Qualité
(-Nothing left)
You made a fire in the room,
which ravished the ceiling
and took down the walls.
You could have opened the curtains
and riven the sky, come close
to the hills that watch over me golden;
I would have thanked you.
You of the unbending flame,
autumn hue searing.
Unblinking eyes,
the sun shines
and the world turns.
Cold, the fires that tell
that day is surely somewhere,
but not here;
you are the beauty
my heart has escaped,
but not now.
The curtains were stuck, and I tugged
until silence filled the room,
distant face that beckons. I can’t follow
roads made clear
for broken feet.
Fierce the words come
over my body; deep these ocean beds,
and dark (the fish have moons for eyes).
He who formed the waters
is with me.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
words without names.
Everything close is indistinct,
all that is held seems stolen—
once was a gift, brilliant and true,
but the throne feels far away.
Where are the ones
who can hear and remember,
even who see but a little?
Where is he who moves among the garden?
There is a path we believe in,
but grapple to find
not imagine. Ache to love,
and search to please.
Quiet, still and listen
to the voice who stands outside you.
Still, until the silence bends
into the sky, seen emptiness,
and promise that cannot be broken.
all that is held seems stolen—
once was a gift, brilliant and true,
but the throne feels far away.
Where are the ones
who can hear and remember,
even who see but a little?
Where is he who moves among the garden?
There is a path we believe in,
but grapple to find
not imagine. Ache to love,
and search to please.
Quiet, still and listen
to the voice who stands outside you.
Still, until the silence bends
into the sky, seen emptiness,
and promise that cannot be broken.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
the wanderer.
Two went out, to find
a field. Rough it ought to be,
with brambles, tangled weeds,
and rocks of a perfect size
to protect their endeavour.
Eager expectation
greets the great undoing.
Fierce, renewing,
sun on his back—
he who sifts through rubble.
He who imagines his hands
like a carver of stone,
and surrenders to fire.
Hours glide softly
over earth, with such simplicity.
Listen! From your
humble heart ring
rhythms, blessed fealty.
Tired with age, the joy
of gold at dawn,
for those who watch.
Softly ringing,
May the earth
break always heavily.
I have songs as well,
but they are different.
We still seek for fields, yet softer;
we are freer. Oft-times we have wandered,
slumbered, ‘til the evenings fell
and bled together.
Still, the emptiness. Please,
take this away from me—
all these barren words,
like plunging oceans, knotted vines
untamed.
Bare feet stung
and scratched, from
wildness, endless treading
here. Heat from which I hide.
Thoughts that break against
the stones, and I
can hardly lift them
after all this time;
one anointed whisper
falls, unfailing.
Catches my ear,
gently.
Wander here with me, on
unfamiliar shoulders.
Hold the life of buried hearts. Wander
here, with me.
a field. Rough it ought to be,
with brambles, tangled weeds,
and rocks of a perfect size
to protect their endeavour.
Eager expectation
greets the great undoing.
Fierce, renewing,
sun on his back—
he who sifts through rubble.
He who imagines his hands
like a carver of stone,
and surrenders to fire.
Hours glide softly
over earth, with such simplicity.
Listen! From your
humble heart ring
rhythms, blessed fealty.
Tired with age, the joy
of gold at dawn,
for those who watch.
Softly ringing,
May the earth
break always heavily.
I have songs as well,
but they are different.
We still seek for fields, yet softer;
we are freer. Oft-times we have wandered,
slumbered, ‘til the evenings fell
and bled together.
Still, the emptiness. Please,
take this away from me—
all these barren words,
like plunging oceans, knotted vines
untamed.
Bare feet stung
and scratched, from
wildness, endless treading
here. Heat from which I hide.
Thoughts that break against
the stones, and I
can hardly lift them
after all this time;
one anointed whisper
falls, unfailing.
Catches my ear,
gently.
Wander here with me, on
unfamiliar shoulders.
Hold the life of buried hearts. Wander
here, with me.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
the breaking.
In the Silence many have
heard deep melodies, eternity.
Permeate intangibly;
try to slip beneath
its sleeping current.
Reach the ceiling.
I am small;
nothing, nothing more.
Loyal silence sings, still swiftly.
Wait, to common ear!
Sweetly fallen,
here.
heard deep melodies, eternity.
Permeate intangibly;
try to slip beneath
its sleeping current.
Reach the ceiling.
I am small;
nothing, nothing more.
Loyal silence sings, still swiftly.
Wait, to common ear!
Sweetly fallen,
here.
Friday, November 27, 2009
but their own.
You appear,
we speak for a while.
Where is your heart?
Will you join us?
Dark black soil
to stain your skin.
Idea held the knife
to your mind
and spoke, enters;
such absence.
If I wander here,
I trample your soul.
Let me tell you softly
what I heard
that hour,
close.
Closer than I
can hold.
Kindness
fell softly through
my fingertips,
softly through
my soul,
like memory
or water.
Heart unweaves
in words that tremble.
Fragments, silk that falls,
and I hold in my hands.
How can I,
such hands?
Too far;
this peak too high
to breach;
oh, how can I speak.
Crush my heart. Please,
take my life, and
give me away.
we speak for a while.
Where is your heart?
Will you join us?
Dark black soil
to stain your skin.
Idea held the knife
to your mind
and spoke, enters;
such absence.
If I wander here,
I trample your soul.
Let me tell you softly
what I heard
that hour,
close.
Closer than I
can hold.
Kindness
fell softly through
my fingertips,
softly through
my soul,
like memory
or water.
Heart unweaves
in words that tremble.
Fragments, silk that falls,
and I hold in my hands.
How can I,
such hands?
Too far;
this peak too high
to breach;
oh, how can I speak.
Crush my heart. Please,
take my life, and
give me away.
a small handful.
I'm posting these together: early this month, I decided to only write forty-words-or-less poems for the rest of the year. I need to become more succint, and recently had read some beautiful lyrics, yet so short and clear, written by a friend.
9th November
something bright.
When the bulb decayed,
its roots all withering;
when rain upon rain
spoke to terracotta,
cold with age—
how could I replace
or discard it?
There will be new flowers,
planted in old pots.
Springtime will watch.
12th November
silhouettes.
Shadows spilt
long, through darkborn
morning; gentle gold beyond.
High-hung, bright hot sun
another hour.
Time collapses into time,
like love.
Silhouettes mark moments
still as hope, stir
under mystery rising:
pieces like a puzzle,
like the sky.
15th November
remembered.
We’ll creep inside,
and feel too small
for beauty so strong.
Words can’t clasp the sound,
or colours the size.
It feels like something given.
19th November
enough.
I swim in many rivers,
quietly.
Over the way
is the deep, where
one day
they all will run together,
wearing salt.
Often I wander there,
among the ancient ocean.
19th November
a brighter lamp.
Apart from the things we said,
and try to forget—just
listen. Stop the clock,
unwind or bind
its hands
(for now).
Hear the sound still
falling, unmeasured
by such movement;
let us enter
silently.
We’d rather just prove you.
27th November
reclaimed.
How long will you stare at light
that appeared too late,
or mourn for what was held,
remade, before you were born?
There is nothing in you
that love hasn't answered for.
Everywhere you've been,
still he lingers.
9th November
something bright.
When the bulb decayed,
its roots all withering;
when rain upon rain
spoke to terracotta,
cold with age—
how could I replace
or discard it?
There will be new flowers,
planted in old pots.
Springtime will watch.
12th November
silhouettes.
Shadows spilt
long, through darkborn
morning; gentle gold beyond.
High-hung, bright hot sun
another hour.
Time collapses into time,
like love.
Silhouettes mark moments
still as hope, stir
under mystery rising:
pieces like a puzzle,
like the sky.
15th November
remembered.
We’ll creep inside,
and feel too small
for beauty so strong.
Words can’t clasp the sound,
or colours the size.
It feels like something given.
19th November
enough.
I swim in many rivers,
quietly.
Over the way
is the deep, where
one day
they all will run together,
wearing salt.
Often I wander there,
among the ancient ocean.
19th November
a brighter lamp.
Apart from the things we said,
and try to forget—just
listen. Stop the clock,
unwind or bind
its hands
(for now).
Hear the sound still
falling, unmeasured
by such movement;
let us enter
silently.
We’d rather just prove you.
27th November
reclaimed.
How long will you stare at light
that appeared too late,
or mourn for what was held,
remade, before you were born?
There is nothing in you
that love hasn't answered for.
Everywhere you've been,
still he lingers.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
the wearied melodist.
Recognise the tapestry,
proud against the wall.
Some of the stories are mine,
echoed bright in felt, in old books, paint
on tall museum walls: arching trees
all woven near my roads.
Great parade, they march so long.
All these strands: my home,
these faces like my own, music rich
and threads all dyed to fill
a circling sky.
Faded and unwoven pages,
under earth and time.
Do you know your names?
Buried shouts unheard,
once loud; linger. Here
I stay so long, near silent strangers,
names and homes that I
have never known.
We can hear the first sound.
It runs across plains to find the sea,
and we sleep within its borders.
Three streams flow among us,
but the fourth is lost
to we who have not learnt
to drink, retrace our steps.
Giants wandered there. Secrets all lay open,
as if nothing else had been—
held in simpler words than songs,
for your lives were long.
Rhyme soon born to sounds all new;
we born next, to new arms, all astray
beneath the sun. There were cities then.
Little we conceive, if hardly we can see.
Now we only breathe, and then forget,
like so many lines torn out.
No wedge in my songs is sharp enough
to pierce and fill your fame.
Such ordinary days, so far away.
Grace for his soul,
and honey for his throne:
we walk far from the trees and read
those marvels, tales of younger days.
Here is the bird who built a nest in
branches bound by iron and stone.
Empty words, our fear, acclaim;
battles waged, and burdens laid,
so long ordained.
Those we find incongruous,
or words of years and wars of kings;
my shelf holds room for more.
Where were the homes and towns,
dust now, once filled with the bustle
of hours? Who are you there,
standing in the farthest field?
Miniature world, my tower of years.
Blood as quick as mine, and I
could walk beside you,
hold my arms out wide.
Typewriter clanged with the letters of you.
In the house I read them, lake of
faceless gaze; and all these streets
you rode, the things you thought
and words you spoke, particular.
I pour myself through cavities
all charred, so I turn my eyes.
Whose were the arms
so immediate, warm, when you fell
that night? Even then a stranger.
Eyes that knew an older world
than mine or yours,
and words I can’t translate.
In that moment, not alone,
the cold floor.
Where was he born? Silent days
where he found the words
I softly learn to sing.
This is the cloak I now wear and receive.
Fingers, wind these threads
among your own.
Wait for the time
when hidden things untangle,
all that was scattered reclaimed.
Weave in me
the secret lives and scenes
that only you can read.
proud against the wall.
Some of the stories are mine,
echoed bright in felt, in old books, paint
on tall museum walls: arching trees
all woven near my roads.
Great parade, they march so long.
All these strands: my home,
these faces like my own, music rich
and threads all dyed to fill
a circling sky.
Faded and unwoven pages,
under earth and time.
Do you know your names?
