<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057</id><updated>2011-11-27T15:48:18.608-08:00</updated><title type='text'>desert. a. dream.</title><subtitle type='html'>A more spiritual approach to my life...based on 40 days in the desert and what that means to me.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-2113992922280562307</id><published>2009-09-07T00:04:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T00:13:19.551-07:00</updated><title type='text'>first, last &amp; best friends</title><content type='html'>I say it often, but I feel that it's necessary: I love my brothers more than life itself. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It could be because I'm the oldest or the only girl (well, until my beautiful sister married into our family), but they are absolutely, completely amazing. I love every moment that I spend with them, and I always feel that I walk away a better person because of them. I always say that I'm grateful to my parents for allowing us to have the relationship that we do. It's never been me and them, boys vs. girl. Never. Just us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was thinking about this today because the little one and I went out to see "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Sindarin&lt;/span&gt;" wrestle. Our brother is a semi-pro wrestler. He amazes me. I'm proud of the way that he's gone after his dream and how hard he works for it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was funny tonight though because I had difficult with it. At one point I had to completely turn around and there were tears in my eyes because it's really hard for me to see my little brother get thrown around a ring, especially by someone who is so much bigger than him. But he turned it around and I ended up on my feet, screaming for him. I know it had to be quite a spectacle. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also thought about how protective I am. There was genuine anger rising up inside me as some random guy in the stands was cheering against my brother. I said to the little one that I wanted to get someone to beat him up. I say that jokingly, of course, but it made me think about how angry I get when anyone says or does anything to hurt my brothers, and there have been plenty of experiences like that in my life time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think that I sometimes tend to believe that this tie, this relationship, is unique to me and each of the boys individually, but really it's not, When we were all back at my parents house, I listened to the two boys talk in the other room. They were going over &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Sindarin's&lt;/span&gt; fight and what the little one thought were the strengths and weaknesses. It was nice to hear. I know they have plenty of opportunity to fight, and they do from time to time. Arguments only. It's nice to know that they're friends first.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I read and loved an article in Time a year or so ago about how siblings are the closest human relationships that exist. So true. So very true. And I am deeply appreciative of the ones that I have.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-2113992922280562307?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/2113992922280562307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2009/09/first-last-best-friends.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/2113992922280562307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/2113992922280562307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2009/09/first-last-best-friends.html' title='first, last &amp; best friends'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-3972670887719766470</id><published>2009-05-10T22:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-10T22:26:30.662-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trust</title><content type='html'>For someone who has struggled with trust issues for my entire life, the past six months have been somewhat trying. It is very hard for me to fathom lying to someone's face---repeatedly. I feel sometimes that I allow myself to be a doormat, but truly, truly I don't care. I just wish sometimes that I could be left alone to run around the desert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I get to do that, I feel a little more whole and a lot more sane....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/Sge0LELT-lI/AAAAAAAAC40/4AW3P3UA780/s1600-h/_MG_4155.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/Sge0LELT-lI/AAAAAAAAC40/4AW3P3UA780/s320/_MG_4155.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334430385836390994" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-3972670887719766470?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/3972670887719766470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2009/05/trust.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/3972670887719766470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/3972670887719766470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2009/05/trust.html' title='Trust'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/Sge0LELT-lI/AAAAAAAAC40/4AW3P3UA780/s72-c/_MG_4155.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-8171534696814726181</id><published>2009-02-18T23:16:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T23:22:07.068-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Flashbacks</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I have memories that are so vivid that it seems as though they happened 5 minutes ago instead of 13 years ago. They are complete with the same rush of desperation and grief that I am momentarily rendered helpless. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I washed my face with ice cold water to try to shake myself from the memory. And for a moment, I looked into my eyes. I have always liked the little specks of brown upon brown in my eyes, but they looked different to me today. It was almost like they were cloudy. There was a distinct sadness that had settled over my eyes and my face. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a pretty good day and a very relaxing evening. Then, I don't know. Just a sudden thought and all of a sudden I was sitting on the floor of a hospital hallway again. Hunched over, I wasn't crying, but I remember the feeling. It was like being sideswiped by an 18-wheeler. Nothing made sense except that nothing was going to make sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Leaha was here during Christmas, we talked about this. We both wonder if it will ever be ok. Most days the memories are so distance and the pain is so dulled, that I'm sure that everything is great. Then, sometimes it's just like being 14 again. It's just like it was then. I feel little again. And helpless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really do wonder if it will be like this forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-8171534696814726181?