As this is my last post from the United States of America, I should say something striking, or at least intuitive. But I've got nothing folks. My brain is saturated with basic Twi (thank you Sarah), itineraries, images of who will pick me up at the airport, getting to the airport, and finalizing any number of loose ends. This fabric just keep fraying!

I have nothing brilliant to pass on except what my friend Jules told me the other day: There is nothing in this world worth getting upset over.
Think about that one for a while. I can agree with this on certain levels. I think the abbess that told Jules this meant it is not worth it to get upset over spilt milk or Washington state residency or financial aid or school or rent or money or love or lost items. It's not worth it. Let it go and get upset over murders and social injustice and politics and thieves.

Peace and love and other things sweet,
Imaginer(with tears in her eyes)

Is it right to know it and feel it with all your heart but not share your knowledge and feelings? Or is it right to work for their endurance in yourself and others, fight for what you know and feel? Is knowing enough? Is feeling enough? If everyone knew and felt then it would be enough...
PEACE, Rachel

I'm tired and uninspired and my feet are wet. (good alliteration in that sentence. Do I hear a poem?) I did just make a great curry and got a lot of stupid errands done today. I think I'm going to go play the guitar and not pack right now. Yea, that sounds good!

I'm tired and uninspired,
with wet feet and smelly socks.
I ran beside and skipped down
the drizzling streets and sidewalks.
My hair is a stringy mess,
masking my brain's scatteredness.
Forgot my way in the rain,
lost my soul in the gutters.

Oh yea, if you want to see real live pictures of Ghana, Sarah has some pictures on her site. Click here to see them. Sarah went to Ghana with Habitat for Humanity for three weeks last December.
Other than being absolutely amazing, she has calf muscles like rocks. Check them out in picture number one. I'm writhing in jealousy. She could crush an aluminum can with those suckers : )

A couple things first:
1. I can't see the floor of my room, and I'm ok with that.
2. I am writing on this journal and baking cookies instead of working on school applications, making hotel arrangements, sewing a sleeping bag, and shopping.
3. I have a really annoying pimple right at the corner of my mouth. Aren't I past the pimple age?
4. I just heard a rap song about Leonard Nemoy.
5. The KGBA DJ doesn't know what songs she's playing, therefore, I don't know what songs she's playing.
6. My new hair cut is cute but I have about 1/4 inch of blond hair at my roots.

Now, I am going to tell you a story, the moral of which I have not yet discerned.

One day, a capable, able, beautiful, smart, princess named Roxanne decided to make a batch of Namaste vegan fat free brownies. She delicately poured soy milk into the round metal bowl. The milk was silky white and tasted sweet and vanilly. She opened the package of brownie mix carefully in order to reduce the flying brownie dust. The mix was light brown and smelled of cinnamon and baker's chocolate. She used her mother's golden heirloom mixer encrusted with diamonds to swirl the wet and dry ingredients together. Soon the precious mixer was straining under the pressure from the thick batter and Roxanne cranked up the speed and pressed the power boost button. The dough crawled up the stem of the beater and smeared on the body of the mixer. The beaters began to grind to a stop and the smell of rubber mingled with chocolate.
Roxanne, oblivious to her mother's mixers complaints, spooned the batter into her mother's crystal brownie casserole pan. The pan had been in the family for years and it was rumored that one could see their future in it's clear crystal form. She placed the pan in the preheated oven and set the timer for 30 min. She subsequently pulled on her golden running slippers and took a 25 min run around the block. Then she did her daily push ups and sit ups in order to maintain her princessly figure.
After 30 min she pulled the brownies out of the oven and did a test cut in the center of the pan. They smelled heavenly but the knife came out hopelessly gooey. She put the pan back in the oven for 10 min and then repeated the knife test. Again, the knife came out gooey but, oh, was it good. Wanted to have light fluffy non gooey brownies, Roxanne placed the brownies back in the oven for 10 min. She repeated this procedure several times until she realized that the brownies were never going to solidify. She set them on the fridge to cool and waited for her mother, the queen to come home from work to show her the day's handy work.
Queen Ruby came home later that evening and when Roxanne eagerly showed her mother the brownies she was dismayed to find them rock hard and petrified to the pan. In desperation, she cut slices of apple and laid them on top of the wood like brownies. She sprinkled them with water and hoped with all her innocent heart that they would soften up in time to serve them to her mother's court.
Fortunately after several nights with the apples, the top layer of the brownies softened up enough to scrape it off. Roxanne used a knife to vigorously dislodge the rest of the brownie. Unfortunately she was so strong from her daily pushups that she shoved the knife right through the heirloom pan. In dismay, she picked up the broken pieces of the 9 by 13 inch masterpiece and consoled herself with the fact that her brownies were not burnt just crispy and edible. However, they were not suitable for the court so she began making the motions to make oatmeal apple cookies instead. Much to Roxanne's dismay, the mixer failed to rotate the beaters. She had tried to use it too long while mixing the brownies and striped the gears in the diamond encrusted machine. How could she forgive herself for breaking her mother's heirloom mixer and pan. And to top it all off, they couldn't really even enjoy the comforting gooeyness of her brownies.
Roxanne finished the oatmeal cookies by hand and saddled up her horse for a trip to the store to find inferior replacements for the equipment she had so carelessly broke. That evening her mother returned and found the damage done but Roxanne was prepared with cookies and an apology and new mixer and pan. The new mixer was encrusted with rubies and the pan was burn proof. The mother and daughter laughed as they munched on crispy brownies and delicious moist oatmeal cookies.