Buried shouts unheard,
once loud; linger. Here
I stay so long, near silent strangers,
names and homes that I
have never known.
We can hear the first sound.
It runs across plains to find the sea,
and we sleep within its borders.
Three streams flow among us,
but the fourth is lost
to we who have not learnt
to drink, retrace our steps.
Giants wandered there. Secrets all lay open,
as if nothing else had been—
held in simpler words than songs,
for your lives were long.
Rhyme soon born to sounds all new;
we born next, to new arms, all astray
beneath the sun. There were cities then.
Little we conceive, if hardly we can see.
Now we only breathe, and then forget,
like so many lines torn out.
No wedge in my songs is sharp enough
to pierce and fill your fame.
Such ordinary days, so far away.
Grace for his soul,
and honey for his throne:
we walk far from the trees and read
those marvels, tales of younger days.
Here is the bird who built a nest in
branches bound by iron and stone.
Empty words, our fear, acclaim;
battles waged, and burdens laid,
so long ordained.
Those we find incongruous,
or words of years and wars of kings;
my shelf holds room for more.
Where were the homes and towns,
dust now, once filled with the bustle
of hours? Who are you there,
standing in the farthest field?
Miniature world, my tower of years.
Blood as quick as mine, and I
could walk beside you,
hold my arms out wide.
Typewriter clanged with the letters of you.
In the house I read them, lake of
faceless gaze; and all these streets
you rode, the things you thought
and words you spoke, particular.
I pour myself through cavities
all charred, so I turn my eyes.
Whose were the arms
so immediate, warm, when you fell
that night? Even then a stranger.
Eyes that knew an older world
than mine or yours,
and words I can’t translate.
In that moment, not alone,
the cold floor.
Where was he born? Silent days
where he found the words
I softly learn to sing.
This is the cloak I now wear and receive.
Fingers, wind these threads
among your own.
Wait for the time
when hidden things untangle,
all that was scattered reclaimed.
Weave in me
the secret lives and scenes
that only you can read.
Monday, October 19, 2009
after the flood.
It felt like fire,
and I—ringing like metal,
caving all inside to resonate with
you.
Open the door. Step onto
carpeted boards of an old house,
dusty like another age, and
open the curtains to let in the sun,
cooler sky.
Rest for a while, patchwork quilt.
Sewn by hands you can’t
remember, here under sunlight.
Gentle silence. Hold those days again
a moment; bring them near
among the rustling leaves,
glistening outside like waves.
Noise, magnificent scraping, always.
Burst, collide with tensions. Endless,
true, and glare that sears so close.
Only the softest word, one note is full.
It did remain,
we were standing there.
Face turned high, ocean of ink above and
far, far, bleeding infinity,
boundless space, cold stone
walls torn long ago by
endlessness between.
Even darkness filled,
split with saturation by
this home inside.
Sitting again on a grassy hill
outside in the afternoon;
no one sees, a moment.
Wandered further on. I’ll linger,
run to catch them later.
Looking back on where we’ve come,
your heart is like a furnace
as we walk inside.
You’re brighter than ever
and I am inside.
I’ll stay forever.
and I—ringing like metal,
caving all inside to resonate with
you.
Open the door. Step onto
carpeted boards of an old house,
dusty like another age, and
open the curtains to let in the sun,
cooler sky.
Rest for a while, patchwork quilt.
Sewn by hands you can’t
remember, here under sunlight.
Gentle silence. Hold those days again
a moment; bring them near
among the rustling leaves,
glistening outside like waves.
Noise, magnificent scraping, always.
Burst, collide with tensions. Endless,
true, and glare that sears so close.
Only the softest word, one note is full.
It did remain,
we were standing there.
Face turned high, ocean of ink above and
far, far, bleeding infinity,
boundless space, cold stone
walls torn long ago by
endlessness between.
Even darkness filled,
split with saturation by
this home inside.
Sitting again on a grassy hill
outside in the afternoon;
no one sees, a moment.
Wandered further on. I’ll linger,
run to catch them later.
Looking back on where we’ve come,
your heart is like a furnace
as we walk inside.
You’re brighter than ever
and I am inside.
I’ll stay forever.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
come (live inside).
Like one blind,
my home is the invisible;
I was born there.
Held, but hardly to feel
the touch, that moment
where I melt into the presence
of another, of love, ever
I melt, but I am held
by the intangible.
Water, parched and drawn
without words by its call,
sun, I shiver in winter:
down, pour it down, light and fire,
know me and hold,
hold me.
I can only hear.
All these long days
since the start, waiting for
that moment—opening up
of a small door, door I can touch
and press my hand against
till it opens,
and a light, dim, golden,
seen, and I,
held—but it’s true,
I have heard.
In my mind I’ll sing that song
around and around,
wait, whisper its words to the night,
and listen to the night
that surrounds,
so close, sing them back
to me.
my home is the invisible;
I was born there.
Held, but hardly to feel
the touch, that moment
where I melt into the presence
of another, of love, ever
I melt, but I am held
by the intangible.
Water, parched and drawn
without words by its call,
sun, I shiver in winter:
down, pour it down, light and fire,
know me and hold,
hold me.
I can only hear.
All these long days
since the start, waiting for
that moment—opening up
of a small door, door I can touch
and press my hand against
till it opens,
and a light, dim, golden,
seen, and I,
held—but it’s true,
I have heard.
In my mind I’ll sing that song
around and around,
wait, whisper its words to the night,
and listen to the night
that surrounds,
so close, sing them back
to me.
Monday, August 10, 2009
a show of sentiment (perhaps inappropriate) for the waning of the last full moon.
This one I wrote for a friend. Parts are a little like the last one I posted here, simply because at the moment I'm working on (very nearly finished!) another piece, which has my head in a particular spot poetically; but I think it's nice. I meant it, anyway :)
*
All asleep; I wake, I walk,
to find you.
Servant of desire and wanderers,
forgetfulness; you pour
the icy sea
into my hands
(that cup, that momentary—)
and I drink, I spill
or thirst, and watch those
tides so silent, small,
and sleep. Forgetfulness,
desire.
Tell me how you sing!
How endlessly
you chase that road of
never to hold,
thrown in flight,
deep lake Desire;
sing the words, sweet call
we heard of old,
the ringing sound
that hides my mind,
delight.
Or feel your brilliance fade
this night,
dissolve and plunge,
climb and tumble over
all you know. The call,
that silent song
to lift your head, then wane;
that wave on wave
unending;
chase, embrace the road
(your dearest loved).
Then meet in adoration. Sing
your silent song
unending.
Swift you roam,
and I rest here beneath your glow.
Eagerness, come burn,
spill brightness so much deeper
than your own.
*
All asleep; I wake, I walk,
to find you.
Servant of desire and wanderers,
forgetfulness; you pour
the icy sea
into my hands
(that cup, that momentary—)
and I drink, I spill
or thirst, and watch those
tides so silent, small,
and sleep. Forgetfulness,
desire.
Tell me how you sing!
How endlessly
you chase that road of
never to hold,
thrown in flight,
deep lake Desire;
sing the words, sweet call
we heard of old,
the ringing sound
that hides my mind,
delight.
Or feel your brilliance fade
this night,
dissolve and plunge,
climb and tumble over
all you know. The call,
that silent song
to lift your head, then wane;
that wave on wave
unending;
chase, embrace the road
(your dearest loved).
Then meet in adoration. Sing
your silent song
unending.
Swift you roam,
and I rest here beneath your glow.
Eagerness, come burn,
spill brightness so much deeper
than your own.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
the memory of something.
She smiled at us from there,
till we remembered a place
we had never been;
I walked across the park,
thought there was something more
I'd forgotten to ask.
After we made the fire,
we heard the shadow sounds
and we looked into the sky.
When we arrived home late
we heard the laughter
and joy, and a broken heart
made whole.
till we remembered a place
we had never been;
I walked across the park,
thought there was something more
I'd forgotten to ask.
After we made the fire,
we heard the shadow sounds
and we looked into the sky.
When we arrived home late
we heard the laughter
and joy, and a broken heart
made whole.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
created.
Words all lose their faces,
lose their sound and place in time that falls
across the first and silent word,
which comes inside.
Comes, small, speaking sounds that linger
till we come outside.
So we enter; yet also we linger,
made like small worlds, as was the first one.
Small, yet filled with equal measure
till that measure fills the whole.
lose their sound and place in time that falls
across the first and silent word,
which comes inside.
Comes, small, speaking sounds that linger
till we come outside.
So we enter; yet also we linger,
made like small worlds, as was the first one.
Small, yet filled with equal measure
till that measure fills the whole.
Friday, March 6, 2009
and the sky severs us, its soul imbued.
I've been home now for almost a week in the unbelievably green part of the world that is Sydney (is that a strange thing to say?), and things are becoming almost normal again. This post has taken a while to get to because this week has been full and at times hard for me, firstly being dramatically unwell with airsickness that lasted intensely even a few days after I landed, and secondly being (more enjoyably) engaged with the first week of uni for this year. It's looking to be a good semester! My compulsary Education subject looks okay, and my three elective subjects seem wonderful :) I can't wait to get into it all; in so many ways it has just been really good to be home.
I haven't written yet about our six days in Germany: it was so hurried, yet still so good! It is amazing there in the winter, and with all the time we spent driving through snow, fog, the trees, the gorgeous little distant towns and hills and forests, it made the travel worthwhile. When we first got there I was so excitedly enthralled (to the amusement of my dad!). I think when I go to places about which I have illusions, I know realistically that they are still just places, and may not 'be' everything I had imagined them to; I was surprised that in Europe my expectations were actually exceeded, and it was such a place to explore, there were so many intricate and incredible things there that I haven't known before. Then again, having been away from Australia for so long, I am seeing things scattered all through the ordinary here as well--not in a romanticised way, I mean, but just to say that things stand out, they feel new or vivid to be part of, even more real or something, and often subtly or half-consciously. Familiarity has a strange effect, at times a false one, I conclude.
On the first day we drove from Marion's house to Eisenach,. We looked around the town a bit and then went to Wartburg Castle. We were in such a hurry too, as it was getting late and we needed to move on; rushing up the very steep precipice to get to the castle was an experience! It was very cool. Then that night we stayed with an older couple in Maintal (before we planned this trip Dad joined a kind of travel community that allows you to stay with other families for a low cost, and it was really a good way of doing it), and they gave us a night tour of Frankfurt by car--I don't really like it there by day, but there are some buildings that come out prettily in the dark. It's nice to look around with locals, too.
The next day we went to Nuremberg, which was very interesting. Next we went to Rothenburg ob der Tauber, an impressive preserved medieval town; it was so rainy and cold, but fun! We got pastries there that they call schneeballen, which were huge and delicious.
That night we slept at the home of another couple, in Burgau. They were some of the nicest people ever; when, coming in the door, I heard a little voice call out "Opa?", I was very happy :) Their two year old grandson (the cutest little person!), along with his parents and one of the couple's other daughters, was staying. I really enjoyed our time with that family.
