Do you ever forget your dreams?  You think you’re following them, but you get so wrapped up in whatever you’re doing that you forget what it felt like to love that thing and that dream.

And then you see someone doing their dream so wonderfully that it reminds you what it was like to be passionate about something.

Noah Gundersen inspired me this afternoon to pull out my hollow body and turn up the gain like I haven’t in years.  More to come on these thoughts, but I will definitely be putting away my classical rep this Christmas break.

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I Dream of Ireland

As always, I find myself missing Ireland.  Right now, I particularly miss Dublin and the Liffey, and I am consoling myself by reading The Road Round Ireland by Padraic Colum. Here’s an amazing quote from George Moore that Padraic includes in a discussion about Dublin and the literary revival (emphasis mine) :

…I began to ask myself if I were the victim of an hallucination.  Had I come over to Ireland?  Else surely Ireland had lost her reality?  The problem was an interesting one, and getting it well before me, I began to consider if it might be that through excessive indulgence in dreams for over a hundred years the people had at last dreamed themselves and Ireland away.  And this was a possibility that engaged my thoughts as we crossed Carlisle Bridge.  I put it to myself in this way :  reality can destroy the dream, why shouldn’t the dream be able to destroy reality?

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All alone in the moonlight…” (I couldn’t resist 🙂 ).  I know, it’s been forever since I’ve written.  Here’s a poem I wrote in the first week of school this fall—I thought about giving you context, but I’m kind of curious about how it will affect you without you knowing what it’s actually about…


—She Reminds Me—

What on earth is she doing?

She sits in the corner crying—

Crying, but not just, for she

Can’t stop writing, she

writes like the devil is watching her write

And now she stops


But she doesn’t stop writing writing and writing

And writing she can’t stop

Until she drinks coffee.


She was singing

Before, when I looked at her

And she didn’t look at me

She was singing.

She was singing along with the music in her head

The music that was being poured into her head

That only she could hear


Fabricated music


Created to be old, to be

Heard long after it was made


She looks like Alex.

When she looked at me, after she had

Finished crying,

She didn’t look like anyone but herself

But with her head




As she writes,

She looks like Alex

And I feel like crying.

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The Lake Isle Of Innisfree – W.B. Yeats


I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.


And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.


I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.


Oh, to live simply, and without the complications of the digital age!  The Internet and ready access thereto have made communicating easier, but they have also diminished our appreciation for small things: honey, birdsong, the sound of water, a spontaneous visit from a friend.  How often do we spend time to appreciate these daily gifts from God, and to extend that kind of thoughtfulness to a friend?  Appreciate time—whether it’s someone else’s time they’ve chosen to give to you, or your own time you’ve been given by God—waste not!  Not necessarily always doing something, but always appreciating, whether that be time spent accomplishing things or time spent just enjoying life.  Being productive may be a discipline, but being able take time to appreciate God’s gifts (without feeling like that time has been wasted) is certainly an art.

Moderately cohesive stream-of-consciousness finished 🙂

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Walking and Watching

Walking and Watching – by Julia


I met a man the other day

Who walked exactly like you

Propelled by his head,

Rather than his feet;

Shoulders bent low,

As if he carried the weight of the worlds

Or just of that moment.

I met a boy the other day

Who had your eyes—

Great fawn’s eyes,

That are bold because of their ignorance

And afraid without knowing why—

{In utter focused abstraction}

I met a man the other day,

But he wasn’t you.

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Gravity is a ghost,

Pulling receipts off tables

When no one is near.

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Hello, Again

Time – by Julia (me)


(Time slips away)

A physical reminder each morning

As my calendar gets thinner:

Each day I pull off a page.

(Time slips away)

I’ve moved my clock to the bathroom counter—

The hands just moved so fast!


It’s been a while.  I had a wonderful but busy summer, and then jumped (rather under-excitedly) into my freshman year of college.  Many things have changed in me this semester—I expected college to be a time of self-discovery, but I didn’t expect this much!

I haven’t been writing poetry as much, ergo I haven’t been processing as completely.  I’ll do my best to update once or twice a week, and maybe taking my mind off music theory classes will make me less morose 🙂

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