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Anna

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plate tectonics [May. 30th, 2008|04:13 pm]
Anna
[music |jon foreman.springCD.YourLoveIsStrong]

seeping cracks in the shifting slabs of my seasons and days let little strong smoky memories escape and wisp up and re-scent my mind,

like the construction-site smell of petrol/cement/vinegar as i walked past the new apartment buildings in this small-college-town neighborhood took me back to a little balwadi on the outskirts of Vellore where i spent a week stripping paint, getting covered in mostly blue and a little raspberry-colored dust, washing it off with generous dips in gasoline as if it were soap, energizing with soggy foil-wrapped cucumber-vinegar-sometimes-tomato-or-cheese sandwiches eaten in hundred-degree shade, tipping a cloudy ten-liter-jug of filtered warm water to stream-gush into each other's parched mouths, singing and laughing in Hindi and Korean and Tibetan and Malayalam and Hungarian and English and Spanish and Tamil, whitewashing that tiny room meant for tiny learners, slicking layers of thick glossy white paint over everything, and trying to make animals, alphabet and number illustrations appear recognizable and passably aesthetically pleasing with the limited artistic skills among us.  yay visitors! dipping the kiddies' hands in blue-yellow-red-purple-orange-green-pink, and lifting them one by one to press on the wall in the shape of hello.  handing them sweets, showering them with hugs and hoping their bony frames would be nourished by something more after we left, in the way of both food and affection. knowing the newly-color-coated school would help provide some early education, but still wondering about their all-around quality of lives, opportunities, what about their mothers, sisters, brothers...

why not.  why not shift things around and re-orient my life toward the goal of serving in such concrete ways. why not get my hands dirty in the nearest needy neighborhood. why not renovate my own dusty-blue-and-greasy-rasberry-grime-encrusted heart. why not share names and meals and trust. why not have a vision. whynot. a splotchy rainbow handprint painting saying peace.love.justice. tattooed on my heart, my hands, my feet, lasered in my eyeballs and imprinted on my eardrums and pulling the strings of the folds of my vocal chords. 

let the lava squeeze up between the cracks and not just the smoke, let it become a red-hot part of the now-me and my current day-to-day-collisions instead of just the melted-magma-sitting-below-the-surface as experiences-i-once-had.  not just to sniff a whiff of the memories and let them fade away again but to let that passion permeate every dirty dreary dormant crevice in which i've tried to stuff my thoughts of future dreams and goals the moment they seem too scary or impossible.  let them be re-defined, not to make them seem less scary or impossible, but to bring them under the light of the truth that the One who created all of this, who created me, can do anything, and that these are things he longs to see done in the world, no matter how scary or impossible they seem, and that he prepares and provides for those he calls, for those who answer and follow. and searches like mad when we go astray.  search me and find me.  open my eyes, be my vision.

whynot.why not pledge allegiance to love.justice.peace.

diverge, converge, transform my boundaries into Yours.

be my core, my crust, my atmosphere. 

"invade my heart, invade this broken town...

Your kingdom come, Your will be done [here]...

Your Love Is..."

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