In the morning we left for nearby Augsburg, and caught the tram and looked around there for a while. There is so much to see there, and it's very historical; for a big town it just had a nice feel that day. Then we left for the Black Forest, near which we arrived in the evening. We stayed near Offenburg (we were very close to Strasbourg, but sadly didn't go as the next day was too busy to take time out just to have 'been in' France) in a small guesthouse that gave us the most impressive, cosy dinner and a sweet little room. It was very peaceful there, and I could definitely live there I think (on first impressions anyhow!). We woke early and went to a few nearby towns on the edge of the forest, just utterly beautiful, and then went to Gengenbach with some other places on the way. The wooden cuckoo-clocks we saw there were especially impressive. The forest was a real highlight of our time in Germany; it's an amazing part of the world. Then that day we also went to Bad Wimpfen, a town with Celtic and Roman history, a really sweet (though very expensive!) shop which I really liked a lot, and just a beautiful afternoon atmosphere for walking through: much quieter and less touristy than Gengenbach, and so interesting. Then we stayed in Bretzfeldt with the father of a family friend, and we also met her sister with her young family. I think they are some of the most welcoming, friendly people I've ever had a conversation with!
When we left it was our last day in Germany, and we went back to Frankfurt via Worms. After that we spent some time in Frankfurt (this time to a place which had a great vibe, with its buskers and smokey markets), had dinner there and then caught the plane. On the entire trip back I was too motion-sick for words--really bad even for me--so this was not fun, but we got back alright, and I'm so glad to be home to everyone and everything again (this has only been my third week in Sydney this year...). The best trip ever.
That's all for now. I still have the rest of my photos to upload, and will probably do that this afternoon if I can. There is much else to do, now that I'm feeling better again and readings and assignments are starting to happen. Today I think I will try to finish Beowulf. It's all rather good :)
I haven't written yet about our six days in Germany: it was so hurried, yet still so good! It is amazing there in the winter, and with all the time we spent driving through snow, fog, the trees, the gorgeous little distant towns and hills and forests, it made the travel worthwhile. When we first got there I was so excitedly enthralled (to the amusement of my dad!). I think when I go to places about which I have illusions, I know realistically that they are still just places, and may not 'be' everything I had imagined them to; I was surprised that in Europe my expectations were actually exceeded, and it was such a place to explore, there were so many intricate and incredible things there that I haven't known before. Then again, having been away from Australia for so long, I am seeing things scattered all through the ordinary here as well--not in a romanticised way, I mean, but just to say that things stand out, they feel new or vivid to be part of, even more real or something, and often subtly or half-consciously. Familiarity has a strange effect, at times a false one, I conclude.
On the first day we drove from Marion's house to Eisenach,. We looked around the town a bit and then went to Wartburg Castle. We were in such a hurry too, as it was getting late and we needed to move on; rushing up the very steep precipice to get to the castle was an experience! It was very cool. Then that night we stayed with an older couple in Maintal (before we planned this trip Dad joined a kind of travel community that allows you to stay with other families for a low cost, and it was really a good way of doing it), and they gave us a night tour of Frankfurt by car--I don't really like it there by day, but there are some buildings that come out prettily in the dark. It's nice to look around with locals, too.
The next day we went to Nuremberg, which was very interesting. Next we went to Rothenburg ob der Tauber, an impressive preserved medieval town; it was so rainy and cold, but fun! We got pastries there that they call schneeballen, which were huge and delicious.
That night we slept at the home of another couple, in Burgau. They were some of the nicest people ever; when, coming in the door, I heard a little voice call out "Opa?", I was very happy :) Their two year old grandson (the cutest little person!), along with his parents and one of the couple's other daughters, was staying. I really enjoyed our time with that family.
In the morning we left for nearby Augsburg, and caught the tram and looked around there for a while. There is so much to see there, and it's very historical; for a big town it just had a nice feel that day. Then we left for the Black Forest, near which we arrived in the evening. We stayed near Offenburg (we were very close to Strasbourg, but sadly didn't go as the next day was too busy to take time out just to have 'been in' France) in a small guesthouse that gave us the most impressive, cosy dinner and a sweet little room. It was very peaceful there, and I could definitely live there I think (on first impressions anyhow!). We woke early and went to a few nearby towns on the edge of the forest, just utterly beautiful, and then went to Gengenbach with some other places on the way. The wooden cuckoo-clocks we saw there were especially impressive. The forest was a real highlight of our time in Germany; it's an amazing part of the world. Then that day we also went to Bad Wimpfen, a town with Celtic and Roman history, a really sweet (though very expensive!) shop which I really liked a lot, and just a beautiful afternoon atmosphere for walking through: much quieter and less touristy than Gengenbach, and so interesting. Then we stayed in Bretzfeldt with the father of a family friend, and we also met her sister with her young family. I think they are some of the most welcoming, friendly people I've ever had a conversation with!
When we left it was our last day in Germany, and we went back to Frankfurt via Worms. After that we spent some time in Frankfurt (this time to a place which had a great vibe, with its buskers and smokey markets), had dinner there and then caught the plane. On the entire trip back I was too motion-sick for words--really bad even for me--so this was not fun, but we got back alright, and I'm so glad to be home to everyone and everything again (this has only been my third week in Sydney this year...). The best trip ever.
That's all for now. I still have the rest of my photos to upload, and will probably do that this afternoon if I can. There is much else to do, now that I'm feeling better again and readings and assignments are starting to happen. Today I think I will try to finish Beowulf. It's all rather good :)
Saturday, February 21, 2009
nostos.
Tonight is our last night in Holland; we were in Germany this afternoon, but go back for almost a week now before heading home. This has been the most amazing holiday and I am really thankful. I'll miss it here, though I'm also starting to be almost ready to come home and start this year at uni and such.
On Sunday, as I mentioned, we went with Sophie and my uncles Wim and Rik to take Opa's ashes to the sand dunes nearby. It's a strange thing, and I've never seen something like it. It was sad, and I think I am glad to have been there. It was cold and raining and there was a really sharp wind, and everyone was quiet and Sophie was crying. When we got back Rik took us to Emmen, and with more tears I had to say goodbye to Sophie for the last time in a while. We had a good time together here.
Rik and his partner Rensje work with puppets and theatre, particularly for disabled people, children and elderly people, and the place where we slept at their place was in the big theatre room out the back, a kind of snoezel room with a theatre place in the middle. It was nice! With them we went to quite a few places, including an old Dutch fort called Boertange, the pre-historic hunebed graves, and a working windmill in which we spent an hour being shown around by the miller. One night we went to visit my second cousin, Oma's niece, who is seventy-something and really nice, along with her son. It was a refreshing week for me.
Today after farewelling Rik and Rensje and picking up the car we'll be using this week, we went to this beautiful place in Germany called Xanten. It is a very pretty medieval sort of town, and we didn't get to look around as much as I'd have liked because we arrived in the late afternoon, but what we did see was the ruins of Roman settlement there. It was unreal! I'm super happy to have been there, and it's definitely a highlight of our time here.
On Sunday, as I mentioned, we went with Sophie and my uncles Wim and Rik to take Opa's ashes to the sand dunes nearby. It's a strange thing, and I've never seen something like it. It was sad, and I think I am glad to have been there. It was cold and raining and there was a really sharp wind, and everyone was quiet and Sophie was crying. When we got back Rik took us to Emmen, and with more tears I had to say goodbye to Sophie for the last time in a while. We had a good time together here.
Rik and his partner Rensje work with puppets and theatre, particularly for disabled people, children and elderly people, and the place where we slept at their place was in the big theatre room out the back, a kind of snoezel room with a theatre place in the middle. It was nice! With them we went to quite a few places, including an old Dutch fort called Boertange, the pre-historic hunebed graves, and a working windmill in which we spent an hour being shown around by the miller. One night we went to visit my second cousin, Oma's niece, who is seventy-something and really nice, along with her son. It was a refreshing week for me.
Today after farewelling Rik and Rensje and picking up the car we'll be using this week, we went to this beautiful place in Germany called Xanten. It is a very pretty medieval sort of town, and we didn't get to look around as much as I'd have liked because we arrived in the late afternoon, but what we did see was the ruins of Roman settlement there. It was unreal! I'm super happy to have been there, and it's definitely a highlight of our time here.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
shepherd, shepherd, leave decoying.
We're at Marion's place again, and two nights ago her daughter Evelyn, who's about six years older than I--the only cousin I hadn't then met--came over, which was really lovely as she is a really nice girl. Mlein also had a friend over from school that afternoon, so it was doubly fun. We visited Linda at her house yesterday morning. Also, we've just decided that although we're leaving here for my uncle Rik's house today, we'll be back for a day later on; and I get to see Sophie and Wim once more this afternoon, which I'm really glad about as I'm seriously going to miss them. The last week has been nice.
A few days ago Sophie got the day off school and we went with our dads by train to Amsterdam. When I say by train, that also means by bus to the station and on the back of a bicycle to the bus--scary the first time, but fun as well! It's so different in Amsterdam to the rest of Holland that I've seen so far, being very much a city; it's very busy, and with trams and cars and especially thousands of bikes whizzing past everywhere the place just buzzes to walk through. There's a lot of history there and it's beautiful, and of course there's a tacky tourist vibe as well. It was only Sophie's second time there, so we found it interesting. It was a long day and a fun one.
The first thing we did was take a canal boat for an hour, looking at much of the city from the water. The boat's captain was good (very Dutch humour and also an amusingly blunt way of talking about things, it was funny), and there really was a lot to see. Next we walked around a bit and ended up spending over an hour in the Anne Frank house; it was so strange to be there, to see footage of those things and realise they happened on the same streets we were walking that day. It's too big a thing to really understand or feel. It was good to go there.
When we came out it was raining, so we went to a café with two little cats in it (sweet!) until it was dry again, then walked around the streets and decided to go to the Rijksmuseum where the Rembrandts and such are. It was really cool to see all that art, especially for real. You do kind of get the impression of the excess and pride of the 'patron' class at that time as well, and some of the attitudes and religious or cultural sentiments of the time become clear through the pictures probably even more than the writings. Of course certain works are beautifully composed and really masterfully painted. We spent a while there. After that we caught the tram back to the train and went home, stopping at a little pubfor dinner on the way, which was cosy and nice as it was quite cold outside and we were all tired. That night Sophie slept over in her room at Wim's house where I'd been sleeping (she's normally at Simone's). The next night she slept over again, after we went out to a Chinese restaurant for our last dinner together; she had an English test the next morning and had to learn two pages of irregular verb forms and also be able to recognise exactly which tense any verb is in, which is very hard, so I tested her for a while and that turned out to be quite funny. She's so nice to hang out with--my cousins are great :)
At the moment I am sitting in the lounge room, out the window of which I can see a small, distant window on the house behind, obscured a little by smoke from the chimney. For about twenty minutes now two silhouettes, of a girl with long plaited hair and a young boy, have been dancing across the room together--and now with teddy bears above their heads (sometimes flying). It's amusing, and nice.
Last night we went to a Valentijnconcert put on by the choir that Marion conducts, beautiful. It was in a little candlelit hall with stone walls and pretty design, and she arranged it so they sang classical love songs chronologically, composed from the sixteenth to the twentieth century in mostly English and German. The parts sounded lovely, and twice a harpist played a few songs in between the singing. So that was something of a treat.
