*** This blog was written in the hospital waiting room while my grandfather underwent hip surgery. Please hold him, my grandmother and his recovery in your prayers.
Mom: Congratulations!
CD (me): thank you
Mom: So how does it feel to have your whole life open up in front of you?
CD: umm... yikes! and quite exciting at the same time. i loved college and just am ready and anticipating the next step.
Mom: Oh, really! and how do you feel about that?
CD: thanks for the Freaky Friday reference, shrink-y mom, like I said: I'm excited and nervous.
Mom: Tell us about your new room mates
CD: Wel.. to catch up any one who doesn't know, this past semester I lived in a university townhouse in a community called Magis Row -- this was like a living and learning community only on a block as opposed to in a dorm. My house was Catholic Social Teaching, so we hosted several events about various aspects of CST. Sadly, since it was univeristy housing, now that i am an alumn (gulp) I can't live there any more. So I found a house about 5 blocks behind campus that i'm really looking forward to. Two of my house mates are Georgetown alums from the past several years. They seem very nice and welcoming.
Mom: and your cat... ?
CD: oh, yes, right, my cat, Pixie, gets to live with me again!
Mom: I will miss Pixie, she's the grumpiest sweetest cat I've ever known.
CD: well that sounds about right. You can come and visit.
Mom: Yes I'll come and visit your cat.
CD: hehehe
Mom: I'll bring my dog to beat her up so she feels at home again.
CD: uh-oh. Ok, now my turn to ask you a question: how does it feel to have a graduated daughter?
Mom: Exciting and scary.
CD: wow, those words sounds familiar. Our family seems to have a very limited vocabulary. Anything you'd like to add to that??
Mom: Yeah, let's go skiing. We gotta hit the slopes after we hit New York.
CD: and ladies and gentlemen, the nonsequetor of the evening!
Mom: hehe, yeah. haha. Ok, so the graduation trip is the fist celebration for the new graduate... so after your trips, what's next? what's your plan?
CD: well in the spring I'm hoping to be working with the nonprofit (Little Friends for Peace) that I've been volunteering with for the past year. I'd be working in the development office, doing fund raising and grant writing as well as working with the kids in the after school program. I'll also be taking a class online: Teaching English as a Foreign Language. I'm really looking forward to it -- learning some teaching tips (I figure as right now I really want to go into education, I should really take an education class). Then a job at a coffee shop, and finally working on my own grant writing and fund raising in order to return and teach in El Salvador next fall.
Mom: Yes. Good bye
CD; ahhh! what?
Mom: El Salvador is so far away... and it is right where you belong. If we work this right you can be in El Salvador in the fall and your sister can be in Africa. And I will have a house full of animals!
CD: You might just have to travel and come visit us. No dogs though.
Mom: I'll come.
We will now pause for a brief word from our sponsors:
Our sponsor of the morning is the local shelter. We encourage you to give your time, talent or donations to help the creatures who cannot help themselves. Your local shelter is full of cats, kittens, dogs, puppies, ferrets, rabbits, rodents, and many other creatures who need your help. Someone said you can judge a society by how it treats its animals.
*** My grandfather has just come out of surgery, everything went well. Thank you for your prayers!***
26 December 2009
13 December 2009
Harvesting Crumbs
So this is a post I've been meaning to write for a while.... and what better time to write it than when I ought to be writing my thesis?
(important note by the way: I just hit 40 pages yesterday -- which is the minimum! I still have 4 sections I'd like to write plus a conclusion, which will probably end up to be 18-ish pages I think, which is totally do-able! but please continue sending good thesis thoughts and prayers my way!)
Anyway...one of the things I've been thinking about lately is: why am I keeping this blog? When I was in El Salvador last spring it was obvious: it was a way for me to document, process, reflect upon and share with all of you my experiences, challenges, and celebrations.
I am not in El Salvador any more. Obvious, right?
Something happened last week that reminded me though.
So, last Thursday, I went in to the Peace Room (part of a community center after-school program). I was the only volunteer there that day. Jerry and MJ the co-directors were receiving an award for their peace work and all of the other volunteers either had finals or had gone home for the holidays already. So, it was me and three rambunctious crazy 5 year olds. Our mission: to decorate the peace room for Christmas.
So they came in, we sat in a circle on the floor (which really meant one of them plopped herself on my lap, and the other ran around the room) while we did our check-ins (what has made your peace? what has broken your peace?) then we said our peace pledge and sang a couple of their songs. At which point I gave them their mission. NO was the resounding answer. We spent the next 15 minutes or so with one (or both of them) falling down, and saying "OH NO I broke my neck!) To which of course, I would call 911 (on my hand...you, know....pretend :) and be instructed that the ONLY cure for a broken neck is to be tickled! Then my two 5 yr olds (the third hadn't arrived yet) started taking turns calling 911 and be the 911 operator.
Then, that game worn out... I gave them a choice: we cold read a book or work on decorations. We chose decorations (side note: i think I learned this in psychology, about giving a children 2 options and then they get to decide what to do, but usually youngs kids do tend to choose and option).
Coloring, cutting, and couple of other pretend games later... and it was time to clean up.
Of course here, in print, on a computer screen, I can't capture their smiles, or their screams (at one point we made a bath room field trip and one of them ran ahead of me into the bathroom and when I got in, she was standing in the middle with a HUGE grin on her face, screaming as loud as she could). But maybe a glimmer has been captured.
Curing broken necks, pretending us safe from pretend robbers, coloring with these five year olds made me think: Life. Be. Those crumbs are every where. Writing here, some how sharing the crumbs that bring me life and joy and awareness and reflection, that sharing helps me to be more aware of them. To keep my eyes and my heart open. So thank you. Thank you for joining me in my little feast of crumbs.
(important note by the way: I just hit 40 pages yesterday -- which is the minimum! I still have 4 sections I'd like to write plus a conclusion, which will probably end up to be 18-ish pages I think, which is totally do-able! but please continue sending good thesis thoughts and prayers my way!)
Anyway...one of the things I've been thinking about lately is: why am I keeping this blog? When I was in El Salvador last spring it was obvious: it was a way for me to document, process, reflect upon and share with all of you my experiences, challenges, and celebrations.
I am not in El Salvador any more. Obvious, right?
Something happened last week that reminded me though.
So, last Thursday, I went in to the Peace Room (part of a community center after-school program). I was the only volunteer there that day. Jerry and MJ the co-directors were receiving an award for their peace work and all of the other volunteers either had finals or had gone home for the holidays already. So, it was me and three rambunctious crazy 5 year olds. Our mission: to decorate the peace room for Christmas.
So they came in, we sat in a circle on the floor (which really meant one of them plopped herself on my lap, and the other ran around the room) while we did our check-ins (what has made your peace? what has broken your peace?) then we said our peace pledge and sang a couple of their songs. At which point I gave them their mission. NO was the resounding answer. We spent the next 15 minutes or so with one (or both of them) falling down, and saying "OH NO I broke my neck!) To which of course, I would call 911 (on my hand...you, know....pretend :) and be instructed that the ONLY cure for a broken neck is to be tickled! Then my two 5 yr olds (the third hadn't arrived yet) started taking turns calling 911 and be the 911 operator.
Then, that game worn out... I gave them a choice: we cold read a book or work on decorations. We chose decorations (side note: i think I learned this in psychology, about giving a children 2 options and then they get to decide what to do, but usually youngs kids do tend to choose and option).
Coloring, cutting, and couple of other pretend games later... and it was time to clean up.
Of course here, in print, on a computer screen, I can't capture their smiles, or their screams (at one point we made a bath room field trip and one of them ran ahead of me into the bathroom and when I got in, she was standing in the middle with a HUGE grin on her face, screaming as loud as she could). But maybe a glimmer has been captured.
Curing broken necks, pretending us safe from pretend robbers, coloring with these five year olds made me think: Life. Be. Those crumbs are every where. Writing here, some how sharing the crumbs that bring me life and joy and awareness and reflection, that sharing helps me to be more aware of them. To keep my eyes and my heart open. So thank you. Thank you for joining me in my little feast of crumbs.
09 December 2009
Shalom: Peace, Hello, Good bye
The things I learn in my physiological psychology class.... probably the things that I pick up on and then reflect on are definitely not the main core principals I'm supposed to learning, memorizing, and appreciating...but at least I'm learning something!
As an example of symbolic thought, ie words. Words are symbols of objects (ideas too but that's something even more complciated...), and the word itself is not confused with the object.
But a word that is unknown is not a symbol, but rather just a series of squiggly lines.
So our professor taught us the word shalom (written in hebrew) as an example to be able to appreciate the symbolism.
'Aight intro finished, now for the real thing.
The cool thing is that shalom means Peace, Hello, and Good bye.
Why is this interesting? Well, I think that language is in many ways the window through which we see and interact with the world. So, it seems profound to me to have one word for all three.
It could be that shalom doesn't mean all three, but shalom means Peace and so Peace can then be used as a greeting or a farewell.
"Hello, I wish you peace"
"Good bye, go in peace"
Language is some important, and by constantly wishing peace keeps in consistently in consciousness, consistently a part of moment to moment life.
I'm learning in peace education the importance of examples and models of peace -- so much in the world is violent and so it is that which is most easily conformed to. So this consistent greeting and farewell of peace is a way to bring a model of peace into life.
"Peace I leave with you my friends, my friends, and I am with you till the end."
...i feel like there is more i want to say about this but it's sitting just out of reach, i can almost see it but can't quite grasp it, so perhaps more later.
As an example of symbolic thought, ie words. Words are symbols of objects (ideas too but that's something even more complciated...), and the word itself is not confused with the object.
But a word that is unknown is not a symbol, but rather just a series of squiggly lines.
So our professor taught us the word shalom (written in hebrew) as an example to be able to appreciate the symbolism.
'Aight intro finished, now for the real thing.
The cool thing is that shalom means Peace, Hello, and Good bye.
Why is this interesting? Well, I think that language is in many ways the window through which we see and interact with the world. So, it seems profound to me to have one word for all three.
It could be that shalom doesn't mean all three, but shalom means Peace and so Peace can then be used as a greeting or a farewell.
"Hello, I wish you peace"
"Good bye, go in peace"
Language is some important, and by constantly wishing peace keeps in consistently in consciousness, consistently a part of moment to moment life.
I'm learning in peace education the importance of examples and models of peace -- so much in the world is violent and so it is that which is most easily conformed to. So this consistent greeting and farewell of peace is a way to bring a model of peace into life.
"Peace I leave with you my friends, my friends, and I am with you till the end."
...i feel like there is more i want to say about this but it's sitting just out of reach, i can almost see it but can't quite grasp it, so perhaps more later.
06 December 2009
advent: because 1 post just wasn't enough....
Advent, like lent, is a season of preparation for the coming of Christ. This video is very thought provoking and challenging. (I found it through my friend olivia's gmail status and thought it was so good i wanted to share it with you.)
Para La Paz
1> SOLIDARITY
remember my working definition? well, i'm about to add to it :)
I went to the Ignatian Family Teach-In for Justice in Fort Benning Georgia the weekend before Thanksgiving, and one of the speakers talked about solidarity. it is compleltey escaping who said this at the moment, but anyway they identified "solidarity" as a buzz word, thrown around all the time but not necessarily defined. So in the talk, they defined it, saying:
solidarity is about conversion. It is about letting your life be touched by someone else, and allowing that contact, that human connection, to change you past just that moment. It is a daily (or even moment by moment) decision, commitment, investment.
2> PEACE
I was sharing at guided examen last week my experience with the word PEACE. It is a powerful word, one that has been very present with my lately. Johan Galtung has this amazing approach to understanding peace through identifying two type of peace. The first, I think is how the term is typically used: referring to an absence of direct or physical violence. he calls this "negative peace" because it is defined by what it is not rather than through an affirmative statement.
This negative peace is important, yet if this is the extent of our understanding of peace, if this is the goal, then we're taking the easy way out, we're missing something hugely important.
In addition to this "negative peace," Galtung also talks about this idea of "positive peace." Positive peace is the affirmative peace, peace that speaks to what it is, rather than just (the essential) statement of what it is not. As they say in Rent, "the opposite of war isn't peace, its CREATION." Positive peace are these acts of creation which works to address oppressive social structures (aka "structural violence" and recognize the common humanity and human dignity of all while working for a world where that basic human dignity is upheld.
Both are important. Negative peace, the stopping of bombs being dropped on a national level, the ability to be in another's presence without lashing out at them on an individual level, these are important things. However, particularly on an individual level, there comes a time when commitment to negative peace is unhealthy. If I am hurt or upset by something or someone and keep my mouth closed, in order to preserve the appearance of peace, I am actually committing an act of violence towards myself and whoever else is involved. My keeping my mouth shut when I need to speak up, when the boat needs to be rocked, I am denying my humanity and my own self worth, as well as disrepecting any other parties involved. By keeping my mouth shut, I am in a sense taking total responsibility for whatever it was that went wrong, I am not acknowledging the agency of the other, nor am I allowing them to care for (or about) me and the fact that I am hurt. It is violent and ultimately destructive to sacrifice for something defined by what it is not.
As was said, negative peace is the first step. Peace is a risky business and so a trust in at the very least one's physical safety is an important starting point. saying words that need to be said, risking those tough words or actions, calling things as they are, living and thinking and speaking in a way which recognizes and promotes the human dignity of all (including myself!) is scary and hard. Ella curia said the most amazing thing that I think is so true, speaking of the University of Central America (UCA) during the civil war: "If our university had not suffered we would not have performed our duty. In a world where injustice reigns, a university that fights for justice must necessarily be persecuted.” This, I think, is just as applicable to the individual as to the university.
So, solidarity, then, this act of conversion, this knowledge that we are all in this together, is essential for peace. Solidarity is based upon the understanding of the universality of humanity and our interconnectedness, which I think is fundamental for peace. Just as important, is that to live this active positive peace, to bring about these acts of creation, well, it is impossible (and discouraging and disheartening) to do it alone, alone it cannot be done.
So this risk of peace happens through and with and in solidarity, in hope of humanity, in faith in God. Yet this risk can't be taken just for the sake of taking risks. I think I mentioned before getting a tattoo and that can be a powerful symbol, but the only if in context. We are, each and every one of us, created by God (on purpose) in God's image--I think it is this that binds each person, throughout time and space, together. As we take the risk for peace in solidarity, it is important to ask: what am I risking? to be able to name it, to place it in context. And to follow that question with: and what am I risking it for? Peace cannot happen by accident.
remember my working definition? well, i'm about to add to it :)
I went to the Ignatian Family Teach-In for Justice in Fort Benning Georgia the weekend before Thanksgiving, and one of the speakers talked about solidarity. it is compleltey escaping who said this at the moment, but anyway they identified "solidarity" as a buzz word, thrown around all the time but not necessarily defined. So in the talk, they defined it, saying:
solidarity is about conversion. It is about letting your life be touched by someone else, and allowing that contact, that human connection, to change you past just that moment. It is a daily (or even moment by moment) decision, commitment, investment.
2> PEACE
I was sharing at guided examen last week my experience with the word PEACE. It is a powerful word, one that has been very present with my lately. Johan Galtung has this amazing approach to understanding peace through identifying two type of peace. The first, I think is how the term is typically used: referring to an absence of direct or physical violence. he calls this "negative peace" because it is defined by what it is not rather than through an affirmative statement.
This negative peace is important, yet if this is the extent of our understanding of peace, if this is the goal, then we're taking the easy way out, we're missing something hugely important.
