all that we let in

I went last night and saw "United 93" with Jeff. Not a lot I can say about that. I reflected as we left that when we went in, I thought I was ready. When the film ended, I can say that that wasn't true. But I don't think one can ever be ready. In fact, the film captures that wonderfully- everything feels like it is one step behind for the whole two hours. And were we ever.

With all I've been thinking about lately, and that added in the mix, the old head was spinning. Last week I bought the Indigo Girls' 2004 release, "All That We Let In." The title track played on my ride home last night from the theatre, and I let it resonate within me. Amazing how some of my most insightful, I would daresay worshipful experiences can come from moments emerging from reflection on Islamic militants, underscored by liberal lesbians. I say yes, not in the traditional sense of the word, but in the sense that Eugene Peterson uses it as an Amen in The Message. The divine is in all things.

"All That We Let In"
lyrics by Emily Saliers

Oooooooo
Oooooooo
Oooooooo
Dust in our eyes our own boots kicked up
Heartsick we nurse along the way we picked up
You may not see it when it's sticking to your skin
But we're better off for all that we let in

We've lost friends and loved ones much too young
So much promises and work left undone
When all that guards us is a single center line
And the brutal crossing over when it's time

Oooooooo
(Well I don't know where it all begins)
Oooooooo
(And I don't know where it all will end)
Oooooooo
(We're better off for all that we let in)

One day those toughies will be withered up and bent
The father son, the holy warriors, and the president
With glory days of put up dukes for all the world to see
Beaten into submission in the name of the free

We're in an evolution I have heard it said
Everyone's so busy now but do we move ahead
The planets hurting, atoms splitting
And a sweater for your love you sit there knitting

Oooooooo
(I don't know where it all begins)
Oooooooo
(And I don't know where it all will end)
Oooooooo
(We're better off for all that we let in)

See those crosses on the side of the road
Or tied with ribbons in the median
They make me grateful I can go this mile
Lay me down at night and wake me up again

Kat writes a poem and she sticks it on my truck
We don't believe in war and we don't believe in luck
The birds were calling to her, what were they saying
As the gate blew open the tops of the trees were swaying

I pass the cemetery, walk my dog down there
I read the names in stone and I say a silent prayer
When I get home you're cooking supper on the stove
And the greatest gift of life is to know love
Oooooooo
(I don't know where it all begins)
Oooooooo
(And I don't know where it all will end)
Oooooooo
(We're better off for all that we let in)



((and I hear there the echo of Linford's words in Karin's mouth))
Idea #21 (Not Too Late)
words and music: Detweiler
recording: OHIO

Till we lay these weapons at your feet, Lord
How long, how long
Till we call all hatred obsolete, Lord
How long, how long
Till we walk like lovers thru Bethlehem
How long, how long
Till the lion lies down with the lamb, Lord
How long, how long
Too late
(I know it's not too late)
To wrestle with this angel
Higher and higher
(Don't let go)
Higher and higher
Before we know
How does it end
How does it end
We're all riding on the last train
Trying to find our way home again
Till we wash the blood from the hands of our fathers
How long, how long
We're all sisters and brothers, sons and daughters
How long, how long
Our eyes all shine in different colors we cry, Lord
How long, how long
Our dreams our tears are all the same by and by, Lord
How long, how long
Too late
(I know it's not too late)
To climb up Jacob's ladder
Higher and higher
(Don't let go)
Higher and higher
Before we know
How does it end
How does it end
We're all riding on the last train
Trying to find our way home again

It's not too late

(yes...)

nothing should crunch when you eat chicken

I say to my father.

"Well, it did," he replies to me, in a voice slightly more tinted with southern Indiana drawl than usual.

We are eating hot wings together, and he is reading a book. Unusual, yes, for both of us; but it works today, this Friday, this good Friday. I don't go into work for a couple of hours yet, but we've already been over there. I took pops to go see my new job digs, and he liked it- enough to buy 50 bucks worth of crap- some book on finance and a season of the Waltons on DVD. My brother's gonna kill me. We were trying to wean dad off of so many boxed sets of TV series. Ah well. Bubz works hard, he should be able to come home and watch as much John Boy as he wants.

So it's bar food for lunch today; cheap bar food. My dad gets these 10 pound bags of chicken wings for like 2 cents or something ridiculous. And they taste like restaurants. Actual, small restaurants.


