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dusk.

On 11, Apr 2011 | No Comments | In Uncategorized | By Natalie

i could see it from my

classroom window.

i knew it would be

stunning.

so after my 36 “see you next time!”

to my students,

i threw my things

together,

waved a hurried goodbye

to my co-teacher,

and i was out the door.

i wanted to see the sun,

to see it say its goodbye

to the day

from the roof

of my apartment.

with my camera,

i stood tip-toe

on the corner of the

drying-rack stand.

i could just see the very last

edges of it.

it cast the most beautifully

haunting shadows and shades

over every object in its sight.

the light

made the ordinary

magical

and intriguing.

while i starred

at the last rays

of the beams of sun

it seemed that

everything else went a bit

blurry.

and only the sun

mattered.

08

Apr
2011

cookies on the corner

On 08, Apr 2011 | No Comments | In Uncategorized | By Natalie

02

Apr
2011

colors of a garden.

On 02, Apr 2011 | No Comments | In Uncategorized | By Natalie

have you ever walked through

a garden

in spring time?

when the dirt looks hard and tired?

brittle still from remeants of cold that

cling despite the sun’s beams?

untilled, rocky at the edges.

torn and cracked from

months of aloneness?

it’s hard to imagine.

that something,

that anything

could

come from:

grey-ness. dull-ness.

often

i assess the outcome

long before the

growing as even taken place.

i often desire the end, first.

without the process.

sometimes i desire to rush things

to rush people

to rush myself

into the potential

that is waiting.

lucky for me.

lucky for you.

farming is left to the wise.

who know better.

this past weekend.

i attended a yoga purification camp

28

Mar
2011

easter and unaware.

On 28, Mar 2011 | No Comments | In Uncategorized | By Natalie

the usual reminders of Easter’s

approach

are not reminding.

there are no chocolate bunnies

for sale in every department store.

pastel colors have no

special place in advertising

or decals.

i hardly know what to do

with Easter.

bunnies are not my thing.

pastels make my head sick.

waxy chocolate cannot tempt me.

egg decorating is not my hidden talent.

the Easter bunny always visited my house

leaving a small,

pink, fluffy trail behind

for two little (or grown) girls to follow

toward the basket at the end.

i grew up excited about these traditions.

about a new Easter dress

even though this thought was always

a bit ridiculous due to
the untimely
snowstorms that were inevitable
around Easter.
snow pilling the earth
often was the spoiler of my Easter
hopes.

but Easter.
has changed.
as have i.

a couple of years ago.
i had a falling out.
with the beliefs of my youth.

it was intense.
and it affected every bit
of my being.

there was anger,
frustration,
irrational thoughts,
passionate rants,
mind-filled turmoil.

no question was too big.

it was asked.

turning turning turning
upside down
inside out and empty.
the examining of every smallest
thought in ever corner.
nothing was left
unturned.
uncontemplated.

and i found it hard…
impossible to go back.
because going back is not
an option.
all we have is the here.
and now.
and we must walk on.

but i didn’t know how.
because it was all
so new.
especially one Easter season,
not so long ago.
i didn’t know how
if
what
or
why
to celebrate.

one afternoon.
when i was with a friend.
who i deeply, deeply admire.
in the middle
of a passionate rant
i stopped.
i stopped to ask her.
“why? why does Easter even matter?”

i remember.
she paused.
for several moments.
her hand reminded those
brown bangs
to stay behind
her ear.

“you know? i think it matters
because
it reminds us.
that love…
love is the way.
and love wins.“

Easter? no.
it had to be more than that.
it’s about
god
and graves
and tombs
and death
and a son of god and woman
and re-living.

about sins
and crosses
and three days
and one answer
and lillys
and bunnies
and pastel colors.

love?
how can it be about love?

because a man
a man, the story tells us,
named jesus.
came and lived.
and changed things.
he showed it was not
the rules
and not
the violence
that were the answers.

the rules,
the “whose in and whose out”,
the violence

they were not the way.

there was another way…

a way that wins.
always.

the way of love.

and so may we be reminded today:
Easter.
love is the way.

in the broken relationships
that you think will never be whole…

in the moments of frustration
that you think no understanding will come…

when morning comes and you are
covered in clinging sadness…

when evil stares down at you, oppresses you with
dictators, machine guns and foreign policy…

when a child greets you
with excitement and joy…

when two worlds far far away become one
just for a few fleeting moments…

when new life comes forth
from what appeared to be only death and darkness…

when you discover that truth
is all around you…

love. is. the. way.

and this year, before the sun rises on Easter morning
i will wake and early
and find the hills
with the words from my friend
tucked securely in, around and through me.

i want to whisper something to the pines

and scream something to the wind…

that is year

i think i might believe it.

love wins.

24

Mar
2011

i can’t. because it doesn’t.

