Monday, April 30, 2012

Thursday, April 26, 2012

else would a maiden's blush bepaint my cheek

In class today, our professor (bless his soul) tried to tell a group of college students that nudity on stage isn't as interesting as we think it is. My face was like this:

...

His point was that when a student was examining the musical Hair, she focused on the gender and social constructs that the show engaged with. "Most people can't get past the nudity," he said. Get past the nudity? As if we were somehow supposed to overcome our natural instinct of embarrassment in the presence of a human body. Since when did the naked human form stop being seductive and dangerous and sensual, and all things blush-worthy?

Our professor throughout the semester has regaled us with many details of the sexual dynamics of theatre, history, and society. And I think he enjoys making us uncomfortable, saying: "now now, we're all adults, we can discuss this rationally." And all semester, I've been thinking: why do we want to think about these things rationally?? Why do I somehow want to suppress the instinct of awe and wonder and fear and embarrassment, and blushes and delight and secrecy and sacredness that surrounds the mystique of the human body and sex? If you look at sex through such a superior, intellectualized, isn't-this-such-a-base-instinct lens, you'll never understand it. And also, aren't you missing out?

When we were in Italy, we raced through Florence at the speed of light. But, nevertheless, we spent a solid twenty minutes just standing and gazing at Michelangelo's David. And we all know what David looks like. He's not hiding anything. It's no fun if, when looking at David, you try to pretend that you're too cultured to be bothered by the fact that he's naked. You're supposed to be bothered by that fact--that's part of being human. You're supposed to appreciate the sheer artistry of the beautiful marble, and also blush as you gaze at the brazen display of masculinity in front of you.

Whatever has happened to blushing?

I was recently discussing with a friend the Rite of Spring and Ibsen's plays, and works of art that have caused people to riot. They were so bizarre or offensive that they drew something out of the audience. People went crazy because they were so offended by what they saw. And then we tried to think of something that would cause people to do that now. Absolutely nothing. We're so shock-proof. How very boring of us. We try to think we can discuss these matters "like adults," meaningly, soullessly. No thanks. I prefer to admire the Birth of Venus, and also be slightly shocked by the fact that she's au naturale.

Because if we're not slightly embarrassed and excited, what is the point nakedness at all?

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

make it through

Hey, so here are three things I like:

1) My mom. I mean, she left a cut-throat game of family Yatzee the other night to listen to me vent. Can we say: dedication to your job. When I'm stressed out, I either get all wound up and fired up and the words spew out at 20 miles a minute, or I just sort of melt into an incoherent blob. So the conversation went something like this:
"UGGGGGHhhammmmehhhhh mmooooommmmm. I'm just so-so-so."
"Renée, what's wrong?"
"well it's just that everything is a;lsdkfj92a;fjasdkl. And I'm all like: aksdfjbbbbbbllleeeggghhh, and I just can't uuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh"
"Have you been eating right? Did you get the package of vitamins I sent? Have you been getting enough sleep? [pause while someone talks in the background.] Dad asks if you're getting exercise?"
"I meannnnn.. IIIII ahhhhhhh ggggllllsss"
"Okay, sweetie, why don't you go to bed? Get some sleep, and you'll be better in the morning."
"BUT-it's just-I only-it's just-just. AHHHH FINE. OKAY."


Then I get a follow-up e-mail of advice, and my family's agenda for their visit this weekend. "We'll arrive at South Bend at 1:00. Knowing us, we'll get there late. But hey, it's good to have goals."

I love that woman. Also I inherit my punctuality from her. clearly

Of course, I don't follow her advice and go to bed. Instead, I run into the sympathetic arms of:

2) My sister.  She is the best. I've just gotten used to having her around at all times, whatever will I do now that she'll be gone? There's nothing sweeter than being in the same place as someone you love. Because then you can have all the delightful random encounters and run-ins that can turn your day around. It is so sweet when you just run into your best friend and have a ten minute conversation in which you're able to relax and say whatever you've been wanting to say all day, and then once that's off your chest, refueling each other for the rest of the day ahead. I'm so grateful for that.

