Not only is Thanksgiving one of the biggest travel weekends of the year, it’s also one of the biggest retail weekends.  You can’t turn on the radio or TV, or open a newspaper without hearing about sales, deals and doorbusters.  How can a visitor connect with the shopping options in North Dakota?  The best way is through the convention and visitor bureaus (CVBs) in major cities.  North Dakota Tourism links to all CVBs and Chambers on the official travel website, but to make it one-click easier – here are the major cities.  Don’t forget to check out travel specials and packages!

• Bismarck-Mandan
• Dickinson
• Fargo
• Grand Forks
• Jamestown
• Minot
• Williston

if i ever hear someone knock on this album, i have proof that the someone in question isnt a metal fan. or at least not the metal i listen to.

when Iron Maiden teamed back up with Bruce and Adrian to write and record their ‘comeback’ album ‘Brave New World’, metal elite everywhere started getting ready to hate it. as a result the three albums the band has put out since their comeback have gotten the usual ‘oh they are old now’ reviews and unnecessary hatred that is expected. normally for a band of Maiden’s stature it is ok with me that “fans” dont like their newer stuff, because the truth of the matter is that usually older bands lose that flame. but here, on this album, and the follow-up, ‘A Matter of Life and Death’, it actually makes me angry.

this album is a solid slab of amazing heavy metal songwriting. songs like Rainmaker, Montsegur, Face in the Sand, and Journeyman, are flag waving metal masterpieces. Steve Harris, metal’s resident master of bass playing plays his fingers right off. the triple guitar attack of Adrian, Dave, and Janick is enough to make air guitarists everywhere throw the backs out headbanging. Nicko is a gigantic drummer. both in size and sound. his playing is ferocious and refined all at once. he slides into Steve’s bass lines like he was born to play along. and on top of it all, the unmatched voice of metals single best tenor. Bruce Dickinson is arguably the ‘best’ singer in metal history. and it is a known fact that the male voice is at its peak during the ages of 40-55. this album was recorded right in that ark. and it shows.

everything comes together perfectly in the songs ‘Dance of Death’, and ‘Age of Innocence’. these two songs are among Iron maiden’s greatest achievements. their passion and brutal strength pull them up to be truly rousing spiritual songs.

this album is criminally underrated. if you like metal, heck, if you like singers, then this is an album you need.

make your way over to amazon and pick up a copy for a few bucks HERE.

Here is a list of my favorite poets and lines from some of my favorite poems.  I find inspiration in their words.

Emily Dickinson:

PROUD of my broken heart since thou didst break it,

Proud of the pain I did not feel til thee.

William Shakespeare:

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances.

Pablo Neruda:

My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.

I love what I do not have.  You are so far.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

TELL me not in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream! -

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

William Ernest Henley:

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

I have always been a fan of poetry and writing my own poems.  Leave a comment and let me know what your favorite poems and poets are.  I’d love to find new poetry to read.

She sat across from me
Behind the travel section
On the second floor of the bookstore,
Her hair still wet from the shower.
I wanted to walk over and tell her
How sexy I thought
Girls with wet hair are,
Or ask her if she’d like to go downstairs
And get to know each other
Over overpriced scones
And macchiato,
Or…
Have her put her Cosmo down
And close her eyes,
Embracing the goose bumps
The flirty, grainy sound my pencil induces
As it continuously slides
Across the page.
I’ll have her imagine
Intimate tropical islands
I’m writing about,
Where we dissect Dickinson
In a tiny, bamboo cabana
Surreptitiously serenaded
By the staccato
Of an impromptu August rain.
Picture us holding hands
Walking along cobblestone streets
In rich European towns
Whose names we can’t pronounce.
Feel my caring finger
Wipe the mustard
From the corner of her mouth,
Because one can’t go to Coney Island
Without visiting Nathan’s.
She sat across from me
Behind the travel section
On the second floor of the bookstore,
Her hair still wet from the shower.
I wanted to walk over…
I wanted to walk over.

