juda the maccabi's girlfriend

I am on a mission to find goodness in my office life that is for the most part so wholly unstimulating. Currently i am being entertained by the never ending waves of extremely interesting people looking for money, meaning, and menorahs. weird phone calls of the day: 1. one gentleman kept me on the phone for an hour explaining to me that he predicted september 11th and has psychic visions, 2. one guy asked me out because he's looking to date a Jewish woman, and get this, i sound nice, 3. and now, my cousin is reminding me of the 'run in with the retard' as she calls it. in brief it involved an israelite and our copy machine.
oy. office life. experience has got some power. i have discovered a new found respect for the secretarial life.

Now that it's Chrismikah or Hankkuas, i just finished getting yelled at by a friend of mine, that if i was living during the time of the Maccabis i would have been killed with my fellow Hellenists. that's if of course, i wasn't first stoned to death for witchcraft.
thanks a lot hon, that's definitely one way to land a chanukah gift.

So what is Hellenism? And why am I being accused of being a Hellenist? In a nut shell, the Greeks, in their global conquest, spread the worship of Hellas [which is actually the way you say Greece in Greek in case you ever end up there], a culture [not philosophy] that worshipped the body and the mind intellect without the acknowledgment to a Higher Being. Everything was centered around once concept: Objectified Beauty.

Contrary to my accuser. I do not believe Judaism has no place for Beauty. In my simple reasoning it is a Creation, It Exists, ergo, It has a Reason. In fact, I think that this notion is one of the biggest misconceptions of our theological discourse. Being that i am currently employed in such an esteemed office, i have taken advantage of my environment and i talked to some of the brilliant rabbis coming in and out of my work space...

One suggested that i look at the article featured on Slate.com http://www.slate.com/id/10802/ [what a wackjob essay], another said that Channukah is now being promoted as a celebration of Civil War [the religious against the Reforming] interesting notions, all worth exploring. Another, my favorite, said that the miracle of Channukah never happened, it is simply a historical fact [like me, this rabbi is not religious, and thus makes the most sense]. Come to think of it I may keep this job for a while....

So what's Judaism's take on the Body? Before the Baal Shem Tov's time there were major ant-rolling festivals, snow freezing Olympics, and other poultice causing practices... today, for some reason Chabad prints no such manual, we don't promote such cataclysmic self-destructive behavior. What is it about finding Gd in the Beautiful? Can we practice Gdliness with the Body? Can observance be Artful?

To start with the basics: HELLO: RAMBAM!! And even before that, Bereishis. Gd created man in His Image. The Body is Holy. I maintain the position that finding Pleasure and Beauty with the Body, provided that they serve some higher purpose, is all part of the Divine Reason. You should like yourself. You should find pleasure in your being.
Still feel free to throw all the rocks you want, from Melbourne if so necessary...

The Maccabi's were fighting The Disassociation. The Removal of Gd from the Physical Body. Seems contrary, no? Not really. The problem was not with the Body per se, but the issue of the Body followed by a Period. They warred against the Cartesian Issue of [Doubtful] Duality: The Mind-Body Problem. If Gd is removed from the Body, who on earth are you pleasuring but yourself?? Not The Self, but mirrored 'yourself'. In that minor detail lies the reasoning behind mass scale civil war. Period.

Light can only function in its appreciation. Gdliness must have a vessel in order to serve its purpose. That vessel is the Body, it is the Objectified [as in tangibility] of Gdliness. We cannot sustain ourselves in free flowing light.... there can be no vision in the Blinding Light [tohu/tikun]. Light needs a placement in Something. A Menorah. A Candle. Your Soul. That's my take on Channukah, consecration [its etymological source] Gdliness with the Body.

i love Channukah. I've always had a weird crush on the Maccabees [one of the many inspirations for my ludicrious degree in anthropology]. power to the people, burn on, you lamplighters and maccabees of today.
now back to office work.

last night i went to see Munich. don't watch it unless you are prepared for the full body movie experience. i know it's just a movie, and who knows what is accurate and what isn't... but its still incredibly painful to see. its sentimental. and i am happy it is that way. i'm happy that it is so difficult to digest and there's no attempt to make light of the complexities. eric bana is superb [and gorgeous] and daniel craig is quite hilarious [although only yiddish speakers will catch the jokes]. should have stayed.... as you watch your conscience will grow immense. why on earth are we all lounging in the states for?? i'm in maccabbi mode....and i have my ticket already...

