I thought I was taking a vacation from vocation, and then it occurred to me.

For one moment, think of the absolute worst of your character, your most vile trait, your awfullest deed, your worst habit. Don't even say it. I will not send it away in New Age energy work or hypnotize it out of your system. But I will suggest to you that there is no better time to seize what you want to be than now.

I want to read more. I want to write. My secret dream is that someday I could share my love of writing, my inspiration for creative self expression. I don't care who I teach the love of writing. As long as they are people.

I could write a book on writing. I could go into the prisons and volunteer in a literacy program with writing as my twist. I could walk down the street to the nursing home and and help old folks get down their thoughts, past shaky hands and tiredness. I could lead a workshop in the bookstore across town.

And I will have chances, I will make these things happen. I will seize this moment. There is life after English Degree. I am living it.

I went to bed at 10 and woke up screaming at 12:30. I woke up with a terrified shriek half way out of my lungs. My suite-mate, H, was standing over my bed. I told him soon after that I wasn't awake for the full scream and that my adrenalin was already running.

"There was somebody walking upstairs and opening squeaky doors," he told me in a voice much more anxious than his usual calm way. We decided to go upstairs and sweep the house. He kept my back and I his as we turned on all the lights of the expansive upstairs where the professors on sabbatical live. The house was empty of intruders, but I believe H. I am not certain who was in the house, but someone was.

And then there were the phone calls. He mentioned that someone leaves messages of a dial tone on the family phone at the same time every night. I didn't realize they called at the same time, but I was aware that they called repeatedly.

I took to heart the alcoholics motto about accepting things I cannot change. That one statement, even though I am not an alcoholic, leaves me a much more relaxed person than I would have otherwise been. H was regularly terrified when we returned to the basement. I cannot say my blood wasn't pumping. But I am not worried. We will figure it out tomorrow.

Welcome Abundant Alaska

When I found short bread,
molded from last bits of dough,
raw wabi sabi.

xo Maji

DEAR BEREA: I want a meaningful job now and a place to stay starting August with minimal pay. I want to work as a social activist/volunteer for organizations and causes like the Fairness Coalition and KFTC and to garden as much as I can. I want to be as active in my Friends Meeting as I can, to spend time with my lovely friends, and to swim and walk until the cows come home. I want to do as much of my purchasing outside of walmart as possible and to limit my purchasing to the minimum. And this is not a lot to ask at all because I am a hard worker (especially now I feel refreshed) and I am a Berea graduate. And with that, my life dream of capital "L" Literature will come. Right?

So you check my blog once a day or you figured out the rss feed. Or you are in my too big family (yes too big) and you read the family blog. Inevitably you will ask, what has happened to Maggie?

It's graduation time. Time for new beginnings.

Want to know what I looked into? I looked into loosing sight of the prize, moving to Costa Rica, Mexico, New York, Philadelphia, Washington State for jobs. Loosing sight of the prize, I looked into jobs that I could do from home, transcribing for some dumb company. Cha ching. $$$ Cha ching. $$$ Money and this thing they call success clouded my eyes.

I looked in so many directions, and then I looked down. There was a book at my feet, because of my sad room cleaning job. "Maggie Poet and Muse" the cover read.

It is not just a gift, as in a typical graduation present, handed over once again after crossing over the Walmart counter. No no no!

It was an acknowledgement of my identity, of my duty in life.

It is ok to write. Better is writing enough to pull something together that matters. To make words an expression of the meat of who I am. Not just an ars poetica, but an expression of politics, love, and the spirit of what matters to me. And since I am not firm on the substance of what that is just yet, I need to give myself the moment to find that out.

I have taken years off before. But never with the self prescribed structure I need. This year I will.

So I am setting rules for myself. My rules.

Because of the nature of my writing and who I am, my rules look like this:

AFTER GRADUATION 6AM-12PM Monday through Friday. Somewhere special. Like here. Outside as much as possible.

Write, disconnected from internet, not checking email or on facebook, before morning email, creating new words. Not shuffling around old stuff. But making new creative writing.

Do for One Year. Don't show a word of it to anyone. Don't talk about what I am writing too much. Don't worry when people ask what I do for money.

After the year may try to publish. But for this period, it is art, just for the sake of Literature (with a capital L).

Write on Paper. Six hours a day. Five days a week.

I will make a new set of rules if the world is still around come May, 2013.

Halleluiah. I have a plan!

me in the greenhouse: "I like this place. It makes me think of all the things I should be doing right now, which is to be right here."

Oh. So my name means water in Swahili*?
Water that effervescent element that I float in,
that I tough through despite chlorine
because of how much I love it?
Water, that I have bobbed down the Holston and Toe River in
hitting my butt on the high, but smooth rock surfaces in,
that I have always been the first one in, in
and the last one out in,
that I swim out past the breakers in,
that I swam with the dolphins and sang at the pelicans in,
that touched me all over in, all over, all over in, in
Oh Maji. Oh Maji, me.

Oh Maji, loose and violent Maji, that hurts people, Maji.
Is that me?
Oh Maji, Maji too high, Maji too low,
Maji Maji everywhere but not a drop to drink.

Is that me?

But yes.

As much as they try to contain me,
as much as they try to tame me,
I pour out, or refuse.
I am wild.
Yes.
Maji is me.

I am Maji.

Oh Maji, Oh Maji, Oh, Maji, Maji me!

Maji

• Africa deserves a poem of its own.

All humans carry
our gut
in the same place.

Inevitably, all college graduates are asked (and times often more than is spiritually healthy), what we are doing after graduating. It is the normal question. Good people ask it with good intentions. Thinking about this helps us direct our energies, though often this leads to worry. Actually wig manufacturers are taking over the corporate world because of this... People just pull out all their hair.

But not me. As a professional multiple time drop out, I have gone through the mill enough times to know that my life is much bigger than a career or even a place. I do often feel that my super sensitive psyche is bogged down by these questions. My strategy lately has been to reply that I will write. But then they look at me, perplexed asking "but how will you make money?" Or I say that I want to keep dieting, and their expression back shows they are worried I am withering away.

Today this is my answer: I will keep walking. I will keep writing, submitting to Friends Journal and various other presses. I will rejoice my publications, but not depend on them. I will get a job. (I already have one job for the summer babysitting a toddler!) I will pick jobs that don't rob my soul, that maybe even that feed it, and I will pitch the rich humus of subject matter into words. I will smile as a daily exercise. I will live and work to make the world a better place. Someday I will have a garden of my own. One plant at a time.

And if I don't, here's to asking me why I am not living my life to the fullest. Everyone needs to be challenged.

Hydrofracking ban
in Vermont law today, Green
VW van, Vermont

plates coincidence?
Happy Positive Thought Day
April twenty three.