lofty ambitions!!!

Subject to addition at any time, Things I want to do:

- Travel!

England

Ireland

Scotland

Wales

the Orkneys

Switzerland

France

Australia

New Zealand

Hawaii

Antarctica?

Italy (Tuscany and other places)

Anywhere else I want to go

- See

Heath-covered moorlands

Middle-Earth (aka all the places they filmed lotr in New Zealand)

Faery Hill in Aberfoyle, Scotland

Magical glades, wells, pools etc. according to ancient mythologies

Ancient places - castles, churches, monuments, anything and everything really really old!

"The frozen tundra"

Deserts

Rainforests!!!

Angel Falls

All sorts of different cultures and ways of life and etc

Everything wonderful

- Live

In a castle

In an apartment building in a charming village with quirky neighbors

In a house in the country near lots of woods and a pond

in Europe

- Dance (on tables?) with friends in an old pub like Pippin and Merry at the Green Dragon in LOTR - where the people are friendly and magical - in Ireland, England, or Scotland [footnote: not being drunk, though, of course] where people are playing the fiddle
- Experience traditions of different cultures and religions (Jewish wedding, Chinese New Year, Muslim holidays, Hindu festivals, Celtic celebrations, on and on)
- Meet my soulmate and be with him forever
- Go to Shakespeare & Co. bookstore
- Stay in Thornfield
- Play Lady Macbeth
- Throw a magnificent garden party
- Canoe through bayous
- Go on a sailing adventure on an authentic old-fashioned tallship
- Meet a swamp witch
- Find real faith and keep it
- Not be afraid anymore
- Maybe run my own portrait-taking business
- Find my own meaning of life
- Have countless adventures not only by myself, but with all of my friends. stay together forever.
- Write extraordinary and enduring books and have them published and a lot of people buy them and love them like I love I Capture the Castle
- Tell stories to children
- Take little kids on adventures
- Make life better for people
- Have articles and photographs printed in journals, newspapers, magazines
- Write about everywhere I go and take pictures of everything amazing
- Be free
- Always remain innocent, true, and wide-eyed in wonder

the web of athousandfold

I never knew that style
could be so versatile

as I never knew that dawn could lend its colors to the hearts of men
so thousandfold.
The diamond is a trinket of the day
compared to heart-string nebulae
born faraway and hidden; whereas the grainlike gem is just as precious as them, tied into the web of everything.
She courted a sailor who trilled to the moon-born waves and held to the highest of heights, swirling the swarthiest shanties. Whose heart for the taking?
I spy a million eyes and wonder at each holding his own nebula.

the sea.

Today I went to the sea. The sky had a lightened-storm look about it. First happened a lunch at my favorite restaurant, Captain Jack's (the funny thing is that it is a seafood place and I always have the best fettucine alfredo ever there). I breathed it all in and looked out over the salt marshes. It is, of course, too early yet for them to have taken in summer but they are still fascinating.

At the beach the waves were big and crashing. If one is ever feeling out-of-sorts, all that person needs is to stand on the shore-strand and be buffeted by the sea-winds and then all the bad is blown out of him until he only feels sea. It not being summer, the beach was mostly empty except for my parents and I and one other guy. We collected some rocks because sea rocks are special; it's more obvious that they could've come from any magical place in the world.

The roads by the sea are enchanted. We drove through skinny lanes of tiny beach cottages with sandy, sea-grassy yards. They looked mostly empty in this season. They are all colored as houses can only be colored by the sea. We drove and drove and I feasted my sight on all the magical things to see by the ocean - the cottages and docks and boats and water and the sea-grass and sand and salt marshes. The wind kept blowing quite a bit.

I remembered that sea-feel that is so unique. One can't find it anywhere else. Spending a day that feels like an era at the seashore, exploring the sandy landscape and being nourished by the salty tang of the wind. Captain Jack's and Ben and Jerry's and all the countless times my friends and family and I have had the most magical adventures. I love them all. And I know that those summer-times will never end as long as there is summer-time, and though I had been upset with thoughts of growing-up (signs pointing to the fact that someday we will have to), I knew that one can always still be as a child in the world when there are so many wonderful things beyond comprehension. Coming home so late, salty, wearing carefree beach garments: bathing suit, towel, sometimes sandals and sometimes barefoot, maybe a hat. When the stars are out and you have watched the sunset by the sea and been a child all day but feel wiser than the oldest sage. Being tired in that specific beach-tiredness that is full of gladness and salt and sea.

I would never give up my seashore for anything.

i held such a grudge against science

My mom's friend gave us a bunch of National Geographics. They were all out on the coffee-table and I looked through them and at their interesting cover-headlines.

