no apologies
no resolutions
no regrets
happy new year
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The song remains the same...
My mom told me that when she was a girl, she and her sisters dried their hair in the oven.
The subject came up when I told her I was reading The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. She didn’t know or remember the poet, so I was reminding her that Plath had committed suicide by putting her head in the oven.
Mom didn’t remember that I had been reading about Plath since I was a teenager, studying The Bell Jar, but also several biographies and her poetry.
When she told me about her childhood memory, I wondered if the idea of killing yourself by turning the gas on and shoving your head in the oven would have ever been considered, if people decades earlier hadn’t had the custom.
Plath started keeping journals when she was 11 and she never stopped. These newer released journals are those of her adulthood, 1950-1962. Plath killed herself in February of 1963. I know when I come to the end of these journals, it will be sad, but right now, I found something new and joyful.
The 18-year-old was already an award-winning poet, but her private writings are so lyrical – her simple thoughts to herself, pure prose. She would have definitely been a top blogger if she lived today, and you could be sure that the words you read were felt fiercely and relentlessly by their writer. Her entries are about her days at Smith College, the frenzy of dating in order to find a true love, and how both of those topics were so superficial - in light of the war the country was living through at the time. Fear was the underlying theme of her work, but she wove that fear right into the beauty of the fireflies or crickets she watched under the stars at night.
And even humor:
“Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to right a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: ‘After a heavy rainfall, poems titled RAIN pour in from across the nation’.”
Her passion for writing was apparent:
“I would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, emotions, as that person. But I am not omniscient. I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have. And you cannot regard you own life with objective curiosity all the time.”
And her trepidation:
“Nothing is real except the present, and already I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know, I, too will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.”
I am not a poet. I can’t wrap my head around how one’s thoughts can be so easily transcribed onto paper so beautifully. But I am grateful that she figured it out.
The subject came up when I told her I was reading The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. She didn’t know or remember the poet, so I was reminding her that Plath had committed suicide by putting her head in the oven.
Mom didn’t remember that I had been reading about Plath since I was a teenager, studying The Bell Jar, but also several biographies and her poetry.
When she told me about her childhood memory, I wondered if the idea of killing yourself by turning the gas on and shoving your head in the oven would have ever been considered, if people decades earlier hadn’t had the custom.
Plath started keeping journals when she was 11 and she never stopped. These newer released journals are those of her adulthood, 1950-1962. Plath killed herself in February of 1963. I know when I come to the end of these journals, it will be sad, but right now, I found something new and joyful.
The 18-year-old was already an award-winning poet, but her private writings are so lyrical – her simple thoughts to herself, pure prose. She would have definitely been a top blogger if she lived today, and you could be sure that the words you read were felt fiercely and relentlessly by their writer. Her entries are about her days at Smith College, the frenzy of dating in order to find a true love, and how both of those topics were so superficial - in light of the war the country was living through at the time. Fear was the underlying theme of her work, but she wove that fear right into the beauty of the fireflies or crickets she watched under the stars at night.
And even humor:
“Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to right a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: ‘After a heavy rainfall, poems titled RAIN pour in from across the nation’.”
Her passion for writing was apparent:
“I would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, emotions, as that person. But I am not omniscient. I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have. And you cannot regard you own life with objective curiosity all the time.”
And her trepidation:
“Nothing is real except the present, and already I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know, I, too will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.”
I am not a poet. I can’t wrap my head around how one’s thoughts can be so easily transcribed onto paper so beautifully. But I am grateful that she figured it out.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Trimming the Fat
We're only a couple of weeks away from the new year...so no better time to reflect on the past year. For me, this year has been a difficult one in many areas. But the feeling I strive to hold on to is that I made it through...not without some tears and time spent wondering what the hell am I doing...but still, made it through.
Carrying me through this year has been a tiny book hidden in my purse - the Pocket Pema Chodron. With over 100 short teachings by Chodron, a Buddhist nun, I read about patience, living with no agenda, moving beyond self-protection, overcoming self-deception and more. I'm not here to tell you I have reached any higher plane, just that I've been reading:).
No matter the difficulties, I'm thankful for a lot too. For true friends (you know who you are), family and times spent with you.
Letting go of people and things that aren't part of a better new year is what I hope to do for myself. Trimming the fat - in more ways than one!
I hope everyone I care about sees a new year that lets you fulfill all your wishes...and find peace of mind for yourself. I'll just share with you one of my favorite passages from the book:
There are no promises...
When we are training in the art of peace, we are not given any promises that because of our noble intentions everything will be okay. In fact, there are no promises of fruition at all. Instead, we are encouraged to simply look at joy and sorrow, at laughing and crying, at hoping and fearing, at all that lives and dies. We learn that what truly heals is gratitude and tenderness.
Groovy wishes to everyone for their New Year!
Carrying me through this year has been a tiny book hidden in my purse - the Pocket Pema Chodron. With over 100 short teachings by Chodron, a Buddhist nun, I read about patience, living with no agenda, moving beyond self-protection, overcoming self-deception and more. I'm not here to tell you I have reached any higher plane, just that I've been reading:).
No matter the difficulties, I'm thankful for a lot too. For true friends (you know who you are), family and times spent with you.
Letting go of people and things that aren't part of a better new year is what I hope to do for myself. Trimming the fat - in more ways than one!
I hope everyone I care about sees a new year that lets you fulfill all your wishes...and find peace of mind for yourself. I'll just share with you one of my favorite passages from the book:
There are no promises...
When we are training in the art of peace, we are not given any promises that because of our noble intentions everything will be okay. In fact, there are no promises of fruition at all. Instead, we are encouraged to simply look at joy and sorrow, at laughing and crying, at hoping and fearing, at all that lives and dies. We learn that what truly heals is gratitude and tenderness.
Groovy wishes to everyone for their New Year!
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