Yellow

How does what you do affect who you are, your identity? And what's the difference between what you are and who you are? Is there one?

I intended to write this post about how I'm not a classical musician. I mean, yes, I play the oboe and I have been classically trained, but I am just really not a classical musician. You know how I know this? I hate to practice. Hate it. I have enjoyed it a few times this past week, and that's a miracle in and of itself, but really, last night and tonight, and most times when I practice, an anger and frustration wells up within me that is almost demonic. It's terrifying. I actually don't like classical music that much. Not so much as I like Music, anyway. I like classical music because it's music, not because it's classical. And I just plain ol' like music. Does that mean that I'm a musician, then? Not really, because I do like to create music, but I'd be just as happy sitting around listening to music all the time and reading a book or writing or what have you.

So what does that make me? Or who does that make me? And what in the world am I supposed to do with all of this?

I'm having a bit of trouble in my personal life right now, even though I've been remarkably motivated as of late, there are some consequences of previous laziness that I'm having to deal with. It came to a small sort of head on Saturday morning when I just wanted to run away until everything sorted itself out. Then over the Starbucks muzak, I heard a great cover of Coldplay's "Yellow." And it calmed me right down. I think the cover was by Jem, maybe?

And I was reminded of it again tonight when I got home from that frustrating practice session, I paused for a moment in my car and looked up at the stars that I could see. So two things I know:

1. I'm not a classical musician.

2. I love stars; they are my special calming agents.

Yellow

Coldplay/Jem

Look at the stars

Look how they shine for you

And everything you do

Yeah, they were all yellow

I came along

I wrote a song for you

And everything you do

Yeah, it was called yellow

So then I took my turn

Oh what a thing to've done

And it was all yellow

Your skin

Oh yeah, your skin and bones

Turn into something beautiful

You know, you know I love you

You know I love you so

I swam across

I jumped across for you

Oh what a thing to do

'Cause you were all yellow

I drew a line

I drew a line for you

Oh what a thing to do

And it was all yellow

Your skin,

Oh yeah, your skin and bones

Turn into something beautiful

You know, for you I'd bleed myself dry

For you I'd bleed myself dry

It's true

Look how they shine for you

Look how they shine for you

Look how they shine ...

Look at the stars

Look how they shine for you

And all the things that you do

Routine

Just a couple thoughts.

1. Am I trying to be God's "teacher's pet"? Is that how my mind views justification by works so that it seems less wrong and more acceptable and accessible? Just wondering. I listened to a sermon from my church in Boston and the pastor talked about being teacher's pet and something about that phrase struck me and stuck with me. And that question came to my mind. Am I trying to be God's "teacher's pet"?

2. I almost started reading an article about privacy steps on Facebook. It was something about Google and Facebook and the information Google is logging about your Facebook, blahdy blah. Like I said, I almost started reading it. I read a little abstract and got really sucked into that and just as I was about to click the link to the full article, I stopped. I thought "do I really care that much?" And yes, I agree that internet safety and discretion is incredibly important. But I think I started to click the article because I somehow thought it was a very important matter of great delicacy and urgency, because the abstract was written that way ... like those teasers on evening news: "The most common cause of death ... and it's in your refrigerator!" You know? And then you wait and wait and wait to find out in what form death is lurking in your refrigerator so you can show it to the door, only to learn it's something about mold ... I know Facebook is public. It's on the internet. I know this blog is public. It's on the internet. I'm just saying, if you don't want the whole world to know about something about you ... don't put it on the internet. I have nothing to hide on my Facebook page. At least, I don't think I do. So go ahead Google, file away. I'd be honored if you thought my information was important enough to be logged and stored, but I don't necessarily think it is.

Routine

Arthur Guiterman

No matter what we are and who,

Some duties everyone must do:

A Poet puts aside his wreath

To wash his face and brush his teeth

And even Earls

Must comb their curls,

And even Kings

Have underthings.

Morning Person

I bought a book of poetry recently, inspired by a poem my pastor read during church a couple weeks back. I always intend to read poetry and memorize it and become one of those deeply artistic people. But honestly, poetry rarely speaks to me when I seek it like that. Normally the surface level poems appeal to me most, but that's fine. So I've been going through this book of poetry and a few poems have struck me. So I'm going to share one today. Enjoy!

Morning Person

Vassar Miller

God, best at making in the morning, tossed

stars and planets, singing and dancing, rolled

Saturn's rings spinning and humming, twirled the earth

so hard it coughed and spat the moon up, brilliant

bubble floating around it for good, stretched holy

hands till birds in nervous sparks flew forth from

them and beasts--lizards, big and little, apes,

lions, elephants, dogs and cats cavorting,

tumbling over themselves, dizzy with joy when

God made us in the morning too, both man

and woman, leaving Adam no time for

sleep so nimbly was Eve bouncing out of

his side till as night came everything and

everybody, growing tired, declined, sat

down in one soft descended Hallelujah.