Plaça d’Angels
Barcelona, Spain


As the light leaks low
Long elegant buildings release their humans.
Embraced by the sidewalks they learn to walk.
Tiptoeing.

Left of the plaça sits the MACBA.
Guests peruse its galleries,
Sadly I hope.
As they miss the human exhibit just outside.
I turn away and eat the beauty,
Inhaling the drug.

Skate boards skim by.
Back and forth.
Jump.
Fall.
Up to try again.

Mullets shake hands.
Dread locks drink beer.
Ukulele dabbles
Labrador sleeps.
Lovers walk.
Purple hoody shows off.
Pre-teens attempt to copy.
Smoking girl dances.
Mothers talk.
Black leggings stalk by.
Father aged men peddle cold Estrella beer.

The audience drinks deep.
The breeze pulls.
Boys sail by,
Married to the slick beautiful concrete.

An hour later, hearing my mother’s voice
On warm summer nights
Calling me in from the street.
My eyes close in honor

I wake,
As the police pull up,
To ruin the gift.


photo taken by allie klein

saturday morning along the prinsengracht

Last week I had a scone and good cup of tea at Bakers Winkel in the Center, near Dam Square with Nienke. Had a lovely 80% dutch conversation before exiting the cafe together. Just as I was unlocking my bike (the lock was stuck and it was taking a while) a crowd of men started running my way, quickly we were surrounded by a mass of people... one side of which was wearing mostly black and the other in more red colors with policemen inbetween.

I started banging my lock hard, frantic to get it unlocked. No luck. So finally I picked up my bike and hustled with it around the corner. Nienke was unlocked and ready to go. At that point the crown rushed around the corner to us and I felt like I was in 28 Days Later for a minute (a terrifying zombie movie in which the people spend have the movie running away in fear), I finally got the lock open and joined Nienke as we pedaled off. The last I saw as I cycled away, was a black police van screaching up and a SWAT like team pouring out of the side dooors with sticks and shields in hand, bystanders rushing to the scene and people yelling IJAX. What in the world was going on?

The responce I get from people is: Hooligans. Soccer fanatics, IJAX (Amsterdam) vs. Feyenoord (Rotterdam), maybe? ... but I didn't see it reported anywhere. It feels kind of like it never happened but I kind of love that it did. Hooligans. That should be a title of something.

The Hooligan Story.

crispy clean windows

I grew up in a house that was always a little messy, lived in, informal, and hospitable... and because of those things it was an easy place to be, relax, and invite others in to.

Cold yet sunny today, I was told by a friend "you're being so dutch" as I stood on my balcony and stretched to clean the windows lining my kitchen. It feels so good to have things ordered and clean sometimes. You can often see little ladies leaning out on sunny days to wipe the rain smears away of the glass. My friend Julia will sometimes straighten the her house and then sit in her living room and soak in the "order." And I know exactly what she means. A good book and a cup of tea in a pretty glass and one of my new honey cookies is perfect company to the white chair by the big clean window.

Maybe it's that sometimes with life being so delightfully full of life.. of talking, children, laughter, biking, tasks, good conversations, streets sounds, tram riding, grammatically incorrect dutch, going back to school at 27, being stretched, thinking, trying 100's of new things, conversations home, and making food to survive that sometimes it's wonderful to putz around the kitchen and just clean and not think about anything too important, only basking in the glow of living a life of purpose, being daily dependent and forced often to give up my crispy clean windows and step in to the unexpected next.

More stories coming in my update this month friends.

in search of dust

www.cooperburgess.com

"Remember you are dust and to dust you will return" is the refrain repeated over and over again by priest, vicars, pastors, lay leaders all over the world as they draw an ash cross on the foreheads of their congregations this coming wednesday. Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of the 40 day period, Lent, which which leads up to Easter. Lent is used by many as a time of contemplation, fasting from something (chocolate, coffee, myspace), and remembering the human need for Jesus. 

Three years ago I began attending an Ash Wednesday service. It was a very meaningful time for me. A somber time of repentance and recognition that I am nothing, only dust. Yet it is such a joyful day as well since we are forced to acknowledge that the only person who in fact gives life, fulfilling purposeful focused life is Jesus. And my earthiness is not a hindrance at all, He loves me and calls me to acts of justice, love, and compassion as a human. And I must remember that it is Him who created me and made me out of dust! Out of dust!