(Originally published here)

The Chemical Wedding is the fifth studio album by English heavy metal singer Bruce Dickinson. It was released on July 14, 1998 (see 1998 in music) through Sanctuary Records, and included the single “Killing Floor”—release only in Japan. The album draws some inspiration from the works of William Blake – of whom some paintings are featured in the artwork, as well as both sung and spoken excerpts from Blake’s prophetic works – although the name of the album and its title track derive from the Rosicrucian manifest the Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz. As with the previous album, it featured Iron Maiden guitarist Adrian Smith, former (and once again current) bandmate of Dickinson.

Tracks

Original track listing

1. “King in Crimson”
2. “Chemical Wedding”
3. “The Tower”
4. “Killing Floor”
5. “Book of Thel”
6. “Gates of Urizen”
7. “Jerusalem”
8. “Trumpets of Jericho”
9. “Machine Men”
10. “The Alchemist”

2005 extended edition bonus tracks

11. “Return of the King”
12. “Real World”
13. “Confeos”

Genre: Heavy metal

More @ Wikipedia

Buy on Amazon: The Chemical Wedding

The color that is so vibrant in my neighborhood is just too pretty not to share. I hope your lives are as vibrant and beautiful as these:

The richness I achieve comes from Nature, the source of my inspiration. (Claude Monet)

Excitement is building for fans of the Twilight series.  On November 20th, the second installation of the blockbuster books/movies hits the big screen and with it comes another opportunity to see North Dakota native Kellen Lutz.  Lutz, from Dickinson, plays Emmett Cullen in the world of Twilight.  Lutz got his start modeling as a teenager and emerged as an actor in 2004.  He’s starred in a number of television and film roles … and even a couple of music videos.

In an interview with the Dickinson Press, Lutz remarked on growing up in North Dakota:  ” . . . there was something about being in that small town. I don’t know what it was. It just made me happy. The air is clean; the people are always so nice.”  And we’re excited to see the rise of this handsome, young North Dakota star!

I guess one purpose of a blog is self-advertisement, so I may as well announce that I have an essay in the October PMLA, a special issue on the topic of war. My contribution looks closely at one of Emily Dickinson’s Civil War poems,  a soldier elegy written for a distant relative, Francis Howard Dickinson, who was killed at the Battle of Ball’s Bluff. The elegy, as I read it, was written specifically for publication, though it didn’t see print until 1890. I base my inference on a variety of contextual cues … but I won’t repeat myself here. You can read the essay, if you think it sounds interesting. Or you can take a peek at an excerpt given by Robin Tremblay-McGaw at X-Poetics (one of my favorite blogs).

What really tickles me about Robin’s excerpt: she cites me in the midst of an interview with Beverly Dahlen (link here). I consider Bev one of the five or six most important teachers I’ve ever had, and the most important outside of any actual school. I’m in debt to her in particular for leading me to think more carefully about Dickinson and the Civil War. Back in 1985, in the literary journal Ironwood, Bev published an essay on Dickinson and abjection that included a picture of the dead at Antietam. I was already convinced that the war was a key to understanding Dickinson’s work, so I told her how thrilled I was to see her make the connection, which was unusual at the time. No, no, she replied, saying something like, “I already regret including that picture; it was a frivolous juxtaposition.” I tried to say otherwise, but she just shook her head no.

Out of this brief exchange began a correspondence. And Bev, though far kinder to my dubious reasoning than she was to her own flash of insight, brought me by turns to see how inadequate my reasoning was. Some of our conversation concerned a poem from the end of the war, “Further in Summer than the Birds.” I was convinced — and still am — that the variant word choice “Antiquest,” an intensification of “Antiquer,” intimates “Anti-quest,” accentuating the hint, perhaps, of Antietam in antique. But Bev was not convinced. And this, along with her prodding questions, led me to see more clearly than any methodological training I ever received what a compelling account of Dickinson and the Civil War might require. That was almost a quarter century ago! Graduate school — and research — and dissertation — and publication — were all a long way off. But the work got started then.

The photographs are from a summer visit to the site of the battle in Virginia. I was surprised that the tour guide in costume wore a Union uniform, though Ball’s Bluff is in the South (and the battle was an early, decisive victory for the Confederates). The view through the trees looks beyond the Potomac into Maryland (I’m pretty sure). Dickinson’s poem mentions the river in the first quatrain:

When I was small, a Woman died —
Today — her Only Boy
Went up from the Potomac —
His face all Victory

The state in the last:

I’m confident, that Bravoes —
Perpetual break abroad
For Braveries, remote as this
In Yonder Maryland —

Meanwhile, since this is America, Ball’s Bluff is now a shopping center.