I played guitar last night for almost an hour, and my left fingertips prove tender even as I type these loving words lovingly. I realized, with a small amount of shock, that I think I'm pretty good. Even after all this time. And I think I could probably write some more damn good songs, without much incident, if I had a mind to. You put enough good stuff in, something good's gotta come out. Theoretically, at least. Oftentimes, practice disproves this theory.

Which brings me to my last point in the sermon, dear congregants. I have very little, you see- I am broke, and living with my parents, and have no magnum opus of any kind to show for all my long years of whatever I've been doing, and whatever potential I may or may not have had along the way. But I do use words, and hopefully use them in a way that they thank me for the experience when we're done. So don't steal my thunder, friends. If I have a certain way of saying things, or writing things, or expressing myself, let it remain the inimitable Liza. This is all I got. I'm not gonna be a superstar of any kind, but I can be me, which is fairly unlike other things. And not like police are going to come and czech you out to make sure you're obeying the law of the land, which is my land, which is your land, from California, to the western waters. Which is basically the same place. But respect me here, people. And I write this on purpose in this blog and not my Myspace one, because I know probably nobody will read it. Leave me my comforts. Leave me a moment to think that I might be good at wordsmithing.

Just leave me.

evaporated

(lyrics by Ben Folds. current emotional state by me.)

What I've kept with me
And what I've thrown away
And where the hell I've ended up
On this glary, random day
Were the things I really cared about
Just left along the way
For being too pent up and proud

Wake up way too late
Feeling hangover and old
And the sun was shining bright
And I walked barefootdown the road
Started thinking about my old man
It seems that all men
Women get into a car and go
Anywhere

Here I stand -
Sad & Free
I can't cry and
I can't see
What I've done
God... What have I done

So don't you know I'm numb, man
No I don't feel a thing at all
Cause it's all smiles and business these days
And I'm indifferent to the loss
I've faith that there's a soul
Whose leading me around
I wonder if she knows
Which way is down...

I Poured my heart out
I Poured my heart out
it evaporated...see?

Blind man on a canyon's edge of a
Panoramic scene
Or maybe I'm a kite
That's flying high and random
Dangling a string
Or slumped over in a vacant room
Head on a stranger's knee
I'm sure back home
They think I've lost my mind

unsent

I came up to HU yesterday, to visit some old friends. Twilight Zone. It's amazing how much this place feels totally separate to me, even though I've been in touch with more than a few friends since graduation. I guess it's because that I've been seeing them other places that coming back here feels so weird. I stayed with my friend Dana last night, sleeping on the floor (literally) of the floor (Meadows 2nd) that I used to live on my junior year. I was the RA here. I patrolled these halls at night, idly swinging my master keys on an HC (as it was back then) lanyard, breaking up makey-outey couples in darkened basement classrooms. Getting f-ing parking tickets for accidentally leaving the crappy neon parked out front overnight. Making shrimp dinners and dancing in the lounge, while we waited for birthdays.

Driving up here, I talked to a friend for a long time, and wondered why (again) it was never me. The unanswerable of unanswerables again, I know, but yet I can't stop wondering. And not just with him, but with the dinner company as well... I could really end up making a fool of myself if I'm not careful. But let me assure you all, I am beyond careful. You might even call me as silent as the grave.

One of the most beautiful, fantastic experiences of my life happened last night. I saw Brad Etter at Henrys (which should almost go without saying), and he was totally floored to see me (which should also almost go without saying). There was a hanging of the head, a dropping of the jaw, and an "oh my god" moment, and then hugging and his slow, soft voice delivering up to me the sword of truth. He told me that Over The Rhine is coming to Ft. Wayne on May 20th to play at C2G, the church that I went to there for my last six months in college. It's also a venue, which if that does not make sense, just think about why it should. And accept it gleefully. Of course, now my jaw is hanging open. This is my home turf, this will mean that I will have played the same venue as OTR. It's a really intimate setting, I know I'll be able to see them really well, and perhaps meet them again, with a real conversation or something since Brad is hosting. But then the most beautiful words come out of Brad's mouth that I've ever heard. Hey, you'd be perfect for this, he says. Why don't you drive up early that day, they will be getting here about 4 hours before the show, and kind of be their liason for the day?

Yes.

And I gasp, and splutter, and gasp, and grasp the flyer tightly in my small, sturdy fist. Brad and I talk some more, about my scarf that is still hanging on his banister, and Sunny is expecting again in July, and C2G is exploding. My answers are non-commital, and though I try to hear what he is saying, there really is very little comprehension. I am the king of the world.

