white

stillness

except the crunch under my feet

white

surrounded by tall skeletons

dusted

white

stretched out tongue

tip

cold

white

silence

only golden when its absent

white

angels no one will see

except me

and then i'm free

walking in minnesota, on the farm was glorious. i just thought of this tonight while i listened to a man tell stories of his solitude, riding across country, across his deserts of life, immersed only in the thoughts of his own as the noise around had stopped and the noise inside began. i related, and remembered the white walks of minnesota. the silence, only broken by the crunch under my feet that i love so much. what i really wanted was to scream, as loud as i could, to let out some of the steam inside of me. but instead i allowed the silence to seep in. even the view mirrored silence as it was as white as silence feels to me. i allowed imagination, to experience the pure delight of falling down into the snow to make an angel for no one but myself. soaking in the act of just breathing as i lay there, feeling the snowflakes touch my warmed face, freedom. i walked into those tall trees, so tall, covered with dust of white, sparkling. on close look i could see the flakes piled delicately, one on another. space in between. i took delight in licking the dust of the branches with the tip of my tongue. just the tip, letting the flakes melt and wondering if anyone was watching my curiosity in motion. no need to perform, no one is watching, just be free...to lick white dust off branches if your heart desires...free.

the only way out is through

i am human, incredibly human. and i don't think i really understand what that means. i've always been told that i am too hard on myself, and i know i am too hard on other people. my self-imposed expectations are cruel and outrageous and any side of humanity within me crushes me. i see it every day, every hour...and i feel doomed, like i'll never be what i am "supposed" to be, or maybe i am afraid of who i truly am, like it doesn't look like how i imagined it all to appear.

but i am human, regardless of my desire for perfection, i can't attain it. neither can you. so i'm sorry if i expected that from you, perfection. it isn't fair.

i am learning to love others beyond their imperfections, deciding that i need people in my life regardless of whether it is pretty or extraordinary. i need you anyways, because alone isn't worth it, not really. but i never imagined having to love myself beyond my own imperfections....how does one do that.

i guess on some days i might not even choose to see them. i mean, i know they're there, but i just choose to believe it could be part of my charm...and other days they paralyze me and keep me from speaking to anybody, cringing at every word i might say because it is just wrong...i grow more awkward, more in my head, more aware of my failures at being an amazing woman. i get silent, impressionable, pliable, indifferent, dis-impassioned...wounded.

can i say that my humanity wounds my spirit? because i think it does...but i would like for it to be a bigger part of me, something to embrace, something to walk through. to find liberation...

i read this morning about hope and henri nouwen was quoted from i believe the book, the wounded healer...he says,

"many people suffer because of the false supposition on which they have based
their lives. that supposition is that there should be no fear or loneliness, no
confusion or doubt. but these sufferings can only be dealt with creatively when
they are understood as wounds integral to our human condition. therefore
ministry is a very confronting service. it does not allow people to live
with illusions of immortality and wholeness. it keeps reminding others that they
are mortal and broken, but also that with the recognition of this condition,
liberation starts"

liberation. i need that.

but sadly i can't just be liberated immediately. it's a process and i'm afraid that "the only way out is through" as my dear alanis morissette says.

hello, my name is megan, and i am human, incredibly human...

now you're supposed to clap for me and say, "welcome megan", and then our support group for humans will begin

sparkling

i get stuck in my head...

tonight i was walking around tempe town lake, a place i love to be but rarely go.
i attempted to pray while worrying about when, where, what, and who while i gazed at the water and was suddenly struck by the beauty of the night, the water, those great little white lights dancing on the water and somehow my eyes felt like they were watching an optical illusion as the water sparkled and danced. i remembered god, how he gives me every good and perfect gift, like tonight and that beautiful picture he orchestrated for me. everything else didn't seem to matter so much

the night sparkled

i walked through the grass with my eyes closed, feeling that marshmallow goodness of the arizona night, the breeze touching my face, blowing my hair...

the rest disappeared

oggled, or is it oogled?

a man passed me today on my walk. he was on his bike and sailing smoothly along the roadside. as he approached i heard a sort of motorish noise and realized his 10-speed had a motor, so he only had to perch himself with the appearance of riding a bike while that motor did all the work. someday i am going to have a sweet ride like that!

