I spent some of Christmas singing with my mother. Songs I learned last year in Peru (Navidad, oh Navidad. Vive siempre en mi pensar.... Que bueno es saber que pronto nacerá....Brilla estrella.....). Songs I've heard my mother sing (Belén, campanas de Belén....). And new ones I didn't know out of an old song book my mother brought with her from Nicaragua when she first arrived in the US, given to her my her younger sister, Nhordia.
It was beautiful.
A song I wish to share with you, not from the Christmas song section, but from the Cantos Nicaraguenses. Think about it. =)
Cristo Ya Nacio en Palacaguina
En el cerro de la Iguana
montaña adentro de las Segovias
se vió un resplandor estraño
como una aurora de media noche,
los maizales se prendieron, los
quiebra-plata se estremecieron
llovió luz por Moyogalpa, por
Telpaneca y por Chichigalpa.
Cristo ya nació en Palacaguina
de Chepe Pavón y una tal María,
ella va a planchar muy
humildemente, la ropa que goza la
mujer hermosa del terrateniente.
Las gentes para mirarlo se
rejuntaron en un molote, el
Indio Joaquin le trajo quesillo
en trenza de Nagarote. En vez
de oro, incienso y mirra, le
regalaron – según yo supe –
cajetitas de Diriomo y hasta
buñuelos de Guadalupe.
Jose el pobre jornalero se
mecateya todito el día, lo
tiene con reumatismo el tequio
de la carpintería.
María sueña que el hijo igual
que el tata sea carpintero,
pero el cipotillo piensa:
"mañana quiero ser Guerrillero."
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
A prayer
I just found a prayer card that was given to me by my mother when I left Los Angeles for Milwaukee. I would like to share it with you. It is remarkably accurate to how I have been blessed in Milwaukee thus far. Mamita, what did you know that I didn't? =)
May God bless you with discomfort with easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships so that you will live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression and exploitation of people so that you will work for justice, equity and peace.
May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation and war so that you will reach out your hand to comfort them and be with them to hold their pain.
And may God bless you with the foolishness to think that you can make a difference in the world so that you will do the things which others tell you cannot be done.
Amen.
Friday, December 16, 2011
To everyone who is worried about me
I've recently had a whole slew of people contact me in one way or another genuinely worried about how I am doing. Calls from friends, emails from acquaintances, that kind of thing. It's fascinating to me because I'm really doing fine, well even. Do I have a lot of stuff I'm working through? YES. Do I have a lot of healing to do and be? Definitely. Am I struggling with the oppression of white supremacy and racism? Of course. But I'm doing well. I've been through much worse. My capacity to hold myself, to hold my feelings lovingly and to be in the discomfort, and to stand in the fire and not shrink back has not been overwhelmed. Don't get me wrong, it's tough and I'm tired. But I'm good and I'm nowhere near giving up. I am blessed to have support, too. (Thank you, Marcia, Shelly, Yvette, James, Peggy, Tia, Ramsey and all the prayers that I know my mother sends my way)
What is really fascinating to me, though, is that people really started to worry about me when I started talking about white people. I can't know what is going on for each individual person, but I think there is a general trend happening here. Here's my shot at it.
People in this country are generally terrified of talking about racism, white people in particular, but for people of color too. For people of color it brings up trauma and it makes us uncomfortable because we have been taught to take care of white people. For white people I think it brings up white guilt for being an oppressor and a lot of confusion and fear (I'm sure its more complicated than that, though). Even the term 'white people' makes people uncomfortable because white people are hardly ever identified by their race. There are African Americans, Asian Americans, Latino Americans, Native Americans.... and Americans? Why don't we call them White Americans, or European Americans? Because white people are thought of as "normal' and "raceless" and by the same token everyone else is "abnormal. " Let the discomfort commence.
So I think part of what is happening is that people read my blog, feel uncomfortable for a variety of reasons, and then project that discomfort on me and think there is something wrong with me, or something overwhelming me. I've seen this happen before, and the last time it happened there were some severe consequences for me. So, to those of you who are worried about me, I offer you some questions to ask yourself to really dig deeply into what is going on in you when you read me write about white supremacy. Sit with the questions for a while. Feel where they manifest in your body. Hold them. Understand them. And be gentle but urgent with yourself.
What words make you uncomfortable? Why do those words make you uncomfortable?
What on my blog triggers you? Why does it trigger you? What feelings come up?
What are you resisting?
(White people) Do you feel guilty? Why do you feel guilty? What do you do with that guilt? How can you move away from acting out of guilt?
(People of Color) Do you feel a need to protect white people? Why? What's that about for you?
When do you talk about race? If you don't, why not? What is uncomfortable about it for you?
What is your experience with race in the United States? Where do you and your ancestors come from? In what ways have you benefited from systemic racism and/or in what ways have you suffered from it?
None of us chose what race to be born into. None of us. But ALL of us, Brown, Black, Red, Yellow and White, inherited the baggage of our race. And we ALL must choose to heal.
So come with me now.
What is really fascinating to me, though, is that people really started to worry about me when I started talking about white people. I can't know what is going on for each individual person, but I think there is a general trend happening here. Here's my shot at it.
People in this country are generally terrified of talking about racism, white people in particular, but for people of color too. For people of color it brings up trauma and it makes us uncomfortable because we have been taught to take care of white people. For white people I think it brings up white guilt for being an oppressor and a lot of confusion and fear (I'm sure its more complicated than that, though). Even the term 'white people' makes people uncomfortable because white people are hardly ever identified by their race. There are African Americans, Asian Americans, Latino Americans, Native Americans.... and Americans? Why don't we call them White Americans, or European Americans? Because white people are thought of as "normal' and "raceless" and by the same token everyone else is "abnormal. " Let the discomfort commence.
So I think part of what is happening is that people read my blog, feel uncomfortable for a variety of reasons, and then project that discomfort on me and think there is something wrong with me, or something overwhelming me. I've seen this happen before, and the last time it happened there were some severe consequences for me. So, to those of you who are worried about me, I offer you some questions to ask yourself to really dig deeply into what is going on in you when you read me write about white supremacy. Sit with the questions for a while. Feel where they manifest in your body. Hold them. Understand them. And be gentle but urgent with yourself.
What words make you uncomfortable? Why do those words make you uncomfortable?
What on my blog triggers you? Why does it trigger you? What feelings come up?
What are you resisting?
(White people) Do you feel guilty? Why do you feel guilty? What do you do with that guilt? How can you move away from acting out of guilt?
(People of Color) Do you feel a need to protect white people? Why? What's that about for you?
When do you talk about race? If you don't, why not? What is uncomfortable about it for you?
What is your experience with race in the United States? Where do you and your ancestors come from? In what ways have you benefited from systemic racism and/or in what ways have you suffered from it?
None of us chose what race to be born into. None of us. But ALL of us, Brown, Black, Red, Yellow and White, inherited the baggage of our race. And we ALL must choose to heal.
So come with me now.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
if
If you stop and check yourself, find the worms that digest your food, cut yourself open to get them out but you didn't even know they were there.
If you stop and crack your thumbs and see your face in your feet. Dig heels into necks contorted by ignorance.
Your power has given you ignorance.
My face reminds you of what you hate about yourself. My presence scares you because you do not know who you are.
You have never had to.
If I dig my nails into my stomach and cut myself open until the worms fall out. You fed them to me. And I ate them of my own will. I had to eat something. I had to survive. I didn't know that to survive I had to medicate my soul until it stayed within the lines.
The worms. At least I know they are there. I can dig into my gut and release the maggots before they eat me from the inside out. No wonder my gut is inflamed.
The taste of worms is so familiar I don't notice.
I'm starting to notice.
And choosing to notice.
And choosing to dig my nails into my depths and releasing the worms that eat my gut alive. And choosing to flax oil fiber fruit my insides until they might choose to heal.
If you fill a room with worms, is it possible to breathe without breathing them in? They crawl into my nostrils and I choke.
I'm okay with the mess but not with the hatred.
None of us chose this exactly. It was given to us.
If you stop and crack your thumbs and see your face in your feet. Dig heels into necks contorted by ignorance.
Your power has given you ignorance.
My face reminds you of what you hate about yourself. My presence scares you because you do not know who you are.
You have never had to.
If I dig my nails into my stomach and cut myself open until the worms fall out. You fed them to me. And I ate them of my own will. I had to eat something. I had to survive. I didn't know that to survive I had to medicate my soul until it stayed within the lines.
The worms. At least I know they are there. I can dig into my gut and release the maggots before they eat me from the inside out. No wonder my gut is inflamed.
The taste of worms is so familiar I don't notice.
I'm starting to notice.
And choosing to notice.
And choosing to dig my nails into my depths and releasing the worms that eat my gut alive. And choosing to flax oil fiber fruit my insides until they might choose to heal.
If you fill a room with worms, is it possible to breathe without breathing them in? They crawl into my nostrils and I choke.
I'm okay with the mess but not with the hatred.
None of us chose this exactly. It was given to us.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Change of address
Just letting you all know that my address is changing. We are moving from our current location to a new house.
2534 W. Highland Ave.,
Milwaukee, WI 53233
As always my most updated address will be on the right hand column on this blog, so you can just look it up here anytime.
Peace and light to you.
2534 W. Highland Ave.,
Milwaukee, WI 53233
As always my most updated address will be on the right hand column on this blog, so you can just look it up here anytime.
Peace and light to you.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
I am on a journey
I've begun a journey I will not be able to explain.
It started last Wednesday, Nov. 16th, the anniversary of my Mama Mia's death. I chose that day for a reason, to ask mi abuelita to be with me in the journey of healing. I went to the lake to talk to her, to talk to my God, and ask for guidance. Mandame las mariposas.
I've known I've needed deeper healing for a while now. Healing from betrayal, from loss, from discrimination, from white supremacy, from racism, from rejection, from macro and microaggressions, from my own debilitating privilege. Healing to integration, to vulnerability, to stand in my own truth, to live in my power. To be and let be.
I am letting you know that I am on this journey because I intend to spend so much time on my own healing that I wont have much space for other things. To spend so much time on my own growth and healing that I have no time to criticize others.
I've been thinking about it as disengaging from others, but I am realizing slowly that it is not disengaging at all, but rather re-engaging in a different way. It just looks much different that what I am used to community looking like, and I am okay with that. I must leave behind old ways of slavery and risk my identity, risk the world crumbling around me, risk healing, risk transformation.
Como las mariposas.
So if I don't answer your call, don't end up calling you back, only say hi and nothing else, walk away in the middle, fail to follow conventions, or seem to disappear, it's not you, it's me. I'm working on myself now.
En el capullo.
It started last Wednesday, Nov. 16th, the anniversary of my Mama Mia's death. I chose that day for a reason, to ask mi abuelita to be with me in the journey of healing. I went to the lake to talk to her, to talk to my God, and ask for guidance. Mandame las mariposas.
I've known I've needed deeper healing for a while now. Healing from betrayal, from loss, from discrimination, from white supremacy, from racism, from rejection, from macro and microaggressions, from my own debilitating privilege. Healing to integration, to vulnerability, to stand in my own truth, to live in my power. To be and let be.
I am letting you know that I am on this journey because I intend to spend so much time on my own healing that I wont have much space for other things. To spend so much time on my own growth and healing that I have no time to criticize others.
I've been thinking about it as disengaging from others, but I am realizing slowly that it is not disengaging at all, but rather re-engaging in a different way. It just looks much different that what I am used to community looking like, and I am okay with that. I must leave behind old ways of slavery and risk my identity, risk the world crumbling around me, risk healing, risk transformation.
Como las mariposas.