Everyone at my home table was ecstatic. They're all going to come to the show, and were happy for me, clapping me on the shoulder like I'd just fathered some big, beautiful 40 year old couple with musical chops like Ella Fitzgerald on a good day. It was so good to laugh with them. And rejoice, and be glad.

Not everyone does. For reasons I probably don't get, and don't want to anymore. One time, just once, I want someone to take my side against "the boy" of the picture. But faithfulness is not for the receiver, it is for the giver. And I must say, I am glad to have shaped my character here. Doing this, over and over; like I'm crazy or something. Ha. Maybe that's been the problem all along. I keep expecting a different result, I keep expecting understanding, or patience, or some emotional output for me that is more than a halfhearted attempt at giving me what has to be given because it's what I want. It's so easy to love people, to give to them, to support them, to rejoice with them, to cry with them, to give them a shoulder to cry on when you can't anymore. This is what makes me happy. But I can't go on forever, though I'd like to. On second thought, maybe that latter statement isn't even true anymore. I'm just tired.

I went running this morning on campus, along perimeter road. Talk about flashback city- where things really all started. I listened to Ben Folds, and decided to cut the run a little short when I got over to the far side of the lake, behind the MCA. I walked over to the trees with the bark curling off, and reached in for some. I didn't make it at first, there were cobwebs stretched across the branches, and I laughed for a moment, remembering years ago when somebody else was wandering depressed around campus, digging boxes out of dumpsters. I pulled the fragile bark off, realizing that one man's trash is another man's treasure.

I went over to sit on a patch of grass, narrow between the MCA wall and the small bunch of trees at the waterline of the lake, where the first sleepover happened. Brick came over the headphones to me. I told myself that it was ok to sit there and cry a minute, after I looked around to make sure nobody was near. After all, it wouldn't be the first time I'd cried by the lake. I was alone. And so Ben sang to me, and I didn't cry at all, just sat there looking dully at the water, and at the leaves of grass all around me. A small spider crawled out from between the folds of bark I had cradled in my hand, and I threw them to the ground, at the same time laughing. I waited until it crawled off, and picked them up again, at the same time I picked myself up. Brick ended, and Song for the Dumped started up as I began walking back to Meadows. I lipsynched along, and smiled, and laughed when I realized I'd already gotten my black t-shirt back.

I ran in it this morning.

dayton, oh!

Last Saturday night, my friend Jeff and I went and saw Over The Rhine perform at the Canal Street Tavern in Dayton, Ohio.

I have done this several times before, though with different groups of people, and even once by myself. I will always go back to Canal Street to see them; there is something womblike and inviting about that place that makes the OTR experience that much more alive and meaningful. And I certainly felt both that night.

Jeff and I discovered when we were more than halfway there, filling up his empty tank, that he had left his wallet at home. So, plastic magic left my pocket and stayed out the remainder of the night. Heh. Thank goodness for Wells Fargo overdraft protection. :( But anyway, it's just money, and not all that important. I'll be walking on it someday. We had some McDonalds, and continued on our way to Dayton, trekking east across the same 70 that I have been easting on now for months.

After our arrival, which I daresay was at just the right moment to put us about halfway back in the standing line that would form around us, we used the bathroom many times in the bar next door to the CST. If I was them, I would hate hundreds of people tramping in to use the facilities, gliding past my handful of customers. But I felt no hate, and peed thrice, and I was glad for them. It was the sort of place with western memorabilia nailed to the walls, and Johnny Cash playing on the jukebox. I wonder why it is in Dayton.

And then the show. We picked up our tickets from will call, and 32 year old Jeff had to wear a bracelet because he looks like he's 18 and didn't have a scrap of ID on him, what with the missing wallet and all. And we sat next to DQ, this kid that I had started calling "disqualified" out on the sidewalk because his collar on his polo shirt was flipped up, which is like an instant disqualification. Or maybe a false start. So anyway Jeff and I were sitting next to him in the very front, I mean like our feet were resting on the stage and everything, along with DQ's friends Dave and some girl I can't remember, Dana maybe. And I found out that DQ was named Nick, and they're all from Indy, and they were actually really incredible people, and maybe someday we'll all be real friends and I can tell him about DQ and we can have a good laugh about it.

