I am staring into the frozen sea of a sky. The stars shatter the darkness with their light. The moon is waning, retreating into the distant corner of night to rest. I would do well to follow such an example. But I do not sleep. I procrastinate. Now. To write this. I am exhausted. tired to the bone. and tomorrow i will get up early, do what needs to be done, for the children. all allusions of oriah mountain dreamer aside. in some way this is a release, and therefor restful. here there is space. to breath, to unfold my soul and tuck it into a safe place. Base! if only for a while. Lately I dream. in all this doing, this coming and going, this incessant work. I know, i know: Be. Here. Now. and i am, but i am also there. and that's what keeps me going. these moments to are heavy with gifts, wrapped in the form of lessons, but stopping to unwrap each moment sinks my soul like an anchor.... and in this frozen excuse for a night, i can't but help to see i'm skating on thin ice, and swift motions are the only way i can see to not get swallowed up in the wallowing of self-pity. The passion of non-attachment? can this be possible?

to love and to honor. i am not feeling well. a sore throat. aching eyes. watery soul. body tired. mind delerious. to love and to honor. in health and in sickness. Love? Honor? Love who? Honor who? Myself or my students. This world is increasingly egocentric. I. I. I. Me. Me. Me. My needs. My wants. My desires. The crux: Do I call in sick, stay hobe with the flu? sniff. sniff. achoo! Or. Do I suck it up, trudge into my classroom and give the final review. teach a yoga class after the3:20 bell rings, and then rush to serve up smiles and salads at the restaraunt where I work? I've lost my zen. Where can I find such peace? Thanks for listening to my rant and rave. this message out into the void. where perhaps someone will or will not hear it.

When I was a Senior in high school, i didn't fit in. by that time i had become a vegetarian (gasp!) and liberal (gasp! gasp!) in the small, conservative mountain town i grew up in, there was little room for "different folk". i was naseated by the killing game (animals, the bigger, the more points, and more points were equivalent to beer). i checked out. and into the center of my sadness. i swallowed my loneliness during the day-smiled outwardly, but disconnected myself from them. i spent a lot of time reading. dreaming. which didn't satiate my desire to be happy.But, in my reading, i stumbled across steinbeck's sweet thursdays. which really had nothing to do with what i started doing, but i called them sweet thursdays neverthe ess. thursdays i planned out random acts of kindness: mowing a neighbor's lawn if they weren't home. making mixtapes with positive music and leaving them on random doorsteps or cars. making cookies and taking them to the beggars by the interstate off-ramps. i don't know if anyone's thursday was a little sweeter because of my actions, but mine were. Now, i teach. at the same high school i graduated from. my senior students are restless and emotional. we've decided to resurrect sweet thursdays. starting today. we bought hot chocolate for the salvation army bell ringers outside the grocery stores and made them cards of appreciation. in some way, i think we are what we give.

not the Truth, but the truth.... the truth is that maybe i'm part of what so many despise. the truth is even i don't see with god's eyes. even i do what i criticize. in this world such value is placed on how we look. i have had an ugly complex since i was 10. have spent much of my life wishing i was something i am not. i know. but real beauty is ever-lasting, it's in your soul. i know. physical beauty is ephemeral, like the little prince's flower. but still. in this world, it carries a strong power. at least for women. it's not captivation, or power over others i seek. i think i am no different in my basic desires. for don't we all, at the heart of it all, just want to be loved? in whatever capacity that might be. i'm no victim to this world, but i'm not blind. and i see that love comes easier to the beautiful girls, physically. people rarely take time to pay attention to little else. and the truth is i am ashamed of admitting this. ashamed of such shallowness. i don't consider my soul shallow. like history, it flows as a river. and there is a stone sunken in the bottom of my heart carved by the currents of time. all it takes is one childhood moment: standing at the bus stop. elementary school. staring at our shadows on the side of the road. i guess i've always been tall for my age. but i wasn't previously aware (at age 9) that i had the ugly step-sister feet. i wasn't aware that i would never fit in to my favorite fairytale, would never fit into pretty little boxes or social ideals. no matter. reminders were everywhere. the truth is maybe what we aren't shapes us just as much as what we are. and the truth is if i could see it all, i could see that all of this doesn't matter. sometimes i get a glimpse. and. i've decided to share it with you all.

