So drained from aching, clutching, missing, a black and holy sense of gone. And waiting for sense of finding: of joy and longing to belong, Is trying to catch something like the sun while sitting in it all along. How does the empty not consume? How does the full not stretch apart? So full of dark and light and wonder, When will the ending seem to start?

The crusty cube is covered white with flakes.
It’s prickly, sweet and crumbling coat now falls
In small and messy pieces. Soon, as teeth
Encounter what’s inside, the tongue will find
A new and very gooey sort of treat:
An amber-colored, rich and nutty taste.
It makes me think of kids who played in snow
All day. Returning home, they were so cold.
They came inside and peeled off layers. Warmth
Is what they found, and dinner: a day well-lived.

I've never had Turkish Delight anywhere like I had at Pasha's one night. In fact, I'm not even sure that it can be called Turkish Delight, legitmitately. But it certainly did taste delightful.

Late at night

Late at night, and I feel -once again-like I'm waiting for something.
While I long to be contained, I also long to escape.
I feel like a lion that grew up in a zoo. There's a sharpness, a brightness that wants fly at the world. I don't want to put an apron on it. I don't want to hammer a degree to it. I would hate to smother it. What do I do with it?
Does this make any sense? Maybe it won't in the morning, but I know that these are things I feel late at night. Maybe my dream self figures it out better than I do.

Lost in the woods. Dreams, reflections, ramblings.

I was looking for someone, and then I was running: running in the woods between two aisles of autumn trees. My feet kept slipping because the forest floor was so covered by the bright orange and gold and yellow leaves. When I looked up the canopy above was just as cluttered. There was no sight of the sky. All around me was just a swirl of black bark and vivid foliage, and as I ran, the urge to find who I was looking for heightened-as did the sense of my lostness. The colors on all sides began to blend together and then I had no sense of direction, not even a sense for what was up and what was down. In the end of gave up-falling in some sort of direction until I met some kind of landing.
I covered my eyes as the wind blew and the woods continued to swirl around me uncomfortably. It felt like the whole world was the woods, and I was lost in them, and they were shrinking in around me. Beyond that, I felt watched, watched by something cruel.
Then a loud, crackling, female voice came from all the trees at once. It was deep and round and echoing.
"You think you can escape the woods, child?" it boomed at me with laughter. "Everyone thinks they can escape the woods, they run and run and die running. Or they find a place to cut some trees down and pour cement over the decay. They carve out squares of dirt and live like children who play in street filth and cigarettes, and they think they have left me. But they are still here, and they only decieve themselves that they ever left. You can never leave the woods. You can never get out."
The words echoed in my head this morning as my eyes twitched open. In the comfort of my bed, with the blue sky clearly shining, uncovered, through my glass window, I pulled the covers around me tighter. I couldn't shake the words in my head. It's funny, for someone who really likes nature I was pretty disturbed by a dream wherein I couldn't escape it. But the dream, I knew, wasn't about flora and fauna.
I climbed out of bed and pulled out my laptop-heading to Facebook. I saw people's stati about Japan, so I headed to a news Web site and read up, horrified. I thought about Japan, and then I thought about China because one of my relatives is supposed to be there right now, and then I thought about the U.S. And then I thought about those three great nations in relationship to each other. And then I thought about the last century of wars and inports and exports, and then I thought about outsourcing and then I thought about India. Bits of info from a recent conference and paragraphs of books from various history classes started to seem dizzying. I thought about the increased job competion and increased need for education and the price of my liberal-arts college and what graduate school is going to cost.
And then all of that culminated in disgust with myself and with the fact that the first thing I do in the morning is check my Facebook, a modern convenience which is making the world even more connected and dependent on techonology, and dependent on convenience, and shy of being personal.
I've become pretty concerned for where the world is headed with our obsession with technology(superficial) interconnection. Facebook is a great example. We are so connected with Facebook-but not really too much to any one person, nothing's really real. I'm wondering, in this new age of global connectedness-how deep do our relationships go?
From my dream: The world was the woods...
It's true. And we need to be with others, we need to find someone to travel with us. We need to know people, really know them. We need to really care about humans more than just the system that effects our comforts. That's what we are really looking for in the woods, after all.
But can we get out?
It seems like at the rate the virtual and political worlds are going there are three options A. the best, in my opinion, that things will slow down-that everything will have a chance to even itself out for a little while because of it and we'll learn how to use our new muscles before we roid out some more. B. things won't slow down-things will keep going and going and going and the human race is going to be dramatically changed because of it. C. We're going to hit a wall soon, and the world isn't going to know how to handle it. And it's going to be bad.
Chaos and despair?
No. I don't think everything is absolutely doomed, not exactly. But I do know that as long as we're on the earth, not matter what age we live in, we're never going to find what we're really looking for. Have you ever read C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce? When I think of that book one of the main things that comes to mind is that, as wonderful as some things are on earth (the successes we gain on earth, the relationships we form), they are not in the fullness of what they were made to be before the Fall. So even earth's purest offerings are dirty when compared to what Heaven offers.
So what I said up above, that we need to connect to others-it's absolutely true. I think this is one thing our world is sorely lacking right now, and I know that the more we invest in each other, the happier we will be as people. We were created to connect-in so many ways.
However, there is a whole other level to go. People who are lost in the woods are looking for others to connect with to make the journey better. But we have to deal with the reality that our hearts, in the deepest places, know that the best we can find in the woods is not enough to escape the evil that lurks there-so we'll still be searching for a way out all our lives, and we'll be in the woods.
But if you can come to grips with this- and if you can believe that there is a perfect God who clothed Himself in our dirty, decaying skin and become a sacrifice to redeem us out of the eternal woods-then you know you have a path. You have a way out. Not only that, but you have other path followers others to walk with you-believers and friends to help you find the path when you thought you lost it. We're not aiming to make a mock heaven out of cement inside the evil where we live-we're building up each other.