Yesterday I went on a search for ash. Typically ash for the service is made from burning the palm branches from the previous year's Palm Sunday, but I can't really imagine people doing that. Fire codes and all :) 

But I had a plan, I'd cycle up to Westerkerk and ask where they get their ash. I walked around the whole church, finding only locked doors before I was able to decipher the sign which indicated I should ring a bell. I finally make it in where the secretary, a sweet old man asked if he could help me. I explained in my faltering nederlands my search for ash and asked if he could direct me where to find some. He folded his hands, tilting his head slightly and kindly said "wij zijn een protestantse kerk," meaning, we are a protestant church. Now you have to understand that I'm just a Vineyard kid who is new to the traditional church calendar and who does and doesn't observe Ash Wednesday. I'm only a few years in to enjoying these old traditions, what the rest of the Christian World has been doing for a long time! I laughed trying to imply, "oh yes, of course, what could I have been thinking," and after receiving some very whirl wind directions to 3 catholic churches, made my way out, chuckling at myself. I continued on with my hunt, to St. Nicolas kerk, a church by Spui (I forget the name now), and two more before failing as well at a christian bookstore. 

I'm starting to wish I stuck some palm branches in my suitcase last August. I think I'm going to resort to burning some paper or wood or coals. Any ideas? Anyone up for a bonfire? 

Last night, late, I went to go hear punk music in this little dodgy club somewhere in Oud West. Or at least I think that's what that kind of music is called. That's what Allie tells me. A friend of Allie's is touring with the band so I went along to meet him and hang out for the night. I always thought I didn't like punk music even though I'd never listened to it before. But the music was surprisingly good. A good feel to it.  The drummer was fabulous and the lead singer had a really interesting voice. I kept forgetting where I was... one minute I'd be back in Columbus at Little Brothers, it had that same musty dank feel but then I'd get a whiff of pot or hear dutch spoken or glimpse the cool lights over the bar, or see people kissing on the cheek... then I'd be yanked back to Amsterdam to the little club on Amstelveensweg or however you spell that. 

And in the process I figured out that I love to do new crazy things as long as there's a familiar part to it, like going with someone I know or speaking a language I can understand. And I love when things overlap, like getting to hang out with Allie, meet a crazy guitarist who kept saying the word "coy," exploring the city more, being in a "dutch" environment. Check check check.

Earlier that afternoon the same thing happened, I met up with some girls from my language class to watch a dutch film, eat yummy dessert, practice language, and in the process had some fascinating conversations about whether two male partners make good parents and what age is appropriate for kid's to have sex, which lead in to personal belief systems, and on and on. I know..... crazy fun, you couldn't have picked a better movie to draw from. I loved it and felt so happy and in the groove because I was doing what I get so much fulfillment and joy from: loving people, talking about purpose, meaning and life issue, practicing this complicated but fascinating new language, and making lovely new friends and just sitting in a room relaxing and being human together. 

Next week I start an art class on Monday nights. I'm so thrilled. I've been so purposeless in my art making lately. Just blah, you know what I mean? So, now knowing that I love "the overlap," I signed up for a painting class, in dutch at CRE, this art collective kind of thing that's a part of Universiteit van Amsterdam , and which you happen to get a massive student discount from since I'm a student at the VU. So I'm hoping I can do the same, make friends, speak only dutch, and rediscover the artist in me that has just been a bit squashed down lately. 

So often I see the story of Jesus, images/beauty that point to him through out the city. Yesterday I walked down 4 flights of stairs, crossed the street, unlocked my bike and began to ride. As I rode through Vondelpark I saw many of these little sculptures of a hand pointing with the index finger up to the sky (they're all over town.. and I really want to figure out what they are supposed to represent.... I know what they mean to me!)... and there are also little birds (that remind me of the peace dove) that are often painted on shops in certain areas of town. Images like these fascinate me and always remind me to look up, look around, and take notice of Jesus who is here in this beautiful complex growing city which often despite popular belief is speaking the name of Jesus, albeit quietly sometimes, but we are invited to take notice. 

But I don't usually notice, I often ride by sign after sign, sculptures, pictures, and words without even thinking. .. and then sometimes I get cynical and think where are you Jesus? Where are you here? And that's when I feel him tap me on the shoulder and say, hey, I'm here you just need to open your eyes and I have little reminders everywhere. 

I even saw Him in class a few days ago as one of my friends, from Ethiopia put his hand on my other friend A's arm, a sweet guy from Turkey, and they just sat like that as we played a nederlands language learning game. I teared up because I saw Jesus in that moment (they had no idea I was watching them)... it was beauty embodied in a picture of friendship and an aspect of the middle eastern culture that I often want to bottle up and get drunk on. It's Jesus. It's his story and also it's how I think God invites us to relate to him, as a dear friend would who has no fear of boundaries or what you should do or don't do. You just are and you are invited to just be.