When Nature Weeps

There is red in the sky; I can tell

Yet I cannot explain how such a deep

purple can be so pale.

Only the black silhouettes of the silent

tree boughs

Can be seen against the rainwashed sky,

which now, touched by the finger of

nightfall,

Retains none of its morning glory.

A moment ago, I heard the last raindrop fall,

But now all is still.

It is a sorrow so deep no sobs continue

after the tears are done falling.

It is simply still, and dark, and

quiet; the silence of death.

It is so cool, comfortingly cool,

and just gazing upon the sky through

my window, I can feel the cool

mist landing on my skin,

and a tiny gust of wind

caressing my hair,

and we sit and sorrow

Nature and I

For we have each wept

Tears of Repentance

Repentance for our Fall.

Same-Sex Marriage is Not Marriage: A Rant About Sacraments and Civil Rights

“Warning: This is a rant. I am aware sparks may fly. Going to a courthouse and having a certificate signed by a judge is not marriage. The judge doesn’t pray over you. You do not stand in that courthouse together with the person you will spend the rest of your life with and receive the Lord’s Body and Blood. That judge does not place crowns on your heads to remind you that by being joined to that other person, you are a MARTYR now; that from this day forth you should strive to sacrifice yourself for them. That judge cannot give you the grace that makes a marriage last in holiness. Only the church can give you that. Marriage is a SACRAMENT. It can only be performed by the church. Yes, the government needs a record of it so they know how to charge you taxes and who to give your stuff to when you die. The certificate that a judge (or even a priest) signs is not a “marriage.” It is a piece of paper. It is a legal contract. Legal contracts cannot give you grace or make you a martyr. Legal contracts ARE NOT a sacrament. The government can give you a civil union, the legal side of marriage, eg. Taxes and wills.
People are on about “same sex marriage” and how it shouldn’t be distinguished from any other marriage. And they’re right. If all the word marriage means to you is a legal contract, then let them go nuts. But it is not marriage. Do not for one second try to tell me that you want to stand before the altar and become one flesh with someone of the same sex. Do not ever suggest that you be crowned together as martyrs, or that you take the Lord’s body and blood. You can have parties and paperwork all you like, but try to make the sacrament of marriage into something it was never meant to be, and I will die trying to stop you.
Long made short, yes, all you gay, lesbian, bisexual, trans, pansexual, whatever people out there have as much a right to a legal contract as anyone else. But its not that you aren’t allowed to be married, it is simply not possible.”

This was something that I posted on Facebook–when I had Facebook, that’s another post–and I wholeheartedly believe it. It was a response to an image that had been going around a certain circle of my friends for awhile, and every time I saw it, I winced.

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Okay, it’s all fine and good if you’re a secular person and you support secular marriage. This was a selfish post I made, because the reason I had to say this was that I felt like it was something that wasn’t out there, either because most Orthodox Christians/other traditional Christians don’t think about it that way, or because they don’t say. It needed to be said.

Now, please, if you’re a Christian who’s marriage ceremony didn’t resemble this description, I’m not hating on you or denying that God grans grace to your marriage. I am speaking from the perspective of an Orthodox Christian who views Holy Matrimony as a sacrament, which some other church bodies do, and some don’t. In either case, just like we won’t deny the validity of your Holy Communion, we won’t deny the validity of your Marriage. The entire point of this rant was that a civil contract should be termed as such, and that the name Marriage should be reserved for marriages in the church, it’s original meaning. It is just starting to fee l like, in the midst of the LGBTQ movement, the government has hijacked a religious Sacrament.
+Please forgive me+

Book Review: The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkein

The_Silmarillion_cover

Okay, so does the fact that I’ve liked The Lord of the Rings for 10 years and have never read The Silmarillion make me a nerd fail? Probably. But just to be fair, the first time I heard of it I was ten years old. My brother the Genius was nine. He read the whole thing. More than once. So I, being myself and not wanting to be outdone by my lil’ bro, decided to attempt the epic. It was a mistake.

First of all, less than a chapter into the book, I was already bogged down trying to keep up with the characters, who was a Mayar and who was a Valar, whose son was whose, and where the heck was Dor-lomin. This book was obviously way to advanced for me, so I quickly dropped it and despaired of ever being able to match my brothers intellect. Six years later, I’m still a nerd.

Soon after moving to my current location, I met a whole group of people who live and breathe nerdiness, specifically the Tolkein variety. Therefore I got tired of hearing my friend rant about how good his favorite book was, and so I said, “hey, it’s been six years, you’re not a kid anymore, you have to be smarter than the Genius was at nine now, right?” So I picked it up again.

Aaaaand…..I was gone. There was nothing else in my head for about a moth while I ate up the epic poetry that is the Silmarillion. There was no stopping now. Then people started dying. Someone committed suicide, so someone else did too. People were hung from cliffs. Worlds were ripped apart, people stormed in rage, magical creatures seemed so human, in the best and worse ways possible, magnificent romance grew, and I was rolling in the miserable, engulfing pain of it all. It sucked SO good.