Hello hello,
Oh my, I'm starting to get a bit nervous for my expedition to Ghana! Truthfully, I don't really feel like I'm going away. But the reality is, I ship out of here in 12 days. It seems like I have a lot of loose ends I need to tie up before I go.

I am going to have a really hard time leaving my friends and family behind, if only for the selfish reason that I am afraid they will forget me while I'm away. Not only that, I only got to see some good Montana friends briefly and I haven't seen other friends in too long. (My fault, I didn't drag myself to their doorstep like I should have). I did get to spend a lot of time with my family including my great aunt and uncle from far away Martinsdale. I feel like my Seattle crowd is whizzing forward to new peaks of friendships without me and my family is getting more and more distant as I grow up. Soon, I will have to knock on my parents door before I come in. This being independent and homeless(or should I say, having too many homes) thing can be wearing sometimes. I mean, I don't know what direction I'm facing most of the time, and don't even ask me what I'm doing tomorrow, much less next year or where I'm from. I think there must be name for what I'm suffering from.

I'm ruining my chances at becoming a WA state resident by going to Ghana and therefore making it oh too expensive to go to UW, which wont except me anyway. My other option, flying under the residency radar at SCCC, seems ok, but a bit, oh, I don't know, deceiving. I could go to UM. No! I could do the WHICy program, which allows me to go to certain state schools in Washington for Montana tuition and a half but UW doesn't participate in that. So that leaves me with Bellingham, hmm, maybe, Ellensburg, not so hot on that part of the state, Pullman, closer to home and friends nearby, but not Seattle, and Cheney, again, why it it so flat? Sigh, I am just going to turn into a homeless, uneducated bum in Texas. Yes, I think I think I will go to Texas. The weather is mild enough that I can sleep outside year round.

I didn't mean for this to turn into a gripe fest, but sometimes, that is what the void is for. So take that void. Bad energy, begone!

My newest music discoveries:

1. Plant is actually saying words in his songs. The Ocean, The Battle of Evermore and Misty Mountain Hop are particularity good lyricwise. Before I started reading their lyrics I really just loved Plant's screeching and the guitar/drums breakdown. But by god if they aren't poets as well!

2. The Silos! Of course, music is always more enchanting live, but I think these guys are good.

3. I may not be as adverse to country as I originally thought. I'm not going to admit to liking it but Jaala's sound bites of Big and Rich and Cowboy Troy rapping were pretty amusing!

