Failte!

I'm excited to share my adventures with all of you! I want your first taste of my life in Ireland to be this poem that I wrote very late one night when I was a Junior in College. Its meaning seems eerily prophetic now. More than anything, I've created this blog to make the actualization of this life-long dream of mine visible to those I love: my friends who are my foundation, my endlessly supportive family, my mentors and co-workers who inspire me, and my former students who have given me enough satisfaction and fulfillment to last two lifetimes... Have the courage to believe that your wildest dreams can come true.

Is fhearr fheuchainn na bhith san duil, (It is better to try than to hope)

e
Mourn (A Seaside Peak in Southern Ireland)

The dark, earthen sod saturates her fair feet,
but briefly since she frolics fast in knee high
blades of greenest grass that blow dizzily in the Celtic-sea air.

Her wool skirt, stiffened by ware of evenings past
is splashed by cresting waves that break
against a beach blacker than her hair.
Those once stiffer fibers were loosed by nights upon nights
of hanging perfectly on his line before being wildly blown dry
by the crisp Hibernian salt air.

The pair sits to rest a while instead of dodging
breakers or skipping paler stones.

"Indian summer's here," he says softly,
but all of summer here feels like the edge
of autumn to her, even though she grins in agreement
as she dangles her pale, soft feet off Achilles' peak,
where Erin's vermillion-gold sky meets
an ocean that is grey with years.

She sleeps with her eyes closed tight most nights.
He asks her if she believes in Tier-Nan-Og,
and she asks him if he believes in anything eternal.
Outside the tide is rising, or it's receding—
She never can tell but for the strengthened smell of
salty freshness strained through his light, lace curtains.
She thinks to herself that he is like trying to hold the sea 
and she imagines the water running between her fingers--
clenched so tight.

And so, the night calls her out of her sleeping,
like daytime chides her into dreaming.
She slips her white fingers through the holes of an old loose scarf
that affords her more company than warmth
on these newborn autumn evenings. She is off-- 
Night clouds reflect emerald from land to sea,
And the tara that she never eyes from long hours of
staring too far into star blanketed skies,
feels cool against the thickening pads of her pallid feet.

Elisabeth Lewis (2005)

31 October 2011

Idiosyncrasies.


What bonds us to people? Do we love the best qualities in someone or is that just what we're initially attracted to? See, I seem to go for any guy who can hold an in-depth conversation about art, philosophy, literature, or history...but that's not what creates intimacy. And my best friends, well, they're like me for the most part: open-minded, loving, and interesting...but that's not why I miss them every day and at this very moment need to be enveloped in a hug from one of those people who knows how I desperately need and resist such affection in tandem.

No, I think it's vulnerability that is at the heart of human intimacy, because in order to show our flaws we have to allow ourselves to be totally vulnerable to another person, trusting that they will accept us anyway. Attachment is bred from intimacy, and intimacy can only come through the total knowledge of these flaws (Candace pounding diet cokes in bed at 11 pm comes to mind).

But seriously, whether your philosophy is Eastern or Western, Christian or atheist, I think we can agree that loving each other is the most important act we take part in in our little lives-- I think of how I love my sister the most when she tells me I can't move, or text, or breathe too hard when we share a bed (oh, but she can) or how I love Theresa the most when she's being bossy, or Joshy when he complains about the mess I left behind in his apartment (when it is totally spotless), or Magan being TOTALLY wacked out the night before I moved and then holding my hand for 2 hours the next morning, or Lilli...certain that our cat is dying from a new ailment, or Frank just showing up somewhere after I haven't heard from him in 3 weeks or Les...puking in my car while wearing my sweatshirt, then telling me it's my fault (for going 35), or Reid who tells the same stories over and over again--what are you gonna be like when you're 50?

I could go on with my enumeration of idiosyncrasies in the people I love, and I'm sure everyone else could talk about my obsessiveness, laundry list of potential diseases, and need to always be right. about. everything. But my point is this: I miss you all so much, and what I miss is not necessarily everything that makes you amazing people (which you all are). I miss the Good Stuff: the flaws, some of which, maybe only I know about. I miss those things because they are a symbol of our intimacy as people...so it is, afterall, the little things that make life worth living. And perhaps it isn't the flawed  individual that we fall in love with, but it is loving someone because of (and not in spite of) those things, that makes it last forever and ever. amen.

<3, e
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