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mlenol1
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Birthday: 10/26/1979
Gender: Female
Interests: music, guitar, and piano, theology and the divine, authentic relationships, worship, and love. oh, and of course, pop culture
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
AIM:  mlenol
MSN: mlenol
Member Since:
8/16/2001
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| long time no seeso .. . i haven't been here forever, and even then fairly infrequently .. was sequentially sucked into the world of myspace and now facebook, and don't really have the deepest of urges to "put myself out there" in the internet sense of the phrase. but i've had this little xanga site for. . well. . in august it'll be 7 years- that ridiculous to think-but i've been reading and reminiscing . .i made it 4 years back into my blog. . from the time that i was anxiously awaiting to find out if i would move to seattle to now- 4 days away from graduating from Grad school. . .with swirling thoughts in my head in terms of moving back to memphis. .. my life has been a wild ride, mr toad-style. so far. . .
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| hmm. . .Last night. . .
i went to this really amazing open mic thingy that this guy from my school hosted in his home. . and it was everything i never knew i always wanted. ha. . i just like that phrase. .but really, it had the potential to be really bad- lots of people who i don't really know- and i can be awkward socially at times. . also there was the potential and desire to play some songs i've written. . which public sharing - i have a love hate relationship with it. . love the attention, hate the exposure/vulnerability. . but i knew if i didn't do anything i'd feel kinda . .. disappointed, and THEN would blame it on the fact that people don't WANT me, and then think, but why would they- and instead of going down THAT depressing trap and lie, i got up and sang a song  . .
and people were very lovely and gracioius. .and that was amazing. . AND equal to or better than that, i got to sit in the presence and hear songs and poetry from some amazingly talented people. . i wish i could describe it to you .. it was holier than i thought it was gonna be . . . and a lot like i wish church was. .we were kinda crowded, some sat on couches, some on the floor, some stood in the back . . and everyone was straining to see. . the beauty that people shared. . a piece of themselves, a bit of their soul, and you could see God shining through. . . that may sound cheesy. . but, it doesn't make it less true. . . there was anticipation in the air- maybe that was it, like anything could happen, could be bestowed upon us, and it was ALL gift. maybe that was it. . anticipation- i rarely go to church with a sense of anticipation- i know what's gonna happpen. . it's so scripted. . i'm not saying there's no life in liturgy- and i mean liturgy in a broad sense as my church isn't traditionally liturgical .. but the God I read about. . the God who i know to exist. . .is not so much expected . . but rather surprising and raw and dangerous, and a spectacle in every sense of the word. and those were God's people. . i think of David dancing half(?) naked, and Hosea marrying a whore, and Jesus letting a prostitute wash his feet with her hair. . . . things like this, make me say in the most humble way God's crazy!!. . and wonderful. . and i like being around him. . | | |
| i'm not sure what i want to say. . .i rarely write on here. . but i'm
pretty sure people rarely read so .. there's atleast some mutuality. .
i'm really frustrated at the moment and its at these times that most
creativity is sparked. There is not a lot of creativity in
satisfaction. When you're satiated after a meal, or a
conversation or.. whatever, atleast for me, if I'm laying in bed comfy,
I just want to sleep. but if someone just made me angry. . i
might want to write a poem, or blog, or play guitar or dance in an
abandoned warehouse like Kevin Bacon in Footloose. Those seem to
be healthy ways of getting out aggression, but there is even creativity
in destruction. The way a person choose to punish themselves or
other people. This is not a good use of creativity, but it is
creativity all the same. I failed myself today and I'm
thinking about several creative ways in which I'd like to punish
myself- one is by making mental lists of all the ways I suck. . two is
by eating crap that will allow me to feel self-indulgent while allow my
self-loathing to increase. . . .three is by sleeping and trying to
avoid life which seems the least violent towards myself, but rather
self-negating. I just named a few, but the possibilities really
are endless in the ways we choose to punish ourselves for things we've
done, or even sometimes things others have done which makes us
loathe ourselves. but here I am, desperately wanting to be
healthy, to be creative in a way that reminds me that today's mistakes
are the mistakes of the day. and tomorrow has its own worries,
and this too shall pass. Not to minimize what I've done, but to
remind myself that hating myself does not make me better, and punishing
myself does not make me do better. because only by thinking
better of myself am i able to do better for myself. To be
creative in thinking of the ways I don't suck and the things I do
right. The ways I haven't failed ultimately and still have
a ways to grow. The way that I'm loved no matter what I do and don't
do. . and even still in my moments of failure I don't have to be
defined by them, and it's a choice to see that this is me or this is
not me. And I choose to see that this is not me. I'm more
than the sum of my failures, or successes. And even though I'm
gonna leave this blog and cry a bit, I know i'm crying about my failure
and not crying because i think i'm a failure.
