stitching the clouds

2010-01-13T23:26:00.001+01:00

words fail
and bend
and break
like my voice
as i try to stammer
i love you
into this freezing night

The few poems I wrote lately are in German.

2009-08-29T19:47:00.001+02:00

phone
Originally uploaded by professional daydreamer

it's about life.

2009-08-20T18:10:00.000+02:00

I long to write. Write for my life. Write, or the cynicism will catch up.

(Write, Pauline, write!)

Writing means cultivating the longing.
And the longing might be all we have to live on.

I remember, a few weeks ago, still in Germany, I stood at a platform, waiting for a train. I was to be on my way to Berlin and there were oh so many sparrows, all hopping around me. And I considered them. I considered the sparrows, and I would have loved to pick one of them up and hold him in my hands. When I was a child, we would always rescue the sparrows our cat had caught, and they were lethally hurt, but we'd pick them up anyway, chase the cat away and take care of the little bird until it flew away for one last time. (Probably, it would have been grace to just leave the bird in the mouth of the cat.)
And one time, a sparrow flew into our living room. And it refused to find the way out to the window by itself, so I picked it up, enclosed it in my childish hands and brought it outside.
It's such a strange and wonderful sensation -- a bird enclosed in your hands -- holding so much freedom, weakness and strength, all at once. A miracle.

--

I wrote a poem for Marc on my second day in RI. And then I laughed and cried myself to sleep.
And I wrote, as if my life depends on it.

in Chicago:

The sun finds its way through the leaves, making them shine in a bright green; friendly, calming, unafraid. (and providing oxygen)
Children play and scream while their parents hover over them to try to calm them, or they take about a million pictures. There is a strange mix of people, pigeons, and empty coffee cups.
The city is busier than it was during the last two days: more cars to be heard, more people filling the cafes, sidewalks and parks; and more light of the sun to yet again multiply the freckles on my skin.

The human heart can cope with a lot, but I think nothing is as difficult as the permanent tension of the heart, and right now, for me, the longing for a loved one.

--

It's a beautiful, sunny day in Rhode Island, and as soon as Marc called, I will go out and take a long, long walk.

--

"...and may He be in you, to give you the peace that makes no sense."

bird on the wire

2009-06-14T00:48:00.002+02:00

Lately, I seem to drown in things that I need to get done, yet (despite knowing better and time management plans I constantly invent) it feel s so good to just sit down for once, alone, and to find rest and time to read, write, think and pray in solitude.
(For me, this works best in the city.)

Breathe. (and remember to do it deeply)
Sing. (and remember to do it soulfully)
Laugh. (and remember to do it loudly)
Smile. (and remember to do it honestly)
Pray. (and remember to do it constantly)
Love. (and remember to do it wholeheartedly)

I sat at my favorite café in Jena today, and I wondered why it’s seemingly always pretty empty. Maybe that’s why I love it so much – I can be calm there. Sit alone at a table with three empty chairs and write. Read. (Also, it’s the only place where I put sugar in my coffee. (fair-trade & brown))

The wind moved my hair and the pages of my moleskine, my hand didn’t only move the pen but also the shaky table; and the cloud of milk foam danced upon my coffee.

***
Wir borgen Worte und finden uns in ihnen geborgen.

(we borrow words and find ourselves secure in them. (this sentence just sounds more poetic in German))

***
I long to be as that bird on the wire, so calm and unafraid.

lovely

2009-05-18T18:15:00.000+02:00

can you hear my heart beating to this music?

2009-04-29T12:25:00.003+02:00

pour me a glass of wine
talk deep into the night

who knows what we'll find

(listen)

[otr -- i love them SO much]

!!!

2009-04-17T17:49:00.001+02:00

Dear Rhode Island,

I am very thrilled to inform you that I can really visit you this summer.

I will arrive in Boston on August 5th in the afternoon, will drive down to visit you and will leave again on September 23rd from said city in Massachusetts. (I think that'll give us plenty of time for hanging out.)

I cannot wait to see you again!

Love,

~ P.

blue lips can bring forth a song (and the meek shall inherit the earth.)

2009-04-06T23:12:00.001+02:00

It is nighttime now, and birds were still twittering as the evening slowly came to town. A careful green decorates the trees now, still discrete, but losing its timidity more and more with each passing day. (When I will return to this town, I probably will not be able to recognize the tree in front of my window -- it will have put on a new dress.)

Spring has arrived with all its force now, and the breeze gently carries my thoughts away -- right now, to France, where my love rests his head these days.
Vacation is almost over, and a car pulls to the side of the road.

Tonight, we sang and drank wine, laughed and sat silent. Four girls. A-capella. Four voices, lifting up songs to the Lord.
Blue lips, forming words and a melody.

There is a lullaby that I know from my childhood, and everytime we sing together, it has to be sung. I learned the words by heart when I was very little, by singing it again and again, so many nights before I went to bed. I had never understood them, they hardly made any sense in that old and rusty German that didn't fit my everyday language.
I rediscovered that song about half a year ago. The words hold so much meaning. They hit so deep.

Wenn dein Aug ob meinem wacht / wenn dein Trost mir frommt / weiß ich, dass auf gute Nacht / guter Morgen kommt.

Come here and I'll sing it to you.
Rest your lovely head upon a pillow, I'll sing and watch you fall asleep.

My heart is overflowing with joy. God constantly pours out blessings over us, but only lately have I been awake enough to see.

Easter is close, I will be allowed to enjoy coffee again, and I can hardly wait for the greeting on Sunday morning at church:
"The Lord is risen! He is risen indeed!"

(Der Herr ist auferstanden! Er ist wahrhaftig auferstanden!)

But before, Good Friday.
(O how happy I am to know what will come on Sunday.)

and in all of this, blue lips can bring forth a song, and the meek shall inherit the earth.

a wonderful, wonderful friend.

2009-01-18T22:50:00.003+01:00

work in progress

2008-11-28T23:17:00.002+01:00

They call it redemption, but it is more than merely a word;

It’s home, when you are so far from where you grew up,
and far from the places you know.

It’s the smile on your lips each time you see a sparrow,
it’s considering grace when you feel you’re not alone.

It’s the crisp morning air at a time when your friends still have yesterday, you see the sun rise over foggy fields and you know it was worth it to get up instead of turning over and sleeping another hour or two.

It’s the newness of spring and the calm of autumn storms.
It’s strangers becoming friends.

It’s pressing down the keys on a piano, and you hear a sound – you’re not deaf.

You open your mouth and find there’s still a song you can sing.

They may call it redemption, but it is more than merely a word:
It’s God’s work in progress.

one more cup of coffee

2008-11-24T14:33:00.003+01:00

I'm studying medicine.
There is not much time to write at all, and this for sure is sad, but I am doing really well here in Jena. (actually, I just passed my first anatomy exam today! phew.)
Just now, snow is falling, I am sitting in the kitchen of our apartment (I share it with 5 other people) looking out the window-wall (seriously, there is a wall missing, or rather, the stones have been replaced by glass. it's cold, but very beautiful.) and having some coffee.

The days pass by quickly here, and just today I realized that in a month it will be Christmas. I will be in the Berlin area again, and I'll be done with almost two thirds of the semester.

I miss you, my dear friends, and I love all the fond memories I made with you (and WILL MAKE with you!) but just now I am making so many new marvelous memories, it's very amazing. I feel good about being where I am. And if that's not something I can be thankful for, I don't know what is.

Medical school is stressful, but interesting. I think I'll get through, and hopefully be a good doctor someday. :)
I already found freaking rad people here whom I can call my friends,
and I generally drink way too much coffee. :P

Life is beautiful,
and God is good.

:)

(re)new(ed)

2008-10-18T17:02:00.002+02:00

(I wrote this the week before I moved to Jena, so it was in the end of September. I haven't really had internet since, and so I was unable to post this. However, this weekend I am home again with my family before classes really start on monday. Also, I'm 20 now. hm.)

There is a poem I wrote in January that I cannot get out of my head.
I found it again a few days ago, somewhere on my hard drive, and the time it found me first, when I simply had to scribble it down on an old train ticket, is still so vividly present.

Melancholy, at its best. Those times seem so distant, yet they are so close.

(Remember the time when you set out to photograph some boats, and that industrial monster, but when you got there, the right light was just gone. You were out of breath, but you still weren’t fast enough.
Leaves were taking off to fly in the wind, and you knew fall was there. )

I am more hopeful today, excited for the days to come,
new people,
new places;

a (re)new(ed) faith.

(and this is why art is so spiritual:
There simply is no end to the journey.
You never have your fill.)

Inspiration lays everywhere, and nowhere (you’re becoming a professional word-thief again) when all you want is to write; but writing, that always is the work of grace.

The seasons’ transitory being; the story of winter to spring and spring to summer and summer to autumn and autumn to winter (just to make place for spring again) is your story. It’s written all over your soul.

Suddenly you remember that couple, carrying a lamp across the street; you wondered if you could ever arrive, be home, no matter where you are. (in Him.)

So these days, more awake than you have been most of the time, breathing that crisp autumn air, you’re off to a fresh start again.

Maybe it will become home,
maybe it will only be another waiting room before you take off for your next adventure.

But surely, someday, your coffee will be strong enough.

on mute

2008-09-17T20:17:00.003+02:00

there are colors in the air

2008-09-09T17:47:00.006+02:00

I can feel the transition from summer to fall as I sit on the lawn in the backyard.
In the light of the sun I noticed this paper's texture for the first time, and I can calmly breathe again. This certainly is one of this year's last summer days (the first leaves on the walnut trees turned yellow already; the apples grow heavier, so heavy that the branches touch ground).
In front of me I can see a whim sitting on a blade of grass, chirping; and I try to take it all in (never to let go): the smells, the sounds, the warmth of the sun on my skin.

There is a single bright yellow flower that I can't name randomly showing its head up from the lawn, and these days birds start assembling to set out for the south. (I will, too, soon enough.)

Piano music is playing in my room (Lieder ohne Worte), the perfect soundtrack for today:
a day filled with Rilke's words of wisdom
(and silence on my part).

When words fail,
and Love wins,
it's heaven, here on earth.

Consider it, like the solitary raven flying over the field behind the house, and (oh gentle sound of home) a train passing in the distance.

