Thursday, November 17, 2011


we are ever like the moon:
no natural light of our own,
yet created to reflect it,
the closer we get the brighter we burn.
we are ever like the moon

we are ever like the moon:
when we are most full,
we then become most captivating,
causing other to glance heavenward.
we are ever like the moon

we are ever like the moon
for light we reflect stands
in direct contrast to the enveloping night
the glow God's silent symphony for creation
we are ever like the moon

we are ever like the moon:
we go through phases,
some in which we are only half ourselves:
the earth an obstacle to our source.
we are ever like the moon.

we are ever like the moon:
we often embrace shadows,
seeking bits of darkness with light,
a smudging of the glow.
we are ever like the moon

we are ever like the moon:
periodically veiled in fog-
blurred, unclear, ildefined
until thawed by warming, distant light.
we are ever like the moon.

we are ever like the moon:
we all have a dark side-
things we shield from the light,
part of what makes us a natural satellite.
we are ever like the moon.

we are ever like the moon:
deceived by earth's gravitational pull.
the sun unceasingly beckoning us to our true center,
to be an echo of its radiance.
we are ever like the moon.

Monday, November 14, 2011


reporting for jury selection is a bit like...

1. going to the airport: a room full of strangers all waiting around to go somewhere when told to by the voice of an unidentifiable authority.  uncomfortable chairs making it impossible to be completely comfortable, a constant reminder that you are neither at home nor where your destination lies.  the paradoxical combination of invisibility within a community.

2. being home sick from school: away from your normal work routine.  a simmering sense that you are forgetting something, the the activities of your everyday life are running along without you, which is leaving you more behind every moment.  but mostly because price is right is playing on the tv screen to placate any anxieties.

3. going to an audition: everyone wish each other "good luck" when names are called, but only half heatedly because we truly want that luck ours, so only wish it on others if we keep our share.  its a reverse of the typical trying out for a part - we're all equally hoping that we are selected to not be selected for the role.

4. recess: as we wait watching our peers get called, we suddenly realize that we may be chosen last to play...or not chosen at all

Tuesday, November 8, 2011


i don't play a musical instrument.

unless you count a few years of piano lessons with minimal practice between the lessons, resulting in a short career and limited [to two songs] repertoire of piano playing...

i don't play a musical instrument.

and you may think i am strange [i would not blame you] for what i am about to say, but to me typing has long operated like a playing a musical instrument for me.

first it is for the cadence.  when i get an inspiration to write something creative, suddenly get a flow of what i am trying to argue in an academic essay, or merely am in a conversational flow in a chat or email, it feels like i am in the rhythm of playing a song.  the tinkering of keys, the pauses as my fingers reach for the far off "p" or "q" or the staccato steps of using the shift or enter or space bar.  it has the movement of a song.

second is for the therapeutic nature of it.  striking keys and hearing the sound of the gentle tap-tap is soothing, calming.  like unwinding with an enveloping session of a classical concerto: just you and the instrument conversing on a subject that might one day receive a harmonic accompaniment, an answer to your melody.  there is this developing of a chorus of letters becoming words, expressing emotions and musings, and all from the push of finger tips.  it becomes a venting of feelings, an unburdening to a safe place.  it is catharsis.

third is for its function as a second language, cryptic yet frank.  it lets me speak the unspeakable, much like the notes of an instrument can.  it allows for a stream of consciousness that can only exist on paper, through the written not spoken.  i can be my most unedited, my most open and honest.  and all in a way that makes the expression of  emotions, ideas, and creativity simultaneously vulnerable and enigmatic.  in almost all ways it is my most fluent language.

forth is for its ability to appeal to personal aesthetics.  the way the keys feels: smooth tiles with defined edges.  uniformly spaced.  i remember as a child going through the computer aisle at the office supply store, running by small hand across all the key boards, seeing which felt the best, the most natural to the touch.  for not all keyboards are alike, just like strings or keys of an instrument, some require greater pressure to press or stroke in order to play.   the putting of simple tones to my thoughts and words, voiceless yet full of song. 

i don't play a musical instrument.  but sometimes i feel as though i do.