i feel helpless under the weight of all the pain our nation is feeling today.
what can you do? what can you say?
i suppose now more than ever i must love my neighbor above myself,
i must not seek to preserve myself no matter what the future holds,
i must remember that death is inevitable and is surely not the end...
and i must place my broken heart before you and ask you to scrupulously
extract any unnecessary thing that dwells within it.
if in the face of great tragedy i cannot be a blessing,
why exist at all?
it is so very hard, oh god.
so unbelievably hard.
posted by April Marie Handrich Tuesday, September 11, 2001 | discuss
READER'S BEWARE!!!!
i hearby declare that my blog from yesterday is quite a strange one, and i am not sure what i think of it. i have been squirming in my seat trying to decide if i should just erase it and hide it away with all the rest of my other bizarre poetry and pretend it never happened, or buck up and let it stay on the page even though i feel a bit embarrassed by it. it was one of those times when you just write without thinking, and it just presented itself on the page in the wee hours of the morning( in the midst of some kind of horrible and wonderful self-discovery). well, hmmm. i guess i'll let it stay even though i think that it is sappy and abstract and peculiar.
we all have our moments.
why i choose to expose mine, i'll never know...
posted by April Marie Handrich Tuesday, August 28, 2001 | discuss
"...the especial genius of woman I believe to be electrical in movement, intuitive in function, spiritual in tendency."
Margaret Fuller
"Glass breaks so easily. No matter how careful you are."
The Glass Menagerie, Tennessee Williams
the glass menagerie
within my soul
crying out to shatter.
to break into a million or so
uncountable pieces
forming a great paradox
of complexity.
only in brokeness
can one become whole.
with only one drop of water
begins a mighty rushing rapid
in the ocean of redeeming life.
only in chaos
can you look your pain in the eye
and find
peace enough
to call those waters
into stillness
in mind, body and soul.
in this moment
i am reminded of so many things
that have never left my mind.
the words of a dear friend:
"skin on skin".
these words play over and over
inside my head and have penetrated the heart
of my relationships.
when faced with life's realities and tragedies,
sometimes the only thing that will
bring restoration
is to press my cheek
into my husbands chest
and feel the rhythm of blood
rushing through his body
and warming my face.
i can lose all my worries
in a simple embrace.
the smell, the feel of him
can calm a million fears;
just my skin
on his skin.
i see a picture
of a great shadow
standing over my soul
that is scattered like pebbles of sand.
a great hand reaches down
and plucks out the center
which turns out to be more a thorn
than a pebble.
it glows black
and then white
and then quickly explodes out of sight.
the hand remains
and an ominous voice stretches
across the horizon,
visible somehow
(soft pink light against mountains)
like a mist.
it speaks to me without words,
yet the message is clear:
"you have to start with hate"
is it's deafening declaration.
i must purge myself
of this thorn or i will never
find the solace
which i innately seek.
the voice that i heard inside my mind
is so deep and unpenetrable
i begin to wane in it's very existance,
yet the depth and warmth
that it exuded
is more familiar
than myself.
i believe that what was meant
to be revealed to me is this:
we are all destined
to seek out what
resides in the center of us,
and we most assuredly
will find a thorn.
this is something to embrace,
and not regret.
i don't wish to be cliche
or sickeningly dramatic,
but sometimes truth calls out
for what we would otherwise
scorn and ignore.
we must accept and reveal
the place in our hearts
that is too sharp
for our flesh to touch.
it is the essence of humanity,
the beginning of enlightenment,
the path to peace...
"Just as I thought my head would explode from so many flashing thoughts, I locked onto a single idea; how some people in this world have only a tragic five seconds to put their entire lives in order before they die--in a car crash or in some other sudden way. I realized that what really matters isn't where we are or what's going on around us, but what's in our hearts while it's happening.
I used to feel I could hide inside my practice, that I could simply sit and contemplate the raging anger of a place like this, seeking inner peace through prayers of compassion. But now I believe love and compassion are things to extend to others. It's a dangerous adventure to share with them... yet I see now that we become better people if we can touch a hardened soul, bring joy into someone's life, or just be an example for others, instead of hiding behind our silence.