So if I don't answer your call, don't end up calling you back, only say hi and nothing else, walk away in the middle, fail to follow conventions, or seem to disappear, it's not you, it's me. I'm working on myself now.
En el capullo.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Playback
I was looking back to what I've written on this blog while I've been in Milwaukee, and I can completely understand why I've focused so ardently on white supremacy. Quite honestly its a daily (hourly, minutely, second-ly) experience and has taken up quite a lot of my energy. My eyes have started to twitch. A sure sign of deep struggle.
What I have failed to share with you is the opposite of white supremacy. What is possible when human beings are connected to themselves, their spirit, and to the spirits of others. What is possible when we deeply see each other as whole beings. When people are not afraid of touch, of holding a hand, connecting. When we are willing to be with pain and not move to fade it or fix it (-Oriah Mountain Dreamer). When we integrate the whole of who we are instead of chopping life up.
Let me digress slightly here and tell you what I mean by that: Chopping life up. This is a deeply imbedded belief in the US that is a result of white supremacy and capitalism. It is as deep as calculus. It is the understanding that in order to understand mystery, we can chop it into pieces. In calculus, its how we do limits, taking something infinite and defining it by chopping it into a series. And then the limit is how we define derivatives and it keeps going and going. We chop up everything. We chop the day into 24 hours and then create rigid color-coded schedules. We chop our lives into public and personal life. We are supposed to leave behind family and the depths of ourselves when we do our jobs. We chop down whole forests, send people to their deaths to extract fossil fuels from the earth. We let doctors chop up our bodies (literally). And then we wonder why there was no healing, no joy in our jobs, no new life growing from the ground. We wonder why our backs ache, stomachs hurt, why our air is dirty and we cannot breathe. Maybe its because we chopped out our souls, too.
So, what is it like when we don't do that? WHAT?!?! What the hell are you talking about, Jess?!?
Well, at some level I don't really know, but I know one example of a place where it is okay for me to be me, whoever and whatever I might be in that moment, with the whole of who I am that is a joyful mess of a person, an interdependent individual and spirit. A place where I can hold pain, joy, questions, confusion, peace, silence, or a hell of a lot of noise. That place is Playback Theatre, Milwaukee.
Put simply, Playback is a form of improvisational theatre in which we share stories with each other and we see those stories played back to us artistically. It is a place of outrageous laughter, profound healing, listening and honoring the story teller, and being with what is.
Now that I have written that, I don't know if there is much more I can tell you about Playback. You just have to see it. Be it. Live it.
I guess what I will say is that I am finding that one story liberates another. Her story about high school triggers my own, my story of oppression connects to another, his dilemma reminds me of hers, her laughter brings out my joy. When we can tell the truths of our lives openly, when we can tell our stories with the whole of our hearts, we open up sacred space for one another and we create community.
That's all I will say about Playback for now. You will hear more later.
I am blessed. Blessed and broken.
What I have failed to share with you is the opposite of white supremacy. What is possible when human beings are connected to themselves, their spirit, and to the spirits of others. What is possible when we deeply see each other as whole beings. When people are not afraid of touch, of holding a hand, connecting. When we are willing to be with pain and not move to fade it or fix it (-Oriah Mountain Dreamer). When we integrate the whole of who we are instead of chopping life up.
Let me digress slightly here and tell you what I mean by that: Chopping life up. This is a deeply imbedded belief in the US that is a result of white supremacy and capitalism. It is as deep as calculus. It is the understanding that in order to understand mystery, we can chop it into pieces. In calculus, its how we do limits, taking something infinite and defining it by chopping it into a series. And then the limit is how we define derivatives and it keeps going and going. We chop up everything. We chop the day into 24 hours and then create rigid color-coded schedules. We chop our lives into public and personal life. We are supposed to leave behind family and the depths of ourselves when we do our jobs. We chop down whole forests, send people to their deaths to extract fossil fuels from the earth. We let doctors chop up our bodies (literally). And then we wonder why there was no healing, no joy in our jobs, no new life growing from the ground. We wonder why our backs ache, stomachs hurt, why our air is dirty and we cannot breathe. Maybe its because we chopped out our souls, too.
So, what is it like when we don't do that? WHAT?!?! What the hell are you talking about, Jess?!?
Well, at some level I don't really know, but I know one example of a place where it is okay for me to be me, whoever and whatever I might be in that moment, with the whole of who I am that is a joyful mess of a person, an interdependent individual and spirit. A place where I can hold pain, joy, questions, confusion, peace, silence, or a hell of a lot of noise. That place is Playback Theatre, Milwaukee.
Put simply, Playback is a form of improvisational theatre in which we share stories with each other and we see those stories played back to us artistically. It is a place of outrageous laughter, profound healing, listening and honoring the story teller, and being with what is.
Now that I have written that, I don't know if there is much more I can tell you about Playback. You just have to see it. Be it. Live it.
I guess what I will say is that I am finding that one story liberates another. Her story about high school triggers my own, my story of oppression connects to another, his dilemma reminds me of hers, her laughter brings out my joy. When we can tell the truths of our lives openly, when we can tell our stories with the whole of our hearts, we open up sacred space for one another and we create community.
That's all I will say about Playback for now. You will hear more later.
I am blessed. Blessed and broken.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
The truth is.
The truth is I am discouraged.
The truth is I don't know how to heal this deeply.
The truth is I wonder if anything will change.
The truth is I think things are always changing.
The truth is I hate myself sometimes.
The truth is that's not true.
The truth is I don't like affirmation about myself.
The truth is the reason I don't like affirmation is because I don't think its honest.
The truth is the reason I don't think its honest is because I've been told I'm not enough.
The truth is my mantra is that breathing is enough to be loved.
The truth is I make myself shrink.
The truth is I am outraged.
The truth is I'm stuck.
The truth is my leg hurts.
The truth is my eyes are twitching.
The truth is I have access to my tears.
The truth is I know how to feel.
The truth is I know how to fall.
The truth is I know what it means to hold the hand of a person of color.
The truth is I know what it is like for people to cry with me.
The truth is I know what it is like to cry with another's pain.
The truth is I have heard stories.
The truth is people keep telling me their stories.
The truth is I can't stand white people right now.
The truth is I can only stand some white people, a few at a time.
The truth is I got hardcore judged today for not speaking fluent spanish.
The truth is I am rejected on both sides.
The truth is describing myself as latina is a cop out.
The truth is describing myself as nicaraguense is a cop out.
The truth is describing myself as spanish is a cop out.
The truth is describing myself as nica, spanish, american is a cop out.
The truth is, I don't know what isn't a cop out.
The truth is I am a joyful mess.
The truth is I miss myself.
The truth is I wonder sometimes if I miss old ways of slavery in me.
The truth is I am pissed off at the world.
The truth is.
The truth is I don't know how to heal this deeply.
The truth is I wonder if anything will change.
The truth is I think things are always changing.
The truth is I hate myself sometimes.
The truth is that's not true.
The truth is I don't like affirmation about myself.
The truth is the reason I don't like affirmation is because I don't think its honest.
The truth is the reason I don't think its honest is because I've been told I'm not enough.
The truth is my mantra is that breathing is enough to be loved.
The truth is I make myself shrink.
The truth is I am outraged.
The truth is I'm stuck.
The truth is my leg hurts.
The truth is my eyes are twitching.
The truth is I have access to my tears.
The truth is I know how to feel.
The truth is I know how to fall.
The truth is I know what it means to hold the hand of a person of color.
The truth is I know what it is like for people to cry with me.
The truth is I know what it is like to cry with another's pain.
The truth is I have heard stories.
The truth is people keep telling me their stories.
The truth is I can't stand white people right now.
The truth is I can only stand some white people, a few at a time.
The truth is I got hardcore judged today for not speaking fluent spanish.
The truth is I am rejected on both sides.
The truth is describing myself as latina is a cop out.
The truth is describing myself as nicaraguense is a cop out.
The truth is describing myself as spanish is a cop out.
The truth is describing myself as nica, spanish, american is a cop out.
The truth is, I don't know what isn't a cop out.
The truth is I am a joyful mess.
The truth is I miss myself.
The truth is I wonder sometimes if I miss old ways of slavery in me.
The truth is I am pissed off at the world.
The truth is.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
An Affirmation of the Spirit
Another moment for meditation. I've heard this before, I think from John Wooden's book that I read in high school. But I've changed some parts of it. Behold:
An Affirmation of the Spirit.
Let me be so deeply rooted that nothing can disturb my peace of mind.
Let me look on the sunny side of everything, and make my peace come true.
Let me think only of good, work only for good, and expect only good.
Let me be just as enthusiastic about the blessings of others as I am about my own.
Let me forgive the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater light of the future.
Let me be a joyful being at all times, and have a smile ready for every living creature I meet.
Let me give so much time to the growth and healing of myself that I have no time to criticize others.
Let me be too grounded for worry, too centered for anger, too alive for fear, and too joyful to permit the presence of trouble.
Let me live in the faith that the world is on my side as long as I am true to the Spirit that is within me.
Mama Mia, te quiero mucho. Te mando mi amor, mi luz, mi paz, mis oraciones y bendiciones. Siempre estas conmigo, yo se y yo te siento.
An Affirmation of the Spirit.
Let me be so deeply rooted that nothing can disturb my peace of mind.
Let me look on the sunny side of everything, and make my peace come true.
Let me think only of good, work only for good, and expect only good.
Let me be just as enthusiastic about the blessings of others as I am about my own.
Let me forgive the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater light of the future.
Let me be a joyful being at all times, and have a smile ready for every living creature I meet.
Let me give so much time to the growth and healing of myself that I have no time to criticize others.
Let me be too grounded for worry, too centered for anger, too alive for fear, and too joyful to permit the presence of trouble.
Let me live in the faith that the world is on my side as long as I am true to the Spirit that is within me.
Mama Mia, te quiero mucho. Te mando mi amor, mi luz, mi paz, mis oraciones y bendiciones. Siempre estas conmigo, yo se y yo te siento.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Someone asked...
Someone asked me what I was up to in Milwaukee, what it's like, that kind of thing. I've edited and deepened my response to post here:
Hmm, Milwaukee. I would say it is a place of great oppression. It is one of the most segregated cities in the US. There are literally lines that split the city (for example, west of Holton is almost all African American, East is white. South is Latino). I'm working at a hospital called Columbia St. Mary's. It is located near the richest people who are literally all white in the city overlooking the lake. It's utterly disgusting to me that the richest people can walk to the biggest hospital I've ever seen, while the poor have to travel miles and miles to get here. Also almost everyone employed by the hospital is white, or at least almost everyone who has an office (the valet parking workers are primarily people of color. They are also some of the few people who consistently say hi to me. Most people in the office try to look away when I say hi).
I'm working on some of the projects/clinics the community services department has out in the communities. What I like about it is they put these clinics out where the people need it-- in neighborhoods and out of churches and into schools. I also really like being around other human beings. What I don't like is that there are so few, and while they do some limited good, it's not enough. Really, these programs are all bandaids for a deeper system of oppression that makes people sick. Plus, it allows the hospital to point to something "good" its doing in the world while maintaining its own system that continues to help and give priviledge to white people and rich people and ignore the rest. Even when their promotional materials are "inclusive," they are only inclusive insofar as the patients might be some people of color, but the doctors never are. The heirarchy is maintained, white supremacy prevails. The Black Panthers would call what I do a survival program, something that is needed because people are dying from oppression, but its only a bandaid, "survival pending revolution."