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/8171534696814726181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2009/02/flashbacks.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/8171534696814726181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/8171534696814726181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2009/02/flashbacks.html' title='Flashbacks'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-8223779280698840994</id><published>2009-01-18T09:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T09:59:02.906-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Haunting</title><content type='html'>Part of my fixation with the desert is that it haunts me. It comes up again and again, whether I force it to consciously or unconsciously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's haunting is not the desert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I used to work with this guy when I taught. I hate to put someone else's life up on the internet, but....well, he left the high school after he finished his dissertation to go to India to find the meaning of life I believe. Then he moved to South Africa to run an AIDs clinic. And now he works at a clinic in Boyle Heights. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all fine and dandy. Really. It has no bearing on my life as I have only heard these stories secondhand along the way as I have stayed in the Verb loop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, on New Year's eve I ran into him at Ralph's. The two weekends ago I saw him walking up Temple. And today, I saw him at church and he came and sat next to me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what this is about other than I find it slightly eerie. Not him himself, just the chance meetings. It's almost like he has a message for me....I don't know if I can take this right now.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And back to my desert prayers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-8223779280698840994?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/8223779280698840994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2009/01/haunting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/8223779280698840994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/8223779280698840994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2009/01/haunting.html' title='Haunting'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-4827011079395795802</id><published>2008-12-29T18:59:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T19:08:34.701-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saints Behind the Glass</title><content type='html'>When I was in 8th grade, we were given an assignment which asked us to find a song and describe how it was a prayer. My song was &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Saints Behind the Glass&lt;/span&gt; by the Los Lobos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking about that today because the memory made me realize that two things have not changed at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, I'm still totally obsessed with the Los Lobos. The music means a lot to me for a lot of different reasons. I think it has helped me through every bad thing that has ever happened in my life. You would think the music would make me sad, and I would avoid it. It does make me sad---it makes me cry a lot of times---but it reminds me of how strong I am. For every bad memory that these songs provoke, I am reminded of the things I've learned and how I have healed. I think the songs have a lot to do with that healing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Saints&lt;/span&gt; does not remind me of anything sad. It reminds of something quite happy actually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My appreciation for saints--not the statues, but real saints--is one that I cherish because I think saints walk all around us. They are real humans. They just believe a little differently, love a little differently, and react a little differently. They are all the really &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;good&lt;/span&gt; people you know. The ones that you think "wow, I don't know how they give so much." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've watched two saints for all of my life. I've watched them sacrifice for their family, each other, and complete strangers. My parents are absolutely phenomenal people. They make me believe in good in the world. And, they do it quietly every single day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've watched every single day, and I've always hoped that I would grow up to be them. I think in some ways, I have. And the fact that they support who I am is even better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the song, the saints are "behind the glass." They are in the stained glass windows, watching over us. I don't think saints are in glass. But I do think they're always watching over us, through eyes that we really don't understand. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saints. Watching over us. Guiding us. Sometimes we don't even know how much they shape us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Hammer and a nail&lt;br /&gt;Hammer and a nail&lt;br /&gt;Saint behind the glass&lt;br /&gt;Holds a hammer and a nail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby in his arms&lt;br /&gt;Baby in his arms&lt;br /&gt;Saint behind the glass&lt;br /&gt;Has a baby in his arms&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watches me sleep&lt;br /&gt;Watches me sleep&lt;br /&gt;Saint behind the glass&lt;br /&gt;Watches me while I sleep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coffee in the air&lt;br /&gt;Coffee in the air&lt;br /&gt;Saint behind the glass&lt;br /&gt;Smells coffee in the air&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curtains blowing 'round&lt;br /&gt;Curtains blowing 'round&lt;br /&gt;Saint behind the glass&lt;br /&gt;Sees the curtains blowing 'round&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Night upon my head&lt;br /&gt;Night upon my head&lt;br /&gt;Saint behind the glass&lt;br /&gt;Lays night upon my head&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mother don't cry&lt;br /&gt;Mother don't cry&lt;br /&gt;Saint behind the glass&lt;br /&gt;Tells mother not to cry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-4827011079395795802?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/4827011079395795802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/saints-behind-glass.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/4827011079395795802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/4827011079395795802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/saints-behind-glass.html' title='Saints Behind the Glass'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-8870799401360968953</id><published>2008-12-27T11:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T12:17:33.454-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Who's Feeling Sorry Now?