In addition to this "negative peace," Galtung also talks about this idea of "positive peace." Positive peace is the affirmative peace, peace that speaks to what it is, rather than just (the essential) statement of what it is not. As they say in Rent, "the opposite of war isn't peace, its CREATION." Positive peace are these acts of creation which works to address oppressive social structures (aka "structural violence" and recognize the common humanity and human dignity of all while working for a world where that basic human dignity is upheld.
Both are important. Negative peace, the stopping of bombs being dropped on a national level, the ability to be in another's presence without lashing out at them on an individual level, these are important things. However, particularly on an individual level, there comes a time when commitment to negative peace is unhealthy. If I am hurt or upset by something or someone and keep my mouth closed, in order to preserve the appearance of peace, I am actually committing an act of violence towards myself and whoever else is involved. My keeping my mouth shut when I need to speak up, when the boat needs to be rocked, I am denying my humanity and my own self worth, as well as disrepecting any other parties involved. By keeping my mouth shut, I am in a sense taking total responsibility for whatever it was that went wrong, I am not acknowledging the agency of the other, nor am I allowing them to care for (or about) me and the fact that I am hurt. It is violent and ultimately destructive to sacrifice for something defined by what it is not.
As was said, negative peace is the first step. Peace is a risky business and so a trust in at the very least one's physical safety is an important starting point. saying words that need to be said, risking those tough words or actions, calling things as they are, living and thinking and speaking in a way which recognizes and promotes the human dignity of all (including myself!) is scary and hard. Ella curia said the most amazing thing that I think is so true, speaking of the University of Central America (UCA) during the civil war: "If our university had not suffered we would not have performed our duty. In a world where injustice reigns, a university that fights for justice must necessarily be persecuted.” This, I think, is just as applicable to the individual as to the university.
So, solidarity, then, this act of conversion, this knowledge that we are all in this together, is essential for peace. Solidarity is based upon the understanding of the universality of humanity and our interconnectedness, which I think is fundamental for peace. Just as important, is that to live this active positive peace, to bring about these acts of creation, well, it is impossible (and discouraging and disheartening) to do it alone, alone it cannot be done.
So this risk of peace happens through and with and in solidarity, in hope of humanity, in faith in God. Yet this risk can't be taken just for the sake of taking risks. I think I mentioned before getting a tattoo and that can be a powerful symbol, but the only if in context. We are, each and every one of us, created by God (on purpose) in God's image--I think it is this that binds each person, throughout time and space, together. As we take the risk for peace in solidarity, it is important to ask: what am I risking? to be able to name it, to place it in context. And to follow that question with: and what am I risking it for? Peace cannot happen by accident.
04 November 2009
"what's in a name? a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
in my phsyiological psychology class today we were talking about selective attention -- which implies intentionality and volition in the selecting of what i (or anyone else) is paying attention to. this is really besides the point and more along the mind/brain question we come up against every class.
at any rate, in the studying of selective attention, some fascinating experiments have been done. One by Colin Cherry. In this study, subjects were given headphones, with a different voice saying different things into each ear. the subject was asked to shadow one of the voices (shadowing is repeating what someone is saying while the continue talking). Then the did different things, like adding a beep into one ear phone or the other, or changed what was going on in the ear phone that wasn't being shadowed, such as changing the language multiple times, or changing the gender of the person speaking... things like that. Afterwards, subjects were asked about what they heard from the ear phone they hadn't been shadowing. Only two things came up: if the gender changed or if they heard their name. If it was in the ear they weren't listening to, they didn't hear the added in beeps, they didn't notice the language change, had no idea of content -- but they did hear their names (brain activity was monitored as well, and there were not event potentials related to what went on in the nonselected ear).
and in class we mentioned the cocktail experiment which i think the gist is if you're at a cocktail party, all the noise and chattering and craziness, but if your name is said, you hear it.
As my friend Earl would tell you, I am obsessed with naming things. In my last blog, I named the things that I am mourning. I name the things that make me happy, that make me afraid or upset or stressed. some how by being able to name them, they stop being overwhelming. it's not to say that by naming the fact that graduating in a mere few months both terrifies and excites me that I no longer feel terrified or excited but rather that the terror loses its all consuming hold. i can name it and so live with it. and with the excitement ... well there is a proper time and place for that as well.
naming. i was gchatting with one of the women i studied with in El Salvador and she used my name in the conversation. and i felt so known. i don't use people's names when i am talking with them, most of the time its obvious to whom i am speaking so i don't say it. but to be called by name, to be named and so known and so loved. almost a calling, to be named, to be called to myself, into myself. Yes. this is me, this is who i am -- and you, you who are calling me are therefor part of that, part of the essence of me. and not in a way that is consuming and identity losing to the other person, but rather in the way that together we are more who were, together we be.
as Sister P said "I am called to be more me, more P" and that call never happens in a vacuum, never happens in isolation.
As I think of being called into myself, my name, this common journey we are all on together, I think of this image from El Salvador, this image of these knots inside of me, all the crazy funny happy tearful mess, this mess of knots, but among the knots, the hands of those who love me, helping me carry it, helping me untangle it, there with me amidst all of my messiness. and there is a naming in that as well.
they called me "Cris" in El Salvador. "Cris, Cris!" -- and it felt like a naming me as their own.
and i have a nick name that is used for the first time in my life -- i'm not good at nicknames, coming up with them for myself or others, but there's something special about it, a naming of a person, a naming of a relationship. something powerful, something real. something to hold on to.
something sacred.
at any rate, in the studying of selective attention, some fascinating experiments have been done. One by Colin Cherry. In this study, subjects were given headphones, with a different voice saying different things into each ear. the subject was asked to shadow one of the voices (shadowing is repeating what someone is saying while the continue talking). Then the did different things, like adding a beep into one ear phone or the other, or changed what was going on in the ear phone that wasn't being shadowed, such as changing the language multiple times, or changing the gender of the person speaking... things like that. Afterwards, subjects were asked about what they heard from the ear phone they hadn't been shadowing. Only two things came up: if the gender changed or if they heard their name. If it was in the ear they weren't listening to, they didn't hear the added in beeps, they didn't notice the language change, had no idea of content -- but they did hear their names (brain activity was monitored as well, and there were not event potentials related to what went on in the nonselected ear).
and in class we mentioned the cocktail experiment which i think the gist is if you're at a cocktail party, all the noise and chattering and craziness, but if your name is said, you hear it.
As my friend Earl would tell you, I am obsessed with naming things. In my last blog, I named the things that I am mourning. I name the things that make me happy, that make me afraid or upset or stressed. some how by being able to name them, they stop being overwhelming. it's not to say that by naming the fact that graduating in a mere few months both terrifies and excites me that I no longer feel terrified or excited but rather that the terror loses its all consuming hold. i can name it and so live with it. and with the excitement ... well there is a proper time and place for that as well.
naming. i was gchatting with one of the women i studied with in El Salvador and she used my name in the conversation. and i felt so known. i don't use people's names when i am talking with them, most of the time its obvious to whom i am speaking so i don't say it. but to be called by name, to be named and so known and so loved. almost a calling, to be named, to be called to myself, into myself. Yes. this is me, this is who i am -- and you, you who are calling me are therefor part of that, part of the essence of me. and not in a way that is consuming and identity losing to the other person, but rather in the way that together we are more who were, together we be.
as Sister P said "I am called to be more me, more P" and that call never happens in a vacuum, never happens in isolation.
As I think of being called into myself, my name, this common journey we are all on together, I think of this image from El Salvador, this image of these knots inside of me, all the crazy funny happy tearful mess, this mess of knots, but among the knots, the hands of those who love me, helping me carry it, helping me untangle it, there with me amidst all of my messiness. and there is a naming in that as well.
they called me "Cris" in El Salvador. "Cris, Cris!" -- and it felt like a naming me as their own.
and i have a nick name that is used for the first time in my life -- i'm not good at nicknames, coming up with them for myself or others, but there's something special about it, a naming of a person, a naming of a relationship. something powerful, something real. something to hold on to.
something sacred.
01 November 2009
why do they weep?
Today's gospel was the sermon on the mount, the one where Jesus, seeing the crowd, sits them down and teaches them -- the beatitudes.
the homily tonight, in the mezcla of the reading and the fact that it is All Saints, said that what we have in the Beatitudes is what it means to be a saint.
To be poor in spirit: to know that God is God and we are not
To mourn ...
and this is where I went on my own train of track, so here's the homily that developed in my head and heart.
To be a saint is to mourn. to feel deep enough that I hurt, that I feel pain and sadness, to risk getting involved, loving, that much. To mourn after something means that that thing (or person) mattered to me. It means to not live detatched, but rather wholly (holy) engaged.
This week has been a week of mourning for me. Many many things are changing (have been in the constant state of changing). Many many things make me sad. This week (maybe the past two weeks) there has been a shift: I have let myself (not totally, not completly, but begin to...) mourn them, to let these things touch my heart rather than holding them arm's length out barely out of sight. I have engaged them.
These sad things range from missing El Salvador to starting to say good bye to university (I've been looking for off campus housing), from naming the way friendships have and are changing to ways I am and have been changing, from endings to beginnings to endings in relationships. Taking risks and making mistakes that are hurtful.
Mourning all kinds of things. And in mourning them, letting them be real and in a way letting myself be real too, letting myself be here.
and reality isn't all pain, it isn't all sadness, all mourning, but without suffering and mourning after suffering, then it isn't reality but just kitsch. And so as I've mourned this week, joy and hope have been much closer as well.
Sigo adelante!
Gospel
Mt 5:1-12a
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain,
and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him.
He began to teach them, saying:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the land.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the clean of heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you
and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me.
Rejoice and be glad,
for your reward will be great in heaven.”
the homily tonight, in the mezcla of the reading and the fact that it is All Saints, said that what we have in the Beatitudes is what it means to be a saint.
To be poor in spirit: to know that God is God and we are not
To mourn ...
and this is where I went on my own train of track, so here's the homily that developed in my head and heart.
To be a saint is to mourn. to feel deep enough that I hurt, that I feel pain and sadness, to risk getting involved, loving, that much. To mourn after something means that that thing (or person) mattered to me. It means to not live detatched, but rather wholly (holy) engaged.
This week has been a week of mourning for me. Many many things are changing (have been in the constant state of changing). Many many things make me sad. This week (maybe the past two weeks) there has been a shift: I have let myself (not totally, not completly, but begin to...) mourn them, to let these things touch my heart rather than holding them arm's length out barely out of sight. I have engaged them.
These sad things range from missing El Salvador to starting to say good bye to university (I've been looking for off campus housing), from naming the way friendships have and are changing to ways I am and have been changing, from endings to beginnings to endings in relationships. Taking risks and making mistakes that are hurtful.
Mourning all kinds of things. And in mourning them, letting them be real and in a way letting myself be real too, letting myself be here.
and reality isn't all pain, it isn't all sadness, all mourning, but without suffering and mourning after suffering, then it isn't reality but just kitsch. And so as I've mourned this week, joy and hope have been much closer as well.
Sigo adelante!
Gospel
Mt 5:1-12a
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain,
and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him.
He began to teach them, saying:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the land.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the clean of heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you
and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me.
Rejoice and be glad,
for your reward will be great in heaven.”
22 October 2009
"don't worry, don't worry"
i am reading again about the history of the civil war in el salvador (how funny is it that when i say "the War" i mean the civil war in ES. oh man).
i'm reading again how, over 12 years the US gave 6 billion dollars to the military run government. how we trained the came to be the most lethal death squads. how we provided weapons and military advisors and helicoptors. i'm reading (reading instead of hearing 1st hand accounts) of finding mutilated bodies by the road side, of refugees crossing the river into Honduras. About El Mozote and the sole survivor of that massacre (who died several years ago, but whose daughter I met at El Mozote last spring).
I am rereading the notes I took from my interview with one of the women in Calle Real -- how she had to leave her home in the country, pregnant, leaving with only her cow to come to the city so she wouldn't be killed.
about the 4 church women
and the 6 Jesuit martyrs --whose anniversary it is November 16
about Romero.
I think about my students, some of whom I've gotten to talk with over the past month
i think of my students whom i will have next fall.
and all of this comes together in my thesis. I am writing this week the Context, an introduction to El Salvador.
and i feel this horror about the actions of my country in the past, some consolation when i remember my friends and how i was received while i was there, some hope and excitement and nervousness about going back.
speaking with my students, my kids from last semester has been really grounding -- not to get lost in the horror of the past or the immensity if my project but to stay focused on them, my kids, my kids who (as i said in a recent talk I gave) stole my heart the first day i met them and have yet to give it back. and i'd just as soon they keep it. i talked with 2 of them yesterday and they told me they were learning the days in the week in english class. and so i quizzed them a little bit. they very proud to show off what they knew and anxious to look it up in their notebook when they forgot.
blood and roses, cats and thorns i wrote before about the same differentness of returning to Georgetown. and it is. more than i ever thought.
to live in the hope of the martyrs -- the hope of the dead, the murdered. to live in the violence of love. i see images of fire -cleansing and deadly. to live in this tension: "...but how good is God that pain and joy are not the sole property of el salvador."
i wrote this in high school. it reminds me ... LIVE NOW
February 16, 2005
Some day soon, and that day is quickly coming
A miracle will happen
A miracle of life laughter love
What is that miracle?
It will be more of what you have
More of the joy you hold in your heart
Be ready to overflow
Embrace life, and all that comes
Never turn away
Don’t sort the good from the bad
But rejoice fully in your heart for that time
And then embrace the next and the next
Don’t hold on, live, flow, breath, rejoice
Everything will come in time
Don’t worry, don’t worry
Stop regretting,
Don’t place all your hopes on what is to come
You are now, so live it
And then, each day the miracle will grow
Your heart will overflow with joy
You are living, loving, laughing
And nothing can go wrong
There will be sorrows and some pain
But they will, in the end, merely
Make your joy and triumphs more sweet
Your love more tender
And your laughter real
Rejoice and be glad
Embrace the universe
Hold it close to your heart and never let go
i'm reading again how, over 12 years the US gave 6 billion dollars to the military run government. how we trained the came to be the most lethal death squads. how we provided weapons and military advisors and helicoptors. i'm reading (reading instead of hearing 1st hand accounts) of finding mutilated bodies by the road side, of refugees crossing the river into Honduras. About El Mozote and the sole survivor of that massacre (who died several years ago, but whose daughter I met at El Mozote last spring).
I am rereading the notes I took from my interview with one of the women in Calle Real -- how she had to leave her home in the country, pregnant, leaving with only her cow to come to the city so she wouldn't be killed.
about the 4 church women
and the 6 Jesuit martyrs --whose anniversary it is November 16
about Romero.
I think about my students, some of whom I've gotten to talk with over the past month
i think of my students whom i will have next fall.
and all of this comes together in my thesis. I am writing this week the Context, an introduction to El Salvador.
and i feel this horror about the actions of my country in the past, some consolation when i remember my friends and how i was received while i was there, some hope and excitement and nervousness about going back.
speaking with my students, my kids from last semester has been really grounding -- not to get lost in the horror of the past or the immensity if my project but to stay focused on them, my kids, my kids who (as i said in a recent talk I gave) stole my heart the first day i met them and have yet to give it back. and i'd just as soon they keep it. i talked with 2 of them yesterday and they told me they were learning the days in the week in english class. and so i quizzed them a little bit. they very proud to show off what they knew and anxious to look it up in their notebook when they forgot.
blood and roses, cats and thorns i wrote before about the same differentness of returning to Georgetown. and it is. more than i ever thought.
to live in the hope of the martyrs -- the hope of the dead, the murdered. to live in the violence of love. i see images of fire -cleansing and deadly. to live in this tension: "...but how good is God that pain and joy are not the sole property of el salvador."
i wrote this in high school. it reminds me ... LIVE NOW
February 16, 2005
Some day soon, and that day is quickly coming
A miracle will happen
A miracle of life laughter love
What is that miracle?