4. The Counting Crow have a song in the sound track of Shrek 2 and it took me forever to figure out it was Adam. I guess the whining should have tipped me off but it didn't.

5. Heart does an excellent version of Led Zeppelin's Rock and Roll.

6. This is the deal with the symbols on Led Zeppelin's fourth album. They each decided choose a metaphysical type of symbol which somehow represented each of them individually.

John Paul Jones' symbol (circle over three interlocking ovals) was found in a book of runes and purportedly represents a person who is both confident and competent.

Bonham's symbol (three interlocking circles) came from the same book, and Bonham just liked it.

Plant's symbol (circle around a feather) features the feather of Ma'at, the Egyptian goddess of justice and fairness.

Page designed his own symbol (Zoso). Though it resembles the alchemical symbol for mercury, its meaning remains a mystery. The most recent fandom theory is that it symbolizes a near-death or Tantric sex experience to unify the worlds of the living and the dead, and thus to reveal the secrets of the universe.

This is third hand knowledge so I don't know how accurate what I'm about to relate is.

There is a philosopher who believes that there are many different worlds with many different levels of goodness or holiness. Earth is fairly low on the scale. This philosopher believes that there is a world where there is no spoken language. Instead, the beings automatically know what the other being is thinking. I don't know if this telepathy is within a certain range of distance or if one can tune into a desired being, or if one hears the thoughts of every being in its vicinity and must filter undesired thoughts out of perception. However, no matter the method or limitations of their ability, it remains that if you had a secret, it wouldn't be one for long and if you had nasty thoughts, everyone would know them. The luxury of having privates thoughts is completely null. The theory is, these beings are so good and pure that they don't have nasty, bad, murderous, adulterous or mean thoughts. While I value my private thoughts, I can see how wonderful it would be to have someone who knew exactly what I was thinking. There would be fewer misunderstandings and zero deception. You just absolutely couldn't think-lie. If something was on your mind, like an annoying room mate or a crush or relationship problems, you couldn't bottle it up. Out the discussion/think would come and you would resolve your issues right then and there. Think about it, evil impossible and truth all the time

If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on...nothing really matters...

I think it is very important to set goals and stick with them. The time has come to set some new goals and rediscover my old ones. Two years ago, during my Freshman year at SU, I typed up one short term and two long term goals. I posted them on my mirror, above my bed, over my desk and on my laptop. Those goals were:

1. I will act on Broadway or something similar
2. I will serve with the Peace Corps or something similar
3. I will not consume caffeine

I will soon acheive number two and number three is too absolute. In other words, I don't consume caffeine unless it's in tea or chocolat or I really want a diet coke. I consider number three checked off.

So here is my new list:
1. I will pursue a career in acting
2. I will floss and brush my teeth daily and wear my retainer three to four times a week.
3. I will become fluent in French or another language
Yep I'm super ambitious...
4. I will conquer the guitar

I don't expect to get all these in a year or even two, but if I remember that I have something I want more than anything and I remind yourself now and then, I can make them a reality, i.e. number two! I would love to hear your goals and then, someday in the distant future when we meet again, we can remind each other to pursue those things that really matter to us.

I was sitting at my gramma's kitchen table with a bowl of cheerios. I poured heated water over my cheerios and watched them rise up the rim of the bowl. I sat and persistently stirred them, trying to get them to soften but they remained rock hard. They wouldn't even crumble between the bowl and my spoon. In despair, I thought the water into milk and instantly, the cheerios disintegrated into a lump of grainy meal. While I was swirling the cheerio paste with my spoon, my gramma came home from church. Without even acknowledging me, she ran to the sink and looked out the window over the sink into the living room. The TV was on, Judge Lochner. I didn't turn it on. The living room was dark but the sound was so loud. My gramma frantically started to chop vegetables in the sink. The chopped pieces of vegetables clogged the drain and gramma panicked, desperately trying to chop and clear the drain at the same time. Suddenly, the dishwasher was in the middle of the kitchen and my gramma couldn't get past because my mom's shoes were in the way. Oh, the problems that life presents us. Mom, restless, sleeps and then goes to work.

