Two poems in a row...

Living up to my title after all. A poem found on my friend Christy from Capernwray's blog. *poetry and alliteration, this is getting out of hand* The same way a song can describe your exact thoughts, fears, worries, so can a great poem. And here we have one. Suprisingly, this author does not know me, although I really feel they do.

"My Own Paranoia"

by phillip lopatewe

we who are
your closest friends
feel the time
has come to tell you
that every thursday
we have been meeting
as a group,
to devise ways
to keep youin perpetual uncertainty
frustration
discontent and
torture
by neither loving you
as much as you want
nor cutting you adrift.
your analyst is
in on it,
plus your boyfriend
and your ex-husband;
and we have pledged
to disappoint you
as long as you need us.
in announcing our
association
we realize we have
placed in your hands
a possible antidote
against uncertainty
indeed against ourselves.
but since our thursday nights
have brought us
to a community
of purpose
rare in itself
with you as
the natural center,
we feel hopeful you
will continue to make unreasonable
demands for affection
if not as a consequence
of your disastrous personality
then for the good of the collective

Exactly, if you know me at all, you know, that IS me. That is my ridicolous self-centered paranoia, that occupies way more thoughts than it ever should. Well this could feel like a depressing post, don't let it be. Because that poem teaches us something of ourselves, or at least me of myself. And it sure is clever. Look at the turn in the end, so clever...

First they came...

When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.

When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews,
I did not speak out;
I was not a Jew.

When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.

- Martin Niemöller

Who says we do not learn anything in school?

This poem describes the Nazi's purging of intellectual society in WWII.

Sure made me pause and think.

The first night of my WW II history class proved to be more interesting than expected.

Thank goodness.

Is it just me....

or is my blog starting to look like that of a 12-teen?

Sorry guys. I promise, real insightful posts coming soon.

Adolescent Love....

There once was a British Boy, who Sharelle (and others) quite enjoyed.

Now, he apparently is a "supa-mod-el".

I guess I had good taste.

Coffee and (sort of) Celebrities..

This Victoria day weekend, Matt and I had some adventures. On Saturday night, we went downtown to True Confections and then to see Da Vinci code. Of course, the show was sold out until 11 pm, so we decided to loiter around Vancouver. So, I finally checked out, the coffee shop I have been meaning to find for a long time: Cafe Artigiano. Coffee Lovers everywhere: take notice, this is where you need to be. The taste is exquiste, and they actually do 'foam art'. This is way beyond Starbucks, this is real uppity coffee. So, as I am walking down the street with my beautiful latte, I see this guy taking super keen photos with someone else on the street. It was Scott Foley. If you have seen "Felicity" you might know him as Noel, or if you are a celebrity keener, you might know him as Jennifer Garner's pre-Ben boyfriend. For your viewing pleasure, I picked the most ridicolous picture of him I could find..

And you thought I was dead...

So, it seems that I have become the blogger who doesn't blog. Sorry about that. Ever since Merton finished, life kind of got carried away with me. Here is a quick catch-up - after Merton - went to Whistler, next weekend had Rachel Jahner's wedding. It was great times, and particularly wonderful to see all those girls again. One of those weddings that seemed more like a fun party than a wedding.


With these "old friends" I had some wonderful conversations. So I came to the conclusion that our past will always be a part of us. Now, this does not mean we should live in the past, but we should be aware that it informs how we act today. There is beauty is watching people grow, but there is also beauty is seeing where they came from. Perhaps the most fun is noticing the little kernels of themselves that will always betray exactly who they are.

Meet my new friend: Thomas Merton...

I am not going to write as one driven by compulsions but freely, because I am a writer, because for me to write is to think and to live and also in some degree even to pray.

This week I had the phenomenal privilege of spending the week at Westminster Abbey in Mission studying the Twentieth Century Poet, Thomas Merton, who became a monk in his twenties.

Now, I already know what you are thinking- a monk? How could that possibly be interesting? Well thank you for asking. This man started his life in Europe with no religious background. Before becoming a monk, he was an alcoholic, liscentious, communist, unhappy artist who could not find his way in the world. We read his autobiography and I was blown away. The story is written with such eloquence that you can literally see God's light invading this man's soul.

There were 17 students at the Abbey, and we became a sort of community. We ate our meals together, did kitchen clean up, went to Mass, walked in the fields. It was basically an English major's paradise. We read poetry, performed plays, and learned about the material. Our professor was Lynn Szabo, who actually wrote our text and has been a Merton scholar for many years now. To learn from a scholar was mind numbing. She would be explaining his early education and say things like "when I was at his elementary school...". It all seemed so hard to believe.


(Left - Abbey grounds, so beautiful, I think one of my new favourite Lower Mainland spots)

(Right - Inside the Church - no it was not Europe, but the stain glass sure was beautiful)

Some highlights of the week:

- Father Basil (a monk who came to speak to us) saying "damn"....twice.

- Being sung to in Latin by a choir from Redeemer University in Ontario (the crazy part being, they were Reformed, in a Catholic Church)

- Learning to love the "inter-religious" dialouge, between Catholics and Protestants

- Laying on the "lawn-bed" contemplating life

- Sitting in Starbucks the night before our Friday final, for over 5 and a half hours.

The truth is this....as quoted by my fellow class member, I never knew that a Cistercian monk from Kentucky could become so incredibly intriguing and like a close friend in the course of five days. So, if you are at all interested, I recommend you start reading his material. It is honestly some of the most beautiful writing I have read in a long time. Thank you for enduring this ridiculously long post