It will be more of what you have
More of the joy you hold in your heart
Be ready to overflow
Embrace life, and all that comes
Never turn away
Don’t sort the good from the bad
But rejoice fully in your heart for that time
And then embrace the next and the next
Don’t hold on, live, flow, breath, rejoice
Everything will come in time
Don’t worry, don’t worry
Stop regretting,
Don’t place all your hopes on what is to come
You are now, so live it
And then, each day the miracle will grow
Your heart will overflow with joy
You are living, loving, laughing
And nothing can go wrong
There will be sorrows and some pain
But they will, in the end, merely
Make your joy and triumphs more sweet
Your love more tender
And your laughter real
Rejoice and be glad
Embrace the universe
Hold it close to your heart and never let go
25 September 2009
Bucket List
Ontological Mystery: Gabriel Marcel wrote that all too often as humans we define ourselves --our identity, value -- based on what we do, our routine, various roles or functions we are assigned or assign ourselves to.
Who am I?
a student
someone who likes to sleep in but lately gets up before 8 (early! ...for me) every day
member of several faith sharing groups
a thesis writer
there is a routine to my day, an expectedness, this structure is good and helpful, as long as I remember that whatever my routine is is not a definition of me.
and there are other functions i assign to myself: the organizer; the connector. Especially this last one can be very limiting to me in my relationships with others, that in my desire to bring other people together, I forget to include myself in that.
and this is the mystery -- ontological (the word about being). The Mystery of Being is that I am not a sum of parts. There is more. I be. And there is something intrinsically good and important and valuable about that BEING -- and the way that I be is different, unique just to me -- and it is from this core am-ness that my identity flows, that determines my worth and value as a person being.
and this is not to completely discount what i do and my various roles and functions and routines. That surely those too are part of me, and part of a manifestation of who I am, but the thing that is easily lost is that it is just a part.
but how is this mystery? well...who are you? try making a list of you that doesn't include what you do. and then how do they come together.
I asked my philosophy professor... well what if I forget about the things I do in how I think about myself and think only of that being part? his answer: we live in a very physical tangible active world and everythign arround us brings us back to : you are your successes and your failures, your schedule, your function, your routine. This, actions and do-ings, are what we see of one another. and so constantly we are brought back to ourselves in terms of functionality.
hang on to the mystery that there is more.
what does this have to do with a bucket list?
i was thinking about the Rilke quote:
"... and the point is to live everything. "
in context, he says to be gentle with unresolved questions in the heart, to not seek answers that couldn't be lived, because the point is to live everything, live the questions now.
but that one line "and the point is to live everything" has been reverberating around me this past week. To live everything. To take risks. to not live in fear-- i guess that's what i thought of first.
and it makes me think: what I haven't i lived, and silly enough, but some of the first things that come to mind are things like: drugs, gotten drunk ... And I'm pretty happy with that, though it seems like I skipped the stereotypical high school experience -- and maybe college for that matter. and i wonder how much of that was done out of respect for my body and how much out of fear. and are both reasons legit? "Do not be afraid" is a common theme throughout the new testament, do not be afraid to be to live, but some fear maybe is legit and self protective.
and then... what do I want to live before I die? And I thought of the movie the Bucket List.
But the truth is there isn't a list for me of things I want to do before I die. but if the list were about HOW I wanted to live. Yes, there is a list for that.
I want to live dangerously. And while the first thing that may come to mind with that statement is a motorcycle and tatoos (though that's pretty cool) or extreme sports, that's not what I mean.
I mean I want to live un-comfortably, in a way that is continuously putting me in contact with reality. Relaity buzz word from my El Salvador program. What I mean is I want the world: pain suffering hardship hand in hand with joy hope love faith generousity. I've written about this before, but the hard and the joyful are inherently connected and to truly live there must be room for both. So that means living at risk: living in a way that is open to pain and deep hurt that can puncture the protective walls i sometimes desperately try to throw up around myself. It is those some puncture wounds that let in (and maybe sometimes even bring) deep joy hope.
Living dangerously-- loving wastefully, as a friend once said. To approach both myself and those around me with this wasteful, this deep appreciation of our BEING.
This is a being (this ontological mystery) that is the core of humanity and no where is this seen more clearly than in the presence of those who are different, who live and speak and think and approach life differently. WHo have been wounded in ways I could never dream of and yet... and yet we, them and I, we share this being in common.
Living dangerously because to appreciate my being does not mean that I must protect myself from hurt. Appreciating my being (my creation -- which begs the question of a CREATOR)means not reducing myself to a function, to means constantly striving to be toe person I am created to be -- that I am a being in progress and to live in that knowledge, seeking to be faithful to that which is my core identity. And like anything else, faithfulness takes discipline and dedication and commitment because it won't always be easy, it will be hard, there will be people or events or situations that will challenge me, that will hurt me, that maybe will make me want to curl up give up on living into myself. Christ is a perfect example, right? He loved his created being -- who he was and who he was created to be -- so much that he stayed faithful to the end, which meant his death. Through such constant and faithful appreciation of Himself, he died, when he could have denied his being (his created being) and avoided the pain, saved His life.
To live dangerously. To love wastefully.
and maybe, just maybe, i'll get a motorcycle and tatoo some where along the way.
Who am I?
a student
someone who likes to sleep in but lately gets up before 8 (early! ...for me) every day
member of several faith sharing groups
a thesis writer
there is a routine to my day, an expectedness, this structure is good and helpful, as long as I remember that whatever my routine is is not a definition of me.
and there are other functions i assign to myself: the organizer; the connector. Especially this last one can be very limiting to me in my relationships with others, that in my desire to bring other people together, I forget to include myself in that.
and this is the mystery -- ontological (the word about being). The Mystery of Being is that I am not a sum of parts. There is more. I be. And there is something intrinsically good and important and valuable about that BEING -- and the way that I be is different, unique just to me -- and it is from this core am-ness that my identity flows, that determines my worth and value as a person being.
and this is not to completely discount what i do and my various roles and functions and routines. That surely those too are part of me, and part of a manifestation of who I am, but the thing that is easily lost is that it is just a part.
but how is this mystery? well...who are you? try making a list of you that doesn't include what you do. and then how do they come together.
I asked my philosophy professor... well what if I forget about the things I do in how I think about myself and think only of that being part? his answer: we live in a very physical tangible active world and everythign arround us brings us back to : you are your successes and your failures, your schedule, your function, your routine. This, actions and do-ings, are what we see of one another. and so constantly we are brought back to ourselves in terms of functionality.
hang on to the mystery that there is more.
what does this have to do with a bucket list?
i was thinking about the Rilke quote:
"... and the point is to live everything. "
in context, he says to be gentle with unresolved questions in the heart, to not seek answers that couldn't be lived, because the point is to live everything, live the questions now.
but that one line "and the point is to live everything" has been reverberating around me this past week. To live everything. To take risks. to not live in fear-- i guess that's what i thought of first.
and it makes me think: what I haven't i lived, and silly enough, but some of the first things that come to mind are things like: drugs, gotten drunk ... And I'm pretty happy with that, though it seems like I skipped the stereotypical high school experience -- and maybe college for that matter. and i wonder how much of that was done out of respect for my body and how much out of fear. and are both reasons legit? "Do not be afraid" is a common theme throughout the new testament, do not be afraid to be to live, but some fear maybe is legit and self protective.
and then... what do I want to live before I die? And I thought of the movie the Bucket List.
But the truth is there isn't a list for me of things I want to do before I die. but if the list were about HOW I wanted to live. Yes, there is a list for that.
I want to live dangerously. And while the first thing that may come to mind with that statement is a motorcycle and tatoos (though that's pretty cool) or extreme sports, that's not what I mean.
I mean I want to live un-comfortably, in a way that is continuously putting me in contact with reality. Relaity buzz word from my El Salvador program. What I mean is I want the world: pain suffering hardship hand in hand with joy hope love faith generousity. I've written about this before, but the hard and the joyful are inherently connected and to truly live there must be room for both. So that means living at risk: living in a way that is open to pain and deep hurt that can puncture the protective walls i sometimes desperately try to throw up around myself. It is those some puncture wounds that let in (and maybe sometimes even bring) deep joy hope.
Living dangerously-- loving wastefully, as a friend once said. To approach both myself and those around me with this wasteful, this deep appreciation of our BEING.
This is a being (this ontological mystery) that is the core of humanity and no where is this seen more clearly than in the presence of those who are different, who live and speak and think and approach life differently. WHo have been wounded in ways I could never dream of and yet... and yet we, them and I, we share this being in common.
Living dangerously because to appreciate my being does not mean that I must protect myself from hurt. Appreciating my being (my creation -- which begs the question of a CREATOR)means not reducing myself to a function, to means constantly striving to be toe person I am created to be -- that I am a being in progress and to live in that knowledge, seeking to be faithful to that which is my core identity. And like anything else, faithfulness takes discipline and dedication and commitment because it won't always be easy, it will be hard, there will be people or events or situations that will challenge me, that will hurt me, that maybe will make me want to curl up give up on living into myself. Christ is a perfect example, right? He loved his created being -- who he was and who he was created to be -- so much that he stayed faithful to the end, which meant his death. Through such constant and faithful appreciation of Himself, he died, when he could have denied his being (his created being) and avoided the pain, saved His life.
To live dangerously. To love wastefully.
and maybe, just maybe, i'll get a motorcycle and tatoo some where along the way.
07 September 2009
from Rilke to Relient K
Relient K, "High of 75"
Junior year of high school I was introduced to Relient K. For Christmas, I asked for all three of the cds they had out at the time and all spring, driving to school, to play rehearsal, errands, whereever, Relient K was blasting. Whenever I hear them now, if I close my eyes I can smell the spring of my junior year in high school, feel the wind blowing through my open car windows, see the road to school zooming by and my heart swells with the hope, anticipation, nervousness for the future that I experienced so often more than 4 years ago.
And all the listening... well I suppose I could say many Relient K songs are part of my Wisdom literature. This one in partiular hist me every once in a while when I am feeling overwhelmed or sad or anxious or discouraged -- when I let these feelings overcome and I convince myself that I am surround by black darkness. Usually in those times the line "It's funny how you find you enjoy your life when you're happy to be alive"
when you're happy to be alive. and as my middle school life science teacher (another wisdom source) said, as humans, the fact that we work that we can move and breath and live is amazing.
and then i remember the wonder that it is to live and it's as if all of a sudden i've remember to look up into a black velvety night sky and all above and around me are stars, pinpricks of light and that black darkness is beautiful, awe inspiring, still terrifying but also kind of comforting. It becomes a blackness that draws me out of myself rather than trapping and confining me in my fears and worries.
at one point over the summer -- in a black and starless dark -- i decided that i didn't need to be happy, that life whatever it was, all i wanted from it was to know what was coming next. understandable, especially if put in the context that in the 2 year period surrounding today (from one year ago to one year in the future) I will have moved residences 7 (very likely to be 8) times. And so far they have been good moves, hard but who wants easy. But in this much instability all I could think of was screw the rest I just want to KNOW.
When i can name this I do a lot better living in the unknowing. When I can name it I actually often rejoice in the fact that I cannot and do not know nor control everything (or often anything...) The world and universe is a vast glorious mysterious place. and so i can breath and live and be without fear of being crushed.
And my senior year.... it's looking much different than I had anticipated. I've commented to several people that it feels a little bit like I'm a freshman all over again. Living with some lovely ladies, but women I've never lived with before. The main claim on my time are my classes and thesis (THESIS! alright fine with that word I absolutely do not feel like a freshman!) but no leadership positions in any clubs. I could, oh so easily, give into the temptation to play pinochle in the bottom of the boat : to keep my head down and myself thoroughly engaged in the darkness but oh to be on deck, even in the midst of the storm. But it seems that I'm learning my way around the boat all over again and, meaning to reach wind-blown deck, I find myself, somehow, in the galley.
And i try, I try, to remember to laugh and be gentle with myself and , well as long as i'm there, explore the galley see what i can find, who i might meet. The universe has an amazing sense of humor and I don't want to miss anything, even if the joke's on me, that there is something wonderful for me here, now, living and i want it--to know what it is to live it experience it taste it and hold it so close that it becomes a part of me.
not that life is a scavenger hunt and i'm afraid of missing clues but rather that if i am too afraid to take risks, if i am waiting to be found or too obsessed with finding "it", if i am so absorbed with "shoulds" and "rights" then, like sand held too tightly, it will be gone.
So I'm learning and living -- and sometimes that means I hurt and ache sometimes with pain and longing and regret but often from the beauty (and that beauty always terrible) and abundance and sweet happenstance that IS.
We were talkin' together
I said "What's up with this weather?"
Don't know whether or not
How sad I just got
Was of my own volition
Or if I'm just missin' the sun
And tomorrow I know
Will be rainy at best
And the forecast, I know
Is that I'll be depressed
But I'll wait outside
Hoping that I'll catch sight of the sun
Because on and off
The clouds have fought
For control over the sky
And lately the weather
Has been so bi-polar and
Consequently so have I
But now I'm sunny with a high of 75
Since You took my heavy heart and made it light
And it's funny how you find you enjoy your life
When you're happy to be alive
And the tempature is freezing
And then after dark
There's a cold front sweeping
In over my heart
And we might break up
If I don't wake up to the sun
Because on and off
The clouds have fought
For control over the sky
And lately the weather
Has been so bi-polar and
Consequently so have I
But now I'm sunny with a high of 75
Since You took my heavy heart and made it light
And it's funny how you find you enjoy your life
When you're happy to be alive
Junior year of high school I was introduced to Relient K. For Christmas, I asked for all three of the cds they had out at the time and all spring, driving to school, to play rehearsal, errands, whereever, Relient K was blasting. Whenever I hear them now, if I close my eyes I can smell the spring of my junior year in high school, feel the wind blowing through my open car windows, see the road to school zooming by and my heart swells with the hope, anticipation, nervousness for the future that I experienced so often more than 4 years ago.
And all the listening... well I suppose I could say many Relient K songs are part of my Wisdom literature. This one in partiular hist me every once in a while when I am feeling overwhelmed or sad or anxious or discouraged -- when I let these feelings overcome and I convince myself that I am surround by black darkness. Usually in those times the line "It's funny how you find you enjoy your life when you're happy to be alive"
when you're happy to be alive. and as my middle school life science teacher (another wisdom source) said, as humans, the fact that we work that we can move and breath and live is amazing.
and then i remember the wonder that it is to live and it's as if all of a sudden i've remember to look up into a black velvety night sky and all above and around me are stars, pinpricks of light and that black darkness is beautiful, awe inspiring, still terrifying but also kind of comforting. It becomes a blackness that draws me out of myself rather than trapping and confining me in my fears and worries.
at one point over the summer -- in a black and starless dark -- i decided that i didn't need to be happy, that life whatever it was, all i wanted from it was to know what was coming next. understandable, especially if put in the context that in the 2 year period surrounding today (from one year ago to one year in the future) I will have moved residences 7 (very likely to be 8) times. And so far they have been good moves, hard but who wants easy. But in this much instability all I could think of was screw the rest I just want to KNOW.
When i can name this I do a lot better living in the unknowing. When I can name it I actually often rejoice in the fact that I cannot and do not know nor control everything (or often anything...) The world and universe is a vast glorious mysterious place. and so i can breath and live and be without fear of being crushed.