I'm in a playground, dressed in a tattered prom dress. The kids scream and chase each other around me but the sound is distant. All I can see is a group of teenagers in front of me. The man doesn't have a date but he knows who he wants. So he wades through the kids to a dress sitting on the slide and declares that if he wears a dress he will get the date he wants. I follow as the group goes shopping at the mall. The decor has changed since I was there last and I felt in a daze. My head loomed above my body.

The man is swinging. I am pushing him from behind and his friends show up with a skirt and several tops. It was all they could find. The skirt is cute and he looks good in it but the tops are hideous. But I am on the swing, pulling on a purple sleepless tube top. It looks better on than off. I pull it off and put on a shirt with only a square of silver fabric on the front and plastic wires around my shoulders to hold it on. The shirt flaps in the breeze from the swing.

GS has a cigar and drinks. Another woman is trying to get the shirt off the man. I am suddenly ten years younger and get off the swings. Two girls from my past are swimming in a maze of a turtle wading pool. Beth peeks over the turtle and Jess swims in a circle. I say, "want to be friends?" We swim around the pool while the sun moves from North to South.

Where Heaven Should Be

If I could unfold the harvest sky,
and peel away the stippled black
weave, stretch my fingers between
the warped steely dimensions of dark,
I would cup a torn piece of its pulsing
tapestry in my sugar-high hands.

I would walk through the fraying fabric,
each foot heavy with green Venusian
dust, turn around and slowly stare.
My eye, a web, netting in the fire
flies and cramped solar winds, would
free the Taurusian bull to stampede in
full-moon fields, fenceless.

Behind me, outside, my side…
a stair of silken rock, marked by sifted
carnes, hugs mirages of stone and lace,
cascades between molting orange larches
and liquid blue falls. Small and thin,
a line of dust through a forest of gods,
the trail erodes with only paw prints
and fallen snags for company.

A constellation, safe in the sky, I would quit
the Twins and Crab and endless rings
of ice and moonstones, wrap up the harvest
sky again, creases gently ironed flat,
and spend my days with you, a torn piece
of September’s frost-embroidered tapestry.

What a roller coaster past two weeks!

I have spent the majority of my days searching the internet for volunteer information, airline fares and visa forms. My head is spinning and my butt has never been so sore. My stamina to hike far outweights my internet stamina, so it would seem.

This weekend's hike started brillantly with a gradual uphill climb along a gabbling creek and across talis slopes that skyrocketed into terrace after terrace of folded rock. I cooled my feet off about 6 miles in at a trecherous ford and bushwacked to the lake. Wow, the lake was surrounded by jutting rock wall laced with water falls and iced with orange larches. The contrast of orange against the brillant blue sky was almost too much.

Dinner was reconstituted dehydrated veggies with some mystery asian stirfry mix followed by instant butterscotch pudding and hot cocoa.

I woke up around 1 am and couldn't figure out why the sun was up. I became conscience enough to realize it was the brillantly bright moon, even though I couldn't find it in the sky.

I got a horrible sugar high and than a low from the processed instant oatmeal and peaches and apparantly my body chemistry couldn't handle it. I had tunnle vision, felt dizzy and my legs and hands wouldn't stop shaking. I felt like I was vibrating. I had to stop hiking and eat some asiago bagel. Eventually,this weird sensation passed and I was able to hike the rest of the way with only a few stumbles. I did get stuck on a log for a hilariously long time and was clothes lined by a low tree branch and my backpack. Hah!

Now, I am nursing a sore hip. I'm not sure how I hiked the whole summer without so much as a blister and now my hip joint aches so much I can hardly walk. I took a pain killer, sadly, and was able to run two miles with my dogs, ah to have dogs again.

I made curry tonight with my currant ward, her parents are in Moab. Tomorrow we are going to attempt to cook samosas. I am about to dive into the complex world of West African cooking with the help of a West African cook book I checked out a recipe book from the library along with about 10 other books on Africa and Ghana and African folk tales.

I'm beat...

