oh you best believe i am going to use the shit out of that stuff.


**********update***********

through the blessing of sitemeter, i have found this entry which quotes as follows:

"the daydreaming of a monastic life has been coming more and more lately, and i am not sure what to make of it, because i don't have a tradition to practice, and i don't honestly believe that i am being called. i don't know what it would mean to be called anyway, but people say "you know", and i don't "know".

so i guess that settles that.

but i have this thing in me that i have yet to figure out or even look at with close eyes, and it embarrasses me, and confuses me and though the embarrassment isn't really shame it is a kind of foolish feeling. because i cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to reconcile my feelings about god and the rest of everything else in my life. particularly my thinking life. and it's not to do with being cut off from my feelings, my god, if i was more immersed in them i don't know what i would do. that i don't talk about them with many people, or with great ease to those i do, does not mean i am cut off from them. rather, this longing does not make sense in the context of my emotional landscape, either.

none of this is coherent, i know, but it's mornings like these that i am thankful, and that always brings up this longing.

i just wish it were more clear to me, that it wasn't so opaque. it's like trying to see the a portrait made of spiderweb fractures in a perfect piece of glass that is the window on a very busy street. there is the faintest impression of a face, you can see what may be the lines of the corner of the mouth, or the crows feet at the edge of a perfect eye, but you can't really make out the whole.

so it's the frustration of half-formed beauty, of listening to a lover while asleep, of driving on a long open road with no hills or scenery to discern how close you are to its end.

it's a kind of floating, on open sea. with the brightest sun washing out everything, my eyes, my mouth, my fingertips, my voice, even my name.

i keep believing that when i am finally swallowed by the sunshine drenched sea there will be answers given and an embracing because i have waited so long.

but i know there is no real reason for me to believe it."

my god. what shame i feel at the entries i have written in the last 6 months or so. what happened to my honesty? what happened to my feelings? have i let the wrong people know about this diary so i am now afraid to write from inside?

i know some people ditch their diaries and start a new one when this happens. but i refuse. i cannot. i will not let the worry of hurting others keep me from being real.

yes, of course, i know that the internet is "real." yes i know that some people look down on the writing of a public internet diary as some sort of highly vain/self-centered/sick way of expression.

and maybe it is.

but you know what? i don't care.

before, i never let the worry of hurting someone keep me from writing in here. and i found great solace in detailing my thoughts here, whether you read it or not. maybe no one will read it. that doesn't matter.

what matters to me is that i am not being real anymore, even here. and i have things to say.

even though i am afraid, i have things to say.

so, if you are someone who does not want to know what i really think about you, do not read. or read and take me to task, i don't care.

at least i'll be able to look you in the eye and say "yes. that's what i really think. i am sorry you didn't listen before, but this is what i really think. i have a heart and mind, i have an inside that has depth that you could never know, because you haven't the eyes to see. but i will not shy away anymore for fear of hurting you. and know that if i don't talk to you about it first it is because you have set it up that way, as i always strive for personal contact when possible above all others. but if i try and am ignored, you are a fool to believe i will not find a way to extract the hurt and frustration from me. because in my world, your feelings are not more important than mine. they can't be. here, my feelings are the ones that count. it is the only place, but it is mine."

so if you don't like or understand the fact that i struggle, daily, with god, that is too bad. if you cannot listen to feelings of frustration and confusion, i'm not sorry.

if there is no other place, this place is mine. and i'll not censor myself anymore.

i don't want to.


my last update, i swear.

it is now 2am.

one time, he promised me he would take me to europe, show me his favorite quiet places in paris, show me the cathedrals where he wrote letters home. discover italy with me.

has anyone ever promised you that?

it didn't happen, but i think he told the truth. he would have, if he could.

i still dream about cold marble steps with him.

gothic cathedrals and old hymns, too.