2008-08-23T21:30:00.001+02:00

let's sing of HOPE
Originally uploaded by professional daydreamer

"Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree. "

[Antoine de Saint-Exupéry]

a friendly reminder (and a red car)

2008-07-20T18:09:00.001+02:00

There is a little note on the little chest beside my bed, and four words scribbles on it:

JESUS LEBT
(red car)

I clearly remember the moment I wrote this. I was standing on one side of the huge administration building in the town where I went to school. It’s big and grey and awesome modern architecture but too little color. I had had some awesome fair trade coffee with my wonderful friend Aileen, some good conversations, and some walking. The day before, I had bought Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, and when Aileen’s and my way parted, I stood there at the corner, waiting for my father to pick me up, reading. I loved the words I found on the page, words that made sense with the sun on my face and no wasps around. Then, suddenly, I heard a car approaching, and since I needed to check if it was my dad, I looked up. It wasn’t my dad, it was a bright red car with the windows down and two young men in it, one happily driving, the other one holding a sign out of the window that said “Jesus lebt” – Jesus lives.
I was puzzled and within a split second, my nose was deep down in the book again. I didn’t want to look up, I didn’t want them to think that those words meant anything to me, simply because I didn’t want them to get out of the car and start talking to me. Probably, yes, probably they were from some weird sect and would try to talk me into paying them 300 Euros per month (which would be more than I even have each month), and all because Jesus lives and he wants me to pay for their new spiffy worship building that – of course – would be membership only. And women could only get in there with their husbands anyway. Or something. So I looked into my book.
But no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the written words, “Jesus lebt” spooked around my brain. Jesus lives. How could I have forgotten?

Suddenly, a broad smile unfolded like the blackbird unfolds its wing before it takes off to fly. And I couldn’t stop it. I felt my eyes getting smaller, smaller and smaller, and I think my heart skipped a beat or two for joy.

Because Jesus lives.

And suddenly, I didn’t care who those guys were, and whether they wanted to make me sign a lifelong-lasting contract or not. I took out a piece of paper and wrote four words down. “Jesus lebt. (red car).”
They reminded me of what should be on my mind constantly, and that – somehow – seemed to have been lost to me. When they drove by again, I smiled and waved at them, and they smiled and waved back. What confused me most was that they kept going without me signing a contract.
Instead, I held a little note in my hand, which has become a friendly reminder.

Midnight Prayers

2008-06-28T21:04:00.002+02:00

Midnight Prayers
Originally uploaded by professional daydreamer

His Love Is Real

2008-06-23T17:53:00.003+02:00

no more high school for me. ever.

and:
"...if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans." [Anne Lamott]

2008-06-17T20:37:00.002+02:00

Notker Wolf.
A guy to google and be intrigued by.
(for example, I love the fact that he doesn't like political correctness. and he likes AC/DC. way to go. just look him up.)

AND I got Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird and Traveling Mercies today. Started with the birdies and am INTRIGUED. :)

2008-05-31T20:58:00.002+02:00

"I love the world soooooooo much. And God too. And you!"

I found this note on a huge piece of paper stuck to the entrance door today.
My little sister had written it and obviously put it there, and after a long day filled with work, it made my heart leap for joy and put a smile back on my face. refreshing.

Lately, in all the stress and waiting that's forced on me, needing patience but (as usual) lacking it, I find it hard to trust, to believe, to have faith like a child.
That note reminded me of something essential - to love God.
(and in Him the world. and you.)

two all-time-favorites.

2008-05-25T12:40:00.002+02:00

.

2008-05-21T17:06:00.003+02:00

I had my last exam today (biology, for which I got an A) and am now really done with high school. (!!!)

Finally.

w00t! :)

it's true!

2008-05-16T20:57:00.000+02:00

[Warnemünde, at the Baltic Sea]

this makes me very, very happy

2008-05-09T21:04:00.001+02:00

[Berlin, April 26th, 4:30 p.m.]

2008-04-27T17:24:00.004+02:00

The violinist angel (trapped in a bronze statue) stares into the blue sky, his mind flying like the birds that laugh at me, lying in the grass, pondering some questions I know I will never be able to answer.

This place is crowded but I found some space to sit freely. The sun is shining intensely, a gentle breeze blows, it’s incredibly warm. The linden trees Unter den Linden have leaves, finally.

The sunlit cross on the TV tower, my Dorothy shoes in the grass (matching my red-painted nails) -

if the angel could only turn his head, if he could see me happily sitting here, I think he would smile. I bet he would wonder what the cool grass feels like on my feet, the sun on my face and how it tastes to let these words dissolve on the tip of my tongue.

This is my summer vacation on a Saturday afternoon in April.
This is a moment worth living.
This is a day I’m glad I haven’t missed.

Berlin. I love this city.

(and every time I'm here, I see a known face again – and miss another. A few weeks ago, there was a guy in his 20s sitting on the stairs of the Dom, surrounded by pigeons. I looked for him today, but he isn’t here. Last August I exchanged broad smiles (due to accidentally coordinated whistling) with some guy named Andreas, barista at Balzac Coffee (my favorite Starbucks alternative). Today, unexpectedly, I saw him again (more smiles). So now I wonder when I’ll see her again, that gorgeous woman at the age of 60 I guess, who talked with me on the S-Bahn today.)

Is there Bewusstsein (call it awareness, consciousness...)? And what exactly is it?
Is there really Love worth dying for?
Can we honestly believe that faith can actually move the mountains?

The answers are hidden within, but since they are in us and we are in them we can never see them completely – we’re too close.
We try to understand the universe we’re part of, the God who made us – and we don’t even realize how preposterous we are.

We’re children in our mindless philosophies, wanting to explain the whole world (it’s all play) – and our own parental reasoning makes us believe we’d be further away from the truth than we really are.

We’re too grown up to know.
We’re trapped in what we think we know, like the angel is trapped in the statue on top of a building called church.

We’re part of the mystery.
And the mystery is good.

Thank you, Rosie T

2008-04-27T17:22:00.001+02:00

last night was precious.

1990

2008-04-08T16:55:00.002+02:00

[my sister Wiebke still has longer hair than I do... :D ]

Worte einer Wortdiebin

2008-03-25T17:46:00.000+01:00

Once I wrote this:

"i borrow words that never were and never will be truly mine,
like the valley that echoes all the words that are said within."

yesterday, after reading more poems by Linford Detweiler, I talked with my friend Matt. He asked me to tell him something beautiful about life, and so I started...and ended up saying "words are great. or rather...that which lies between the words, between the lines, in the vast distance between the letters aligned."

What I say is not what I say - what I say are the things unsaid.
("every broken word unspoken")

I am living between the lines, living in the distance that stretches itself between my lungs. I am living in all that is left unsaid, and thus revealed.

Language - it is said to make communication easier. Yet - funny, isn't it? - it is the source of so many misunderstandings.

But back to what I once wrote.
I borrow words that never were and never will be truly mine.

Each and every word we say is borrowed, for words are never truly anyone's.
One can align them in a new way at best.
But we all - all - never own them. so we need to be careful with what is not ours.

so through the falling snow,
("you're all I am, I'm what your not - confusing")
across the big and salty accumulation of water,
and through the ribcages that protect our hearts,
I send you my love.

ungarded and vulnerable.

~ me, a professional word-thief

Personal Work

2008-03-24T19:51:00.001+01:00

I am beginning to write my life story
On blank sheets of paper
The one that I write everyday
Whether or not I pick up a pen
The days: pages
The nights: illustrations
My mouth: dialogue
The years: chapters

Characters come and go
The protagonist which is me
The antagonist which is me

Somedays I lose the plot
And flounder
I can't remember why I dreamed of what I now have
Joyless hours lay about
Like fish on the bank of a river
Gills no longer even heaving
And these are the pages I wish I could leave out
Pages where nothing much happens
Pages where I sabotage myself
With muddled thinking
And lack of will
And the pale pasty flowers of malaise
I paint all over my walls
With the paintbrush called
What if
If only
Instead of
What is

But every writer knows we have to write to find out
We have to write to discover what wants to happen
We have to write to know where the story needs to go
We have to write to learn why we are here
We have to write to find we are not alone

And a few days back I had an epiphany
I am not going to talk about my epiphany with anyone
Because I have a long list of failed epiphanies
That I talked about too soon

But in the meanwhile
Here are a few reasons why I might bother to get out of bed
I can work to serve my future children
If I should ever have any
Give them the gift of passion and persistence
In my own life's work
I can write to bring some heart and warmth to others
However few
I can strum music to make the world a little wider for my friends
I can fling handfuls of muddy joy at a whitewashed church
That all too often misses the point
And missed the point again
A church that would rather be white than alive
I can give back what I was given and let it be multiplied

I want to put on this threadbare tuxedo and serve
Is this not what any good film does
That makes us want to watch our own lives
And take care not to miss the good parts
Any song that makes us want to pull the car over to the side of the road
Any book that someone labored and poured over
That makes us weep and smile together
A painting that makes us breathe deeply
The air sweeter because of its existence
(Close your eyes and still see it)

These are all gifts that were ultimately the work of servants
Whether or not they knew what they were doing
They served a thirsty world a glass of water
The best they could offer
Surprising Jesus and even themselves

There is at times much dogged effort that goes into creating good things
But by mopping our brows with the backs of our hands
And continuing to run after something that we sometimes cannot name
We hope to see our love made physical
Find our feet have left the ground
And hello, we are suddenly being skyjacked by joy (are we not)
And it is fleeting

And by doing the least we could do
We occasionally find ourselves doing more than we knew how
Last first
Lost found
Unbound

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,
Roll your eyes:
Now it's your turn

. . .

2008-03-18T22:27:00.004+01:00

just a picture I want to share with you. in due time for spring break. I should study.
I guess i'll read. pray. listen. sing. and hopefully write.

(as the sun descended on the field behind the house, I sat in the living room today, listening to that old vinyl record of the King's Singers singing songs by the Beatles, the cracks all throughout the music, making me shiver and smile.

blackbird singing in the dead of night
take these broken wings and learn to fly.

Oskar the cat is sleeping on my bed, my feet are cold but I don't want to wake him.)

sleepless

2008-03-14T23:12:00.001+01:00

tonight i feel like i might have to explode.
so much emotion inside
tension and release
warmth and cold
smiles and tears

all at once.

overwhelmingly simultaneous.

He said
I give you my peace
but the world is not peaceful.

He said
I am the bread of life
but children starve to death.

this is an invitation
-
come in
sit down
eat with me
(a tax collector)
(sinner)
(restraining my love)
i have enough of it
come in
and make my heart spill
all that is there.

a beautiful mess.

[pauline voss.]

these words came with my coffee

2008-03-13T16:35:00.002+01:00

They hold onto their cigarettes, looking into the distance, breathing out white smoke.
At times they laugh, have a sip of cappuchino, then inhale the tobacco again.
Tow blondes, dressed in black.

I, too, am dressed in black, a red scarf, and a green belt (like the first leaves on a tree).
The foam on my latte macchiato really tastes like milk. I put sugar on it and then eat it with the spoon I was given. The same ritual, over and over again.

5 old lady's just sat down at the table next to me, chatting as if they were 16. (This commonly known person has an awful haircut; she doesn't eat cake; there is not much at the mall.)
The two blondes (I even know their names, but it is of no importance here) are just getting up to leave.

Looking out of the window, seeing hail fall down on the street, I wonder what they thought, seeing me sitting here, alone with my latte macchiato and my moleskine.

