It's been awhile and it seems like I'm constantly writing something in my head, or jotting a note to say oo that's important, or I should talk about this, I should put up a picture of that. But I'm still hung up on the moose bit.
Anyways, I digress. So life has been good. It's been fulfilling and satisfying in most realms, save except for the insane amount of tiredness. Kiki, boyfriend and another friend are off to see the Da Vinci Code tonight, and while I wanted to go, I couldn't handle the idea of a late night. I came home and puttered in my soon-to-be flower beds. I've never had flower gardens to putter in before and I'm thinking that I'm going to enjoy it immensely.
I have a lot on my brain tonight, wondering about work and how it's going to go. I start with a new kid tomorrow. He's from Africa and in middle school where cool is cool and the social dichotemy makes you or breaks you. However, the striking difference is that he's not speaking the mainstream language and he's had four brothers die in war. His last brother died on top of him to save him. It's startling how immediately your perspective changes on all those silly little hangups that seemed to once rule your day.
When I was a kid my dad was a baptist preacher. He sang. He prayed. He preached. On my own spiritual journey of mountain tops and valleys, I was always struck by being compared to a clay pot... made from the earth to help carry the earth; immeasurable strength while under pressure, yet so fragile in careless hands, and always a thing of beauty.
"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down but not destroyed..." (2 Cor 4:7-9)
I don't know what it all means, I thought I did once upone a time, and I still have the foundations down pat... and I seem to have worse spiritual days than good ones. I get frustrated with righteousness and useless shit that only seems to succeed in creating a fog to obscure what's really important. But I can't discern if it comes from within me or from around me. And I don't know what that verse means, other than this little boy that is on the cusp of growing into a man, stirred it in the part of me that remembers things that I once held very dear but now don't know where to put them. And I just can't shake that tomorrow I see a living, breathing beautiful clay pot that will teach me. Lofty. Life was given for life and how do you not stand in awe of that? The genesis of it all is hazy, the finale unimportant. This time, it really is about the journey because it is me who is the student posing as the teacher. I am the student to students who are less than half my age and three times my life experiences.
The sunsets here have been some of the most incredible I have ever seen. It would seem that I am entering a time where I have a need to stand still and soak them in. Because in the big pictures, I really do believe that love and life and sunsets hold the secrets of eternity.