My first caveat to the above title is that getting self published is easy, as this blog post demonstrates. Finding the readers for what you have written feels a lot like crying in the wilderness. Since I now live in the wilderness (Keweenaw Peninsula…the northernmost point of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula) I’ve decided crying is just not an option. Write I must. Publish I will.

My standard joke about publishing as a poet (or rather, not publishing, which is the more common phenomenon) used to be “posthumous publication worked for Emily Dickinson, maybe it will work for me.” Now I’ve decided to remodel myself on Walt Whitman, self-publisher extraordinaire, and put out in the world some of what I write.

“Beauty is not caused. It is.”

- Emily Dickinson

A tragic story coming out of North Dakota this morning as the bodies of three missing students and softball players from Dickinson State University, who had been missing since Sunday, were found in a vehicle submerged in a pond near their school.

From CNN:

The discovery came Tuesday afternoon after a search team found tire tracks leading to a stock pond for cattle five miles northwest of Dickinson, North Dakota, Lt. William Leach of the Stark County Sheriff’s Office told CNN. The investigators found a white 1997 Jeep Cherokee with California tags containing the bodies, he said.

Foul play is not suspected, he said.

The Dickinson State University softball players — Kyrstin Gemar, 22, a senior who owned the car; Afton Williamson, 20, a junior; and Ashley Neufeld, 21, a senior — had last been reported seen about 10:45 p.m. Sunday, according to CNN affiliate KXMB.

From the Associated Press:

Teammates and family members threw roses and softballs Wednesday into the farm pond where three North Dakota college softball players were found dead inside their sunken sport utility vehicle.

But there were few answers to their most troublesome questions: How did the women find themselves trapped in the water? How long did they suffer after frantically calling friends for help?

“I can’t believe that my baby is gone. I miss her terribly. I’m just wondering … What went through her mind while she was still alive in her last moment?” said Claire Gemar, of San Diego, whose 22-year-old daughter, Kyrstin, was among the three Dickinson State University students pulled from the small pond after signals from the phone calls helped lead authorities to the farm.

No foul play is suspected in the deaths Gemar; Afton Williamson, 20, of Lake Elsinore, Calif.; and Ashley Neufeld, 21, of Brandon, Manitoba. The bodies of the women and Neufeld’s dog were found inside the SUV Tuesday.

The women were believed to be on a stargazing trip Sunday night and authorities said they likely drove straight into the water in the dark. The pond is surrounded by high grass and shrubs off a narrow gravel road in a pasture north of Dickinson.

Ce Monde n’est pas Conclusion.
Un Ordre existe au-delà -
Invisible, comme la Musique -
Mais réel, comme le Son -
Il attire, et il égare -
La Philosophie – ne sait -
Et par une Enigme, au terme -
La Sagacité doit passer -
Son concept, échappe aux savants -
Sa conquête, à des Hommes
A valu le Mépris de Générations
Et la Crucifixion -
La Foi glisse – rit, et se reprend -
Rougit devant témoin -
S’accroche à un fétu d’Evidence -
Et sur la Girouette, s’oriente -
Gesticulations en Chaire -
Grondements d’Alléluias -
Nul Opium ne peut calmer la Dent
Qui ronge l’âme -

***

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

book by Joyce Carol Oates

annotation by Diana Woods

I found Oates’ collection of fictional stories about the last days of Poe, Dickenson, Twain, James and Hemingway to be creative and engaging. She encapsulates the personality of the five writers within her fictional characters and creates a setting, plot or fate, wildly improbable, but somewhat related to the life they actually led.

In the first story “Poe Posthumous; or, The Light House,” the fictional Poe has agreed with his patron to isolate himself in a lighthouse and keep a diary to record his activities as part of an experiment. Oates creates a mystical, dark, gloomy setting and mimics the “fated/doomed/ecstatic quintessential voice of Poe.” From this story, I learned about the importance of voice to develop character and portray changes in personality. The story provides a good example of how the setting also becomes a character. I’d like to emulate her techniques in developing the interaction between the character and the setting.