No creative ramblings this time around. I’m getting straight to the point. I can’t even think of a song to describe my feelings.

I’M GOING TO GHANA, AFRICA for three months beginning in November. Three months! I am going to live with a Ghanaian family and volunteer at a local nursery outside of Accra-central. The planning of this adventure has been quite a roller coaster. My original plan was to go to Morocco and volunteer but that morphed its way into India, Nepal, Ecuador, Uganda, Thailand and finally Ghana. The point isn’t where I go; the point is that I am going. If any one has any tips for traveling or volunteering in a foreign country, I’d love to hear them. Right now, I really need advice about finding cheap airfare, travel insurance and mental preparation.

Like the pupil in the eyes
The lord resides inside
Ignorant do not know this fact
They search him outside
Kabir

I recently had an in-depth discussion with Saralita on religion, faith, god(s) and love. Our feelings on these subjects are confused and different but I think we were both coming from the same fundamental idea, god is love. This quote, perhaps, pinpoints something which I have been trying to articulate to myself and I would like to pass on. What do you think?

I wrote this poem earlier in the year. I guess I'm glad I waited to post because now it carries a whole new meaning. Aren't words amazing? I could listen to songs all day and listen to poetry all night (with some exceptions, no country or incoherent rap).

Going West, Going East

The spasm of darkness, the core
of my heart, the lining of velvet
beneath my skin, yearning for the
East, the right, the opposite side,
counter the moon, sun, stars and you.
Skin crawls and throat burns with thirst
like addictions to gambling, cigarettes,
sleepless nights or Solitaire.

Like a storm cluttered with electricity,
like a balloon quivering with air,
like a kiss whose echo burns
in the flesh, the West calls you forth
to its cool salty sea, pillowy pine
forests where particles, paisleyed
and coarse, curve across the sky.

With a glance, a tear, a burden
of lust, toasting our minds with near
intimacy, we repel like a magnet,
separate like Italian dressing. Electricity
pulses in the East and positive
potential waits in the West while we pull
taunt the strings and softly sing solo
arias on the moonless path.

I just can't explain how weird this poem is for me. I wrote it for a different time and place and here it is, making sense on a different dimension.

God, I wish I wasn't leaving but I know these feelings will soon pass as I endeavor towards foreign lands.

Leavin' Song Summer came
And days grew long
Lilacs bloomed 'round
Meulfront pond
First place I ever held his hand
timeless walks and breathless nights
Went rushing past like peace in flight
I was prayin' it was never gonna end
Then the autumn leaves were blazin'
Like the fireworks in July
For a fleeting moment
That flame was in his eyes
But as quickly as the colors came
They burned out of the sky Goodbye Adios
See you later I gotta go I've been holding on too long
This is my leaving song I'll take one last look around
Pull up roots that I put down
Drive across that Hastings County line
Trade a part of who I was
For a future I'm not certain of
But I'll keep the best of what
I leave behind
Oh I'll miss those Sunday mornings
And those Friday football games
A peace that comes from knowing
Some places never change
That's the reason that I'll miss it
And the reason
I can't stay Goodbye Adios
See you later I gotta go
I've been holding on too long
This is my leaving song
This is my leaving song

-The Wilkinsons

I am hovering in limbo, at home in Seattle and planning to be home in Missoula. It is a weird feeling, like I am being slowly covered with cream cheese frosting. Just when Skykomish and rangering started to feel right and the routine was set and the wilderness was my oyster, the summer ended, the huckleberries fell of their branches, the leaves turned golden and snow dusted my campsite. Though the question of what next has been lingering over my head since I moved to Seattle in February, it is slamming my funny bone and knuckling my sternum now. What next? I promised myself that I would be in school in the Spring. I even pinky shook on it. But what now? What in between? I have six months to do something amazing. Once I start school again, I probably won't have six months of uncommitted time in a row for a very very long time. My intent to travel and volunteer abroad still stands ,though my summer isolation made it difficult to research or make any concrete plans. However, there is no time like the present and as soon as I go to a Mariners game with my Uncle, see the Van Gogh exhibit, dye my hair black, eat Naples food, sell my clothing and drink mango daiquiris, I will journey to Montana where I can focus soley on school applications (again, ugh) and travel plans (scary and oh so exciting). My Seattlites, I will miss you, my Missoulians, I can't wait to see you and anyone in between these two points, well, I have been missing you and will continue to do so.