This afternoon the whole family here is meeting because they waited for us to be here so they could sprinkle Opa's ashes where Oma's were placed; I don't know how I feel about this. We'll have to see.
And then this afternoon we're going to my other uncle and aunt's place, who are the only close relatives I haven't yet met here.
A few days ago Sophie got the day off school and we went with our dads by train to Amsterdam. When I say by train, that also means by bus to the station and on the back of a bicycle to the bus--scary the first time, but fun as well! It's so different in Amsterdam to the rest of Holland that I've seen so far, being very much a city; it's very busy, and with trams and cars and especially thousands of bikes whizzing past everywhere the place just buzzes to walk through. There's a lot of history there and it's beautiful, and of course there's a tacky tourist vibe as well. It was only Sophie's second time there, so we found it interesting. It was a long day and a fun one.
The first thing we did was take a canal boat for an hour, looking at much of the city from the water. The boat's captain was good (very Dutch humour and also an amusingly blunt way of talking about things, it was funny), and there really was a lot to see. Next we walked around a bit and ended up spending over an hour in the Anne Frank house; it was so strange to be there, to see footage of those things and realise they happened on the same streets we were walking that day. It's too big a thing to really understand or feel. It was good to go there.
When we came out it was raining, so we went to a café with two little cats in it (sweet!) until it was dry again, then walked around the streets and decided to go to the Rijksmuseum where the Rembrandts and such are. It was really cool to see all that art, especially for real. You do kind of get the impression of the excess and pride of the 'patron' class at that time as well, and some of the attitudes and religious or cultural sentiments of the time become clear through the pictures probably even more than the writings. Of course certain works are beautifully composed and really masterfully painted. We spent a while there. After that we caught the tram back to the train and went home, stopping at a little pubfor dinner on the way, which was cosy and nice as it was quite cold outside and we were all tired. That night Sophie slept over in her room at Wim's house where I'd been sleeping (she's normally at Simone's). The next night she slept over again, after we went out to a Chinese restaurant for our last dinner together; she had an English test the next morning and had to learn two pages of irregular verb forms and also be able to recognise exactly which tense any verb is in, which is very hard, so I tested her for a while and that turned out to be quite funny. She's so nice to hang out with--my cousins are great :)
At the moment I am sitting in the lounge room, out the window of which I can see a small, distant window on the house behind, obscured a little by smoke from the chimney. For about twenty minutes now two silhouettes, of a girl with long plaited hair and a young boy, have been dancing across the room together--and now with teddy bears above their heads (sometimes flying). It's amusing, and nice.
Last night we went to a Valentijnconcert put on by the choir that Marion conducts, beautiful. It was in a little candlelit hall with stone walls and pretty design, and she arranged it so they sang classical love songs chronologically, composed from the sixteenth to the twentieth century in mostly English and German. The parts sounded lovely, and twice a harpist played a few songs in between the singing. So that was something of a treat.
This afternoon the whole family here is meeting because they waited for us to be here so they could sprinkle Opa's ashes where Oma's were placed; I don't know how I feel about this. We'll have to see.
And then this afternoon we're going to my other uncle and aunt's place, who are the only close relatives I haven't yet met here.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
rhapsody.
Today is another quiet day. It's been raining and snowing a bit, and we're staying at home doing rather little. Tonight we'll call my other uncle to see if Jess can stay with us there for a few days, and maybe go over to Sophie's place for the evening. Tomorrow we're all going to Amsterdam. Also we have run out of vlokken, to my breakfastish disappointment. There are tiny little birds hopping about in the rain, on the tree outside the window just there, and they are sweet.
It's lovely and rare to just stop for a little bit. Winter here is cosy.
It's lovely and rare to just stop for a little bit. Winter here is cosy.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
those are some nice stars.
Since writing last on Saturday, we've now spent over a day at Wim's house. Dad has gone to visit a friend (he had to take Wim's spare bike, so I couldn't come) and Wim is at work, so I'm here alone. It's a beautiful day, cloudy and very quiet but not that cold.
On Saturday night we caught the train to near Tilburg, and Wim's ex-wife Simone picked us up from the station. The two, though separated now, are still very involved in each other's lives, and Simone lives with my cousin Sophie, who is also fourteen, about five minutes' walk away. It's interesting, and unusual; in a way it is really nice, as we spent all of yesterday together and they usually also eat together, but Sophie says everything is easier for the family now. Anyway. It was late and cold when we arrived, so I stayed talking with Dad and Wim for a while and then went to bed. Wim is really interested in astronomy, and having researched it a lot for my Extension II story in High School and also having a real (though totally uncommitted) interest in the field, I am pretty impressed by some of the things he's shown me. He's really nice.
On Sunday we came together for lunch, which Sophie and her best friend Stacy (who is from England and has lived here for a year now) had prepared for us. They said they had stayed up till three in the morning talking after being out dancing till about midnight. Stacy tells me that the social life for under-fourteens in Holland is much better than anywhere else. They are rather sweet, very dolled up and capable and pop-music-y and still easy to get on with, despite my being older. I went for a walk with them, hung out with them for the afternoon, and then went with Sophie to watch her dancing lesson which was fun. Her friends also seemed to enjoy trying out their English :)
For lunch we had tea and hot bread rolls, with meat and cheese or with vlokken (a very traditional kind of chocolate flakes, delicious)--the same as I have had for every breakfast and lunch while I've been here, but a bit fancier because the girls had done it all nicely. After walking the dog and Sophie's dancing and all that, we had dinner and then sat in front of the open fire, watched TV for a while (it was a show called Banana Split, which is something like Candid Camera) and then walked home to Wim's place. It was a really good day. I've been learning some new things while I've been here, and having new experiences too, one of which is extended family. I sometimes see my family and child cousins in Adelaide, I rarely see my other family in Melbourne and such, and I never see family on this side of the world. I could get used to it.
I've posted some more pictures on Picasa as well, of the day we went to Helmond and of Oma's friend Mrs. van de Weij.
On Saturday night we caught the train to near Tilburg, and Wim's ex-wife Simone picked us up from the station. The two, though separated now, are still very involved in each other's lives, and Simone lives with my cousin Sophie, who is also fourteen, about five minutes' walk away. It's interesting, and unusual; in a way it is really nice, as we spent all of yesterday together and they usually also eat together, but Sophie says everything is easier for the family now. Anyway. It was late and cold when we arrived, so I stayed talking with Dad and Wim for a while and then went to bed. Wim is really interested in astronomy, and having researched it a lot for my Extension II story in High School and also having a real (though totally uncommitted) interest in the field, I am pretty impressed by some of the things he's shown me. He's really nice.
On Sunday we came together for lunch, which Sophie and her best friend Stacy (who is from England and has lived here for a year now) had prepared for us. They said they had stayed up till three in the morning talking after being out dancing till about midnight. Stacy tells me that the social life for under-fourteens in Holland is much better than anywhere else. They are rather sweet, very dolled up and capable and pop-music-y and still easy to get on with, despite my being older. I went for a walk with them, hung out with them for the afternoon, and then went with Sophie to watch her dancing lesson which was fun. Her friends also seemed to enjoy trying out their English :)
For lunch we had tea and hot bread rolls, with meat and cheese or with vlokken (a very traditional kind of chocolate flakes, delicious)--the same as I have had for every breakfast and lunch while I've been here, but a bit fancier because the girls had done it all nicely. After walking the dog and Sophie's dancing and all that, we had dinner and then sat in front of the open fire, watched TV for a while (it was a show called Banana Split, which is something like Candid Camera) and then walked home to Wim's place. It was a really good day. I've been learning some new things while I've been here, and having new experiences too, one of which is extended family. I sometimes see my family and child cousins in Adelaide, I rarely see my other family in Melbourne and such, and I never see family on this side of the world. I could get used to it.
I've posted some more pictures on Picasa as well, of the day we went to Helmond and of Oma's friend Mrs. van de Weij.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
regarding the castle with a frozen moat.
As I write, we are about to leave my auntie Marion's house and catch the train with Dad's brother Wim to stay at his place. We've just had Uncle Leo's birthday party with Wim and two of Leo's sisters; Wim is still here, and Dad is packing. We'll be back here for a couple of days later on, so although the last few days have certainly gone fast it's nice not to have to say goodbye to anyone quite yet. It's good that way. Even as I meet people, it feels sad and strange to know how soon now we'll be leaving them.
Anyway. A piece of good news is that Suikerspin is found: this morning I went to say hello to him in his cage and he was missing! We put the cage outside and later on found him sleeping quite happily in his home--though he seemed much happier when we brought him in out of the cold. (I really want a hamster.)
I'm starting to pick up some Dutch, though only really a tiny bit. I can sometimes follow conversation, helped also by the etymological links to English and such, but will have to do a lot of work to even start to know it just a bit. I want to though. One thing I've noticed is the element of things that used to be in old, middle or early modern forms of English as well, but now aren't. Some of the inflection forms are like that; and I don't know a lot of Old English, but lots of words I've seen here and there are also turning up in Dutch words. For example I noticed that the word for king, koning, is a lot like cyning, and the word believer, geloof, is like geliefen, so I could work them out. Anyhow, it's a nice language to start speaking in bits and pieces. As I said elsewhere, pronouncing the spelling feels similar to reading Chaucer in the accepted way (like in those good Year Eleven days...).
The day I last wrote was a nice one: we went to Helmond, a nearby town, to buy a present for Leo (as I said, it was his birthday that day). On the way we stopped in at the local castle, which has been turned into a beautiful little museum of local history and of Dutch art.
When we got home Mlein and Leo were back, so we gave him presents, had a pear and caramel pie, and spent some time talking; then Marjolein and I got to properly hang out, which I really enjoyed. She's the loveliest girl, and she's been through some very hard times especially with her family splitting (her three older sisters live with their dad); her being unwell has also made her move to a school that is socially more difficult and where academically there is pressure not to do well. She doesn't fit in and is teased because she wants to be a friend to people who are really struggling, and she enjoys gothic style fashion, though she says she actually has a variety of tastes. She's really interesting. In a way she's very fourteen-year-old, of course, but she's also insightful and also really compassionate and accepting. We got on straight away: she's vibrant and friendly and fun, and a great conversationalist even in English. She showed me some of her drawings and poems and her favourite music (she's also obsessed with a German band called Tokyo Hotel), and I showed her lots of photos and convinced her to come to Australia with me :) So I rather enjoyed that, and I just so wish I were around more often here.
[Having written most of this on Saturday night, I finish and post it on Monday; I was going to tag it on with today's thinkings, but I find they are long enough alone.]
Anyway. A piece of good news is that Suikerspin is found: this morning I went to say hello to him in his cage and he was missing! We put the cage outside and later on found him sleeping quite happily in his home--though he seemed much happier when we brought him in out of the cold. (I really want a hamster.)
