The Adventure Continues

There are some places that I never anticipated finding myself in. Cleveland, Ohio is one of them. But for all it's more-or-less-flatness, midwest-ness and general seediness, it hasn't been a bad place to be for a few days. There's a big park that I can walk into that stretches for miles, and the weather has been kind. And after the busy months I've had recently, this is all I need.

For the first time ever, I left Europa before the end of a shipyard. It was weird, it didn't feel right leaving her in pieces, and everyone getting ready for the last-week scramble to the finish. I'll be coming back to her, but it felt like a somber farewell on that cloudy quiet Sunday morning.

The next part of my adventure starts tomorrow on Pride of Baltimore II. We'll be sailing out of Lake Eerie and down the coast to Maryland to wrap up her sailing season. The opportunity came unexpectedly but I'm looking forward to the challenge and the change.  

February Cleaning

I cleaned out my closet this weekend. Now that doesn't sound exciting, but considering I've been at sea for three months and some of the boxes hadn't been opened in close to three years, it was interesting. I found all sorts of things, a lot of which I was curious as to why I had kept. Some things were sentimental favours that just aren't part of my life anymore and there were quite a few clothes that I will never wear. There have been many changes happening since I went to sea, emotionally, relationally, work-wise, and I realized as I cleaned my closet that it's also important to clean other areas of one's life as well. If you don't get rid of the old stuff, there isn't going to be room for the new things. Patterns, reactions, and baggage from your past will come back to bite you if you keep carrying it with you and you don't pull it out, examine it and decide what to do with it. When things are painful or difficult, we bury them, put them in a box in the back of the closet, and hope time will heal them. Time helps with the initial pang, but you get to a point where you have to deal with whatever it is and move on. Don't let the past define the future!

A Sailor Home in Winter

I was actually looking forward to this. And don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed it. The last few months on Europa I was occasionally caught up in daydreams of redwood forests and foggy mornings. And having had three summers in a row, I was kind of anticipating the rainy days and green slushy trails. What I didn't anticipate was the reality of winter, and I had forgotten why I had been so motivated to escape it when I left California last year.

I don't really mind the wet, and the cold is not bad either (I can't say it's truly "cold" in Santa Cruz, ever) but the dark, short days... they drive me crazy. Not to mention the sailing season is over, and my seafaring colleagues are hunkering down for the slow months. Not much work. Dark wet mornings making me wonder what I am doing with my life. I'm sure I'll figure it out. Someday. There has to be a way to enjoy this, and I'm sure I'll get there, it's just...an adjustment.

Weather's looking great in Australia.

Adventures in Retail

Working at Boat, Bath & Beyond (to maintain decency, even though most know who I'm talking about, and if you don't then it's just as well) sometimes just cooks your little grey cells like scrambled eggs. The strain between pleasing the customer and making the company money or just following company protocol is often quite significant. And then sometimes you just get those customers who think they know everything, like the frustrated man who nearly screamed at me the other day, "Doesn't anybody here know anything?!" And the little red dragon on my shoulder said quite complacently, "Well, if YOU knew anything you wouldn't be asking that, now would you?" It all must be taken with a sense of humor and the foreknowledge that the ugly moments will pass, regardless. And that sense of humor goes a long way, especially on those long days that are just slow and we have to get creative.

Like that one day the minutes were just creeping by and my coworker Steve and I were bored to death. We'd done everything possible and more, and there was simply nothing more to be done without customers.

To be continued, because I am typing this on an iPhone at the boat show and I'm tired of the stupid touchscreen because I'm not used to it. Autocorrect is quite nice though because its doing a pretty good job frisking my typing mistakes. I said Pretty Food. Food. Good. Crap.
...
Actually, come to think about it, at the start it wasn't so dead. It was really busy. The printer was out of paper again. I really didn't have time for this as the phone was ringing off the hook and three new customers came in. I ran to the back room for new paper. I just needed these shipment forms to print so I could finish filing the orders form yesterday. Certain people in the backroom often left it like hurricane Sandy matched with writer's block; receipts and forms floating amongst FedEx boxes and water pump rebuild kits.