3) So one problem with college is that I've gotten so bad at handling free time. I'm just not used to it. What do I do with it? How do you spend it? If you finish your to-do list, what is there left to dooo? AHHHH I HAVE SO MUCH FREEDOM AND DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT.
Last night, I found myself with free time and no pressingly urgent business to attend to. So I climbed a tree. I've passed that tree a million trillion times, and it's always just begging to be climbed. And when I finally tackled it, it was more difficult than I imagined. But it was worth it. It's one of those great big old trees that cradles you in the crooks of its branches. You can just loll around in trees like that. They are the best happy thinking places

Sunday, April 22, 2012

if these pleasures may thee move


follow you down your twisting alleyways 
find a few cul-de-sacs of my own


Whispered talks beneath wizened oaks.
Knowing looks, when visiting our folks
We smile and words have been exchanged.
Nothing’s spoken, but the atmosphere has changed.
The inside jokes the world can’t understand,
Our silly words and romantic silly plans


My mouth is filled with cotton balls
I hope I still can laugh and talk
And act like nothing is actually happening
There’s an overwhelming amount of feelings that I hope I’m hiding well


Friday, April 20, 2012

when it's my time to go


But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, 
and no torment will ever touch them.
In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died, 
and their departure was thought to be an affliction,
and their going from us to be their destruction;
but they are at peace.
For though in the sight of others they were punished,
their hope is full of immortality.
(Wisdom 3:1-5)

Today, I had the most incredible conversation with a classmate about Columbine and columbinus. Last week in class, it came up in discussion that he was from near Littleton. Out of the blue, practically on a whim or gut feeling, I asked him about Columbine. We chatted about it for a few brief moments, but then made a coffee appointment to discuss Columbine in more depth.

As it ended up, we got coffee today. A little bit of Providence, as he put it. It was an incredible conversation. He said one of the most discussed questions was not the question: How could this happen? (although that was definitely prevalent in people's minds), it was: 
How could this happen here?

Our country has grown so tolerant of violence in certain environments. We expect the inner city schools to have gang violence, drug problems, bullying, etc. It's horrible of us, but it's true. If something like the Columbine tragedy had happened in anywhere but Columbine, there wouldn't be  the same questioning regarding it's occurrence. As my friend says, we asked the wrong questions. The question was: "How did these boys find machine guns and pipe bomb makings in Littleton?"    

He told me about the cognitive dissonance that pervaded the scene as they watched the police approach a school, unsure of what to do. Their opponents were just two high school boys. But these two boys had machine guns and propane tanks. Fire trucks and police cars surrounded the high school, and parents and members of the community demanded that they enter the high school. A high school that was a massacre scene. My friend explained the bizarre feeling that pervaded the whole day and the weeks following.

It was so fantastic to share his experience and his thoughts and memories of the day. We also discussed the questions that Columbine and columbinus force us to pay attention to. As he said, so many people tried to stop the bleeding, instead of healing the wounds. What columbinus and Columbine force us to remember is that everyone is broken and wounded, and anyone can snap. The question of what makes  someone so broken they can snap is a question that will always be relevant, and always a question humans will have to confront.

It was a beautiful conversation, and a beautifully meditative way to remember the day.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

hedonistic asceticism

This article is phenomenal. C.S. Lewis would be totally on board with this BadCatholic dude. To paraphrase Mere Christianity, a man who lives in vice doesn't know what it is to good, or really what it means to be bad. By settling for vice, he just settles for a wishy-washy version of life. A virtuous person knows what goodness is, and knows better than the man of vice just how bad humans are capable of being.