I am happy.

Postmodernism in my German class.
I finally am certain that I really want to study medicine.

Grace is still free.
God is Love,
need there be another reason for joy?

you.are.accepted.

2008-03-11T21:06:00.003+01:00

Maybe the reason it seems hard for me to forgive others is that I do not fully believe that I am a forgiven person. If I could fully accept the truth that I am forgiven and do not have to live in guilt or shame, I would really be free. My freedom would allow me to forgive others seventy times seven times. By not forgiving, I chain myself to a desire to get even, thereby losing my freedom.

- Henri Nouwen
The Road to Daybreak

"you are accepted.
you.are.accepted."
(I clearly hear Andrew's voice saying this in a sermon...)

why is it so hard for me to actually believe that?
Why do I need to be reminded of this marvelous truth over and over again?

I am accepted.

Accept the fact that you are accepted.
(once again I am reminded, once again I try to accept)

Tonight, the crescent moon seems to smile at me.

hobbes is my hero.

2008-03-10T22:46:00.001+01:00

If you couldn't find any weirdness, maybe we'll just have to make some! -Calvin and Hobbes

talking with brian, him sending me thousands of calvin and hobbes quotes -- a perfect night! haha. ok. almost.
but seriously, hobbes is my hero. the most philosophical tiger ever known.

thanks brian! :)
you're great.

all of you - read a few children's comics. they usually hit deep.

that's all for tonight.
<3

i am thankful tonight.

2008-03-05T21:35:00.001+01:00

Snow fell this morning as I walked from the train station to my school. My black coat was covered with snowflakes, some had melted on my glasses and (as my little sister worded it when we both walked home in the afternoon) I must have looked like a moving snowman. Or rather woman. Well. This afternoon, right in time for getting out of school, the sun came out and tried to trick me into thinking it was warm and pleasant outside. It wasn't warm, but really rather pleasant, and I felt bad being inside doing my homework. Looking at the sky I started dreaming of summer, and concentrating on the article I had to write for my politics class wasn't the easiest task. But now it's evening, dark outside and finally the article is written.

I had to be at school again tonight, to perform bits and pieces of a play my grade wrote to earn money to pay our "abi" celebration, in june, when we all will finally be done with high school. After rushing to the train station to drop off my friend Luise who needed to catch that train that already stood at the station when we arrived, I drove home, on the streets I know quite well by now, listening to the best music I can imagine for such a situation. "find the slow curve of a back road, one hand on the wheel..." - I recorded Good Dog Bad Dog onto a really old cassette tape, so old it affects the sound qualtiy, which I get incredibly excited about. The music becomes real, at times - always suddenly - louder than before, for a split second, and then almost muted again....the lack of consistency in the volume reminds me of distant winter evenings, when, as a child, I used to sit in our living room, eyes closed, listening to fairy tale songs on an old vinyl record, that quiet crackling noise. Precious memories.

this morning, a snowflake descended and my song of praise went up.

like another reality

2008-02-29T15:42:00.002+01:00

for the first time in years
I wrote a poem in my mother tongue again.

I don't know how I feel about this.

it seems to me like those two languages
create two different realities for me
and I know which one I would choose.
if I could.

2008-02-27T15:58:00.002+01:00

just as i got off the bus the rain started.
now the drops are sliding down the window, i am inside, the storm on the other side of the glass.
it's stormy today, and i don't know if this will make any sense to anyone else, but the wind gets me so incredibly excited!

this is such a perfect day.
not perfect in many ways, but i can only be thankful, staring out the window, seeing the top of a tree that is visible above the roof sway in the wind, rain clutching against the window. it is a pleasant sound. calming.
the best excuse to stay inside, write a few words to faraway friends and have a coffee.

yet from afar i can already see the blue sky again. this might be one of the last cold wintery storms this year. who knows? i just know that today, during math, i looked out through the window to see the big tree across the street blooming already.

so, dear friends, across the big sea, i want to share a german song line with you.

"man kann die sehnsucht nicht erklär'n / man muss sie selbst erleben"
- you can't explain the longing / you have to experience it yourself. -

every time i listen to "lilienthals traum" (lilienthal's dream) by reinhard mey, this line makes tears come up my eyes.
once again, i lately realized that longing is essential for each and every human being. longing, the longing for shalom, for unity with God, it is in all of us. it is a sacred longing, and the question is if we recognize it as such or not. that is what makes all the difference.
longing, sacred longing.

so all the brokenness i can see all around, and within me as well, it results from the longing that cannot be satisfied by all the things we try to satisfy it with.
the implications of the fall, so vividly displayed. we are disconnected, from God, this world, each other and our inmost self. yet we need this connection to be whole, to be human, to be God's children. we need to acknowledge the longing and reconnect - to the Lord, and thus to each other, this world, ourselves.

such a big thought, such a big big reality i cannot even start to fathom,
and yet so easy to understand.

now the sun is out again, the sky deep blue, the window still sprinkled with drops of water.
beauty.

a simple reminder

2008-02-19T21:32:00.003+01:00

There are graffiti all around: on walls, on doors, on the platform at my "home train station", on post boxes and phone booths. They all say His name, they say "God".
So as I sit on the train and read this word carved into the window, I can only smile. Such a simple reminder of His greatness, even on such a rainy and grey day, when I am almost overwhelmed by all the busyness.

You are good.

You are all around, in all of the stress, the unrest and the uncertainty. You are here, right beside me, and You won't leave.

Thank You.

remember

2008-02-17T18:19:00.001+01:00

Guitar music, almost forgotten and yet known so well.
A friend’s voice, distant laughter, an urge to jump.
Thankfulness to the angel who protected him in that car accident.
A smile on my face, in the midst of all the busyness,
Poetry,
Music,

Love.

rememer the wonders He has performed

to a known stranger,

2008-02-15T22:34:00.005+01:00

an unknown friend,
to faces I can connect with names,
and to so many I see on trains each day, without knowing their story, but seeing such sadness in their eyes.
to those who need these words.
and to those who relate.

to you.

Good evening.

I had planned to go to sleep early today, make up some sleep I didn't get during the last week, let my body rest.
Now I find myself laying awake, the moonlight shining on my face, keeping me up. And so I write to you.

You? Who you really are I cannot tell you, you probably even can't tell yourself. I have met you numerous times, yet I have never known you. I have looked into your eyes, yet I have never truly seen you. I have heard your voice and spoken to you in return, but we never had a real conversation.

I lie awake tonight, pondering some inexplicable questions.
I lie awake tonight, thinking about the brokenness I see all around me, the brokenness I feel within.

The implications of the Fall so vividly displayed.

The world seems so out of tune, it is as if we all make up a huge orchestra, all trying to play a beautiful song, all tuned on a different key.

I am just so incredibly excited for heaven, for the days when we will be made whole again, when we will be united again - with God and each other!
I am so incredibly excited for heaven, for the time when we will be tuned again, in the same key, God's key, which will be a major one.
I am so incredibly excited for heaven, for the joy in our hearts that will drive out sadness, just like true love drives out fear.

Yet you don't even care to capitalize His name. When I speak of Him, to you "he" is just another personal pronoun of no significance.

You have never understood these words that move my heart so deeply:
"Tuny my heart to sing Thy Grace"

Will you ever?

2008-02-09T09:56:00.000+01:00

In the Christian context, we do not mean by a "mystery" merely that which is baffling and mysterious, an enigma or insoluble problem. A mystery is, on the contrary, something that is revealed for our understanding, but which we never understand exhaustively because it leads into the depth or the darkness of God. The eyes are closed—but they are also opened.

- Kallistos Ware
The Orthodox Way

I know I'm not perfect

2008-02-05T21:47:00.001+01:00

but if you give me a little grace
maybe I'll do better.

reflections in puddles

2008-02-05T15:55:00.000+01:00

Good afternoon.

Yesterday was a Films for Radio day. It really is a wonderful cd...full of lovely songs...one of them always leaves me smiling. Always. It's that song I don't mind singing out loud in a crowded train.
Whatever you say.
The song now has something to do with my blog...obviously. Also, no more black here. I want to write happier entries. :)

I had today off, as yesterday. But instead of sleeping in, having lots of coffee and relaxing the whole day I got up early, took my violin and walked to the train station. I had a rehearsal today that lasted until half past two. In between I had 2 hours of free time, which I was glad to use for reading, writing a little and walking to a bakery to eat a delicious tomato mozzarella sandwich. The sun was shining and as I looked up into the bright blue sky I remembered summer days with skirts and sandals, a song in my head and a smile upon my lips.
I can't wait for summer to come, for hours at the beach, writing, feeling the wind, hearing waves chrashing at the shore and seagulls cry.
When I left the school building again (where the rehearsal took place) the sky was grey, covered in clouds. It still is.
Trees were reflected in puddles on my way home, and yet I danced through the forest. For real. I was listening to the Happy Song by For Tomorrow and started spinning round, hoping that my violin case would make it.

Now steam comes from a cup of coffee, a few happy songs are playing and I send you all my love.

wisdom's in the trees

2008-02-03T11:51:00.001+01:00

on a happier note ;)

2008-01-29T22:49:00.000+01:00

Love. [click on image!]

fiction, so close to the truth

2008-01-29T15:57:00.001+01:00

We are stretching the hours, refilling our glasses with the shared solitude.
Collective loneliness.

The darkness of the night shines like a spotlight, and it reveals who we truly are. The lights go out, sincerity and honesty step in, and sometimes this is the last thing we want. We get it anyway.

So I see you, leaning up against the closed bedroom door, your eyes meet mine with your questioning look which I don't know how to answer. I smile, while really, I want to cry, feeling the brick wall between our hearts and minds. There's no connection, despite our love for music, photographs and dry red wine.
This might be one of the last times that I'll see you, and so I try to enjoy. I try hard.
The wind makes the windows rattle, and my thoughts race.
We'll never be we, and as hard as I try, my love can't save you. As much as I wish it could.

So I will go out into the night with its storm, lost in thought, my heart broken for you, the taste of wine still in my mouth.

the end of words

2008-01-23T18:32:00.001+01:00

The night is all around me,
and my fingertips are cold as I am typing these words.

I am happy.

Lately, my days are filled with things that have to be done, I became a busy person again and there is not nearly as much time for writing as I wish there was. But in between the hours I jot down words, and now there are little notes all over my desk. On the margins of my notes for school. On my folders. On my hand. Words are everywhere, all around.
This is funny, because just recently I came to fully realize (again) how words simply fail, how they aren't complete - and never will be.
And on top of this, I feel trapped between two languages; not home yet in one, not anymore in the other.

Yet it is at the end of words
that poetry steps in.

But nevertheless, or even because of this, I am happy.
Once again, I just sat down by the piano today, playing a new song that has been hiding in my heart. I wrote it down right afterwards, and played it again and again. The piano is out of tune, and it makes a strangely beautiful sound.

