one of the things i´ve been most blown away by here has been the salvadorans ability to to suffer, to feel pain, and at the same time have such joy hope faith. suffering here isn´t something you just get through, trap in a box, stuff in the back of your closet, and move on in life. they come back to it and they share it. i keep thinking of one of my first days here and we were visiting all of the praxis sites. the last one we went to one this day was Mariona. At Mariona there is this woman named Oti. She was secretary to Archbishop Romero (whoah!) and also worked with Sister Silvia, one of the four church women who were killed by a death squad in 1981. So she´s telling us this story, about her life, working with Romero, about Silivia and there comes apart when she just starts crying and needs her friend Lolo to finish the story. Can you imagine going back to that pain, to share it, to still cry and be unable to finish a story after more than 20 years yet still tell it? there is something in that ability to come back to and to share hardship and I think it is that, particularly viewing suffering as transformational as part of life as ... something not to be forgotten .. and this leads to the sharing, to be real with others, to be able to say that i am not perfect, i don´t have all my shit together, i´m real and i hurt ... and to know in response that that hurt and imperfection will accepted (not tried to fix, gloss over) but accepted and shared, carried together. wow. hard. but what a way to live!
i cry a lot here. sob is really more like it. so hard that i have a headache even still the next day. i cry for the kids in my class -- for their hard situations, especially at home. i cry for myself. as i am learning to deal with conflict. as i am learning to embrace myself (and even take out that box in the back of my closet). somedays i am more angry and hurt at myself for my imperfections, screw ups, letting others down than others. some days i can love my self with all of those imperfections.
there is a quote that says " if you have come to help me you are wasting your time. if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, let us work together "
it is true, MY LIBERATION IS BOUND UP WITH YOURS ... with the girls in my class, with the families in calle real, with the other us students i am studying with... and with yours, each one of you who is reading this. i feel that here as i hurt for me because i am hurting for my girls, my students, my little ones. and we have different things chaining us, but they are different chains bound together. and so together we embrace both the sorrow and the joy and learn to be together. learn to love. learn to be imperfect.
25 February 2009
13 February 2009
can you see it?
so one of my classes is liberation theology -- i thought i was just going to sit in on it, but being in class makes me want to be in class, write the papers, doing the presentations, i want to have to think and ponder and question what we are talking about outside of class. i want to be fully engaged. so i am taking 6 classes. crazy crazy! ... i probably won´t get credit for spanish conversation, but that´s ok. i decided a long time ago that i was here for me, not for school, and i am doing just what i need to, just what i want to.
so liberation theology. we read boff (or i didn´t, but we talked about him today) and his "methodology of the theology of liberation." one of the things he said was that most critcisms of this theology are on a POITCAL rather than THEOLOGICAL basis. that makes me trust it even more. i think Christ was a radical, he was revolutionary. he made people uncomfortable by being with the poor, by inspiring them to beable to see themselves, to be healed, to be whole. what a gift, when you have nothing to all opf a sudden have yourself! and he was criticized, he made the romans (ie Herod for one!) scared. and i see that in liberation theology: a chance for a voice previously unheard, unspoken, unkown maybe even to those speaking. sobrino calls liberation the theology an eruption of the poor.
an eruption of the poor. can you see it? it makes me want to laugh and cry all at once for the beauty of it -- and the beauty as we talked about in philosophy yestery which is beauty as the untelligible truth, beauty which encompasses the good and the bad, the shit and the joy, a bueaty that is beautiful because it is real and doesn´t try to hide or ignore or cover up, as kitsch does, that hard stuff that shit happens. that´s the beauty i seein el salvador and that´s the language i´m learning to use to be able to express it -- and i´m laughing because the word in this whole paragraph that i use the least is shit: i am learning the language of shit. and there´s something ironic about that, because it´s alos the language of beauty.