we live in a world without privacy. although i've always known that we live in the Era of the Bilboard, tonight someone asked me a question and it struck me as so odd... i couldn't help thinking isn't that private? doesn't that qualify as an intimate piece of information? as close as i am with this person, i couldn't help but wonder: why should i tell you that? i am convinced that people think that if you are unable to share every detail of information about your being you are playing the 'aloof' or 'secretive' card only to get more attention. well.... i have an arguing theory...maybe we've all abandoned the beauty of intimate space. maybe we've given up privacy out of emotional desperation, out of the need for attention, and for about a million in one other reasons. maybe the answer to our generation of lost souls lies in the reconstruction of the Private Sector, in the Meditation of Personal Quiet.

i have another theory that communication is more difficult when there is less privacy. when there's no established space, when there are no boundaries, there is Nothing to share because Everything is readily available. Who wants to get to know someone that's already known? To me, there's nothing like keeping something all to yourself.. True, some people are naturally more introverted, and some of us are a strange hybrid breed... still, just because you are friendly, sociable, 'out there' [whatever that term means] or even outspoken individual, doesn't mean that there is no borderline. doesn't mean there isn't a cut off point that clearly reads NO TRESPASSING. it gets me very nervous when people do not respect that Line. and even more crazy when they do not respect it in themselves. I feel like demanding that they do. RESPECT THYSELF. i feel like shouting for Absolute Silence of Self and offerring guided tours to this strange and foreign place called Inner Quiet, The Self in its Selfishness, The Inner Silence, a place that i feel leads in the general direction of Inner Peace...
i've always believed in secrets. there's nothing wrong in keeping private things private. that doesn't make me a prude or an anal retentive conservative [cuz lord knows i'm not]. maybe that's why i've always fantasized about retiring at the age 21 to the Cliffs of Moher, giving up on humanity [to some degree] becoming a village wise woman and writing books in Quiet... . it makes me smile to myself as i walk down the street at 2am,... all the strange and wonderful things in my head that i don't need to explain that no one in the whole world knows this, needs to know this or get this... cept little ol' me.

happy holidays to you all... enjoy this time with your loved ones [even if its somewhat too much], and may the lights of peace, patience and love shine around the world

freedom

"Exile accepted as a destiny, in the way we accept an incurable illness, should help us see through our self-delusions"

I am here. Those three words contain all that can be said- you begin with those words and you return to them. Here means on this earth, on this continent and no other, in this city and no other, in this epoch I call mine, this century, this year. I was given no other place, no other time, and I touch my desk to defend myself against the feeling that my own body is transient. This is all very fundamental, but, after all, the science of life depends on the gradual discovery of fundamental truths.

I have read many books, but to place all those volumes on top of one another and stand on them would not add a cubit to my stature. Their learned terms are of little use when I attempt to seize essential experience, which alludes all constructed ideas by definition of their construction. To borrow their language is helpful in many ways, but it also leads imperceptibly into a self-contained labrynith, abandoning us in alien corridors which contain no exit. An Intelligent Prison constructed by our own hands, a space we willingly enter with nary a protest to the resounding echo of the locking door. An Illusion of Redemption that Affirms our Position in Personal Exile. How does one truly differentiate the Pursuit of Essence from the Higher Bounds of Intellectual Enslavement and Spiritual Existentialism?

What differentiates the teachings fo the Baal Shem Tov from that of Chabad Chassidus? Waht si teh Enhancement of Illumination? The Baal Shem Tov produced a Divine Product. He reminded a bewildered flock of their own Existence, aknowledged the Core of their Spiritual Identity. The Chassidic Master spoke to the Original Breath that had all but been stifled. And yet this Rejuvenation was a Desperate Maneuver. The Baal Shem Tov taught what can be defined as a ten-step program of Simplicity. A model method that persistently guided the route to the Basics: Infuse Gdly Goodness, practice Human Kindness, and Brotherly Love. Find Gd again in the Simple. The Baal Shem Tov's message created a short-cut to Essence. His were teachings that led to a single goal: the exemplification of life with the Simple Essence of Essence Itself.