i walked on and heard the sound of running footsteps and, frightened, looked behind me to see if someone was about to snatch me up. it was only a man running across the street to avoid the oncoming cars.

i hate being afraid. i wonder, have i watched too many csi episodes? But, this isn't just a random thing, i mean ever since i was young i was hooted and hollered at, followed home. an old friend who was a navy seal got his hands on a tool for me to use when i would go running. he brought it over to my house after i told him that a man had refused to leave me alone when i told him i didn't need a ride and he kept following me. that night he taught me how to wield this amazing tool that appeared to be a short metal rod at first but, with a good swing, would expand into a longer stick with a metal ball at the end of it.

little did i know that this "tool" i fondly referred to as "mr. ouch" was actually a weapon. it was one of those now outlawed police sticks and i carried that thing with me every time i went for a walk or run. to think if i had had to use that on anybody, i would have ended up in jail, not him...

i've thought many time how i might protect myself if some guy did push further than the limits of just following me. i have only two tools, my house key and a flimsy bottle of water. oh, and my cleverly strategic mind of course. it might be a little awkward to get my key out of my sports bra in time to use it as a slashing tool, and my water bottle, well, the best i could do would be throw it at him. maybe i need to obey the new brita commercials and buy a nalgene. that amazing indestructible plastic should make for a more hearty whack.

but, isn't it ridiculous of me to even think of such things? i do have a very active imagination, but there is something unsettling about that man who parks his car in the turn lane and doesn't budge, even when he can freely turn, because he needs to get a good look at you from the front, and then the back. i'd like to send a message to him, let him know that i am a human being, and that he makes me feel really uncomfortable.

i walked past another man today and smiled at him, hoping that, as i always do, he sees me as human, someone with a life and a heart and that maybe we could connect on some level of humans that walk. i looked down at the cement as his shadow betrayed him and i saw his head turn to watch as i walked past.

how did this become acceptable, didn't these guys learn manners, or what about respect for human life? how did everything turn into sex, and when did that happen?

i'd like to not hate men
and you know what else i'd like
to feel safe

saying goodbye

i've said goodbye to too many things over the past two months:

naomie, joe and matthew

my babies

nshima and chihuahua

speaking gonga bemba

my mango and guava trees

roasting ground nuts

sampo

ba-paul and esnart

mwishinayenu

uncomfortable mini-bus rides

banana trees

being the only white girl

dance sessions to jimmy's "over over"

sneaking out to illegal traditional ladies dances

jogging with milan

making kettle korn with natalie for every meal

walkin it out with jessie

neva eva crossing the line with my shortay tresor

quenching my thirsty

the label "mzungu"

being lukundo bupe chimegemege

moses and chimwemwe

julius and his green mangos

zambia

malawi

south africa

harry's pancakes

knowing what normal is

being able to identify reality

sharing my dreams and heart with like-minded people

the ideal

having my own space

walking in the dirt

bucket baths

drop toilets

a rich life without riches

emily, busi

...

i feel the void

hold on to the memories

know that at one time

they were my reality

surrounding me

in the very place

i always wanted

to be.

w.h.e.a.t.

i have a job now, i am officially employed.

i felt the anxiety rise when i heard the voicemail. "we would like to officially offer you the job". i felt my life of freedom closing in on me. please, no office, no set hours, no payroll, no money, no commitments, no responsibilities. my last year plus more has been about something big and purposeful, but it has also been the grandest adventure i've ever been on. life became alive, i wasn't oppressed by thoughts of bills and fulfilling a corporate agenda, i was living my passion. and even though i know that right now my student loan demands a payment every month, and sitting at home isn't my idea of living the dream, i felt like that old way of living, the corporate world, the 9 - 5 would get me down somehow...don't they know i'm a bird, i soar, i bask in freedom...

