most boring post, ever

So while I think of it,

let me paint a thank-you on my palm

for this God, this laughter of the morning,

lest it go unspoken.

The joy that isn't shared, I've heard,

dies young.

--anne sexton

***

The pleasures of consumption, which involves the destruction of another animal or plant into smaller and smaller bits that are then swallowed and digested—kissing is this without the destruction, consumption, and assimilation of something that was once an animal doing its own thing. Real eating is a one-sided pleasure; for one side, it is a good encounter, for the cow or egg or nut, it is not so good. Kissing is eating as production, as creation.

A bad kisser is either (1) a person who actually eats you or (2) a person who does it all wrong. The second type of bad kisser puts too much of their teeth into the moment, or their tongue behaves like a panicked lizard, or their mouth can never strike that wonderful balance between rough and soothing. A bad kisser often means the deal is over. We disengage because we see them as socially inferior—they remove the magic from the risk. The bad kisser reveals their soul: They are a bad person. A good kisser is always a good person. A kiss that lasts for five minutes burns 10 calories.

--charles mudede

***

On Self-Knowledge

      And a man said, "Speak to us of Self-Knowledge." 

      And he answered, saying: 

      Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights. 

      But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge. 

      You would know in words that which you have always know in thought. 

      You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams. 

      And it is well you should. 

      The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea; 

      And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes. 

      But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure; 

      And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line. 

      For self is a sea boundless and measureless. 

      Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth." 

      Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path." 

      For the soul walks upon all paths. 

      The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed. 

      The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

--kahlil gibran, the prophet

i've got this butcher paper mural, full of multi-colored and sparkly sheep, drying over a chair, in my office.  there's a box full of wicker crosses that have been decorated by busy little hands, bright and cheery little things covered in silk flowers that will never wilt or die.  in the basket with the red-thread work quilt (featuring scenes from the life of Jesus, and sewed by the women in my granny's old bible study) and the grey prayer shawl, there's the sock monkey one of my seventh graders gave me for Christmas.  boo boo monkey (so named by three little blonde cherubs who have about four teeth between them) helped me explain how G-d sometimes takes old, ratty, smelly things and turns them into something entirely different for us to love and hold close.  there's a plastic container full of bazooka bubble gum, sticky frog-feet things from oriental trading company, and a basket full of groucho marx glasses/noses and kazoos sits on my desk, ready to be ravaged by marauding children and teens.  and all my random toys are in here--my austin powers' bobble heads, my wonderwoman outfil (it's ornament sized...don't get any crazy ideas...)the nun that spits fire, the little wooden nativity set mrs uumstaddt found in vienna and just thought i HAD to have, the cut-glass bowl my friend jennifer gave me for my thirtieth birthday, the little porcelain owl i painted during day camp...and i sit here, at my dad's old desk, looking across this office at a picture of him and my mother on their first date.  and my books, and books, and books...

i love my office. 

it's almost may.  i can't freaking believe it.  i'm a profoundly lucky girl.  i wake up every day, and remind myself of that.  and i remind myself that everything it took to get me to that moment of opening my eyes and seeing the new day in front of me  was worth it.  because it was.  and it is.  and all things shall be well.  

also, i wish carl jung would get the eff out of my head...i'm just saying...jebus, he's louder than the college kids in the apartment up above me.  that's pretty damn loud.  

mil besos,

rmg