And then I was crying, because it was over, and it was sad, and suddenly everything made sense from all the Tolkein I had ever read before, and my world will never be the same. You suck J.R.R.. Now excuse me while I go read  Of the Rings of Power.….

Who Am I? 24601!

A tribute to Jean Val-Jean, this post is about discovering identity as a person.

I dyed my hair purple. The grownups knew it was coming: I’m a teenage girl. I have started to truly unleash my own style and knowledge what I am expressing through it. The ultimate test of teenager-hood: are you beginning to express yourself? My dear friend Raven (The World is Ugly But You’re Beautiful to Me) and I were having a conversation a few days ago that went something like this:

Me: Tokyo in tulsa looks fun, ‘cept for the cosplay

Raven: oh come on. there is nothing wrong with cosplay! besides, i can very subtly dress you up as like some one from a meca or something.

Me: ahem, just one minue, and I will tell you what’s wrong with cosplay. *inhales* Little Mermaid, Toga, Flower Crown. brushing out steampunk hairspray, and eyeliner stains.

Raven: STOP YER COMPLAINING AND JUST HAVE A LITTLE BIT OF FREEDOM BEFORE YOU ARE TIED DOWN WITH A JOB AND COLLAGE! THESE ARE YOUR PRIME YEARS! MAKE SOME MISTAKES! DO SOME THING OUTRAGOUS! GO TO CONS AND CONVENTIONS AND SEE MOVIES AND GO TO CONCERTS AND JUST LIVE YOUR LIFE NOW BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!.

Me: got to go study for the ACT. See ya later, k?

If you check out Raven’s blog, linked above, you will find loads of her thoughts on self expression, a thing that she does very well. For instance, she has electric blue streaks in her long red hair.

In order to express your self, in my opinion, requires them to let go of what others think about you, you can’t be held back by people trying to tell you who you are, what you are, and what you’re going to be.

-Raven

The point I am getting at (inefficiently, because I’m tired, but all the same,) is that teenagers need to express themselves in one way or another. I do it in a lot of different ways: I consider myself an artist, a musician, a writer, and a friend, and through all these things, I try to let a little bit of me shine through. I express myself in my drawing and painting, emotions and passion smeared all over the canvas. I express myself in my music, turning the song into more than a song, letting the music ring within me and my emotion flying out with it. I express myself through my writing, my characters reflecting not only those around me, but myself and my struggles. A dear writing mentor of mine once told me, and I paraphrase, that a piece of the writer is left within the work, and that it is a hard thing to hand that work over to another person and say, “here, read my soul.” I discuss this extensively in A Grown Up Reads My Book: A Story of Heart Attacks and Other Ailments Resulting From High Strung Nervousness. Last, but not least, I express myself to my friends simply by putting every effort into pouring every last ounce of energy into loving them. Often a person’s love is the thing that really allows you to see them; it pulls aside the veil if you will. I like to believe that love is what makes us human.

Personal and non-generic self-expression aside, just about every teenager goes through a rebellious phase: exhibit A…my purple hair. I actually had to promise my Dad that I did not have any desire for a tattoo the other day when he saw a few inked up young people and came to the realization that his soon sixteen-year-old daughter, Yours Truly, would legally be old enough to get one.  Other rather generic things I have done include beginning to dress a little bit differently, and really starting to discover what kind of clothes I like. Let us not even start on my homage to my Gypsy heritage: large hoop earrings.

The whole point of this post is honestly a matter of me organizing my own thoughts regarding my sudden jolt of self expression, and trying to convince myself that it is okay. I have many friends younger than myself, and certain ones became rather offended when first came the haircut and then came the dye. My particular enjoyment of wearing big earrings is also disapproved of, and I find myself stuck between taking more drastic measures to convince this particular friend that I am free to express myself, and simply going back to my old norm to avoid conflict with her. I take solace only in the fact that in a brief span of time, this twelve-year-old girl may feel a tiny itch to do something…rebellious. 😉

Feedback is appreciated as always my friends! *cuing triumphant fanfare of the teenage rebellion anthem, “Do You Hear the People Sing”*

Raven’s Blog

I believe many of you have heard me speak of Raven, a very close friend who attends my church. Well, she finally decided to start a blog, which I told her she should do a long time ago. This blog serves a  dual purpose, because it obviously also convinced me to get back on here and write crap. So if you are looking for a place to hang out with another very awesome, honest-to-goodness, open with her emotions, and realistic person, click the link below to visit her brand new blog. It’s Blogspot not WordPress: sorry ya’ll! Anyway, here it is, and please support her and give her some views!

Life From The Eyes of a Teenage Poet and Otaku

When Nature Weeps by Sparrow Azonia

There is red in the sky; I can tell,
Yet I cannot explain how such a deep purple can be so pale.
Only the black silhouettes of the silent tree boughs
Can be seen against the rain-washed sky
Which now, touched by the finger of nightfall
Retains none of its morning glory.
A moment ago I heard the last raindrop fall, but now all is still.
It is a sorrow so deep, no sobs continue after the tears are done falling, it is simply still, and dark, and quiet, the silence of death.
It is cool, so comfortingly cool, and just gazing upon
the sky through the window: I can feel the cool mist landing on my skin, and a tiny gust of wind caressing my hair,
And we sit and sorrow, Nature and I, for we have each wept
Tears of repentance; repentance for our Fall.
~Sparrow Azonia

Use only by permission of the author. Feel free to share!