On 24, Mar 2011 | No Comments | In Uncategorized | By Natalie

i can’t move.

i am glued.

i am paralyzed from movement.

even my sub-concious is preoccupied.

the necessity of blinking

forgotten.

is it fear?

is it status?

is it genuine concern?

is it a way of life?

Egypt.

Libya.

Japan.

power to the people!

people being slaughtered by their leader.

water rears its inescapable power.

it’s an addiction.

i must watch.

must read the minute blog updates.

because i must know.
check a myriad of news sources

in order to find the best

information.

most current updates.

opinions.

and images.

the earth is crying.

it’s people are screaming to be heard.

am i listening?

i turn on my computer.

i see blogs.

status updates.

youtube trailers, commercials.

box office top sellers.

and i can’t wrap my mind around it.

so i post pictures from

last weeks bike ride.

my mind.
it can’t hold it all.

Libya.

UN gives thumbs up for war.

bombs. dropping.

Japan.

nuclear reactors failing.

13,000 missing.

mothers. fathers. sisters. grandpas.

missing.

i see blogs posting

pretty pictures.

arts & crafts.

cooking recipes.

travel plans.

funny stories.

kid stories.

new musicians.

new art openings.

personal narratives.

and.

on.

and on.

i can’t wrap my mind around it.

the thin hours of the morning

are getting used to my company.

because i don’t sleep when

i should.

i check just one more site.

to try to understand

the devastation.

i can’t understand.

mindlessly click through pictures
on Mark Zuckerberg’s genius invention.
i see
trips of spring break.
bikinis.
new additions to families in barking dog form.
engagement poses.
tales of last nights drinking binge.

my mind is spinning trying to hold it all.

i don’t know who to believe.

“We must go to war. Libyans are being masacurred.”

“We don’t want another Iraq.”
“Some Peace-Prize President you have.”
“Would we just wait for another Rwanda?”

i can’t wrap my mind around it.

bombs dropping
screams
protests
sign holding
accompany my dreams.

then i’m talking,
“hi how are you?”
“repeat after me, ‘nice to meet you’. good kids!”
“oh your a vegetarian? that’s awesome.”
“i want a new shirt.”
“damn korea. why can’t i get a good beer around here!”

. . . . . .

what is this?
what is this world that i live in?
it cannot all be connected.
it can’t be.
it just
can’t.

17

Mar
2011

fourth avenue

On 17, Mar 2011 | No Comments | In Uncategorized | By Natalie

my friend sent me this.
just this morning.
and i know exactly
where
this moment was captured.

on 4th avenue.
in a old, slightly leaning duplex.
2nd floor.
in the sun porch.
on the radiator.

words placed together
on a plank of distressed,
weather-born wood
from my
dad’s wood pile.

with one word.
that speaks
so profoundly…

.
. .
. . .
. . . .
. . . . .
. . . . . .
. . . . . . .

. . . . . . .
. . . . . .
. . . . .
. . . .
. . .
. .
.

14

Mar
2011

flea markets.

On 14, Mar 2011 | No Comments | In Uncategorized | By Natalie

it’s amazing how the old

is always intriguing.

and beautiful.

08

Mar
2011

One Comment

today. celebrate. woman.

On 08, Mar 2011 | One Comment | In Uncategorized | By Natalie

i met her by chance.

a couple of weeks ago.

she intrigued me.

she was locked.

and i was curious to know what

was inside.

over dinner

she slowly opened a bit

of herself.

she shared her hopes.

her failed attempts.

and her dreams.

she spoke of diligence.

and it radiated from her core.

diligence in her relationships.

her family.

her friends.

and her education.

her english

speaking was poised,

thoughtful and dynamic.

i’m not sure how it happened.

but she asked me

if i

would help her study more english.

i told her

she didn’t need it.

her english was possibly better

than mine.

but she insisted.

she took my number.

told me she’d call.

and she did.

i think of the word

intense.

and completely delightful.

this is her.

her thoughts are soaking

with wisdom.

learned from a life lived…

intentionally.

her awareness of self

is poignant.

almost shocking

in utter clearness.

she has dreamed the dream of

travel.

as so many have.

to her, the work of being a

flight attendant offers this.

her 20s are scattered with several

ventures to achieve

this dream.

but the time has not been right.

she is no stranger to failed attempts.

life is mysterious, she says.

the time has not been right.

something about our chance encounter.

she said, inspired me.

your compliment

and confidence about my english skills…

job opportunities,

and something about the time…

it feels right this time.

so together.

in coffee shops or small cafes

she is preparing.

i, assisting.

preparations for interviews.

because this intriguing woman

is living something.

something she has dreamed.

and all the while

she is teaching me.

always try.

we must.

because our dreams are apart of us.

life is mysterious.

but we must be diligent.

and you must not be afraid of failure, she says.

because failure just means

there is something else.

but we must dream.

and we must try.

so we do not have to wonder…

the way she pulls her hair

away from her face.