anyway, there´s a difference between liberation theology and what we normally think of as theology. theology is the study of God, right. so theologians are generally concerned with the question of God -- who is He? what are His attributes?what does faith in God look like? now the itneresting things, to ask all of these questions there´s an assumption: and we are the assumption, we are the given because WE are asking, WE are question God and His being. And that´s good. So these questions takes ourselves as the given, trying to figure out God and work down from God to where we live. So we are the given and God is the question. Liberation theology starts at the other end. It asks (we ask!) "is this the way life is supposed to be?" which is to say, what does God think of this reality, what does God think of the way life is--is this the way God wants it to be? It takes God for granted, by asking what God sees, God is the give. GOD IS THE GIVEN and WE, HERE, NOW, this REALITY is the QUESTION. can you see it? can you feel the difference that makes just by changing the who si questioning? changing the given? And this God and faith as the given, this questioning our reality, erupted from the poor. it erupted from the people who hold in the center of their heart their faith. These are the theologians. Jesus is here ---right? cause in´t that what he did?
It starts here. It starts in this reality. It starts in you and me, in our hearts on the given of God, to erupt and to change. to tilt, just a little, the way i see the world,
and it didn´t end with the eruption, the eruptioin gave birth, and this is boff´s metaphor, to a tree. at the roots of the tree are the people, under ground, hidden (after all we don´t always want to see poverty) which has grown, erupted into this tree, the trunk of which is are the pastoral team --lay people, nuns, priests, organizers really. and the top, the leaves are the theologians, writing and recording and incorporating, giving words, to this new theology in the theological tradition. in the middle, the trunk people sister peggy calls the great ciommunicators, creative speakers, working with the people, spreading awareness to others, helping the poor and the thologians connect. i like this, but it´s so vertical and it perpetuates the structure of the poor being on the bottom. we drew our own and ours was a person (the poor) with a pen (the pastors) wring in a book (the theologians). this image i love. liberation theology comes from the heart of the poele, they are the source, they are the authors, writing their story, with the help of the pastor, the theologians as the record, for others to see. in the book we drew dancing stick figures because there is joy in this movement. and a person writing, in the US you take it for granted write? NBD no big deal...but here, so many are illterate, many don´t go to school (though education is compulsory but not enforced) because they can´t afford supplies. so part of this image too is the WHOA of someone writing.
so liberation theology. we read boff (or i didn´t, but we talked about him today) and his "methodology of the theology of liberation." one of the things he said was that most critcisms of this theology are on a POITCAL rather than THEOLOGICAL basis. that makes me trust it even more. i think Christ was a radical, he was revolutionary. he made people uncomfortable by being with the poor, by inspiring them to beable to see themselves, to be healed, to be whole. what a gift, when you have nothing to all opf a sudden have yourself! and he was criticized, he made the romans (ie Herod for one!) scared. and i see that in liberation theology: a chance for a voice previously unheard, unspoken, unkown maybe even to those speaking. sobrino calls liberation the theology an eruption of the poor.
an eruption of the poor. can you see it? it makes me want to laugh and cry all at once for the beauty of it -- and the beauty as we talked about in philosophy yestery which is beauty as the untelligible truth, beauty which encompasses the good and the bad, the shit and the joy, a bueaty that is beautiful because it is real and doesn´t try to hide or ignore or cover up, as kitsch does, that hard stuff that shit happens. that´s the beauty i seein el salvador and that´s the language i´m learning to use to be able to express it -- and i´m laughing because the word in this whole paragraph that i use the least is shit: i am learning the language of shit. and there´s something ironic about that, because it´s alos the language of beauty.
anyway, there´s a difference between liberation theology and what we normally think of as theology. theology is the study of God, right. so theologians are generally concerned with the question of God -- who is He? what are His attributes?what does faith in God look like? now the itneresting things, to ask all of these questions there´s an assumption: and we are the assumption, we are the given because WE are asking, WE are question God and His being. And that´s good. So these questions takes ourselves as the given, trying to figure out God and work down from God to where we live. So we are the given and God is the question. Liberation theology starts at the other end. It asks (we ask!) "is this the way life is supposed to be?" which is to say, what does God think of this reality, what does God think of the way life is--is this the way God wants it to be? It takes God for granted, by asking what God sees, God is the give. GOD IS THE GIVEN and WE, HERE, NOW, this REALITY is the QUESTION. can you see it? can you feel the difference that makes just by changing the who si questioning? changing the given? And this God and faith as the given, this questioning our reality, erupted from the poor. it erupted from the people who hold in the center of their heart their faith. These are the theologians. Jesus is here ---right? cause in´t that what he did?