I’m sorry that it has been so long since I’ve spoken to all of you, but here I am, after a long, shall we say, sabbatical? Anyway, I have greatly missed blogging, and I am in a poetic frame of mind, so here it is: the first poem I’ve posted on my blog. Feedback would be awesome! Comments please!

A Grown Up Reads My Book: A Story of Heart Attacks and Other Ailments Resulting From High Strung Nervousness

I am known to be high strung. It’s not really a way that I choose to be, I just happen to get stressed out easily. Matter of fact, I take pills to relax my muscles because my tenseness causes back pain. That’s just how laid back Sparrow Azonia is.

I’ve worked on aforementioned novel for five years, and a large deal of real life has been woven into Audra’s story, and not just realistic experiences, but actual thoughts and feelings I went through as I was writing them. Although I would not say I am Audra or she is a representation of me, my heart and soul is on that paper, and to just hand it to someone, even my mother and say, “here. Read this,” is not easy. In fact, it’s harder to let my mother read it than someone I’m more distant from, so I took my youth leader up on her offer to give it a read.

She is in fact a grown up, although I think she still considers herself a teenager. Not in an irresponsible way, but in a playful, youthful, make-the-most-of-every-moment kind of way. She’s probably the easiest grown up for me to hand it over to.

It took a late night jolt of courage for me to send her the manuscript, and for days after that I was nervously turning over the thoughts in my mind, wondering if she had reached the awkward romantic bits yet, or if she thought the humor was cheesy….

Days. Days I sat and worried about what she was going to think. Turns out her kids were sick. The next time I saw her, she called me over to talk to her, and I suddenly felt lightheaded, like I had become a hot air balloon, and all I could think was Ohcrapohcrapohcrap she must have gotten to the awkward part!

She hadn’t. As a matter of fact, she wanted to tell me that my story was very good. She also suggested that I let a few more people read it, because they have valuable input, especially my mom. She explained that it was good that I had poured my soul out onto the paper and then had the courage to hand it to someone and say, “here. Read this.” Honesty is the most important trait in a writer, because if a story is written in honesty, the no matter what the words, the meaning will always ring true.

The Hobbit-The Battle of the Five Armies: Does She Dare Do a Review? She Does it.

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Well, it’s the end, my friends. The Hobbit saga comes to a close with the THIRD movie (there was only one book, mind you…) and I went to see it.

From the get-go, I was conflicted about the Final Chapter of Tolkien’s journey put to film. The trailer had amazing visuals, epic battles, soaring, triumphant music (we know that  gets me every time) and–then there’s that girl elf. And she’s snuggling with A DWARF ladies and gentlemen. Let us not forget the long standing rivalry between elves and dwarves. If you’ve read any Middle Earth at all, you should know that elves don’t like dwarves, and they definitely DO NOT kiss them. Tolkien made no provision for an elf-dwarf romance BECAUSE IT WASN’T MEANT TO HAPPEN!

Sorry friends, I’m ranting. The above was my reaction to the trailer. I went to the theater, bought an Icee, and sat down to watch the entirely unoriginal she-elf paddle a boat. Tauriel wasn’t in the book, remember? Anyway, by the end I had cried twice, and I’m sure that my brother was embarrassed to be with me in public. I can’t tell you why I cried, but let me tell you, it was heartbreakingly sad, and I am a girl, and therefore emotional.

Actually, very few stories bring tears to my eyes. They did this one very well, very well indeed. it mus be said that THIS MOVE WAS TOLKIEN HERESY AND THEY COMPLETELY DESTROYED THE STORY but as a movie, independent from Tolkien, it was excellent, and I am disturbed to share with you that I enjoyed immensely. Of course it was worth the ticket price just to hear Billy Boyd sing the end credits song.

In conclusion my friends, as the Hobbit, this was a terrible movie.

As a movie, it was excellent.

And Pippin can sing. Very well. Just admit it.

Book Review: The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux

The Phantom of the Opera

I just read a romance. Argggh. I compromised my literature values in order to read a classic, and such does it deserve. It was well written, heart wrenching, and amazing, and it made me want to read it again, cry again, then watch the musical, and probably sob some more.

There’s no particular reason this story appealed to me. I’m not one for romance, but this? Oh yes! There’s nothing to like! Erik is a horrible, hideous, murderous villain, but he and Raoul both feel this indescribable love for Christine, and it’s not fair… *sobs*

I am such a mess right now that I might as well give up trying to write this review. I’m still replaying the tear jerking sections back to myself in my head, and there’s nothing else to say without ruining the story besides that it is a wonderful book.

An amazing book about how the lack of love and compassion can shred a human soul an all it takes is a tiny speck of care, a tiny speck of beauty to bring that soul back to the light.