My coworker Steve was helping an ornery crusty fisherman order some parts we didn't have in the store ("you guys never have the right sizes"), and I slipped by to shove some paper into the printer. The printer made a happy sound and started spitting pages as the crusty fisherman clumped out the door in his brown boots covered in old fish scales. We meet some characters for sure.

"What's up, Krista?" Steve asked as I flipped through the pages.
     "Oh, just shipment forms.... and Sea dragons?" I had come across a picture of the cute kelpy creature from AustralianAnimalsWeekly.com.
"Maybe it's Fred's?" he smirked.
     "I have no idea."
"Are those real?"
     I laughed, "Of course they are!"
Steve looked intently at the photo."He looks happy."
     "Yeah... Hey, the boss isn't working today, is she?"
"Nope, I'm bored... Let's switch name tags again!"

Let me tell you, fish have it easy.

Blue

I'm glad the ocean's my element. It's about 70% of the planet. And understanding her is the work of a lifetime, and not dull work neither. How she moves, the winds and currents and tides, it's simply fascinating. I've been reading Heavy Weather Sailing by Coles and it's deepening my respect for the ocean, as well as my appreciation for weather charts and the amount of knowledge we have at our disposal. His accounts of rough passages are greatly insightful into how weather systems work, and general ocean movement.

There was a fantastic sunset this evening that filled everything, reflecting pinks, oranges and purples off of anything, grey silhouettes of seabirds transiting the sky, the flash of the lighthouse and the sad moan of the mile buoy in the distance. The intensity of it overwhelmed me as I stood in what was perhaps a subconscious state. It didn't matter if I were happy or sad, heartbroken or hopeful, tired or fresh. There was only the Sunset, and the Ocean. Lines from a song floated in front of me,

Mother, mother Ocean

I have heard you call

I've wanted to sail upon your waters

Since I was three feet tall

You've seen it all

You've seen it all...

I don't know why I'm so interconnected with the ocean, but I'm thankful for it. There's a mysterious aspect to her that I don't understand, but perhaps one isn't supposed to. Perhaps it's the force that produces the allure that makes us want to know her and sail her. But she's home, and when things are bad, she can always swallow my problems and drown my tears. And when things are good, she can send me forward towards the horizon believing in dreams.

The Creation of Art

It is said broken people make the best art. Perhaps because they understand it the best. After all, art is an expression of humanity that cannot be communicated any other way, and brokenness is only a concept to describe what we barely understand. It is also said we must be broken before we can be renewed.

In retrospect, "good" experiences that make you "happy," give you a natural high, exhilarate your feelings don't necessarily increase your productivity or creativity. When things are good, when you think you've found the best thing in life thus far, what more is there to consider? When the world's at your feet and you think you can see the future, things become so much more expressable - easy to relate. We've all been there, in love, or just on top of the world, like that 60's pop song, or 90's pop song, or that new one... the one with all the same chords.

But when things are hard, when you've hit the rocks and the last splinter has been ground away by the sand, when you're just a piece of glass on the beach being worn away by sun and sea, that is advancement. A piece of seaglass doesn't become smooth from being on a shelf somewhere in someone's bedroom, it's from months, years of turmoil and chaos, storms and tides. It's the hard times that make the beauty shine through. And though there may be the same beauty at the heart of it, it is hardly the same piece that came from the glass blower's. From the outside you wouldn't know.

In some respects, it's possible that is what art must go through before it really becomes worthwhile. Or even gets created. I'm no expert, but there seems an initiation process of sorts before things become great, or great ideas are born. Lately I've been thinking about Dickens and Beethoven. Alot about composing, just the process of creating something. Like the prelude, or the novel.

I'm only stewing ideas. Merely because I'd never written songs before, and now I have. Maybe that's really typical. I don't know. I'd like to think of playing it someday, maybe it being popular in underground circles, in a small way.. and somehow one person will know it was written for them.

Philosophy of Rain

This weather has put me in a contemplative state. Or maybe it was walking into the closet door the other day that threw my thoughts around a bit. There's an irony to our best-laid plans of what we will make ourselves to be, our plans of success and fulfillment, and then the reality of being a puny speck on a planet in a corner of the universe.

I wonder how much the color of my room affects me. It's pink. I wouldn't have painted it pink, I probably would have made it blue. If it were blue, I wonder how much lonelier it would make me feel. Because I like blue, but it's apparently a lonely color.

