this

this feeling should be fading, but it isn't....

voice

I once had a blog that i updated really often (maybe once every two or three days) over a period of several years. Most of the entries were funny things, almost never serious. It's lain dormant for a long time now. I have to ask myself: why did I quit writing in it? Well, why do people write blogs in the first place?

I suppose some of it has to do with giving form to these ephemeral little thoughts we have. They appear in our minds and disappear just as fast. To remember, and to be remembered. People also like to share their thoughts with other people. It's nice to have someone make a little comment on your entry. Blogs are open; anybody can read your blog unless you don't want them to.

As for why I quit writing in my blog. I had a rule for blogging. It was that I wouldn't make any entries to piss and moan about something. Life isn't always fun and the temptation to complain about things is pretty overwhelming for a lot of people. But do people really want to listen to all of that bitching? I doubt it. So I tried to keep my blog pretty complaint-free. Which I did. But in addition to not complaining, I avoided discussing anything I felt seriously about at all. Why?

Being flippant is fun. Living for pleasure is fun. But it's not everything. And I don't think everyone can pretend that they don't have any passionately-held beliefs about anything for long. I have some. I don't always talk about them, but they are there. And, I think maybe that's why I quit blogging. Because the temptation to talk about things that I care about, my real self, is too much. And bearing this part of yourself, people won't always like what they see. So I just shut up altogether.

Now I have to ask myself if I have changed in the meantime.

musings

if you are turned off by random musings...you might not want to read this. but this is what i'm thinking about....

human nature has a lot to do with potential...to be alive is to have some potential left. and so, to know who you are is both scary and exciting. exciting because there are so many amazing things for you to be and to do, scary because not all of them may be "good." anyone who tells you that they'r e not capable of doing awful things, well, this is just me, but i wouldn't trust 'em.

the one thing that knowing who you are, and being willing to act on this knowledge, will not make you feel, is apathetic...how could you not be scared? how could you not be excited?

goodbye

i smiled at her. i told her i would never forget about how we drove through the desert in arizona, eating cookies as we went, and how she watched as i panned for gold. i laughed as i felt her hair, saying that it was so curly. i scratched her back a little, then gave her a little shoulder massage. she said that it felt really good. i gave her a big hug, kissed her forehead, and told her i loved her before i left. that was a few days ago.

and now i will never see her again with my earthly eyes. i love you so much, grandma...i hope you knew that. i think you did.

goodbye....

feel the colours

today, i went into my friend's elementary school class to teach some art. the last time i was in there, one particular little girl, K, gave me lots of attention, bouncing around wherever i went, smiling, saying silly things. today's lesson was on colour, and the emotions that we associate with different colours. i handed out paint, and had the kids make paintings of scenes and things that represented feelings using colours that they associated with those emotions.

i circulated the room, refilling paint trays, answering questions, offering suggestions, etc. i noticed K's painting. it was a scene with two cliffs and a deep chasm in between them. on one side was a blue figure with outstretched arms. on the other side were three other figures, a small white one, a larger red one, and another next to the cliff, yellow, also with outstretched arms.

i circulated the room some more, and when i came back to K, she had her little hood pulled over her head and she was crying. i looked at her painting. the blue man, alone, was her father. on the other side were her mother, painted red, her brother, and her. she painted herself in yellow because she said she felt guilty.

it hit me like a punch in the face. this girl needs her father. i think this has a lot to do with why she was paying me so much attention. i told her...it was ok to feel what she was feeling, but it wasn't her fault. it told her it was good to use art to work out her feelings. i showed her something that i had made to help me work out my feelings.after recess, she was smiling again.