And my senior year.... it's looking much different than I had anticipated. I've commented to several people that it feels a little bit like I'm a freshman all over again. Living with some lovely ladies, but women I've never lived with before. The main claim on my time are my classes and thesis (THESIS! alright fine with that word I absolutely do not feel like a freshman!) but no leadership positions in any clubs. I could, oh so easily, give into the temptation to play pinochle in the bottom of the boat : to keep my head down and myself thoroughly engaged in the darkness but oh to be on deck, even in the midst of the storm. But it seems that I'm learning my way around the boat all over again and, meaning to reach wind-blown deck, I find myself, somehow, in the galley.
And i try, I try, to remember to laugh and be gentle with myself and , well as long as i'm there, explore the galley see what i can find, who i might meet. The universe has an amazing sense of humor and I don't want to miss anything, even if the joke's on me, that there is something wonderful for me here, now, living and i want it--to know what it is to live it experience it taste it and hold it so close that it becomes a part of me.
not that life is a scavenger hunt and i'm afraid of missing clues but rather that if i am too afraid to take risks, if i am waiting to be found or too obsessed with finding "it", if i am so absorbed with "shoulds" and "rights" then, like sand held too tightly, it will be gone.
So I'm learning and living -- and sometimes that means I hurt and ache sometimes with pain and longing and regret but often from the beauty (and that beauty always terrible) and abundance and sweet happenstance that IS.
30 August 2009
Wisdom Sources
Wisdom Sources: where I find truth, encouragement, a taste of reality in words and pictures that pierce my heart, that speak to me, that change me.
Sister, my theology professor last semester, said we get many wisdom sources, the Bible among but not only.
So i've been naming mine. here are some of my new ones
Mary Oliver
Shaun Tan (The Red Tree, this book and those images)
and Rainer Maria Rilke
I've been running into Rainer everywhere lately -- or his words anyway. So I've finally started to do some research on him
Before today this was the main quote i knew by him and i have this card in my room, a gentle reminder. but then i read Duino Elegies: The First Elegy -- it's here, my favorite parts bolded, and though long, i really love the whole thing
Duino Elegies: The First Elegy
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
Oh, to whom can we turn for help?
Not angels, not humans;
and even the knowing animals are aware that we feel
little secure and at home in our interpreted world.
There remains perhaps some tree on a hillside
daily for us to see; yesterday's street remains for us
stayed, moved in with us and showed no signs of leaving.
Oh, and the night, the night, when the wind
full of cosmic space invades our frightened faces.
Whom would it not remain for -that longed-after,
gently disenchanting night, painfully there for the
solitary heart to achieve? Is it easier for lovers?
Don't you know yet ? Fling out of your arms the
emptiness into the spaces we breath -perhaps the birds
will feel the expanded air in their more ferven flight.
Yes, the springtime were in need of you. Often a star
waited for you to espy it and sense its light.
A wave rolled toward you out of the distant past,
or as you walked below an open window,
a violin gave itself to your hearing.
All this was trust. But could you manage it?
Were you not always distraught by expectation,
as if all this were announcing the arrival
of a beloved? (Where would you find a place
to hide her, with all your great strange thoughts
coming and going and often staying for the night.)
When longing overcomes you, sing of women in love;
for their famous passion is far from immortal enough.
Those whom you almost envy, the abandoned and
desolate ones, whom you found so much more loving
than those gratified. Begin ever new again
the praise you cannot attain; remember:
the hero lives on and survives; even his downfall
was for him only a pretext for achieving
his final birth. But nature, exhausted, takes lovers
back into itself, as if such creative forces could never be
achieved a second time.
Have you thought of Gaspara Stampa sufficiently:
that any girl abandoned by her lover may feel
from that far intenser example of loving:
"Ah, might I become like her!" Should not their oldest
sufferings finally become more fruitful for us?
Is it not time that lovingly we freed ourselves
from the beloved and, quivering, endured:
as the arrow endures the bow-string's tension,
and in this tense release becomes more than itself.
For staying is nowhere.
Voices, voices. Listen my heart, as only saints
have listened: until the gigantic call lifted them
clear off the ground. Yet they went on, impossibly,
kneeling, completely unawares: so intense was
their listening. Not that you could endure
the voice of God -far from it! But listen
to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message
that forms itself out of silence. They sweep
toward you now from those who died young.
Whenever they entered a church in Rome or Naples,
did not their fate quietly speak to you as recently
as the tablet did in Santa Maria Formosa?
What do they want of me? to quietly remove
the appearance of suffered injustice that,
at times, hinders a little their spirits from
freely proceeding onward.
Of course, it is strange to inhabit the earth no longer,
to no longer use skills on had barely time to acquire;
not to observe roses and other things that promised
so much in terms of a human future, no longer
to be what one was in infinitely anxious hands;
to even discard one's own name as easily as a child
abandons a broken toy.
Strange, not to desire to continue wishing one's wishes.
Strange to notice all that was related, fluttering
so loosely in space. And being dead is hard work
and full of retrieving before one can gradually feel a
trace of eternity. -Yes, but the liviing make
the mistake of drawing too sharp a distinction.
Angels (they say) are often unable to distinguish
between moving among the living or the dead.
The eternal torrent whirls all ages along with it,
through both realms forever, and their voices are lost in
its thunderous roar.
In the end the early departed have no longer
need of us. One is gently weaned from things
of this world as a child outgrows the need
of its mother's breast. But we who have need
of those great mysteries, we for whom grief is
so often the source of spiritual growth,
could we exist without them?
Is the legend vain that tells of music's beginning
in the midst of the mourning for Linos?
the daring first sounds of song piercing
the barren numbness, and how in that stunned space
an almost godlike youth suddenly left forever,
and the emptiness felt for the first time
those harmonious vibrations which now enrapture
and comfort and help us.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
Rainer Maria Rilke
Sister, my theology professor last semester, said we get many wisdom sources, the Bible among but not only.
So i've been naming mine. here are some of my new ones
Mary Oliver
Shaun Tan (The Red Tree, this book and those images)
and Rainer Maria Rilke
I've been running into Rainer everywhere lately -- or his words anyway. So I've finally started to do some research on him
Before today this was the main quote i knew by him and i have this card in my room, a gentle reminder. but then i read Duino Elegies: The First Elegy -- it's here, my favorite parts bolded, and though long, i really love the whole thing
Duino Elegies: The First Elegy
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
Oh, to whom can we turn for help?
Not angels, not humans;
and even the knowing animals are aware that we feel
little secure and at home in our interpreted world.
There remains perhaps some tree on a hillside
daily for us to see; yesterday's street remains for us
stayed, moved in with us and showed no signs of leaving.
Oh, and the night, the night, when the wind
full of cosmic space invades our frightened faces.
Whom would it not remain for -that longed-after,
gently disenchanting night, painfully there for the
solitary heart to achieve? Is it easier for lovers?
Don't you know yet ? Fling out of your arms the
emptiness into the spaces we breath -perhaps the birds
will feel the expanded air in their more ferven flight.
Yes, the springtime were in need of you. Often a star
waited for you to espy it and sense its light.
A wave rolled toward you out of the distant past,
or as you walked below an open window,
a violin gave itself to your hearing.
All this was trust. But could you manage it?
Were you not always distraught by expectation,
as if all this were announcing the arrival
of a beloved? (Where would you find a place
to hide her, with all your great strange thoughts
coming and going and often staying for the night.)
When longing overcomes you, sing of women in love;
for their famous passion is far from immortal enough.
Those whom you almost envy, the abandoned and
desolate ones, whom you found so much more loving
than those gratified. Begin ever new again
the praise you cannot attain; remember:
the hero lives on and survives; even his downfall
was for him only a pretext for achieving
his final birth. But nature, exhausted, takes lovers
back into itself, as if such creative forces could never be
achieved a second time.
Have you thought of Gaspara Stampa sufficiently:
that any girl abandoned by her lover may feel
from that far intenser example of loving:
"Ah, might I become like her!" Should not their oldest
sufferings finally become more fruitful for us?
Is it not time that lovingly we freed ourselves
from the beloved and, quivering, endured:
as the arrow endures the bow-string's tension,
and in this tense release becomes more than itself.
For staying is nowhere.
Voices, voices. Listen my heart, as only saints
have listened: until the gigantic call lifted them
clear off the ground. Yet they went on, impossibly,
kneeling, completely unawares: so intense was
their listening. Not that you could endure
the voice of God -far from it! But listen
to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message
that forms itself out of silence. They sweep
toward you now from those who died young.
Whenever they entered a church in Rome or Naples,
did not their fate quietly speak to you as recently
as the tablet did in Santa Maria Formosa?
What do they want of me? to quietly remove
the appearance of suffered injustice that,
at times, hinders a little their spirits from
freely proceeding onward.
Of course, it is strange to inhabit the earth no longer,
to no longer use skills on had barely time to acquire;
not to observe roses and other things that promised
so much in terms of a human future, no longer
to be what one was in infinitely anxious hands;
to even discard one's own name as easily as a child
abandons a broken toy.
Strange, not to desire to continue wishing one's wishes.
Strange to notice all that was related, fluttering
so loosely in space. And being dead is hard work
and full of retrieving before one can gradually feel a
trace of eternity. -Yes, but the liviing make
the mistake of drawing too sharp a distinction.
Angels (they say) are often unable to distinguish
between moving among the living or the dead.
The eternal torrent whirls all ages along with it,
through both realms forever, and their voices are lost in
its thunderous roar.
In the end the early departed have no longer
need of us. One is gently weaned from things
of this world as a child outgrows the need
of its mother's breast. But we who have need
of those great mysteries, we for whom grief is
so often the source of spiritual growth,
could we exist without them?
Is the legend vain that tells of music's beginning
in the midst of the mourning for Linos?
the daring first sounds of song piercing
the barren numbness, and how in that stunned space
an almost godlike youth suddenly left forever,
and the emptiness felt for the first time
those harmonious vibrations which now enrapture
and comfort and help us.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
Rainer Maria Rilke
29 August 2009
safe
safe.
sobbing softly and alone.
alone and wondering
worrying.
but safe, my heart back
inside of my chest, hidden
by my body, by me.
I used to wear my heart
on my sleeve
until i had to gather back the
broken pieces
and now nothing is the same.
it's different
giving your heart away, losing
it and having it carelessly taken
and
discarded as if i had
another, one to spare.
I will give it to you gladly
willingly -- and all of it
but don't
lose.forget.take it for granted. That's
important.
i've promised myself, now, to
look before i leap. To
see if my heart is -- if i am
--wanted.
How -- to give myself away without
throwing
myself away. Because the difference
is real. That's
important.
But to love is to play the fool and
to love truly.deeply.thoroughly is to
love wastefully;
my heart already in pieces and
in this brokenness it is, perhaps,
more whole.
But not safe. That's
important.
Living is a risky business.
sobbing softly and alone.
alone and wondering
worrying.
but safe, my heart back
inside of my chest, hidden
by my body, by me.
I used to wear my heart
on my sleeve
until i had to gather back the
broken pieces
and now nothing is the same.
it's different
giving your heart away, losing
it and having it carelessly taken
and
discarded as if i had
another, one to spare.
I will give it to you gladly
willingly -- and all of it
but don't
lose.forget.take it for granted. That's
important.
i've promised myself, now, to
look before i leap. To
see if my heart is -- if i am
--wanted.
How -- to give myself away without
throwing
myself away. Because the difference
is real. That's
important.
But to love is to play the fool and
to love truly.deeply.thoroughly is to
love wastefully;
my heart already in pieces and
in this brokenness it is, perhaps,
more whole.
But not safe. That's
important.
Living is a risky business.
23 August 2009
es muss sein
i find that i want to write something deep and profound, something that will make anyone who reads this sit back and sigh and tumble it over in their mind. something that will come back, tap you on the shoulder in a day or so. something that has weight.
have you read "the unbearable lightness of being"? is life unbearably light -- a series of coincidences, of events, situations that have ended just so, intersected with something or someone else so that an encounter, based upon 6 or 7 "maybes" is the event that changes you. unbearably light in that we have no way to make decisions, or rather no way to know what the "best" or "right" decision is as we can only do it once and so never compare different outcomes and so nothing can ever really mean anything. those bird of fortuity falling down upon as like rain.
or is life heavy? an "es muss sein" ("it must be") that grounds us, pulls us down to the earth so that everything we do is because of that "es muss sein" : to be a doctor, to be constantly self-sacrificial. Is there an "it must be" that we each are tethered to, an "it must be" that gives weight and meaning to all we do. does everything we do have a meaning. and as it can it only be done once, that much weightier because if we mess it up the first time, it's screwed up forever.
lightness or weight? and which is the good and which is the bad? are they even any different. the birds turn to chain and i am locked in place, oh to fly.
the most important is what do i believe -- what are those birds of fortuity when, oh the stars aligned, and those 6 coincidences coincided just so and my life was changed forever. and it seems as though coincidence could never have been so good to me, there must be the work, the humor, the smile of a Creator, just for me.
really?
oh to fly.
but lightness can be hard to face. it s so fragile. so insubstantial. is it real? what if one of those 6 events had gone jut even a little differently. what if ... and life is made up of these. the most important, weightiest things rest on a spider's web, fragile thin delicate.
so i take it to heart, those coincidences and make them heavy, lend them weight. and sometimes in so doing it seems as though i'm giving away my weight, my substance so that everything in the world is weightier than me, a moth's cassock burning in the flame. (at this point you need to add 2 things to your reading list: 1 (as already mentioned) The Unbearable Lightness of Being. and 2) Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. Actually antying by Annie Diallard you can get your hands on.)
so the me that i am is defined by my fortuitious birds, out of reach in the air above me, the coincidences lent wieght from myself, surrounding me, entangling me. and me, well i am weightless, floating among my heavy, coincidence strewn, defining moment.
if i am not what i do, who am i? (and now...we'll just do my philosophy class in a blog! ... go grab Garbiel Marcel's Ontological Mystery).
then answer: I AM. oh mystery, when data encroaches upon itself --like when the word you're supposed to be defining shows up in the definition and your thrown nto an eternal loop. I am I am I am I am I AM I. helpful right?
and that's the important thing, to be ok with a little mystery, a little ambiguity -- is it light? is it weight? is it? and what is? and if i am not my birds nor my coincidences nor those weight imbued events and "es muss seins" around me ... when what? not a function. not a routine. not even whatever 3 adjectives you or i might choose to describe ourselves or each other. mystery.
and we are surrounded by it. start with the mystery of yourself, explore it and revel in it. love it.
move on to the mystery of your neighbor.
to the mystery of suffering. of hope in sufferng. of hope.
the mystery of love.
and less abstract and kind of completely different. i am always so fascinated by conversation. one person says something and another listens, says something back, but not the same thing, related but not and somehow with our different minds, our different thought processes and values, ways of expressing ideas emotions thoughts and we can follow each other. we can make some sort of sense of each other. communicate.
crazy.
mystery: "es muss sein"
have you read "the unbearable lightness of being"? is life unbearably light -- a series of coincidences, of events, situations that have ended just so, intersected with something or someone else so that an encounter, based upon 6 or 7 "maybes" is the event that changes you. unbearably light in that we have no way to make decisions, or rather no way to know what the "best" or "right" decision is as we can only do it once and so never compare different outcomes and so nothing can ever really mean anything. those bird of fortuity falling down upon as like rain.
or is life heavy? an "es muss sein" ("it must be") that grounds us, pulls us down to the earth so that everything we do is because of that "es muss sein" : to be a doctor, to be constantly self-sacrificial. Is there an "it must be" that we each are tethered to, an "it must be" that gives weight and meaning to all we do. does everything we do have a meaning. and as it can it only be done once, that much weightier because if we mess it up the first time, it's screwed up forever.
lightness or weight? and which is the good and which is the bad? are they even any different. the birds turn to chain and i am locked in place, oh to fly.