at 5:15 a.m. there is only darkness. i've forgotten how eyes work. the pupil widens, and the retina? lets more light in? our bodies naturally want to hold the light, create light from the darkness. at 11:16 p.m. there is only the dim light of my kitchen, the neighbors blinking christmas lights, over powered by the flickering of the blue light coming from an upstairs bedroom. television late night. my eyes gaze across the lawn. softly searching until they focus on the silvery tree branches bathing in the light of an unfull moon. it is utterly illuminated with gratitude. and i see it. this is the light that doesn't fade, that doesn't flicker and fade into dark corners of a bedroom while the shouting and noise continues. this is the light, and silence is its song. this is the night, and i am just one dreamer, distant and filled with deference for light that even shadows can't darken. that even darkness steps back to admire the illuminated soul.

this is a love story. everyday, it seems as if the whole universe is conspiring to bring us together. you know this story, you want it to be about you. and somewhere along the way, you will find that it is. this is a love story: i watch from inside, the air is warm and smells like jasmine. other people are immersed in talking, a few in geniuine conversation. the closer i sit to the window, the more i feel the cold. it radiates from the clarity, but you do not seem cold. a woman, paused and sifting through her purse, unaware of passerbys. but she looks up, and one catches her eye. a smile. they meet and embrace. and i think: how many moments had to occur before that embrace could take place? beyond the car ride there, beyond waking up this morning, two lifetimes had to be lived, for that moment to occur (at the very least). this is a love story. of which we are all part. everyday, it seems that the whole universe unfolds its arms and embraces us in the magic. this is your story. and my story. namaste.

Even when two of them are backwards. i have om tattooed on my right ankle to remind me this.(it's amazing what one forgets to remember) every step is a prayer. I've taken quite a few steps in my life. and all of them collectively have led me here. when you see the history behind the present moment, how can you not stand in reverence? how can i do anything else but smile, breathe, feel the bony fingers of winter's cold air slide over my skin? I am touched not just by this moment, but all moments preceding this. now is timelessness sealed with a kiss. i said before this is a love story. and it is, but also: it's a life story, yours and mine. what steps lead you here? what are your intentions while you look around, whether your feet are or are not on the ground, and step into the thin air of possibility. we are pure potential, packaged in prayer. where are you going? one step at a time will get you there.

If you haven't read this book yet, do. it's really amazing: The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. so much of life is tangled up in a story. part of this story is a knot that retunes my heart strings. can you hear the song? it's all in the story any way. happy reading.

because i let you peak in through a window of my soul, don't apologize for looking. i know the lights are on, curtains blowing in the hint of a breeze. i know the scent comes pouring from the room and licks the night air filling the space next to you. i know you see me. i want to be seen. i walk through so many days invisible. maybe that's why i find myself here, why my curiosity was piqued by people who tremble beneath the ground they will break with their change. there are people here who can see things beyond what i have dreamed. because i am trapped in the space of distance i am safe. i am hovering under the shelter of a broken wing, and the rent is due. the price we pay for freedom. i am not calling out to be saved. because i see that being the change takes courage and patience, i exchange my fear for faith. what else can make miracles happen? because i see that there is really no distance or glaring difference from you to me, how can i not believe? how can i not be grateful.

Robert Frost Isn't Universal robert frost was wrong. atleast as far as i'm concerned. there were never two roads. no yellow woods. and any road anyone takes, regardless of how well-traveled, will make all the difference. in my life there have been many roads, and all of them collectively have lead me here. to this moment. eradicate the vague? all roads have lead me here, right back to the place that i consciously started. i am teaching at the high school i graduated from. i could say my motivation in returning was to contribute to the community in which i grew up. but that wouldn't be entirely true. my life is about service, yes, but not necessarily about serving here. the many roads i've traveled have circuitously lead me here. has that made all the difference? i am semantically bothered by the word "all." who am i to fit a bill so tall? i am indebted to the experiences i have been given. serving is a small way to repay God, or the universe, or the world. it has made a difference. maybe not all the difference. it has made me more appreciative of small things. has filled my soul with unsatiated desires of becoming a gypsy. and i dream a lot of traveling to distant, albeit only dreamed of places. but still i am here. and so rather than seeing new places, i have had to learn to see the same place with new eyes. cultivate gratitude for where i am, do my best to bloom where planted. though i don't know if i have taken root here. my roots are taken from here. i'm grateful for family. but the seeds i've planted here may not grow without my care. i'd like, and i'm trying to sow a garden that will live on without my being here. through teaching i have a small say, a small way to break ground. what i'm trying to grow are more conscious citizens. to erase apathy, if only in small corners of the world. to teach people how to recycle. to initiate random acts of kindness and therefore increase the chance of constant compassion. to make a difference, on any road i travel. even if only a small one.