I'm starting to pick up some Dutch, though only really a tiny bit. I can sometimes follow conversation, helped also by the etymological links to English and such, but will have to do a lot of work to even start to know it just a bit. I want to though. One thing I've noticed is the element of things that used to be in old, middle or early modern forms of English as well, but now aren't. Some of the inflection forms are like that; and I don't know a lot of Old English, but lots of words I've seen here and there are also turning up in Dutch words. For example I noticed that the word for king, koning, is a lot like cyning, and the word believer, geloof, is like geliefen, so I could work them out. Anyhow, it's a nice language to start speaking in bits and pieces. As I said elsewhere, pronouncing the spelling feels similar to reading Chaucer in the accepted way (like in those good Year Eleven days...).
The day I last wrote was a nice one: we went to Helmond, a nearby town, to buy a present for Leo (as I said, it was his birthday that day). On the way we stopped in at the local castle, which has been turned into a beautiful little museum of local history and of Dutch art.
When we got home Mlein and Leo were back, so we gave him presents, had a pear and caramel pie, and spent some time talking; then Marjolein and I got to properly hang out, which I really enjoyed. She's the loveliest girl, and she's been through some very hard times especially with her family splitting (her three older sisters live with their dad); her being unwell has also made her move to a school that is socially more difficult and where academically there is pressure not to do well. She doesn't fit in and is teased because she wants to be a friend to people who are really struggling, and she enjoys gothic style fashion, though she says she actually has a variety of tastes. She's really interesting. In a way she's very fourteen-year-old, of course, but she's also insightful and also really compassionate and accepting. We got on straight away: she's vibrant and friendly and fun, and a great conversationalist even in English. She showed me some of her drawings and poems and her favourite music (she's also obsessed with a German band called Tokyo Hotel), and I showed her lots of photos and convinced her to come to Australia with me :) So I rather enjoyed that, and I just so wish I were around more often here.
[Having written most of this on Saturday night, I finish and post it on Monday; I was going to tag it on with today's thinkings, but I find they are long enough alone.]
Thursday, February 5, 2009
bicycles and other things.
I am writing from Holland! At the moment it is Thursday morning; we arrived on Tuesday night. It is so beautiful, I've completely fallen in love with the place and it's wonderful here. I wish you were here and I could show you...
I've never travelled overseas before (well, not since I came here at three months old--apart from that the furthest from home I've ever gone is Darwin, a few weeks ago). The flight was long and I don't fly well, so I felt ridiculously unwell from Singapore to Frankfurt and only slept a couple of hours out of the thirty-four we spent travelling, but it doesn't matter. I have to say it makes all the difference to be flying with someone as well, which I've never done, and it's been nice so far to spend more time with Dad in a different way to usual, and for him not to be really busy, and to be here where he grew up and meet his family, and all that. On the flight I'd been looking forward to having so much time to read (I have a few books, most notably Ulysses, to make a dent in before second semester) but being unwell I watched a few films instead. The highlight was getting up a few times and seeing my first glimpse of European cities by night: Warsaw was the first I think.
We arrived in Frankfurt (this is where the amazing flight deal was to) early in the morning, and a few hours later caught the 300 km/h train to Holland. The little towns just outside Frankfurt are simply gorgeous, and there's so much that is lovely about Holland and how country-like it is all the way through that makes me wonder why my dad ever left. You should see the little houses! They look friendly, and so many of them look very farm-like and old-Dutch. There are dykes and canals and everything, and so many horses and such here as well, which reminds me of when I lived in Kellyville for a few years when I was very young and it was still completely rural (my favourite place I've ever lived)--except that here their paddocks are full of snow! I really love so much about Australia, and of course that's where family and friends are, but apart from that I could definitely live in Holland and will really be sad to leave. It's cold at the moment, and the colours, particularly the greens, are much less saturated than at home, so I can see how it may be a sort of grey place to live in constantly, but for me it is just delightful and home-like and so beautiful. I took a few pictures from the train, but it was so fast that most of what I've seen I haven't yet caught on camera. Anyway, taking the train much of the way across the country before even stepping out was a nice way to arrive there, and I definitely recommend this.
After changing trains twice and sitting next to some really sweet Dutch students who had a good conversation with my dad, being asked directions in a language I didn't know, and finally getting to the place where my auntie was going to pick us up, we found that she hadn't yet arrived so I had a bit of a wander in the nearby stores, including a little florist's shop. Then we went home and I met my youngest cousin from that family, Marjolein, who is fourteen and so still lives at home, as well as my uncle and the hamster and the two cats, and I stayed up as long as I could and then slept. So I woke at about half past five the first morning, and I opened the curtains and everywhere was snow. I've never seen snow before, and I think a part of me has now been found at last :) I love being here.
Yesterday Dad's sister Marion took us to Heusden, a very historical little place with windmills and little old streets, and I so admired it. It feels strange that this is my first time seeing streets and places like there are here, because in a way they are a big part of our awareness of our history and where we're from--for me anyhow. It feels more familiar than strange, though also very first-time-exciting. So beautiful; and I'm such a tourist! On the way we went past their old childhood house, and it started properly snowing and it was just good to be there. We also visited the store where Dad and his friends used to hang out. I have learnt a lot about him. Marion is his youngest sister and they share a lot in common, so their conversations about life (old and recent) are interesting to hear.
Then we went to the best pancake house, and I had this amazing, big pancake with salmon and bree, while they had apple and cinnamon ones (the cinnamon here is good); then we walked around a little more in the town and the snow. The temperature was a bit below zero, but surprisingly it doesn't feel that cold here. I'm actually really liking it (though this could be because I've escaped the current heat wave in Australia). I'd love to live here for a while.
There's so much more to tell, but for now I need to get going again as we're about to go out. Last night I also met my cousin Linda (who is twenty-five) and her boyfriend Sven, and that was really fun. I can't believe I have all this family who I've never known, and I wish the world were so much smaller. Anyway, it's good to be here. Today Dad's sister is taking us somewhere, I can't remember where to, so I need to finish getting ready for that. It's also my uncle's birthday, though he and M'lein are both out at the moment. I'll write more properly, and also post some pictures (I have lots!), when I can.
I've never travelled overseas before (well, not since I came here at three months old--apart from that the furthest from home I've ever gone is Darwin, a few weeks ago). The flight was long and I don't fly well, so I felt ridiculously unwell from Singapore to Frankfurt and only slept a couple of hours out of the thirty-four we spent travelling, but it doesn't matter. I have to say it makes all the difference to be flying with someone as well, which I've never done, and it's been nice so far to spend more time with Dad in a different way to usual, and for him not to be really busy, and to be here where he grew up and meet his family, and all that. On the flight I'd been looking forward to having so much time to read (I have a few books, most notably Ulysses, to make a dent in before second semester) but being unwell I watched a few films instead. The highlight was getting up a few times and seeing my first glimpse of European cities by night: Warsaw was the first I think.
We arrived in Frankfurt (this is where the amazing flight deal was to) early in the morning, and a few hours later caught the 300 km/h train to Holland. The little towns just outside Frankfurt are simply gorgeous, and there's so much that is lovely about Holland and how country-like it is all the way through that makes me wonder why my dad ever left. You should see the little houses! They look friendly, and so many of them look very farm-like and old-Dutch. There are dykes and canals and everything, and so many horses and such here as well, which reminds me of when I lived in Kellyville for a few years when I was very young and it was still completely rural (my favourite place I've ever lived)--except that here their paddocks are full of snow! I really love so much about Australia, and of course that's where family and friends are, but apart from that I could definitely live in Holland and will really be sad to leave. It's cold at the moment, and the colours, particularly the greens, are much less saturated than at home, so I can see how it may be a sort of grey place to live in constantly, but for me it is just delightful and home-like and so beautiful. I took a few pictures from the train, but it was so fast that most of what I've seen I haven't yet caught on camera. Anyway, taking the train much of the way across the country before even stepping out was a nice way to arrive there, and I definitely recommend this.
After changing trains twice and sitting next to some really sweet Dutch students who had a good conversation with my dad, being asked directions in a language I didn't know, and finally getting to the place where my auntie was going to pick us up, we found that she hadn't yet arrived so I had a bit of a wander in the nearby stores, including a little florist's shop. Then we went home and I met my youngest cousin from that family, Marjolein, who is fourteen and so still lives at home, as well as my uncle and the hamster and the two cats, and I stayed up as long as I could and then slept. So I woke at about half past five the first morning, and I opened the curtains and everywhere was snow. I've never seen snow before, and I think a part of me has now been found at last :) I love being here.
Yesterday Dad's sister Marion took us to Heusden, a very historical little place with windmills and little old streets, and I so admired it. It feels strange that this is my first time seeing streets and places like there are here, because in a way they are a big part of our awareness of our history and where we're from--for me anyhow. It feels more familiar than strange, though also very first-time-exciting. So beautiful; and I'm such a tourist! On the way we went past their old childhood house, and it started properly snowing and it was just good to be there. We also visited the store where Dad and his friends used to hang out. I have learnt a lot about him. Marion is his youngest sister and they share a lot in common, so their conversations about life (old and recent) are interesting to hear.
Then we went to the best pancake house, and I had this amazing, big pancake with salmon and bree, while they had apple and cinnamon ones (the cinnamon here is good); then we walked around a little more in the town and the snow. The temperature was a bit below zero, but surprisingly it doesn't feel that cold here. I'm actually really liking it (though this could be because I've escaped the current heat wave in Australia). I'd love to live here for a while.
There's so much more to tell, but for now I need to get going again as we're about to go out. Last night I also met my cousin Linda (who is twenty-five) and her boyfriend Sven, and that was really fun. I can't believe I have all this family who I've never known, and I wish the world were so much smaller. Anyway, it's good to be here. Today Dad's sister is taking us somewhere, I can't remember where to, so I need to finish getting ready for that. It's also my uncle's birthday, though he and M'lein are both out at the moment. I'll write more properly, and also post some pictures (I have lots!), when I can.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
to get one's fill.
I just found MDST, and I don't know how I missed it. The Centre for Medieval Studies, that is, and its small number of extra History subjects, which were hiding from me when I enrolled at uni this year...
So. I am rather excited that I will be picking up 'Medieval Cosmology' next semester, whose sessions look a bit like so:
The antique background 1: Aristotle’s cosmology / The antique background 2: Ptolemy’s astrology / The early Middle Ages 1: Christianity versus Greek learning / The early Middle Ages 2: Astronomy, computus and the microcosm / The rise of universities and the new learning / Aristotelian cosmology and Christian theology / Judicial astrology / Natural philosophy and astrological physics / Magic / Medieval world maps / Medieval cosmology, astrology and the scientific revolution. (And you should see the texts in the reader.)
I know, right! Super happy with this. We'll be looking at ancient ideas/paradigms, along with the other part of our European heritage in what was pre-'civilised' and what was simply 'secular', and how it all fitted together for the certain groups of people who lived there. It will be challenging I think to keep my head in a class full of young medievalists of all kinds, particularly those with a range of opinionated (and to me at times bewildering) ideas that may have created for them as well an interest in this course. I'll just need to stay really on top of the reading and ideas, and I know I'll learn an awful lot historically (and personally, and socially) as well by doing so. I really look forward to it. It's also likely to well compliment the medieval myth and legend literature I'm studying for my English unit next semester. So hopefully next year the Ancient subjects are better than they were this time, but for now I don't mind the lack of competitive options.
Also, there are only four days now till Europe! Perhaps it is right for me to feel rather blessed at present.