the most important is what do i believe -- what are those birds of fortuity when, oh the stars aligned, and those 6 coincidences coincided just so and my life was changed forever. and it seems as though coincidence could never have been so good to me, there must be the work, the humor, the smile of a Creator, just for me.
really?
oh to fly.
but lightness can be hard to face. it s so fragile. so insubstantial. is it real? what if one of those 6 events had gone jut even a little differently. what if ... and life is made up of these. the most important, weightiest things rest on a spider's web, fragile thin delicate.
so i take it to heart, those coincidences and make them heavy, lend them weight. and sometimes in so doing it seems as though i'm giving away my weight, my substance so that everything in the world is weightier than me, a moth's cassock burning in the flame. (at this point you need to add 2 things to your reading list: 1 (as already mentioned) The Unbearable Lightness of Being. and 2) Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. Actually antying by Annie Diallard you can get your hands on.)
so the me that i am is defined by my fortuitious birds, out of reach in the air above me, the coincidences lent wieght from myself, surrounding me, entangling me. and me, well i am weightless, floating among my heavy, coincidence strewn, defining moment.
if i am not what i do, who am i? (and now...we'll just do my philosophy class in a blog! ... go grab Garbiel Marcel's Ontological Mystery).
then answer: I AM. oh mystery, when data encroaches upon itself --like when the word you're supposed to be defining shows up in the definition and your thrown nto an eternal loop. I am I am I am I am I AM I. helpful right?
and that's the important thing, to be ok with a little mystery, a little ambiguity -- is it light? is it weight? is it? and what is? and if i am not my birds nor my coincidences nor those weight imbued events and "es muss seins" around me ... when what? not a function. not a routine. not even whatever 3 adjectives you or i might choose to describe ourselves or each other. mystery.
and we are surrounded by it. start with the mystery of yourself, explore it and revel in it. love it.
move on to the mystery of your neighbor.
to the mystery of suffering. of hope in sufferng. of hope.
the mystery of love.
and less abstract and kind of completely different. i am always so fascinated by conversation. one person says something and another listens, says something back, but not the same thing, related but not and somehow with our different minds, our different thought processes and values, ways of expressing ideas emotions thoughts and we can follow each other. we can make some sort of sense of each other. communicate.
crazy.
mystery: "es muss sein"
31 July 2009
working definitions
solidarity:
solidarity:
i'm of the opinion that both miriam-webster and the oxford english dictionary missed the mark. if solidarity were based on perfect coincidence or on common interests then it wouldn't be a very shallow term.
if webster had said
"unity (as of a group or class) that produces community of interests, objectives, and standards" and left out the "or is based on..." i would be more inclined to agree.
my working definition:
solidarity
so for me solidarity is one of the strongest forces for the creation of peace.
but a spark, something, is needed to ignite us into the deep understanding that we are all in this together. this happens, where solidarity becomes something real and meaningful, leaps into flame not when we are surrounded by those who hold much in common with us but rather when we are with those who different from us and amidst between and maybe even because of everything that is opposite, the human-ness we all hold in common , those things that we share, are right there. and there is no way to doubt that we need one another.
sol·i·dar·i·ty Listen to the pronunciation of solidarity
Pronunciation:
\ˌsä-lə-ˈda-rə-tē\
Function:
noun
Etymology:
French solidarité, from solidaire characterized by solidarity, from Latin solidum whole sum, from neuter of solidus solid
Date:
1841
: unity (as of a group or class) that produces or is based on community of interests, objectives, and standards
solidarity:
(s{rfa}l{shti}{sm}dær{shti}t{shti}) [ad. F. solidarité, f. solidaire solid: see SOLIDARY a.]
1. a. The fact or quality, on the part of communities, etc., of being perfectly united or at one in some respect, esp. in interests, sympathies, or aspirations; spec. with reference to the aspirations or actions of trade-union members. Also attrib. and Comb.
The French origin of the word is freq. referred to during the period of its introduction into English use. Latterly also the English rendering of Polish Solidarno{sacu}{cacu}, the name of an independent trade-union movement in Poland, registered in September 1980 and officially banned in October 1982.
b. Const. of (mankind, a race, etc.).
c. Const. between or with (others). Also transf.
2. Community or perfect coincidence of (or between) interests.
3. Civil Law. A form of obligation involving joint and several responsibilities or rights.
i'm of the opinion that both miriam-webster and the oxford english dictionary missed the mark. if solidarity were based on perfect coincidence or on common interests then it wouldn't be a very shallow term.
if webster had said
"unity (as of a group or class) that produces community of interests, objectives, and standards" and left out the "or is based on..." i would be more inclined to agree.
my working definition:
solidarity
meaning derived from experience with the spanish "solidaridad" while living working being in El Salvador
the knowledge that we are all in this together. this understanding crosses socio-economic, culutral, religious, and political differences. it is the recognition that each person is a created being with dignity, worth respect, just as we ourselves are. it is namaste.
it is the understanding that not only are we all in this (life living hardship joy struggle discovery) together, but that we couldn't do it alone. that we need each other, that we must be in it together.
this knowledge, understanding, recognition binds us together and in so doing frees us.
so for me solidarity is one of the strongest forces for the creation of peace.
but a spark, something, is needed to ignite us into the deep understanding that we are all in this together. this happens, where solidarity becomes something real and meaningful, leaps into flame not when we are surrounded by those who hold much in common with us but rather when we are with those who different from us and amidst between and maybe even because of everything that is opposite, the human-ness we all hold in common , those things that we share, are right there. and there is no way to doubt that we need one another.
26 July 2009
Harbor by Vienna Teng
We first heard this one of the evenings with Father Mark on our Silent Retreat at the very end of our time in El Salvador.
this song all at once brings me back to peace and sometimes want to cry.
so many visuals, the beautiful landscape of the finca we were staying on. my fellow casa students. sitting in that candle lit room. looking at pictures projected from the kids book "the red tree"
i miss you guys. beyond words.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKDXe0FP2wc
i have an idea: can we all have a dance party? in our locations (so you know some of us may be alone...but not really). we could put together a play list, starting and ending (of course!) with casa abierta? i dunno what do you think?
this song all at once brings me back to peace and sometimes want to cry.
so many visuals, the beautiful landscape of the finca we were staying on. my fellow casa students. sitting in that candle lit room. looking at pictures projected from the kids book "the red tree"
i miss you guys. beyond words.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKDXe0FP2wc
i have an idea: can we all have a dance party? in our locations (so you know some of us may be alone...but not really). we could put together a play list, starting and ending (of course!) with casa abierta? i dunno what do you think?
18 July 2009
the dirty secret
remember forever ago when i wrote about the civil war in El Salvador and US invovlement ?
in 1932 farabundi marti led a peasant uprising against the oppressive government. this uprising was concentrated in the western departments, and primarily in the town of izalco. this uprising resulted in what is known as "La Matanza" ("The Massacre"). Decades later, during the uprisings and civil war of the late 70's and throughout the 80's, it is in this same area, the area who already knew what the government would do, that tried to keep a low profile, to stay in check. throughout the war, funded and trained by the us, the government perpetrated massacres and zone purgings throughout the tiny country. this was their main tactic against the guerrillas because it was what worked. and to dispel any illusions, us policy makers in support of funding the government were aware (of course they were) of the salvadoran's government's strategy. in fact the most cut through death squad of them all, called the Atlacatl Battalion was specially trained in the us.
because the dirty secrete is: the death squads work.
working at peace camp with elementary school students the past week, i keep thinking about this, this dirty secret. i work in one of the "specials" of camp -- the peace room. we try to teach peace and to model it. but how do you model peace when the kids are yelling, maybe pushing, not following instructions, and in general just being rowdy crazy kids -- partly because they are and partly because they want attention.
the dirty secret: they respond to yelling, to being shouted at and put down. they're used to it.
and here's what i concluded: violence (be it death squads or yelling or put downs) work to control. to keep people in line and obedient. but as far as inspiring development (for a country or a child) violence inspires the opposite effect. there is no learning curve or teaching that happens in violence, but rather a diminishment of spirit just exactly where it needs to be built up.
and something crazy too! not always, but sometimes, asking nicely works better! there was one day when the kids were being yelled at : quiet down! sit back! and they listened or ignored as they decided. but, the kids around me, if i would lean over tap them on the shoulder and say "could you sit down please sir?" he would. or just in general, the "if you can hear me clap once, if you can hear me clap twice, ok all eyes and ears on me!" works exceedingly well.
such discoveries. and they are little but somehow the seem soo big. and i'm not gonna lie i'm keeping notes in my head, and trying to figure out how to say " if you can hear me clap once" (si puedan oirme, aplaudan una vez ?) and what the spanish equivalent of "all eyes and ears on me!" would be.
i'm loving my kids at camp. and it feels really special when one of them whom i had been close to last fall comes and finds me again, remembering me now. and at the same time i can't wait to go back to el salvador. and it won't be with the same kids i was with. i'll be 2 hours away from there but. i'm counting.
and are you laughing yet God? 'cause i've got PLANS!! :D lol
in 1932 farabundi marti led a peasant uprising against the oppressive government. this uprising was concentrated in the western departments, and primarily in the town of izalco. this uprising resulted in what is known as "La Matanza" ("The Massacre"). Decades later, during the uprisings and civil war of the late 70's and throughout the 80's, it is in this same area, the area who already knew what the government would do, that tried to keep a low profile, to stay in check. throughout the war, funded and trained by the us, the government perpetrated massacres and zone purgings throughout the tiny country. this was their main tactic against the guerrillas because it was what worked. and to dispel any illusions, us policy makers in support of funding the government were aware (of course they were) of the salvadoran's government's strategy. in fact the most cut through death squad of them all, called the Atlacatl Battalion was specially trained in the us.
because the dirty secrete is: the death squads work.
working at peace camp with elementary school students the past week, i keep thinking about this, this dirty secret. i work in one of the "specials" of camp -- the peace room. we try to teach peace and to model it. but how do you model peace when the kids are yelling, maybe pushing, not following instructions, and in general just being rowdy crazy kids -- partly because they are and partly because they want attention.
the dirty secret: they respond to yelling, to being shouted at and put down. they're used to it.
and here's what i concluded: violence (be it death squads or yelling or put downs) work to control. to keep people in line and obedient. but as far as inspiring development (for a country or a child) violence inspires the opposite effect. there is no learning curve or teaching that happens in violence, but rather a diminishment of spirit just exactly where it needs to be built up.
and something crazy too! not always, but sometimes, asking nicely works better! there was one day when the kids were being yelled at : quiet down! sit back! and they listened or ignored as they decided. but, the kids around me, if i would lean over tap them on the shoulder and say "could you sit down please sir?" he would. or just in general, the "if you can hear me clap once, if you can hear me clap twice, ok all eyes and ears on me!" works exceedingly well.
such discoveries. and they are little but somehow the seem soo big. and i'm not gonna lie i'm keeping notes in my head, and trying to figure out how to say " if you can hear me clap once" (si puedan oirme, aplaudan una vez ?) and what the spanish equivalent of "all eyes and ears on me!" would be.
i'm loving my kids at camp. and it feels really special when one of them whom i had been close to last fall comes and finds me again, remembering me now. and at the same time i can't wait to go back to el salvador. and it won't be with the same kids i was with. i'll be 2 hours away from there but. i'm counting.
and are you laughing yet God? 'cause i've got PLANS!! :D lol
11 July 2009
1 week later.
sunday i returned from the beach with my aunt and cousin and the next day, it all started.
i was reminded of a little me in elementary school spending the weeks leading up to a new school year in tears -- terrified of the beginning of the school year. despite the fact that 1/2 of my class was always the same and i had each teacher for 2 years -- so basically i generally knew what i was getting into and once school started i enjoyed it. i liked learning. i liked my friends. but for those two weeks before... i went to be crying every night.
that's rather how sunday was. what was i getting myself into? such a busy schedule.
part of it was feeling overwhelmed with the pure amount of time i had signed myself up for (camp: about 15 hrs/wk, class: 14 hrs/week, psych lab: 10 hrs/wk, jes res: 6 hrs/wk). but more than that was thinking about camp. about the kids i would be working with. and even more the kids i wouldn't be working with.
blanca. my sweet, eager to learn, know it all
william and his sister Gabi. my impish trouble makers who i feel like are my younger siblings, or maybe cousins. my family at any rate.
roxana and bea and susana.
karina. quiet, unsure, stubborn
jeni. a happy smiler who loves hugs.
jorge. one of the little ones, quiet, angelic smile, who can't follow directions to save his life.
alber. chaos on wheels with a mischievous grin to match. and quite the little host.
ahsley. 3 yrs old. shy and sweet.
lesli. bossy and timid all at once
that's not even all of them. but they're the ones i wanted. and i felt like these other kids, these american kids, who likewise need love and attention and care, but these american kids who aren't "mine" who i don't have the history with. or not the same history at any rate. could i like them? could i let them into my heart? my heart which lately seems most at home and present in memories. being present to now takes a lot more work.
and not to terribly over romanticize el salvador: while i was there it was hard. and the kids were crazy and all over the place. and often i wanted to pull out all of my hair. i wondered what i was doing wrong and how a could do it better. but that it was hard, that those kids and i made that journey together. that they taught me about themselves. that they taught me what they needed. that they showed me me in a new light. that is was hard and we did it together, that makes me miss them all the more.
and i still haven't sent them any post cards or pictures. i still haven't called william and gabi back. i still think about them every day but struggle to do any thing else. and the best i can think is that it would be really admitting that i am not there. but i know that. i know that. so... ?
the kids at camp. well i do have a relationship with them as well. i was there every week fall semester with many of the same kids. and many of the remembered me. and one of the little girls at breakfast one day last week would run over to me and ask for a big hug. run away. and come back for another one a few minutes later. one of the big-trouble-makers, a young boy, remember me. a little girl that would often sit on my lap came to me find me one of the afternoons even though she was in a different group and asked if i could come with her to see my picture. isn't it crazy, it is often these little things, these little gesture, offered by young kids that make me most understand love, that make me feel most loved. because it is so mutual. we need each other. these kids, these american kids, and me. it's different though, as any relationship is different from any other. one of the ways this is most different is i will have a different group of kids every week.
besides camp i have a developmental psych class and a drawing class. i love them both. it's actually been such a good thing to have classes after camp. something to do with myself in the afternoons instead of lazing around, alone, in my room. and engaging -- the psych class is fascinating and the art class is focusing and grounding. at the jesuit residence on campus now and it feels really like time off.
usually fridays i will be in the psych lab but instead this friday i helped out with an extra day or camp. meaning i'm behind on my lab hours, but i can catch up in august so it should be ok.
so all in all, it's been quite the week. i'm really happy with how things have turned out. and feeling free from freaking out about the present, so i'm turning my attention to... what AM i agoing to do in the spring when i am all graduated ?
as sister helen says: Christy, you're a worry wart. and i don't say it to be mean. it's just the way it is.
i was reminded of a little me in elementary school spending the weeks leading up to a new school year in tears -- terrified of the beginning of the school year. despite the fact that 1/2 of my class was always the same and i had each teacher for 2 years -- so basically i generally knew what i was getting into and once school started i enjoyed it. i liked learning. i liked my friends. but for those two weeks before... i went to be crying every night.
that's rather how sunday was. what was i getting myself into? such a busy schedule.
part of it was feeling overwhelmed with the pure amount of time i had signed myself up for (camp: about 15 hrs/wk, class: 14 hrs/week, psych lab: 10 hrs/wk, jes res: 6 hrs/wk). but more than that was thinking about camp. about the kids i would be working with. and even more the kids i wouldn't be working with.