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://mog.com/music/Los_Lobos/By_the_Light_of_the_Moon/All_I_Wanted_to_Do_Was_Dance/lyrics"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Who's feeling sorry now?&lt;br /&gt;Just when I thought I knew how&lt;br /&gt;The man with the master plan&lt;br /&gt;Let it all slip through my hands.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've probably heard this song a hundred times, but for some reason I actually listened to the first verse today. I literally laughed out loud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, another reminder that when we try to gain control over this crazy thing called life the "man with the master plan" changes it up on us!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been missing music lately....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-8870799401360968953?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/8870799401360968953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/whos-feeling-sorry-now.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/8870799401360968953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/8870799401360968953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/whos-feeling-sorry-now.html' title='Who&apos;s Feeling Sorry Now?'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-6520576863400317454</id><published>2008-12-25T00:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-25T00:34:28.707-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Peace</title><content type='html'>For the past two weeks, I've had the same prayer for Christmas. I have prayed that some of the emptiness within me would be filled with love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In some ways, my prayer was answered. In other ways, this was not a good day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family fills my heart to the very brim. Each person makes me absolutely complete in ways they don't understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the same time, I learned of a former student's death. I'm devastated. Absolutely heartbroken. I spent some time on my knees today, sobbing. It is so awful to know the death of a young person with their whole live in front of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, at the same time, it's hard to know that people I love choose sadness. I want to reach out, but I know I can't. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel in some ways a wandering spirit again. I want to turn my heart off to be able to deal with life. But then I think about moments like seeing my entire family sitting around my parents' living room and I know that if I did not feel with such conviction the way that I do, I would not be able to experience such joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart is so broken in so many different ways. I find consolation in things such amazing people, but I know the scars will be there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My prayer now? To take the peace I have been given and use it to be stronger and stronger.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-6520576863400317454?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/6520576863400317454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/peace.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/6520576863400317454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/6520576863400317454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/peace.html' title='Peace'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-5575926724587692566</id><published>2008-12-22T07:06:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T07:06:53.606-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Praise &amp; Thanks</title><content type='html'>Praise the extraordinary things and give thanks for the ordinary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-5575926724587692566?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/5575926724587692566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/praise-thanks.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/5575926724587692566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/5575926724587692566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/praise-thanks.html' title='Praise &amp; Thanks'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-8632899454372777253</id><published>2008-12-21T20:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-21T20:59:12.461-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Change</title><content type='html'>I heard something particularly compelling in mass today: that we are always going along just fine with our lives and suddenly something will change it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It goes against our plans and what we may want, but it always seems to work out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that's exactly the position I'm in right now. Everything has changed---again---and now I'm left to just sort through the pieces and figure out what's next. I suppose deep down I know that everything will change for the better, but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with the sudden and abrupt change of direction. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Truthfully, it really hurts. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure one day I will wake up and what's new--this change--will seem normal and will seem like the way it always was. But right now, it's a definite change and it feels a bit unnerving. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel as though I'm jumping from one weird idea to another trying to force things to fall into place. I know it's the part of me that just wants to grab control of something---anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's hard on me. I feel as though I have always rebounded from things out of my control, even handled them quite well. I just feel as though there are always lasting effects that I won't even understand until five, six, ten years down the road. And, as always, I'd like to know now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marianne and I used to talk about this: No plan is God's plan. I think that's where this all fell apart over the past year. It started being MY plan. And it evaporated in a very painful way. So, now I'm left to deal with the remnants of that plan and the remnants of something that was making me quite happy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here I sit. Trying to let go of the old plan and grasp onto nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not easy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-8632899454372777253?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/8632899454372777253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/change.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/8632899454372777253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/8632899454372777253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/change.html' title='Change'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-7399598005272212653</id><published>2008-12-13T22:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T22:41:59.256-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Origin</title><content type='html'>Me: Mom, do you remember the Los Lobos song "Gila Bend"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Mom: No, what's it about?