Hey look! What is this I see? A blogpost! A real, live blogpost!
I know, it's been over a month....but it's been a really full month. Basically, everything after Spring Break was mostly a blur.
One change that is stands out from the blur is that I officially changed my major to Great Texts [...of the Western Tradition.] GTX, if you will. (I supplied the link for clarification...though descriptions of the program remain ambiguous.)
And I'm tentatively minoring in creative writing...we'll see how that goes. If nothing else, I always said I wanted to take a poetry class at some point in college--which is what I will be doing in the fall.

[I should stop here and apologize for all this scattered, stream-of-consciousness. It's late.]

Anyways--closedown of North Russell was an added part of the blur. What I thought would feel longer ended up passing by superfast--I didn't have a chance to say goodbyes to most of my residents, and I wasn't able to relax after the stress of finals, though I was behind on packing, etc.
The most surreal day might have been Thursday morning, when I realized that all of my girls had left. As I staggered into the oh-so-community bathroom, I realized that the last time these rooms were completely empty was at the very start of the year--back when I only had numbers before I had names, before the names turned into faces, and the faces into stories. The evolution from the first to the last has been incredible to see, and I'll never forget the relationships built over tie-dye, sharing meals, and making oreo balls.
I don't mean to romanticize about this year as a CL--I made a lot of mistakes (ask any 2D resident, or Lisa and Leslie, for that matter) and the CL life certainly comes with its woes. I still have so much to learn. And really, I've discovered that most of that learning is trial-and-error. It was truly by the grace of God that the atmosphere on my hall was what it was...which was pretty wonderful :)


Next order of business: I am newly obsessed with the TV show Bones. No, really, it's bad. I even looked up intro to anthropology courses on the Baylor course listings site. I'm addicted.


Last but not least: in order to be up-to-date with the material I'll be jumping into this fall, I'll be reading roughly 2,500 pages of context, as prescribed by my GTX friend, Preston. From saints to Dante to Dr. Murray, this booklist seems to cover it all. Mostly I mention it for accountability purposes--though no one in the blogosphere will probably hold me to it, knowing that the commitment is there on the screen will be enough for me =e. 2,500 pages, 11 books in 12-ish weeks. Here we go.

Funnily enough, I started writing this post in the hopes describing the nostalgia I felt today upon discovering a box full of high school stuff. Another day.

As I wait for my coffee to brew (yes, at 1am), a Billy Collins poem comes to mind (surprised?). So, before I go back to revamping this poorly-written essay on bureacracy bureaucracy and labor unions...I leave you with dear Billy's poem which so accurately describes the essence of the scene in which I inhabit, and expresses how I feel tonight.

except I think that I would come back as a Baylor squirrel.



Pavilion

I sit in the study,
simple walls, complicated design of carpet.
I read a book with a bright red cover.
I write something down

I look up a fact in an encyclopedia
and copy it onto a card,
the lamp burning,
a painting leaning against a chair.

I find a word in a dictionary
and copy it onto the back of an envelope,
the piano heavy in the corner,
the fan turning slowly overhead.

Such is life in this pavilion
of paper and ink
where a cup of tea is cooling,
where the windows darken then fill with light.

But I have had enough of it--
the slope of the paper on the desk,
books on the floor like water lilies,
the jasmine drying out in its pot.

In fact, I am ready to die,
ready to return as something else,
like a brown-and-white dog
with his head always out the car window.

Then maybe, if you were still around,
walking along a street in linen clothes,
a portfolio under your arm,
you would see me go by,

my eyes closed,
wet nose twitching,
my ears blown back,
a kind of smile on my long dark lips.

I have started and stopped writing this post about half a dozen times.

mostly because my thoughts are scattered and somehow inconclusive. [*disclaimer*] But yet, here I am.

This week was not a good one for me. From freakouts about the future to car conundrums to money mismanagement....to just a general sense of being at odds with everything around me. Not to mention a general hopelessness that results from attending Natural World (we did a breakout on world hunger this time). All of this spiraled into a big fat glum that happened on Thursday night, the kind that you don't want to remember, the kind that you don't typically blog about.

But this poem was on my mind all last week, and I've shared it before, not because of the form or diction, but because of this honesty and identification that strikes a chord in me:

First of all, I have some blog-type questions for whoever happens to read this (aka Erica.)

1. Should I un-sync the blogposts with the facebook notes app? For some reason, I don't like the idea of having a lot of bitty "notes" that would be otherwise appropriate and normal in a blog-type scenario. But I realize linking to a whole new website as opposed to fbook could be annoying for some. Thoughts, anyone?
2. Should I change the url to something shorter than inhisbeautygraceandlight.blogspot.com? I think it's kinda intense, but then, I don't know if this is actually important.