The Alter Rebbe taught Consciousness. Here enters the Master of the Method. A Teacher of the Cohesive Life. It was the Moment of Revelation, unveiling the Formula of Cohesion, the Process of Fusing that which is Known with that which remains Unknown. The Alter Rebbe taught the Complexity of Essence, the Differentiation and Individuality that accompanies Oneness and enhances its Ultimate Union. Product was replaced with Process. It is a Process of Awareness that combines the force of the Evolving Self with the steadfast Core of Gdliness. With this Birth, life-saving solutions were replaced with the ever-present Life Long Question. What is the Act and Art of Becoming? What is Essence in its Expression and Manifestation within the Personalized Soul? What is the Meaning of the Meaningful? Chabad Chassidus is a perspective, a penetration, a Lens of Divine Consciousness that peers into the Reality of the World and the many layers of the Soul. It is the View of Transformation. For this reason Chabad is not a Goal but the Objective of a bottomless Depth. It is the Identified Self and its Divine Definition within the Complexity of Oneness.

Prison comes in many sizes, shapes and forms. There are the walls of Mental Constriction that hinder the Liberated Mind, the walls of Divine Doubt and Spiritual Inhibition that shadow the Creative Spirit, and the walls of Mundane Routine that impair the Freedom and Curiousity of the Soul. We need not feel the cool iron against our cheeks to know that we have locked ourselves away in exchange for that which does not exist. We need only the Lethargy of Limitation, the Boundary of Boredom, to know that we have confirmed the Impossibility of Possibility. Thus, condemning ourselves to a Life of Silence. We need only feel the Space of Superficiality to know that the Spiritual Self remains trapped in the Illusion of the Physical Realm. We need only to reach down and feel the Comfort of Clothing and the Dependency of Layerings to realize that we have not sufficed the Existence of Essence.

We must offer resistance. We must resist the Urge to Retreat into the Folds of Anonymity, the Escape of Habitual Reality. Although I cannot invent a new langauge and I am forced to use the one learnt in the world, I can distinguish, I hope, between what is innately mine, the Memory of my Remembering, and what is merely the Fashionable Formulation of Fictional Friction.

Prison being a Construction, must be Spiritually Deconstructed. Be brave. Awareness is the key to Freedom. Stand undaunted, empowered by the certainty that you have something important to say to the world, something no one will be called to or ever able to say. A voice that was never heard and that will never be heard again. Believe in the Consciousness that Defines your Being. With this the feeling of True Individuality, one Meshed with Oneness, the Origin of Originality begins to stir and awaken. Slowly it Remembers its Original Purpose, its Initiation, its One Word. Painstakingly does it begin to explode in a kaleidescope of color, brilliant flashes that form coherent black letters on the purity of a single white sheet. Letters that write but a single sentence. The Name. The Identity. The Reason. A single phrase which, when truly weighed, suffices a life's work. A single statement that recognizes and affirms that the Soul's most natural Belonging is with Unity, in the Constant Movement of Creativity and in the Sanctity of Absolute Freedom.

save the fish.... please

Well tonight i'm doing a three party-affair run [which for the record i do not recommend doing in brand new three-inch torqouise heels no matter how fabulous]. in the midst of my wonderful evening i have become the mother of approximately 138 goldfish [although that is a very rough estimate] all proudly named lucille bawwwl. here's how it happened: at adorable little cousin's hair cutting ceremony [which was more like excuse for aunt to throw fab 30th birthday cocktail party] the centerpieces were these lovely vases filled with goldfish. As the affair ended [at about 9] C.C. [aka Cruel Caterer] proceeded to take vases full of fish and flush them down the toilet. Of course as soon as i heard this i made an appeal to family members to take some fish home [even if they'd die tomorrow] for their kids, classrooms and or whatever other reason one would have a goldfish. Needless to say there were not many takers, even tho' my Wise Grandpapy agreed with yours truly that the actions of C.C. definitely qualified as tzar b'lachayim.... It has nothing to do with PETA or as my uncles affectionately call me their 'tree hugging freakish niece' [even tho Gary is totally THE tree hugger of the family] it's just not nice. It is not nice to use so many fish for a party and then flush the entertainment down the nearest toilet. I think it's cruel. I don't feel comfortable with it. I am officially boycotting Scoop [even though he makes the most amazing green apple martinis]. And because I can't just walk home or be able to use the facilities without thinking of fish... i currently find myself living with 138 interpetations of lucille ball. If you are interested in adopting some goldfish, let me know i'm kinda running out of containers....guess i could always use my shoes.... don't forget to WALK LIKE AN EGYPTIAN

