I’m gonna sail right out on the Atlantic
I’m gonna catch me a fish that’s bigger than gigantic
I’m gonna cook up a fine fish tea
It will be like some kind of Galilee
I’m gonna do it all some day

I’m gonna do it all some day
I’m gonna do it all some day
You may not believe a word I say
But I tell you I’m gonna do it all some day

I’m gonna climb way over that old mountain
I’m gonna shout in a place where no-one hears me shouting
I’m gonna swear so loud
I’ll strip the silver lining from a cloud
I’m gonna do it all some day

I’m gonna fly in a silver winged space rocket
I’m gonna pick out the stars and put them in my pocket
I’m gonna bring those stars back down
So I can spread celestial light around
I’m gonna do it all some day


More Karine Polwart here.)
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.

--Leonard Cohen

I've going through a period of intense reflection. I'm feeling calmer, like what will be will be. No responsibility to become something, to make something of myself. I'm just realizing that when I rejected the old push for a career and impressive (to the outside) lifestyle I was only rejecting the form, not the expectation. I accepted it, only diverting it into a prettier (to me) form, that of the respected thinker, the true artist, the intuitive writer. But with expectations comes pressure and with pressure comes paralysis. I think I have made a mistake in thinking of myself as a writer in the first place. Doing so makes it about something other than the content itself... having to fulfill that label, live up to it. Prove it. Maintain it. Profit from it.

Forget your perfect offering.

I feel wide open this morning. Or I did, for a moment, when the sky was vermillion and bright orange and clear pink clouds. I witnessed the world with absolute clarity, like unstuffing my nose and being able to smell again. I'm closing back up now. It's familiar and plain again. I think, I think, I have been depressed all my life. Not a lie-in-bed-crying depressed, just a floating beneath the surface depressed. It's a place where you can remember all you have to be thankful for but still not feel the benediction. I so badly want to move beyond that. Everything is about that now, even when I'm not consciously thinking about it.

I hate to say it, but I don't really know how to be around people and still do that. I'm trying to think of one person I can feel completely and utterly safe and unselfconscious around, and I can't. Except for my children, and I worry that it's because they are still so much a part of me, and that when they are older and we have separated in spirit, I may not feel completely safe around them either. And although I can say that I feel absolute safety with them now, I can't say that I know that they necessarily feel the same about me. How can it feel safe to be yelled at? To be given a talking-to? The world is so broken. Or maybe it is just adults that are broken, and children in the process of being broken. At the same time, I know there is something that is not broken. It was there a few minutes ago. It's somdwhere. Now, I just need to figure out how to stop getting in its way and let it in, and hold onto it.

rebels

All the people we admire and teach our children to admire -- the history-makers, the world-changers -- have been rebels, and they accepted that sometimes that meant being an outsider. -- Deborah Markus


(Thanks to Ren for finding the quote.)

scary school nightmare




How did it come about that such a crazy process like schooling would become necessary? Then I realized that it was something like engineering people -- that our society doesn't only produce artifact things, but artifact people. And it doesn't do that by the content of the curriculum, but by getting them through this ritual which makes them believe that learning happens as a result of being taught. -- Ivan Illich, Deschooling Society