I've realized that the reason the infant mortality rate is so high for African Americans in Milwaukee (it is higher here than in 65 other countries) is because of the stress of racism. The oppression enters the body of the mother and makes the child vulnerable, and they die. Or their development is affected, etc. That's also the reason why diabetes and hypertension is so prevelent. So the bandaid programs I'm working for give prenatal and parenting education to black women, a program called Blanket of Love. What is great about that program is that it is completely tailored to what the women need, it brings them together for a meal when they are very often isolated, and provides some life skills and guidance for the women. I'm working on curriculum for classes to bring Blanket of Love into the public schools for pregnant teens in school, but I'm trying to maintain the lack of structure that allows for space for what is real and needed and wanted from the girls.
I'm working at a dental clinic and teaching kids how to brush their teeth (I got that gig because I ONCE taught kids how to brush their teeth in Mexico... resumes are so stupid). What they haven't been telling me, or telling the kids, though, is that you actually don't need toothpaste when you brush your teeth, you can reverse cavaties and root canals (though I don't yet know how). I don't think the toothpaste companies would be too happy is we told people they don't actually need toothpaste, nor will the dentists who make a living off of drilling your teeth.
I make appointments for people to come and get their blood pressure checked and get their free meds. That might seem like a good thing, but think of it this way: Human beings consciously created a system that benefits some and diminishes and dehumanizes others. Then within that system, those oppressors made it so that the oppressed are dependent on them for survival programs. Then the oppressor gives medication to the oppressed to "fix" the problem that they oppressor told the oppressed was "their fault" for creating, for not eating right, not exercising right, smoking too much, etc. The oppressor group makes money off of the medication, and can assuage some of their guilt, but they fail to heal anyone. Fail to provide the deep kind of healing needed after personal and generational trauma that makes the oppressed sick. Fail to provide the deep kind of healing needed for the oppressors who do not even notice that they are oppressors.
I hope for the day that a hospital as big as Columbia St. Mary's and with this many resources will be built in the poorest parts of town, and the outlying clinics will be for the those who don't need it as much and are able to get to the hospital whenever they want in their grand cars. More deeply, I hope for the day that a hospital will actually offer healing, not medication. Even more deeply, I pray for the guidance of how I can make that day now.
I'm stretching as a human being as I begin to oppose these systems of oppression. I do not yet know how to stand in my own truth. The real work is in me. There is this huge Occupy Wallstreet thing happening, but Wallstreet doesn't need healing, I need to heal the Wallstreet inside of me (-Adrienne Brown). I need to create sacred space inside myself. I think the rhetoric I have heard more often than not is this question of how we use our privilege for good, but I think that's not the real question to ask. The real question is which privileges do I use for good (the privileges that everyone ought to have, like shelter, clean water, and food), and which privileges do I give up (like having a car, having cash in my pocket?) to others in order to create more equality. More often than not, I should be giving up any privilege that I have rather than using them, because when I use them, I keep the same system of oppression and I steal people's voices away. So I must work on myself, both to heal from oppression and heal from the oppressor in me.
And here is the thing. People of color are never allowed to forget racism. The poor are never allowed to forget poverty. A function of privilege is that it allows you to "take a break" and forget about it for a while if I choose. So I must choose to think about poverty as much as the poor have to, if I am to be their ally and work for connection and love. I am no longer working for justice. Too often justice is still a part of the system. I am working for humanity, connection, and kinship.
What's more, I've been awakened to all this oppression while here in Milwaukee, but it happens everywhere. White supremacy is a global problem. I grew up in it, and so did you. It is a conveyor belt of oppression that we are all on, and unless we are running in the opposite direction, we are oppressors. You cannot be neutral on a moving train (-Howard Zinn).
That's what's been on my heart and mind and in my bones lately. And always.
Hmm, Milwaukee. I would say it is a place of great oppression. It is one of the most segregated cities in the US. There are literally lines that split the city (for example, west of Holton is almost all African American, East is white. South is Latino). I'm working at a hospital called Columbia St. Mary's. It is located near the richest people who are literally all white in the city overlooking the lake. It's utterly disgusting to me that the richest people can walk to the biggest hospital I've ever seen, while the poor have to travel miles and miles to get here. Also almost everyone employed by the hospital is white, or at least almost everyone who has an office (the valet parking workers are primarily people of color. They are also some of the few people who consistently say hi to me. Most people in the office try to look away when I say hi).
I'm working on some of the projects/clinics the community services department has out in the communities. What I like about it is they put these clinics out where the people need it-- in neighborhoods and out of churches and into schools. I also really like being around other human beings. What I don't like is that there are so few, and while they do some limited good, it's not enough. Really, these programs are all bandaids for a deeper system of oppression that makes people sick. Plus, it allows the hospital to point to something "good" its doing in the world while maintaining its own system that continues to help and give priviledge to white people and rich people and ignore the rest. Even when their promotional materials are "inclusive," they are only inclusive insofar as the patients might be some people of color, but the doctors never are. The heirarchy is maintained, white supremacy prevails. The Black Panthers would call what I do a survival program, something that is needed because people are dying from oppression, but its only a bandaid, "survival pending revolution."
I've realized that the reason the infant mortality rate is so high for African Americans in Milwaukee (it is higher here than in 65 other countries) is because of the stress of racism. The oppression enters the body of the mother and makes the child vulnerable, and they die. Or their development is affected, etc. That's also the reason why diabetes and hypertension is so prevelent. So the bandaid programs I'm working for give prenatal and parenting education to black women, a program called Blanket of Love. What is great about that program is that it is completely tailored to what the women need, it brings them together for a meal when they are very often isolated, and provides some life skills and guidance for the women. I'm working on curriculum for classes to bring Blanket of Love into the public schools for pregnant teens in school, but I'm trying to maintain the lack of structure that allows for space for what is real and needed and wanted from the girls.
I'm working at a dental clinic and teaching kids how to brush their teeth (I got that gig because I ONCE taught kids how to brush their teeth in Mexico... resumes are so stupid). What they haven't been telling me, or telling the kids, though, is that you actually don't need toothpaste when you brush your teeth, you can reverse cavaties and root canals (though I don't yet know how). I don't think the toothpaste companies would be too happy is we told people they don't actually need toothpaste, nor will the dentists who make a living off of drilling your teeth.
I make appointments for people to come and get their blood pressure checked and get their free meds. That might seem like a good thing, but think of it this way: Human beings consciously created a system that benefits some and diminishes and dehumanizes others. Then within that system, those oppressors made it so that the oppressed are dependent on them for survival programs. Then the oppressor gives medication to the oppressed to "fix" the problem that they oppressor told the oppressed was "their fault" for creating, for not eating right, not exercising right, smoking too much, etc. The oppressor group makes money off of the medication, and can assuage some of their guilt, but they fail to heal anyone. Fail to provide the deep kind of healing needed after personal and generational trauma that makes the oppressed sick. Fail to provide the deep kind of healing needed for the oppressors who do not even notice that they are oppressors.
I hope for the day that a hospital as big as Columbia St. Mary's and with this many resources will be built in the poorest parts of town, and the outlying clinics will be for the those who don't need it as much and are able to get to the hospital whenever they want in their grand cars. More deeply, I hope for the day that a hospital will actually offer healing, not medication. Even more deeply, I pray for the guidance of how I can make that day now.
I'm stretching as a human being as I begin to oppose these systems of oppression. I do not yet know how to stand in my own truth. The real work is in me. There is this huge Occupy Wallstreet thing happening, but Wallstreet doesn't need healing, I need to heal the Wallstreet inside of me (-Adrienne Brown). I need to create sacred space inside myself. I think the rhetoric I have heard more often than not is this question of how we use our privilege for good, but I think that's not the real question to ask. The real question is which privileges do I use for good (the privileges that everyone ought to have, like shelter, clean water, and food), and which privileges do I give up (like having a car, having cash in my pocket?) to others in order to create more equality. More often than not, I should be giving up any privilege that I have rather than using them, because when I use them, I keep the same system of oppression and I steal people's voices away. So I must work on myself, both to heal from oppression and heal from the oppressor in me.
And here is the thing. People of color are never allowed to forget racism. The poor are never allowed to forget poverty. A function of privilege is that it allows you to "take a break" and forget about it for a while if I choose. So I must choose to think about poverty as much as the poor have to, if I am to be their ally and work for connection and love. I am no longer working for justice. Too often justice is still a part of the system. I am working for humanity, connection, and kinship.
What's more, I've been awakened to all this oppression while here in Milwaukee, but it happens everywhere. White supremacy is a global problem. I grew up in it, and so did you. It is a conveyor belt of oppression that we are all on, and unless we are running in the opposite direction, we are oppressors. You cannot be neutral on a moving train (-Howard Zinn).
That's what's been on my heart and mind and in my bones lately. And always.
Moment for Meditation
From the Columbia St. Mary's Moment for Meditiation line:
An affirmation of the spirit called Everlasting Arms.
All this week I am going to live worthily as a child of God.
His love is around me.
Underneath are the everlasting arms.
I'm going to be honest and true
And brave
in all the events of life
and I believe that to those who love God all things work together for good.
I'm going to rise above all worry, fretting, fear and hatred
to live in an atmosphere of spiritual serenity.
My life is part of God's plan,
and that which is divine within me can never fail nor be defeated.
Behind all that comes,
God's love and wisdom will be present to strengthen and sustain.
Courage: To speak the truths of your life from your whole heart.
An affirmation of the spirit called Everlasting Arms.
All this week I am going to live worthily as a child of God.
His love is around me.
Underneath are the everlasting arms.
I'm going to be honest and true
And brave
in all the events of life
and I believe that to those who love God all things work together for good.
I'm going to rise above all worry, fretting, fear and hatred
to live in an atmosphere of spiritual serenity.
My life is part of God's plan,
and that which is divine within me can never fail nor be defeated.
Behind all that comes,
God's love and wisdom will be present to strengthen and sustain.
Courage: To speak the truths of your life from your whole heart.
Friday, November 11, 2011
I'm sorry
About a week ago I was walking at a park in the middle of a pathway looking to my left at a man flying a kite. It took my attention, one of those with two strings so he could zip it around. Then I realized a black woman was walking towards me and going to pass by. I looked at her to say hi, but she didn't make eye contact and I didn't end up saying anything.
Then I realized that the woman was walking on the grass, while we passed by. I quickly looked behind me and she was back on the paved path. So, she must have stepped off of the path and into the grass when she saw me coming.
This is a small but significant example of how racism/colorism works. Light skinned woman takes up all the space without noticing it, dark woman steps off to the side to pass by.
I took too much space and it was too late when I realized what had happened.
I'm sorry.
Then I realized that the woman was walking on the grass, while we passed by. I quickly looked behind me and she was back on the paved path. So, she must have stepped off of the path and into the grass when she saw me coming.
This is a small but significant example of how racism/colorism works. Light skinned woman takes up all the space without noticing it, dark woman steps off to the side to pass by.
I took too much space and it was too late when I realized what had happened.
I'm sorry.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
little things.
Stop using staples, and instead use paperclips. Paperclips are a reusable office supply, but staples are not.
This was a tip I saw in a calendar today. live simply.
its the little things.
This was a tip I saw in a calendar today. live simply.
its the little things.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Truth.
"If you knew me,
And you knew yourself,
You would not have killed me."
from a documentary on the genocide in Rwanda.
And yet we continue to kill each other in mind, body, and spirit.
We do it with the greatest intentions. In the name of country, and in the name of God.
Good, nice people, you think.
Hypocrites, the messiah calls you. Me.
If you only knew yourself.
If you only knew me.
You would not have hurt me.
"Este pueblo no se ahoga con marullos." We do not drown in the waves.
And you knew yourself,
You would not have killed me."
from a documentary on the genocide in Rwanda.
And yet we continue to kill each other in mind, body, and spirit.
We do it with the greatest intentions. In the name of country, and in the name of God.
Good, nice people, you think.
Hypocrites, the messiah calls you. Me.