her enrapturing head-back laugh that shows

off her mischievous smile.

the way she grasps my arm when we walk.

our age difference.

while six years thick.

seems unimportant as i sit across

from her.

she jokes, calling me, sam.

the korean title for a teacher.

it humbles me.

because proper sentence arrangement

seems so insignificant.

to what i am absorbing.

soaking.

up.

never be afraid to dream.

and to try.

because we must.

we must try. she says.

when we part for the evening

it is i.

whose heart is filled. and pumping hard.

from my friend,

from my teacher.

because i am aware

of the risk of trying.

of what failure can look like.

how it can

eat at the very core.

she.

she is not scared.

or so she tells me every time we meet.

this time is for fun.

she wants to do it to

not wonder…what if…

but there is a wince behind her

confident eyes

every time she says it.

i know she wants to believe it.

but trying,
trying can be scary.

giving it your very all.

is risky.

so today.

on International Women’s Day.

i wanted to tell you

a story.

about a woman.

who is dreaming.

who is hoping.

who is trying.

who has almost given up.

but she hasn’t.

she has taught me.

that without

dreams.

what is there?

if we are not listneing to

the small voice inside,

what are we doing?

when will we start listening?
to ourselves.

today. celebrate. women.

27

Feb
2011

learning to pray

On 27, Feb 2011 | No Comments | In Uncategorized | By Natalie

when i was a little girl.
i learned what it meant
to pray.


photo credit: groovycorner.blogspot.com

in sunday school.
we folded our hands.
and bowed our heads.
and tried not to let our eyes
sneak a peak.
to see if
anyone was cheating.

i remember feeling cramped.
feeling confined.
by the rules.

but.
my mom — my dad — my nana
my papa.
taught me to pray.

and it wasn’t about rules.
it was apart of
everyday.
in the fluidity of the moments.
simple.
yet complex.
because it was important.

and even when i was young.
so young.
i knew
something i could not see
was happening.
something within me stirred.
ever so gently.

but as i grew.
and walked on my way out into the wide
wide world.
i begin to see…

to see many things.
i began to experience truth…
truth that seemed to be
outside the confines of what i understood
to be god.

so i decided to forget…
to forget how to prayer.

because it could not be
that important.
especially if there were
rules.
and divisions.

a few years went by.
as they seem to do,

i remember the first time.
in a mosque.
standing next to my friend.
our heads covered
with brightly colored scarfs.
we stood in perfect rows.
and together
with every woman present
we rocked.
…got to our knees
…pressed our foreheads into the rough carpet
…paused.
…slowly rose to our feet

i was awkward.
my friend’s hand
guided my movement.
she didn’t laugh.
she only smiled.

then repeat.
we rocked.
…our knees
…forehead down
…paused.
…to our feet

three times.

in the middle
of the moment i recognized something.
this praying
it was apart of everyday.
in the fluidity of the moments.
it was simple.
yet complex.
because it was important
and
do you know?
something i could not see
was happening.
something within me stirred.
ever so gently.

and time passed.
as it seems to have the habit of doing.

just yesterday. my friend.
asked me if i would go to
temple with her

to pray. for something very important
that would soon happen to her.
“have you been to a temple?
do you know how to pray?”

i was not
entirely sure how to answer.

she interpreted by pause.
“i will teach you.”
she said.

so on a sunny, spring saturday.
we made our way to
Dongwasa Temple.
famous in this area.

as we approached temple’s door,
we removed our shoes
at the entrance.

the marble floor was cool
on the feet.
three small bows
with our hands together
in the center of the chest.
familiar to a namaste greeting in
yoga practice.

my friend
took my arm
guided me to stand next to her.
whispering,
she told me to follow her.
…we got to our knees
…we placed our hands palm down
…we turned our palms up
…and raised them toward the sky
…paused.
…slowly rose to our feet

repeat.
three times.

do you know?
i recognized something.
this praying.
the fluidity. the simplicity.
yet complex.
because it was important
and
do you know?
something i could not see
was happening.
something within me stirred.
ever so gently.

and my soul told me.
you know this.
mom — dad — nana
your papa.
the mosque.
taught you this
long ago.
so long ago.

but this time?
the rhythm.
the repetition.
the movement.
made space within me
and i felt free.

so very very
free.

three different religions.
history of divisions.
but i can’t help wonder at
the similarities.

to say they are the same.
is to diminish
what is.
and what isn’t.

and who likes it when everything looks
the same.

but maybe.
just maybe we aren’t so different
as we might think.

and i might not think
i want it
or even need it.

but isn’t that what friends are for?
to remind us?
to teach us?
to point us toward the light?

it’s a journey.
and sometimes it uncomfortable.
some days i
won’t think it’s important.

but some days
maybe i will feel that
something within me stirring…
ever so gently.

after all
i am learning.

learning to pray.

21

Feb
2011