Some great poetical lines from a Teitur song:

There comes a time

When you must stay in the moment

Though your heart is bleeding

And there comes a time

When you must walk away

Though your heart's still beating...

All my mistakes have become masterpieces.  

Note Excerpts from Recent Travels in Europe

Upon Arrival in Munich...
    Wandered around the Hauptbahnhof for a while looking for Tram16. Found the right stop, then Tram17 came by. I was wondering if it would get me to the same place when a guy who'd been standing nearby said, "After you. Yes, this goes to The Tent; I live there." And that was how I met Oskar, a longhaired young man from Spain. He has a summer job working at a Biergarten, and gave me some interesting info. He said Oktoberfest actually is in September, from about 15.9 - 27.9 so I may miss it. He also said it's not that special and it's very expensive (10euro for a pint as opposed to 7 for a liter). Unfortunately after checking in and buying some pasta for dinner, I got pulled into a long philosophical/theological discussion with some dude from Santa Barbara, so I wasn't able to talk further with Oskar. He was very helpful though.

Radstadt...
    Amazing hike today. I think the big difference in the forests here is there aren't any medium-sized bushes. There are some small ground foliage like blueberries and ferns, and then there are the trees; so you can actually see alot more than the forests in California. Top of the mountain was incredible; the whole town spread below, two glaciers within sight, tons of ski resorts and amazing mountains and cliffs everywhere. Spaetzel und Kaese is really yum.

Daytrip to Venice...
    Left the house at 5am and started the 3-1/2 hour drive to Jesolo, Italy. I slept most of the way to Udine. In Italy, the countryside drastically changed though. It flattened out and there were large fields of corn and grapes (vinyards) and ancient tumble-down brick houses. The architecture took on a major change as well, light tile roofs, older buildings had more of a rennaisance look than gothic. And things were generally in a state of disrepair. Rather like an older, wealthier Mexico.
   We arrived in Jesolo, the main point from which ferries leave for Venice. It was crowded and chaotic, but Peter speaks some Italian, so he was able to help us get on the right ferry. Then began our wanderings in Venice.
    We started in San Zaccaria, on the border between the San Marco and Castello quarters. The skinniness and romanticness of the streets, alleys and canals was overwhelming. And the buildings were astonishing. Architecture from centuries over, cute shutters, arched doorways and incredible sculptures amazed me.
    There were a lot of people though, and most of the city stank. Billions of tiny shops, bakeries and cafes, a lot of them selling similar things; bags, purses, theatrical masks, scarves, clothing, coffee, glasswork, leather shoes...
    We passed one super fancy shoe and purse shop, on a corner enclosed in glass. There were a husband and wife, the husband was trying on shoes, and the shop clerk helping them, the only one in the store, was wearing a tuxedo. Haha.
    Stopped at a cafe for coffee, and in Venice, Italy, a place known for good coffee, I had the worst cup of my life, ironically. I ordered a "cafe corretto," there being a large menu and not knowing what to try. It was a shot of espresso with a shot of grappe. Disgusting. It didn't have enough coffee to really be a "coffee," but there was just enough coffee flavour for it to not be a shot. Gross. Most definitely something I will never forget.
    On the exciting ride home in the dumping rain, we went over a mountain pass. The rain turned to snow and it was 1degree celcius. Near the top, Viola and I got out and ran around barefoot throwing snowballs for a few minutes. The way down the mountain was trickier because the car still has the summer tires. Got home to find that we had locked ourselves out of the house, which was another adventure altogether.

A Day in Munich...
    The couple who sat next to me on the train helped me get the right tram to Marienplatz, and thus began my adventure in Munich. I saw a lot, much of which I forget what the building or story was.
    Except Asamkirche. When I saw that, I realized in full what Fred meant when he talked about the Baroque style. Embellishments, over-the-top gold leaf, sculptures in every imaginable location... The church was built by the Asam brothers (I forget exactly when) because they vowed to build a church if God saved them from a terrible shipwreck.
    At about four I was in the garden by Max-Josephplatz and it really began to dump rain. Sitting in the gazebo, I came up with a brilliant plan to keep both my umbrella-less self and my backpack dry [at this point I had everything for 2weeks of my trip with me]. I draped my coat over my pack and the hood fit perfectly over my head, accomplishing my goal and creating a ridiculous hunchback at the same time. Happily, living in Santa Cruz has taught me not to worry about outward appearances, and I continued my sightseeing in the direction of the Hauptbanhof. Had a little difficulty find the actual station... for about half an hour... on the same block...