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| Kiss me, I'm black.
I went back to find this picture. . i'd posted this on
here, privately. . unsure how to bring it up. . . the fact that i'm
black. unsure if i would be kissed. i've heard it many times- "i don't
see that you're black, i just see you." but i AM black. being black is
an integral part of me, and if you don't SEE that i'm black, then you
don't SEE me. not really. not fully.
i took a
multicultural issues class this weekend and a weekend a month ago. . .i
can't remember the last time i cried as much as i did. this class was
definitely up there for pinnacle moments of realizing truths so
embedded in my life . . . like floating in water whose rising
temperatures are boiling me alive. And i've been completely, almost
completely unaware of the decisions and choices i've made based on the
fact that for a great part of my life i've been a black girl living and
growing in a white world. . . . and the ways i've been betrayed and the
ways that i have betrayed myself as a result are beginning to come to
light. it's a scary, painful road, but as i step into it, with a few
good friends . . i believe the road is not as lonely as i thought it'd
be. .. which is the only reason i can speak of what i'm entering.. even
just cursorily on here.
cause before, i just wanted to be Emily.
funny Emily, mDiv Emily, the Emily who's interested in japanese, and
plays guitar, and procrastinates .. who has crazy hair and a loud laugh
and a big smile, who's affectionate, and loyal and passive aggressive
and socially awkward and overweight and writes pretty good poetry and
sometimes lame songs. . ..
i can admit and embrace all these
things about myself, confess them and expound on all of them to the
world . but when it comes to being black, i'm silent. it's somehow been
taboo. it would make people uncomfortable and/or make me a target.
The
nail sticking up . . .gets hammered down. . . it's one thing that a
majority of my friends can't relate to .. and over the span of my life
i can say, they haven't been too curious about it. . . not that i've
been curious about white people.. i mean, i don't feel like i have to
be in some ways because i grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood
and church .. my first friends were white. . and yet i won't say i know
fully what it means to be white. . .my class talked about how part of
being white is that you don't have to think about it, it's default like
when i would hear people tell stories, "there were two guys and black
guy" -- to white has been what it's meant to be human in this country.
. . like "flesh" colored band-aids . . . . .i definitely don't know
fully what it means to be black. . but i want to.
i want to be
black Emily. I AM black Emily. I'm glad to be black, and i don't say
that because i'm glad not to be white as much as i say it because there
have been messages and stereotypes and influences my whole life that
have pressured me not be glad. I'm not alone other wise this wouldn't exist or this
. . . I've been caught in a false binary that says i've got to choose.
to assimilate to the dominant (white) culture or be against it, or be
cast out of it. . . i'm beginning to believe there's a way to be me and
be loved and to love. it's not an easier way, but it's better . . . | | |
| "if the good Lord had wanted us to walk he wouldn't have invented rollerskates"i was walking around my neighborhood tonight . . .it was one of those beautiful summer seattle days that you live for here. . breezy and warm with the sun softly shining its rays way past 9pm .. as I walked the streets I saw people . .I felt so connected to everyone. . . you know, passing people and everyone is smiling with their eyes at everyone else. it was nice. there were a couple times i kicked myself because i didn't just stop and talk. i need to do that more. stop and talk.
I walked past this open door on the side of a guitar store, and smelled a pleasant wood-y scent. the guy in his workshop looked up and smiled just as i passed by. . i wanted to stop in .. does he MAKE guitars? does he fix them? i hope to go back and find out . . .
I passed this other guy who I didn't see until I was almost on top of him, there was this makeshift stand and shirts being sold, hanging off what could only be called a shack and the wire fence which conveniently had lots of hooks for hanging shirts of all types that looked like they could have been picked up from your local salvation army but were painted or printed on. . mostly with bob-marley or marley-esque type characters. . i wasn't sure. . this older gentleman was sitting. .i should have stopped and talked. . i thought as i walked down the road.
why is it impossible for me to turn around? why do i make it impossible?
God didn't make rollerskates or wheels. .he gave us legs. ... i don't really want to walk everywhere .. but there's something about having wheels, having a car makes it easy for me to think things that aren't true about life and about me. . I think I can always go. I think that rushing past people so fast that i can't see them is normal, is natural, is even desired.
God didn't make me wheels maybe cause he doesn't want us always running sixty miles an hour. . naturally, we can only run for so long.. we get tired. .we wear out.. we have to sit down. we wheelers- we lost touch with that. .we think we're supposed to always being going. we forget to walk. we forget to see the people around us. they're just blue sedan and yellow porsche--we don't see sandy, mother of two, who has a stutter, sitting in her car. . others become machines.. machines become obstacles in the way of us running. . running past those who should be our goal. or at least fellows along the way. . | | |
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