In the second story, “EDickinson RepliLuxe,” physical replications of famous people reliving specified periods of their lives are available for purchase. The Krims, hoping to brighten up their stale marriage, purchase Emily Dickenson, from age 30 to the year of her death at age 55. I was enthralled with the premise of this story and the powerful narrative utilizing parallel time periods– the Krims living in one version of story time and the fictional Emily Dickenson reliving the years 1830-1886.The tension and violence between the characters resulting from their different personalities and lifestyles drives the narrative. From this story, I learned a clever technique for manipulating time. Oates derived her fictional version of Emily Dickenson’s character “… so teasingly inward, elliptical, female-mystical…” from Dickenson’s poetry, letters and photographs. I can see that research yields impressive results.

In the third story, “Grandpa Clemens & Angelfish, 1906,” Grandpa Clemens “collects” pretty girls between ten and sixteen. They become his “angelfish.” His own daughter is incensed by his unsavory behavior, and in the end, Grandpa Clemens ends up being taunted and mocked by his angelfish which leads to his death. Again, Oates has done her research drawing on Mark Twain’s Aquarium: The Samuel Clemens-Angelfish Correspondence 1905-1910 edited by John Cooley, and other published biographical information, to create a fictional version of reality. I enjoy reading literary biographies but hadn’t thought of looking for story ideas in the foibles of the subjects. Now, I’ll be looking for story ideas based on the unsavory qualities of my favorite authors—preferably dead with no living relatives as appears to have been the case with Twain.

The fourth story, “The Master at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, 1914-1916” revolves around a fictional Henry James as an old man who attempts to volunteer at a hospital to help veterans. Despite his stature as a famous author, he grovels before the nurse supervisor and accepts odious assignments that weaken him physically. He worries about dying but won’t give up. Eventually, he succeeds in establishing a friendship with a veteran, a relationship that reverses when James becomes infirm. Oates’ high regard for James is evident by the theme and characterization in this story. In her notes, she comments that James hasn’t been sufficiently acknowledged for his impact on the work of other writers including. Oates’ has motivated me to read more literary biographies and experiment with characterization by exaggerating traits and habits of successful authors.

In the fifth and last story, the fictional Hemingway plays with his gun and thinks about his life. His contempt for women is evident and also his dependence on “the woman” he lives with. Oates captures Hemingway’s narcissism, recklessness and anger and mimics his “tautly written, minimalist, and deeply ironic short stories.” In her notes, she credits him for creating an American vernacular and for developing “the deadpan understatement of a hurt too painful to be acknowledged.” This story serves as a good example of a complex narrator/character who uses denial and self-injurious behavior to deal with the painful situations in his life, arising in good part from his biased and flawed perceptions of both himself and the world around him. I’d like to emulate her techniques in characterization when creating unreliable narrators.

Because of Hemingway’s notorious machismo, I’ve read little of his work and failed to fully appreciate his influence. I didn’t enjoy reading the story but it served as a good example of how to create a narrator with biased and flawed perceptions.

Showing my social networking class how to set up a blog today!

This post is just an effort to put some of my favorite poems at one place. I will list some lines from the first two poems and leave links for other poems so that everyone can take a look.

1. Robert Frost’s memorable lines “… miles to go before I sleep“ from Stopping… have always inspired me. These lines have a message of hope, enthusiasm and vitality. The natural imagery, description of sounds and the rhythm create an almost magical effect.

Frost’s Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening:

…
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

2. Another all-time favorite is Rudyard Kipling’s If. Although Kipling’s opinions and overall legacy are a matter of debate, there is no denying the beauty of precious wisdom that he managed to convey through If.

If – Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
…..

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
…..
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
….
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

Other poems that I’ve liked a lot include:

3. The Road Not Taken — Robert Frost

4. I’m Nobody. Who Are You? — Emily Dickinson

5. Hope — Emily Dickinson

6. If You Forget Me — Pablo Neruda

7. Haiku (Frog) — Basho

8. Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines — Pablo Neruda

9. Risk — Anais Nin

10. Auguries of Innocence — William Blake

When it comes to humour, one must take a look at the works of Ogden Nash and Spike Milligan. Milligan has also written some cute, mushy verses like this one:

If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.

If I could speak words of water,
You would drown when I said
“I love you.”