3 poems i like that i did not write

POEM numero Un----o:
this one is dedicated to the only female i know that likes Cool Hand Luke who's finally coming to visit the Looney Binne

the insane always loved
me
and the subnormal.
all through grammar school
junior high
high school
junior college
the unwanted would attach
themselves to
me.
guys with one arm
guys with twitches
guys with speech defects
guys with while film
over one eye,
cowards
misanthropes
killers
peep-freaks
and thieves.
and all through the
factories and on the
bum
I always drew the
unwanted. they found me
right off and attached
themselves. they
still do.
in this neighborhood now
there's one who's
found me.
he pushes around
a shopping cart
filled with trash:
broken canes, shoelaces
empty potato chip bags,
milk cartons, newspapers, penholders...
"'hey, buddy, how ya doin'?"
I stop and we talk a
while.
then I say goodbye
but he still follows
me
past the beer
parlours and the
love parlours...
"keep me informed,
I want to know what's
going on."
he's my new one.
I've never seen him
talk to anybody
else.
the cart rattles
along a little bit
behind me
then something
falls out.
he stops to pick
it up.
as he does I
walk through the
front door of the
green hotel on the
corner
pass down through
the hall
come out the back
door and
there's a cat
shitting there in
absolute delight.
he grins
at
me.

[Charles Bukowski from Love is a Dog from Hell- i think it works for PIG, Michael Stalker, the Midget Spaniard Quartet {rose- greece} THE HEAD, E.H, Copy Machine Guy, JACK the Ripper [el blondino]...etc.]

Poem numero Du----o:
dedicated to everyone who hopes to buy a life while holiday shopping
No one lives his life.

Disguised since childhood,
haphazardly assembled
from voices and fears and little pleasures,

we come of age as masks.
Our true face never speaks.

Somewhere there must be storehouses
where all these lives are laid away
like suits of armor or old carriages
or clothes hanging limply on the walls.

Maybe all paths lead there,
to the repository of unlived things.

Poem numero Treis---eeo:
this one is dedicated to every student of: life, university, high school, elementary, the written word, the spoken word, The Word, and wordlessness. a celebration to the non alphabetical state.

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what awaits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for

may for once spring clear
without my contriving

If this is arrogant, G-d, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing current,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,

streaming through widening channels,
into the open sea.

I have been trying to figure out why the sun is always brightest on the coldest day of the year [although i am sure Dude has some fact readily available]. Still thinkin about something Prof. said today about living in the Breathless Culture, always running after their lives. Sometimes you don't even realize that your a mile behind your own brain... and you have no idea where you're racing too, as the great Lynyrd Skynyrd said "take your time, don't live too fast". That, by the way, was somewhat the idea behind the previous post. Sorry to disappoint there was no hormonal connotation to it, just some of my plagiarized thoughts on how to enjoy the state of transience sans la guilt... thank the lord of hosts I got to enjoy the beautiful day today, and believe it or not the sun [and Bikram] has helped clear me up quite a bit [no drugs needed Eddie]. in fact, to complete my healing process i just finished making the yummiest cookie dough batter [i'm debating if i should even bother baking it, raw eggs and all- see, who says Bikram and cookies have to be paradoxical] if anybody is in the mood of a midnight snack [mikee.... ;)] come on by... just follow the smell...

Alternative Modes of Moon Journeys [winter travel/inclement weather]
In a thoroughly cleaned bathroom leave the window open to the cool midnight air, burn magnolia incense, preferably, but cinnamon will do. In a handkerchief handled by some other woman in your family [the further back the better], put chamomile, an undamaged birthwort leaf, and Lady's Fern. Tie this with a satin ribbon from your hair [in this case the longer the better]. Kiss the sachet three times. Drop it gently into a tub of steaming hot water that will cover all of your body. Float one fully opened flower in the water [something deep like lilacs or lilies] Get in to the tub while tickling the water in circles with the petals of the flower. Lie in the tub, with the flower over your heart. Close your eyes. Breathe deep, all the way from your toes and through the smooth of your belly. Inhale the steam, the flower, the dark, and cool breeze, and release...do this until you cannot differentiate between the water and your body... when you get there you will know that you are on your way.

Seeking Nothing/ Giving Thanks for Lunar Gifts [full moon required]
Bathe casually in a bath scented with cinnamon and vanilla. Make sure to wash your hair with freshly brewed raspberry tea. Rinse thoroughly, being sure that your hands thank every part of your body for its tireless labour and unyeilding gifts. You must do this without adornments of any kind, no jewerly, no makeup, nothing must block the connection of bare skin and water. If you want to do this right... go outside. Lie fully open to the sky, freezing and beautiful. Think of yourself. Smell the world from the inside out. Allow the Moon to share with vastness of Night. Hold back nothing. Do this right and your thanks will be mightily received....

