Here is a rendition of one of the first poem's I ever wrote. It was 7th or 8th grade. I was very proud as I scrawled the words that had come to me whilst delivering newspapers. They more than fullfilled the asignment given in english class, and had come so easilly. I felt smart - gifted.
What a helpless feeling came when the asignment was collected the next day and I spoke out to say squeamishly "I left it at home". The reply: "Yeah, right".
So I was not to develope that gift. Oh, well. I never have been very attracted to poetry in my adulthood - always sticking with prose. Joining a poetry circle at a freinds invite a few nights past, I realized this and remembered the old story. So here is my first rebelious punch - a rewriting of a long lost childhood poem. Not very timely, I'm afraid, but then with the August that we've been having so far maybe it is in a weird way. Take that Miss George.

warms rays shine down,
snow melts away.
A bird is heard chirping,
but its January not May.

I saw a robin, some geese,
tread the sky today.
They squawked of their travels
but it's January not May.

The birds shall fly south twice this year,
seeking the warmer day.
They must have forgot,
It's January not May.

This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,
to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment
First, to let go of life.
In the end, to take a step without feet.
To regard this world as invisible,
and to disregard what appears to the self.

Heart, I said, what a gift it has been
to enter this circle of lovers,
to see beyond seeing itself,
to reach and feel within the breast.

My soul, where does this breathing arise?
How does this beating heart exist?
"Bird of the soul, speak in your own words,
and I will understand.

The heart replied: I was in the workplace
the day this house of water and clay was fired.
I was already fleeing that created house,
even as it was being created.
When I could no longer resist, I was dragged down,
and my features were molded from a handful of earth.

-Rumi

I came across this poem in a neat little coincidence and it really spoke to me of some of the things that I have been pondering as of late. Several of the people in my life have been having heart problems lately (as in the actual physical manifestation, not just emotionally) which has led me to ponder the mystery that is bodily death. And life for that matter. The poem is from a book that I had asked my dad for some time ago and which he just found and lent to me the day after he got out of the hospital (with, it turns out, a healthy heart after all). This was the poem I flipped to when I first opened the book. I was contemplating whether to put someone else's words in one of my posts when the amazing pianist that I was listening to on the radio said something about whirling dervishes.
Well, I leave off with another quote, this from a certain recent Hollywood blockbuster: "I'll tell you a secret about the gods that they don't teach you in the temples. The gods envy us for our mortality. Everything is sweeter, more cherished, when you know that you may die at any moment."

We'll here I am at home. Not feeling my hotest. I can't say that I really have any distinct symptoms of anything like a cold or flu but I sure as heck don't have a lot of energy the last couple days. Fighting a bug, I suppose.
More trying than that, my dad is in the hospital right now with heart trouble. He spent last night there and has gone through a series of tests and depending on results may have an artery scoped (a camera inserted into it). So please send out your prayers (or whatever it is you do) for Bill Jungels. He's a good guy.
On a lighter note I am temporarilly jumping on the skin pick bandwagon (though not bearing it all) by inserting a pic of a slightly younger Jeremy workin away. Limited time only.

This is what my car looked like this morning, along with several other cars all allong the block.
List of missing items:
portable cd/mp3 player w/car conversion kit
large fanny pack
cell phone
adress book/calender
assorted other personal items
3 or 4 cd's

Amazingly, I have'nt really gotten upset about it at all yet. Maybe if I'm trying to get a hold of someone at some point and realize there is no way of getting their number. And who knows, maybe some of those things will find their way back to me. I'll just deal with things as the moments come.

4 days, 4 stages, 4 hours of sleep, lots of new beautiful freinds, and dancing like it's my last day on earth the whole damb time. Yup, Grassroots was a blast and I wish that I had some photos to share with you all but I was dancing so much I just could'nt let myself be encumbered with a camera.
Here though is the one pic I was able to take while hiking around Ithaca the day after the festival (a recomended transition for any festival goer).