjoying creativity is okay and lovely, even. I easily get sideswiped by the horrific magnitude of the world. I don’t want to be sedentary or turn a blind eye, humming a happy tune. And I also don’t want to be immobilized due to seeing and stepping into, the jarring inconsistencies and injustices and discrepancies that is our world. I’m never quite sure what to do with all of that.

I’ve done a fair amount of traveling, and this film brought back faces of people I know. Places I’ve been. Sounds, sights, smells. Each trip I go on, I feel an internal stretching, as I’m faced with the gross injustice and harrowing grief of our world, as well as the amazing beauty of those I meet. My life, and so much of the world around me. There is such a huge gap, it so often seems. And I know there are so many surprising ways that we all overlap, as well. But it begs the question: so then, how do I live? What can I do, now, here, today? Who are the people I am called to? How will I live? I hope that I never stop asking that. And yet, that in the asking, that I still live. And deeply.

This coming and going, this global perspective, this seeing horror and knowing faces, and then stepping back into comfort… all so hard to navigate. I’m so grateful for the people who go and spend themselves in ways and places I probably never will. And I hope I will remain open to seeing need around me today… and open to stepping into a more global offering, as well.

This world is complex and this post and utterance feels way too simplified. Even trying to find words is inadequate. But I want to at least try. And post the link, as well. It feels like a humble offering that I’m sure I will want to edit to death soon. But posting anyway.

number 5.

Big deep breath. The world has been whirring by me the last few weeks, and in my frenzied state I have found myself breathless often and sometimes just sitting in my car, head in my hands, staring into space, knowing there are about 20 other things I should be doing. But. Today, I got a sweet gift. Well, a few, actually. Though it is Sunday, I retrieved exactly two packages from a friend, sent to the wrong address, and received two letters from two different sweet friends that were more delightful than I can say. Full of whimsy and honesty,  longing and beautiful script and stories from the heart that can really only be told  in that way on paper.

and I  felt rich beyond compare. And I thought, “May mail never go out of existence.” There is nothing quite like it. A tactile piece of paper, rough hewn edges, in hand. Full of the handwriting of a loved one. Sent across country (and the world, for one of the letters!), passed hand to hand (or machine… but still) and travelling all the way to me. Sitting on my bed, taking them in. It makes me smile.

And helped me to stop my frenzied churning for a moment. And breathe. And feel a lot of gratitude for simple pleasures such as this.

Scheming my own whimsical, thoughtful, and tactile letters back at this moment.

now moments.

It’s this moment.

That’s what I keep thinking today. Not then, when things slow down, and such-and such. Not next week when I can take that breath that I need. Not after this is done or after I type that email. But this moment. Passing me by so nonchalantly. This is the moment that I’m living. That matters. That is here now.

Dripping with cheese, yes. Dripping in truth, too? Also, yes. I have been whirling around my little life the last few weeks, angsty and ultra testy when I don’t get a hot minute alone, to breathe and to reflect and to remember what is good and lovely around me. And I keep waiting for that 5 hour chunk of time to materialize out of thin air. You know what I mean –  that chunk of time in which all my dreaming will congeal and I will have energy and passion to write, to imagine, to plan and create, to look at blogs and find beautiful things and be inspired artistically, vocationally and personally for hours, leaving the coffee shop a better human being, pulsating light and insight as I step forth into the real world. That chunk of time.  And, yes. Sometimes those moments happen too, complete with a faint hint of glitter skittering to the ground as I walk. But, I’m also finding that those big chunks of time are rare to say the least. And often end up starting out as one thing and ending up as an anxious quest to hurry up and be enlightened so I can go get my oil changed already.

So, as I was running today, I realized that this is it, really. These moments that together form a day. And though they may be frantic, frenetic and amped up, and/or dull and boring… they also hold all the ingredients needed to see goodness. Okay, not every moment, maybe. Most of my day is in some kind of warp speed from one espresso shot to the next, but. Even then I can stop and look at the face before me. Or enjoy the smell in the air. Or feel in the air as the sun comes out and people are out and about.  Or the cheese wiz dripping from my keyboard.

I can’t help it. I just believe it’s true. We choose how we see the world and how we interact with it. And don’t for a minute think I mean that we control our own destiny or that we shouldn’t feel the hot sting of betrayal or loss or whatever it is that is real around us. Please refer to previous posts for more on that. I just mean, that we have choice moment to moment when we are busy and frantically trying to make something of myself, excuse me, ourselves. We can choose to breathe even then and find some glimmer of rejuvenation in light on a tree branch. In laughter in the room over.

Life happens, we get busy. And I still desperately want the five hour chunk of magic time. Creating time. Enlightenment time. But. Until then, will I breathe a little more intentionally and will I walk a bit slower in the sun and will I listen to songs that bring me life and will I lift my head up to the sun and will I laugh in my harried state at the little 5-year-old perched, chin in hands, unconcernedly on the toilet waiting to be wiped, while I’m all in a huff about needing a shower because I only gave myself 10 minutes to get ready? These are our now moments, they are often random and unexpected and mostly unwanted. But.

They are ours to do as we will with.

Carpe diem. seize the day.

But I kinda like diem carpe. Let the day seize you.

And meet it with that can of cheese wiz you keep talking about.