R.I.P.

When matter decomposes

The space left behind becomes tangible.

The oxygen there is thicker

And sometimes cooler than normal.

What do we do with this space?

We try to fill it.

New people take that empty seat,

Different faces plaster the news,

And the name of that space is avoided.

Fast forward one year.

The physical space is not gone

But has been otherwise occupied.

His name has long since faded

And the casket has been tucked out of sight.

In our hearts though, that space remains.

Not because we don’t have anything to fill it

But because we choose not to.

For us—that space will never be filled

Now void of memories, images, or laughter.

For us—that space is still real

The lingering possibility of what could have been.

For us—that space is reserved for what was.

Rest In Peace Michael Muange.

When Life Shoots You...

Today I went outside to do my Bible study and after about five minutes I realized two things. First: My backyard is apparently infested with daddy long legs. Second: I love my life. Yeah, I had a long summer. Four doctors, one funeral, $175 in tickets, my first car and a meat cleaver later and I am still alive to tell the tale. That alone is a miracle.

If this summer has taught me anything at all it is how to enjoy life when lemons are present. See, I figured out that they don’t get handed to you. In my life at least, lemons get shot at me like small citrusy grenades. Lemons and limes and maybe even a few avocados just to keep me on my toes.

For most of my life I have been living under the assumption that the only chance I have of success and happiness came in between this rapid fire of fruit but I am learning how untrue that is. The shock when you realize that something big is about to hit you, the acceptance of your situation, the pain of the collision. It is all part of something worthwhile. Because every bruise has a strange sort of beauty and it is this strange beauty that we must live in.

Laying in the grass today I wiggled my toes in the warm sunshine. I love sunshine, it’s like a full body hug. A small spider crawled along my book and onto my arm. I didn’t squeal or even flick it off, I just decided to watch it. The spider crept up to my elbow and then in to the grass before mounting my sandal in a triumphant crouch and then settling in the shadow that it cast. In that moment I found peace. Watching that little spider circumnavigate my book, crawl up my arm and ascend to the top of my sandal was amusing enough but to see it pause in the cool shadow for just a moment, that was so reassuring to me. I witnessed the trek of a fellow organism to place of rest.

To climb mountains, navigate valleys, do life, it is all well and good. But I am convinced that peace can be most readily found in a pause, a single breadth of time and space where basic truth is laying. The moments, this strange beauty, it is good. The more I reiterate this fact to myself the more I am ok with it.

Even lemons can be nice if you take the chance to see how.

New Found Clausterphobia

If I could go back in time and talk to my past self I would tell myself to take advantage of my age. As a child I spent a fair amount of time dreaming about the day when I would take off and live on my own and for whatever reason it always seemed like a just a dream, not a possible reality. Boy was I wrong about that.

Living away from your family, away from the school, away from PA’s and Campus Security- it’s a bit sketch to be frank. I mean I woke up this morning to a house full of random girls with nobody to answer to besides my roommate. Who was asleep. Again. Okay so people are over, no big deal. I like people most of the time and these girls are pretty chill.

But looking around the room, around the house, I see clutter and messes and other things that need doing. And this house seems to look at me as if expecting ME to know what to do and how to do it. Me.

Everyone leaves and I am flying solo. The emptiness of the apartment pressures me to act mature and responsible. I scan my Twitter feed. Oh yeah, dishes. I should probably wash those.

The strangest part of growing up for me is realizing the rigidity of Newton’s third law: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Fundamentally this makes sense but the implications of this law are staggering. If I don’t wash the dishes they will stay dirty. I will eventually run out of clean dishes. Then they all start to mold. Wow. So this is real life.

Something Chewy

They say that the eyes are the window to the soul. If this is true than the door must be reaction.

If you are anything like me, you wear a nice little mask around all day. This mask is a portrayal of your ideal self- the “You” that you want everybody else to acknowledge. Maybe you have crafted this mask or maybe it is just habit but either way you manage the charade with relative ease. We all do.

Like it or not I take my mask seriously and very few things can derail the defenses I have built over the years.  Despite the experiences that have taught me how to further isolate my truest self from the often painful interactions of society I have come to recognize that no amount of careful preparation can ready me for the wild chance that life brings.

When someone comes up behind me without announcing their approach I am known to let lose any number of squawks or squeaks of surprise.  Upon the discovery of anything that I find delightful I (apparently) make some sort of deranged opera-ish series of sounds. These moments speak not to who I want to be, but who I really am.

Similarly I look to my peers and see that a well-timed comment might set free a chuckle from even the most stone-faced students, and good friends of mine react certain ways to certain stimuli. In these moments, these brief but tangibly beautiful glimpses of soul, I am able to understand just a little bit better who they are, who you are, who I am.

That begs the question though; If reactions are accurate indicators of soul then what kind of soul do I have?

…

A loud one I guess.