He has given me a new song to sing,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see what he has done and be amazed.
They will put their trust in the LORD.
[Psalm 40:3]

Each song we sing,
each word of encouragement we whisper,
each honest smile that spreads on our face
is prayer.

# 102

2008-01-13T18:53:00.000+01:00

a few days ago, my little sister gave this leaf to me.
i guess our hearts are green. :)

a poem never (to be) written

2008-01-11T23:14:00.000+01:00

we - we are a poem
lacking the right words

you - you are a song
i try to sing; and fail

i - i am a lost bird
flying to find home

we - we are a poem
never (to be) written

and maybe it's best
this way

[pauline voss]

It's the music you haven't heard in years

2008-01-08T18:01:00.001+01:00

that still rings in your ears.

Today, with a lot of questions unanswered, a lot of dreams not realized and a lot of love to give, I started writing poems again.

Because what I thought I had is what I lost,
what I thought I lost is what I have eternally,
and what I gave is always mine.

Confusion might have been all I needed,
plans shaken,
certainties dissolved.

A poem comes to my mind, one that my grandfather wrote years ago, and in the essence it says that from doubt to doubt, every certainty dissolves.

And so I choose to trust in Him,
because He has revealed Himself
in Love that never ends.

Put the Lights on the Tree

2007-12-20T16:55:00.000+01:00

2007-12-14T22:31:00.001+01:00

The distance stretches itself between my lungs, it tears me apart while on the outside I seem unbroken.

Lord, please make me whole again. Somehow. Because You can.

I miss you all. Very much.

Merry Christmas.

The Space Between

2007-11-24T14:24:00.000+01:00

Some nights I wake up, suddenly, and write. What I write are just words that come to my mind in my dreams. And every now and then, like today, I try to make sense of the words I wrote.

I am probably digesting a lot of what I read lately: some Kierkegaard, some Rilke, Orhan Pamuk’s novel Snow (with which I’m not done yet, but on my way), and once again Linford’s poetry.
My passion for poetry that started when I was about 10 years old seems to be coming back more impetuously now, and what I would love to do most is to hide out in the spaces between artistically aligned words.

I know I’m not perfect
But if you give me a little grace
Maybe I’ll do better
I have some idea of what life is about
*

What I realized most intensely is that truth cannot be talked about (in human understanding) because it is infinite, while words are so cruelly finite.
Truth is what lies in the space between the words, when, for a split second, the narrator is silent while talking.
Truth is when what was unintelligibly said is lived out to the point. THIS is eloquence.
Truth is not a matter of fact.
It cannot be fully known, yet it reveals itself to us in pieces,
in a poet’s metaphor
a painter’s stroke of the brush
a singer’s melody
a stranger’s cautious smile.

And when the sun sends its last ray for the day, you know that truth found you for a moment, and you begin to smile. Because slowly you come to understand that this life is a gateway to eternity; that the probable is far from truth; and that God’s Love can conquer all.

Truth comes unexpectedly.

^{* Some Things The Trappist Monk Said In His Talk}

Darling, Christmas Is Coming

2007-11-18T21:16:00.000+01:00

I know it's early, it's only November, and yet I can already feel it coming. The supermarket has been filled with gingerbread and “Spekulatius”, paper stars and artificially snowed in objects for a while now. My mom started making paper stars again, my dad has been working on pottery for Christmas markets more now, and I took Snow Angels out again already. As I saw today, parts of a Christmas market are already set up at the Potsdamer Platz in Berlin, and all that is missing is a big crowd of people and the scent of sugar roasted almonds and mulled wine. It won’t be long until all these things will fill that place, and I hope it won’t be long until I will be in Berlin again.

It already snowed on Friday. Even though they were only small flakes that were floating down as I was sitting next to the window in my English class, I was excited. So I sat and stared, unable to concentrate on the short story but instead – for the first time in a while – taking some time to rest, smile, and write down a few words. I wrote with a real pen on real paper, trying not to listen to the murmuring of the others. Seeing the black ink forming letters and words spreading on the paper made me smile with my heart.

These last weeks I haven’t written much, and I regret it. I have been under a lot of pressure, some of it I forced upon myself, some of it came external. But now, as it is dark early and much more comfortable inside with a cup of good coffee, I hope to not let the words that come to my mind so often go unnoticed, but instead to give them the attention they need.

I have just had some amazing days, filled with amazing conversations and people to hold dear. Let them be cherished.

I think it's time to take out C.S.Lewis again, and Kierkegaard and Bonhoeffer.

In Orhan Pamuk's novel Snow, Ka, the poet from Istanbul, says the snow reminds him of God. It made me smile at first, and then it made me wonder: why do we seemingly have to be reminded of the One through whom we all exist? And also, why is it that simple questions, as much as we know they don't make sense, can throw us off and let us sink in doubt again?
God is wonderful, He truly is amazing; and nothing can change His greatness.

So last night, I found the slow curve of a back road, one hand on the wheel, driving through the dark night. I am on a journey, and I feel God working in my heart.

I lack eloquence lately.

2007-10-21T18:05:00.000+02:00

No original thought flows from my pen; all I can do is quote, at best.

Quiet music rings loudly in my ears, the chords are resounding and don't let me sleep, whereas loud music becomes quiet, often simply noise, to which I don't even listen anymore.

God is marvelous, too marvelous for words.

"What we see with our eyes is knowledge, but what the heart knows is certainty."

Every sound we make is a new prayer prayed, yet I seem to have become silent more often lately. I just don’t have much left to say.

The sky is grey, one cannot even see the clouds moving because there are so many of them. It all looked different two weeks ago, with the red leaves on a tree, words of encouragement in my ears and a pen at hand to quote the scene around me. Now I am not out in the city but in my room, the darkness of the night slowly descending, an album with photographs next to me.

So once again I go to the piano. Once again I sing "I wanna do better, I wanna try harder..." Once again I sing "You're my whiskey from time to time". Because every sound we make is a new prayer prayed. And I cannot be silent anymore.

(reckless)

2007-10-09T22:33:00.000+02:00

The last weeks, or maybe just days, have brought about sadness and joy, hurting and healing, confusion and clarity. Even though there were many things I wish wouldn’t have been there, I am thankful beyond comprehension. God is good. He knows what He is doing, and for every door that closes He will show you at least two open ones.

I found a church community in Berlin where I feel home. I feel home in the worship, the people are great and I am excited to go there again so soon. The decision I made months ago to go once a month isn’t satisfying anymore, I long to be part of a lively community again. I remember Bekah telling me that once a month wouldn’t be enough. She was right.

But what now?
I am starting to dream recklessly again. I start to fully trust, to imagine, and to live with such joy which only the Lord can give. I start to give all of me, I start to love without reservation.

This is dangerous.

This is pure.

For if dreams aren't reckles - are they then dreams at all?

always

2007-09-30T18:52:00.000+02:00

pray!
as if the world depends on it

because it does.

2007-09-27T16:05:00.000+02:00

beauty is everywhere. you just have to look.

(autumn is coming. fast.)

unexpected, yet eternally present

2007-09-26T21:29:00.000+02:00

[the Lord's prayer on a wall of a ruinous house...]
a friendly reminder, words carved into the plaster on a house that is more likely to be demolished soon than stand for many more years to come. the Lord's prayer on the wall of a house where i would have never expected it.

it made my day.

still

2007-08-29T18:21:00.000+02:00

A few weeks ago, when I still had summer vacation, I went to the Baltic Sea a couple of times. The day I took this picture the sea lay calm, it mirrored the sky perfectly, and I got lost in the deep blue of this favorite element.
One night passed and as I woke up the next morning there were clouds and there was wind. Lots of it. It was the way I love it when being at the sea. When there is no chance to maintain one hairstyle for more than 2 seconds and when the wind finds its way through all the layers of clothing, giving you chills.
That day I sat on the beach, praying, writing, looking out and longing. I wanted to read in my bible so badly, but I didn't have it with me. the waves were crashing against the shore, hardly anyone was to be found in the water, and seagulls' cries were gently carried by the wind.

and I thought of Matthew 8: 23-27. The storm. The fear of the disciples. and Jesus...sleeping.

Then Jesus got into the boat and started across the lake with his disciples. Suddenly, a fierce storm struck the lake, with waves breaking into the boat. But Jesus was sleeping.
The disciples went and woke him up, shouting, "Lord, save us! We're going to drown!"
Jesus responded, "Why are you afraid? You have so little faith!" Then he got up and rebuked the wind and waves, and suddenly all was calm.
The disciples were amazed. "Who is this man?" they asked. "Even the winds and waves obey him!"

This story amazes me over and over again. So many little details....
The storm came suddenly. It was a fierce storm. Normally storms are coming after warning. After there have been heavy breezes, but hardly ever out of sudden. But this storm came unexpected here. Very unexpected.
Isn't this sometimes what life is like? You float around, really comfortable in your boat called Daily Life, you think nothing could happen. You feel safe. And suddenly the waves get higher, so high that they enter your boat and become your unwelcome companions. The boat is close to overturn. Life isn't safe anymore. Something horrible happens, and you aren't prepared, it catches you off guard. You have no chance to escape this, because even if you would jump out of the boat, you'd be in the stormy sea, more endangered of drowning. it's dangerous.

But Jesus was sleeping.

Jesus was sleeping. This sentence evokes a couple of feelings in me. On one hand I am amazed at how he can still sleep in this situation. I am amazed, and I think he's pretty cool to just cope with this. But on the other hand I get angry with him. How can he do this? His disciples are afraid, so afraid that they are probably screaming, shouting for help, almost unable to breathe. And he is sleeping. Sleeping! As if he didn't care!!!
And sometimes....sometimes this is how I feel in my boat called Daily Life. Jesus is there....but he seems to be sleeping. I find myself in the middle of a storm - and Jesus says nothing. Does nothing. Sleeps.

So the disciples go wake him up. Not very gently, they yell at him. "Do something or we will all die!" They are paniced.
I understand them well.

So Jesus wakes up, maybe a little annoyed? It doesn't say it, but his words do tell a lot...
"Why are you afraid? You have so little faith!" He says this, but gets up, and calms the storm. He just does it.
And suddenly, all was calm.
As surprising as the storm came, it went. Jesus stopped it.

There must have been silence here. Long silence, uncomfortable silence, confused silence, amazed silence. All of it. The disciples were amazed, and they were silent. They stopped shouting.

We all know what this could be like in our personal boats. Suddenly, all is well again, we feel safe again, and we blink, not believing what we see. Jesus answered our prayers. Finally.

And then the disciples ask the most astonishing question. "Who is this man?", they asked. "Even the winds and the waves obey him!"