Also, after reading Prince Caspian, I've been thinking of the Christian life as C.S. Lewis presents it in the book: one big glorious romp. Reason and exuberant, wild joy; solemnity and crazy gladness are all rolled up and molded together, and everyone just runs around with Aslan in the least self-conscious, most wonderful way imaginable. So let the rivers run with wine, it's the weekend,  I have a paper about human dignity to write, music to listen to, Nutella to eat, and Mass in the morning. And then we'll see where the romp takes us from there. It's a wild ride, Catholicism. It's a dangerous business setting out, because once you step on the road, there's no telling where the romp will take you.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

the death of relevancy

(Thus follows my current interior monologue)

SLEEP.
SLEEP.
WHERE DID IT GO?

I think it disappeared to here.
AHHHHHHHH
So funnnnyyyyyy.
So seizure inducinggggggg 
AHHHH
PUPPIES
RAINBOWS
MAGIC BUTTERFLY CUPCAKE BOMBS!!
TORNADOES
BASEMENTS
MELTING PLAYDOUGH ON KITCHEN STOVES--
-CREATING PURPLE CHAOS OF LOVELIENESS!!!
OPRAH
BABY SEA MONKEYS
A TUXEDO-WEARING MANATEE
ROSES FALLING FROM THE CEILING FIXTURE
A COUCH MADE OF FIRE---HOW COZY AND TOASTY IN THE WINTER
LOVE THE WORLD AND WANT TO HUG IT AND KISS EVERYTHING 
AND CLIMB ALL THE TREES AND 
SING LOUDER THAN A PARROT 
AND CLIMB MOUNT EVEREST
HOW HARD CAN IT BE TO CLIMB MOUNT EVEREST
YESSSS
I AM SO WITTY
I COULD GHOST-WRITE MOBY DICK!!!
MAYBE I DID
You"LL NEVER KNOW
OH MY GOSH THE WORLD IS SO SUNNY AND I JUST WANT TO LAUGH
SO I SHALL
LOUDLY 
AND IN THE EARS OF ALL THE PASSERS-BY
LOOK AT ME, CORRECTLY PLURALIZING "PASSER-BY"
THAT'S CALLED GRAMMAR, peeeeeps . 
AND I JUST DID IT. AND DID it SO WELL.
BUNNIES
Bunny sneezing noises fill the stratosphere like dewy clouds!!
CLOUDS
CLOUDS RIDE THE WIND LIKE GANDALF RIDES SHADOWFAX
DEAR SIR WEARING STRANGE GREEN SWIM SHORTS: 
I AM OFFENDED BY YOUR SHORTS. AND BY OFFENDED, I JUST MEAN CONFUSED.
I'M CONFUSED. 
HOW ARE THEY SO GREEEEEEN???
AND PATTERNED 
THEY"RE LIKE THIS.
THAT IS THE STATE OF THE RENÉE UNION RIGHT NOW...
AHHHHH SO GOOD
I JUST WROTE TWO PAPERS.
GUESS WHAT I HAVE?
(if you guessed 2 papers, you are correct)
GUESS WHAT I DON'T HAVE?
SLEEP. 
Je n'ai sommeil pas.
:( :( :(
THAT'S CALLED FRENCH.
I DON'T THINK I DID THAT GRAMMAR RIGHT.
(and I know ^that ^ grammar is incorrect)
OH WELL.
THINGS LIKE THAT HAPPEN TO PEOPLE 
SOMETIMES. 
I'LL BE OKAY.
WHY?
I HAD POP-TARTS AND GRAPES FOR BREAKFAST.
POP-TARTS=SUGAR POWER
GRAPES=healthy?

There was a point last night where I turned to my friend and compatriot in late-night paper writing and I said: "What are we doing to our bodies?"
We're being young, that's what. That's what we're doing.

Being young is so much fun.
It's like the best.
But it's kind of exhausting sometimes.

Maybe I'll take a nap.


PS My computer mouse was being putrid and spazzing out all weekend. BUT, praise the Lord, it is now functional again! Small blessings :)

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

sweet surrender

"We are all of us royalty in exile, made for blessing, battle and beatitude. We were made for the sacramental world in which apples illicitly obtained can curse, and bread can become the body of God. The professed ascetics are walking adventure tales of divine love who awaken our eagerness for whatever wild ascetical adventure will be required of each of us in order to go home." --David Fagerberg.