Band Aid

Crossed threads of light and cream
fell apart in my hands like brown
sugar, like sweet dinner rolls,
like caked mud on my calf.
When loneliness wells out of my
lacerated skin and warmly
hugs the rough, wounded
edges before crawling
with gravity's steady pull,
I clutch for the crumbles
of inspiration. I need them
to grit in my eyes and pinch
at my thighs and dampen
my tongue. That powder,
that cream, it was me and you.
It was an itch and a scratch,
a partnership of muses,
making hours slide like freshly
hatched minnows in the dry,
dark night and words
and poetry dance with
flashing stars.
No dim glimmer
or thread of light.
No healing touch or
thought. No help.
Fall long, fall hard, fall away.

I have a two day pass to Bumbershoot! I am finally going to see the much anticipated performance of Pedro the Lion...and Saralita all at once. I know some of you are going as well but am not sure of the days. If you are planning on going Saturday 4, I want to meet up with you so call my cell right after 4:30 (when I get back from the BC) and perhaps we can arrange a meet up. (I feel like I'm arranging a drug or ransom drop) I haven't decided between Sun and Mon for the other days. Perhaps you can help me... I will be crashing Sarita for those couple of days so call or visit the Jefferson house if you get a chance.

Yesterday, while listening to the chatter on radio channel 4 for the Skykomish Ranger station, I overheard Northwest Youth Corps checking in from Lost Creek.

The voice was such that I felt compelled to imagine his facial features, his height, his hair color and finally his entire life story extended to his parents, ex girlfriend and why he doesn't want to work for Bernie, his brother in law, as a construction worker over the winter. Jude is in his mid to late twenties. He is tall and dark-haired with an oblong face and round glasses. His nose is freckled and his eyes are hazel. By all accounts, he should play the guitar but doesn't. He did try to write songs but could never find his tune, which is odd, because his parents were folk singers. This probably accounts for the fact that he is a roamer and can't settle into a life, a major, a job or a city. In fact, that is why his girl friend broke up with him. She wanted to settle down, have a house, have a garden, have some kids. Jude wanted to travel, couldn't settle down and was rubber necking. All in all he enjoys his job with the NYC and has a secret crush on one of the corps members. Unbeknownst to him, she has a crush on him as well.

I hope all fairs well for Jude. I think it will. He has a strong will and a sensitive heart. I hope that someday, I can meet the voice on the other end of the radio and give him a giant hug. We both need one.

My friends, my foes, my enemies, my loves,

I am in a weird mood, but am full of stir fried curry and instant pudding with soy milk and very happy. My weekend in Seattle is coming to a close and was as lovely as ever thanks to Sarita, Tovin, Tovin's cookies, Heidi, Meg and Chris. I am looking forward to burrito night and GORP with candied ginger and miles and miles of lonely trail and sleepless nights and cold lakes and toilet holes, oh toilet holes!
I just purchased a poetry book and would like to share the first poem I read.

Even

Him that I love I wish to be
Free:

Free as the bare top twigs of tree,
Pushed up out of the fight
Of branches, struggling for the light,
Clear of the darkening pall,
Where shadows fall-
Of sky;

Free as a gull
Alone upon a single shaft of air,
Invisible there,
Where
No man can touch,
No shout can reach,
Meet
No stare;

Free as a spear
Of grass,
Lost in the green
Anonymity
Of a thousand seen
Piercing, row on row;
The crust of earth,
With mirth,
Through to the blue,
Sharing the sun
Although,
Circled, each one,
In his cool sphere
Of dew.

Him that I love, I wish to be
Free-
Even from me.

-Anne Morrow Lindebergh

sigh

Off to Skykomish I go!