If you only knew yourself.
If you only knew me.
You would not have hurt me.
"Este pueblo no se ahoga con marullos." We do not drown in the waves.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Burdened
Today's moment for meditation from Columbia St. Mary's:
A professor was giving a lecture on stress management. He raised a glass of water and asked, "How heavy do you think this glass of water is?" After many answers, he replied, "It does not matter on the absolute weight. It depends on how long you hold it. If I hold it for a minute, it is okay. If I hold it for an hour, I will have an ache in my arm. If I hold it for a day, you will have to call an ambulance. It is the exact same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."
If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later we will not be able to carry on. They will become so heavy. What we have to do is put the glass down and rest for a while before picking it up again so that we are refreshed. Whatever burdens you have on your shoulders right now, put them down for a moment if you can. Pick them up again when you have rested.
Is there truth to this meditation? Yes. I think this is about our inner lives, how I create suffering for myself as I hold onto what needs to be let go, released to the earth to be taken into Creation and reborn into new life.
But it is also a privilege to be able to put down your burdens for a while. The question I keep asking myself is: what about those who are not allowed to forget? People of color are never allowed to forget about racism. People who are poor are never allowed to forget about poverty. People with diabilities are never allowed to forget ableism. In these cases it is a function of privilege to be able to rest for a while.
An ally is willing to think about racism and white supremacy as much as people of color have to. An ally is willing to think about poverty as much as people in poverty have to. An ally doesn't take breaks because the oppressed can't.
But can the oppressed put down their burdens too? I think sometimes, in the right environment. We glimpse into what it feels like to breathe and realize we haven't been breathing.
How can I breathe, be who I am, when there is racism all around me?
How do I be a genuine ally to those whose oppression suffocates?
When am I the oppressor?
A professor was giving a lecture on stress management. He raised a glass of water and asked, "How heavy do you think this glass of water is?" After many answers, he replied, "It does not matter on the absolute weight. It depends on how long you hold it. If I hold it for a minute, it is okay. If I hold it for an hour, I will have an ache in my arm. If I hold it for a day, you will have to call an ambulance. It is the exact same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."
If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later we will not be able to carry on. They will become so heavy. What we have to do is put the glass down and rest for a while before picking it up again so that we are refreshed. Whatever burdens you have on your shoulders right now, put them down for a moment if you can. Pick them up again when you have rested.
Is there truth to this meditation? Yes. I think this is about our inner lives, how I create suffering for myself as I hold onto what needs to be let go, released to the earth to be taken into Creation and reborn into new life.
But it is also a privilege to be able to put down your burdens for a while. The question I keep asking myself is: what about those who are not allowed to forget? People of color are never allowed to forget about racism. People who are poor are never allowed to forget about poverty. People with diabilities are never allowed to forget ableism. In these cases it is a function of privilege to be able to rest for a while.
An ally is willing to think about racism and white supremacy as much as people of color have to. An ally is willing to think about poverty as much as people in poverty have to. An ally doesn't take breaks because the oppressed can't.
But can the oppressed put down their burdens too? I think sometimes, in the right environment. We glimpse into what it feels like to breathe and realize we haven't been breathing.
How can I breathe, be who I am, when there is racism all around me?
How do I be a genuine ally to those whose oppression suffocates?
When am I the oppressor?
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Nancy Northshore
That is the term my boss used for the rich white people in Milwaukee who live on the north end of Lake Michigan. Those Nancy Northshores who are also pregnant go to Childbirth class with me on Monday nights. I've been to 4 two-hour classes so far, but what I am finding most interesting is what is not said out loud in class.
There are several things that have become ridiculously clear to me in this class. The first is that none of these women have ever been in any real pain before (physical or otherwise), and so the thought of labor is terrifying. The second is that they want control over what is happening in their bodies and their own fear so the way they seek control (and are taught to get control) is by intellectual domination.
The first item is a symptom of a white supremist western society in the US but especially in Milwaukee that gives unearned privileged to white people just because they are white. Just one result of that is that these women don't know how to cope with pain. That can be true of other people in other populations as well, but I think it is especially true for these women.
The second is also a symptom of a white supremist western society based on Eurocentric values that favors rational intelligence over body intelligence. The body becomes something we must overcome intellectually by learning about it and understanding it, as if we are floating heads over dragging bodies. When we understand in our minds what our bodies do, then we have some sort of control over them. This domination of the intellect over the body is one of the reasons the Vatican cites against contraception, maintaining at least officially the stance that human beings are spirits incarnate, a being of body-mind-spirit so intertwined that we cannot separate one aspect from the other. But I digress.
Okay, so how does this happen in childbirth class? Well, I think the two key lessons in class can be summed up pretty quickly: 1. Every pregnancy/labor and delivery is different. 2. Your body already knows how to do this and will do it.
This seems great so far, but then the rest of the class series is all about creating a birth plan, practicing poses, understanding what hormones do what, etc. And some of it is good to know in case of emergencies, of course. But most of the time in class we literally pound our brains over what our body already knows how to do just so that we are comfortable with our body doing it. Then we create a flexible plan so that we feel in control again, because we would rather have our intellect in control than our bodies.
Wow, what good is that? What if we taught body intelligence instead and learned to trust our bodies? Or found a balance between useful brain knowledge and even more useful body knowledge? So how do you teach body intelligence? I've sat still in too many classrooms to know, but I think I know who to ask.
I guess I'll get back to you on that.
race angst.
There are several things that have become ridiculously clear to me in this class. The first is that none of these women have ever been in any real pain before (physical or otherwise), and so the thought of labor is terrifying. The second is that they want control over what is happening in their bodies and their own fear so the way they seek control (and are taught to get control) is by intellectual domination.
The first item is a symptom of a white supremist western society in the US but especially in Milwaukee that gives unearned privileged to white people just because they are white. Just one result of that is that these women don't know how to cope with pain. That can be true of other people in other populations as well, but I think it is especially true for these women.
The second is also a symptom of a white supremist western society based on Eurocentric values that favors rational intelligence over body intelligence. The body becomes something we must overcome intellectually by learning about it and understanding it, as if we are floating heads over dragging bodies. When we understand in our minds what our bodies do, then we have some sort of control over them. This domination of the intellect over the body is one of the reasons the Vatican cites against contraception, maintaining at least officially the stance that human beings are spirits incarnate, a being of body-mind-spirit so intertwined that we cannot separate one aspect from the other. But I digress.
Okay, so how does this happen in childbirth class? Well, I think the two key lessons in class can be summed up pretty quickly: 1. Every pregnancy/labor and delivery is different. 2. Your body already knows how to do this and will do it.
This seems great so far, but then the rest of the class series is all about creating a birth plan, practicing poses, understanding what hormones do what, etc. And some of it is good to know in case of emergencies, of course. But most of the time in class we literally pound our brains over what our body already knows how to do just so that we are comfortable with our body doing it. Then we create a flexible plan so that we feel in control again, because we would rather have our intellect in control than our bodies.
Wow, what good is that? What if we taught body intelligence instead and learned to trust our bodies? Or found a balance between useful brain knowledge and even more useful body knowledge? So how do you teach body intelligence? I've sat still in too many classrooms to know, but I think I know who to ask.
I guess I'll get back to you on that.
race angst.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Liberation
I won't be able to describe what has been going on in my life recently. This is simple fact. As St. Therese said, some things lose their fragrance when opened up to the air. I also don't think I have the words yet to understand my own experience and am still deeply processing. Suffice it to say, my energy has shifted, made unmistakable by the subsequent headaches such a shift has caused. In better words, shit has gone down and I've changed and deepened in a way I did not know was possible.
This started last weekend when I went to this thing called "EmergentSee" which was an anti-racism workshop (but so much more than that). These people hit hard and they hit hard right away. This was no Racism 101, no clean presentation, no child's talk. None of the lies we teach children about happy Natives eating turkey with white men. This was the real grime, the real history, the real stories and struggles of people right next to me. And my own. It was the real anger. It was the real pain, passed on from generation to generation.
It gave me a sacred space I have never known before. Never. In all my years of CLC, LMU, volunteering, whatever. Never had I been in a space where I was seen so fully and deeply. Never. This is a whole new level of truth.
How liberating. And how frightening.
I know this makes no sense to most of you. That's okay.
Everyone who has ever known me, you don't know me anymore.
Amendment: This does not include family. =)
This started last weekend when I went to this thing called "EmergentSee" which was an anti-racism workshop (but so much more than that). These people hit hard and they hit hard right away. This was no Racism 101, no clean presentation, no child's talk. None of the lies we teach children about happy Natives eating turkey with white men. This was the real grime, the real history, the real stories and struggles of people right next to me. And my own. It was the real anger. It was the real pain, passed on from generation to generation.
It gave me a sacred space I have never known before. Never. In all my years of CLC, LMU, volunteering, whatever. Never had I been in a space where I was seen so fully and deeply. Never. This is a whole new level of truth.
How liberating. And how frightening.
I know this makes no sense to most of you. That's okay.
Everyone who has ever known me, you don't know me anymore.
Amendment: This does not include family. =)
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Moment for Meditation
At Columbia St. Mary's where I work, there is a phone number to call if you want a "Moment for Meditation." I thought I would share today's reflections:
May today there be peace within you.
May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be today.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and in others.
May you use the gifts that you have recieved and then pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content with yourself with just the way you are.
Let this knowledge settle into your soul and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, work, play, praise, and love your God every day of your life.
Because it is there for each and every one of us.
Blessings upon your day and your life.
May today there be peace within you.
May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be today.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and in others.
May you use the gifts that you have recieved and then pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content with yourself with just the way you are.
Let this knowledge settle into your soul and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, work, play, praise, and love your God every day of your life.
Because it is there for each and every one of us.
Blessings upon your day and your life.
what if.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Canticle of Creation- St. Francis
A quick drawing I did of the Canticle of Creation-- People here like it too much. I'll try to do something much better.
One above all other, most powerful, utterly good God, All the praise glory, honor and blessing belong to you before anyone else.
They are yours alone, we are not good enough to even speak your name.
May all your creation and its creatures praise you.
First and foremost, Brother Sun,
Who brings the day, and who you created to shine light on life.
He is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor.
His majesty points to you.
Sister Moon too, shouts your name,
And the stars of the whole universe as you formed them,
shining clear and precious and beautiful.
In Brother Wind blows the sound of your name,
Through the air, stormy and still,
And every kind of weather, which feeds and waters the land,
Sustaining the tapestry of the life you created.
Sister Water praises you too,
Water, which is vital to life,
Simple and yet precious and pure.
Praise to you is heard in the roar of Brother Fire,
Through him you give light and warmth in the dark, cold night,
He is entrancing, playful yet powerful, even dangerous.
Sister, Mother Earth, on whom life flourishes,
She who provides the rhythm of life and the sustenance we need,
Her rich colors, sweet flavors, and aromatic herbs,
Paint a picture of your goodness.
We lift our eyes to you,
Through the stories of those who suffer,
And endure pain who yet still love you,
Through the peace of those great people,
Who deserve your honor above the rest of us.
Even in Sister Death, the death of our bodies,
Which is inescapable for every single one of us,
We sing the greatness of your name.
It is terrible to die in the grip of greed and selfish living
Yet those who die in the knowledge of your great love and purpose,
Even thought they too cannot escape the death of the body,
They will continue to live with you, they have nothing further to fear.
We shout your name out loud,
We thank you for all life,
May we follow you and serve your purpose with the utmost humility. Amen.
Original text in Umbrian dialect:
Altissimu, onnipotente bon Signore,
Tue so le laude, la gloria e l'honore et onne benedictione.
Tue so le laude, la gloria e l'honore et onne benedictione.