Now, I had forgotten what National Geographic was like. So I eagerly opened one up to an article about early humans thinking it would be so interesting. But it was a little bit horrific - there were pictures of skulls everywhere and the most terrifying things. I only got through a little bit, thinking it would get better, but it didn't. I closed the magazine.

I picked up another one about the brain. It was possibly even more scary to me. There were more of those horrific and moribund pictures that I couldn't bare to look at - I couldn't bare to read the text on them. I turned the page. I saw some blood and my shocked gaze lept away. Turned the page. More horrifying text about trying to figure out how the brain worked and how early sixteenth-century scientists believed the soul was up in the brain and how the Egyptians thought the soul was in the heart and... and... and...

Slammed the magazine shut.

Now I was thinking, "Would that I had never opened a National Geographic!"

I stood waiting for the waves of panic to stop breaking over me. When I get like that, I feel like one more step and it would only take a good shove to send me over the edge into lunacy. It's not a good feeling. So I braced myself and held on to stop feeling panicky. I regretted reading some of those articles so much because prior, I had been having such a good, light-hearted, spiritual sort of day.

I like children's science books. They seem like a grandfatherly old storyteller gathering small children around, saying in the kindest voice imaginable, "Little children, what wonders the world holds for you!" But grown-up science publications make me all panicky because what if there is the brain instead of the soul? What if what if what if And how can it be that our early ancestors were so primitive and not like us? Re-enactments of them tearing apart animals make civilization today seem horrifiyingly like a joke that's not funny. Ohhh, panic. I hope it's not true. I know it's not true. I know modern civilization is not a joke. Maybe evolution makes sense becaue it is all part of some master plan and mystery. I mean, it would be pretty darn freaky if instead of everyone being born as babies, a middle-aged man just sprung out of the womb. Ew! So I guess civilization would have to be a baby before it could grow up or things would be wrong and out of harmony. That makes me feel better. And, and I know that there is a soul. But panic! And then I want to cry from that nauseating grip of fear!

I started thinking about what if we are descended from animals. I thought of my lovely little cat, Rosie. Suddenly I realized that she (as every evidence points) does not know English (or French). I wondered how that would be, not knowing language, and suddenly felt very afraid for house-animals who are always surrounded with talk that they don't understand! What must it be like? Panic. But then I remembered that when I am in an animal's presence, I don't understand their meow-language or barking-code so it's not that bad. Plus, they look happy enough and don't seem to mind.

See what I mean about one push and then lunacy?

Should I post this? Should I not post this? I'm really not this crazy. Usually. Just sometimes there is panic. I don't like it one bit. I have to get back that feeling that I get when everything is simple and spiritual. I must stand up in the face of the winds of science and realize that the universe is a miracle, science is just words that people use to describe an indescribable wonder. I really have to hold onto that.

good teachers are quite groovy, really.

I had a very nice conversation with my tenth-grade English teacher today. I loved tenth-grade English with fervor. (Unlike English this year - eeek. ^^;)

The reason I went over to talk to him during Global Studies in the library was because I had a couple of weeks ago given him a very much revised version of a storything that I handed in to him for an assignment in tenth-grade. So I went over and asked him if he had liked the storything. He said that it was very good and etc., he even said it was kind of Poe-like. I'm quite flattered by that comment because the man worships Poe. I told him I thought it was Hawthornish because I first wrote it when reading The Scarlet Letter for this teacher's class. He said yes, the sentence structure was Hawthornish (which is how I thought the story was so). And then we talked about it some more and he said that classes should teach more of that stuff - about writing lovely sorts of things and how academic things were too formulaic and whatnot. He said not everything in life is about having to prove something to someone else, like in a research paper. I heartily agree with that - that's why I kind of detest research papers. Unfortunately, as usual, I missed out on saying something terribly clever, but it was a nice bit of a chat anyhoo. And I was glad he said that thing about not everything being about having to prove oneself because sometimes I feared that I was wrong about that and would have to find it out painfully someday, but - maybe not.

about criticism

I started to write this post as a comment to my dear Mogget, as she has just made a post about getting criticism from someone. My comment turned into a self-reflection sort of bit and I decided not to put a friend's comment box through the agony of displaying my selfishness SO. I make a post. :)

*

If I got a criticism like that, I would be pratically burning with anger and indignation. Because I can't take criticism. :P My friend gets a criticism like that and uses it to make stuff better whereas some people (say me) would only huff off in a fury.

