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

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.

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"

working definitions

solidarity:

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.

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?

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

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.