Ad Te solo, Altissimo, se konfano,
et nullu homo ène dignu te mentouare.
et nullu homo ène dignu te mentouare.
Laudato sie, mi Signore cum tucte le Tue creature,
spetialmente messor lo frate Sole,
lo qual è iorno, et allumini noi per lui.
Et ellu è bellu e radiante cum grande splendore:
de Te, Altissimo, porta significatione.
spetialmente messor lo frate Sole,
lo qual è iorno, et allumini noi per lui.
Et ellu è bellu e radiante cum grande splendore:
de Te, Altissimo, porta significatione.
Laudato si, mi Signore, per sora Luna e le stelle:
in celu l'ài formate clarite et pretiose et belle.
in celu l'ài formate clarite et pretiose et belle.
Laudato si, mi Signore, per frate Uento
et per aere et nubilo et sereno et onne tempo,
per lo quale, a le Tue creature dài sustentamento.
et per aere et nubilo et sereno et onne tempo,
per lo quale, a le Tue creature dài sustentamento.
Laudato si, mi Signore, per sor'Acqua,
la quale è multo utile et humile et pretiosa et casta.
la quale è multo utile et humile et pretiosa et casta.
Laudato si, mi Signore, per frate Focu,
per lo quale ennallumini la nocte:
ed ello è bello et iucundo et robustoso et forte.
per lo quale ennallumini la nocte:
ed ello è bello et iucundo et robustoso et forte.
Laudato si, mi Signore, per sora nostra matre Terra,
la quale ne sustenta et gouerna,
et produce diuersi fructi con coloriti fior et herba.
la quale ne sustenta et gouerna,
et produce diuersi fructi con coloriti fior et herba.
Laudato si, mi Signore, per quelli ke perdonano per lo Tuo amore
et sostengono infirmitate et tribulatione.
et sostengono infirmitate et tribulatione.
Beati quelli ke 'l sosterranno in pace,
ka da Te, Altissimo, sirano incoronati.
ka da Te, Altissimo, sirano incoronati.
Laudato si mi Signore, per sora nostra Morte corporale,
da la quale nullu homo uiuente pò skappare:
guai a quelli ke morrano ne le peccata mortali;
beati quelli ke trouarà ne le Tue sanctissime uoluntati,
ka la morte secunda no 'l farrà male.
da la quale nullu homo uiuente pò skappare:
guai a quelli ke morrano ne le peccata mortali;
beati quelli ke trouarà ne le Tue sanctissime uoluntati,
ka la morte secunda no 'l farrà male.
Laudate et benedicete mi Signore et rengratiate
e seruiteli cum grande humilitate.
e seruiteli cum grande humilitate.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
If you are a criminal, invest in a tie.
The other day mi compañero Martin accidentally locked the keys of our CapCorps car inside the car. We had just attained the very old, beat up Ford Tempo the day previous, and thus just gotten the keys as well. Obviously. But, that also meant we hadn't separated the extra copy of the keys from each other-- they were on the same ring that all got locked in the car. Whoops.
So, in order to avoid paying a locksmith money that we don't have for a car that came with empty bottles, cans, and a bag of opened chips in the back, we asked the help of Messmer staff to get into the car. First, myself and Joe (Shelly's husband... Shelly is one of the co-directors of CapCorps) took a crowbar to the window and tried to get a wire hanger through. Unfortunately, we weren't able to get the hanger close enough to press the unlock button. Then came Messmer Maintenance staff, who had their own wire hanger tricks, and better ways to crack open the car with said crowbar. Eventually, they were successful, and had a good laugh at our expense once they realized that both copies of the keys had been locked in. I think the exact words were, "Oh what it is to be young, and STUPID."
That, however, is not the point of this entry. The car was parked outside our house, which is the old rectory to the church next to us and right next to Messmer Prep. It's not exactly a big street, but it is right in front of a school, there is a bar at the opposite corner too. And there we were, trying to break into a car. What bugged me about the whole thing was that everyone assumed it was our car, and that we had locked the keys in. In fact, a police car drove by at one point and didn't even stop to ask us anything.
At first, it was myself and Joe, white male who was wearing slacks and a tie. The Messmer dudes were also white men. Did the police not stop because the group was mostly white men? Or because Joe was wearing a tie?
You know that if we were a group of black men or latinos, there would have been so much more suspicion.
You might be thinking, well YEA, someone wearing a tie is probably not trying to steal a car. But why do you think that? And why is it more suspicious if it had been a group of black men? What's the difference? There is no difference! That no one was suspicious seems to me to be a great example of white privilege. At the very least, discrimination based on appearance, because we didn't "look" like criminals.
So, all those who are thinking of turning to a life of crime, I offer a bit of advice. I know you cannot change your race and thus the racism you will experience. But you can invest in a tie. Apparently that might be enough to evade suspicion. Maybe throw on a pair of glasses, look smart.
think about it.
So, in order to avoid paying a locksmith money that we don't have for a car that came with empty bottles, cans, and a bag of opened chips in the back, we asked the help of Messmer staff to get into the car. First, myself and Joe (Shelly's husband... Shelly is one of the co-directors of CapCorps) took a crowbar to the window and tried to get a wire hanger through. Unfortunately, we weren't able to get the hanger close enough to press the unlock button. Then came Messmer Maintenance staff, who had their own wire hanger tricks, and better ways to crack open the car with said crowbar. Eventually, they were successful, and had a good laugh at our expense once they realized that both copies of the keys had been locked in. I think the exact words were, "Oh what it is to be young, and STUPID."
That, however, is not the point of this entry. The car was parked outside our house, which is the old rectory to the church next to us and right next to Messmer Prep. It's not exactly a big street, but it is right in front of a school, there is a bar at the opposite corner too. And there we were, trying to break into a car. What bugged me about the whole thing was that everyone assumed it was our car, and that we had locked the keys in. In fact, a police car drove by at one point and didn't even stop to ask us anything.
At first, it was myself and Joe, white male who was wearing slacks and a tie. The Messmer dudes were also white men. Did the police not stop because the group was mostly white men? Or because Joe was wearing a tie?
You know that if we were a group of black men or latinos, there would have been so much more suspicion.
You might be thinking, well YEA, someone wearing a tie is probably not trying to steal a car. But why do you think that? And why is it more suspicious if it had been a group of black men? What's the difference? There is no difference! That no one was suspicious seems to me to be a great example of white privilege. At the very least, discrimination based on appearance, because we didn't "look" like criminals.
So, all those who are thinking of turning to a life of crime, I offer a bit of advice. I know you cannot change your race and thus the racism you will experience. But you can invest in a tie. Apparently that might be enough to evade suspicion. Maybe throw on a pair of glasses, look smart.
think about it.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Prayer for a Missioner (but really, for all of us)
I pray that you are broken.
Broken beyond doubt.
I pray that you are broken.
Broken beyond doubt.
I pray that you are broken.
Broken beyond doubt.
I pray this, because this is how you must grow. When you are broken beyond doubt, you can see clearly that your God is already and always with you. When you are broken beyond doubt, you can walk humbly and softly with others, who are also broken.
I pray that you are broken.
Broken beyond doubt.
Because we all are. But not all of us know it.
I pray that you are broken.
That way, you are also blessed and broken to be shared as and in the Body of Christ.
Amen.
Sister/Brotherhood
A deep breath.
There is so much to learn, so much to absorb, so much to taste and see and drink. I mean, of course, in the sense of experience. I've been in Milwaukee for almost two weeks now, and I'm getting used to it already. So far, so good. The first week was orientation for both the domestic and international volunteers, and this week we have started work and the international volunteers have a second week of orientation. Thing is, CapCorps and Columbia St. Mary's are still working out the contract for me to serve here, so I have only done one thing work related this week. Otherwise, I've been dropping in to the international orientation and sharing thoughts.
Obviously there is a lot to talk about, but I'm going to focus this entry on one thing: Sister/Brotherhood. This is a deep root of Franciscan Spirituality that I am just getting to understand, and I'm hoping to understand more deeply in time.
The idea is this: We are all sisters and brothers. No, stop. ALL of us. Everything in creation was so blessed just by being created. We are in relationship with everything as sisters and brothers. This means, yes, my family and friends, but it means every person in the world is my sister, my brother. AND it doesn't stop there. All of creation holds this sacred relationship. This includes Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Brother Wind, Sister Water, Brother Fire, Sister Mother Earth, and my favorite, Sister Death. What would happen if we thought of everything in creation, every person, every plant and animal, everything as my sister and brother? What would happen if we treated Creation as my sister, my brother?
Wouldn't that change everything?
Let's change.
Feliz Cumple, Hache.
There is so much to learn, so much to absorb, so much to taste and see and drink. I mean, of course, in the sense of experience. I've been in Milwaukee for almost two weeks now, and I'm getting used to it already. So far, so good. The first week was orientation for both the domestic and international volunteers, and this week we have started work and the international volunteers have a second week of orientation. Thing is, CapCorps and Columbia St. Mary's are still working out the contract for me to serve here, so I have only done one thing work related this week. Otherwise, I've been dropping in to the international orientation and sharing thoughts.
Obviously there is a lot to talk about, but I'm going to focus this entry on one thing: Sister/Brotherhood. This is a deep root of Franciscan Spirituality that I am just getting to understand, and I'm hoping to understand more deeply in time.
The idea is this: We are all sisters and brothers. No, stop. ALL of us. Everything in creation was so blessed just by being created. We are in relationship with everything as sisters and brothers. This means, yes, my family and friends, but it means every person in the world is my sister, my brother. AND it doesn't stop there. All of creation holds this sacred relationship. This includes Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Brother Wind, Sister Water, Brother Fire, Sister Mother Earth, and my favorite, Sister Death. What would happen if we thought of everything in creation, every person, every plant and animal, everything as my sister and brother? What would happen if we treated Creation as my sister, my brother?
Wouldn't that change everything?
Let's change.
Feliz Cumple, Hache.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
life update
Finally, Jess!
So by now I've been back in the US for as long as I was in Peru. You might be thinking, what have you been doing, Jess? And what the heck are you going to do?
I don't tend to like questions that are all about action since our culture puts such a big emphasis on doing doing doing, but at some point, yes, I've got to be doing something.
For the record, I've been trying to figure out the "what's next" question ever since I set foot in Indiana, but all good things in life take time, don't they? I've been through many an interview and conversation, and I guess at the end of the day, I was the one who said "no" to the several paths that opened up. The only door that shut painfully on my toes was going back to Peru. You've got to know, part of my heart is still and I think will always be in Peru. That's just the reality that happens when you leave (and come back) for service.
But, despite the times I have denied certain opportunities, sometimes to my mother's distress (sorry, mama!) there is one thing to which I have now said "yes." That is, a domestic year of service with the Capuchin Franciscan Volunteer Corps (CapCorps for short), working in Milwaukee, Wisconsin with Columbia St. Mary's (http://www.columbia-stmarys.org/). It is a health care organization with which I will be working in health education. I don't know all the details yet, because the position is very new, but I will be going around with a team of nurses and educators to churches in underserved communities to raise awareness on different topics, such as diabetes, hypertension, and cancer. I will also be working with parental and prenatal education in a program called Blanket of Love that serves young women and teens. Gulp, I know nothing about parenting, but I guess I will learn.
There are a couple of key reasons why I chose CapCorps. I got the sense that the staff really cared about me and were trying to help me grow no matter if I wanted to work with them or not. They looked for a placement in health care for me and found one, because they knew that is for what I was searching. They have also offered me a re-entry retreat for volunteers who have been back in the US for a while since being abroad. They have no responsibility for helping me through re-entry, and yet their offer stood whether I accepted a placement with them or not. That said something to me.