So. I am rather excited that I will be picking up 'Medieval Cosmology' next semester, whose sessions look a bit like so:
The antique background 1: Aristotle’s cosmology / The antique background 2: Ptolemy’s astrology / The early Middle Ages 1: Christianity versus Greek learning / The early Middle Ages 2: Astronomy, computus and the microcosm / The rise of universities and the new learning / Aristotelian cosmology and Christian theology / Judicial astrology / Natural philosophy and astrological physics / Magic / Medieval world maps / Medieval cosmology, astrology and the scientific revolution. (And you should see the texts in the reader.)
I know, right! Super happy with this. We'll be looking at ancient ideas/paradigms, along with the other part of our European heritage in what was pre-'civilised' and what was simply 'secular', and how it all fitted together for the certain groups of people who lived there. It will be challenging I think to keep my head in a class full of young medievalists of all kinds, particularly those with a range of opinionated (and to me at times bewildering) ideas that may have created for them as well an interest in this course. I'll just need to stay really on top of the reading and ideas, and I know I'll learn an awful lot historically (and personally, and socially) as well by doing so. I really look forward to it. It's also likely to well compliment the medieval myth and legend literature I'm studying for my English unit next semester. So hopefully next year the Ancient subjects are better than they were this time, but for now I don't mind the lack of competitive options.
Also, there are only four days now till Europe! Perhaps it is right for me to feel rather blessed at present.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
sprookjes.
Today I went to the Holland House, which is a bit of a tourist land of Dutch things but is also exciting for me. At the back they always have a basket of 'Free books--please give them wings', and there I found two volumes each of Sprookjes van Grimm and Sprookjes van Anderson. I'm trying to learn some Dutch, so I was a little pleased with this :)
We've just started planning the specifics of our week in Germany, too! It's starting to feel real...
We've just started planning the specifics of our week in Germany, too! It's starting to feel real...
Sunday, December 7, 2008
response to an otherwise insignificant thing.
The great discord is rising, and there is joy.
Harmonies collide and night is filled by inky light.
Wait until you see them there.
Wait until the sounds sift out your mind:
not the expected.
This song is still the same one we've sung for years,
and this little place is more familiar than myself.
Even so, it all has changed.
Even so, we witness something new,
just like you said.
In between the ideas,
this is the thing we were trying to say.
The answer is loud and we are glad.
We have built our worlds atop our moments,
and the people and the places there inside of them;
we are hollow without them.
We are wondering how it could have been
without those things.
Finally it falls and we are open,
now leaving the old and tentative steps behind us.
It is so good to be here.
From them sunlight comes, like an encore
in new mornings.
Underneath the spoken,
there is a place we are longing to go.
Till we find it we hold on to this.
Harmonies collide and night is filled by inky light.
Wait until you see them there.
Wait until the sounds sift out your mind:
not the expected.
This song is still the same one we've sung for years,
and this little place is more familiar than myself.
Even so, it all has changed.
Even so, we witness something new,
just like you said.
In between the ideas,
this is the thing we were trying to say.
The answer is loud and we are glad.
We have built our worlds atop our moments,
and the people and the places there inside of them;
we are hollow without them.
We are wondering how it could have been
without those things.
Finally it falls and we are open,
now leaving the old and tentative steps behind us.
It is so good to be here.
From them sunlight comes, like an encore
in new mornings.
Underneath the spoken,
there is a place we are longing to go.
Till we find it we hold on to this.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
new things.
The exciting news: I probably get to go to Europe in February! A really cheap airfare deal, the fact that Dad is going anyway to see his family and the way I've been wanting to go for ages all worked together into such a wonderful event, and I'm so excited! I've never done anything like this. It's for just over three weeks, most of which we'll spend in Holland, but we'll probably also get a train pass for a week and stay places with friends of friends if we can in other countries. And we'll see about others. I can't wait to see places, since Europe has so much history and culture that I've never seen here, and I'll finally get to spend time with my family too. Happy.
So in January we're going to the south coast and then I'm going to see April in Darwin for a week, and then this in February... Crazy. I can't believe it. Temperature extremes will be interesting too.
And I was distracted enough before, and now I simply can't possibly study for these exams! But I have to. The countdown to the best holidays ever is five days :D
So in January we're going to the south coast and then I'm going to see April in Darwin for a week, and then this in February... Crazy. I can't believe it. Temperature extremes will be interesting too.
And I was distracted enough before, and now I simply can't possibly study for these exams! But I have to. The countdown to the best holidays ever is five days :D
Monday, November 3, 2008
Tahpanhes.
The last few days I've had this playing on my mind. I really want to listen and hear what God actually, personally has to say. But I don't feel responsible at all right now. Just tired, unsure of where he's at and what is him and what actually isn't; trying to divide between things driven by grace and those that aren't when it takes an effort. Even when things are all really good, even with the best intentions, you feel it so much when you forget how to come close, and closer, into him. You realise you can't possibly go on for much longer like that.
What wouldn't I give to see and hear more clearly?! But I guess that's just the thing.
What wouldn't I give to see and hear more clearly?! But I guess that's just the thing.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
still on my mind.
Yesterday was the final lunch for this year of AIME--Australian Indigenous Mentoring Experience, for Year Ten kids from schools near my uni. It was good fun. I'm so impressed at how effective the programme is--the students are great people, and they've changed and grown heaps this year. A lot of them told me yesterday that they're planning to stay on to the HSC and hopefully go to uni, neither of which they ever thought they'd do. It's so encouraging to see them equipped like this, and it's inspiring that they're so determined to respect their teachers and influence younger Indigenous students at their schools--some of which are pretty tough places to be. I've had a great time, and learnt heaps too about what it takes to make something like this work. It's great. I feel like I owe so much more than I can imagine for the chance to live in this country, and I want to understand better and be there if I can where there's such huge need.
Speaking of owing, today a girl from my Modern tutorial thanked me for something I helped her with and was like "I owe you..."--I felt like replying that I totally owe her, so it's no big deal. Then I felt like that's an interesting feeling to have, that idea of love that knows that it belongs not one bit to itself, and wants more than anything to see people met by the love it's known. I'm very aware of it. Why is that such a rich and deeply happy awareness, one of the greatest things we have?
This is cool too... On the train on the way home, a little German girl called Rochelle was sitting with her Papa a behind me; when the cleaning lady came through the carriage, the girl took the flowers she must have picked during the day and gave them all to the lady, which pretty much made her day. I thought it was lovely :)
Speaking of owing, today a girl from my Modern tutorial thanked me for something I helped her with and was like "I owe you..."--I felt like replying that I totally owe her, so it's no big deal. Then I felt like that's an interesting feeling to have, that idea of love that knows that it belongs not one bit to itself, and wants more than anything to see people met by the love it's known. I'm very aware of it. Why is that such a rich and deeply happy awareness, one of the greatest things we have?
This is cool too... On the train on the way home, a little German girl called Rochelle was sitting with her Papa a behind me; when the cleaning lady came through the carriage, the girl took the flowers she must have picked during the day and gave them all to the lady, which pretty much made her day. I thought it was lovely :)
Monday, October 13, 2008
nineteen.
The only time I've felt like this before is the last day of 2005. Tomorrow is my nineteenth birthday, and I feel like I've been eighteen for way too long. Without real reason I'm somehow feeling so ready, just hankering, for a fresh year with new things in it. So although things were incredibly different a few years (but long ones) ago, the feeling of waiting for a year to close, the quiet relief and excitement, is just the same. It's been a good year and an interesting one, nothing like any of the ones before it and in some ways a million times easier and clearer, but it's good to move on when a time is old.
I was talking with a friend yesterday, and I decided that nineteen is the best age to be right now: it's in a kind of hazy half-zone between teenager and adult, so I can pick and choose at leisure but partially have both for another year :) I also sense that the tone of this year will set the course for the start of my adult life probably more than many of my previous years, and I'm thinking a bit about this.
For the last few months, being in a totally different environment and also being on the other side of a few big things I've had to learn, a lot of the old anchors I've held have been taken away; I've had to be careful as I've explored life in the light of knowing God. That's been an important process and in the end it has strengthened what I value and the way I chase it, but now I just want to rekindle a heart that is always warm towards God, totally swept away by the assumption of his truth as it has been proven to me time and again--even though I realise too well how caught up I am in my culture and the not-yet-clarity of what I trust in. I am really willing to let him lead me through this ever-changing world that I could never grasp or be equipped for on my own. I'm so ready to re-route back onto a plane of simplicity, even within intricacy, and just start being more responsible in the little things that are clear to me at this point. That's what I hope will characterise this year, and I know that it's a fertile place for growing, learning, being challenged and vulnerable and being made soft and strong, more and more aware of dependence on his forever trustworthy closeness.
I was talking with a friend yesterday, and I decided that nineteen is the best age to be right now: it's in a kind of hazy half-zone between teenager and adult, so I can pick and choose at leisure but partially have both for another year :) I also sense that the tone of this year will set the course for the start of my adult life probably more than many of my previous years, and I'm thinking a bit about this.
For the last few months, being in a totally different environment and also being on the other side of a few big things I've had to learn, a lot of the old anchors I've held have been taken away; I've had to be careful as I've explored life in the light of knowing God. That's been an important process and in the end it has strengthened what I value and the way I chase it, but now I just want to rekindle a heart that is always warm towards God, totally swept away by the assumption of his truth as it has been proven to me time and again--even though I realise too well how caught up I am in my culture and the not-yet-clarity of what I trust in. I am really willing to let him lead me through this ever-changing world that I could never grasp or be equipped for on my own. I'm so ready to re-route back onto a plane of simplicity, even within intricacy, and just start being more responsible in the little things that are clear to me at this point. That's what I hope will characterise this year, and I know that it's a fertile place for growing, learning, being challenged and vulnerable and being made soft and strong, more and more aware of dependence on his forever trustworthy closeness.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
the sounds.
I reverently listen
to the clamouring symphony running through our blood.
You come and sit beside me as we look towards your face.
Where is the word that will silence when it speaks?
Astounded, we gaze here at a library of faces,
your heart like the sky, the colliding seas.
Where between these covers is the pen to draw the lines
of a face, of a name, of the road to your home?
All have heard the speaking word, but who has understood it?
We turn from this tower with a world of tongues in our mouths
and drift across the earth, though we chase a single sun.
We have walked together on a thousand roads at once
and it troubles me.
We are all sleeping, hushed with hoping.
Each heart is caught in many dreams of morning.
Still, we wait side by side, and I know we will wake together
like those who wake to sing for the sun when it rises.
to the clamouring symphony running through our blood.
You come and sit beside me as we look towards your face.
Where is the word that will silence when it speaks?
Astounded, we gaze here at a library of faces,
your heart like the sky, the colliding seas.
Where between these covers is the pen to draw the lines
of a face, of a name, of the road to your home?
All have heard the speaking word, but who has understood it?
We turn from this tower with a world of tongues in our mouths
and drift across the earth, though we chase a single sun.
We have walked together on a thousand roads at once
and it troubles me.
We are all sleeping, hushed with hoping.
Each heart is caught in many dreams of morning.
