sacred texts

I found myself in front of my bookshelf last night, my mind burdened with a friend's personal crisis, browsing the spines for something profound--words that may enlighten the situation. I rocked Dillard's "Pilgrim" onto its corner but soon returned it. Too naturey. Too Dillardy. I also considered Rand. In the end I pulled out the Tao Te Ching and flipped through its pages, 70% of which had verses highlighted pink and notations like "creator as balance" and "creator as peace" penciled in the margins. I purchased this book--considered a sacred text, I believe--for an Eastern Philosophy course as an undergrad. I found some beautiful lines, but none appropriate for my immediate situation. Before I returned the Tao Te Ching to the shelf, I happened to flip to the dedication page.

For Vicki

I thought it odd. It's like writing For Jerry in the front matter of The Bible.

*

In other news: I'll be boarding a plane to New York City in exactly 48 hours and standing in line to purchase tickets for Spring Awakening in roughly 96.
Joy!

r.i.p.

The truest thing I've heard since I saw news of Heath Ledger's death scroll across the CNN ticker last night: Australian actor Guy Pearce referred to him as the "friend I never got to meet." After all, that's what actors become to us. We build a catalog of movies, appearances, and interviews from which we pick and choose the pieces from their films that impact us. Things we relate to, things that lift us up or disgust and trouble us. In the end, we're left with an overall and ever-changing impression so that when we think of that actor, we know him as we might know a friend: intimatley and individually, according to our own preferences and perceptions. Heath seemed like one of the good ones, like he was an actor, not a star.

soundtrack to (the last 15 minutes of) my life

"Silver Lining" by Rilo Kiley: Super infectious alterna-folksy-pop driven by clapping hands and just about every corner of Jenny Lewis' always engaging range--the low, the high, the twang, and the tilt.

"Please Read the Letter" by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss: One of those urgent ballads that plants itself in your head as though it were a chore to be done before the week is out. Plant and Krauss (perfectly matched) build as the song builds but never overstep its quiet insistence.

"Walking Down the Line" by Bob Dylan: The repeated guitar/verse/harmonica structure tricks you into believing this song is simple. It conjures Woody, Muddy, Pete and every ideal they represent as Dylan strums fast to the tracks they laid.

the rule of 3

For years--many more years than a less what-makes-people-tick? person might tolerate--I've listened to Kathleen's ruminations about the stars, their power, the order of the universe, and celestial rules...all things that have led me to the rather depressing notion that our lives are not our own. I can remember listening to homilies about God bestowing free choice on humanity when I was a little girl in my jumper and hoes, excited about what I saw as wiggle room in my religion's otherwise strict doctrine. Just imagine waking up to a horoscope, anticipating your day according to a series of random declarations with all the breadth (and depth) of a fortune cookie fortune, as Kathleen did. Religiously. Is it not true that if you read what you believe to be a predictor of your day or interactions with others, you're likely to make that prediction come true whether you're conscious of it or not? Or, even more possible, you'll be on alert for any circumstances that might fit what has been prescribed thereby reinforcing your belief in the horoscope, the stars, the strings attached to each of your joints and manipulated by that big, shiny puppeteer in the sky? Despite this and despite my judgements, I allowed Kathleen to do my "star chart." I guess it tells me what planet my moon is in or what moon my sign has, I'm not really clear on that. The chart I should be living according to--hand-written on a 3' x 6' scrap paper--is now folded in half and used as a bookmark. I'll always try to respect that which I don't understand to avoid being an ignorant ass, but that doesn't mean I have to believe in it.

I don't remember when I came across the idea that bad things always come in threes (probably one of those sage sayings my grandmother tosses around like "hello's" but never underestimated by me, the one with 60 fewer years on this peculiar earth). While I don't believe in astrology as a way to map our lives and am resistant to the idea that there is a map to our lives, the rule of 3 has proven to be true on more than one occasion...coincidence at my core: yes, but there's an amazing amount of comfort that comes from these little processes. I imagine it has the same effect on me that faith in God had. Faith in a larger force requires a belief in order and order is always more deliberate and controllable than chaos, and therefore less troubling. Some of my biggest anxiety comes from my helplessness in the whole situation. All that I can do are things, gestures really, that don't produce results. Faith in the power of love and support can get you through a lot, but then as the bad news gets worse, it's difficult not to want something more concrete, the number that appears at the end of the equation. But, when the rule of 3 has a lasso around life, it's easier to believe that our lives really aren't our own, and if that means there is something--the cosmos, God, whatever--that has some sort of influence and the means to enact it, bring it on.

If my horoscope tomorrow says, "Things are looking up! You will be blessed with good news!", I will get on my knees in thanks. If it says otherwise, I will make the choice to throw it in the trash.

When you don't have the words

someone else will.

"The Greatest" by Cat Power
for T