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Today's Document
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Jules of Nature
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@rhodaboett
I’ve been told
that the answer is in the pages
of that book
but I’ve read them all and I’m
still looking.
They said to be still
and know
but when I’m still I know that
I’m too afraid
lacking courage
and a poor listener.
I have heard
words from the pulpit
and words in the songs
the prayers
the verses
I can repeat them back to you
But I cannot live them out.
Is there a better way to fight the summer heat than getting out on the water? Kayaking Lake Superior at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore in Michigan offers amazing views of unique rock formations and endless blue water. Oh, and there are beaches, waterfalls and hiking trails to explore, too! Photo by Courtney Kotewa (www.sharetheexperience.org).
We used to think about problems like PTSD as being caused by a single traumatic event. And what we’re now starting to understand is that often it’s an accumulation of experiences that resultant in dramatization. And so something like racism, even if it’s at a very low level, if you’re experiencing it all the time, it can accumulate and cause symptoms very similar to PTSD, such as depression, anxiety, nightmares, avoidance, and so forth.
Monnica Williams, associate professor in psychology and brain sciences at the University of Louisville and director of the Center for Mental Health Disparities. She discussed the health costs of racism on people of color. (via sciencefriday)
when my coworkers ask about "the other woman"
When I found out who the other woman was, I drunk-texted you
and said things I shouldn’t have, things about how I wished
she’d get chickenpox or have a heart attack the next time
she had sex with you; then I broke into our old apartment
and sat in the bathtub alone for two hours
drinking mint herbal tea. I bet if I filed
a missing person’s report and the cops came knocking
on the door, all they’d find out of place would be my heart.
I apologize in advance for slashing every single tuxedo
in your closet, and emptying all your cologne bottles
into the backseat of the car so that every time you sat down
in the driver’s seat, you literally sank into
the liquid version of my love. I remember how your body
was like my favorite beer, and every time we touched
I got drunk on your fingers. Now she’s the one
that’ll get picked up for the DUI.
And sometimes I feel like a stalker for running around
your neighborhood at night when I know you’ll be asleep,
or waiting until 8:30 every morning to brush my teeth
because I know that’s when you’ll be brushing yours too.
But then I remember that I covered my tracks pretty well
when I replaced your new girlfriend’s lingerie
with old granny underpants, and if the police show up
at my office with an arrest warrant, they won’t be able
to put a pair of handcuffs around the fact
that I loved you with every clumsy pulse
of my stuttering heart, and if speech impediments
were something you could win prizes for,
I’d take home the blue ribbon.
“One night she asked me to tell her a bedtime story. And I started telling her this long story about Finnegan the Moose. Finnegan was a very dignified moose. But one day a crazy goose named Reginald came and sat on his head. Reginald was a very exciting goose. She was always making bold proclamations, and suggesting crazy adventures, and her tongue was always hanging out of her mouth. Finnegan would always do whatever Reginald suggested. And he’d pretend that he understood her even when she didn’t make sense. Because before Reginald landed on his head, Finnegan’s life was a little boring. It wasn’t a bad life. It was a normal moose life. He just hadn’t met his best friend yet. And he didn’t even know she was out there.”
Watch: Warsan Shire recites her poem “For Women Who Are Difficult to Love,” as heard in Lemonade
The thing I hate most about depression is that it tricks you into thinking you don’t have depression. It makes you think that nothing is wrong with you, that you just feel this way because you lack value as a person. Whether that’s in your relationships, your academics, or a view of yourself, it makes you think you aren’t good enough for any of that.
“It’s not the illness,” it says, “You feel this way because it’s who you are.”
“Mental illness is like fighting a war where the enemy’s strategy is to convince you that the war isn’t actually happening.”
If you feel this way, what you’re feeling is valid. Just remember that help is real.
When you tell your best friend what happened, the only part she can grasp is that you were out with the boy she liked. The rest of it doesn’t matter. The rest of it doesn’t matter and this is what you hold onto for the next two years. That’s two years of Facebook notifications about his birthday. Two years of his late night text messages. That’s 728 days of just the possibility of this boy coming into the place you work and smiling at you from across the bar. He only does it a handful of times. You watch him sip beer with the same mouth he pressed to your neck. He comes in with his family and introduces you to his mother. The next time this boy comes up in conversation with someone, you are out to lunch with a friend at the Inner Harbor. You wear your hair down. You have a new green dress. You crumble crackers into cream of crab soup and his name slips out over a spoonful. So casually. You can say it without even wincing, but you can’t look your friend in the eye when she asks why she never sees you at the bar anymore. You tell her what happened without using the buzzwords. You just hand over the details like you’re passing bread or a salt shaker. You talk about his hands and ask the waitress for more iced tea in the same breath. This is the first time somebody calls it rape and it sounds like such an ugly word. A back alley word. Not a word for the kind of botched date you had. It could have almost been romantic until he pinned you down. And anyway you still let him drive you home. You didn’t cry when he hugged you in public a month later. You just stood still until he was done. Kind of like before only with witnesses this time. And that’s how you talk to yourself about it for the next three years. That’s three years of him watching your snapchat stories. Three years of your friends still hanging out with him. That’s three years of wondering if it was really as bad as you remember it or if it’s just the writer in you that likes to embellish your own stories. When you write your first poem about it, you talk about bursting instead of blooming and summer and the way hammocks make you feel queasy. You don’t mention the tiny American flags in his front yard or the fact that you had Electronics class with his brother in high school. You don’t mention small town dynamics or the way that trying to cut him out of your life while you still live there would stir up more trouble than his hands ever did. You don’t mention how five years too late, this boy texts you and says he’s sorry that he didn’t treat you right and then he asks you over to split a bottle of wine; how you almost go but your body works out the threat faster than your head and you spend the night dry heaving in your bathroom. When you write this poem, there are still things you’re not mentioning.
Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)
Its always dark.
This poem is from my new book missed connection! You can buy it here - use code LULURC at checkout for 25% off and free shipping!
As I studied the gospels, I noticed a pattern so consistent it almost reduces to a mathematical formula. The more ungodly, unwholesome, and undesirable the person, the more that person felt attracted to Jesus. And the more righteous, self-assured, and desirable the person, the more that person felt threatened by Jesus. Just the opposite of what most people assume! Evangelical Christians hold up the ideals of a balanced, solid citizen who believes in family values and hangs our with 'the right kind.' Consider who Jesus hung out with: a prostitute, an unclean man with leprosy, a moral outcast, a Roman centurion, a mixed-race woman with five divorces. Meanwhile the Pharisees- upright citizens who studied the Scriptures and scrupulously obeyed the law- the ruling establishment, the pillars of society: all these saw Jesus as a threat.
Soul Survivor Philip Yancey
'What about you, Lev Nikolayevich, you preach very well, but do you carry out what you preach?' This is the most natural of questions and one that is always asked of me; it is usually asked victoriously, as though it were a way of stopping my mouth. 'You preach, but how do you live?' And I answer that I do not preach, that I am not able to preach, although I passionately wish to. I can preach only through my actions, and my actions are vile.... And I answer that I am guilty, and vile, and worthy of contempt for my failure to carry them out. At the same time, not in order to justify, but simply in order to explain my lack of consistency, I say: 'Look at my present life and then at my former life, and you will see that I do attempt to carry them out. It is true that I have not fulfilled one thousandth part of them, and I am ashamed of this, but I have failed to fulfill them not because I did not wish to , but because I was unable to. Teach me how to escape from the net of temptations that surrounds me, help me and I will fulfill them; even without help I wish and hope to fulfill them. 'Attack me, I do this myself, but attack me rather than the path I follow and which I point out to anyone who asks me where I think it lies. If I know the way home and am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way because I am staggering from side to side! If it is not the right way, then show me another way; but if I stagger and lose the way, you must help me, you must keep me on the true path, just as I am ready to support you. Do not mislead me, do not be glad that I have got lost, do not shout out joyfully: 'Look at him! He said he was going home, but there he is crawling in to a bog!" No, do not gloat, but give me your help and support."
Leo Tolstoy as quoted in Soul Survivor by Philip Yancy
Tolstoy, who had drunk of depravity, kept reaching higher, toward a vision of what we could be and should be, toward a rule of love that he always yearned for and never realized. His futile striving helped convince me that my failures fully to realize the truth do not devalue the truth itself but instead point out my continuing need to cast myself on God's mercy. An idea cannot be held responsible for those who profess to believe it. With Tolstoy, I learned to say to critics, 'attack me rather than the path I follow.'
Soul Survivor by Philip Yancy
Now more than ever I need for you to soothe me. Sometimes it’s too much.
Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson
Chasers of the Light & All The Words Are Yours are Out Now!
(via tylerknott)
Painting Data
Artist Jill Pelto draws attention to environmental issues through watercolor paintings. Several of her pieces juxtapose graphed data with illustrated landscapes to focus on the threats of climate change.
A few of her paintings visualize forest fires, ocean acidification, and shrinking glaciers — all of which are occurring more frequently and severely due to climate change. By incorporating scientific data into her colorful pictures, Pelto hopes to connect a broader audience to climate science.
This is such an awesome use of art!
Missed Connections with Lonely Boys
on the train you said the moon is one of those people who’s always late to parties no matter who they’re thrown by. i said parties are so brutal the way the loneliness of mixed drinks makes us hate one another, then sleep with everyone we hate until we hate ourselves. you asked if i wanted to get out of here; i said if by here you mean this life then a thousand times yes. you wanted to go swimming in a river where the fish grew thick along the banks like silver glitter. i said my last missed connection gutted me like a fish too, sliced so deep my belly called it love before my belly lost our child. too many 3am’s sitting in my underwear on a rooftop with spoiled orange juice. you said love is a synonym for damage. i said our bodies are a synonym for light. you told me, this isn’t sex. and i said i know, it’s whatever’s left.
Ask President Obama to protect our most beautiful public wildlands from rampant oil and gas drilling!