[disclaimer: not responsible for any arrests as a result of lewd behavior]

"Where there is a woman there is magic. If there is a moon falling from her mouth, she is a woman who knows her magic, who can share or not share her powers. A woman with a moon falling from her mouth, roses between her legs adn tiaras of Spanish moss, this woman is a consort of the spirits." -Ntozake Shange

Hey Jude, here's how we are going build a world of Imagination

[the INFAMOUS words on how to deal with errant students, searching spiritualists, parking tickets and the interconnected, multicultural, pluralistic universe]
Laaavvve.....Laaavvve....Laaavveee....
There's nothing you can do that can't be done.......nothing you can sing that can't be sung.........nothing you can say that you can learn how to play the game.............it's easy....nothing you can make that can't be made........no one you can't save that can't be save...........nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you entire.... it's easy..........all you need is love...... all you need is love.......... all you need is love........love........love is all you need.......... all you need is love..........all you need is love..............all you need is love..........love..........love is all you need................nothing you can know that isn't known......nothing you can see that isn't shown........there's nowhere you can be that is were you're meant to be.........it's easy..........all you need is love..........................all you need is love................all you need is love.........love...love is all you need...............all you need is love........all together now...everybody.............love.......love.....love is all you need.........all you need.......all you need......
 

how does THE MUSIC mOOovVVeE you??

azoy... it's midnight

ding dong... not a pumpkin yet... then again not really much of a princess [unless you can count a cowboy boot as a glass slipper, in which i ride my own horse, which ultimately defeats the purpose of having a prince].
Randomly sitting in Raja's house watching Esther attempt to swallow our pasta creation. How many intellectuals/artists/pseudo-artists/pseudo intellectuals does it take to cook a bloody pot of pasta (where i am currently being blamed for over salted mushrooms despite the fact that Rashi freely admits to having poured the mountains of salt to begin with.) The nocturnal society has had its first official meeting (and Werdie apparently has gotten the salt factor and is enjoying the remainder of the onion-mushroom salt combo despite the imminent fear of dehydration). We have it figured out pretty good... Raja reads my papers (in search of sense) and I cook her pasta (that is search of something edible...)
azoy gut.
azoy a nacht.
good thing i got seven hours to finish The Paper.
there's soot on my face.
and Esther has bought Spanish olive oil... [as if there's a difference.]

We know that every bomb that rips thru the Holy Land rocks our neat little American world. Marxist or not, nothing in this world occurs in isolation. Emotionalism aside, basic physics mandates that every action has a reaction. To me, it is a personal death when we grow too comfortable in life, when the world no longer moves us... when we can go on living as if rocks and body parts have not been flung into the raging river of humanity. The world is round. We live a circular existence. As a writer, as a woman, as human, I must find the connection in things. I must feel the connection in things. Empathy is not a weakness, it is the definition of my humanity, it is the strength we share as people.

So with these thoughts occupying my mind I have been attempting to review the material for an analysis on Jonathan Safran Foer's work. Somewhere between 6 and 11 pm [and stashes of frozen grapes later] I realized that I actually have something in common with this incredible/despicable author. I have in fact established a love-hate relationship with the writer [somewhat similar to my mental turbulence with Joyce]. I'm on the fourth reading of his book and the only conclusion I have made thus far: I love his book. I hate his book. It moves me. It repulses me. Maybe that's what makes it such a monumental work. Its emphasizing exaggeration, its consistent sexualization, and its blatant caricaturization of everything under the sun is all indicative of one thing: the author's youthful arrogance... or is it naive confidence?...because of this one powerful but frightening conclusion i am left standing in the BETWEEN [much like the marriage of The Kolker and Brod sans the divinity].

As someone who loves to watch the physicilization of words, Foer definitely engages me [especially fave part where he writes for an entire page "we are writing.........we are writing..........we are writing........"]. Clearly, his words do not only speak, but dance. Still despite my absorption and strange feeling of Otherness, as a reader I must attempt to be subjective in my objectivity... fumble and grasp with the weight of the word and its implied meaning.

So what's my point... I don't need to discuss Foer [i believe we've done that a bit a go] again [and i've somewhat promised not to get into anyy intellectual, pseudo-intellectual, academic related stuff]. So what's my point? What's the humanistic angle? What's the connection??