It starts here. It starts in this reality. It starts in you and me, in our hearts on the given of God, to erupt and to change. to tilt, just a little, the way i see the world,
and it didn´t end with the eruption, the eruptioin gave birth, and this is boff´s metaphor, to a tree. at the roots of the tree are the people, under ground, hidden (after all we don´t always want to see poverty) which has grown, erupted into this tree, the trunk of which is are the pastoral team --lay people, nuns, priests, organizers really. and the top, the leaves are the theologians, writing and recording and incorporating, giving words, to this new theology in the theological tradition. in the middle, the trunk people sister peggy calls the great ciommunicators, creative speakers, working with the people, spreading awareness to others, helping the poor and the thologians connect. i like this, but it´s so vertical and it perpetuates the structure of the poor being on the bottom. we drew our own and ours was a person (the poor) with a pen (the pastors) wring in a book (the theologians). this image i love. liberation theology comes from the heart of the poele, they are the source, they are the authors, writing their story, with the help of the pastor, the theologians as the record, for others to see. in the book we drew dancing stick figures because there is joy in this movement. and a person writing, in the US you take it for granted write? NBD no big deal...but here, so many are illterate, many don´t go to school (though education is compulsory but not enforced) because they can´t afford supplies. so part of this image too is the WHOA of someone writing.
06 February 2009
La playa and Calle Real crumbs
Finishing the beach story:
Later, after lunch, I thought about going for a walk, but ended up just going a little down the beach when I looked at the sand, shimmering from the water, with mountain ridges from where different waves had stopped...and squiggles! little curvy lines that when I looked closer saw were being formed by little tiny neon snails, gliding over the wet sad. I walked into the water and started playing with my shadow, rhythmically being hit by small waves, and the combination of that and the sun the water my shadow the snails a sand dollar i had found earlier and watched bury itself back in the sand the immensity...i was overflowed and just started laughing. this crazy gringa laughing by herself in the sun in the waters of la playa coasta del sol.
I have been thinking about this moment at the beach and it reminds me of a moment in the beginning freshman year when i was walking near Walsh and a leaf just gently fell down from a tree into my arms. In my philosphy class we have been talking about contingency: chance versus¨"not just one of those tings" (see the beginning of Magnolia). That leaf was not just one of those things, it was a personal gift to me from...the universe, God, the tree... It was that same joy at the beach and I was overflowed.
I had another moment like this recently, though a much quieter, softer moment in that I could contain it within me. It was at Calle Real, which is my praxis site where I teach English and just am with people Mondays and Wednesdays... and as I write this I can think of several, so here are some Calle Real crumbs:
We have a morning class and an afternoon class. The morning class started with 6 people and over the past 4 classes has been steadily getting bigger so that now we are at 14 or 15, at rather different levels, so Carmela and I (Pedro is downstairs with the 3 and 4 year olds in the morning) divided in up, and divided it between boys and girls cause they has been dividing themselves along those lines and seem to learn work pay attention however you want to say it really well in those groups. So I had the girls. And I love them to pieces already. I have Roxana, Joselines, Karina, Jenni, Linda, and Blanca. Karina is the youngest and thi is her first time in an English class, Roxana is the oldest. And we reviewed and then just played games to review some more (we know to like in present tense, to be, some nature words, some action verb infinitives, a few places, numbers (1-20), starting to learn body parts) and after a few of the games I had, Jenni came over and, speaking in very quick spanish, started to explain a game to me which I did not understand, but she set up, told me what I needed to do, and led us in another game reviewing a couple words. I love the energy the enthusiasm and just the ownership these girls are taking. And after class, one of the pequenitos from downstairs with pedro, Behil, asked us to coe to his house and hang out. It turns out Behil, Albert (another pequenito who loves to talk and tell stories), Jenni, and Roxana are all siblings. And Joselines and Linda are sisters and neighbors to the first four. So we played volleyball, I got dragged around by Albert, who got upset if I paid attention to anyone else, and carried a huge jug (i have no idea how much water but about 2.5 feet tall 2 feet diameter) of water on my head up a hill...so hard! as soon as I took it off I felt like my head was a helium balloon it felt so light!