blanca. my sweet, eager to learn, know it all
william and his sister Gabi. my impish trouble makers who i feel like are my younger siblings, or maybe cousins. my family at any rate.
roxana and bea and susana.
karina. quiet, unsure, stubborn
jeni. a happy smiler who loves hugs.
jorge. one of the little ones, quiet, angelic smile, who can't follow directions to save his life.
alber. chaos on wheels with a mischievous grin to match. and quite the little host.
ahsley. 3 yrs old. shy and sweet.
lesli. bossy and timid all at once
that's not even all of them. but they're the ones i wanted. and i felt like these other kids, these american kids, who likewise need love and attention and care, but these american kids who aren't "mine" who i don't have the history with. or not the same history at any rate. could i like them? could i let them into my heart? my heart which lately seems most at home and present in memories. being present to now takes a lot more work.
and not to terribly over romanticize el salvador: while i was there it was hard. and the kids were crazy and all over the place. and often i wanted to pull out all of my hair. i wondered what i was doing wrong and how a could do it better. but that it was hard, that those kids and i made that journey together. that they taught me about themselves. that they taught me what they needed. that they showed me me in a new light. that is was hard and we did it together, that makes me miss them all the more.
and i still haven't sent them any post cards or pictures. i still haven't called william and gabi back. i still think about them every day but struggle to do any thing else. and the best i can think is that it would be really admitting that i am not there. but i know that. i know that. so... ?
the kids at camp. well i do have a relationship with them as well. i was there every week fall semester with many of the same kids. and many of the remembered me. and one of the little girls at breakfast one day last week would run over to me and ask for a big hug. run away. and come back for another one a few minutes later. one of the big-trouble-makers, a young boy, remember me. a little girl that would often sit on my lap came to me find me one of the afternoons even though she was in a different group and asked if i could come with her to see my picture. isn't it crazy, it is often these little things, these little gesture, offered by young kids that make me most understand love, that make me feel most loved. because it is so mutual. we need each other. these kids, these american kids, and me. it's different though, as any relationship is different from any other. one of the ways this is most different is i will have a different group of kids every week.
besides camp i have a developmental psych class and a drawing class. i love them both. it's actually been such a good thing to have classes after camp. something to do with myself in the afternoons instead of lazing around, alone, in my room. and engaging -- the psych class is fascinating and the art class is focusing and grounding. at the jesuit residence on campus now and it feels really like time off.
usually fridays i will be in the psych lab but instead this friday i helped out with an extra day or camp. meaning i'm behind on my lab hours, but i can catch up in august so it should be ok.
so all in all, it's been quite the week. i'm really happy with how things have turned out. and feeling free from freaking out about the present, so i'm turning my attention to... what AM i agoing to do in the spring when i am all graduated ?
as sister helen says: Christy, you're a worry wart. and i don't say it to be mean. it's just the way it is.
23 June 2009
It's Just Life Anyway
After a whirlwind 4 day trip back to colorado for my birthday (yes, here we are another year), I am back in DC and i can't believe my life.
last christmas, before going to el salvador i considered taking a few summer courses and graduating early, but decided against it. I revisited the idea at the end of last week and... i am going for it. and so july is going to be absolutely nuts!
i am a camp counselor at a peace camp july 6 - august 7, which, ironically enough are the same dates as my classes (though one of my class lasts until august 15...) so in 2 weeks (after a week at the beach with my aunt and cousin) this is going to be my life:
7 wake up
730 mass with the sisters
8 -ish jump on bus
9-3 peace camp!
4-530 a psych class
6-8 an art class
fridays i'll continue my work in the psych lab and work on campus (as i have been doing in the evenings) just on a few weekends a month.
ohmygoodness ohmygoodness!
then after aug 7, i will have a week of just my psych class, then a week of just camp (meanwhile writing a final paper for my lab work...) a weekend, an IV leadership retreat and then it will be my last semester.
and perhaps once i graduate (after a brief sprint to europe) i will return to work, WORK, in el salvador.
sometimes i wonder if this is a movie or a book or a dream. can it be real?
it's just life, anyway!
last christmas, before going to el salvador i considered taking a few summer courses and graduating early, but decided against it. I revisited the idea at the end of last week and... i am going for it. and so july is going to be absolutely nuts!
i am a camp counselor at a peace camp july 6 - august 7, which, ironically enough are the same dates as my classes (though one of my class lasts until august 15...) so in 2 weeks (after a week at the beach with my aunt and cousin) this is going to be my life:
7 wake up
730 mass with the sisters
8 -ish jump on bus
9-3 peace camp!
4-530 a psych class
6-8 an art class
fridays i'll continue my work in the psych lab and work on campus (as i have been doing in the evenings) just on a few weekends a month.
ohmygoodness ohmygoodness!
then after aug 7, i will have a week of just my psych class, then a week of just camp (meanwhile writing a final paper for my lab work...) a weekend, an IV leadership retreat and then it will be my last semester.
and perhaps once i graduate (after a brief sprint to europe) i will return to work, WORK, in el salvador.
sometimes i wonder if this is a movie or a book or a dream. can it be real?
it's just life, anyway!
14 June 2009
PEACE
http://www.paxchristiusa.org/the_cpv/winter2009/story5.pdf (page 1)
http://www.paxchristiusa.org/the_cpv/winter2009/story5_part2.pdf (page 2)
this is an amazing article about MJ and Jerry Park. I'm a counselor at one of their peace camps this summer and work at one of their after school programs with MJ during the school year
http://www.paxchristiusa.org/the_cpv/winter2009/story5_part2.pdf (page 2)
this is an amazing article about MJ and Jerry Park. I'm a counselor at one of their peace camps this summer and work at one of their after school programs with MJ during the school year
11 June 2009
1 month minus 2 days
nearly a month back. i still think of my kids every day. william my mischievous energetic 6 year old, marina his impish monkey-loving sister, blanca from my morning class so so lista and dying to learn, i could list all of their names, something little about each of them but that wouldn't be enough.
i have post cards to send to them but haven't been able to do it yet. somehow sending something, the acknowledgment of ... what? that i'm not there any more? that i'm not there any more.
and while at times this breaks my heart, not knowing when i will see these little ones again and that whenever i do it will not be quite the same ever again, that we will never have 1.5 hr twice a week to learn english and play games and laugh and tease and be again. so while at times this breaks my heart, i am also so happy to be back. to come home every day to my little room and breathe in the wood, to talk to beatrice one of the guards in spanish, to be at morning mass with the sisters, to be working at a peace camp, in the jes res, in a psych lab. to have breakfast with em each morning, to be able to easily call and just chat with my family whenever. there are times that i feel so alive i can hardly contain it and that somehow amidst all the mess in my life and in the world around me, that somehow everything is just...right. and then at other times i feel as though i am keeping busy busy busy (even when i don't have to be some where i collapse into my bed and either fall asleep or watch gilmore girls...) so as to not have to think about reflect upon process digest the fact that i went that i came back. and that somehow, everything has to change although everything is the same.
el salvador was hard and difficult and horrible and horrifying. it made me rage it made my sob it made me afraid and at the same time to be able to rage, sob, fear -- there was a freedom in that. it was a journey that amidst the horror, and in all honesty probably party because of it, that was beautiful. to be confronted with the people, my community, in calle real and just the themness of them. to be confronted with myself, with God, with my faith, with my other casa students. to be confronted with and then united with all of these. to live so intense. to live so intentionally. to live so vulnerably. to live in solidarity (oh buzz word...breaking it down a bit: to live in togetherness, in community, each bringing all they are to the table, treating each other as equals...something like that...). to live integrated.
i don't live like that here. the question is how do i live or rather as i am not just the sum of my actions, the question is how do i be here? after living such a life for 4 months.
there are certain things that are hard to talk about being back. my faith and view of God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit for one--all of these were deeply and fundamentally changed by my time with a people who know and live in and live through such pain and hardship with such love and grace and so little bitterness. all of these were deeply and fundamentally changed by my time with casa by the support and encouragement and value we saw and placed in each other. all of these were deeply and fundamentally changed by my time with myself. Above all, God is love and if he is love, we live in him love him know him see him whatever in relationship with one anther. People. forget religion. I am talking about PEOPLE and as we relate with each other, acting out of love and compassion... well understanding and ideas of God in such intense relationships must change.
heretic. probably. blasphemy. very likely. or maybe not? maybe...truth? maybe a setting free of my caged god? An understanding that there is more than I could ever know or ever understand or ever hold on to and being so relieved. So relieved that it almost seems too good to be true. and... yes, fear. and feelings of being alone in this. that no one believes what i believe. that if i mention it or bring it up i will be shot down, maybe even with the words i started this paragraph with. so let me say them first. that my value as a person may be viewed as equivalent to the "rightness" of my theology. and that's crap. because the truth of the matter is none of us really know. no one, gracias a dios, has a complete full knowledge of God or how small he would be.
We have to walk together, lean on one another. to remember, as Father Mark says, "It is a wonderful thing to make a lot of mistakes." To not be afraid of getting it wrong. to risk. to love big. to make outrageous claims and try to follow through. grace is not earned nor is love deserved but both are gifted and the gift has nothing to do with the "rightness" of the faith of the recipient and everything to do with God's love and maybe even our own capacity to love. And in love and relationships it is messy and it isn't pretty and nothing is completely known. but the grace is to take that chance to be wrong. to put my heart on the line.
do you notice the tone as i write...toned down over the past few paragraphs...but one of impatience, defensive. and that needs to go. maybe i'm wrong maybe i'm heading somewhere with this... and the same with who ever i talk to whether or not they agree with me. and didn't i just say it's all about the love ("all you need is love, love") and if in my head things are adversarial even before a conversation begins, thats just me doing in advance what i'm so nervous is going to happen to me. so if i talk with you and God comes up, maybe help me to breath at the beginning of the conversation? i can't do this alone.
Nothing is more practical than finding God,
that is, than falling in love
in a quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with,
what seizes your imagination,
will affect everything.
It will decide what will get you
out of bed in the morning,
what you will do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read, who you know,
what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in love; stay in love,
and it will decide everything.
-Pedro Arupe
i have post cards to send to them but haven't been able to do it yet. somehow sending something, the acknowledgment of ... what? that i'm not there any more? that i'm not there any more.
and while at times this breaks my heart, not knowing when i will see these little ones again and that whenever i do it will not be quite the same ever again, that we will never have 1.5 hr twice a week to learn english and play games and laugh and tease and be again. so while at times this breaks my heart, i am also so happy to be back. to come home every day to my little room and breathe in the wood, to talk to beatrice one of the guards in spanish, to be at morning mass with the sisters, to be working at a peace camp, in the jes res, in a psych lab. to have breakfast with em each morning, to be able to easily call and just chat with my family whenever. there are times that i feel so alive i can hardly contain it and that somehow amidst all the mess in my life and in the world around me, that somehow everything is just...right. and then at other times i feel as though i am keeping busy busy busy (even when i don't have to be some where i collapse into my bed and either fall asleep or watch gilmore girls...) so as to not have to think about reflect upon process digest the fact that i went that i came back. and that somehow, everything has to change although everything is the same.
el salvador was hard and difficult and horrible and horrifying. it made me rage it made my sob it made me afraid and at the same time to be able to rage, sob, fear -- there was a freedom in that. it was a journey that amidst the horror, and in all honesty probably party because of it, that was beautiful. to be confronted with the people, my community, in calle real and just the themness of them. to be confronted with myself, with God, with my faith, with my other casa students. to be confronted with and then united with all of these. to live so intense. to live so intentionally. to live so vulnerably. to live in solidarity (oh buzz word...breaking it down a bit: to live in togetherness, in community, each bringing all they are to the table, treating each other as equals...something like that...). to live integrated.
i don't live like that here. the question is how do i live or rather as i am not just the sum of my actions, the question is how do i be here? after living such a life for 4 months.
there are certain things that are hard to talk about being back. my faith and view of God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit for one--all of these were deeply and fundamentally changed by my time with a people who know and live in and live through such pain and hardship with such love and grace and so little bitterness. all of these were deeply and fundamentally changed by my time with casa by the support and encouragement and value we saw and placed in each other. all of these were deeply and fundamentally changed by my time with myself. Above all, God is love and if he is love, we live in him love him know him see him whatever in relationship with one anther. People. forget religion. I am talking about PEOPLE and as we relate with each other, acting out of love and compassion... well understanding and ideas of God in such intense relationships must change.
heretic. probably. blasphemy. very likely. or maybe not? maybe...truth? maybe a setting free of my caged god? An understanding that there is more than I could ever know or ever understand or ever hold on to and being so relieved. So relieved that it almost seems too good to be true. and... yes, fear. and feelings of being alone in this. that no one believes what i believe. that if i mention it or bring it up i will be shot down, maybe even with the words i started this paragraph with. so let me say them first. that my value as a person may be viewed as equivalent to the "rightness" of my theology. and that's crap. because the truth of the matter is none of us really know. no one, gracias a dios, has a complete full knowledge of God or how small he would be.
We have to walk together, lean on one another. to remember, as Father Mark says, "It is a wonderful thing to make a lot of mistakes." To not be afraid of getting it wrong. to risk. to love big. to make outrageous claims and try to follow through. grace is not earned nor is love deserved but both are gifted and the gift has nothing to do with the "rightness" of the faith of the recipient and everything to do with God's love and maybe even our own capacity to love. And in love and relationships it is messy and it isn't pretty and nothing is completely known. but the grace is to take that chance to be wrong. to put my heart on the line.
do you notice the tone as i write...toned down over the past few paragraphs...but one of impatience, defensive. and that needs to go. maybe i'm wrong maybe i'm heading somewhere with this... and the same with who ever i talk to whether or not they agree with me. and didn't i just say it's all about the love ("all you need is love, love") and if in my head things are adversarial even before a conversation begins, thats just me doing in advance what i'm so nervous is going to happen to me. so if i talk with you and God comes up, maybe help me to breath at the beginning of the conversation? i can't do this alone.
Nothing is more practical than finding God,
that is, than falling in love
in a quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with,
what seizes your imagination,
will affect everything.
It will decide what will get you
out of bed in the morning,
what you will do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read, who you know,
what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in love; stay in love,
and it will decide everything.
-Pedro Arupe
31 May 2009
movie...again
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3g63TWwtq0M
you can watch it big here! ...be sure to click on HQ (high quality)
:)
you can watch it big here! ...be sure to click on HQ (high quality)
:)
Remember. versions 1 and 2
Remember.
Remember what it feels like to
be free,
to lie in the grass while the sun
kisses you, while the wind
caresses you. Knowing you are
created
alive
loved
blessed as you close your eyes, breathing
in all of this life and you
sneeze. Oh! How
human you are, little one. How
wonderfully human
Remember?
Remember what it feels like to
be human?
To curse and hurt and cry and rage
at this, betrayal, pain so deep that
you are lost. lost
lost
lost until you find the courage
to weep
lost until someone holds
you close, weeps with you, your
head on their should and
you know
freedom.
**above is the rewrite as i lost the original, which i just found so here is the first one:
Remember.
Remember what it feels like to
be free.
To lay in the grass while
the sun kisses you, while
the wind caresses you and you,
you know you are
alive
created
loved
blessed as you sneeze into the grass.
How human you are little one,
how
wonderfully human.
Remember.
Remember what if feels like to be human.
To rage and curse and cray
against your insignificance, against
a pain and betrayl so terrible
you are lost. lost.
lost.
lost until someone
calls your name out of
love. out of love calls you
back as you cry into their shoulder
and are freed
Remember what it feels like to
be free,
to lie in the grass while the sun
kisses you, while the wind
caresses you. Knowing you are
created
alive
loved
blessed as you close your eyes, breathing
in all of this life and you
sneeze. Oh! How
human you are, little one. How
wonderfully human
Remember?