I think, too, that I chose CapCorps because it gives me a new slate in a certain sense, even though I very much see this work as a continuation of what I hoped for and sought in Peru as a JV. I mean, the interest in health care issues stems from getting sick in Peru, from going around to my host mom's work sites. It is deeper than that, but very much connected. Still, the Franciscans have something new and rich to teach me, I can feel it.
Anyways, that's my life update. See the right side bar for my new address. Oh, I'm also leaving in a day, on Thursday, August 4th. It sort of happened really fast (and a lot of it developed while I was sitting outside the Hog's Head at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Florida, by the way). I've told virtually no one outside of my family, but this is hopefully changing that.
To new beginnings, new life, and love.
So by now I've been back in the US for as long as I was in Peru. You might be thinking, what have you been doing, Jess? And what the heck are you going to do?
I don't tend to like questions that are all about action since our culture puts such a big emphasis on doing doing doing, but at some point, yes, I've got to be doing something.
For the record, I've been trying to figure out the "what's next" question ever since I set foot in Indiana, but all good things in life take time, don't they? I've been through many an interview and conversation, and I guess at the end of the day, I was the one who said "no" to the several paths that opened up. The only door that shut painfully on my toes was going back to Peru. You've got to know, part of my heart is still and I think will always be in Peru. That's just the reality that happens when you leave (and come back) for service.
But, despite the times I have denied certain opportunities, sometimes to my mother's distress (sorry, mama!) there is one thing to which I have now said "yes." That is, a domestic year of service with the Capuchin Franciscan Volunteer Corps (CapCorps for short), working in Milwaukee, Wisconsin with Columbia St. Mary's (http://www.columbia-stmarys.org/). It is a health care organization with which I will be working in health education. I don't know all the details yet, because the position is very new, but I will be going around with a team of nurses and educators to churches in underserved communities to raise awareness on different topics, such as diabetes, hypertension, and cancer. I will also be working with parental and prenatal education in a program called Blanket of Love that serves young women and teens. Gulp, I know nothing about parenting, but I guess I will learn.
There are a couple of key reasons why I chose CapCorps. I got the sense that the staff really cared about me and were trying to help me grow no matter if I wanted to work with them or not. They looked for a placement in health care for me and found one, because they knew that is for what I was searching. They have also offered me a re-entry retreat for volunteers who have been back in the US for a while since being abroad. They have no responsibility for helping me through re-entry, and yet their offer stood whether I accepted a placement with them or not. That said something to me.
I think, too, that I chose CapCorps because it gives me a new slate in a certain sense, even though I very much see this work as a continuation of what I hoped for and sought in Peru as a JV. I mean, the interest in health care issues stems from getting sick in Peru, from going around to my host mom's work sites. It is deeper than that, but very much connected. Still, the Franciscans have something new and rich to teach me, I can feel it.
Anyways, that's my life update. See the right side bar for my new address. Oh, I'm also leaving in a day, on Thursday, August 4th. It sort of happened really fast (and a lot of it developed while I was sitting outside the Hog's Head at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Florida, by the way). I've told virtually no one outside of my family, but this is hopefully changing that.
To new beginnings, new life, and love.
For a moment
the hunger sits
it is okay to exist.
For a moment
jump and sing
and I really don't care.
For a moment
exhilaration
of being alive.
For a moment.
For a moment
maybe beyond
is right here.
For a moment
there is no past
there is no future
For a moment
There is.
For a moment.
For a moment
Live.
For a moment
Love.
For a moment
Dare.
Not just
For a moment.
the hunger sits
it is okay to exist.
For a moment
jump and sing
and I really don't care.
For a moment
exhilaration
of being alive.
For a moment.
For a moment
maybe beyond
is right here.
For a moment
there is no past
there is no future
For a moment
There is.
For a moment.
For a moment
Live.
For a moment
Love.
For a moment
Dare.
Not just
For a moment.
Monday, June 27, 2011
broken
I went to Father Tri's final vows mass on Saturday (Congrats, Cha!). During his homily, there were several things he said that really struck me. I'll only go over two of them, though. The first was simply that he is more broken than whole.
You know, that's all of us, isn't it? We are human, more broken than whole. I don't say that at all in any sort of theoretical view, either. I mean the real stuff here. I mean I, Jessica Vega, am more broken, bruised, weathered, beaten down, and lost than I am whole, innocent, complete, and confident.
I think it struck me in particular this time because I have noticed a shift within me in the way I talk about my pain. I think most people would say that I am a fairly open person and willing to talk about myself, struggles and all, pretty readily. This has been true about me for a while, ever since my freshman year at LMU when I joined CLC and it cracked me open. It takes immense strength to be vulnerable. But lately, I've found myself more guarded, wanting to tone down my more difficult experiences in order to seem more whole than broken.
After all, people don't want to hire someone who is broken. Organizations don't want to invest time and resources on someone who is lost. They don't want to entrust responsibility on the beaten down and bruised. They want someone confident, focused, and driven. Someone whole.
And I know why this shift happened in me, too. Deeper than a need for work, it comes from feeling judged. Judged by peers that my story is somehow a way for me to seek pity (It's not). Or perhaps it means I'm weak (We all are). I mean, it is all the normal responses to pain, really. Pain is not exactly enjoyable, is it? So we tend to shy away from it. Not everyone, but most of us. Or we have to present it in a shiny box, labeled with what we have learned by it. That happens, but that's not the reality. We judge others pain because it scares us, reminds us of the pain in us as well. We hate the vulnerable because they are living proof of our own vulnerabilities. Maybe if I was whole, someone would believe in me.
Well, here I am. Let me shout it to the world (or just type it here, in a blog). I am more broken than whole! I am not a well-put-together 23 year old who knows where she wants to go in life, who has stepped out of adversity gracefully and seeks only beauty and truth. I'm really a very messy person.
I've got to make this shift back into myself. Away from fear of judgment, fear of betrayal, and away from actual judgment and actual betrayal. Cheers to this being the start.
But you know what gives me true and glorious hope? God calls the broken to lead God's people. It is always the broken person that God calls. It is stuttering Moses. Or young and unmarried Mary. Or elderly and baren Sarah. Doubting Thomas. Mary of Magdala, from whom seven demons were cast out. Peter, the one who betrayed him three times. Sickly St. Therese. Sex-addicted St. Augustine. Struggling and confused Mother Theresa. Terrified Oscar Romero. Poor Juan Diego.
Maybe also bruised and broken Jess.
God calls people who are too young, too old, too poor, too weak, too scared, and who sin too much. The broken, who therefore can blessed and broken and can be shared in the body of Christ.
Which leads me to the second thing Tri said that make complete sense to me. I must say yes to that which has already chosen me.
You know, that's all of us, isn't it? We are human, more broken than whole. I don't say that at all in any sort of theoretical view, either. I mean the real stuff here. I mean I, Jessica Vega, am more broken, bruised, weathered, beaten down, and lost than I am whole, innocent, complete, and confident.
I think it struck me in particular this time because I have noticed a shift within me in the way I talk about my pain. I think most people would say that I am a fairly open person and willing to talk about myself, struggles and all, pretty readily. This has been true about me for a while, ever since my freshman year at LMU when I joined CLC and it cracked me open. It takes immense strength to be vulnerable. But lately, I've found myself more guarded, wanting to tone down my more difficult experiences in order to seem more whole than broken.
After all, people don't want to hire someone who is broken. Organizations don't want to invest time and resources on someone who is lost. They don't want to entrust responsibility on the beaten down and bruised. They want someone confident, focused, and driven. Someone whole.
And I know why this shift happened in me, too. Deeper than a need for work, it comes from feeling judged. Judged by peers that my story is somehow a way for me to seek pity (It's not). Or perhaps it means I'm weak (We all are). I mean, it is all the normal responses to pain, really. Pain is not exactly enjoyable, is it? So we tend to shy away from it. Not everyone, but most of us. Or we have to present it in a shiny box, labeled with what we have learned by it. That happens, but that's not the reality. We judge others pain because it scares us, reminds us of the pain in us as well. We hate the vulnerable because they are living proof of our own vulnerabilities. Maybe if I was whole, someone would believe in me.
Well, here I am. Let me shout it to the world (or just type it here, in a blog). I am more broken than whole! I am not a well-put-together 23 year old who knows where she wants to go in life, who has stepped out of adversity gracefully and seeks only beauty and truth. I'm really a very messy person.
I've got to make this shift back into myself. Away from fear of judgment, fear of betrayal, and away from actual judgment and actual betrayal. Cheers to this being the start.
But you know what gives me true and glorious hope? God calls the broken to lead God's people. It is always the broken person that God calls. It is stuttering Moses. Or young and unmarried Mary. Or elderly and baren Sarah. Doubting Thomas. Mary of Magdala, from whom seven demons were cast out. Peter, the one who betrayed him three times. Sickly St. Therese. Sex-addicted St. Augustine. Struggling and confused Mother Theresa. Terrified Oscar Romero. Poor Juan Diego.
Maybe also bruised and broken Jess.
God calls people who are too young, too old, too poor, too weak, too scared, and who sin too much. The broken, who therefore can blessed and broken and can be shared in the body of Christ.
Which leads me to the second thing Tri said that make complete sense to me. I must say yes to that which has already chosen me.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
heavy questions and thoughts on this soul
Once you know the taste of pain, does it ever leave you completely?
Or does it always leave a scar? The marks of pain that make us more human, more able to see pain in others and reach out in understanding love to them.
What happens when we mess up God's plan?
We certainly make mistakes. God can bring goodness out of mistakes, but we still made a mistake. What then?
What is Fear afraid of?
I think it is afraid of its own name. Because once you can call it by name, Fear automatically shrinks.
If only one person sees a light shining, does that mean it is there?
Maybe they just made it up. Or maybe they are the only one not blinded. But how do you know the difference?
Why does love sometimes seem so difficult when it is the one thing we really want from each other?
Probably because deep love often hurts. A lot.
Can grace plague you?
Yes. Or at least I think that is what is happening.
I am a human being. I'm God's child. "A homo sum humani nihil a me alienum puto." I am a human being. Nothing human can be alien to me.
Or does it always leave a scar? The marks of pain that make us more human, more able to see pain in others and reach out in understanding love to them.
What happens when we mess up God's plan?
We certainly make mistakes. God can bring goodness out of mistakes, but we still made a mistake. What then?
What is Fear afraid of?
I think it is afraid of its own name. Because once you can call it by name, Fear automatically shrinks.
If only one person sees a light shining, does that mean it is there?
Maybe they just made it up. Or maybe they are the only one not blinded. But how do you know the difference?
Why does love sometimes seem so difficult when it is the one thing we really want from each other?
Probably because deep love often hurts. A lot.
Can grace plague you?
Yes. Or at least I think that is what is happening.
I am a human being. I'm God's child. "A homo sum humani nihil a me alienum puto." I am a human being. Nothing human can be alien to me.
Friday, May 20, 2011
sometimes, life sucks.
And that's okay.
Sometimes, people will say 'no' to you. Sometimes many people will say 'no' to you. Sometimes they will keep saying 'no, no, no....' You will have to fight, claw through the grime of negativity, stand in the middle of the desert and not shrink in the pounding sun. You might be the only one who believes in you. You might be the only one who is willing to see.
And that's okay.
Of course, other times people will say 'yes' to you. They will pour awards over you in recognition for what you have done and what you have accomplished. They will believe in you and encourage you.
And that's okay too.
What I have noticed, though, is that what I do during each of these times doesn't change too much. Actually, it doesn't change at all. I breathe deeply. I pray often. I listen to myself. I seek advice from as many people I can. I try to understand my blindness and protect against it. I take time. I pray some more. And at the end of the day, I go with what my gut and my God says is right.