Another small crumb: my afternoon class. This one has probably around 25 kids and the level even more spread out, so we divided them between the three of us, and I have the youngest. I think 5 of them are 6 or 7 (William, Lesli, Marina, and a differnt Jenni, and Mildardo) and 2 are maybe around 10: Jairo and Karla. This is my crazy class, just nuts. Class lasts an 1.5 and I´m thinking of letting them out early, but for the beginning of class, whether it be a game or a worksheet or jsut learning something, they get really into it, have fun, often will interrupt me to say something in little kid quite spanish directed at the floor while tapping me, which I will need them to repeat at least 3 times in order to undrstand, usually to find it doesn´s have anything to do with anything, but they just had an urgent need to talk to me... Or they´ll be really into it and burst out with the request for "un juego! " then 45 minutes to an hour in, everyone will ask to use the bathroom get some water...the first day we took a break and that was not a good plan. The bathroom door is frosted glass and everyone gathered around peering it and the one inside, and then after I had them line up fuirther away a looong strand of toilet paper came out from under the door and we could not come back together... so now water and bathroom is before and after out class. A few classes ago we played hopskotch to practice numbers. great fun... but slightly chaos inducing and I had to be firm and a little harsh with a few of them and I felt really bad... just often am not at all sure what it means to be a teacher, how much chaos is ok and how much is just straight up chaos... but those same kids who I was strict with stayed after class, talking with me, helping me peel the masking tape from hopskotch off the floor. Even when they are crazy and I´m crazy and feel like pulling out my hair... these kids are so fantastic and I am so happy to be here!!
Later, after lunch, I thought about going for a walk, but ended up just going a little down the beach when I looked at the sand, shimmering from the water, with mountain ridges from where different waves had stopped...and squiggles! little curvy lines that when I looked closer saw were being formed by little tiny neon snails, gliding over the wet sad. I walked into the water and started playing with my shadow, rhythmically being hit by small waves, and the combination of that and the sun the water my shadow the snails a sand dollar i had found earlier and watched bury itself back in the sand the immensity...i was overflowed and just started laughing. this crazy gringa laughing by herself in the sun in the waters of la playa coasta del sol.
I have been thinking about this moment at the beach and it reminds me of a moment in the beginning freshman year when i was walking near Walsh and a leaf just gently fell down from a tree into my arms. In my philosphy class we have been talking about contingency: chance versus¨"not just one of those tings" (see the beginning of Magnolia). That leaf was not just one of those things, it was a personal gift to me from...the universe, God, the tree... It was that same joy at the beach and I was overflowed.
I had another moment like this recently, though a much quieter, softer moment in that I could contain it within me. It was at Calle Real, which is my praxis site where I teach English and just am with people Mondays and Wednesdays... and as I write this I can think of several, so here are some Calle Real crumbs:
We have a morning class and an afternoon class. The morning class started with 6 people and over the past 4 classes has been steadily getting bigger so that now we are at 14 or 15, at rather different levels, so Carmela and I (Pedro is downstairs with the 3 and 4 year olds in the morning) divided in up, and divided it between boys and girls cause they has been dividing themselves along those lines and seem to learn work pay attention however you want to say it really well in those groups. So I had the girls. And I love them to pieces already. I have Roxana, Joselines, Karina, Jenni, Linda, and Blanca. Karina is the youngest and thi is her first time in an English class, Roxana is the oldest. And we reviewed and then just played games to review some more (we know to like in present tense, to be, some nature words, some action verb infinitives, a few places, numbers (1-20), starting to learn body parts) and after a few of the games I had, Jenni came over and, speaking in very quick spanish, started to explain a game to me which I did not understand, but she set up, told me what I needed to do, and led us in another game reviewing a couple words. I love the energy the enthusiasm and just the ownership these girls are taking. And after class, one of the pequenitos from downstairs with pedro, Behil, asked us to coe to his house and hang out. It turns out Behil, Albert (another pequenito who loves to talk and tell stories), Jenni, and Roxana are all siblings. And Joselines and Linda are sisters and neighbors to the first four. So we played volleyball, I got dragged around by Albert, who got upset if I paid attention to anyone else, and carried a huge jug (i have no idea how much water but about 2.5 feet tall 2 feet diameter) of water on my head up a hill...so hard! as soon as I took it off I felt like my head was a helium balloon it felt so light!