Remember what it feels like to
be human?
To curse and hurt and cry and rage
at this, betrayal, pain so deep that
you are lost. lost
lost
lost until you find the courage
to weep
lost until someone holds
you close, weeps with you, your
head on their should and
you know
freedom.
**above is the rewrite as i lost the original, which i just found so here is the first one:
Remember.
Remember what it feels like to
be free.
To lay in the grass while
the sun kisses you, while
the wind caresses you and you,
you know you are
alive
created
loved
blessed as you sneeze into the grass.
How human you are little one,
how
wonderfully human.
Remember.
Remember what if feels like to be human.
To rage and curse and cray
against your insignificance, against
a pain and betrayl so terrible
you are lost. lost.
lost.
lost until someone
calls your name out of
love. out of love calls you
back as you cry into their shoulder
and are freed
29 May 2009
wild geese, carm, campo...home?
carm and me in the campo walking the looong walk home after one of the many easter week masses. over it is a poem by mary oliver, whom i love.
i don't know. coming home is hard. this picture and poem together say something i don't really have the words for
05 May 2009
quilt of liberation
hello!
so this one is less of a blog and more of a request to each of you to take about 5 minutes to be part of my final project for my liberation theology project. The assignment is to in some (creative) way represent how we have been liberated during our time in El Salvador. For me, in so many ways my time here has been a time of Liberation. So many boxes have exploded: my faith, my view of myself have both expanded through my relationships while I have been here and with this expansion and liberation I have been able to be in relationship, in friendships in a more complete way. In particular one way I have been liberated has been how I value myself. I realized here that when I think of myself I often think of all my mistakes, all of the things I could have done better or differently first. I have been learning to see the good in myself... and through that, have been able to see that my thoughts and feelings have more value than I tend to give them, and so I am (learning!) to speak from myself, to see the good in me to value myself enough to then be able to share my uncomforts with others.
so in the end, this really has been a circle, that through my relationships I have been able to see, to value myself, more and so then to be able to be more fully in relationships with the people who have been walking this journey with me.
Each of you reading this has been walking this semester with me and so you too have been a part of the process for me ... though maybe you didn't know it until now! So I would like to invite you to be a part of my project. Here it is:
I am making a quilt of squares, one square for each person who has been part of my liberation. In EL Salvador, this means I give you a square and you get to draw or write your answer...for you my friends back to home, it means please respond to the following in a message or email and I will write (or draw if you tell me to!) on the square for you.
in the center will be: what do you love about yourself? what about you makes you the most you?
on one side will be: please write me a short message about what you love about me
on another side: i will write a short message about what I love about you (and tell you in a replying email so you can know what i put)
much thanks and more love!
christy
so this one is less of a blog and more of a request to each of you to take about 5 minutes to be part of my final project for my liberation theology project. The assignment is to in some (creative) way represent how we have been liberated during our time in El Salvador. For me, in so many ways my time here has been a time of Liberation. So many boxes have exploded: my faith, my view of myself have both expanded through my relationships while I have been here and with this expansion and liberation I have been able to be in relationship, in friendships in a more complete way. In particular one way I have been liberated has been how I value myself. I realized here that when I think of myself I often think of all my mistakes, all of the things I could have done better or differently first. I have been learning to see the good in myself... and through that, have been able to see that my thoughts and feelings have more value than I tend to give them, and so I am (learning!) to speak from myself, to see the good in me to value myself enough to then be able to share my uncomforts with others.
so in the end, this really has been a circle, that through my relationships I have been able to see, to value myself, more and so then to be able to be more fully in relationships with the people who have been walking this journey with me.
Each of you reading this has been walking this semester with me and so you too have been a part of the process for me ... though maybe you didn't know it until now! So I would like to invite you to be a part of my project. Here it is:
I am making a quilt of squares, one square for each person who has been part of my liberation. In EL Salvador, this means I give you a square and you get to draw or write your answer...for you my friends back to home, it means please respond to the following in a message or email and I will write (or draw if you tell me to!) on the square for you.
in the center will be: what do you love about yourself? what about you makes you the most you?
on one side will be: please write me a short message about what you love about me
on another side: i will write a short message about what I love about you (and tell you in a replying email so you can know what i put)
much thanks and more love!
christy
27 April 2009
more campo!
so more stories from campo...
the second day there we played soccer...divided up so first the women playe and then the men so the women woudn´t have pena... it was a blast, and surprisingly (we were expecting to be cruchsed) we tied, empate!
about half way through julia and i taught eduardo how to play crazy eights (or crazy eights). i think we started wednesday night. i lost everysingle game...and we played probably about 10 or something. the next morning we hiked to the top of the mountain. steep hot dusty. but then we just hung out up there for over an hour, played crazy eights some more. and eduardo brought cucumbers (5 rather large ones) lime and salt. so after a couple rounds of losing i asked for a cucumber. i peeled it with his machete and i ate it, holding the whole thing in my hand, putting lime and salt on top, and just taking huge bits out of it...lik it was a banana but not. the rounds we played while i was eating my pepino i won. so for the rest of the week we talked about my lucky pepino and esuardo would say "cris, va perder por que no tiene su pepino" ... you are going to lose because you don´t have your cucumber. and i would respond... nope, i still have it, it is still in me...
and lets just talk about that for a second. and just a preface, we talk about poop a lot here. it is just part of life, and an important part because if you poop normal it´s kind of a big deal... and if you are not, well it´s nice to know everyone else here understands and shares your pain. so anyway, i´m inviting you to http://help.blogger.com/bin/answer.py?answer=42197join this conversation about the poop side of life: here we go. i pooped twice the whole week we were in the campo. once teusday and once sunday morning (easter --such a good gift! .. though a part of me wished i could have waited til i was back to a flushing toilet instead of a latrine... but you know asi es la vida...). so my luckjy pepino was with me wednesday on, though honestly it didn´t do me much good and i my losing streak started up again. and the toilets: they had a special kind of latrine that was two "toilets"so you use obne until the hole beneath it gets filled up, switch to the other, wait a year i think and then mix it up and use it as fertilizar. now the things is that only poop is good for fertilizar, the pee would mess it up. htis means that the "toilets" look pretty funny... i really meant to take a picture, but i never remembered to take the camera with me to the bathroom. but so the latrine is made of cement and the back half goes straight down like a normal porta potty thing (though much less smelly cause you put like sand and lyme in after every time you poop) and then the front half was like a ement cylinder into a plastic black tube that took the pee to another little bit different place... so proabably more than you wanted to know, but part of life. it´s probably funny but just about everytime i use the bathroom (especially when it is actually in a toilet...) i just think of my interreligious dialogue class and how rabbi white said part of one of the traditional jewish prayers thanks God for the ability to go to the bathroom, and i do the same.
and back to easter! holy week traditions here are beautiful. there´s the traditional holy thursday last supper washing of the feet. on friday there are stations of the cross and then a mass, and then an easter vigil on sautrday night. but there´s a huge difference, especially in the campo: everything is at least an hour walk away. 4 cantones (hamlets) celebrate the easter season together and so each canton hosts a different day. carasque where i was this year had palm sunday, which was before we got there, so everything else was a quite a walk. my favorite parts. we did live stations of the cross, walking outside in the hot dust, with a pick-up driving behinf the whole crowd with a megaphone, the readers speaking into wireless mikes at each station. and for each station they had a little poster on a tall stick (i might have a picture... i´ll see) and they would tell the story of the station and then they would prayer these beautiful prayers. the one i remember the best is the one where the strip Jesus of his clothes and they prayed, Lord we too have been stripped of the little we have. OUr jobs, money food... even our human dignity (plus a little mre) Lord Here our prayer... and then the would continue: Lord at times we have taken the dignity and the little of other, Forgive us Lord forgive us. Abnd some of the women who walked an hour to walk an hour and half in the stations were old and would kneel in the dust at each station.
saturday day we spenet at the river. this tradition on hoy saturday to go to water and just have fun. we played and plashed and it was so fun. lydia brought tamales for lunch, chicken tamales. and they were good except they don´t take the bones out of the chicken before putting the chicken in the tamales! and so the inside of one of my tamales was a whole chicken foot! wacala (yuck)! ..i quitely took it out and his it under a rock in the beach. i may be soemthing less than a fan of chicken tamales...
my other favorite part was on the way to the easter village it was dark and it´s el salvador and the mass was supposed to start at 7 so of course we left the house at 7 and were walking and we take a short cut of the road through the trees and brush and walk and walk and walk and walk and we get finally down to the river, a little bit before the bridge and we see these flashlights behind us. it was so beautiful: ileas (who is about 6 and lived in carasque and just shines really...) and matt (a jesuit novice) and several families and we just all met up crossed the bridge, left the road again and are walking single file along the river with four flashlights, some times in silence and soemtimes laughing and sometimes running to catch up, in the night with these four lights bobbing around. and i felt so at peace to be in the procession, and completely unatease thinking that this is what it was like during the war when they had to abandon their homes and take to the mountains to avoid being slaughtered by the army. this is like that... but at the same time this is completely different: we hve light and we can laugh and talk and we are not walking in fear. and so it was peaceful and ghostly. and how ppropriate that those deaths and that fear should be remembered and walked in the night after Christ died. Marcel says that hope only is when despair is possible. the image of those four lights in the safe darkness i can still see when i close my eyes ... and how corny does that sounds, but they talk corny here, and it´s true.
more pictures...
oops... i don´t have my campo pictures on my flash drive so instead i´m going to put up some pictures of my kids and me ! (all of these are my kids except the third from the bottom which is a picture of the youth group that meets every daturday evening... but it´s the room where we have engish class...)
the second day there we played soccer...divided up so first the women playe and then the men so the women woudn´t have pena... it was a blast, and surprisingly (we were expecting to be cruchsed) we tied, empate!
about half way through julia and i taught eduardo how to play crazy eights (or crazy eights). i think we started wednesday night. i lost everysingle game...and we played probably about 10 or something. the next morning we hiked to the top of the mountain. steep hot dusty. but then we just hung out up there for over an hour, played crazy eights some more. and eduardo brought cucumbers (5 rather large ones) lime and salt. so after a couple rounds of losing i asked for a cucumber. i peeled it with his machete and i ate it, holding the whole thing in my hand, putting lime and salt on top, and just taking huge bits out of it...lik it was a banana but not. the rounds we played while i was eating my pepino i won. so for the rest of the week we talked about my lucky pepino and esuardo would say "cris, va perder por que no tiene su pepino" ... you are going to lose because you don´t have your cucumber. and i would respond... nope, i still have it, it is still in me...
and lets just talk about that for a second. and just a preface, we talk about poop a lot here. it is just part of life, and an important part because if you poop normal it´s kind of a big deal... and if you are not, well it´s nice to know everyone else here understands and shares your pain. so anyway, i´m inviting you to http://help.blogger.com/bin/answer.py?answer=42197join this conversation about the poop side of life: here we go. i pooped twice the whole week we were in the campo. once teusday and once sunday morning (easter --such a good gift! .. though a part of me wished i could have waited til i was back to a flushing toilet instead of a latrine... but you know asi es la vida...). so my luckjy pepino was with me wednesday on, though honestly it didn´t do me much good and i my losing streak started up again. and the toilets: they had a special kind of latrine that was two "toilets"so you use obne until the hole beneath it gets filled up, switch to the other, wait a year i think and then mix it up and use it as fertilizar. now the things is that only poop is good for fertilizar, the pee would mess it up. htis means that the "toilets" look pretty funny... i really meant to take a picture, but i never remembered to take the camera with me to the bathroom. but so the latrine is made of cement and the back half goes straight down like a normal porta potty thing (though much less smelly cause you put like sand and lyme in after every time you poop) and then the front half was like a ement cylinder into a plastic black tube that took the pee to another little bit different place... so proabably more than you wanted to know, but part of life. it´s probably funny but just about everytime i use the bathroom (especially when it is actually in a toilet...) i just think of my interreligious dialogue class and how rabbi white said part of one of the traditional jewish prayers thanks God for the ability to go to the bathroom, and i do the same.
and back to easter! holy week traditions here are beautiful. there´s the traditional holy thursday last supper washing of the feet. on friday there are stations of the cross and then a mass, and then an easter vigil on sautrday night. but there´s a huge difference, especially in the campo: everything is at least an hour walk away. 4 cantones (hamlets) celebrate the easter season together and so each canton hosts a different day. carasque where i was this year had palm sunday, which was before we got there, so everything else was a quite a walk. my favorite parts. we did live stations of the cross, walking outside in the hot dust, with a pick-up driving behinf the whole crowd with a megaphone, the readers speaking into wireless mikes at each station. and for each station they had a little poster on a tall stick (i might have a picture... i´ll see) and they would tell the story of the station and then they would prayer these beautiful prayers. the one i remember the best is the one where the strip Jesus of his clothes and they prayed, Lord we too have been stripped of the little we have. OUr jobs, money food... even our human dignity (plus a little mre) Lord Here our prayer... and then the would continue: Lord at times we have taken the dignity and the little of other, Forgive us Lord forgive us. Abnd some of the women who walked an hour to walk an hour and half in the stations were old and would kneel in the dust at each station.
saturday day we spenet at the river. this tradition on hoy saturday to go to water and just have fun. we played and plashed and it was so fun. lydia brought tamales for lunch, chicken tamales. and they were good except they don´t take the bones out of the chicken before putting the chicken in the tamales! and so the inside of one of my tamales was a whole chicken foot! wacala (yuck)! ..i quitely took it out and his it under a rock in the beach. i may be soemthing less than a fan of chicken tamales...
my other favorite part was on the way to the easter village it was dark and it´s el salvador and the mass was supposed to start at 7 so of course we left the house at 7 and were walking and we take a short cut of the road through the trees and brush and walk and walk and walk and walk and we get finally down to the river, a little bit before the bridge and we see these flashlights behind us. it was so beautiful: ileas (who is about 6 and lived in carasque and just shines really...) and matt (a jesuit novice) and several families and we just all met up crossed the bridge, left the road again and are walking single file along the river with four flashlights, some times in silence and soemtimes laughing and sometimes running to catch up, in the night with these four lights bobbing around. and i felt so at peace to be in the procession, and completely unatease thinking that this is what it was like during the war when they had to abandon their homes and take to the mountains to avoid being slaughtered by the army. this is like that... but at the same time this is completely different: we hve light and we can laugh and talk and we are not walking in fear. and so it was peaceful and ghostly. and how ppropriate that those deaths and that fear should be remembered and walked in the night after Christ died. Marcel says that hope only is when despair is possible. the image of those four lights in the safe darkness i can still see when i close my eyes ... and how corny does that sounds, but they talk corny here, and it´s true.
more pictures...
oops... i don´t have my campo pictures on my flash drive so instead i´m going to put up some pictures of my kids and me ! (all of these are my kids except the third from the bottom which is a picture of the youth group that meets every daturday evening... but it´s the room where we have engish class...)
24 April 2009
campo!
finally, here we go: campo! .... and i only have about 10 minutes, so this one may come in installments :)
so i spent holy week in carasquem which is a little cantón (hamlet) outside of arcatao in the department chaletenango. we were right on the border of Honduras. I spent the week with a beautiful family, Lydia and Beto were the parents and Eduardo (20), Hector (19) and Marina (18) were the kids you still ived at home --the have three older siblings who have already moved out.