Please picture this. There are these guys, poor guys, who gave up everything they had to follow this Jesus. Yet they still don't seem to know WHO he really is. And this amazes me. They FOLLOW him, without knowing where he is going and without knowing who he IS!
Stop. Rewind.
Jesus has turned water to wine. Jesus has healed people. Jesus has been teaching about the ways of God, he has been living them out right in front of them.
Forward. Stop. Play.
They ask who he is.

----

How often has the storm been calmed in my life? In yours? And how many times have we still wondered, how many times have we been hesitating to follow.
And I mean, we KNOW who Jesus was and still IS! We know the end of the story. Or at least, the new beginning.

It takes a lot to trust. The disciples where with Jesus when there was this storm, Jesus was with them. Right there. And they were afraid. "You have so little faith!" is what Jesus tells them. They don't trust. They have seen Jesus work miracles, yet they don't trust in their hearts.
And isn't it the same with us?

--

This is my command - be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.
[Joshua 1:9]

summer

2007-08-19T17:21:00.000+02:00

...has been very nice so far.

awesome article

2007-08-17T18:36:00.000+02:00

click on the image to read it....there'll be a cover from a magazine....and you can click your way through there as well. i just love what he says. and the music.

typewriter thoughts

2007-08-14T19:32:00.000+02:00

first

last year's words found again

2007-08-09T23:46:00.001+02:00

and my soul
it can fly
high above the city with its busy streets
over lonely fields
over rivers and mountains
over borders and oceans.

gravity
has lost its grip on me
the heavy burden, it was promised light.

my soul sings
joy gives me wings
and i'm flying like a bird
traveling wherever i want to.
i am free!
He has set me free.
(you are free, too.)

and my soul
it flies.

graffiti in berlin

2007-08-08T11:00:00.000+02:00

[click on image to get a better view of what made me smile a whole day...]

poetries from poetrees
from poetthrees and more...
at liberties on poetstreets
license to be ornottobe
the soul of generosity

--unknown

worte können fliegen

2007-08-07T23:44:00.000+02:00

(Worte können fliegen. Fliegen können Worte. Worte, Können, Fliegen.)

[(words can fly. flies know words. words, ability, flies.)]

for whatever reason, this phrase has been using my mind as its living room for a while now. occupying it, and obviously enjoying its own mystery to me, at times playing master of disguise. why i even thought of it i do not know. sometimes words really can fly. but when they do, when they fly from one mind to another, it is more like they fly from one heart to another. and then it's not the words alone that fly anymore... and as so often i have no clue what i even want to say.

(it's just that walking the streets of greifswald makes me dream.)

four winds blowing through my hair, i sat at beaches at the baltic sea a few times last week.

the sea lay calm, sky-blue, the sky took on the color of the ocean. or was it the other way around? my red toenails vanished in the sand which was all between my toes and i enjoyed the sun shining down on me. i thought of a good friend whom i haven't seen in quite a long time, and how unpleasantly distant i feel.

just about 20 hours later it was, waves crashing against the shore and each other, the winds blowing more strongly. the family (or at least most of them) were looking for little rocks. there was white foam at the edge of the waves, a ferry to sweden visible on the horizon, my feet once again dug into the sand. it had gotten cooler, and i found that there still was a song on my lips.

and now, back home, summer heat present again, that night with smiles, laughter and conversations seems to have planted new, long longed for dreams.

sound of silence

2007-08-06T12:31:00.000+02:00

there is a sound in silence
a whisper
like the wind moving the leaves of a tree
carrying a lonely seed

if you'd only listen
you could hear the train in the distance
and the corn swaying gently in the wind

I need You

2007-08-03T14:12:00.001+02:00

for real.

the choice

2007-07-22T13:27:00.000+02:00

ever day
there lies a blank page to write on
right in front of me.

i have a choice.

i can sit and stare
afraid to write the wrong words
- thus not writing at all.

OR

i can fill the page with words,
creating a song of praise
to God, my love,
who has given all:
the spring, the fall
the calm, the storm
and in it all
a place to be
and pray with more than words.

i have a choice.
really?

He has chosen me
to serve Him with the language of Love,
His language,
which is holy.

and so i wildly scribble
bubbling with joy.
for He has put a song in my mouth
and so i will sing.

2007-07-06T16:23:00.000+02:00

That little boy was philosophizing about snow and ice; you were coming up from a drawer in a forgotten room of my mind, that summer night. Just like Eurasian swifts come out of walls of city houses, surprisingly, you caught me off guard without catching me.
There were little drops on my glasses, the sky’s tears, as if it did my job and cried in my place. I want to drive, far away, alone in an old stick shift car, one hand on the wheel, singing out loud. Like a bird my song flies away on its melodious wings, and I secretly wish I could come with it. It is free to float up in the air, while I am bound to be here, in reality. And so I close my eyes when I sing and play, always hoping to be lifted up into the air together with all the major and minor chords, the do re mi fa so la si do‘s.

The cinema behind my eyes has been playing that one movie for a while now. There are scratches on the film reel, and with each screening the quality gets worse, it seems older and more distant. It leaves more room for dreams now.

Sometimes my soul sings a song I don’t know. It sets me longing, longing for more, and I wonder where my soul has learned to sing a song as wonderful as this one.

Maybe it was when we were still in the Garden of Eden, before it was paradise lost, cynic old people’s “real world”. Maybe my soul was reminded of it when it glimpsed that sunset behind the trees, while the train refused to stop and silence let me wait. Maybe it was in the chills one gets while waiting at the station in the early morning hours, or the warm beams of the sun that seemingly just were sent to warm you up and make you smile again. Melt the ice your heart has turned into.
Or maybe it was in the quiet sensation of a stranger’s smile meeting your eyes, unexpectedly in a crowd.

You Can't Pray A Lie

2007-06-27T21:07:00.000+02:00

.....

no matter how hard you try

homesick for a place that isn't mine

2007-06-21T15:56:00.000+02:00

It’s June 21st, the beginning of summer. The air is filled with anticipation, it smells like vacation and 3 hour car rides to the Baltic Sea. There is the fragrance of summer rain which makes me smile with my heart.Flowers are in every garden I pass by, the trees bear their summer leaves and the wind kindles the fire of “Fernweh“, an incredibly strong longing to go somewhere else.

It was exactly one year ago that I left RI. The happenings of the year and especially of that day are so present in my mind today, they make me laugh and cry at the same time. I am very glad that the concert of Bodo Wartke (my favorite comedian ever….who plays piano and sings so well…) is tonight. Otherwise, if left alone and not being forced to give in to the distraction and laughter, I might become melancholy. My heart would actually be heard and I don’t know what it’d say.It’s already been a year since I came back. Oh how times flies.

I sat in front of a church today, on a bench, writing on some random pieces of paper. I didn’t bring my journal to school today and, yes, I did regret it. It was around 11am….and the town was quiet. It was simply wonderful to be at a place where I could just sit and be.

Maybe it’s not so much that I long to be in Rhode Island again as I long to be elsewhere. Just some other place than this, where I have spent most of my life. Saying this, I don’t want to imply that I don’t want to come back to RI, because that wouldn’t be true. I want to be there again *so* badly. Mostly because of the people but also the places I miss so intensely.

A wind chime was playing and the sound of it somehow refreshing. It brought a simply melody to the moment, and I started humming along with the bees that were flying in the middle of all the flowers.

I walked home barefoot today. Walking barefoot through the summer rain (it is still very warm) is one of the most wonderful things that I could have (unexpectedly) done today.

Only one more year and I’ll go somewhere else. It is a strange, somehow scary and yet so intriguing thought. This time it will be for real. I won’t move back to this house. …But firstly I have to get school done.

My Latin exam went pretty well, for those of you who want to know. I don’t know what grade I’ll get for it, but I will know in about one week, after my oral exam next Friday.
Also, only 3 and a half weeks to go until summer vacation. Hooray! I can hardly wait.

(an eye-to-eye conversation over a glass of wine, that's what i long for the most right now....)

2007-06-08T21:00:00.001+02:00

i borrow words that never were and never will be truly mine,
like the valley that echoes all the words that are said within.

2007-05-24T19:40:00.000+02:00

a little out of place, a little out of time, just a little out of everything i sit here and start typing words. they simply appear on the screen, as if they wanted to be there. i have not chosen them, but rather they have chosen me to write them down.
words sometimes do that to me, they're simply there when darkness is too bright, pain is too pleasant, abundance is too little and silence is too loud.

it might sound preposterous, but it is true. somehow.
it is what i feel in those moments when i don't know what i feel.

darkness is too bright. too bright to be blind. too bright to receive new sight.
pain is too pleasant. too pleasant to be truly hurt and broken. too pleasant to receive healing.
abundance is too little. too little to make up what my life should be about. it leaves my life empty, still searching.
silence is too loud. too loud, yes, even in silence i distract myself from listening. prayer isn't talking. it's leaving room for Him to speak to us.

He promised it all. He promised light, healing, life to the full and an answer. He is the Light, the Healing, the Life, the ultimate answer.

so i am left here, a little out of place, a little out of time, just a little out of everything, trying to trust Him. it's not an easy task. not easy, but worthwhile. guaranteed.

2007-04-07T21:24:00.000+02:00

there is nothing like a spontaneous day trip to the baltic sea.
(for more pics go here)

I know a love that will not let me go.

2007-04-01T17:29:00.000+02:00

[A knocker I found on a random door in Pedara (Sicily)]

I can hear someone knock on my door.
I may open it, but if it's You, if it's actually You - should I? Should I really open and let all Your light shine in?

Here in the dim light of my room I can safely hide all my little secrets. I can safely hold up the facade that makes me into who I want to be, not who I am. In the dim light, no one can see the cracks all over it. I am safe. There is no clarity here. No demand for action, no demand for truth. Here in the darkness I can keep everything I want to keep for myself, letting no one get a hold of it. Nobody. Not even You!

Why would I even want Your light?

I store them up, my pretentious lies, my false promises and my pride. I keep them safe, up there in a box on my wardrobe. Without a chair not even I can reach it. And, oh, I make sure that nobody can grab anything to step on and thus reach up there.

Why would I even want You to?

There must be dust on that box by now. I try hard to forget about it, and it mostly works. I made myself a web of distractions to surround me. I made sure that --even if I wanted to-- something would prevent me from emptying that box. I made sure that I would hold on to everything, even if it hurt. Letting go might be the healing my soul longs for, but --clever little me-- I made sure this won't happen.
Do you want me to let go?

Knock. Again.
I open. Only a slit, at first, so that the light only fills one side of the room. My eyes that got used to the dim light of my room hurt at the sudden brightness, and suddenly I realize that I have let go of the handle, the door is wide open.
You are here.

The cracks on my mask show, and, angry with myself, I go, take the dust-covered box and throw it on the floor. It falls apart, into a thousand little pieces. My mask has fallen off as well.
And You? You look at me, right at my --highly imperfect-- face and smile! You smile!!
You don't yell at me for letting You wait outside for so long, no, You just look at me with so much love in your eyes that all I can do is cry. Is that what You wanted? Did You want to break me?