Communication as a means and an end.

Communication is not just a product of experiencing it the world, but it also has the potential to be means of experiencing the world. This is something Helen Keller just taught me.
This has nothing to do with an Apples to Apples game, I'm totally serious. I just read the the first four chapter of Helen Keller's The Story of my Life and it blew my mind a little bit. Aside from the anecdotes she tells (which are entertaining even before the uniqueness of her perspective is taken into account) there are two main aspects of Helen's autobiography which grabbed my attention.
The first is the way the author's story depicts communication as an innate human need, something that is crucial not merely expressing, but for for seeing and interpreting and living. The need for communication is obviously apparent to most of us. However, I for one have rarely ever truly pondered what not being able to see or hear would be like from a perspective as unique as Helen's. Most of us can only imagine what it would be like to lose our sight and hearing after we already have substantial knowledge of what things look and sound like. In this kind of situation we would obviously miss the ability to express and communicate with ease because it was something we had already known.
However, Helen recognized the lack of something without even knowing exactly what that something was. She identifies this lack as the missing link not only between herself and others, but herself and everything. Her attempt, even from early childhood, to create a bridge between the outside world and dark, silent island that made up her own world is amazing to me.
Helen describes her frustration at this experience as feeling like "invisible hands" were holding her (another incredible statement- how do you conceptualize "invisible" if you have no solid memories of things that are visible?). She acts out her frustration through numerous fits of crying and kicking and acting out. Once Helen, through the help of Miss. Sullivan, begins to develop her own system of communication she begins to understand much of what it is to be human. The sense of connectedness this gave her allowed her to build relationships with things and people which aided her understanding of both love and regret. It's an amazing look at the significance of communicating.
Another thing which really sparked my interest in reading these chapters was the frequency with which Helen describes her feelings and memories through the use of images. Even from the very first line of work, she describes the (hypothetical) golden veil surrounding her childhood. I have to wonder what "golden" meant to her? Was it simply an idea? What was she able to see in her own mind when she read or wrote the word? How is it that "golden" translates so appropriately to readers who have seen things that we would describe as golden? I was reading a book recently where the author described being on an alien planet and seeing colors that he had never seen before, saying that it hurt his brain when he tried to put the colors into some kind of category. It seems like such a fascinating and awesome process- seeing something that you have no framework to even imagine and describing that thing.

thoughts on my addiction.