Look, it might feel like the world is against you, or it might seem that the world is with you right now. It doesn't matter if its difficult or easy, as long as it is right. You know what is right. You know what you have to do. And you are not alone. God is with you. The fruits of peace, joy, courage, connectedness, life, and love will come. Do not shy away from what is within your very soul.
You don't have to believe me. I know it is hard. You don't have to agree with me. That's okay too. But I know where I am led. And I have God to answer to. And if God is with me, who can be against me?
"I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul." -Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Sometimes, people will say 'no' to you. Sometimes many people will say 'no' to you. Sometimes they will keep saying 'no, no, no....' You will have to fight, claw through the grime of negativity, stand in the middle of the desert and not shrink in the pounding sun. You might be the only one who believes in you. You might be the only one who is willing to see.
And that's okay.
Of course, other times people will say 'yes' to you. They will pour awards over you in recognition for what you have done and what you have accomplished. They will believe in you and encourage you.
And that's okay too.
What I have noticed, though, is that what I do during each of these times doesn't change too much. Actually, it doesn't change at all. I breathe deeply. I pray often. I listen to myself. I seek advice from as many people I can. I try to understand my blindness and protect against it. I take time. I pray some more. And at the end of the day, I go with what my gut and my God says is right.
Look, it might feel like the world is against you, or it might seem that the world is with you right now. It doesn't matter if its difficult or easy, as long as it is right. You know what is right. You know what you have to do. And you are not alone. God is with you. The fruits of peace, joy, courage, connectedness, life, and love will come. Do not shy away from what is within your very soul.
You don't have to believe me. I know it is hard. You don't have to agree with me. That's okay too. But I know where I am led. And I have God to answer to. And if God is with me, who can be against me?
"I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul." -Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
feet. washed.
Last Supper, a drawing I did combining my experience now and then. Excuse the scratchy scan.
When my home parish found out that I was suddenly back from Peru, they invited me to be one of the twelve to get their feet washed at our Holy Thursday mass. I hesitated at first, knowing that this would be a great way for more people who I don't know but who might know my sister or my mom to come up to me and ask me all about what happened. And, yea, some of that happened. But, I accepted anyways, and got my feet washed in front of the church on Holy Thursday.
In recent weeks I have been able to articulate to myself what my deepest desire is for myself, that desire which should color and lead me in my life. And that desire is to love and be a servant. To love deeply and freely, learn how to love, choose love. To not just do service, but to be a servant. It is something I've known for a while now, but it has been good to reconnect with it, to better understand it in the light of my circumstances, as I breathe my circumstances.
Getting your feet washed is a bit vulnerable, you know? First of all, you have to sit in front of the whole church and get watched by hundreds of people. Instinct tells you to look down, but I tried to look up at people instead. You have to expose your dirty feet (of course, no one's feet here are particularly dirty... I actually imagine the apostle's feet being more like the Peruvians in the Andes in their ojotas, hence the picture) and then you have to allow someone who is your leader to wash them for you. Peter's protest makes a lot of sense, I think. But, Jesus tells him, he must wash Peter's feet if he wants to be part of his Kingdom. Because that Kingdom comes only when we serve each other. We must be servants to one another.
Jesus was a servant. He healed people, included outcasts, shared with sinners. He loved. And he bent down and washed the dirty, stinky feet of his followers. It reminds me of when, in Andahuaylillas, Father Oscar did all the dishes at one of our birthday celebrations. Everyone stood around awkwardly uncomfortable with the priest doing the dirty work. But, he didn't let anyone take his job. He served. And Jesus told us to do the same. Wash people's feet. But don't just wash feet. Heal people. Include the outcast. Share with sinners. Break bread. Get down in the dirt and help those around you. Even and especially if you are the master and teacher. Serve! Be a servant.
And that, I think, is how sin is washed away. The symbolic washing of feet, washing away our sins. Jesus wasn't talking about an individual confession, I don't think. He was talking about the sin that is cleaned by service and justice. The sin of hunger. The sin of poverty. The sin of neglect. Washed away. Only by serving our brothers and sisters. By loving each other deeply and freely. That is what Jesus taught us.
That is what I want to do.
be opened in that vulnerability of love. and now go and love.
Monday, April 18, 2011
take, Lord, recieve.
The day I left Peru, a month ago, I woke up incredibly early for me. By that I mean I couldn't really sleep, given everything, and I got out of bed after drifting in and out of consciousness at around 6am to go on a walk. Impressive, considering how the medication I was on wiped me out most of the time, too. But I wanted to breathe in the landscape. I sat in the main square in Andahuaylillas, and I wrote.
I hadn't shared these thoughts with anyone (until now) because of fear, I think. But as Yann Martel writes in The Life of Pi, "only fear can defeat life." So, here are some of the last thoughts I had as a JV, straight from my journal. Disfruten.
"I only had 4 months. I didn't know it. But during these 4 months, I filled a whole journal of experience. I breathed deeply. I laughed intensely. I wept horribly. I ate a LOT of good food. I planted seeds. I have been touched. I played the oldest organ in the Americas. I was in a rock band. I lived in the Andes. I saw the light of life that pours forth from the smiles of children. I fed the hungry. I fought in community. I felt judged. I judged too. I made two soul sisters. I have new brothers. And sisters too. I was called Profe. I was called Miss. I was called Chilean, Peruvian, tourista, extranjera, prima, hermana. I told my life story, twice. I bought carrots straight out of the ground. I was loved. And I tried to learn to love. And I tried to actually love. I saw the brightest rainbow I've ever seen in my life. I used a machete and a pick ax. I kicked rocks for a month. I made kids laugh in the comedor. I felt deeply. I feel deeply. I journeyed with very real people. And now I'm leaving. I only had 4 months. I didn't know it. I am blessed and broken. Poured out. The sacred promise. Take, Lord, recieve all my liberty, my memory, understanding, my entire will. Give me only your love and your grace. That's enough for me. Vuestro amor y gracia me basta."
I hadn't shared these thoughts with anyone (until now) because of fear, I think. But as Yann Martel writes in The Life of Pi, "only fear can defeat life." So, here are some of the last thoughts I had as a JV, straight from my journal. Disfruten.
"I only had 4 months. I didn't know it. But during these 4 months, I filled a whole journal of experience. I breathed deeply. I laughed intensely. I wept horribly. I ate a LOT of good food. I planted seeds. I have been touched. I played the oldest organ in the Americas. I was in a rock band. I lived in the Andes. I saw the light of life that pours forth from the smiles of children. I fed the hungry. I fought in community. I felt judged. I judged too. I made two soul sisters. I have new brothers. And sisters too. I was called Profe. I was called Miss. I was called Chilean, Peruvian, tourista, extranjera, prima, hermana. I told my life story, twice. I bought carrots straight out of the ground. I was loved. And I tried to learn to love. And I tried to actually love. I saw the brightest rainbow I've ever seen in my life. I used a machete and a pick ax. I kicked rocks for a month. I made kids laugh in the comedor. I felt deeply. I feel deeply. I journeyed with very real people. And now I'm leaving. I only had 4 months. I didn't know it. I am blessed and broken. Poured out. The sacred promise. Take, Lord, recieve all my liberty, my memory, understanding, my entire will. Give me only your love and your grace. That's enough for me. Vuestro amor y gracia me basta."
Monday, April 11, 2011
March Madness
I do love basketball. And I wish Butler had won the final, having spent some time on the campus recently and cheered on the team with the Caponis. But this post isn't really about that, as I'm sure you have guessed. Instead, it is about the blessedness and brokenness that has befallen me this March. It is about how God is calling me to new and deeper growth. It is about the love that has been shown to me by community. And it is about the hope of the resurrection.
On March 4th I got sick. I was out with one of my communitymates and a group of Peruvians in Cusco and I started feeling funky. Fever, chills, stomach hurt some too. We decided to go home to Andahuaylillas, about a 45 min taxi ride away. Along the way, though, I started feeling worse, and at some point I fainted. Because of the high fever and lots of medication, I was incredibly confused and didn't even realize I remembered a lot about that night until recently. For example, I remember feeling like I was going to fall when the taxi driver carried me into a medical clinic in Urcos, just past Andahuaylillas. I also remember the shot they gave me was the most painful shot I've ever had. I got the shot in my upper butt area, and my entire right leg was in pain. And I got it twice. I had shaken pretty badly through it all, so I was taken back to Cusco and hospitalized until March 7th. They did an MRI on me, an EEG scan (checking out my brainwaves), and I had some GI infection. The Cusco doctors put me on an anti-seizure medication because they didn't know what the shaky convulsions were.
I went home the night before my birthday. I was scared. I was confused. American doctors I had talked to were urgently recommending I seek medical treatment in the US. It started the conversation. I was feeling really weird too. I was always tired. I had dizzy spells. I couldn't hold a conversation because it was so difficult to focus. That especially was difficult for me. I sometimes felt a kind of heat in the back of my head. Completely spacy. And shaky too.
I was medically evacuated from Peru. I had to say goodbye to Andahuaylillas. I had just gotten there. I had to say goodbye to my life as a JV. I had to say goodbye to my community, who took care of me through the mess of it all. Who cared enough to suffer with me. And to love. I had to say goodbye to all the hopes, expectations, desires. And I wept.
I went to Indianapolis, where my communitymate's family took care of me. I got a special MRI done, more EEG scans, a chest xray, bloodwork. I got to wear funny hospital clothes. Culture shock was immediate. Everyone was so nice to me. And they spoke my language. And they explained to me what was happening. And they had funny accents.
And the sky looked different. The sky in Andahuaylillas is a brilliant bright blue. The sky in Indianapolis was a softer blue, beautiful in its own right, but different. The sky in Los Angeles fades into the dusty polluted horizon. The bananas in this country look perfect too. And its a bazaar experience to drink out of a water fountain after having to be so careful about boiling water to drink.
Thank God, I got the best news possible about my health. I didn't have a seizure and I won't have one. I just had a self-limiting infection with fever that made me pass out, and now that I actually remember it, I wasn't even passed out for that long. My body shook as it was fighting the infection. I was overdosed on the medication, and that caused all the other problems. I didn't even need the medication in the first place, though we didn't know that before, of course. The level of medication in my blood was so high that the doctor called on the weekend to tell me to cut the dosage in half, even though he hadn't made his final assessment yet. And, I had forgotten to take that pill that day, so it should have been even higher. Once I got off the medication, I could think clearly again. It was remarkable, the difference. Scary, even. And I started remembering what happened the day I got sick. Freaky, what a pill can do to you.
I'm now back in Covina with my family. I visited LMU the day I flew in. I've gotten to talk to some friends, beautiful people in my life. I went on a 5 day silent retreat. As they say in sanskrit, sukha, sweet.
I said this post was about blessedness and brokenness. I think you get the brokenness part. My life was literally flipped upside down. I thought I had 2 years in Peru. I only had 4 months. I've wept through that loss. I've held that pain. It's the kind of thing that tests your inner strength. Actually, it tests everything about you. You must ask yourself what you believe in. Who you are. It demands your most disciplined self to do what you must. I'm struck by my own resilience. I've been through shit before, I knew I could get through shit again when it came. And it did. I guess I was right.
The blessedness is more tremendous than the brokenness, though. Thank God. Just pure gratitude. To my community in Anda, for being with me through the suffering. Especially to Cara, who stayed with me through the nights, and sang with me. To Margaret and the JVC IPO, for doing everything they could to take care of me. To Margaret especially, for honoring my pain and listening. To the Caponi family for taking me in and getting me to the best doctors there are. To all the jesuits and nuns I have talked to in Indiana and back here in SoCal, who have offered their wisdom and help. To all those who found out what had happened in some way or another, and who have added their prayers to my life. For my health. For life. For freedom. For love.