Suddenly all I hid in the numerous locked drawers comes out and overwhelms me. Your light is brighter than I thought, and my dim light has in fact been pitch-black darkness.
I needed You more than anything, more than anyone else, and yet I tried to keep You out.
How could I turn around? This is a dead-end street and I lost the map to find my way back.

Down at my knees, tears rolling over my face, I lift up my eyes.
But You are not up in the sky, where I was looking.
You are right here, right where I am, an arm outstretched to help me stand again.

You will not leave me in the darkness. You will be my Everlasting Light. You will guide me on my way back, on the road that leads to You.

How do I know?

You promised.

so after walking with you for a while, I ask:
Why did you even go and search for me there?

I love you, You say.
I love you.

THE VISION

2007-03-31T22:35:00.000+02:00

So this guy comes up to me and says, “What’s the vision? What’s the big idea?” I open my mouth and words come out like this ...

The vision?
The vision is JESUS – obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.
The vision is an army of people. You see bones? I see an army.
And they are FREE from materialism.
They laugh at 9-5 little prisons.
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday.
They wouldn’t even notice.
They know the meaning of the Matrix, the way the West was won.
They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations. They need no passport. People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence.
They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying.

What is the vision?

The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars. It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure.

Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation.
It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games.
This army will lay down its life for the cause.
A million times its soldiers
Choose to lose
That they might one day win
The great ‘well done’ of faithful sons and daughters.
Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night.
They don’t need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: “COME ON!”
And this is the sound of the underground
The whisper of history in the making
Foundations shaking
Revolutionaries dreaming once again
Mystery is scheming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing...
This is the sound of the underground
And the army is discil(in)ed.
Young people who beat their bodies into submission.
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms.
The tattoo on their back boasts “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes.
Winners.
Martyrs.
Who can stop them?
Can hormones hold them back?
Can failure succeed?
Can fear scare them or death kill them?
And the generation prays
Like a dying man
With groans beyond talking,
With warrior cries, sulphuric tears and
With great barrow loads of laughter!
Waiting. Watching: 24-7-365.
Whatever it takes they will give:
Breaking the rules.
Shaking mediocrity from its cosy little hide.
Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs,
Laughing at labels, fasting essentials.
The advertisers cannot mold them.
Hollywood cannot hold them.
Peer-pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockorel cries.
They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive inside.
On the outside? They hardly care.
They wear clothes like costumes to communicate and celebrate but never to hide.
Would the surrender their image or their popularity?
They would lay down their very lives – swap seats with the man on death row – guilty as hell.
A throne for an electric chair.
With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days, they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.
Their DNA chooses JESUS. (He breathes out, they breathe in.)
Their subconscious signs. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.
Their words make demons scream in shopping centers.
Don’t you hear them coming?
Herald the weirdos!
Summon the losers and the freaks.
Here come the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes.
They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension.
Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.
And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it will come easily; it will come soon.
How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself, the groaning of the spirit, the very dream of God.
My tomorrow is his today.
My distant hope is his 3-D.
And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great “Amen!” from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself. And He is the original dreamer, the ultimate winnder.
Guaranteed.

...du papillon

2007-03-07T17:49:00.000+01:00

Take in a deep breath of the cool spring air coming through the open window.

Behold, stand at the side of the road, and watch the sun slowly disappear behind the horizon.

Skip down a hill and laugh, your shoes being covered in mud, walking home barefoot.

On these first days of spring, look at the flowers budding and see the wonder.

Feel the sun on your skin and look at the (slowly recovering) green of the grass.

This moment is special.
This moment is blessed.

There is a song on my lips and finally the birds start to sing along with me again.
It is a song of praise.

a smile unfolds on my face
like a papillon
getting ready to fly.

2007-02-24T23:36:00.000+01:00

what good is it to dream of a faraway place where everything is the way it ought to be?
what good is it to run away from reality, making marvelous plans for the future that possibly never will become true?

instead, change the place you are in right now into that you dream of.

"there's a kingdom coming
where you will not thirst.
and we're going to pray
that day into today.
we're going to work for
that day to come today."
[derek webb]

Lent

2007-02-22T18:56:00.000+01:00

Let me dive under the surface, let me disappear for a while, so that the times that I will come up from underwater I will see everything anew.

What will I give up for lent this year?
For all of you who expect me to be on google talk/gchat -- sorry. Not until Easter.
I spend much time at the computer and often realize that I seemingly have no time for the really important things -- playing with my little sister, practicing piano, reading, writing, being still ...
Of course it is *incredibly* important to me to stay in touch with you - and I will certainly be up for emails, hopefully writing more, too.
I still miss you all very very much, so this will be hard, but I need time to be still.

So, I will fast Google Talk, MSN and ICQ this year.
Phew.
Just wanting to let you know.

Love to you and God bless.

Ever

2007-02-10T19:08:00.000+01:00

You ripped me wide open
Wounded and curled
Broke the skin to let my joy spill out
Scarred my world
Like a permanent smile
Wrecked my idea of heaven
Threw open the blinds to let the light shine in
Said, To hell with what you think you know
You have no idea what you're doing
I'm going to teach you to dance

You put a finger on my lips
One hand on my hips
Leaned in and whispered
The music is inside you

I said, The world is too big to love
You said, Love it one bite at a time
I said, I don't know if I can die like this
You said, Close your eyes and let me break your fall
You'll be raised up if you'll just lie down
Sow your love into my fertile ground

I said, There was a time my brother built a tree house in the swamp
How did he do that with just some spare lumber and a hammer
There was a ladder that we climbed
And we sat and looked out into the summer sun
Together

My brother said, without saying a word,
Everything we need to know is right here
There is no other world
We'll never have more than we have right now

Maybe we glimpsed it all in that blurry Pennsylvania sunset

You said that's the kind of love I'm talking about
We can get it back
I can pull for you
And pour myself into your sleepy heart
Like black coffee
You'll wake up and there will be this aroma
Coming up the stairs
From the kitchen
You'll sit up and stretch your arms and think
I can do this

And the thing about this one is
I don't have an ending in mind

. . .
copyright 2001, Linford Detweiler

2007-02-05T22:09:00.000+01:00

Alright. There you go. You did it again.
I thought I got it figured out, I actually thought I knew what you wanted.
And now you did it again. I should have known better.
Now I feel like I don't know a thing.

You said your yoke was easy.
Easy? Well, I don't find it easy at all.

I don't find it easy to love my neighbor. I mean, what do you expect? Do you expect me to love those who mock me -- and even worse, who mock you! -- every day?
I don't find it easy to forgive. You know, there is hurt. There is hurt that builds up and it gets worse, day by day. How can I forgive? Is it really as easy as you say it'd be? You know, I have fear!
I don't find it easy to turn the other cheek. I don't find it easy not to fight back and to not get offensive. I cannot argue quietly. Do you expect me to?
I don't find it easy to give all I have to the ones who really are in need.
I don't find it easy to leave what I know, just to follow you. I mean, I don't even know if I want to take on your cross! I don't even know if I am strong enough for this! Do you really expect me to?

But why do I even ask? I know you mean what you say.

Oh God. I thought I'd been through this before.
I actually like the idea of a comforting relationship to you. I like the idea of you being close, but not too close; I like the idea that you are there for me but still let me have my will.
I am so greatly mistaken.

And yet I chose to elaborate on your Word, instead of acting on it!
Why is there only either/or? Why is there no easy way?

Thy will be done. Thine.
Oh Lord - please - conform my will to yours!
(I know it won't be easy then. But isn't that the least I can do?)
Ok. Here I am. Once again trying to give my life to you.
Could you please take it? Can you take it away from me when I'm not strong enough to really give it up to you?

Will you?

Well, I want to leave what I know. I want to follow you. I want to act.
So please Lord, give me strength.

And I will trust in you alone.

2007-01-22T17:08:00.000+01:00

[...] I talk about the way Hildegard [of Bingen] captures in this letter the path of knowledge that I'm most familiar with, in which thoughts and images constellate, converging, sometimes violently, in the subconscious. The sounds of words and the silence of images are more important at this stage than sense or "meaning". In composing a poem, one often seems to move directly from ignorance to revelation, instantly from a muddled sense of things to a clear picture, without only the vaguest sense of how it happened.Experience is the ground of this way of knowing.

-- Kathleen Norris

2007-01-18T13:17:00.000+01:00

and suddenly someone comes up to you -- you who stand in the rain -- and gives you a box filled with new matches. (the special ones that work even when they're wet.)

be careful to use them right. be careful to not break them.

there is hope.

complicated prayers

2007-01-03T23:43:00.000+01:00

(when he comes home and finds the paint crumbling from the wall)

(when everything appears to be alright but i can't feel it)

(when more and more i'm secretly just me and realize that i don't fit)

(when i lose grip of the rope stretched over the river i am close to drown in)

(when -- trying to kindle the warming fire -- the last match breaks)

complicated prayers.

curtains drawn and a glass of red

2006-12-03T18:08:00.000+01:00

...wine. Old Sanctuary recordings. Candles.

It's just another sunday.

I've been "gone" for more than 5 months now already. Time flies....and I still miss you so much.

I left when it was still summer. And now it is winter. December. Advent.
It is cold, and dark already. I just took a bath and will soon make dinner for the family.
We went to an amazing concert today. My parents sing in a choir (which I will join after "Jugend musiziert" will be over in january) and their last concert was in September. (some might still remember that one ;)
"Missa brevis" (W.A. Mozart) and the "Weihnachtshistorie" by Heinrich Schütz.
I don't know if you know Heinrich Schütz - but i absolutely love his music! It's from 17th century. And so rad.

Anyway. I don't have much left to say that has not already been expressed by others.

The leaves on the oak tree
Hold on through the winter
They’re brown and their brittle
They clatter together

I can’t seem to let go
I’m so scared of losing
The deeper the love goes
The deeper the bruising

The trouble with talking
Is it makes you sound clever
The trouble with waiting
Is you’ll just wait forever

There’s a loop of excuses
That plays in your mind
And makes the truth
Even harder to find

I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
And here it is

When they blow Gabriel’s horn
Rip fiction from fact
I want to get caught
In some radical act

Of love and redemption
The sound of warm laughter
Some true conversation
With a friend or my lover

Somewhere down the road
We’ll lift up our glass
And toast the moment
And moments past

The heartbreak and laughter
The joy and the tears
The scary beauty
Of what’s right here

I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
I’m wrappin’ up my love this Christmas
And here it is

(Originally I just wanted to post some excerpts here, but it turned out to be almost the whole song. A song I so relate to. In general I love the Over the Rhine songs - but this one especially. Every single word in there is one that I could say right now, being totally honest. )

Love.

2006-11-17T18:09:00.000+01:00

Those who make religion their god will not have God for their religion.