Vienna...
    I got up early to get standing room at mass, where the Vienna Boys Choir and the Vienna Phil were playing Schubert's Mass in Gminor. That was how I met Amber, who was staying at the same hostel. We got brunch together afterwards at cafe Ruedigerhof and shared single-traveller-stories. She left today unfortunately, but it was a very enjoyable morning. The waiter was funny, he seemed the sort of man more suited to construction than waiting on tables. He plunked our coffee and food down disinterestedly and that was the last we saw of him until we walked up to the bar an hour later to pay. The stereotype for the Viennese waiter is quite humorous.

London...
    After reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower, or actually halfway through, I started wondering if I myself am a wallflower [...] I'm having some Bulmer's apple cider, which is quite good and reminds me of Fantastic Mr Fox which makes me smile and feel fuzzy inside. It's been entertaining to legally buy and consume alcohol, but also I've learned how to simply enjoy a beer or drink in moderation, something I knew I should learn after [...] Also all this writing is helping me, I can feel it working through my system, all the months bottled up now to come spewing out of my pen at last. Sometimes I just forget to write. Or I'm afraid to. Maybe I am just like the wallflower.

Leaving London...
    I got to Canada Water station at 01:35 like the stationmaster told me to... and waited...and waited. There was no bus. There were a couple other people standing around, so I asked this guy if he was waiting for the bus also. He wasn't and he said I wouldn't be catching the bus at this time of night, but inquired as to where I was going. Then he asked, "Wait, are you American?"
-"Yes."
"What state?"
-"California."
"REALLY?! Are you from LA???"
-"No, I'm closer to San Francisco actually."
"Oh... Well, I do have one American friend, and for his sake I will help you get to Stratford."
    One of his friends had just got in from Portugal, so they were waiting for a cab to get them to the flat she was staying in, and then he was going home, which was quite near to Stratford. The cab was quite late, and it seemed to take forever to get to the apartment. After his friend was situated and he's gotten a jacket (poor guy was freezing at the station in a t-shirt), we headed towards the Stratford part of town, which is East London. The cab driver turned out to be an old neighbor of his fathers, and consequently he said we didn't need to pay him. I think they were speaking Portugese, but I'm not sure. The cab dropped us off at a bus centre, and the real race against time began.
    We almost got on the wrong bus, and it was lucky he was with me because I wouldn't have known the difference if I were told it was the right one on my own. We found the right bus, which dropped us off near his flat.
    He said we had 15minutes to get to the bus stop that would get me to the station, so we alternated between running and walking, and I think it must've been over a mile altogether.
    He said the three other American girls he had met in the past had all been on a European trip to get over their breakups, and I had to disappoint him in saying that wasn't the reason I'd gone. He said it was very strange, 2 would be a coincidence, but 3 was starting a statistic.
   As we got closer to the bus stop I thanked him heartily for helping me, because honestly I wouldn't have known what to do otherwise and I didn't even have a phone to call a cab. He said it was no problem.
    I had to run the last block and around the corner to make sure I hadn't missed the bus, which thankfully I hadn't. As the bus pulled up, I dug through my bag and gave him a package of Manner (Austrian cookies). He asked if I could find the rest of the way myself, and I said I was confident I could. He said goodbye and good luck, I thanked him again and that was the last I saw of him.
    I got off at the stop for the main station, but to my consternation I had no idea where I was. Again, a divine intervention I believe, there was a girl with a suitcase and I followed her through the empty shopping mall, and when we came out the other side we were at the station.
    The bus I caught to the airport was late, and when I got through security there was no information for my flight. There were mobs of people and it was awful and crowded, worse than airports normally are it seemed. Perhaps because it was nearly 4am.
    There being no gate information, I bought some groceries which took probably about 15minutes. Then I checked the screen again and it said final call for my flight! I ran as best I could, and there was a horrible mess of slow people in the hallway to the gates, and guess what - there was a terribly long line at the gate. Horrid. Bloody fishpaste.
    Anyhow, I got to the gate and the girl there was simply cruel. First she said I had to put my handbag inside my luggage "because, madam, you are only allowed one bag only." So I crammed, reorganized, smashed my crackers and got it all to fit. I started walking, but she said "Oh, now you have to fit it in that grid" By this time I was the last person, and I frustratedly jammed the thing in and couldn't get it back out. There was a nice man who kindly helped me pry it out, and then I ran to the plane.
    Of course I was the last person, so everything was packed. Then they made me move. "Excuse me miss, you can't sit there, evne though the rest of the plane is packed and the girl at the gate made a mess of your luggage and made you last, and you're about to cry." When I finally got a seat - next to a window ironically - I did cry. I just wanted to go home and forget this stupid airline and these idiot snobs and all the crap.
   I arrived in Salzburg, it felt like home, and immediately got a bus from the airport to Mirabell Gardens, and took a nap. I love that place.