Through it all, though, I'm actually doing well. A lot of people have asked me how that is possible. The spiritual director I saw during my silent retreat was so surprised when she realized I have only been back for 3 weeks that she almost yelled at me, "you should be depressed!!" But, I'm not. I'm not even in denial. I'm not in shock anymore, either. Instead, there is actually a deep current of peace moving through, that I've been doing the right things. I think they call this grace. I've had deep confirmation that I am going in the right direction. I feel myself opened. More trusting. I realized more deeply how much I believe in the values I tried to live as a JV. And how I want to and will live those values now and every day afterwards. I guess that's part of what they mean when they call us "ruined for life."
I don't know what will happen now. But I do know that, especially in this time of Lent, there is a promise of resurrection. That through the desert, through the journey, the struggle, even in the joy and peace, there is more to come. There is resurrection. We risk the dying that leads to rising. God comes and raises us up to new life. But until I get to see the empty tomb, I wait. I pray. I search. And I trust that God is already and always with me.
Go in peace, your faith has saved you.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
seeing again.
Computers here in Anda are a bit slow on the upload, so sorry these are few, but here are some pictures.
In Tacna, saying goodbye to Fancy Carmen and Charo, right before we left. Mateo and Sam are sporting Mes de Mision facial hair, and my hair is long enough to put back too. Weird.
First Andahuaylillas Community Picture. We all smell from the 19 hour ride there.
One of the oldest organs in the Americas, that I will get to play.
View in Cusco.
prayers
Friday, February 18, 2011
I live in the frikken Andes mountains.
Take that, biotches.
I have made it to Andahuaylillas, finally. And this place is gorgeous. Mateo called it the emerald city (and I started singing Wicked. haha). The town is tucked on the side of a mountain situated in a valled about 45 minutes from Cusco. The clouds are the whitest I have ever seen. And its just gosh, so gorgeous here. I hope I never get used to this kind of beauty, that it strikes me with the wonder of God every day.
Bad news is that we have no phone line currently (hopefully get one soonish... peruvian time). And the only internet here right now is in a small cafe and the internet is very slow. I´m currently taking advantage of the Jesuit Res in Urcos for this update. So, well, the moral of the story is that I dont know when you will hear from me next. But know that I am thinking of you and praying for you all the time. No exaggeration.
I´m going to work for the parish here. The church is so cool. And it has the oldest organs in the Americas. No joke. AND today in the morning, the only organ restorer in Peru came to Andahuaylillas with an organist to check out the organs again. AND they taught me how to use them. AND i got to play them. That was literally one of the coolest things I have ever done in my life. I´m going to learn to play them for my two year here and teach a peruvian to play them after I leave. On top of that, I am also going to be working their library and game room to help the kids do their homework and improve on their fine motor skills, which is an issue for the children here. And I´ll probably be doing a ton of other stuff too. It sounds like every day will be new and crazy and learning.
I hope I never get used to this beauty.
I have made it to Andahuaylillas, finally. And this place is gorgeous. Mateo called it the emerald city (and I started singing Wicked. haha). The town is tucked on the side of a mountain situated in a valled about 45 minutes from Cusco. The clouds are the whitest I have ever seen. And its just gosh, so gorgeous here. I hope I never get used to this kind of beauty, that it strikes me with the wonder of God every day.
Bad news is that we have no phone line currently (hopefully get one soonish... peruvian time). And the only internet here right now is in a small cafe and the internet is very slow. I´m currently taking advantage of the Jesuit Res in Urcos for this update. So, well, the moral of the story is that I dont know when you will hear from me next. But know that I am thinking of you and praying for you all the time. No exaggeration.
I´m going to work for the parish here. The church is so cool. And it has the oldest organs in the Americas. No joke. AND today in the morning, the only organ restorer in Peru came to Andahuaylillas with an organist to check out the organs again. AND they taught me how to use them. AND i got to play them. That was literally one of the coolest things I have ever done in my life. I´m going to learn to play them for my two year here and teach a peruvian to play them after I leave. On top of that, I am also going to be working their library and game room to help the kids do their homework and improve on their fine motor skills, which is an issue for the children here. And I´ll probably be doing a ton of other stuff too. It sounds like every day will be new and crazy and learning.
I hope I never get used to this beauty.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
waiting, not knowing, and adapting.
If I were to sum up the entirety of my JV experience in three key points, from applications a year ago up until now, that is what I would say. Waiting, not knowing, and adapting.
(shout out to Father Lawton!)
Waiting. I remember a reflection that one of my CLC leaders gave to us (I think it was Sarah) about waiting. I can't seem to find it again, but the basic sentiment was that we spend most of our time waiting, in between, on the way. And I think this is true. We grow slowly. And it is especially true for a JV. I waited for a long time to hear if I even was offered a placement. Then I waited months for orientation. Then I waited again several months to go to Peru. Once I got here, I've been waiting to get to Andahuaylillas. Not to mention stuff like waiting for the 35 bus, waiting for people, spending lots of time being patient with myself. And then, every so often, all the waiting converges to a single moment when something happens. The exact moment when you leave the country. And now, for me, leaving Tacna for Andahuaylillas. I'm standing on the edge.
Not knowing. Ahh. First, they said I'd be going to Lima. Then, they changed it to Cusco. And then they changed it to Andahuaylillas. I actually was hesitant to believe Andahuaylillas was the final destination. Then we were told we were going to Tacna for a while, though we didn't know what we could do in Tacna. And even in Andahuaylillas, I don't know much about what I will be doing. I know some things about the parish, that I am working there. But these are mostly ideas, a lot of newness. We dont know our phone number yet, we dont know where to get the mail, where the market is, what is available at the market, how much internet we will have, how to get from town to town. We don't even know how to get our money yet. We shall see what happens.
Adapting. It goes with not knowing, after all. Sudden changes means you have to change as well. You have to be flexible, unattached, always willing to rethink, re-engage, and jump right in. I suppose this will be a huge one in just a few days. Very odd skills like cutting hair, picking locks, and loud whistling have come in handy. It is not just about surviving, it is about thriving. Learning quickly and doing your best. Remembering that you are here to love one another, nothing more, nothing less.
I guess I outline these things because they have been on my heart this week. Yes, I'm on vacation in Tacna, dripping sweat from the hot summer sun, but every day we waited for the call to pack all our stuff and go. Al toque. Ready to move at a moments notice. And I've been living in the tension of this place, Tacna, starting to feel like home, but having to leave to start all over again. There is excitement, yes, in finally being with my Anda community (though I can't really call it mine, but ours), seeing my work site, living in that space, understanding the dramatic difference in culture and lifestyle between Anda and Tacna. But at the same time, I am again leaving my host family, the kids I spent a month with on Mes de Mision, and all the other Peruvians I dare to call my friends. I said goodbye to my host grandparents, and they had tears in their eyes. They told me that their home is always my home as well.
Am I ready? Yes.
Am I excited and eager? Yes.
Will I be sad? Yes.
Will I go where I am called? Yes.
Breathe.
"But I am not going to give every detail. Some things lose their fragrance when opened to the air, and there are stirrings of the sould which cannot be put into words without destroying their delicacy." -Story of a Soul, St. Therese of the Little Flower
(shout out to Father Lawton!)
Waiting. I remember a reflection that one of my CLC leaders gave to us (I think it was Sarah) about waiting. I can't seem to find it again, but the basic sentiment was that we spend most of our time waiting, in between, on the way. And I think this is true. We grow slowly. And it is especially true for a JV. I waited for a long time to hear if I even was offered a placement. Then I waited months for orientation. Then I waited again several months to go to Peru. Once I got here, I've been waiting to get to Andahuaylillas. Not to mention stuff like waiting for the 35 bus, waiting for people, spending lots of time being patient with myself. And then, every so often, all the waiting converges to a single moment when something happens. The exact moment when you leave the country. And now, for me, leaving Tacna for Andahuaylillas. I'm standing on the edge.
Not knowing. Ahh. First, they said I'd be going to Lima. Then, they changed it to Cusco. And then they changed it to Andahuaylillas. I actually was hesitant to believe Andahuaylillas was the final destination. Then we were told we were going to Tacna for a while, though we didn't know what we could do in Tacna. And even in Andahuaylillas, I don't know much about what I will be doing. I know some things about the parish, that I am working there. But these are mostly ideas, a lot of newness. We dont know our phone number yet, we dont know where to get the mail, where the market is, what is available at the market, how much internet we will have, how to get from town to town. We don't even know how to get our money yet. We shall see what happens.
Adapting. It goes with not knowing, after all. Sudden changes means you have to change as well. You have to be flexible, unattached, always willing to rethink, re-engage, and jump right in. I suppose this will be a huge one in just a few days. Very odd skills like cutting hair, picking locks, and loud whistling have come in handy. It is not just about surviving, it is about thriving. Learning quickly and doing your best. Remembering that you are here to love one another, nothing more, nothing less.
I guess I outline these things because they have been on my heart this week. Yes, I'm on vacation in Tacna, dripping sweat from the hot summer sun, but every day we waited for the call to pack all our stuff and go. Al toque. Ready to move at a moments notice. And I've been living in the tension of this place, Tacna, starting to feel like home, but having to leave to start all over again. There is excitement, yes, in finally being with my Anda community (though I can't really call it mine, but ours), seeing my work site, living in that space, understanding the dramatic difference in culture and lifestyle between Anda and Tacna. But at the same time, I am again leaving my host family, the kids I spent a month with on Mes de Mision, and all the other Peruvians I dare to call my friends. I said goodbye to my host grandparents, and they had tears in their eyes. They told me that their home is always my home as well.
Am I ready? Yes.
Am I excited and eager? Yes.
Will I be sad? Yes.
Will I go where I am called? Yes.
Breathe.
"But I am not going to give every detail. Some things lose their fragrance when opened to the air, and there are stirrings of the sould which cannot be put into words without destroying their delicacy." -Story of a Soul, St. Therese of the Little Flower
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
oh shoot!
I'm the only one who will laugh at that title, but the kiddos on Mes de Misión would say it a lot. One dude, Luis, said it so funny that I would burst out laughing no matter what was happening, including during math class. What a great teacher I am. Good thing I'm not a teacher.
Anyways, pictures.
love.
Anyways, pictures.
 |
| Our first day, how we cooked some chicken. I thought to myself, this is going to be a long month. |
 |
| Someone drew me on the board. I'm a duende = elf because we played this game with elves. haha. |
 |
| harvesting avas. gorgeous view of the landscape. |
 |
| One of the best days of work we ever had, cleaning the caminos. |
 |
| We had a quinceñera party for some of the girls, and they insisted we dress up.This is what i had to wear. |
 |
| All of us dressed up. Confidence booster that we all fit into 14 and 15 year old's clothes. bam. |
 |
| With some of the kiddos, working. |
 |
| Dude read Leo's palm. Also notice the Harry Potter hat. Awesome. |
 |
| She is 80 years old and works on her farm every day. These are the people we tried to help. |
 |
| All of us. We weren't ready. Obvio. |
 |
| Another amazing I-wasnt-ready picture. I love this one. |
 |
| You can hardly see Albert the Alpaca behind us, but he managed to wrap his leash around our legs so that I am falling on Rose. =) |
 |
| The kiddos finally reunited with their families, a nice little surprise. You can also see the Mes de Misión tshirt we made. I drew the picture on the back, just so you know. =) Little proud of that. |
 |
| Paty and Ruth, the mean girls. Yea, really. They look thug. Haha. They made fun of me so much all month. But at the end they told me I was their friend. Sounds like teenagers to me. |
 |
| The banner for the promoción. Cool stuff. |
love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)