[Thomas Erskine of Linlathen]

the spirit is willing, but the flesh is so weak

2006-11-11T15:55:00.000+01:00

[Dustin Kensrue - Blanket of Ghosts]

It is a grey, rainy saturday afternoon. I can hear my sister and Romana, a former foster child who lived with us quite a few years ago, playing in the room next to mine.

It's been a while since I wrote on here. I mean, since I really wrote. Not only quoting, no, creating. It's been a while.

I had been very melancholy and upset lately. For so many reasons. One of them was the fact that I so rarely act the way I want to act.

I want to be recognized as a Christian by the way I live, by the love I have for others. By following Christ's teaching.
I want to have faith. Real faith. The kind of faith that at times seems ridiculous to others, like a lack of "sense for reality" - trusting, no matter how bad the odds seem. Faith.
Faith that allows questions, that has room for being broken and healed over and over again.
Faith in Jesus Christ, our Savior.

I became angry with myself, seeing my lack of faith and trust that it all has a purpose, that God is there. Always. (I've been told so often. But sometimes I just can't see a purpose for things that happen at all.)

So I read Scripture.Looking for comfort and at times finding just the opposite.

Often I heard people talking about the Bible as something that is so hard to understand. Something that needs to be explained by scholars. Well, I really don't think so. What Jesus says seems pretty clear to me. The difficulty lies in acting on what he says.
To actually sell all your possesions and give to the poor,
to forgive and love unconditionally,
to turn the other cheek,
to love your enemies,
to love your neighbor as yourself,
to have faith.

The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.
Jesus said that to his disciples after he found them asleep when he told them to stay and keep watch with him.
He knew that acting on what we know is the hardest thing. That's why the path of following Jesus is a narrow one. It is so hard to follow through.

I really resonate with what Paul says in Romans 7:14-25.

15 I don't really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it. Instead, I do what I hate. [...] 19 I want to do what is good, but I don't. I don't want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway.

Again, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is so weak.This seemed pretty scary to me. Even Paul struggled. A lot.
But then I was reminded of God's grace again. The parable of the prodigal son. No matter what we did, God is waiting for us to return to Him, He wants us to return to His forgiveness and love.

God loves us. Unconditionally.

2006-10-20T19:58:00.000+02:00

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love;

for it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

[st. francis of assisi - 13th century]

just something to think about

2006-10-11T15:45:00.000+02:00

(posting more here now...)

but still something to think about.

The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday Morning Commentary

Herewith at this happy time of year, a few confessions from my beating heart: I have no freaking clue who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and Us constantly when I am buying my dog biscuits and kitty litter. I often ask the checkers at the grocery stores. They never know who Nick and Jessica are either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I know who they are and why they have broken up? Why are they so important?

I don't know who Lindsay Lohan is either, and I do not care at all about Tom Cruise's wife.

Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked if I am a subversive? Maybe, but I just have no clue who Nick and Jessica are.

If this is what it means to be no longer young. It's not so bad.

Next confession: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don' t feel discriminated against. That's what they are: Christmas trees.

It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, "Merry Christmas" to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a creche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.

I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution, and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand Him?

I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too.

But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we knew went to.

In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a little different: This is not intended to be a joke; it's not funny, it's intended to get you thinking.

Billy Graham's daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson asked her "How could God let something like this Happen?" (regarding Katrina)

Anne Graham gave an extremely profound and insightful response. She said, "I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government and to get out of our lives.

And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?"

In light of recent events...terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found recently) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK.

Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school. The Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about and we said OK.

Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves.

Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with "WE REAP WHAT WE SOW."

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell.

Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says.

Funny how you can send 'jokes' through e-mail and they spread like wildfire but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing.

Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and workplace.

Are you laughing?

Funny how when you forward this message, you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it.

Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than what God thinks of us.

Pass it on if you think it has merit. If not then just discard it... no one will know you did. But, if you discard this thought process, don't sit back and complain about what bad shape the world is in.

(I found this as a comment on Dustin Kensrue's myspace...and somehow it made me remember some conversations I had. In a supermarket on a sunday for example...)

...and somehow I start to feel home again.

2006-09-30T22:42:00.000+02:00

It was only a few weeks ago that this place was filled with people.

And now I am sitting here again, at our camp fire place, the ashes are piled up, the fire is out. I am sitting in the exact same spot where we all sat just a few weeks ago, drinking wine, playing the guitar, singing and listening to the story of the sneaky foxes, told with a british accent.
It was still summer then.
Now the leaves are falling from the walnut tree we all sat in, laughing, listening to the wind and – I can only speak for myself here – being totally stoked about the moment, the presence of these beloved friends.
It was only a few weeks ago.

An apple weighs heavy on the branch – it wouldn't be long until this one would fall, too. I pick it.

Maybe he was right. Maybe the sound of a passing train from a mile away is something beautiful.
It is even more beautiful when there is someone who listens with you. Someone I miss so much now.
It was only a few weeks ago.

It is fall and this tranquillity fell on me. I feel like I stepped out of this scene, just enough to see it with the needed distance and think about its beauty yet at the same time I am right here in the middle of it, feeling the autumn sun on my skin, hearing the leaves fall, tasting the apple I just picked.

It was only a few weeks ago that this place was filled with people. And I can still feel their presence. Somehow they took over this place.

And somehow I start to feel home again.

hold tight and get blown away [h.c.]

2006-09-18T20:18:00.000+02:00

[Old Town Square in Prague]

There I was, on the platform, at 5:45 am. The train left the station and all I could see was the train getting smaller and then disappear...

It had been an amazing weekend. An amazing week.

Conversations. Hugs. Laughter. Weird noises. Hostel beds. Lots of walking. Writing. Many tourists. Craziness. Being lost in thoughts. Lost for words. Pictures. Bar & Books. Trains. A lack of sleep.

Berlin, Dresden, Prague.

Wine, cheese and gummy bears. A camp fire and many foxes. A guitar and many songs to sing.

And in between all of it there was the realization that this time was a gift that had to be enjoyed. The realization that the times that are to come are a gift, too.

They left their marks. In this room. In this house. But especially in my heart. And some things just don't seem to change. (I hope it really is true that Friends are Friends Forever, if the Lord's the Lord of them. )

So I try to find the balance between holding on and letting go. It is a tightrope walk. A tightrope walk I am willing to go.

Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for what he has done. Then you will experience God's peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)

Known

2006-08-31T17:38:00.000+02:00

[I have no own words left to say so I am reading. Yesterday night I took "the word on the street" and just totally love psalm 139. Thanks for the book! ;-)]

1-6 (intro)
God, you’ve picked me over and you know me, intricately;
You’ve sussed me out: you know me, intimately;
You forecast my every move: my body, brain, my big, big mouth!
You know all my tendencies, my habits, my times:
Before I’ve even said it, you’ve worked out if it rhymes;
Your armed guard stands round me, above me, below me;
You’ve put your arm around me: you know me;
My head doesn’t have the capacity –
It’s Overload City, this “YOU and me”!

7-13 (rap)
But whoa! Hey, what if I fall, go AWOL, try to lose it all?
What do I do to hide from you? How do I outrun
The one who’s faster than sunshine?
Shuttle me to Saturn? Fine! You’re waiting for me there!
Use the cover of dawn as camouflage? You’re there!
Get reborn, other side of the world, even off the map?
Your arm’s around me: you’ve found me, surround me.
Hit the lights! The darkness bites and I hide from you:
No difference – God’s vision don’t dim;
Your arm’s around me: you’ve found me, surround me,
For you made me: I ain’t no whim;
You double-stitched my DNA, hand-picked my brain the very next day,
Made some room in my mother’s womb, and hey! I’m away!

14 (chorus)
God, I’m amazing! The credit’s down to you;
I’m incredible: nothing to edit or review!
Everything you do fills up our wonder-tanks,
And I know I’m wonder full. So thanks!

15-16 (verse)
On the production line I’m not kept back from you;
In the secret places I develop as you view.
My design’s on the drawing board; you come and take a look,
And the work that I’m to do’s already written in your book!

17-18 (verse)
Your ideas, your plans – beyond priceless to me;
The scale’s so huge, so awesome, like dew-drops in the sea.
Try and list them – it’s easier to count the sand grains on a beach;
I wake up and enormous God is there, within my reach!

19-20 (verse)
But, God! Don’t let the evil ones love to gloat and drool –
Get away from me, you bloodsucking leeches!
They spend their nights calling you a fool,
Their days mouthing off with their anti-God speeches.

21-22 (verse)
Don’t I hate the ones who hate you?
Don’t I long for their decline?
Don’t I detest the ones who test you?
Your enemies are enemies of mine.

23-24 (verse)
Cross-question me, God:
Suss out my subconscious;
Check me over thoroughly;
See if there’s any fear in me.
Root out any tumour that’ll hurt or harm;
Lead me by the arm – take me there, your way.

St. Theresa's Prayer

2006-08-23T16:36:00.000+02:00

May today there be peace within. May you trust your highest power that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let his presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of you.

[I need another word]

2006-08-20T19:30:00.000+02:00

Grace Asked A Question

The bottom line is the spilled wine
The ruby lake on the table
Dripping on my knees
Like the tears of the blind man
Who newly sees

The bottom line is the familiar ache
Too real to shake
Too hard to explain
Too easy
Like a prism of colors in the rain

The bottom line is the warm blood
That seeps its way out of my cold heart
To the beat of a drum
Always carried
All the time
Always a rhythm rhyming inside
Making of me a tall awkward song

The bottom line is the sometimes welling up in the eyes
That the noisy world
All too eagerly dries
With whatever it happens to be selling
At the time

Or is the bottom line this?
Beauty and terror on a blind date
Moving each other close
Dancing a slow motion universe bending down sarabande
Locked staring each into the others eyes
As if for the first
Or the last
Time

The bottom line is some unknown unspoken word
I need another word
For that which comes out of nowhere
So good
Like a smiling child
Glimpsed in a room full of strangers
A room full of good things to eat
As if it has all been somehow prearranged:
She's smiling at me
Even though we both know
We'll never meet

. . .

copyright 2001, Linford Detweiler

...and be still

2006-08-18T16:51:00.000+02:00

[I know, this picture probably looks familiar to you...it is a different one though. But it shows the same thing...the romanic church in Taizé, France.]