Professor Fagerberg: literally, who are you?
Just read those words. How incredible. What an absolutely incredible world we live in. Unbelievable. Miraculous. Insane. Sacramental.


"The attempt to understand asceticism will always end in failure unless one admits the possibility of wild, bracing divine love."


I should write a more thoughtful response to these beautifully eloquent and simply expressed thoughts.

But really, when one is in the presence of the truth, all a truly sensible person can really say is: Checkmate.

Good one, God. Ya got me.
Game over.


Monday, April 16, 2012

hangnails



I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded and unfolded and unfolding



I glance at my cuticles and immediately despair. They look disgusting. 
They look disgusting because I made them that way. That's the worst part. You're not allowed to complain about a situation that you created.

Because once you start picking at them, it’s impossible to stop. It’s addictive. You just keep picking and picking and picking and pulling and pulling and pulling and peeling off a hangnail here, and tearing off skin there. Blood seeps out. Gross. You suck the red liquid off your finger til your saliva clots the jagged ragged tear of skin.
Then it gets infected. It turns and angry red and protests fiercely when unwanted pressure is applied. Then pus comes--oozing out of the cut, making you shudder with disgust. 
Time for hydrogen peroxide. 
A band-aid. 
Neosporin. 
Something soothing, to rehydrate the poor skin.

My cuticles are beautiful again.

But then.
  
Look. A hangnail.
  
It starts all over again.

"Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."--Romans 12:21

Sunday, April 15, 2012

make a heaven of hell

Liturgical Calendar Check: Happy Divine Mercy Sunday to all y'all! There's a lotta Mercy going around. You're gonna wanna get some.
Soooo when we read The Problem of Pain in C.S. Lewis Class, I was so struck by it yet again. So incredibly beautiful. When reading the chapter on Hell , I found this passage:

Heaven offers nothing the mercenary soul can desire. It is safe to tell the pure in heart that they shall see God, for only the pure in heart want to.”

We often think of the afterlife in terms of a reward--once we pass the test of life with all the correct answers, then we'll see if we made a passing grade, and if so, congratulations! Here comes Heaven. Enjoy singing with harps and wearing white robes for all eternity.

Or if you get an F or below, sorry, you're stuck in Hell. Happy Miserable Eternity to you, enjoy the fire and brimstone.

No no no no. The afterlife is simply a continuation of our spiritual lives here on earth. And if we spend our life on earth falling more and more in love with God, then what happens when we die is a continuation of that. And that continuation we call Heaven--the process of falling more and more in love with endless love. It will take an eternity, to love Him as we ought. It's kind of terrifying.
But if love was never terrifying, it wouldn't be love. 
And it also wouldn't be any fun.

That's the whole point of falling in love--is finding something beautiful and worthy of praise and adoration outside of yourself. Finding something--someone rather-- that takes you outside of yourself. Someone that dazzles you.
Someone that makes a Heaven of Hell (aka God, maybs? Just an idea. throwing it out there).


(Also, whaddup, Midsummer reference)

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Marvelling


Happy Easter Saturday! Today is one of those days that is a perfect day for slice of poetry.

The Definition of Love 
 
Andrew Marvell

My Love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown
But vainly flapped its Tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixt,
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.

For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect Loves; nor lets them close:
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrannic power depose.

And therefore her decrees of steel
Us as the distant Poles have placed,
(Though Love's whole World on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embraced.

Unless the giddy Heaven fall,
And Earth some new convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the World should all
Be cramped into a planisphere.

As lines so Loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet:
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite can never meet.
                                                    
Therefore the Love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the Mind,
And opposition of the Stars.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

#dormproblems

You guys.
I love the dorms at school, I love the community, I love that i have a warm place to live and a roof overhead. And I love my roommates. I adore my roommates.

But there are few things about living in a dorm that are just the pits.