—

Are there any writers that you especially like? Which poems are your favorites?
P.S. — To conclude, below is the first stanza of hope:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all…

– Emily Dickinson

P.P.S — Recommended by Vidya: Poems of Margaret Atwood

Recommended by Dhaarini: Desiderata
http://www.fleurdelis.com/desiderata.htm &
Considering the Snail
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/considering-the-snail/

.

La mia mente sentii fendersi -
come se il mio cervello si fosse spaccato -
Cercai di ricongiungere i due orli -
ma non riuscivo a farli combaciare.

Il pensiero anteriore al successivo
tentavo in ogni modo di allacciare -
ma la sequenza era un groviglio muto -
gomitoli sul pavimento sparsi.

(Poesia n. 937 Emily Dickinson)

 
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind -
As if my Brain had split -
I tried to match it – Seam by Seam -
But could not make them fit -

The thought behind, I strove to join
Unto the thought before -
But Sequence ravelled out of Sound -
Like Balls – upon a Floor -

(Poem: 937. I felt a Cleaving in my Mind – Emily Dickinson)

“Opere scelte” Emily Dickinson – Arnoldo Mondadori Spa – traduzioni: Silvio Raffo e Massimo Bacigalupo

.

Si misura l’amore da se stesso soltanto -
“Grande come son io” – dichiara il sole
a chi non l’ha sentito mai bruciare -
Lui stesso è l’unico che gli somiglia.

(Poesia n. 826 Emily Dickinson)

Love reckons by itself—alone—
“As large as I”—relate the Sun
To One who never felt it blaze—
Itself is all the like it has—

(Poem: 826. Love reckons by itself—alone— Emily Dickinson)

“Opere scelte” Emily Dickinson – Arnoldo Mondadori Spa – traduzioni: Silvio Raffo e Massimo Bacigalupo

.

Com’è triste aspettare – dovunque tu non sia -
seppi stanotte – quando di abbracciarmi
tentò qualcuno – forse stanca, o sola
sembravo – dalla muta pena quasi distrutta -

ed io – regale – mi volsi -
“Quel” diritto era il tuo – ad un porto solo
aspira un brigantino come il mio -

Meglio il rullio su un mare furioso
che stabile ormeggio senza te -
Meglio il carico – vuoto – qui -
che le isole beate – e tu non lì -

(poesia n. 368 Emily Dickinson) 

How sick — to wait — in any place — but thine –
I knew last night — when someone tried to twine –
Thinking — perhaps — that I looked tired — or alone –
Or breaking — almost — with unspoken pain –

And I turned — ducal –
That right — was thine –
One port — suffices — for a Brig — like mine –

Ours be the tossing — wild though the sea –
Rather than a Mooring — unshared by thee.
Ours be the Cargo — unladen — here –
Rather than the “spicy isles –”
And thou — not there –

(Poem: 368. How sick — to wait — in any place — but thine Emily Dickinson)

“Opere scelte” Emily Dickinson – Arnoldo Mondadori Spa – traduzioni: Silvio Raffo e Massimo Bacigalupo

Introduction To Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

I never did like poetry very much.  Too many hidden meanings, cryptic phrases,  not enough substance.  So it came as a little bit of a shock when I came across a poet who felt the same way that I did.  Billy Collins and I agree that poetry should not be stoned to death or tortured to find its meaning.  They should simply be enjoyed, if you are able to.  Some poems you can connect to.  If I were to make a wager, I’d say that pretty much anyone who hated English would like this poem.  Anyone willing to take me up on that?

Taking Off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes

First, her tippet made of tulle,
easily lifted off her shoulders and laid
on the back of a wooden chair.

And her bonnet,
the bow undone with a light forward pull.

Then the long white dress, a more
complicated matter with mother-of-pearl
buttons down the back,
so tiny and numerous that it takes forever
before my hands can part the fabric,
like a swimmer’s dividing water,

and slip inside.

You will want to know
that she was standing
by an open window in an upstairs bedroom,
motionless, a little wide-eyed,
looking out at the orchard below,
the white dress puddled at her feet
on the wide-board, hardwood floor.

