That last summer evening

September is here again already. The summer flew away in the blink of an eye. I had so many projects and did so little. But it’s okay. I did okay.
It has been quite an emotional roller coaster.
I said goodbye to a movement in which I grew up for twenty years.
I faced the monster of my nightmares for three days and survived. He didn’t break me. I am stronger than what he did to me.
I visited a friend abroad and we only grew closer.
I was by my friend’s side for her wedding.
I traveled to a new country and came back with stories and ideas.
I didn’t do the things I had planned, but in a way I did more. I went on adventures and came back richer, bigger.

Following the rainbow

August 2018 - Riga, Latvia

Those things

There are things that I dare not voice.
Thoughts I dare not form,
Images that I only dare conjure under the cover of the night.
In the farthest corner of my mind.

For I am afraid that if I linger on them, more than a heartbeat, I shatter into pieces.

You,

You look like what lives down the abyss of my mind.
And I can't help but stare at you.
I stand on the edge and I can picture myself falling.
You sound like those voices that lurk in my darkness of my mind.
And I can't help but follow you.
I am attracted to your shadow.

Sunlight and water

Late at night

Too many questions

What do you want?
What's wrong?
How are you?
Who are you?
What are you afraid of?
What are you running from?

New beginnings

I just came back from my scout camp.
One week sleeping under a tent, building fires to cook, taking care of kids. And as always I come back drained, exhausted, and a bit off.
I've felt all grey since my friend and co-leader left.

This was quite a great experience, as most camps are, but this one had a special taste. This was my last one as titular leader. Starting next year, I decided to be only a additional leader, the one you call when you don't have enough leaders for a specific event.
Taking care of kids at work and during the weekend has left me exhausted all year long, and I think it might have a negative impact on my patience with both my students and the kids.
As such, this camp had a sort of bitter-sweet atmosphere.
I don't think I'll ever be able to really cut all ties with the scouts, as the whole movement played a huge role in building who I am today, but I feel that I need to move on.

I joined the scouts twenty years ago. I stopped twice for a year after becoming a leader. I took part to sixteen camps. I made friends I'd have never known if it wasn't for those Sunday afternoons running in the woods. Some will be my friends for ever or so I wish, some I lost track of long ago, but all of them had a small impact on me.

I never took the leader's oath. Never felt worthy of it. but I wear on my uniform the medals of my oaths as a guide, as a pioneer and as a companion.
I became a leader because it seemed obvious for me to be one. I had joined the movement so long ago that it seemed the right thing to do. Each step of the pedagogy lasts three years, except the last one, which lasts two, but can be followed by a third year of service. that's what I did. after enjoying the movement and it's opportunities for twelve years, it seemed only fair to give some of that time back.

almost ten years later, I feel that maybe along the way, I repaid my debt. I gave back a bit of what I got. I shared a bit of the wisdom I acquired along the way, but taking the oath seemed wrong. I didn't have enough time to give to the movement to be worthy of the oath. It wasn't my priority, so how could I claim to take such an engagement if I wasn't ready to give it everything?

I gave it all I could. All I was ready to give. Whatever time, whatever energy I felt I could give, I gave. And today, looking at my uniform, I wonder whether it really is the end, whether I didn't make a mistake, whether walking away from this is the right thing to do.

Find grace where you can

I have faith. I doubt too much not to have faith, if it makes any sense.
I feel, deep in my bones that there is something. Even though I am otherwise extremely rational. Even though I disagree with a lot of what is written in the Bible. Even though I do not agree with the dogma my church preaches.
I have faith, and I believe that the founding principles of my church are right, are good, are wise and necessary. Love thy neighbour is what matters to me.
My faith doesn't fit exactly the catholic canvas, but it's okay. I don't mind and I don't think it actually matters. I have faith and I take part in the church because I believe it can do good, because I believe it is the right thing to do.
But as such, I do not often have the opportunity to truly feel like I belong in the church. Often I am an outsider, an intruder. but sometimes I find grace. An echo, a certainty, that there is something and that it is loving and benevolent.
Singing is one of them.
I love singing but I grew very self conscious of singing. Never singing alone, never singing without other people to cover me. I love singing but I stopped, somewhere along the way. Somewhere among the little remarks that stung too much and sticked too long. After I left my music school, I stopped singing.
This week, I didn't go to mass in my usual parish. I went to mass with a group of other young people who decided to celebrate their faith with art. we got to go to mass with them. Oh boy it was different from my usual parish!
I like mass. I have time to pray, to think, and I can sing. I get to sing and to feel lifted, to feel carried by the others. I do not cower or hide. I sing with all those things inside me that want to get out.
And God they sang.
Not old odes whose lines no one pays attention to anymore, or whose lines are close-minded.
No. They sang poems and songs that talked of love and acceptance.
I so we sang. I sang.
It did not matter that what I believe in is slightly different. It didn't matter that I love women. It did not matter who I've been or what I've done. All that mattered was that we sang. We sang of belief and trust and hope. And I felt good. I felt grace in the easy harmony of the moment.

I do not often mention faith and what I believe in but meeting people who believe and who are willing to discuss it and to accept who you are, what you are, what you believe in is rare and precious to me. Those small moments of grace are priceless to me/

God, it felt good.

In the wild.

My hands are callused.
My hair smells of wood smoke.
My hands are rough.
My back is sore.