psep03 was born Sept. 8, 2003 to Ariel, a student participating in an honors seminar on the spiritual exploration of vocation. For one of her self-directed projects, Ariel elected to keep a prayer journal for the semester to turn in. psep03 ended up being the file for the specifics of prayer, and a paper copy ended up being a turn-inable version.
psep03 has taken quite a beating in its lifetime, often staying open days at a time in the "down" parts of life. It is home to the poorest of poetry, the most whiny of requests, and is so utterly pathetic that not even I care to read most of the entries.
But, in remembrance, I have included here tiny snippets, some gaggy and some honest.
9/8/03 -- You see me asking for dandelions when I’ve never seen flowers
12/6/03 -- "I will sing of your mercy that leads me through valleys of sorrow to rivers of joy.
While we wait for a rescue with our eyes tightly shut
Face to the ground, using our hands to cover the fatal cut
Though the pain is an ocean tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters
Higher mountains have come down."
3/13/04 -- I confess I’m seeing something that isn’t there. There’s a mirage. And I keep reaching out for it. I keep drinking the sand. I have a mouthful of sand.
Help me to spit it out. Help me to desire something with a better taste. Don’t let me settle for sand when I could have living water.
3/21/04 -- It is enough right now that you want what I want. Now don’t worry – that’s my job. I will take care of it. Your job right now is_________.
11/30/04 -- I have not been sleeping well lately. It’s incredibly disappointing to wake up in your (sometimes too) warm bed and look at the clock and see that it’s 12:46. normally, that would be a good thing – so much glorious time left for sleep! But it has not been a blessing the last few nights. It means I will lay awake, staring at nothing…I have not been sleeping well over the past couple of weeks. But now, I have taken some Nyquil. I have this wheeze in my chest. I feel like…when I breathe out, I might not have the energy to bring a breath back in. who knows. I don’t know what’s up, especially with this arm hurting.
Sometimes I just like to listen. Sometimes I want to say what makes me laugh. Yet the things that make me laugh often sound stupid to others.
5/5/05 -- Ironic that it’s a significant number day. It’s kind of like the last day of my life. Today is kind of like graduation. Like the last day of school.
Like the day you send your baby to college
Or give it up for adoption
Or finish your stint as editor of the school paper.
I woke up knowing it’s the last day.
Actually here
Actually knowing to enjoy every moment.
To enjoy slowly preparing for the day
Lathering the oil out of wet dry hair in contemplation
Slowly getting other things out of the way
Slowly planning when to be in the office
What needs to go over
Who needs what
Who needs me
Who I should let do it themselves
How I can be the best editor possible today
Wishing it were eight hours from now to be with friends, to laugh at man thongs and SGA
And also wishing it never comes so it never ends
Wishing it were over
But hoping time freezes instead
Wanting it to be today, May 5, 2005 forever.
Cinco de mayo
Knowing I’m needed today
Tomorrow I am expendable
Used
Finished
Graduated
Not needed
Ineligible
Try to help as many as I can today, be as friendly, grateful, inspired as possible. Cheerful. Affectionate but cool.
Like you’re nice to your family the day before you move out, giving extra hugs or drawing extra smiley faces, giving extra compliments, politer criticism, letting someone else win a battle
Hoping they’ll see it and wish today is forever, too.
Hoping they’ll miss me
Think I made a difference
At least appreciate me in my uselessness
Like a dead handy farm dog, Or the once-in-a-lifetime canteloupe that you finished eating.
I wish life were easier. I don’t like pain. I don’t feel like doing this.It sounds like my purpose is to enjoy you and glorify you. And I’m not doing so well at enjoying you. I think that’s because I don’t understand you. Maybe I should enjoy not understanding you. But I want you to be big. I want you to be biggest and best, the goodest. I want you to be completely good. I want this to be the best way, not just a choice. I want you to be bigger than the problem. I want the problem to have purpose.
1 comment:
Ariel,
You asked on my journal what a Japanese poor person looks like. I am curious--Why is it so difficult for you to picture a Japanese poor person?
I am not exposed to the Japanese poor often. The families who send their children to Baiko are fairly affluent, after all. However, I have occasionally seen, say, a mentally disturbed bagwoman raving on a corner. In Tokyo, when I was in the park, I saw a bunch of what I thought were maybe festival stands and the like under blue tarps. I asked the Japanese person with me at the time what they were.
They were the homeless of Japan. The blue tarps were provided by the government. Apparently a number of them had electricity handy as well.
I took a picture, and the act made me feel a little dirty.
I am not sure how the homeless are usually treated throughout Japan. There aren't many in Shimonoseki.
On another topic, I kept a spiritual journal in my Spiritual Writing class. That journal pretty much ended with my class, and it was often an angst-o-matic more than anything I think. Often when I start writing spiritual stuff, I start just raving about all my doubts.
May God bless you today,
Nick
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