Graz...
    Riding our bikes to church, albeit late, was amazing. The fresh air of the morning, the bright fall colours everywhere, the incredible Austrian architecture... a great experience.
   On the crowded buss to the Hauptbahnhof there was this cute little boy in the stroller I was standing next to. He was probably about a year old, and all smiles. Being the bad influence that I am, I stuck my tongue out and made silly faces, and he stuck his tongue back at me whilst grinning. Then it stayed there, and he kept sticking his tongue out at me delightedly, and his poor mother noticed, and tried to push it back in with her finger, all in vain of course. Hilarious.   

Deja Vu in Vienna

Vienna likes to sleep in. At least most of the cafes I walked past this morning, perhaps it's only an american thing to go for coffee before ten. I did find this incredible whole grain/organic bakery on Mariahilferstrasse, though. Really great.

It is a humongeous city. Well, I suppose it is the captitol. The tall building and skinny streets remind me of San Francisco. It is an ancient city, but there is an energy to it and a youthful vibrancy to its artistic scene. I am sitting in front of Cafe Sperl in a small yard with a few flowerbeds along a moving street. The "Oma" Kaffee I ordered was very good, I wonder what it was exactly.

This reminds me of a story I started writing about two people with no names. The man was a traveller, and in the opening paragraph he is sitting on a bench contemplating the "Tasse von Himmel" he had had in Vienna. Or somewhere in Austria. Ironic. Perhaps this was one of my dreams I didn't realise, but now I'm living it. Having an amazing cup of coffee in the center of Vienna and writing a few notes down. Quite artistic and a bit on the romantic side. Oh well, as I once said to a friend, "I'm a sailor, a musician, a writer and an artist; I think I'm allowed to be romantic."

On one hand it's a little difficult to be traveling by myself. On the other, I feel a little more relaxed and the days lie before me. I can see what I want in whatever order, or even wander around in circles if I wish. I can follow in the footsteps of Fatty Goodlander and write for four hours a day, or sit and contemplate Viennese architecture. But ultimately, things are much more worthwhile when you have someone to share them with. There isn't anyone to tast this coffee and help me try to distinguish the ingredients to an OmaKaffee, or remark on the day's events. However, my pen is always here and he's currently quite willing to contribute to this experience.

Now it is four minutes past ten and Vienna seems to be stretching her arms and yawning.

A Moment of Peace

Through all this chaos in life, everything that could possibly go wrong going wrong, every intention moving backwards, every smile only superficial, every spare thought hoping the day will be over. In the midst there has been born a moment of peace, a second to think and reflect, an idea to be realized. The world can go on, the daily grist will keep being ground, the pace continually set up a notch. But life, true life is eternal and all else are merely the details. Time is relative; our paths move in harmonic, tangent, beautiful lines like streaks of daylight weaving through the ocean. Whatever is meant to be will be, and if in His will, all will work together for good, no matter the doubts or the impossibilities. We only see a facet of reality; our minds cannot encompass the fullness of Truth on their own. Feelings are perhaps also relative, but deep knowledge within the heart, if the heart has been cleansed in the fullness of God's truth, is something of one's spirit and should not be ignored. There is something beyond what we may intend to do with our time and our earthly lives; every mishap, every turn that we didn't mean to take, every place we never imagined we would come to is part of the path for a reason. Finding the reason is not the object here, though. The reason often does not become apparent until afterwards, or perhaps never in this part of the journey. Nothing is done in vain, and we are finite in our logic. We must trust in divine grace and guidance for many things, and simply keep living, fighting the fight and running the race.