Still, we wait side by side, and I know we will wake together
like those who wake to sing for the sun when it rises.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
ich spreche viele Sprachen.
The fourth of October, already? This is madness. Years just fly, and things keep happening and changing, just so fast.
I've been waking up early now that it's warmer, and I like that. Today it was raining; it still is, on and off. I'm working on finishing my Bonhoeffer essay today, so the rain is really nice.
Hey, it's my birthday in ten days :)
I've been waking up early now that it's warmer, and I like that. Today it was raining; it still is, on and off. I'm working on finishing my Bonhoeffer essay today, so the rain is really nice.
Hey, it's my birthday in ten days :)
Friday, October 3, 2008
wanderlust.
I really want to go and visit my family in Holland, and spend some time there. It's rather expensive though, so I'm thinking not any time soon. Yesterday I non-seriously asked my dad when he would take Joel and me, since Steven got to go last time; he said, more seriously, that since I went with him to Adelaide last year and Joel has never travelled with him, he'll probably just take Joel next time he goes.
Adelaide. Not fair!
Still, the Arts units for next year have happily come out now :) The History topics are pretty limited in range, but I like what I've chosen. I get two each for English and History (plus four Education ones): I think in first semester I'll do the one on early medieval Anglo-Saxon/Scandinavian myths and literature, and one on ancient Greek and Roman literary history and how they recorded, invented, valued and exploited it; in second semester, the twentieth century Modernist literature subject, and one exploring urban tradition in Italy from ancient to medieval and Renaissance to modern times. Should be good fun :D
Adelaide. Not fair!
Still, the Arts units for next year have happily come out now :) The History topics are pretty limited in range, but I like what I've chosen. I get two each for English and History (plus four Education ones): I think in first semester I'll do the one on early medieval Anglo-Saxon/Scandinavian myths and literature, and one on ancient Greek and Roman literary history and how they recorded, invented, valued and exploited it; in second semester, the twentieth century Modernist literature subject, and one exploring urban tradition in Italy from ancient to medieval and Renaissance to modern times. Should be good fun :D
Monday, September 29, 2008
the old sails sing their song.
In days long gone I was someone else.
We spent our days always together.
She taught me a rhyme, but it had no tune;
I forget what once it meant.
She gave me a doll, but it had no name.
She built us a town, but it had no bridge.
She made a doll’s house, and it had no fire
but the smoke of the towers in the night.
Here in the darkness we try to remember.
Even the shadows on the wall
have faded out of reach,
and here are the echoed sounds that surround us,
opening their mouths for the audience of mountains.
On backs of mountains old, rivers climb down
and mingle with the salt of the ocean.
Here there are sounds, but there is no light.
Gazing at the formless song, we know
that day is passed—and also night is passed,
but morning is forgotten.
Gone with songs,
our years of songs,
and days devoured, those weary whispered words.
Quiet. Close your eyes.
She sang to me, in the soft hum of the stillest night.
In my mind I ran,
on the sand of the song.
Touch the rocks, or feel the sky. I stand atop
the sea cliff. All the open blue, sails as I sit
beneath the sun, and birds above.
Bright waves crashing, winged throats calling,
circling song: memory steals
my old wild eyes.
We spent our days always together.
She taught me a rhyme, but it had no tune;
I forget what once it meant.
She gave me a doll, but it had no name.
She built us a town, but it had no bridge.
She made a doll’s house, and it had no fire
but the smoke of the towers in the night.
Here in the darkness we try to remember.
Even the shadows on the wall
have faded out of reach,
and here are the echoed sounds that surround us,
opening their mouths for the audience of mountains.
On backs of mountains old, rivers climb down
and mingle with the salt of the ocean.
Here there are sounds, but there is no light.
Gazing at the formless song, we know
that day is passed—and also night is passed,
but morning is forgotten.
Gone with songs,
our years of songs,
and days devoured, those weary whispered words.
Quiet. Close your eyes.
She sang to me, in the soft hum of the stillest night.
In my mind I ran,
on the sand of the song.
Touch the rocks, or feel the sky. I stand atop
the sea cliff. All the open blue, sails as I sit
beneath the sun, and birds above.
Bright waves crashing, winged throats calling,
circling song: memory steals
my old wild eyes.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
as long as a piece of string.
My cat is an inside cat, and isn't supposed to go outside--but she does, when she's too fast at the door or when my family feels sorry for her. Today I caught her pouncing on a brown mouse (actually, my little dog Kailye told on her and made me come and see, as she did with the bird and the lizards: I think hunting distresses her!), and I told Josana off, let the mouse go and made the cat come inside. My parents and my brother are not very happy with me for punishing the cat for doing what she's 'supposed to do', and maybe they have a point about mice who get into the house. Fair enough. But it's not like she goes hungry; and I suppose the little mouse and his family, if they heard our conversation, would be relieved to hear his plight at least considered. I think that makes all the difference :P
Anyway. Today I'm working with my HSC English notes, as one of my Year Twelve friends is coming over to study. It's making me anxious, just reading them again! Haha. I should have done it last night, but instead I went out to Thai with Vic's family to celebrate her finally finishing, and then we went back and watched bits and pieces of films--finally settling on V for Vendetta, which I hadn't watched before, and consequently getting to sleep at about two a.m. Such a good night.
I can't believe it's only been a year since I left school. It feels like so much longer.
Anyway. Today I'm working with my HSC English notes, as one of my Year Twelve friends is coming over to study. It's making me anxious, just reading them again! Haha. I should have done it last night, but instead I went out to Thai with Vic's family to celebrate her finally finishing, and then we went back and watched bits and pieces of films--finally settling on V for Vendetta, which I hadn't watched before, and consequently getting to sleep at about two a.m. Such a good night.
I can't believe it's only been a year since I left school. It feels like so much longer.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
leisure.
Yay... Finally finished! And from today I have a reading week in which to happily stay home, write two more essays that are due the next week, spend time with a few friends, and do all the other things that take my fancy :)
Speaking of holidays, I really want to find more work for the summer break. Where will I work? That is the question.
Speaking of holidays, I really want to find more work for the summer break. Where will I work? That is the question.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Duloc is a perfect place.
So for this essay I have to hand in tomorrow, I've been looking at a number of early modern Christian texts and ideas. It's thought-provoking. On the one hand, many of the writers and people of that time are incredibly inspiring: I feel like their seriousness about things that matter, their delight in things that truly are wonderful, their utter humble awe and deep devotion for God and their carefulness with private and social obedience leave me with a lot to match. On the other hand, some of the prevailing attitudes (seen in their own writings and actions, not the caricatures, which I know are largely false) of the heroes of those centuries seem not to be necessary or helpful--even if really sincere--or to be things that we would want to take up in our living and our culture. And some things are just unbelievable.
But I always feel wary of how influenced we are by our culture. If such godly people (many really seem genuine and admirable in many ways) in different times are so sure, then how much of that feeling comes from my context? How much from the Bible? The issue of interpretation can be difficult, with something that's intended as such a blessing of absolute truth and authority for us. I guess it's just important to know how to live as real people in a real world, and not to use the concept of the 'spiritual' as our weapon and shield when we should be relying instead on God himself, who makes so many good things free and safe (how much I've had to learn this!); but we also need to really be a lot more careful and deliberate than we often are, and sometimes make some harder calls than we do, now so afraid as we are of losing the liberty we feel we've recently reclaimed.
It all comes down to an awareness of real grace; it's also a cultural thing. I love that I know so many people within my culture who do life pretty well with God and people. But realistically, there are still so many areas now that seem grey--and you can make decisions about what's helpful or not so for yourself, but then when others call you to make a standard for them (or to decide you shouldn't, with all the implications of that), and also to justify why what you value and do is important, it becomes much more complicated. Then you can think you have it right, but look again and realise you're missing things in your blind spots. I love what I've already seen of grace in community, but I also don't think we can ignore the helpful mirror in the lessons and values of our heritage. You certainly can't just discard it, or read it through a modern glass without really making sure.
I'm going to need to keep thinking about this one.
But I always feel wary of how influenced we are by our culture. If such godly people (many really seem genuine and admirable in many ways) in different times are so sure, then how much of that feeling comes from my context? How much from the Bible? The issue of interpretation can be difficult, with something that's intended as such a blessing of absolute truth and authority for us. I guess it's just important to know how to live as real people in a real world, and not to use the concept of the 'spiritual' as our weapon and shield when we should be relying instead on God himself, who makes so many good things free and safe (how much I've had to learn this!); but we also need to really be a lot more careful and deliberate than we often are, and sometimes make some harder calls than we do, now so afraid as we are of losing the liberty we feel we've recently reclaimed.
It all comes down to an awareness of real grace; it's also a cultural thing. I love that I know so many people within my culture who do life pretty well with God and people. But realistically, there are still so many areas now that seem grey--and you can make decisions about what's helpful or not so for yourself, but then when others call you to make a standard for them (or to decide you shouldn't, with all the implications of that), and also to justify why what you value and do is important, it becomes much more complicated. Then you can think you have it right, but look again and realise you're missing things in your blind spots. I love what I've already seen of grace in community, but I also don't think we can ignore the helpful mirror in the lessons and values of our heritage. You certainly can't just discard it, or read it through a modern glass without really making sure.
I'm going to need to keep thinking about this one.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
mama says he's bona fide.
I've been thinking that I want to become very, very honest. Even though I do try to be a deliberate truth-teller, and in my relationships, while I still have much to learn, I've been led to be much more real and open--still, I know there's a place of courageous security and costly valuing of genuineness, complete allegiance to the goodness of simple truth, that it's easy to slip from if you're not careful. I've felt this recently, especially when I've walked away from conversations with people I don't know too well: I've been literally honest, but have I been real or misleading? Even if you're being careful until people build trust with you, I think there's a large degree of raw honesty that is safe and shouldn't be lost to insecurity.
And even in simple truthfulness, I think you find the lines become easily blurred when you feel vulnerable and aren't rooted in a deeper level of careful integrity. It can be easy to be shyly evasive, let people keep their assumptions, protect ourselves from trouble or seeming weakness, and try to give an impression that keeps the doors of interest and relationship open with people. But if only I realised how safe I am--and how a lot of the time truthfulness is attractive anyway, or at least allows the freedom of taking responsibility for parts of who you are, what you value and what you do. Imagine living with the realness, security and wisdom of the life that is offered to us, no strings attached. I feel challenged in this right now, and am going to try to catch myself on it and make sure my heart hears and learns :)
And even in simple truthfulness, I think you find the lines become easily blurred when you feel vulnerable and aren't rooted in a deeper level of careful integrity. It can be easy to be shyly evasive, let people keep their assumptions, protect ourselves from trouble or seeming weakness, and try to give an impression that keeps the doors of interest and relationship open with people. But if only I realised how safe I am--and how a lot of the time truthfulness is attractive anyway, or at least allows the freedom of taking responsibility for parts of who you are, what you value and what you do. Imagine living with the realness, security and wisdom of the life that is offered to us, no strings attached. I feel challenged in this right now, and am going to try to catch myself on it and make sure my heart hears and learns :)
Monday, September 8, 2008
of hope.