One is that you're expected to coexist with 200 girls in peace and harmony.
Quick Question: In what world is that possible?

Also, you participate in more than a normal percentage of social interactions while in a bath towel or bathrobe.
Talk about being vulnerable.

Finally, you are subjected to weird noises that have little to none explanation. Take this morning, for example, there are sneezing noises outside our window. 
Sneezing. 
Who (or what?) is sneezing?

My roommate (I adore my roommates) suggested it might be a bird.
"Birds don't sneeze," I countered.
She smiled with pity on the little arts and letters major who thinks she knows things about biology. "Everything that respirates through openings on its face can sneeze," she responded. 
So not only did I just get educated on bird sneezes, it also opened up a hilarious and fuzzily adorable new Youtube subculture:


Can we say preshdorable?

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

On an Auden-kick


Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's carnal ecstasy.

Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.

--Lullaby, W.H. Auden

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Monday, April 9, 2012

just part of a cycle reaching for the sky

Hey Guys!
Happy Easter Monday.
Or as my roommate texted me yesterday: 

Hoppy Easter, hope it's eggcellent. 

Yeah, she's a punny one. 
We get along just fine.

Two things.

This song:


Stop it, Joshua Radin. Stop being so precious and singing to me in a smooth, velvety voice and making me fall in love with you. Stop it. His voice is like vocal Nutella.

This poem, by  Konstantinos Petrou Kavafis:


When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.

That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.



Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.



Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.




Why you so beautiful, words?

Sunday, April 8, 2012

where, Oh Death, is now your sting?


"Are you a Christmas person or an Easter person? Do you prefer glistening snow and babes in swaddling, or spring tulips and brilliant mornings? Or does Good Friday’s cry of agony and abandonment speak most powerfully to your experience?
The Church in her wisdom proclaims: False choice.
The Incarnation and the Paschal Mystery are one reality: we are ever enwombed and entombed in God. And to be enveloped ceaselessly in the One who is Love Eternal is to “pass through” time—through birth and death—as the sun’s rays race through the galaxy.
It hardly seems that way. The nails searing through flesh, the strained lungs gasping for air, the excruciating freefall of childbirth—-such passages evoke no hallelujahs but howls of panicked bewilderment: My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?
And yet the Scriptures present the Risen Lord speaking through Paul the Apostle: Let me tell you, now that I have passed through: Nothing—I tell you nothing, neither principalities nor powers, Satan, Doubt, the Crushing of Bones, the Incineration of Bodies—NOTHING—can separate us from the Love of God. It surrounds, pervades, sustains—it liberates! It rolls up death in a tidy pile, tossed “in a separate place.”
Because Jesus was ever in God, he predicted this. You see: he HAD to rise from the dead. Death could never separate him from the Love who is All in All. And because he is Emmanuel—“God with us”—we, too, cannot but imagine our own tombs emptying out. Easter is our state of being.
So: tulips, lilies and radiating sunshine this day, whatever the weather. From the beginning, throughout the passage, this is who we are, enclosed in God’s liberating embrace.
We are Easter people.
He is risen! Hallelujah!"

R. Scott Appleby,’78
Professor of History and the John M. Regan Jr. Director, Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies.

From pray.nd.edu




The sun is shining bright, and I am reveling in the absolute beauty of this day. It's so incredibly lovely, and the whole general gladness pervading the air makes everyone want to leap and shout for joy. Seeing all the families of classmates, choristers, and friends here for Easter makes me miss our Easter celebrations back at home and my family so so much. But, especially this Easter, I am so thankful for the family of friends that I've found here with whom I now get to celebrate this most blessed and wonderful of weekends! From spontaneous photo shoots  outside the dining hall to watching my roommate go into oodles of joy over the Easter cuteness, from a room all to myself, to a crowded loft full of sixty-plus sweating, smiling singers, I have been relishing every single bit of this Triduum and Easter. How incredible that each year we get to celebrate this all over again and re-live each bit of happiness, only each year it grows on itself--it becomes different, bigger, brighter and better.