I don't like to criticize anybody's work in class. Some I don't see fault with so I don't criticize 'em! And others... Well I know what anger I get into when criticized so I don't want to criticize others and have them fly out at me. :P

Hm. Maybe I should be more "open to criticism" 'cause if something were bad I wouldn't want to go on thinking it good, but that's why I redo things so many times (seventeen rewrites, &c.), to make pieces surrounded by defenses against criticism. But really, having anything I did criticized sends me into such a fury that I feel like I can't even see straight and am a little trembly with the feeling of HOW COULD YOU?!, taking it all as such a personal insult to my pride. I get so very angry with the critic, and go on thinking overexaggerated and maybe-unreasonable things like, "Oh, aren't you so high and mighty, thinking that you just know everything?" in very sarcastic and bitter tones, etc.

But I must admit that I don't really want to change even though that's bad. It has always been so that I cannot take criticism. If criticized, I will be angry.

But criticize if you must because I don't despise being angry and even if I'm in such a rage against you one moment, a few hours (or days) later when things have calmed I might think about what you said and re-read something and think maybe you were a little bit right, or at least think about something that could be made better.

I am not reasonable.

the dream

I stole away last night. It is doubtless that you did not see it. I took a torch from my mind (its bearer) and wandered wilting down the lost and golden passageways; there was nothing in my mind – there was the world riding on a wind-breeze when I stepped out past the columns of hardened, frozen sediment.

I robbed the gems from the palace ivy and took them all away. There was a trap-door in my heart and I pulled a string and went down. There was a darkness wavering with a monster’s ligaments as I went down to cliff’s-edge and flew. I fell right through the sea.

There was a ship in my soul and it had fine transparent sails. I took them all and made myself a gown. On the gangplank I danced in the arms of a sailor as invisible as the jutting rocks. The ship flew itself right into one and we all went tumbling.

I fell translucently right through the air. I took the feathers that fell around me and made from them a key, and I locked my heart up deep in a well-spring somewhere, far away.

old subject of fear and getting over it

I want to write. But I don't know what to write about. Do I want to tackle something? Like: how formatted research papers are the bane of my [academic] existence? Orrr, how much I dislike English this year, which has been my favorite class in years previous? Do I want to whine or complain or rant? Oh, how I could. But I won't. Because it's whiney. No drama, dude. Man.

Do I want to talk about something else? Something that I think about a lot? Okay. I thought about this before but I forgot, and now I remember. I am going to write about my fears.
Fears. Neuroses. I'm a big one for them. Not that I like or support them, but I have always been quite afraid. It's been unfortunate and not much fun, but true.

I am terrified of death. I so vehemently admire those who have strong faith. Sometimes I am one of them - sometimes when I "wilfully suspend disbelief" and am open to beauty and goodness and all things seem right with the universe. It is easier than I expect, and sometimes it happens. I should try to make it happen more often. It is easiest in nature, and hardest in places with a lot of concrete.

I'm afraid of failure. Of not living up to my potential. Of wasting away in mediocrity. Of never getting to be extraordinary. I am terrified of never living my idealist's dreams.

I'm afraid of not getting recognition. Of doing something of which I am proud and having no one give me the slightest nod for it. Or of someone else getting credit for something that I did. I am a jealous girl, sometimes. I am jealous of achievers.

I'm terrified of global warming. I'm afraid that it would stop snowing in winter. I'm afraid of people who do not care about the environment and favor economic or industrial, technological progress. I'm afraid people wouldn't realize that they are living inside a miracle until it would be too late and they would have hurt everything. Notice that I used the conditional tense for all of that. That's compulsion for you... that is how terrified of that which I mentioned in this paragraph.

I'm afraid of having to lead. I'm afraid that the only way the world could be saved would be me leading people or taking on a decision-making position or rousing people's attention. I'm afraid that I will have to be a leader, and I do not want to be a leader. I do not want to be a follower. I want to "march in my own parade", solo, independent, with friends who are equals and not following or leading me.

I'm afraid of politics. I'm afraid of how inhuman things sometimes seem when things are all reduced to only intelluctualism and various theories.

I want to be an elf. (Don't laugh.) I want to have faith. I want to be bright. I want to be extraordinary. I want to be one of the inspiring ones. I want to be free from fear. I want to be independent. I want to fall in love. I want to have a marvellous life full of absolutely wonderful things, simple and grand. I want to live in a forest (enchanted), near a pond. The Walden-lifestyle similarities stop there because I want to live in a castle. Or a house of my own that is interestingly-colored with balconies and towers; it doesn't have to be huge. I want to never have to go to an office. I want to never have to get up early if I don't want to. I want to be unscheduled. I want to be spontaneous. I want to be free. I want to be alive. I want to love. I want to live. I want to write. I want to be published. I want to write something that will be remembered throughout the centuries...

I want for fear not to hold me back. I want to have endless revelations. I want the world to be new and young every day, except when the world wants to be old. I want new experiences, but constants like friends.