1. Gateway to India is happening on Saturday (6:30-10:30)!! I have fun memories of attending last year, and I thought it was generally beautiful and fun. I've been looking forward to it all semester :)
2. Friday, my Spanish class (the last of the day) is canceled, so early start to the weekend! And today, my AmLit class was canceled, which made room for
3. an awesome phone conversation with my mom about life and calling. It was so needed. She has a really amazing way of grounding me in the middle of a panic-attack-explosion. I love her a lot. 
4. It's been a pretty solid week academically. Nothing crazy going on, and I've been handed back some decent grades. I definitely needed the encouragement in that area...
5. My dad sent me a gorgeous bouquet of flowers  yesterday upon reading my last post. I can't help but smile at them and at the thoughtfulness of my dad...something that lots of girls go without. :)
6. Yesterday especially was filled with lots of sunshine, and the rest of the week should have some too! Mags and I read outside for a good while because it was just that beautiful outside. We both got a bit of sun on our winterpale skin :)
7. the annual UBC outdoor service is this Sunday!! I loved it last year, and it's another event I've been looking forward to for a few weeks.
8. Tomorrow Robbie Seay, John Mark McMillan, and Jillian Edwards are playing at CG. I bought my ticket, I am ready to go. I love all three of them, so naturally, I'm pretty psyched.
9. I just got back from CG, reading on the front porch while the most incredible storm exploded. Lightning unfurling frantically across the dark sky, rain slapping the pavement, cars gliding through the slick streets, and thunder clamoring from every direction, harmonizing with the bells of Pat Neff. How utterly epic. {the heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the works of His hands.}
10. Stompfest is coming. If you have talked to me recently, chances are I have expressed HOWEXCITED I am about this fact.

That's right, John Keats popped into my head when I was standing in H-E-B trying to decide whether or not I wanted to purchase flowers. Yellowish pinky orange gerbera daisies, to be exact. One criticism I have heard about buying flowers is that they die so soon. And to this I make the Keats reply above.The other thing that popped into my head was one of the last really good memories I have of my great-grandmother, "Nano." On one of my visits to her apartment, I brought her a  boquet bouqet bouquet of flowers in her favorite colors. Nano, always one to be appreciative of beauty, oohed and ahhed for quite a while as I cut them and arranged them in one of her many old vases. She told me that my great-grandfather always said

"If it came down to it and I had to choose between a loaf of bread and a bunch of flowers, I would always choose the flowers."

I like to think that this love of beauty runs in my veins from my Nano and her husband, whom I never even met. It certainly seems genetic--my grandmother, "Mimi" would rather buy a painting than invest in anything "practical" any day.  And to think that it goes further than that, that the One who crafted the moon  and the stars and the sunshine and these gerbera daisies of ambiguous color...and us, for that matter...loves beauty as much as we do, and infinitely more.

So, basically, buying flowers is never a bad decision.

I did that thing where someone posts ambiguous lyrics and says "it just means a lot to me right now, ok?"
Cliche as it is, that's where the title of this post came from, and really the whole song "Falling Slowly" [yes, yes, the one from Once] has meant a lot in different ways this week...even though I have no idea what the song as a whole is supposed to be about. I think maybe addiction? Listen here to decide for yourself. It really is a beautiful song.

........
Later.

Well, I promise I was actually going somewhere with that last post. Sometime soon I'll share more about direction and the future and such, but it's just too late for my thoughts to be together.

But one thing remains on my mind. Today was a tough one at Waco Arts. It just seemed like we were hit full force with the world the kids live in. Tragedy, violence, hatred, brokenness. It's just so distanced from my reality, it's mind-blowing. That Baylor bubble? it's real, and the edge is as close as a footstep.

This kind of thing simultaneously makes me wonder at the relevancy of art in the lives of these kids who face such darkness, and makes me want to keep coming, keep trying to offer them creativity and beauty.
And expression. In class today, my prof pointed out a line from a short story by James Baldwin, in which music shows itself to be a powerful force to "soothe the poison," to create a safe moment, to give beauty, but most importantly, to express. There is power in expression and sharing experiences [here in the form of storytelling.]

For, while the tale of how we suffer, and how we are delighted, and how we may triumph is never new, is always must be heard. There isn't any other tale to tell, it's the only light we have in all this darkness.

While I would argue that there is another Light to the darkness, I guess this quote gives me hope for the purpose of Waco Arts--maybe for these kids to learn how to tell their story. I wish we could do more, though.

it's a depressing reality, really. I have class on Monday. Monday???

Monday, back to the grind, back to the humdrum monotony of homework, tests, and projects.
[And if you asked me, I would tell you that I like school. ]
I just really enjoy being schedule-less, I guess. Filling my hours with poetry that I want to read, movies I've been meaning to see, friends that I rarely get to connect with...not a bad way to spend my time, and I really needed it.
But responsibility is creeping in fast, with the end of the semester. I have to find a summer job, I need to figure out this whole changing majors thing, I have to figure out my other potential major/minor/interest/passion...I have to figure out how to conserve money.

on another note, one thing that has been on my mind recently is how much I value public opinion. It's a subject that has surely been beaten to the ground, with platitudes like "be your own person," and "be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." [Dr. Seuss]

but I am realizing that I find myself behaving in some ways in an effort to exude a certain persona, instead of doing things, choosing things, saying things, just because...I want to. Not because I wish to appear intellectual, more spiritual, less spiritual, cool, socially conscious, brave, nonchalant, wise...

anyways. I have no further thoughts on that, really, except that it's dishonest...and I'm working on it.
A final thought. I've read a bit of All the King's Men...and I unexpectedly found the reason behind my parent's attempt to keep reeling me back home this week:

When you get born your father and mother lost something out of themselves, and they are going to try to bust a hame trying to get it back, and you are it. They know they can't get it all back but they will get as big a chunk out of you as they can. And the good old family reunion, with picnic dinner under the maples, is very much like diving into the octopus tank at the aquarium.

an interesting theory, anyway.

well...that's all there is, there isn't any more :)