The key is using what we know. This calls for a lot of practice. There is this vast space in life to do just that, both as a practitioner and as someone who walks around the same prison yard as everyone else in this place. I've learned to accept responsibility for the harm I've caused to others by never letting myself forget the things I did and by using those experiences to help others understand where they lead."
Jarvis Jay Masters
posted by April Marie Handrich Monday, August 27, 2001 | discuss
i feel hopelessly sentimental and weepy tonight. god bless tolkien for somehow capturing my emotion in these two quotes:
"I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;
Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.
I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.
For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green
I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see the world
that I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door."
(Bilbo's song before Frodo's departure in Book One: Chapter Three, The Lord of the Rings.)
"And all the host laughed and wept, and in the midst of their merriment and tears the clear voice of the minstrel rose like silver and gold, and all the men were hushed. And he sang to them, now in the Elven-tongue, now in the speech of the west, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness."
(Book Three: Chapter Four, The Lord of the Rings.)
i was putting away a copy of The Return of the King tonight, when a piece of paper slipped out. i had written these passages down on it. they are just a couple of the numerous quotes that i have scribbled down from his incredible books over the past couple of years. i was already feeling a bit down and out tonight, and when i flipped through the books to read these words once again, i was filled with that beautiful, far away feeling that aches like hell, and yet, after the initial shock, settles into a pleasant(maybe even perfect) peace.
isn't life just like that?
....one day after another.
posted by April Marie Handrich Wednesday, August 15, 2001 | discuss
...in the midst of this terrible time, I realized there was something there that I wasn't seeing and that was the witness inside me. It felt revolutionary to realize that I am not my anger, not my depression, not my sadness; these are just mind-states that come and go. Slowly I began to understand that other people are going through their difficulties too, and that suffering is universal, that my suffering is everybodies suffering.
Armen Donelian
In general, we feel that the result of any activity that we do, whether it is artistic or otherwise, depends on the goodness of mind. And therefore, any music or artistic form, if it is performed with a view of aggrandizing one's self, removing one's own immediate discomfort, gaining profit or fame, or drawing attention to one's self in any way, will not be good. But if it is done with forgetting one's self and only concerned with how to benefit others, to inspire them, to cheer them, wishing them well and to be free of disturbances rather than further heightening their negative afflictions, then it is almost certain that one's creativity would be excellent.
Venerable Lungri Namgyal
both excerpts are taken from Buddhist Acts of Compassion, compiled by Pamela Bloom.
i really appreciate the simplicity of the first statement. sometimes the simplest things are the hardest to accept and understand, beyond our heads and in our hearts.
as for the second statement, i would like to be in the ranks of the artists out there with no egotistical agenda or need to write in order to comfort their own souls, but i just haven't figured out how to sever my flesh from my spirit yet. but i'll die trying. i'll die trying.
posted by April Marie Handrich Friday, August 10, 2001 | discuss
why are my children so stubborn?
they really didn't have a fair shot, i guess. they come from a very stubborn gene pool.
there are some new pictures of my sweet and adorably bull-headed children over on my hubbies blog. there are also some great shots of cornerstone festival and the infamous texas twins that i'm always ranting and raving about. take a peek.
posted by April Marie Handrich Monday, July 23, 2001 | discuss
well, i'm back. and i have no idea where to begin. i have been drowning inside my head for such a long time now, it's a little painful coming up for air. i know i tend to be a bit ostentatious when it comes to the painful circumstances that have surrounded my life lately, and i guess i feel i owe it to all of you ( or maybe just to myself) to try and make some sense to the words that have dwindled behind me these past few months. there is absolutely no way that i could do this quickly or quietly, so i guess i am just trying to work up the momentum to get started again after so many weeks of silence. and i feel absolutely terrified. the audience that i fear is myself. to write again means to peer into my reflection once more and see that blurred image staring back at me. i don't know if i have the strength to work out all that lies within me, but i suppose if i want to remain half-way sane, i ought to try.
"so take a look outside yourself
and tell me what you see
i can't believe
that you won't see a change in me
give me strength to find the road that's lost in me
give me time to heal and build myself a dream
give me eyes to see the world surrounding me
give me strength to be only me"
dido armstrong
posted by April Marie Handrich Wednesday, July 18, 2001 | discuss