(I do not understand your ways, but you know the way that is mine.)
Ich verstehe deine Wege nicht, aber du weißt den Weg für mich. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer)

After one week in silence, I was sitting in the church before the evening prayer, writing into my little red book.
"So. I don't know what is happening. I am sitting here, in between all these strange people I don't even know and there is just this amazing feeling welling up inside me. I am not alone. God is with me. Forever and ever. No matter WHAT will happen in my life, He is there with me. He is here with me right now. And that just totally totally moves me. See, I miss Rhode Island and especially the loveable people there. A LOT! And this won't change...but now there is this amazing hope and confidence that things will be ok here, too. Somehow. I have no clue how, but I trust again. Weird.
I have this hope that I will be able to go the way that I have to go and that I will go loving and trusting. And we, my beloved Rhode Islanders and I, are already united. Through Him.
And so I look around me and see thousands of (mostly) young people. All praying and trusting in our sweet Lord. "You see bones? I see an army. And they are free from materialism. ... They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations. They need no passport. People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence."
Wow. (One wow because I remembered the right words of "The Vision" I think. ) Wow. Is this possible??? One week ago I was sitting right here, writing. Feeling so lost in doubt and despair. Confused about facing one of my biggest fears. Silence. And now? THANK YOU, LORD!"

Wow again. About two weeks ago, before I left for Taizé...ha, I did not think that this confidence could ever be mine. And now? I did it. I spent a week in silence. Yes, I still said a word...but by far not as much as usual.
I went to the old romanic church in Taizé a lot. Just to pray. To sit there for hours and just pray.
This week in silence...it was one of the most marvelous things I did this summer. The mess inside me...it is still there. I could not untangle all of this. But I was still. I prayed, wrote and thought. And I became so much more attentive to what is around me. This was the fourth time I spent a week in Taizé (since I have been 14 I spend a week there every summer) and I noticed things that had been there all along, I just never noticed. I did not distract myself by talking and just keeping myself busy.

It was so very difficult.
And the best thing I could have done.

(If you want to know more, just ask me personally. There was so much going on inside me...and still is...and I would like to know who is interested - and then who knows some of these things. Hm. )

So I come back to this song over and over again...

God, gather and turn my thoughts to you. With you there is light, you do not forget me. With you there is help and patience. I do not understand your ways, but you know the way that is mine.

(i wrote this before i left for taizé but forgot to publish...)

2006-08-03T20:42:00.000+02:00

There I am again. Listening to old Sanctuary recordings, reading Psalm 40 over and over again. The words become mine, I sit in my room, on the floor, praying "O my God, do not delay."

Through the wall I hear someone emptying the dishwasher. I hear my little sister complaining about the fact that she has to go to bed now. And I hear Chris' voice on the CD.
"I am left alone im my room at night with my thoughts. Before I know it I am groping in the darkness for that certainty I once had. My heart fails within me."

I take off my glasses, cover my face with my hands. I sit there. Praying. "O my God, do not delay."
I feel like I am trapped in this Psalm. I feel trapped in this circle of being incredibly stoked about how God is acting in my life and then being lost in despair and doubt again. It seems neverending. It probably is.

I am looking up again, seeing all these clothes spread out on the floor. I should be packing right now. Tomorrow I will leave for Taizé.
But I simply lost the energy to do the "something productive" everyone tells me to do.
I can only do what seems productive to me.
I can only pray.

Please, Lord, rescue me!

Come quickly, Lord, and help me.

May those who try to destroy me

be humiliated and put to shame.

May those who take delight in my trouble

be turned back in disgrace.

Because I believe.

2006-07-24T23:07:00.000+02:00

It was in 3rd grade. I was playing on the playground with my sister and this one guy from my class came up to me.
"Hey, are you a Christian?"
"Yes. Yes, I am."
"Hey, come on here, she says she is a Christian and believes in Jesus! Hahaha."
So he gathered all his friends around us and they just laughed. They did not stop. They laughed and laughed and laughed. The teacher who was supposed to watch us all thought I told a pretty good joke. And I was sitting there, with my sister and we could not wait until the bell would be ringing. And it seemed like the more we wished to hear this redemtive noise the slowlier time passed. We were sitting there, being laughed at in such a terrible way.

Because we are Christians.

I clearly remember that day. This memory was burned into my soul and has left this scar.
On my way home I cried. I just could not hold the tears anymore and cried. At home I threw away my bag and just climbed my favorite tree in our backyard.

I was so mad at God. I was angry. How could He do this to me? If he was such a Great Got, why did He let this kid hurt me so much? I was so angry. I did not want to have anything to do with Him anymore, this God who let them hurt me so much.

But something amazing happened. I could not forget about Him. I could not forget about the wonderful stories my parents told me. About this man called Jesus. And then the stories I read in my Bible. It was such a nice one, with lots of pictures. These stories, this Jesus and this God just captured me. I simply could not turn away.

I was 9 years old when this happened. 9.

It had been a battle since. There was this God I had heard about. And there was I. Sometimes I thought - well, why could I not STOP believing? I mean, why can logic not convince me? Why is this paradox in my thoughts and especially my heart all the time and I cannot dispose it? See, I can't.
Oh how I hated it! See, I am from the east of Germany. Being a Christian here (not one of these "I-am-a-Christian-at-Christmas-and-Easter-because-I-like-it-Christians", but a Christian who believes) is looked upon as crazy. Insane. Lunatic. All my life I remember being bullied. I was the outsider, the "nerd and Christian! Ew!!!". This was still the same when I was 15. We had an exchange student from Rome in my class and her and I became very close friends. It was wonderful.
One day she told me that she felt so sorry. I didn't know why. "Well, the others tried to convince me to "quit" our friendship. They said I must be crazy liking you because you are a Christian." But she didn't.

But again I was so mad at God and doubting Him, but I could not turn away. I still can't. I simply can't, no matter how hard I tried, it never worked.

Then, last year, I came to Rhode Island.
Suddenly I could say "Yes, yes, I am a Christian" and wasn't looked at as a lunatic.
I came to Sanctuary. Church was alive. Not just something for the old people. I felt free! I felt free to argue with God, to ask Him all I had on my mind and to tell Him how angry I was. I felt free to fall on my knees and just cry out to Him.
I felt His presence and realized that He is the I Am There For You, His name declares Him to be.

And I found that Kierkegaard was right.

"Prayer does not change God, but it changes him who prays."

It did change me. I want to study Theology now. Right. And it did not change - a lot of people still think I am insane. Not everyone says it. But you know...there is this way they look at you and you just know what is going on.

Your sun will never set;

your moon will not go down.

For the LORD will be you everlasting light.

[Isaiah 60:20]

My confirmation verse again. It is a promise. A promise that the LORD will be my everlasting light. He is. But it is not a promise that everyone else around me will see my Light too. It is no promise that my life will be easy. That there will be no earthly darkness. There will be. But the LORD will be my everlasting light. So I trust in Him and do not fear.

It is hard. It is so very difficult. I have to make this choice for my God every single day, over and over again.

But this is the way I am supposed to go.

So I will.

Because I believe.

pour me a glass of wine

2006-07-19T15:16:00.000+02:00

Pour me a glass of wine
Talk deep into the night
Who knows what we’ll find

It was a beautiful day. The sun hadn’t even risen when they came and we went down to Beavertail. We came to see the sunrise. It was one of the moments I felt free to be silent, there on the rocks. And so I was. Mostly. Until the sun was up.

Funny, how I have to feel free to be silent. I always hear so many people saying they only can talk when they feel comfortable. I think for me it is the other way around. There are not many people who experienced a silent Pauline. A Pauline who doesn’t “talk like a machine gun” how my sister always words it with love. They are few. And they know me. I feel comfortable with them. By that I don’t want to imply that I do not feel comfortable talking and with the people who only know me that way. No, I feel more than comfortable when I am talking. I can control what I am saying. At least sort of. I am “in control”. Of course that makes me comfortable. And it depends on what I am saying. You see, this is getting too far here. The ones I love know that I love them.
And it is not like I cannot be quiet when I feel uncomfortable. But being silent when I am sitting there with a person I know, being silent, smiling and just knowing I can be without performing – that is a silent I love you.

So back then (about 4 weeks ago) I was just sitting there, looking at the sun and from time to time at Chris and Sarah. Beautiful, all three of them.

The day turned out to be lovely. I could see so many one last time before I would step on the plane and tell them how important they are to me. Every single one of them. I am surprised again and again by how many people I can love with so much of me.

Over and over I am remembering the end of January, when my grandfather, Opa, passed away. How I could just sit there in the office, be me and be prayed for. How I didn’t have to say anything and still felt as comfortable as one can feel in a situation like this.

I am so sick of talking. I know I am doing it excessively and most of the time I actually like it. But I am longing for more of these moments, deep in the night, sitting there with a glass of wine and just being. Not saying anything and still being understood. (Or at least getting the illusion that one is understood.)

Another memory catches me again. A sad happy talking mime, surrounded by friends, letting all the guard down. Again silent, crying I love you.

So I was sitting on the plane, reading “the book”. Silent, smiling with tears filling my eyes. And not I am here, reading books to my little sister. I used to love these books. Back when I never saw the beauty of the churchtops you can see everywhere here. You have fields and trees randomly in them...and every other mile you see another churchtop sticking out.

I can hardly wait for September to see them together...3 beloved ones and this beauty I was able to ignore for so many years.

I still haven't found my place but I know again that I don't have to be alone along the way. Marvelous. Thank you.

Pour me a glass of wine
Talk deep into the night
Who knows what we'll find...

changes come

2006-07-14T22:35:00.000+02:00

[I already apologize for this mess...]

This is where I went for my run tonight. Right into the setting sun. I could still smell the heat of the day that the forest did not seem to let go. Even in the evening I could feel the warmth of the sun and the lack of rain.

As always I started rethinking so many things. I just tried once again to organize the mess in my head. A hopeless task. Or so it seems.

This is something that definitely has not changed at all. Other than everything else this stayed the way it seemingly has always been. I never liked this mess insight me, these thoughts that I cannot get clear but maybe this is the way it has to be.

Today I thought a lot about the fact that it seems like I cannot pick up where I left off a year ago. Which is true. I cannot pick up where I left off. But, as someone so encouraging told me today, I can pick up. The only problem is when the other one does not want to deal with a change. When your life has become "too perfect". Or so many other reasons no one can define.

Again and again I have to think about this one line I heard a long time ago - "We are creatures of comfort." It is so right. Changes are not the most popular thing. And as soon as you got used to the change that was so difficult to accept there is another one just waiting around the corner to get you out of your comfort zone again.

Well, maybe all this is just the usual craziness life has for me, disguised in new ways now. And forunately there is something I know already - changes come. Changes go. And new changes come again. And luckily we all have One who remains and who we can trust in every situation life has for us.

So I go running again. Just to get out, and to think. Think, even though I know I won't get anywhere. I will arrive, just where I started from. But is this even important? I don't think so...

Walking out in the freezing rain / I feel nothing 'cause I numbed the pain / I'm lookin' forward to lookin' back / On this day
Prayed last night / Dear God please no / But I was never good at letting go / I'm lookin' forward to lookin' back / On this day
Good news can be so unkind / When it's everything you have to leave behind / I'm lookin' forward to lookin' back / On this day
In the taillights / So much hindsight / Telling me what I already know / I know