in this very small apartment
(two rooms, a kitchen, a bath)
there are so many places to be
on a far end of the bed
in the shower for an hour
at the window, looking out
behind your own eyes
in the bathroom, staring into your reflection
behind a wall of unsaid words
behind a screen
in this very small apartment
there are so many ways to be
far apart
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Friday, May 17, 2013
confirmed
1. It is possible to make up miracles. I did it, once. In the height of my middle school faith zeal, I made up a miracle at my eighth grade confirmation. What I remember about the actual sacrament I mostly "recall" through pictures. I sang in a group of other awkward middle schoolers and I wore a beige blouse/floor length skirt get-ups that I surely got form one one of those mom stores in the mall. My acne ridden face was framed by single tightly curled spirals- one on each side- and when I opened my mouth my smile was blinding. I'm pretty sure that my braces required twice as much metal as any other braces I've ever seen on anyone. Seriously, enough to set off detectors.
That is all I remember about the ceremony.
But I have really clear memory of a post-sacrament conversation with my mom. It was a time of raging faith for both of us, and I just really soaked in the way she seemed to admire my rich connection with the Lord.
I remember feeling so DESPERATE to have something wonderfully spiritual to share... some deep epiphany that this holy sacrament had delivered on invisible holy spirit wings. According to the Bible, the disciples got so jazzed up when the little flames from heaven came to rest on them that people in the streets thought they were DRUNK. they were inspired in a way that i longed to be. I felt like it should have changed me, somehow. Like the first day you wear a bra to school, or the first time you puff on a cigarette. I wanted that "there's no going back, things are different now" feeling. But the problem was, things weren't different. I felt like I had nothing interesting to share with my mom about the sacrament.
And so I made up a miracle. I told her that when I went up to be anointed with the oil, I smelled roses. For those of you unfamiliar with the invisible and supernatural, an untraceable smell of roses often signifies the presence of the invisible virgin mary (that, or st. therese. one of the invisible ladies.) I remember saying it, and then saying it again, and then elaborating on it a little bit. Every time I said it out loud, it felt a little more like it might have happened. Maybe it had smelled of roses, really, and I just hadn't really realized it.
She loved it. And I loved that she loved it. I was like an acne ridden God, drunk on desperation and delusion.
2. Tonight I took pictures at a confirmation. At the last minute, it was determined that there would be not one, but two lines of teenagers being confirmed, and so my job became infinitely more... impossible. But tonight I made a different kind of miracle happen. I entered the only kind of prayer I've known for the last few years: artistic flow. You should have seen me. It's like I had two sets of eyes and ninja speed and infinite stamina. Standing up in front of the altar, I was the center of that world for awhile. I was memorializing the moment. I was giving bored parents something to watch and talk about. I was the deliverer of meaning and distraction and I, like some versions of the Lord, was completely oblivious and indifferent to the sea of eyes that looked upon me.
As soon as I stepped away from the flow, I realized that the inevitable had happened. As my photography gigs have gotten bigger, I've noticed that one unfortunate thing has remained the same. No matter HOW calm and collected I feel mentally, my body's rush of adrenaline produces this foul, onion based stench that is just truly alarming. No amount of doctor's strength deodorant scrupulously applied has prevented this phenomenon. There must be a way. I do believe. But tonight, I was the grown woman in the sacristy, where holy and deeply spiritual rituals are prepared, rubbing hand soap on my armpits.
Smells like holy spirit.
That is all I remember about the ceremony.
But I have really clear memory of a post-sacrament conversation with my mom. It was a time of raging faith for both of us, and I just really soaked in the way she seemed to admire my rich connection with the Lord.
I remember feeling so DESPERATE to have something wonderfully spiritual to share... some deep epiphany that this holy sacrament had delivered on invisible holy spirit wings. According to the Bible, the disciples got so jazzed up when the little flames from heaven came to rest on them that people in the streets thought they were DRUNK. they were inspired in a way that i longed to be. I felt like it should have changed me, somehow. Like the first day you wear a bra to school, or the first time you puff on a cigarette. I wanted that "there's no going back, things are different now" feeling. But the problem was, things weren't different. I felt like I had nothing interesting to share with my mom about the sacrament.
And so I made up a miracle. I told her that when I went up to be anointed with the oil, I smelled roses. For those of you unfamiliar with the invisible and supernatural, an untraceable smell of roses often signifies the presence of the invisible virgin mary (that, or st. therese. one of the invisible ladies.) I remember saying it, and then saying it again, and then elaborating on it a little bit. Every time I said it out loud, it felt a little more like it might have happened. Maybe it had smelled of roses, really, and I just hadn't really realized it.
She loved it. And I loved that she loved it. I was like an acne ridden God, drunk on desperation and delusion.
2. Tonight I took pictures at a confirmation. At the last minute, it was determined that there would be not one, but two lines of teenagers being confirmed, and so my job became infinitely more... impossible. But tonight I made a different kind of miracle happen. I entered the only kind of prayer I've known for the last few years: artistic flow. You should have seen me. It's like I had two sets of eyes and ninja speed and infinite stamina. Standing up in front of the altar, I was the center of that world for awhile. I was memorializing the moment. I was giving bored parents something to watch and talk about. I was the deliverer of meaning and distraction and I, like some versions of the Lord, was completely oblivious and indifferent to the sea of eyes that looked upon me.
As soon as I stepped away from the flow, I realized that the inevitable had happened. As my photography gigs have gotten bigger, I've noticed that one unfortunate thing has remained the same. No matter HOW calm and collected I feel mentally, my body's rush of adrenaline produces this foul, onion based stench that is just truly alarming. No amount of doctor's strength deodorant scrupulously applied has prevented this phenomenon. There must be a way. I do believe. But tonight, I was the grown woman in the sacristy, where holy and deeply spiritual rituals are prepared, rubbing hand soap on my armpits.
Smells like holy spirit.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
comps is for competent
Remember when I was writing my comps essay & all of a sudden I started using words like "bygone" and "stymied"? Who was that person?
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
mantra
question more
make a religion of asking
sacred curiosity
unfettered mind
untethered movements
to go
to stay
to choose deliberately
is freedom
lay down that burden and
replace it with more questions.
what is?
what can be?
make a religion of asking
sacred curiosity
unfettered mind
untethered movements
to go
to stay
to choose deliberately
is freedom
lay down that burden and
replace it with more questions.
what is?
what can be?
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