So I am sitting here completely overwhelmed with school. Hmmm the frustration level can be compared to a ceramics analogy. I don't know if you have ever been on the potter's wheel but imagine yourself there. You have wedged and folded the clay, got settled on your wheel and have begun the process of making the vase. And as you make it you are taking great care to go slowly, making sure it is even and is aesthetically pleasing to the eye. After spending a great deal of time doing this you get your cutter tool and begin to cut the completed product from the wheel only to find that you have cut too deep and now your vessel has a big hole in its base... then you have to smash your finished product re-wedge the clay and start all over.
This little narration may not mean much to you if you have never done ceramics, however if you can slightly relate and put yourself in such a position you can get a glimpse of how frustrating this is. You want to get up and just throw that vessel across the room... So this is how I am feeling right now. I have been working very hard in my physiology class, building up my knowledge and studying well, but I have this teacher who does not teach, and can never be pleased. So even though I spend hours trying to teach myself, he keeps piling on more material that he doesn't teach.
So anyhow it is good to write about this because hopefully I will look back in a month or so and not be overwhelmed and say to myself "You made it"! I remember at Cal State Dominguez a teacher I had always said "This too will pass". Now I tell myself that this semester will pass too. And when it does I think I want to have a big bonfire at the beach and burn all those papers.
Maybe marshmallows and hotdogs can be roasted too
and someone can play the guitar and we can stay late
after the dusk settles
and listen
into the black vastness of the ocean
and as the breeze of the salty wind comes
and whips up the orange fire
our dancing shadows can be lifted
to silhouettes on the sand
like a voice chanting
raising up and holding notes
off a page...
Wanna come?
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a whim of variety, an impulse of miscellaneous, an assortment of notions, and a varied fancy of yonder impressions
About Me
- RS
- I live in this state, down the street around the corner, on the right, in the neighboorhood with the tree lined street in my peach colored house with the lawn and the flowers and the small car in front. If you happen to pass by you may find me out watering and if this is so feel free to wave hello and I'll probably offer you some cold lemonade and oatmeal cookies and we could talk about the weather and such.
Thoughtful Thought of the Moment
It requries a grander heroism to stand and wait and not lose heart and not lose hope, to submit to the will of God, to give up work and honors to others, to be quiet, confident and rejoicing, while the happy, busy multitude go on and away. It is the grandest life "having done all, to stand".
From J.R. Miller in Streams in the Desert
"It isn't the thing you do, dear
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word unspoken
The letter you did not write
The flower you might have sent, dear
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted,
Out of your brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle and winsome tone,
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles enough of your own.
These little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels,
Which even mortals find-
They come in night and silence,
Each chill reproachful wrath,
When hope is faint and flagging
And a blight has dropped on faith.
For life is all too short, dear.
And sorrow is all to great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And it is not the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache,
At the setting of the sun."
-Adeladie Proctor
From J.R. Miller in Streams in the Desert
"It isn't the thing you do, dear
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word unspoken
The letter you did not write
The flower you might have sent, dear
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted,
Out of your brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle and winsome tone,
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles enough of your own.
These little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels,
Which even mortals find-
They come in night and silence,
Each chill reproachful wrath,
When hope is faint and flagging
And a blight has dropped on faith.
For life is all too short, dear.
And sorrow is all to great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And it is not the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache,
At the setting of the sun."
-Adeladie Proctor