If you've ever read Everything Is Illuminated you'll immediately realize that the only way Foer can even address the overall theme of the Holocaust is thru humour. You laugh through the pages. You laugh at the obsenity of the Kolker beating Brod while shouting his love for her.

Laughter in this book is never light, it simply replaces tears.
So what is laughter? What does it mean to laugh at something that is not funny or even remotely 'ridiculous'?
As a genuine laugher myself [tears are a scarce commodity] I relate to Foer's technique. Jokes, teasing, and well-placed puns deflect the intensity of awkwardness or the lack of comfort. This is not to say that he or any other laugher makes light of a situation, but in fact the opposite: the only way to comprehend the enormouity of the situation is by removing himself from it. Similiarly that the only way one can truly experience real intimacy is through distance, the only way to penetrate is by removal [think of G-d's method] etc. Thus humour is amongst the few ways one can truly grasp the depth of tragedy.

Jokes and teasing aren't 'coverups' of true feelings [that's a serious joke]. At times they are the only means by which to relate quintessential emotions, the ones that are the most difficult to say. It is through the 'deflection' of humour [think Picasso's "The Women of Avingon" or any other modern fragmentation] that we can penetrate and communicate the feelings that run so deep they move us to the greatest lengths. It is the only way to laugh our tears, or cry our laughter...

[may gd safeguard the holy land and fill it with the laughter of weddings, births and celebrations of love]

YOUR INVITED TO ATTEND
A WINTER SOLSTICE PICNIC
CELEBRATING

the falling of the first snow in NYC
the official heralding of the Father Winter
our collective Fabulousness
the fact that we have beautiful clothes and nowhere to wear them to

must bring your own TORCH
a noise-making INSTURMENT
hot chocolate and towers of marshmallows will be served

NUDITY OPTIONAL

CARPIE DIEM

I am caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness,
in a dance of limbo between unconsciousness and consciousness,
as always there is so much to say and there is nothing to say...
Enter the Liminal State...
whenever i hear that term i think of my professor from last spring [K. Bruffee to be precise] who repeated himself so many times i can never forget the sonnet he taught:

That time of year thou may'st in my behold...
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth from the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

Well that's only half... but i don't want to write the rest, i'm pretty sure i proved my point. Liminality [which is a word] is feeling the winter chill on a sunny day in September....or watching the sky pause for a half an hour of 'no day' until it finally finds night...it's your first blush....the buzz of knowing and yet not quite knowing.... Last night, as part of wonderful Aussie dinner a friend was trying to pin point the state she currently finds herself in... we finally figured it out... it's called: restlesness.
The knowledge that you are not here or there...
For some reason i don't think that's called being nowhere. I really don't. I don't think the space of 'nowhereness' is necessarily negative. Because it's late, and i'm tired, and i am just not in the mood being witty, funny or entertaining right now i'll tell you this much, it's my favorite place to be at...and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. There's a vibe to being in the moment of making a choice...before you've decided to go right or left, to travel to Dublin or Paris, or eat vanilla or chocolate ice cream [although for me i always end up with vanilla or its surrounding cousins].
There' s an energy in that place that must be acknoweldged and most importantly respected.
Some people say this is the 'youth or pre-married' state. I'm not sure. I don't think adolescence is an easy thing to go thru, nor do i think you ever reach a complete feeling of being settled [except in death but that's just me and my 'morbidness']. We must always look for more, seek more, love more, and try to reach beyond our current state and capacity... otherwise how can we convince ourselves that we are still living?

Restlessness isn't boredom. And yet if it doesn't somehow translate into a vibrating pulse, a buzz that gets you 'hight' it is wasted, forgotten, a beautiful moment left to rot in the gutters of time.
So if you are in a state of restlessness, if you are somewhere that you cannot pinpoint, somewhere nisht a hei oi nisht a her... stop running the treadmill of anxiety, stop worrying about your 'nowhereness'. Because you are somewhere. Think of the moment, seriously stop and reflect inwardly until you can embrace the blessed state and use it to do something you never thought was possible...

and yes... my 'saturday nights' are boring... but i like them that way.
;)
namastaei.

hana...
mik...
don't kill me
you know how i have my episodes of self-control

he he he

it IS funny...

[used to be a girls-only pawtee ;D ] 

see public service announcement below...

[see didn't that get your attention??]