Thoughts from yesterday

You learn more from the sky if you study it as a poet than as a scientist.

(That’s a sentence that just kind of “sound good”, but I mean it very seriously. I chose an extra astronomy class in school as if it would bring me deeper into the mystery of open space, but most of the lectures were spent memorizing complicated mathematical formulas that described the distance between stars, and I got answers in amount of light years, but it wasn’t really what I was searching for.

federico-beccari-L8126OwlroY-unsplash

I was thinking about it lately, because I was looking through the Narnia books and read this:

“In our world a star is just a big ball of flaming gas.”
“Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is, but only what it is made of.”

And I was thinking that stars can feel so non-romantic when we’ve learned their chemichal/biological components. But on the other hand we know that people are mainly made out of simple H2O, and that doesn’t seem to take the magic out of us. We know that we’re more than what we’re made of. Maybe it’s the same with the things in nature that science seems to have taken the mystery out of.)

I guess because it’s what poetry does, it doesn’t try to erase the mystery, it tries to carry you deeper into it.

Friday oct 27th

(Journal entry)

Life is so interesting.

I’ve broken down many times, in many ways.

The autumn of my last year in school, I reached a point – several times – where I physically couldn’t do anything but sit in bed and finally ask for help.

On outreach to Kenya I broke down and then did things anyway.

And while working as a teacher I had to, well, quit working as a teacher because of where it brought me.

I keep walking into walls. Running into them in fact, heart first. I think I should learn to hit them with my shoulders instead, so that I don’t break into a million pieces. But I do also think I’ll be the one to tear them down.

Notes Found

somewhere in the dark corners of my phone:

Everything you make me throw up I swallow right back down again, the wisps of sweet poison to the bitter taste of my fingernails, I swallow it down again. Grasping hands clinging to asphalt and tissue and all the atoms they cannot see, second hand looking and eyes eyes eyes on me. I swallow it right back down again (please) I swallow it right back down again.

From the mountains (unedited)

(A song I sang on a mountain once) I wrote this while hiking and it’s a river of thoughts. I have some idea how to fix it; there are too many concepts, I need to focus it and edit it and maybe I can make it into something actually good. But for now, here’s the river:

But the mountains did not make me quiet.
We are not     Steadfast     Silent
Do not     Remain
(I was     more     Alive)

We are not mountains
But are we the eruption of a volcanoe?
fire burning, throwing stones, lava sizzling
But no, we as well need to charge
We are not oceans (because we like to go places)
But are we waves?
Crashing and pulsing and beating
No, hearts see hearts and lose rythm
Are we forests
(a million pieces growing and dying)
to get lost in?
But no.
I am not inhabited.
There are no animals here.
No spirits but us.
Everything that I have done has been done by me.

Then
As I stepped on stone
My mind spoke;
Human     –     Nature
We flow differently through the rivers of time.

We are
Like the flowers
– they gave to me every sunday in a church in Florida –
cut at the base, dying                    Slower
Our tears (and laughter) are the rivers
making patterns in the landscape                     Faster

And we are     always     the ocean
Breathe
Waves rolling in     Crashing over our lungs
The air reclaiming it – ocean – as his                                faster slower faster slower slower

As I walk and as I talk and as I run through the crevices of your soul
There are rivers     in me
And fire       in me
And mountains     in me

.

 

I used to write about it.

Now I have the words for it.  

Now I don’t need to find them.

 

(Okay, I know you’re not supposed to explain things like that, that was just a short little text you guys should have your own interpretation of, but actually I wrote that down because I looked through this blog and I used to write these really pretentious texts (and I still do), but they were sort of poetic, my thoughts about life and whatever I was fighting myself about at the moment. I still do that. Write things in my journal, about whatever mess I’ve got going on in my head this time. The thing is, it’s always the same mess. How do I write that a million ways. No, why?)

I fall asleep at the bottom of the ocean.