On the train today I read the first few months of Bonhoeffer's 'Letters and Papers From Prison', with his essay 'After Ten Years' at the start. It's making me think. I'm reading it for my Twentieth Century Politics and Culture essay, on the effect of Nazism on Protestant Christianity in Germany. Was excited to find this question on the list.
I'm being challenged by his letters. Some of his ideas take some thinking through; but the thing that is striking me is the challenge of maturity that hopes, trusts, and actively freely chooses obedience that rests completely on dependence. Sometimes we can have such an ideal view of how life and goodness should be, but we forget to be truly, deeply established in the essential goodness of what life in God always is--so there's weariness, disillusionment and weakened resolve where the world groans in its fallenness. Sometimes we obsessively shelter ourselves from discomfort, or engage with it only out of fear. I want to live more full of joy and awareness of the unfailing, unconditional affirmation of God's love and support of me in all I need, of his understanding and compassionate sovereignty over the things I'll face, so that I can choose to embrace his call in each moment with resources that I need not worry are my own, and with courage that knows both reality and promise very well. Sometimes I feel fretful or discouraged, but this is a habit with no real basis, and one that it will be safe to learn to discard. I love how close a companion our God is when we walk with him.
Walking home just now, the afternoon was absolutely beautiful. I'd forgotten this half of the year, and have fallen completely in love with it all over again.
When April’s sweet showers drench March’s dry roots,
And bathe every vine in the power
Of the rainy liqueur that brings forth as its fruit
The blossom and bloom of the flower;
When the West Wind as well, with his fragrant bouquet,
Breathes life through the woodlands and heather
Into budding green leaves, and the young sun’s halfway
Through the Ram, bringing warmth to the weather;
And small songbirds twitter melodious tunes
(For so nature pricks them to revel)
And sleep open-eyed by the light of the moon,
Then folks feel a longing to travel...
I'm being challenged by his letters. Some of his ideas take some thinking through; but the thing that is striking me is the challenge of maturity that hopes, trusts, and actively freely chooses obedience that rests completely on dependence. Sometimes we can have such an ideal view of how life and goodness should be, but we forget to be truly, deeply established in the essential goodness of what life in God always is--so there's weariness, disillusionment and weakened resolve where the world groans in its fallenness. Sometimes we obsessively shelter ourselves from discomfort, or engage with it only out of fear. I want to live more full of joy and awareness of the unfailing, unconditional affirmation of God's love and support of me in all I need, of his understanding and compassionate sovereignty over the things I'll face, so that I can choose to embrace his call in each moment with resources that I need not worry are my own, and with courage that knows both reality and promise very well. Sometimes I feel fretful or discouraged, but this is a habit with no real basis, and one that it will be safe to learn to discard. I love how close a companion our God is when we walk with him.
Walking home just now, the afternoon was absolutely beautiful. I'd forgotten this half of the year, and have fallen completely in love with it all over again.
When April’s sweet showers drench March’s dry roots,
And bathe every vine in the power
Of the rainy liqueur that brings forth as its fruit
The blossom and bloom of the flower;
When the West Wind as well, with his fragrant bouquet,
Breathes life through the woodlands and heather
Into budding green leaves, and the young sun’s halfway
Through the Ram, bringing warmth to the weather;
And small songbirds twitter melodious tunes
(For so nature pricks them to revel)
And sleep open-eyed by the light of the moon,
Then folks feel a longing to travel...
Monday, August 25, 2008
you whisper to their souls.
Fallen you lie: feathers barely ruffled
but you do not move.
This is not the habit of your kind.
It rises, it rises.
I sit before you on the grass and you watch me.
Motion is shattered in your wings;
in mine too, for I would move
to see reclaimed what seems not real,
not true above truth, but a dream,
distant as the countless stars.
I watch you till the end.
You in your fevered stillness,
given to this new dream that has pounced
to consume you. Wound tightly in reality
and buried in the soil we tread daily.
When you are gone (too soon, too slow)
in the afternoon, I remember. Yours is the story, seen,
carefully chosen and closely known,
of the promise in those hands unseen.
There we have found all that is taken
and all that is given in its place.
but you do not move.
This is not the habit of your kind.
It rises, it rises.
I sit before you on the grass and you watch me.
Motion is shattered in your wings;
in mine too, for I would move
to see reclaimed what seems not real,
not true above truth, but a dream,
distant as the countless stars.
I watch you till the end.
You in your fevered stillness,
given to this new dream that has pounced
to consume you. Wound tightly in reality
and buried in the soil we tread daily.
When you are gone (too soon, too slow)
in the afternoon, I remember. Yours is the story, seen,
carefully chosen and closely known,
of the promise in those hands unseen.
There we have found all that is taken
and all that is given in its place.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
under the branches there are shadows.
Under the branches there are shadows
as the light is cast in torrents
through their fingers like nets. All interwoven, all around.
And the moments, they all wait for your return
when I will wake upon your shoulder.
There are many questions in my mind. Many questions,
but there is no word. Only your silence, your word of silence,
your word of the waiting day. So I lie down, silent.
Once there was a dream, quietly but near.
In this dream there was a voice.
In the voice of the dream there was a sign.
Hungry hours collide as silence.
We sat together by the cold water
in the early morning: in my dream, I had woken.
That cup is made for wine, he said. Come
away from this stream,
you with the dusty feet. I will show you
a table of gold, and streams of wine,
and crystal streets.
So it seems, after all, there is a table,
in the world inside the world.
We sailed together on the high tide.
Any time now my anchor will settle
and I will be still.
Every hour, now, your footsteps sound across the waves
and I am listening.
I am listening to the rain on the sea,
to the roar of its songs,
to the young wind crying.
Only the step after step has faded.
Here we sit together in the old way
listening to the oceans;
but you have not spoken, like once you have spoken.
(Or if I were listening:
After all this time,
we are going to the place from which we came.)
As I woke the light was fading, among the branches.
It fades, but it rekindles every morning.
I fade as well, but I will wake upon your dawning,
and know that you are listening.
So I lie down, silent.
as the light is cast in torrents
through their fingers like nets. All interwoven, all around.
And the moments, they all wait for your return
when I will wake upon your shoulder.
There are many questions in my mind. Many questions,
but there is no word. Only your silence, your word of silence,
your word of the waiting day. So I lie down, silent.
Once there was a dream, quietly but near.
In this dream there was a voice.
In the voice of the dream there was a sign.
Hungry hours collide as silence.
We sat together by the cold water
in the early morning: in my dream, I had woken.
That cup is made for wine, he said. Come
away from this stream,
you with the dusty feet. I will show you
a table of gold, and streams of wine,
and crystal streets.
So it seems, after all, there is a table,
in the world inside the world.
We sailed together on the high tide.
Any time now my anchor will settle
and I will be still.
Every hour, now, your footsteps sound across the waves
and I am listening.
I am listening to the rain on the sea,
to the roar of its songs,
to the young wind crying.
Only the step after step has faded.
Here we sit together in the old way
listening to the oceans;
but you have not spoken, like once you have spoken.
(Or if I were listening:
After all this time,
we are going to the place from which we came.)
As I woke the light was fading, among the branches.
It fades, but it rekindles every morning.
I fade as well, but I will wake upon your dawning,
and know that you are listening.
So I lie down, silent.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
please turn on the light.
Whistling at the window is a small bird.
Would you like to travel to the wide fields? chirps he
in his small song, till I say I
think I'd like to run across those far fields.
Quickly, find your feet, then, and be coming!
Chirrup chirrah chirree,
follow me, twitters he.
I saw you on the sidewalk, and we stopped to ask the way.
Those seas of green we cannot find: we ask you
where to go, if you know.
If you incline your tall ears over here,
you reply,
and throw a coin or two towards my feet,
so you say,
I'll fill those ears with songs and tales
to lead you on the road; the rhythms are
the way to what you seek.
We spin into the dance, twirling
once, twice,
and again—
here we are where we began.
And so with flit of wing and pound of foot
we go on,
with a particular aversion for the sing-song.
We attribute our aversion to your sing-song.
If you take a box of pencils
you must write us something new:
we are searching for the new!
When you stumble on a story
you are plucking on the strings,
saying,
Ho, hum,
sing along.
Heard it all before.
We are caught in restless dreams:
swim through land,
walk on sea,
searching for the missing thing, and
stop just for a moment! See,
though we sleep we are not still, and
when we wake we cannot move.
Look again. There is something left.
Surely there is something left.
Lying by the pavement, we are
waiting; watching
the direction that it might have gone,
when it fled.
Maybe it will come again.
Sitting by my bedside, now, I see
something there, in the dark, and I
listen to the silence till our breathing,
like my blanket, covers me. I open
up my wide mouth and I sing a song or two
(just the same I sang to you,
yesterday);
then I lift my voice in stories of the great
far and wide, till the frenzy and the wonder
almost send my soul to sleep.
Put a stamp on quickly. The address is to my dreams.
But the shadow over yonder takes my story
to the shelf and leaves it there. It takes its own
and starts to read, here and now, over me.
Threads of green rush over me,
glistening like the wind.
Maybe I will listen to a word or two;
probably I'll close my eyes.
Would you like to listen, if I
take you there?
Maybe it will put to bed your tired feet.
Maybe it is time to sleep.
Would you like to travel to the wide fields? chirps he
in his small song, till I say I
think I'd like to run across those far fields.
Quickly, find your feet, then, and be coming!
Chirrup chirrah chirree,
follow me, twitters he.
I saw you on the sidewalk, and we stopped to ask the way.
Those seas of green we cannot find: we ask you
where to go, if you know.
If you incline your tall ears over here,
you reply,
and throw a coin or two towards my feet,
so you say,
I'll fill those ears with songs and tales
to lead you on the road; the rhythms are
the way to what you seek.
We spin into the dance, twirling
once, twice,
and again—
here we are where we began.
And so with flit of wing and pound of foot
we go on,
with a particular aversion for the sing-song.
We attribute our aversion to your sing-song.
If you take a box of pencils
you must write us something new:
we are searching for the new!
When you stumble on a story
you are plucking on the strings,
saying,
Ho, hum,
sing along.
Heard it all before.
We are caught in restless dreams:
swim through land,
walk on sea,
searching for the missing thing, and
stop just for a moment! See,
though we sleep we are not still, and
when we wake we cannot move.
Look again. There is something left.
Surely there is something left.
Lying by the pavement, we are
waiting; watching
the direction that it might have gone,
when it fled.
Maybe it will come again.
Sitting by my bedside, now, I see
something there, in the dark, and I
listen to the silence till our breathing,
like my blanket, covers me. I open
up my wide mouth and I sing a song or two
(just the same I sang to you,
yesterday);
then I lift my voice in stories of the great
far and wide, till the frenzy and the wonder
almost send my soul to sleep.
Put a stamp on quickly. The address is to my dreams.
But the shadow over yonder takes my story
to the shelf and leaves it there. It takes its own
and starts to read, here and now, over me.
Threads of green rush over me,
glistening like the wind.
Maybe I will listen to a word or two;
probably I'll close my eyes.
Would you like to listen, if I
take you there?
Maybe it will put to bed your tired feet.
Maybe it is time to sleep.
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