I believed I must have run out of compassion, and patience. I thought I was through and there was no way I could endure the situation any longer other than to extricate myself. But something struck me from behind your eyes and I realised that whether things went my way or not, the connection was meant to be there and it was not my place to sever it. The form of connection may change, but the contact itself will not end yet. It cannot be forced into some predetermined form that others can identify and understand, it is its own and I must let it take its course. My feelings I can release, and my want to control it, but the connection will go on the way it was meant to be, to fulfill its original purpose. I don't know what that purpose is, or what it could mean on a future day, but someone greater than myself is guiding it and so I relinquish my responsibility, and I find my given freedom in my own course through the infinite galaxies of time and space.     

A Broken Dream Revisited

It was a connection I didn't know I still had. It had been made so long ago, in a formative stage of my youth, another life it feels like. Perhaps she was the first vessel I turned my eyes upon after the notion of having my own boat had entered my head.

At my age then, she seemed a nicely sized boat, her twenty-five feet encompassing all the space I could possibly need. She was glorious with her forest green hull polished glassy, nifty brass portholes, varnished teak and mahogany. No engine, but she didn't need one, oh no. Norm took her out regularly and skillfully brought her back in under sail every time. True, she was all wood, but she had been well kept by a man who loved her. She was beautiful with a name to reflect it. Adagio. She had a character all her own, I talked to her sometimes as I paused in my dock wanderings. She was small and cute, but strong and well built. I dreamed about her and she filled me with ideas and ambition.

Some time went by. I returned to Moss Landing and found that Norm was no longer able to keep Adagio, she'd been given to the wooden boat lady to sit with two unfinished projects. Remembering my connection, I asked about her. It was a price far beyond me, something I couldn't be prepared for. So I let her go, I let her stay and I moved on in life. I went to school and experimented with different areas of interest, I suppose I developed my mind. Time passed anyways. Adagio languished by herself and became a neglected derelict. I forgot about my dream, only the passing fancy of a child.

But I was wrong. A piece of my heart stayed somewhere amongst the green paint and dark mahogany. Perhaps first inspirations stay with you like that. She did, at any rate. I realised that as I looked at two pieces in the scrap yard yesterday, a little bow piece and a little stern piece. Old paint on them, still cute and dainty, traces of her lines in them yet. Years after that first notion, boats make up most of my life and a day hardly goes by without a trip to the harbor or the smell of teak and varnish. And little Adagio is gone without the breath of new life I dreamed of giving her, the love and care that she deserved, the sailing she longed to have. She was my first dream, she owned a corner of my heart, she gave me inspiration. I didn't realise all she was to me, how influential she was, how she impacted my life. And now she is gone.

A Calm in the Unknown

It is possible to have peace when the future seems uncertain. Not that I've ever seriously doubted the reality of it, but when things are going how they "should" be according to our miniscule selves the security factor overtakes what the true peace is all about. Trusting in His greater plan for me, and that this new direction is the right one, the inevitable one, is what really brings me peace. Yeah, a lot of things in my life are up in the air or unknown at the moment, but they'll work out and things will get better, and no matter what happens or what mistakes I make in the future He will always accept me for who I am and set me back on my feet. I don't think I will ever come to understand true love completely, but I see facets of it often and if I can just reflect the Father's unconditional love, then everything will fall into place. Because the most important thing is to love Him with all your heart, mind and soul, and love your neighbor (basically everyone). People can talk about "love," but this love is the real true Love that will last for eternity.

Danke!

Today, I just have thankfulness in my heart. The people I've been allowed to meet, befriend, work with, live with... It's incredible, and I don't deserve the point I have reached. So if you're out there, thank you!

Some Thoughts from Rockwell Kent

"Only the voyager perceives the poignant loveliness of life, for he alone has tasted of its contrasts. He has experienced the immense and wild expansion of the spirit outward bound, and the contracted heartburn of the homecoming. He has explored the two infinities - the external universe - and himself."

...

