Season of the Witch

Dear Reader,

A couple of posts ago, I said that I would be uploading regularly in February. I will; I promise. These first two weeks will be a little busy for me because I am still in the middle of PhD applications. I will likely only post once per week in these two weeks. But, to begin, I thought I’d just keep in touch. Oooh, a mysterious paper just fell across the room. I am not sure what days I’ll be uploading, but I will do 1-2x per week in the future.

Let’s then, have a story:

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The other day, I was eating an early dinner with my mom; I had just walked and fed the dog. We needed forks to feed ourselves, and our bossy-boots of a shitzu was complaining that we were not sharing. If royalty were a dog, it would be a shitzu. Except, I love my Misha a lot more than I do Prince Harry. In any case, Misha was begging at the table and I was trying to get a fork so I could stab my way into delicious ecstasy via roasted peppers and homemade burgers. As I was grabbing the forks, I kept slapping my hand on the open microwave door. You should also know, I am a serial door-open leaver. I am tall, and I have the most to lose from this, but I always leave cupboards/doors/drawers open. Soz. Although, I am the one who is always cleaning and putting things away, so it’s not like I’m oblivious. So, the microwave door was slapping my hand down, and I dropped two forks on the floor. I went to go eat, and then we needed another fork. My mom asked me to get her one, when I was up at the fridge. As I was turning to walk back, the fork flew out of my hand, landing across the kitchen. At that point, I was at a loss. My mom chimes in:

‘Who’s coming to visit you?’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘When you drop a fork, and you’ve dropped three, it means someone is coming to visit you.’
‘No one that I can think of.’ I said, certain.

We finished eating, and I looked at my phone. To my surprise I see:

Harsha 1

My best friend has done this once before. But it’s a rare occasion because I moved home recently, and he moved home from Detroit just a little while ago. He was doing his MSc (forgive me if that’s incorrect). A lot of our friends are dispersed internationally. Another best friend is in the UK doing Medicine and another in Ottawa studying maths and French. So, I don’t usually expect visitors without advance warning.

Harsha 2

ps He was stopped when he sent the messages. 🙂

And so, it appears that I am magical. My best friend and I went to get coffee, and I now have a reputation for the magics. I will be going to Hogwarts soon, friends. I also have really big-hearted friends; that’s quite magical in itself. I’m pretty sure that was the whole message behind JKR’s books–enduring friendship.

Prepare yourself for this:

Also, how great is it that Starbucks brought out coconut milk for their coffees? I can’t afford daily cappuccinos or even regular coffee out, but as a treat. I’m glad that they didn’t use Almond milk. I think coconut milk or a combination of the two tastes much better in teas and coffees than Almond milk alone, which is good in cereals or made to taste like chocolate. Alas, dear world, I am happy that I live in an age with dairy alternatives (a lot of privilege there). I have a tummy ache, atm. #dairyfreebynecessity

Keep being kind, dearest reader.

~~Updates, it’s update time!~~

Best coffee: Lavazza (the red one). It smells like childhood.
Reading updates: I’ve read academic things and some articles online. If you guys don’t know what’s going on in Flint, MI, read up about it. I plan to get back into Dumas a little later in the month.
Yoga Updates: Yoga will commence next week or the following; 2-3x per week. I’m excited for the warming weather because I’ll be able to do it outside. But because of the mild weather, I can guarantee the bug population will be quite high this year. Yoga to the scent of citronella, yum.
PhD Application updates: I’m getting there 🙂
Other updates: I get random tummy aches because my digestive system can’t handle dairy or soy or undercooked eggs.

Let me know how you’re doing in the comments!

 

Hope you’ve been so well. Xx

Heaps of Love,
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From the Earth to Kiss Our Skin

Hear it read << here >> 

 

Cold air combs my hair; it turns my nose to ice,
I remember those days, filled with the warmth of vice,
There was hardly sunshine, but there was wind,
Energy that flows from the earth to kiss our skin,

The bricks crumble as they hold up our lives,
Like bees selling honey to mortgage their hives,
Glass lets us cut into the lives of those we ignore,
Instead of seeking entry through their front door,

Dishes pile as we breathe and conspire,
Entwined in our bed; this lust is dire,
Our minds drift to forests, where fairies dwell,
Green covers all life, animating this sweet dell,

Walking upon moss that sponges and frays,
Sipping the sweet smell of wild floral bouquets,
Stopping to drink the water that drips and drops,
Hushing as we see the lone bunny hip and hop,

Hand in hand, we are borne into movement,
Solace warms our soul in this anagogic ascent,
We rise above the earth’s vibrating energies,
Forward and returned like the tides of the bluest seas,

We make our own warmth as we urge, together, on,
Awaiting the sweet, milky skies that precede dawn,
If our hands are cold, our spirits are tenderly anchored,
Swimming for an eternity, finally reaching the shore,

Rising and falling, desire dances upon your lips,
My spirit escapes me—-

—-spiritless, in a moment, eclipsed,

Life grows in the moss, as love flows from the sky,
Silence falls as mother earth hums a last, sweet sigh.

