What a Full Life

I had a wonderful opportunity last night to go to the Dance Marathon fund raiser/variety show and see my friend who was both dancing in it and hosting the event. I spent about an hour there listening to talented singers and musicians, a comedian who surprised me by how funny he actually was (usually I get nervous for stand-up comedians that their jokes won't be funny), a cool science demonstration, and a woman who was creating a painting to be auctioned off at the end of the show. I went to the event by myself, which is a new experience for me because I usually feel more comfortable doing things with people I know, but it was a really fun, rewarding time.

After that I went to an interesting, engaging open mic in the Union (it's every Thursday at 9pm in the cafeteria. Come read, sing, play music, or whatever to make your voice heard!) and then had dinner with my boyfriend and started a new book.

Today I had coffee with a close writer friend and expressed a lot of my deep desires and moral beliefs. I always feel so nourished after having these discussions with her, and discover more about myself and what I believe in the process. Then I borrowed a copy of a collection of Matsuo Basho's haibun called Narrow Road to the Interior to use throughout the semester for my independent study.

I have had so many things going on in my life recently, and it doesn't feel busy exactly--it feels full. There's a cool quote by Henry David Thoreau about this: "It is not enough to be busy; so are the ants. The question is: what are we busy about?" I am busy about creating a nourishing life. Through my work with haiku and haibun, I have become more aware of who I am and where I am and what is going on around me--I feel more in touch with the world and the people and things in it. I love when I walk home and spend the whole time really noticing the things around me, instead of walking home in a daze with my mind blank.

I wrote a haibun last night about something that I pass nearly every day and rarely notice:

The graveyard slips past me behind iron bars. Names and dates slide by, over and over. I know some of them by heart: Murlin--the one that makes me think of King Arthur; Dunn--a thought of Romantic poetry; Name I Don't Remember--born in 1883, death date unmarked. I wonder where this man is buried.

Black marble swimming

in yellow light,

crouching in snow.

I am doing what I can to be aware of my life.

Learning lots,

Monica

P.S.Also, in light of my printer scam I wrote about a few entries ago: Immediately after I replaced the black ink, my 3/4 full color ink suddenly was in the WARNING zone with alomst no ink left, according to the print icon. Very suspicious...

P.P.S. I made fish yesterday in the oven and totally failed! Yay! I'll be trying again this weekend.