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well, kind of about running away. Remember the guy (David Hidalgo) told the story about knowing how he was almost home when he got to Gila?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom: Oh, where is it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well, here's the funny thing...it's in New Mexico. Yesterday there was a story in the New York Times about the caves there and how you can hike in them. AND it's pretty close to where [my aunt] lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom: So, let me guess. That's where you want to go now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: (laughing) Yup! How did you know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom: You and your father. You both just love the desert....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/SUSqeEMkugI/AAAAAAAACHM/ExB-OrEY8T8/s1600-h/meandpop.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 384px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/SUSqeEMkugI/AAAAAAAACHM/ExB-OrEY8T8/s400/meandpop.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279532096684341762" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-7399598005272212653?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/7399598005272212653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/origin.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/7399598005272212653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/7399598005272212653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/origin.html' title='The Origin'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/SUSqeEMkugI/AAAAAAAACHM/ExB-OrEY8T8/s72-c/meandpop.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2205057477122783057.post-5162294804135215885</id><published>2008-12-12T21:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-12T21:21:33.396-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Putting the Pieces Together</title><content type='html'>Piece #1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/SUNByMqs7xI/AAAAAAAACGk/D9xg8yOUDxE/s1600-h/cactus.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/SUNByMqs7xI/AAAAAAAACGk/D9xg8yOUDxE/s320/cactus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279135518857948946" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This card arrived in the mail yesterday. It was actually a "work" Christmas card. I send thousands of these, but you never know what someone needs to see. All I know is that I opened the envelope and was nearly giddy. I have an intense fascination with the desert. There is something distinctly compelling about the desert to me. At times in my life, it was a symbol of isolation. I obsessed with dreams of walking through the desert alone. The dreams occurred night after night for months on end for years of my life. I struggled with meaning until one night, in my dream, I reached the end of the desert into a garden. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deserts are beautiful to me. I don't see barren. I see life in the midst of seemingly unbearable conditions. What could be more beautiful than that? Such is the story of the human soul--life in the midst of a veritable wasteland of physical pain, mental suffering. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas in the desert is my life story. It's the ultimate symbol of life and joy in something that I have such an intense fascination with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Piece #2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2008/12/12/travel/escapes/12american.html"&gt;Walking a Dream of Desolation&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I received this story on my Twitter feed. Gila has a special significance to me (in Piece #3) and I was overjoyed to read this as I have a plan of heading back to New Mexico in the spring. I looked up the Gila national park and found that there are lush forests along with the caves. It is something that I know inside of me. Intense beauty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Piece #3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Los Lobos are performing at the House of Blues tonight. For a variety of reasons, I am not there. Instead, I have &lt;b&gt;The Town &amp; The City&lt;/b&gt; playing tonight. I forgot about "The Road to Gila Bend." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Made Nogales over night&lt;br /&gt;through the desert in yellow light&lt;br /&gt;missing everything I left behind&lt;br /&gt;Will they see me coming ?&lt;br /&gt;Do they know I'm running?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gila Bend is one of the saddest songs on this album and one of my favorites. A twisted tale of the need to work to live and the desire to be ALIVE in this world &lt;b&gt;The Town &amp; The City&lt;/b&gt; is one of the most compelling stories of the human condition in this modern world. An intricate story of life and love and cities and deserts and people and responsibility and struggle, it speaks so eloquently to following your dreams. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Piece #4&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/SUNFFxAEoXI/AAAAAAAACGs/zY1_vMJTb9k/s1600-h/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 83px; height: 127px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/SUNFFxAEoXI/AAAAAAAACGs/zY1_vMJTb9k/s320/images.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279139153563656562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; On the Feast Day of Our Lady, I think back to the semi-novena I have prayed over the past two weeks. Even though my disconnect with public celebrations was very apparent, this was an especially meaningful day for me.It is particularly compelling because the roses appeared in a desolate place. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is my desert dream. Welcome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2205057477122783057-5162294804135215885?l=desert-a-dream.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/feeds/5162294804135215885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/putting-pieces-together.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/5162294804135215885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2205057477122783057/posts/default/5162294804135215885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://desert-a-dream.blogspot.com/2008/12/putting-pieces-together.html' title='Putting the Pieces Together'/><author><name>asouljoint</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/S1uCqllwy_I/AAAAAAAADmU/g6y1s2h7Dtw/S220/Photo+122.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MpB3umgnyIk/SUNByMqs7xI/AAAAAAAACGk/D9xg8yOUDxE/s72-c/cactus.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