I jump outside on my mini-trampoline and for those few moments i am weightless, the air brushes against my face, the sky is my ceiling, there is no ground, just a cloud that i can bounce on. gravity pulls me down but as soon as my feet touch the material i return to the air, i am unrestricted, free. its not the same as the big trampoline in africa, not the same feeling that i felt jumping high into the tree, sun streaming onto my skin through the leaves that framed the endless blue high above. there is no mount legagote in my view, no green field surrounding me, no children squealing with delight as i bounce them into the air. i cannot lay on this cloud in my backyard, i wouldn't fit, but it is still my escape.

i make sure to jump at least one more time once my feet step off my cloud onto the cool concrete to remind myself i am back on earth

hand written letter

missing you is my habit, thinking about you is my addiction, not to hurt you
is my prayer and to see you is my mission. homey, what is friendship
those who don't like it call it responsibility, those who play with it call
it a game, those who don't have it call it a dream, those who understand it
call it destiny, and me, i call it you, coz you manage to make me happy all
the time, i miss you baby girl, and i miss all the laughter the joy and all
the things we shared....i love you long time ~ melissa ~ a daughter

now who wouldn't like to receive a letter like that? especially when zambia is on the return address! my first mail from africa, and i feel happy. it is always good to know when you are remembered and loved.

i'm going to start volunteering, i am hoping at an organization called w.h.e.a.t. and i am excited to get involved and into life in america. i have a pseudo-interview tomorrow and i am hoping for something great...

walking

i've been taking walks in the mornings to get some exercise since my back isn't letting me run right now. walking, being in the sunshine, helps me to think, to remember.

i remembered when i was bike riding early in the morning, like today. i rode past a little old asian lady with a yellow shirt on and grey pants. she was standing under the walkway covered by a tunnel of trees, birds tweeting and gliding above her as she stretched out her arms as though she was the conductor and they were her orchestra, she directed them and i passed in awe. i thought of my other mother soonghe, her energy, her way of living. i seem to miss her at the strangest times.

this morning i also remembered when i would take walks through roan township in zambia. once a man yelled at me, asking why i was marching as though i was in the army. i remembered thinking it was funny but feeling a little self-conscious from then on. people don't walk like that in zambia unless they are in the military. walking is a way of life there, and they take it slow.

i walked past a middle school swarming with kids in their uniform khaki bottoms mixed with red, white or blue polo tops. two girls sat on the outskirts, one twirling a piece of rope around and around in front of her, her legs in a knock knee position, so small. they're just starting this thing you know, life. they're new, beginners and yet it struck me the pressures they're facing. i wondered why i didn't realize i was so young when i was their age. i wondered why it is so easy to ruin the rest of life when you are just getting started, it doesn't seem fair. a little girl walked past me, rounder than others, nose stuck in a book. she didn't even look up as she passed, she was confident of her step, or maybe she was too afraid to look the world in the face. i wondered if she was lonely, afraid. just a baby.

cleaning up

today i found an old toy my mother bought me for christmas. you can make little potholders out of pieces of cloth. i made a pretty sweet one before i gave her a fake tatoo on her ankle, another "toy" she bought me one christmas. she enjoys giving toys even though ben and i are grown up, it makes her feel like she still has the fun of buying toys for her children. i don't mind.

i've been reading a book a friend sent to me about obeying God. there's a quote that i can't get out of my mind. "every relationship that does not involve god will lead to oppression." i think this is true. we are serving something/someone in everything we do, but i would rather serve a God who's desire is to set me free, not lock me up. i love that God is so amazing like that.

who knew

playing the guitar isn't as easy as it looks. I began my self-taught lessons today and lasted about 3 minutes before I was ready to go on to something new. My wrist aches, my hands feel too small, and how in the heck do you get your fingers to bend like that? Although a little disheartened, I am not in any way deterred from my future in guitar business, for sure.

"My hands are small, I know/But they're not yours, they are my own"

I know Major keys C, F, and G...none of them actually sound like anything decent when I strum the strings but I am choosing to believe that learning the guitar is a slow and delicate process. It will be for me anyway.

I am learning to play guitar in memory of Godfrey, my good friend in Zambia who challenged me during a mid-day gardening session. I conned him in to helping me while he was all dressed up in shiny pointed shoes and a tie. We shoveled and talked about our past lives before we met. He plays the piano and the guitar and wants to be a lawyer. I told him about my years in lessons, first piano, then flute, and when asked if I could play well I had to tell him I couldn't play anything at all.

He challenged me by saying that when the youth in Zambia get an opportunity like that, they'll never give up. He learned everything he knew from teaching himself. So Godfrey, this one's for you! :)