The complexity of women’s undergarments
in nineteenth-century America
is not to be waved off,
and I proceeded like a polar explorer
through clips, clasps, and moorings,
catches, straps, and whalebone stays,
sailing toward the iceberg of her nakedness.

Later, I wrote in a notebook
it was like riding a swan into the night,
but, of course, I cannot tell you everything -
the way she closed her eyes to the orchard,
how her hair tumbled free of its pins,
how there were sudden dashes
whenever we spoke.

What I can tell you is
it was terribly quiet in Amherst
that Sabbath afternoon,
nothing but a carriage passing the house,
a fly buzzing in a windowpane.

So I could plainly hear her inhale
when I undid the very top
hook-and-eye fastener of her corset

and I could hear her sigh when finally it was unloosed,
the way some readers sigh when they realize
that Hope has feathers,
that reason is a plank,
that life is a loaded gun
that looks right at you with a yellow eye.

How many people out there actually enjoy Emily Dickinson?  Yet even while this poem mocks her (dashes while we spoke), it renews and sparks an interest in her works.  Sex sells, and Hollywood knows that.  Collins knows it too, which is why he is using it in this way to describe how poetry should be understood.  After reading ‘Taking off Emily Dickinson’s Clothes’, I certainly like poetry a bit more.  And for those of you who say you don’t, stop lying to yourselves.

Vladimir Nabokov made his wife promise to burn his unfinished last novel, The Original of Laura, upon his death. But the manuscript, written on 138 index cards, remained in a Swiss safe-deposit box for over three decades. His son and sole heir, Dmitri, 75, has finally decided to let the world have a look. Knopf will publish The Original of Laura on November 17.

Other writers’ deathbed requests & their upshots…

Virgil:  Burn the Aeneid. (Emperor Augustus refused.)
Charles Dickens:  Remember me by my work alone; no statues or monuments. (Not the humblest cove in Britain.)
Emily Dickinson:  Burn all my papers. (Her sister, Vinnie, destroyed her letters but not her poems.)
Franz Kafka:  Burn all my unpublished works. (His friend Max Brod did not comply.)
Hunter S. Thompson:  Fire my ashes from a giant cannon. (Johnny Depp lit the match.)

Ever felt like floating into the un-reality?

Like time is moving lesser than a second?

I guess it’s an unusual aftermath effect when I woke up trying to regain consciousness on yesterday’s events and soon realized that everything is fictional like…The feeling of floating and an unhurried time just exist on the unconscious seas of my humane thinking.

Intimacy versus Isolation

Erikson’s Stage six of his psychosocial theory, occurs to young adult,20 above which deals with trust,autonomy and capability of initiative,aside from exhibiting other hallmarks of maturity.

It’s just an idea that occurred to me that I’m an inch in this stage, But since my evidences is not seen or felt by the other senses, or let’ s say the opposite of empirical I’d rather declare it. Haha! But I’m still 18, and my age span is still on the 5th stage which is the Identity versus Confusion. But… I already know my Identity and i’m not confused about it.

But, I still have my doubts. In fact, I’m still a child trying to act like an adult, move like a responsible citizen and decide like a mature individual… It’s all a mask, my personal persona. I’m trying to swim deep waters, I know God is watching but at times, you have this tiniest part in you that is scared and a need for his hand as you explore the unseen part of life, but one must conceal that fear from a watching crowd. Exposing one’s vulnerability is a no-no.

The art of concealing. People sees it great but at the end only God knows my heart, my thoughts and my hopes. The question of “DID I PLEASE HIM?” creates a mind-blowing impact to my senses and consciousness rather than “DID I PERFORMED A GREAT JOB?”

—————————-

These past few months, Death revealed itself in it’s unpleasant visits. It hurts but is beautiful. Death is a simple beauty and inevitable.

Guess I need to accept the reality and must get myself ready in a future meet-up to death, just like Emily Dickinson. Her poem reflects it and here’s the poem that I can relate to:

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

After his frightful visit, now I want to see him face to face and exactly I was day-dreaming of him, leading me to my Glorious creator, my ONLY love…haha! That’s a sweet thought to ponder on while I’m still breathing, walking in a circular and yet a parallel journey of life.

THE MORNS ARE MEEKER than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.

Emily Dickinson

More Emily Dickinson, and suggested reading for children

illustration © Deborah Freedman