Like, not a poem

Yesterday I
opened the lockbox
got the key
closed the lockbox again.

Unlocked the door
went in and put my bag on a chair
walked back out
locked the door.

I opened the lockbox again
put the key back in
and closed it.

Tried to open the door
and it was locked
and I was confused

and it took me like five minutes to try to remember what just happened and where my bag was.

Advertisements

2017-2018

In 2017 I got to experience all the different seasons, and even in the right order. In summer I moved to Florida, autumn I flew to Japan, and now I got some winter in Sweden.

And there’s no transitions. Just an airplane, and then autumn leaves. Airplane again, and my feet were in snow.

(I like the colour and taste of the world. I like to try out the shape of it, like the way it fits under my feet.)

But I miss its pulse. The first flowers in spring. The slow rains and long autumns before snow actually covers the grass one day. I miss hearing the world breathe.

Artists grow old. (hearts gain weight, or maybe sight). Like the aging Monet who painted the water lilies in his garden in every different light, every different season. Like Hokusai’s series of thirty-six different views of Mount Fuji.

(I think they learn, that)

There’s everything to see. But there’s also everything to see in every thing.

Shinjuku

We ended up in Shinjuku randomly, the evening of one of our first days in Tokyo. We got of the train at Shinjuku station to check out an art store, and ended up walking into one of the craziest cityscapes ever. I was gonna paint part of it, but then I didn’t really finish it. I want to be the person who paints the scenery when I go places, but then again that’s actually not what I enjoy painting, so maybe I shouldn’t. Or maybe I’ll enjoy it if I practice until I’m good. (Or I just won’t.)

Anyway, remembering Tokyo makes me happy happy sad sad because I’d rather fall asleep there tonight.

(Good night.)

DSC_7906-01DSC_7170_2

Sit down in your life.

Make yourself
comfortable enough
in yourself to sit down.

Stop leaning awkwardly against some made up counter in the space between your ribs.

Life is a row of plush armchairs
you sit in with your back straight

Let your breath out
into the moment
(sit down)

 

(What I mean is, rest this holiday season. Stay for long. Merry Christmas.)

Train to ANYWHERE

Saturday 25th of November

Good morning, bad day, good evening.

Good morning.
I got to help out with a homeless ministry. It was nice. The sun rose while we rode the trains and we gave out hot chocolate and coffee to the people being cold (so to ourselves as well).

Bad day.
I came home and realised I can fill my schedule completely with things that make me feel like I’m a good person, but still be dissatisfied under the overwhelming pressure to perform and be good and be good and be good. My friend told me to take the rest of the day off.

Good evening.
The sun set and I needed to get out of the house a bit, so I was going to a café at the station.

Then I realised I could go anywhere.

And my heart started shaking with excitement, I could go anywhere. Like really, any place in Tokyo. And so I jumped on the train to Ikebukuro, and then went to Harajuku. Walked along the crowded streets and then past lit up blue trees towards Shibuya (which is my favourite place in the world). I was considering whether I should talk to anyone, but I was so intenesly aware, so outside of my body yet so in it, soul expanding but walls up even though they were windows and that’s okay, that was okay for that time.

DSC_7276DSC_7300DSC_7278

⬑Harajuku, blue trees and tiny streets.

(Also, soundtrack for the night: Warriors by M.I.A. For some reason middle eastern hip hop was just right.)

God has brought me to places I’ve wanted to write about. Usually before I’ve known that they are the places I want to write about. There’s a story in my head, about a city surrounded by desert, and last year I found that desert. On outreach in Kenya our bus broke down in the middle of nowhere. We had to wait there, on dusty ground, in warm wind, as the sun set and the full moon rose. I had the realisation that it was the very desert I wanted to write about, and sat quietly with eyes wide open and mind spinning in the jeep that drove us back. And now Tokyo feels like the city I want to write. Or rather, I feel in it the way I want my characters to feel.

Insert sentences about how God is more comitted to your dreams than you are. And to, well, you.

Amen.

Tokyo

I’m in Tokyo for three weeks, on outreach with YWAM(!!!!!) It’s insane and crazy and surreal, and so very Japan.

Japan is so Japan. Which sounds stupid, like the way I couldn’t stop talking about how American everything in America was when I first came there. But it’s like my favourite thing in the world. That regardless of globalization and urbanization and communication the houses are different and the sound of the river is different and the wind is different.

(That’s about all I have to say because I haven’t realised I’m actually here yet, but here are some city gifs)

giphy (4).gif

giphy (3).gif

giphy (2).gif

(Good night)