Another small crumb: my afternoon class. This one has probably around 25 kids and the level even more spread out, so we divided them between the three of us, and I have the youngest. I think 5 of them are 6 or 7 (William, Lesli, Marina, and a differnt Jenni, and Mildardo) and 2 are maybe around 10: Jairo and Karla. This is my crazy class, just nuts. Class lasts an 1.5 and I´m thinking of letting them out early, but for the beginning of class, whether it be a game or a worksheet or jsut learning something, they get really into it, have fun, often will interrupt me to say something in little kid quite spanish directed at the floor while tapping me, which I will need them to repeat at least 3 times in order to undrstand, usually to find it doesn´s have anything to do with anything, but they just had an urgent need to talk to me... Or they´ll be really into it and burst out with the request for "un juego! " then 45 minutes to an hour in, everyone will ask to use the bathroom get some water...the first day we took a break and that was not a good plan. The bathroom door is frosted glass and everyone gathered around peering it and the one inside, and then after I had them line up fuirther away a looong strand of toilet paper came out from under the door and we could not come back together... so now water and bathroom is before and after out class. A few classes ago we played hopskotch to practice numbers. great fun... but slightly chaos inducing and I had to be firm and a little harsh with a few of them and I felt really bad... just often am not at all sure what it means to be a teacher, how much chaos is ok and how much is just straight up chaos... but those same kids who I was strict with stayed after class, talking with me, helping me peel the masking tape from hopskotch off the floor. Even when they are crazy and I´m crazy and feel like pulling out my hair... these kids are so fantastic and I am so happy to be here!!
05 February 2009
The First Crumb: A la playa (at the beach)
This past Saturday we went to the beach, la playa costa del sol (Coast of the Sun Beach), about an hour away from where I´m living. At first I wasn´t sure if I wanted to go, feeling crazy overwhelmed with work--for classes, my praxis site, and feeling a dreadful need to organize my room and just myself. My main plan involved reading some of my homework, which I realized I could do just as well at the beach.
We arrived, and there was a monkey a cage right by where the bus parked, swig around making monkey noises. crazy. It was a private beach, with a large area covered with tables and chairs and a pool. And then..the sand, very hot, white, a little knoll, and the ocean, forever. We dropped our stuff at a table, and went immediately to the water, some running, some walking, most in groups, a few alone. I was alone and just walked slowly down, not sure if I wanted to get wet until I stepped into the water. It was so warm. I was sold. After spalshing for a bit, most people got out to sun bath, to play in the pool or i don't know what else...for me it was time to read, but I love the water, I felt so at home, and didn't want to leave, so I grabbed my book, and laid on my stomach in the wet sand where the waves washed gently around me and read. It was gentle except for when I slightly large wave would come and wash my feet up above my head, spinning me so i was no longer facing the shore. or at the very end, after which i decided to relocate, when I was tumbled, ended up somersaulting, spluttering water, and sat up laughing. Lightness and weight.
..tbc
We arrived, and there was a monkey a cage right by where the bus parked, swig around making monkey noises. crazy. It was a private beach, with a large area covered with tables and chairs and a pool. And then..the sand, very hot, white, a little knoll, and the ocean, forever. We dropped our stuff at a table, and went immediately to the water, some running, some walking, most in groups, a few alone. I was alone and just walked slowly down, not sure if I wanted to get wet until I stepped into the water. It was so warm. I was sold. After spalshing for a bit, most people got out to sun bath, to play in the pool or i don't know what else...for me it was time to read, but I love the water, I felt so at home, and didn't want to leave, so I grabbed my book, and laid on my stomach in the wet sand where the waves washed gently around me and read. It was gentle except for when I slightly large wave would come and wash my feet up above my head, spinning me so i was no longer facing the shore. or at the very end, after which i decided to relocate, when I was tumbled, ended up somersaulting, spluttering water, and sat up laughing. Lightness and weight.
..tbc
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