So this woman, Amy Rigby, opened for the loveliest of all lovelies. She was an olda girl, and funny, and had good lyrics and a kind of wild nervous intensity coupled with bad jokes that made her immensely likeable. She sang songs about sex and being too poor to buy anything but goodwill or bargain-rack clothing, and also about how she hates men in sandals. And Karin and Linford sat over in the back corner, like they do, and I could see them laughing. Amy played for a goodly amount of time, and then there was a short break, where I used the bathroom some more and then the sounds of gloriousness were made available to me.

All I have to say is, damn. These people don't fool around, and they don't look like they plan to anytime soon. Devon Ashley, their collaborative percussionist for several years now, was along for the evening, and the three of them were on. I mean, ON. They started out with Long Lost Brother, the opening track on the 2nd disc of Ohio (or the 11th track of the release, if you prefer). And let me tell you, folks, if there was any doubt, Karin Berquist knows how to sing. And thankfully, I know how to listen.

There is something rare in their music which makes me sad and happy and clear and alive and dying and mourning and rejoicing all at once. I make more sense to myself when they are the accompaniment. Their sound tangles together in a pleasant way in my mind, and I am content. That lanquid voice scratches my itch, that smooth rhythm and punchy piano that can fade off into a dream holds me still. I know God in this sound. Karin holds her shaker aloft in front of the microphone, dark, purple, and plum shaped- it becomes the forbidden fruit for us all.

And we take, and eat, and know that it is good. And joy rains down on us; the clock strikes midnight and that beautiful, achingly slow voice sounds out over the silence of hundreds of happy heads, "Happy Easter, y'all." I would stand a thousand hours for this. I would overdraft a thousand bank accounts for this. I would hold my breath a thousand minutes for this. And here I am, staring down the barrel of this loving gun, warm in my hands, and I know happiness.

This sound just gets better with time. There were new songs, and I liked them just as much as old ones long loved; unreal. They write good songs, and no other kind, except maybe for great.

We rode home in blissfull, saturated silence, exhausted in every way from auditorally to emotionally, having both cried during the performance. You can't help it. And there was steak and shake, and flatulence, and small contented bouts of laughter, and sleeping - at least on my end. And we knew happiness.

nightrunning

tonight I saw the holy ghost, shimmering on fog-filled wings.

tonight I slipped out into the dark, and beheld the full moon in all its round, round glory, and I thought of Maundy, and betrayal and weeping and healing and making peace. and what an olive grove smells like, and how songs sound soft and pure in the close night air.

there was a moment, when I was moving, new shoes on older feet and sweet Indiana breaths seeping into my lungs, that I knew the balance. the knife-edge-thin balance of all things, between triviality and gravity, and that I stand in both. what I don't know is what happens when I step off of the curb.

one of my managers at work has some sheep. his wife called him today to tell him that the neighbors' rottweilers had gotten out, and killed four, including the five day old lamb that they were bottle raising. living things are so fragile. lambs are so easy to kill, quiet and soft and white.

Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing.

Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

Look, he is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and all the peoples of the earth will mourn because of him.

For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

The Spirit and the bride say, "Come!"

Wait

Wait
lyrics by Sarah McLachlan

Under a blackened sky
far beyond the glaring streetlights
sleeping on empty dreams
the vultures lie in wait.

You lay down beside me then
you were with me every waking hour
so close I could feel your breath.

When all we wanted was the dream
to have and to hold
that precious little thing
like every generation yields
the new born hope unjaded by the years.

Pressed up against the glass
I found myself wanting sympathy
but to be consumed again
oh I know would be the death of me

and there is a love that's inherently given
a kind of blindness offered to decieve
and in that light of forbidden joy
oh I know I won't recieve it.

When all we wanted was the dream
to have and to hold
that precious little thing
like every generation yields
the newborn hope unjaded by their years.

You know if I leave you now
it doesn't mean I love you any less
its just the state I'm in
I can't be good to anyone else like this.

When all we wanted was the dream
to have and to hold
that precious little thing
like every generation yields
the newborn hope unjaded by their years...

well.

I am sitting on my parents' couch, listening to my mother tell about how she pulled a catheter out of her abdomen wound yesterday, as she shows the scar to everyone present. She apparently almost fainted at the time.

Last Thursday, on the way to the hospital, my dad was driving and I was lying in the backseat, burrowed deep into my hoodie. We pulled up to a stopsign, and he complained about how you couldn't see it until you came right up to it. He said it made him lose his mind.

I know how he feels.