 

-fin

The Pedagogical Son Returns….

I would like to preface with the comment that learning, obtaining knowledge, and having time to read and reflect is an incredible privilege that I value and honour to the highest degree.  It is my deepest wish that our canons of knowledge can be informed by varying perspectives that either enrich understanding or destroy wrong assumptions.  Of course, that may seem a ‘Whiggish’ approach to knowledge, assuming that we are always progressing, but I am not sure where I stand on the matter yet, so I have to begin somewhere.

~~

This story is not a horror story of unfulfilled dreams.  There is no true pessimism, but a desire to note that there is uncertainty.  The parable, The Prodigal Son, has a clear goal.  Humility and respect for our parents (or God) is the utmost importance.  But also recognizing that you can return home if you are ready to repent, and have understood why you were wrong.  Yet, I’m not sure there is such a simple ending in real life.  So, this story of the Pedagogical Son asks the reader to consider if one can return from the halls of learning, and whether or not there is anything to return to?

~~

I once dreamed that I was walking from afar.  No.  This is not my story.  It is the story of the  individual, who, like Darnton’s Grub Street motley crew, are seeking entrance into the cathedral of knowledge.  It begins in the desert.

The air is hot and dry.  The urge to burst with anticipation is infinite.  Anticipation for death. For life.  For water.  The future is uncertain so we cannot know what will occur.  There is desire for action, but one can only walk onwards.  Continuing the motions of life but without any sure indication that he is making the most of his path, or where that path may even lead.  The terrain is comical in its ironic heat, He thinks.  It reminds him of snow that has been trampled with rough ice patches.  His feet ache, but instead of being numb with an icy cold, they burn from pain and the heat that the sun gives the earth.  “Gives the earth,” He thinks, “such an awkward statement…”  But he dwells no more on the philosophical implications.  He is not fighting to survive. No.  This is not a story of man against nature. No.  For surely, man is part of nature.  Are earth and nature mutually exclusive terms?  Is man excluded from nature?  Arguments of modernity would suggest so.  But He doesn’t believe it is so.  Man is what he wants to be.  He is his choice.  He is restricted by various things; being lost is one of those things.  Yet, he can still choose to act.  He can lay in the sun and flatten himself against the earth, ready to be absorbed.  He is thus part of nature.  Or, he can try to persevere, and, in doing so, learn the terrain.  He is thus part of nature.  No different than a marmot scurrying along the Alps.

He encounters such a marmot-like animal who greets him.  Encouraged by this friendliness, he taps his hat in respect.  In a bird-like voice the marmot invites him to tea.  He, curious, accepts this invitation and follows the polite animal to tea.

“Buttered bread with honey then?” Marmot asks He.

“Delicious.” He responds.  He looks at Marmot slightly abashed, unsure of his fear and anxiety.  “Do you have many visitors?”  He asks?

“Just those who are lost,” Marmot pipes, “but they usually find a way, or another.”

“The right way?” He asks, hopefully.

“Who can say.  Some take the left, others the right, still others up, and sometimes the mole goes down.  But all I can say is that they’ve left here.” Marmot chuckled.

He drank the hot tea, enjoying the test of heat that the sun pressed upon him.  The delightful sweat that ran down his face and chest and arms seemed to remind him of life.  He carefully ate the buttered bread with honey so as to be polite.  But He was curious.  He had so many questions to ask, so much he wanted to learn and to know.  How could He ask?

“What are you thinking of?” Tweeted Marmot?

“I am afraid to ask, or admit…” He whispered. He persevered, “How is it you are out here? Do you not find the task of making tea in this heat so daunting?  Do you not wish to leave? To go home?”

“This is my home,” said Marmot carefully.  “I have no wish to leave it at the moment.  I may some day, but not right now.  The tea I make to my own taste.  I prefer it.”

“Oh,” He replied.  He had not gotten the answers he was looking for.  He wanted to know more, to be told something that could show him the way.  Perhaps he was not asking the right questions.  “But do you know which way I should go then?”

“That is not for me to say,” Marmot smiled.  “You, like many before you, want me to tell you what to do.  That would be unfair because there is much yet for you to do and learn on your own.  If I were to tell you what to do, you would lead a superficial existence until you obtained that goal.  But if you set your own ideal, one that acts phantasmically, that shifts and ebbs in your own anxieties, you will find that you have lived.”

He considered.  “Then you suggest that I act.  That I do what I choose?”

Marmot smiled. “That is not for me to say.”