"What forces men on to the deliberate quest of miseries and danger? Are they remote yet deeply rooted habits of a race which once delighted in adventure for the gain it held, that still assert themselves against the very soul's desire for peace and the mind's clear understanding of the paths that lead there? Is it a far-visioned life-force maintaining itself against the disintegrating allurements of ease, a militant expression of the subconscious will that's cognizant of individual weakness, an assertion in contraries of the complex of inferiority? Is bravery the cloak of cowardice?" 

It is a bit wordy, I know, but when you get through it it's really a great piece of work. I find it quite interesting, the whole idea of our inherent desire for comfort and peace but also our thirst for adventure and everything that could cause discomfort and disrupt whatever peace there is. Humans are contradictory beings. Sometimes you'll be out in the cold and wet, and all you want is to be dry and wrapped in a blanket in front of a fireplace, and you ask yourself "why am I out here? How did I let myself be fooled into thinking this was a good idea?!" But eventually you pull through, and after you are wrapped up in your blanket, you start to think "hey, that wasn't a bad idea... It makes this blanket worth so much more." It definitely gives value to things that otherwise would be commonplace. Appreciation comes from perspective, so if you change yours often, I believe you will appreciate more things in the long run. 

Something Akin to Joy

I think Joy is a place; that distinguishes it from Happiness which I think is a feeling. I've been feeling a lot of happiness lately, but I believe there is a piece of joy in there as well. There is peace in many things, and I have had a few clear thoughts recently. Not thoughts that should be posted here, but they were clear nonetheless. I think it is a good start to the year, and if I get half as many weeks that are this amazing in the rest of the year then I shall count myself lucky indeed.  

Breathed In, Breathed Out...

There is a strange sort of peace floating over everything. I swear it's almost visible. Cleared the dissonance, and I can move on. There was much less to deal with than originally expected, but it is good now that it's done, nonetheless. Now as I view the restructuring (or destructuring?) of my life, it seems the possibilities are endless. It was good advice.

On the Eve

Tomorrow cannot come soon enough. Nor can it be far enough away. There is fear and anxiety, yet there is also anticipation. There will be a change tomorrow, and I am determined it shall be for the better. For the best of all concerned. It may not seem apparent at first, but I know inside that it is the inevitable answer, that it was meant to be this way. There is a grinding against the natural grain and it needs to be fixed. I only pray my action is soon enough and strong enough to create the required effect and put to right everything that has gone askew. Calculations and theories can only go so far before you must abandon them in the speed of events, and replace them with gut reactions and the leading of your heart. This particular situation involved no calculations or theories, but I thought I may as well be thorough in my statement.
Tomorrow is my nemesis, but it will hopefully be a new beginning by the time it has passed.  

Like Jimmy Says It

There has been much happening lately, and not enough time or creativity to write it down, or use it metaphorically to type into a post. I feel like I don't have enough time to think when an event hits me, and I'm still trying to react or counterbalance it, or figure it into an equation when the next one comes rolling in. Rather like those huge long sets when the spring swell hits, and you get stuck in the whitewater.

Basically, I'm trying to take everything with a grain of salt and just breathe. Watching life flick by is rather interesting when it's going too fast to make major course changes. It is like Jimmy Buffett says in that one song, "Breathe in, breathe out, move on..." Precisely like that, it's a nice feeling. Things will settle out, and it'll be good. It's incredibly good at the moment; I've been pleasantly surprised.

From Belle & Sebastian

You're my picture on the wall
You're my vision in the hall
You're the one I'm talking to
When I get in from my work
You are my girl, and you don't even know it
I am living out the life of a poet
I am the jester in the ancient court
You're the funny little frog in my throat

I had a conversation with you at night
It's a little one sided but that's all right
I tell you in the kitchen about my day
You sit on the bed in the dark, changing places
With the ghost that was there before you came
You've come to save my life again

Ninety-one

I'm not generally a dark person. I like being introspective, but I don't usually lose hope in life. However, I've always had an interest in music that gravitates towards that view. People say it affects you eventually and I wonder if that is true. In some ways, it is the most honest type of music in relation to humanity. It reflects our suffering, our anger, our imperfections... It outlines our need for something greater than ourselves.

As an ending aside, distorted cello is the bomb.