Happy Easter, peeps!

Saturday, April 7, 2012

the very sigh that silence heaves



Holy Saturday Reflection from Madeliene L'Engle:


For the Christian, the butterfly has long been a symbol of resurrection. The butterfly emerges from the cocoon, its wings, wet with rebirth, slowly opening, and then this creature of fragile loveliness flies across the blue vault of the sky.
Butterflies and angels, seraphim and cherubim, calls us earth-bound creatures to lift up our mortal dust and sing with them to God's delight.









Thursday, April 5, 2012

romantic theology

In C.S. Lewis class right now, which is my last class before Easter break. But, as I told a friend, this isn't even a class. It's basically candy. And we're discussing the Weight of Glory, which is the most beautiful of essays. Discussing the natural beauty of the world we see around us, Lewis writes:

For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.

The whole beauty of creation calls us further up and further in, to bring us home to our rightful place in the universe. Which is:

To be loved by God, [...] delighted in as an artist delights in his work or a son--it seems impossible, a weight of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain. But so it is.

This is lofty, as Bottom would say. The Triduum is about to start, and we're about to immerse ourselves in beautiful, dramatic, and very real rituals of Holy Week. As our professor was pointed out in our theatre/history class, these rituals are not unique to Christianity. 
And that's entirely the point. As C.S. Lewis writes in Miracles, the ancient myths, legends, and rituals lead up to Christianity. In Christianity they find their fulfillment. For example: the myth of the Corn King--of the god dying, descending to the underworld, and arising again in the spring is an ancient myth that exists in almost every culture. But the Incarnation is when the myth became true. When the word took flesh, and dwelt among us--in a specific time and place in history. The legend became truth. The ancient rituals take on a newer and deeper meaning with Christ and Christianity, because they lead us deeper into the heart of the natural world and through it, to the reality of glory that lies beyond it. It is, as Lewis said, a weight almost to great for our minds to bear.

"It would break your heart."
"Why," I asked, "was it sad?" 
"Oh no."

--Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

pandora's gems

Sometimes Pandora spits out the most wonderful little ditties. 
I found this one during my all-work-no-sleeps night:

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

carved indelibly

I will sleep out in the glade just by the giant tree
Just to be closer when my spirit's pulled away
~
John Paul II, in Memory and Identity, writes that our celebration of the paschal mystery is a participation in Mary's memory. "His mother treasured all these things in her heart." (Lk 2:51)
~
In Out of the Silent Planet, one of the hrossa, Hyoi, tells our hero, Ransom: "You are speaking, Hmân, as if the pleasure were on thing and the memory another. It is all one thing." Memory is an essential part of any experience.
~


"Pretty sad if you went through your whole four years finding out what things are made of, and not what they are."
~

"Please Aslan," asked Lucy, "what do you call soon?"
"I call all times soon"


~

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
--Velveteen Rabbit

Monday, April 2, 2012

pop-tarts in my pocket, rosary in the other



Eternal God, in whom mercy is endless and the treasury of compassion inexhaustible,
look kindly upon us and increase your mercy in us,
that in difficult moments we might not despair, nor become despondent;
but with great confidence, submit ourselves to your holy will,
which is love and mercy itself.

Divine Mercy Prayer=Definitely prayer of the week. So beautiful--the words, the thoughts, the ideas, the pictures are all so beautiful--and comforting. Just picture what an inexhaustible treasury of compassion. How phenom is that?

here we go, Holy Week

PEEPS.

IT'S PALM SUNDAY.

HOLY WEEK HAS STARTED.

#YOLO.

I KNOW HOLY WEEK COMES EVERY YEAR.

BUT

#YOLO.

[Translation: You Only Live Once]

As Holy Week's go, this one's already shaping up to be a winner.
The skies are brilliant bright and blue, spring is in full swing: flowers and green things and the smell of lilacs fill the air. And the Holy Spirit is filling the sun lit and sparkling Basilica.