I love coffee.
Psychologists have concluded that one of the best ideas for a first date is to go out for coffee or tea. This is because something happens when you are sitting across from someone, holding something warm and comforting between your hands and staring into the eyes of a person who is doing the same.
It's a connection of warmth and security, with an exciting "zing" attached to the end...kind of like a budding relationship.
Now I'm a coffee addict (one who needs to back off on the actual caffeinated stuff because I'm at the point where horrible headaches result if I don't get my daily buzz. ).
However, it started out as a kind of "pacing myself thing" and that's still mostly what it is.
Whenever I have some big task ahead of me I start the coffee pot going and wait and mentally prepare.
It's encouraging in a way...you're making youself do something you don't know how to do...the coffee is making itself....itself (which is way more difficult than anything I've ever tried to do, personally).
Sometimes, those pre-percolated moments can be really inspiring.
I think, if you have the good stuff, this can be way better than a Starbucks run in terms of getting things done.
However, there is something to be said for coffee-house culture. And for this, I don't mean Starbucks (not to dis Starbucks, I partake as much as any of my fellow American college students). But it terms of getting all you can out of the coffee- culture, go local and independent if you can.
As I write this, I sit in a new favorite hang-out which I've begun to love for so many reasons.
I've grown comfortable with the weird, ecclectic selections of music which somehow manage to suit all my tastes and changes suddently from from 1940s Louis and Ella to 1990s dance electronica to reggae music that I've never heard before, but still enjoy.
I look up and see the familiar baristas-one guy who looks like the lead singer of Iron and Wine and a girl with a sweet face, boyish hair, and super-feminine clothing.
I also am getting to the point where I recognize the "regulars" who looked at me at first like an alien invading their planet. I think I'm slowly becoming one of them.
It's a nice feeling to be "a regular". Technically, I'm a regular at my favorite coffeeshop in my hometown, but it's a little different because I barista there sometimes, and so I never feel totally like a customer.
However, when you are relying on coffeehouses to bring on the productivity, there's a different strategy involved. What you do is you get your mocha (not that I'm drinking one or anything), you slowly drink it while you listen to an online sermon or update your blog (not that that's what I'm doing.....), and then, when you feel more awake and are coming to an end of those pre-productivity activities.......it's time to get going, and start doing some serious independent research on childhood identification for the abstract that's due to the Southeastern Psychological Society...I mean...time for me to sign off. :-)
Have a lovely and caffeinated day (but don't go crazy!)

So....Summing Up About Oxford. (Finally, right?)