Maybe I want not to be afraid of being vulnerable. Like after I publish this, I will maybe think I should not have "poured my heart out" on a public blog. Maybe I will think that ohmygosh people are reading this, you idiot, why did you let them know that, what about your precious privacy and secrets that you keep? Maybe I will feel like I am not being hard-on-the-outside enough and keeping enough things hidden. Maybe that is because I do not have enough confidence. Maybe that is because I fear too much.

little dream of mine

I like to think that everything is a great mystery. Every pond holds a secret spirit, the guardian of reflections. Every leaf has a star inside. There is an unseen world just beyond a notion and a glimmer in the far reaches of somewhere. It is remarkable how few seem to know that they are alive in a universe full of magic and beautiful beyond reason and sometimes comprehension. After all, when one thinks about it, is not "physics" just another name for magic? So much is unknown.

I was asked the other day which religion I hold to. I truthfully replied "Christian" because Christianity is so very familiar to me that it is like an old friend whom I would never betray. But my most profound creed comes not from any religious law; rather, it a belief in the spirituality of mystery.

I am floored whenever I realize that everything is actually real. It seems impossible, but I love impossible. One can reach out literally at any moment and touch the impossible, see the impossible at work everywhere, and know that a magic pure is flowing throughout all things seen and unseen.

three cheers for crypticism

Whenever I hear of analysis and interpretation of a piece of writing, I make up imaginings that amuse me in an almost sarcastic sort of way. I imagine the critics and scholars being all wrong about what the piece really means. I envision the writer snickering and shaking his head as the scholars all announce in such important voices that they know what the writer's intentions were when really they are wrong! It goes for stories, novels, and poems. But poems I think are the best of all. So many of them are so cryptic that there can be an endless number of interpretations and no one knows which one is right unless the author says which one is right.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like if my ambition came true and I got to be a respected Writer. I think I would like to be a secretive one. Who writes things and sends them out into the world but chooses not to belong to the literati but instead to live just as independently from such groups/titlethings as before. I would be one of the snickering writers if somebody interpreted it wrong. I would like to be hard to interpret. I like to be cryptic. As cryptic as I can sometimes. I leave out prepositions, articles, conjunctions on purpose to be cryptic. And many other things. I like twisting metaphors into almost-riddles. Puzzles out of words. It makes me smile and snicker a little. I'm just having fun.

the black night's alchemy

storm-fit against the tide of madness
dual hopes interchange to redeem the black bird's flight.

like knives a-sounding, bittern sweetness
dreams of jovial twittering halls of the endless hallowed years and year-fasts,
flown above endless yearnings, has she, have i
been bending new, alone, with a hollow hoping fear.

wheelsky, try and try will i to lose my footing
(entrance to the world's footing
fall above the eager turning
of the curse and bellow's sky
trying, trying heavenward.)

entrance at the foot of hold-fast yell and yipper-bark for thaumaturgy,
none to give and less renewed or nine-times-lost, found like tell-tale - O!
honor and betrayal.
they in turn do duel together, and call to kings or witches seven:
as they scrape the raging bone-plea 'fore the hollow host of lost and painful gladness,
"turn the tide or turn to madness."

how Fear taught one to be unafraid

Conciousness is like a strange endeavor sometimes. I wake up and come into myself like a half-made butterfly newly entering its cocoon. I have slumbered 'till now. It is backwards and I am prone to a certain hysteria: jolt-upright, I do not know how I got here, and where I came from seems like a brilliant place, but I obviously do not want to leave here. Fright pulses through with a static-electric-surge way about it and it is all I can do to remember that I have a name, for I feel like I am losing my mind, like the moorings are strands of ragged rope that may even be illusory. I am holding on though my mind is erased. Cursing, I am jolt-upright. I do not understand how it can be, but in a moment afterward, I feel as though, rush-current and tingle inside every atom, I've seen something. I do not know quite what it was other than a stirring inside the universe, a life inside the unknown. But it is something.

*

Illusions seem to come in layered webbing, like conciousness. The illusions are dear friends of mine, and I know not what I speak. It is lovable and holy and impossible, like fairies and ghosts, which seem more real to me than matter. I know not impossibility, though I have made a foolish dancing-partner of doubt, and held it close although we danced in floating halls with life a-tremble and all blooming inside. I dreamt I dwelt in halls of doubtful sacrilege, and I awoke in fear of being alive. But then the fear somehow made me alive, for I no longer, for an instant, tarried in doubt but rather I came to embrace impossible things and the circle of reality turned roundabout reflected, and I knew then what I felt, and knew that it was as real and true as a raven's dreams are.