Lydia had planned a very special dinner for our first night: crab and fish soup. New this is nothing like what you would think. Are you ready? So clearly it still had to be prepared when we arrived and so the first thing I did in "my" house was "help" Lydia get everything ready. This meant tearing the claws off live crabs, then ripping the top part of the shell off, and putting everything in a small wachal (small tupperware-ish plastic circle container). Then, the fish: they were about the size of my thumb and cleaning them entailed slicing open their bellies, squeezing out the guts and fish poo, and throwing them into the same wachal. Now, innocent that I was, I figured some further cleaning was going to take place before all these mariscos (sea food) were put in the soup. Absolutely not. So eating this soup meant fishing around (hehe) in the soup and when you got a fish, the fins had to be removed, and the "espinas" (spines - bones) removed, the head... and scales and the little meat that there was eaten ... and let me tell you i am fairly certain that there were more bones then fish in those little guys! then the crabs...oh cangrejos (like how i´m slipping in all this spanish? just getting you guys ready for when i come back! lol)... the bones were everywhere and the meat was in hidden pockets... i got a little bit and then i got tired of getting crab shell in my teeth and i kind of stopped... oh my goodness. and Lydia was so cute and soo excited to be having crab.
and i have to be running so just a hint of what is to come (and a reminder to me...;)
-ochos locos y pepinos
-the bathroom
-soccer
-the river
-chicken tamales
-the hike
-mangos and pineapple
- motorcycles!
oh and some pictures here too...
a picture of the mountains
the girls (us girls and carasque girls) playing soccer and just hte beautiful view the mountains behind
my "brother" eduardo and I after he taught me how to ride his brother´s motorcycle!
julia (the other woman from my program who stayed with me) and hector in front of the sunsetting behind the mountains or our walk back home one evening.
and our family´s chicken house --they had a chicken farm and 700 chickens are in that little house!
so i spent holy week in carasquem which is a little cantón (hamlet) outside of arcatao in the department chaletenango. we were right on the border of Honduras. I spent the week with a beautiful family, Lydia and Beto were the parents and Eduardo (20), Hector (19) and Marina (18) were the kids you still ived at home --the have three older siblings who have already moved out.
Lydia had planned a very special dinner for our first night: crab and fish soup. New this is nothing like what you would think. Are you ready? So clearly it still had to be prepared when we arrived and so the first thing I did in "my" house was "help" Lydia get everything ready. This meant tearing the claws off live crabs, then ripping the top part of the shell off, and putting everything in a small wachal (small tupperware-ish plastic circle container). Then, the fish: they were about the size of my thumb and cleaning them entailed slicing open their bellies, squeezing out the guts and fish poo, and throwing them into the same wachal. Now, innocent that I was, I figured some further cleaning was going to take place before all these mariscos (sea food) were put in the soup. Absolutely not. So eating this soup meant fishing around (hehe) in the soup and when you got a fish, the fins had to be removed, and the "espinas" (spines - bones) removed, the head... and scales and the little meat that there was eaten ... and let me tell you i am fairly certain that there were more bones then fish in those little guys! then the crabs...oh cangrejos (like how i´m slipping in all this spanish? just getting you guys ready for when i come back! lol)... the bones were everywhere and the meat was in hidden pockets... i got a little bit and then i got tired of getting crab shell in my teeth and i kind of stopped... oh my goodness. and Lydia was so cute and soo excited to be having crab.
and i have to be running so just a hint of what is to come (and a reminder to me...;)
-ochos locos y pepinos
-the bathroom
-soccer
-the river
-chicken tamales
-the hike
-mangos and pineapple
- motorcycles!
oh and some pictures here too...
a picture of the mountains
the girls (us girls and carasque girls) playing soccer and just hte beautiful view the mountains behind
my "brother" eduardo and I after he taught me how to ride his brother´s motorcycle!
julia (the other woman from my program who stayed with me) and hector in front of the sunsetting behind the mountains or our walk back home one evening.
and our family´s chicken house --they had a chicken farm and 700 chickens are in that little house!
17 April 2009
blood and roses...and not the campo
What do I remember? The first night, week, moments: images rise up behind my eyes.
Everything is the same and everything is different. This has been my refrain for the past what? Month, I guess. But what is the same? And what is different? My heart tightens even as I try to give it a name.
I am different. I am different. I have a nose ring and a new dress. I wear tang tops without an over shirt. I have orange and blue yarn around my wrist. Sometimes Spanish comes easier than English, and I find myself saying “chivo” or “va, pues” without thinking. I dream in Spanish and sometimes my fingers have a hard time finding quotation marks on a regular US keyboard … and all of these are real, but there are a million things in my appearance, speech, mannerisms that are ever so much the same. And these visible concrete things are symptoms rather than the root anyway.
What is at the heart then? What is at the heart of my hearts? Right now, in this moment: tears. Tears and this bittersweet ache that wants to shy away from naming this because to name it is to know it, to name my love for my samedifferent self and to own that love, with one month left, one month before returning to the states where everything is the same and everything is different, but it is a samedifference that will make me more the same and more different. Sometimes I wonder which way is down in DC, where are my feet? What are they grounded on? Do my samedifferent feet have a home in my life of last semester? Of course not. That was last semester and neither my feet nor my heart can return. And that is scary. And relieving.
When my mom and sister were here, we went to the beach. My sister and I stood side my side in the waves. With each gentle crash, our feet were buried deeper and deeper and deeper until one crash, one not so gentle crash, knocked me into stepping back, my feet away from their home, sand and water filling in the space which had seconds before held my feet. I couldn’t go back. And in a new place, new sand and new water, I stood. And again my feet put down roots and I laughed. I laughed with the waves while watching them more carefully, so my feet would not be knocked back again from their comfy, though rocky, home.
I can see the next wave coming, and it is giant. I am in its shadow, and in this wave the sun is shining through and swimming in the wave are sharks, shining in the sun as the blue water sparkles. And it is coming towards me and it is beautiful and terrifying. There are 30 of us here now, our feet in the sand, holding hands, grips ever tightening, in love and in pain, some with eyes on the sun, the waves, the sharks, our feet, each other. All of us knowing the wave is coming. And we will be crashed over, our feet uprooted, forced to find a new home on a beach that was once wholly known, but now where the sand and water and sun are both familiar and strange, our previous foot homes long ago filled with water and sand, though still visible by an soft shadow.
And that big wave, the one with the sharks, beautiful and terrible, casts its shadow over the fish at our feet, the birds, the smaller waves that crash before us, our gripped-tight hands. And it is here where the secrete lies: do we close our eyes, ignore the shadows and bury ourselves in the sweet singing of the birds, or bury ourselves in the overwhelming sight of the shadow, the darkness, the terror? Or de we see the fish, hear the birds, and the people laughing, while we stand in the shadow. Do we let the hands holding the knots in our hearts stay? Do we see the beauty and the terror? The shadow and those other waves? And those sharks shining in the light of that grand wave.
Fear and suffering are part of life, side by side with hope and joy. Now. Right now: do we live in a world that allows both to live together, as hands clasped one to the other, fingers intertwined? Or do we live with minds and eyes and hearts half open, in realities where suffering and joy are mutually exclusive?
Irony. That cat of blood and roses. The crucifixion and resurrection, suffering and joy, tears and laughter.
And I yell and I scream, my feet in the sand/hands gripped tight/eyes on those sharks, that I am more.
I claim my fears and my pain and my tears and my hurt. I claim my struggle to feel all of these things.
I clam that I am the daughter of my parents – and the smile that that brings and also the fear it implies.
I claim my depression and even those desires I have had to stop existing.
But these here I do not claim alone because alone they is false, and if these fingers are not intertwined with those of the other hand, I reject this as lies, because to be true there must be more.
And so I claim my hopes and my joys and my laughter and love. I claim my faith and my strengths: the goodness that is in me even when I forget.
I claim my desire to love and be loved and the hidden fear that I don’t deserve it. and so I claim too my friends, my family, the people I love and the people who love me, proving my fear a lie – and I claim myself as a created being and so made to love and be loved.
I claim my heart, the way it leads me to love, the way it overflows sometimes at the drop of a leaf, a crash of a wave, a hug, a kiss, a wink.
I claim that I am the daughter of my parents and my love for them and theirs for me.
I claim my sister as my friend and sister and confidant, there in laughter and tears.
I claim my fire for life, my wonder at being alive. The incredible fact that i AM.
I claim myself. A pilgrim, a lover, a beloved, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a woman, alive.
And all of it, my hopes dreams fears and pains, all of it leads me to smile and sigh, and hold my heart, my broken dirty dusty beating wonderfully alive heart, as that bittersweet ache grows and grows and yearns. As the waves and sharks, the sun, beautiful and terrible, come closer. Eyes wide open and watching, heart beating waiting and loving: loving and knowing and so seeing where I am. And so being scared that I will break when it changes. Eyes and heart seeing and loving where I am going –this summer next year and the next. And so being afraid for I am fragile yet, and I am the same and I am different –everything is the same and everything is different. And this samedifferent me, my samedifferent love, I worry that it, that I, will not be enough. That my words will not make sense, my heart will not be seen, and my samedifferentness will not be –in me nor in the world – or at least won’t be together, that it will be the same or it will be different and so it will be a lie, those fingers untangled; that the irony of cat of blood and roses can exist only in Annie Dillard, only in my Thursday morning philosophy class. #(but I know this isn´t true so I end in the hope of a return and of something completely new -- this same different hope)
#(but to end here, to end in fear without hope...then those fingers have already begun to loosen at my inability to live in irony. and so i hope and i dream and the life and the love and the friendships i envision (and not just envision, but live in) when i return...i hope that has it´s roots here and now in my own liberation, in the growth in relationships countries away, and my faith that God is good, my new understanding that i am loved (my God myself my people) and that I love. Therese says there is no greater vocation than the vocation to love...and love is here there everywhere...in el salvador colorado dc...and that´s just the beginning of the list!)
#clearly ive been having trouble ending this one... so it´s a choose your own adventure type of close :)
Everything is the same and everything is different. This has been my refrain for the past what? Month, I guess. But what is the same? And what is different? My heart tightens even as I try to give it a name.
I am different. I am different. I have a nose ring and a new dress. I wear tang tops without an over shirt. I have orange and blue yarn around my wrist. Sometimes Spanish comes easier than English, and I find myself saying “chivo” or “va, pues” without thinking. I dream in Spanish and sometimes my fingers have a hard time finding quotation marks on a regular US keyboard … and all of these are real, but there are a million things in my appearance, speech, mannerisms that are ever so much the same. And these visible concrete things are symptoms rather than the root anyway.
What is at the heart then? What is at the heart of my hearts? Right now, in this moment: tears. Tears and this bittersweet ache that wants to shy away from naming this because to name it is to know it, to name my love for my samedifferent self and to own that love, with one month left, one month before returning to the states where everything is the same and everything is different, but it is a samedifference that will make me more the same and more different. Sometimes I wonder which way is down in DC, where are my feet? What are they grounded on? Do my samedifferent feet have a home in my life of last semester? Of course not. That was last semester and neither my feet nor my heart can return. And that is scary. And relieving.
When my mom and sister were here, we went to the beach. My sister and I stood side my side in the waves. With each gentle crash, our feet were buried deeper and deeper and deeper until one crash, one not so gentle crash, knocked me into stepping back, my feet away from their home, sand and water filling in the space which had seconds before held my feet. I couldn’t go back. And in a new place, new sand and new water, I stood. And again my feet put down roots and I laughed. I laughed with the waves while watching them more carefully, so my feet would not be knocked back again from their comfy, though rocky, home.
I can see the next wave coming, and it is giant. I am in its shadow, and in this wave the sun is shining through and swimming in the wave are sharks, shining in the sun as the blue water sparkles. And it is coming towards me and it is beautiful and terrifying. There are 30 of us here now, our feet in the sand, holding hands, grips ever tightening, in love and in pain, some with eyes on the sun, the waves, the sharks, our feet, each other. All of us knowing the wave is coming. And we will be crashed over, our feet uprooted, forced to find a new home on a beach that was once wholly known, but now where the sand and water and sun are both familiar and strange, our previous foot homes long ago filled with water and sand, though still visible by an soft shadow.
And that big wave, the one with the sharks, beautiful and terrible, casts its shadow over the fish at our feet, the birds, the smaller waves that crash before us, our gripped-tight hands. And it is here where the secrete lies: do we close our eyes, ignore the shadows and bury ourselves in the sweet singing of the birds, or bury ourselves in the overwhelming sight of the shadow, the darkness, the terror? Or de we see the fish, hear the birds, and the people laughing, while we stand in the shadow. Do we let the hands holding the knots in our hearts stay? Do we see the beauty and the terror? The shadow and those other waves? And those sharks shining in the light of that grand wave.
Fear and suffering are part of life, side by side with hope and joy. Now. Right now: do we live in a world that allows both to live together, as hands clasped one to the other, fingers intertwined? Or do we live with minds and eyes and hearts half open, in realities where suffering and joy are mutually exclusive?
Irony. That cat of blood and roses. The crucifixion and resurrection, suffering and joy, tears and laughter.
And I yell and I scream, my feet in the sand/hands gripped tight/eyes on those sharks, that I am more.
I claim my fears and my pain and my tears and my hurt. I claim my struggle to feel all of these things.
I clam that I am the daughter of my parents – and the smile that that brings and also the fear it implies.
I claim my depression and even those desires I have had to stop existing.
But these here I do not claim alone because alone they is false, and if these fingers are not intertwined with those of the other hand, I reject this as lies, because to be true there must be more.
And so I claim my hopes and my joys and my laughter and love. I claim my faith and my strengths: the goodness that is in me even when I forget.
I claim my desire to love and be loved and the hidden fear that I don’t deserve it. and so I claim too my friends, my family, the people I love and the people who love me, proving my fear a lie – and I claim myself as a created being and so made to love and be loved.
I claim my heart, the way it leads me to love, the way it overflows sometimes at the drop of a leaf, a crash of a wave, a hug, a kiss, a wink.
I claim that I am the daughter of my parents and my love for them and theirs for me.
I claim my sister as my friend and sister and confidant, there in laughter and tears.
I claim my fire for life, my wonder at being alive. The incredible fact that i AM.
I claim myself. A pilgrim, a lover, a beloved, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a woman, alive.
And all of it, my hopes dreams fears and pains, all of it leads me to smile and sigh, and hold my heart, my broken dirty dusty beating wonderfully alive heart, as that bittersweet ache grows and grows and yearns. As the waves and sharks, the sun, beautiful and terrible, come closer. Eyes wide open and watching, heart beating waiting and loving: loving and knowing and so seeing where I am. And so being scared that I will break when it changes. Eyes and heart seeing and loving where I am going –this summer next year and the next. And so being afraid for I am fragile yet, and I am the same and I am different –everything is the same and everything is different. And this samedifferent me, my samedifferent love, I worry that it, that I, will not be enough. That my words will not make sense, my heart will not be seen, and my samedifferentness will not be –in me nor in the world – or at least won’t be together, that it will be the same or it will be different and so it will be a lie, those fingers untangled; that the irony of cat of blood and roses can exist only in Annie Dillard, only in my Thursday morning philosophy class. #(but I know this isn´t true so I end in the hope of a return and of something completely new -- this same different hope)
#(but to end here, to end in fear without hope...then those fingers have already begun to loosen at my inability to live in irony. and so i hope and i dream and the life and the love and the friendships i envision (and not just envision, but live in) when i return...i hope that has it´s roots here and now in my own liberation, in the growth in relationships countries away, and my faith that God is good, my new understanding that i am loved (my God myself my people) and that I love. Therese says there is no greater vocation than the vocation to love...and love is here there everywhere...in el salvador colorado dc...and that´s just the beginning of the list!)
#clearly ive been having trouble ending this one... so it´s a choose your own adventure type of close :)
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