I haven't written in a long long long time. So I think what I need to do is rewind a little bit and talk about Oxford.
Part of me wishes I had kept a record of everything, everyday that I had there...if only because I wish I could share it more fully with someone else.
I'm at a loss for how to even begin to capture the experience and even now, almost 3 months after I've come back to the good ole U.S.A., I find myself still hoping to hear the sounds from downstairs of my Crick family-Hannah and Irene screaming that it's snowing AGAIN, or someone listening to crazy loud music that is shortly followed by the thumping of feet indicative a dance party (and then I wouldn't be a mere listener after that, of couse, Kitchen dance-parties are a must). I miss Daniel's crazy imaginative stories that involve becoming a king of some tribe in Alaska. And going downstairs early in the morning to find Carl and Jay in the kitchen debating some topic that is WAY over my head (although I tried to not let them know HOW much over my head they actually were, I'm pretty sure they knew the whole time).
I miss Ginny's sincerity. And I miss the Northstar, Nick, softly strumming his guitar in the evenings. And the tinkerbelle-esq Amy with her hot-pink hat. And the expression Shane was always donning that made him look like a philosopher. And I miss British Sam who took care of us, and how he would shake his fists up at the sky and yell "NOOO!!" (in a very English sort of way). And I miss reading Harry Potter in the evening with a bunch of random tea cups and matching plaid green blankets. I miss the random bursting out into song ( "California Dreamin" usually) with twenty other people.
And Christine with her whirl of bright colors and suggested reads by Neil Gaiman.
And Grant who always gives great hugs.
And Emily in the common room with her tea and Nutella toast, absorbed in a good book.
I miss my roomates, both so utterly sure of who they are, and both actively making a way to make their mark on the world. There's Kate, who is kind of this spunky, little indie girl from North Carolina. She's wicked smart but also so unbelievably kind and soothing to be around. There was also Laura, the red-headed New Englander; brilliant and confident and fierce and as true a friend as you could ever hope to find. Both of these girls are powerful forces in the world, and (though they may not know it) they are going to do great things. I think it was really good for me to live with them, besides just being major fun.
That's just some of the people; there are so many others that meant so much.
I also miss slipping out the door in the afternoon all by myself, off to explore some path that I've never been down before. Totally free and given over to the world I've spent the last ten years dreaming about. I miss constantly finding out it's actually better than I ever dreamed.
I miss the old cobblestone streets and the black drains, dripping with fresh rain.
I miss the way the warm light streams out from the old glass of a little pub out into the cold. And cutting through the park to the library-seeing spring come there, bringing unfamiliar flowers to the gardens. And the skyline. I miss the constant "I can't believe I'm really here, is this really happening?!?!?!". But smiling all the while, because the fact that I was really and truly there was undeniable.
I miss the "reading culture,"how there are so many bookstores in the main part of town. And I miss Port Meadow. And I miss lying out in the garden on a blanket on sunny days, listening to the birds and smelling good smells from the kitchen and reading. I miss the antiquity. And the tutorials. Heck, I even miss the papers.
When I first got there, riding on my first public bus ever, fresh snow had just fallen over the city. The sun was setting and there was an orange-golden gleam on everything. The students walking on the streets reminded me of pictures I'd summoned up on Google: idealized archetypes made flesh, stumbling on the icy sidewalks and laughing at one another.
Old saints and gargoyles looked down on me from up above and all around. I felt like I'd fallen into some kind of snow-globe world, it was so perfect and dreamy. And then I got out, and there was just the crunch of my boots on the snow, and my too-heavy suitcase rolling along unsteadily behind me, and my quest to find my first taxi.
Looking at that huge and beautiful old house on Crick road came next, and trying to imagine how it would be home for the next several months, but having no idea that it REALLY would be. Being greeted by a crazy man with a beard who flung open the door and said "HEYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!" with his arms stretched out (I thought he must be on staff but later I learned he was Carl) and then there were people, people everywhere. There was also pasta, which I ate while some guy that sat beside me asked me "What kind of minds do you like to study?" (to which I made a terrible muttering, blundering response. A few months later, when I understood that he was Jay, and he understood that I was Katie, he asked me again). My first jet-lag set in, and the faces and words that happened afterwards are now jumbled in my brain. But I remember the feeling of unfamiliarity, of intimidation, of wondering if I would feel pressured to pretend to be someone I wasn't, excited to explore this new world, but too tired to do much but climb to my bunk and pass out.

The moment when I realized that I WOULD NOT even have to worry about pretending to be someone I wasn't happened the very next day. And after that, something else happened. Little by little, the unknown faces became friends, and then they became family. And then one day, I was one of those iconic Oxford students on the sidewalk, laughing with friends, carrying books, knowing where I was going.
I have to go soon, there are some other things to be said about Oxford by and by, but for now, I just wanted to sum up a little.
By the way, with all of this "missing things" business... I don't mean for it to be a sad thing-because it's not.
I mean, really? I'm a pretty happy girl. :-)
I DO feel a little wistful sometimes, a little mournful. Because I don't know if I'll ever go back to this place that I'm so in love with , and I do know that I'll never have the same experience again-but people can't ever do that, can they?
I was in love with it all. I am still in love with it. And it's been a process, a very changing sort of love. The fact that I miss the place and the people so much is one of the marks that goes with the change. I would hate for that longing, the slight ache, to be suddenly gone.
I feel that way when I'm away from Dane-sometimes I miss him so much it hurts, but I wouldn't trade the missing him for not missing him, because acknoledging the abscence of what we love reminds us of what it means to us, of what light those things bring us.
Missing Dane, or my family, or my good friends? It's a part of loving those people. I'm grateful. And so, missing Oxford?
I'm grateful for that too.
-Shalom. :-)