from an email my mom sent me (my translation).
Temía estar sola hasta que aprendí a quererme a mi misma.
I was afraid to be alone, until I learned to love myself.
Temía fracasar hasta que me di cuenta que, únicamente fracaso si no lo intento.
I was afraid of failing, until I realized I only fail if I don't try.
Temía lo que la gente opinara de mí, hasta que me di cuenta que, de todos modos opinarían de mi.
I was afraid of people's opinions of me, until I realized, no matter what, they will have opinions of me.
Temía me rechazaran, hasta que entendí que debía tener fe en mi misma.
I was afraid of rejection, until I understood that I must have faith in myself.
Temía al dolor, hasta que aprendí que este es necesario para crecer.
I was afraid of pain, until I learned that it is necessary for growth.
Temía a la verdad, hasta que descubrí la fealdad de las mentiras.
I was afraid of truth, until I discovered the ugliness of lies.
Temía a la muerte, hasta que aprendí que no es el final sino más bien el comienzo.
I was afraid of death, until I learned it is not the end, but rather a beginning.
Temía al odio, hasta que me di cuenta que no es otra cosa más que ignorancia.
I was afraid of hatred, until I realized it is nothing more than ignorance.
Temía al ridículo, hasta que aprendí a reírme de mi misma.
I was afraid of ridicule, until I learned to laugh at myself.
Temía hacerme viejo, hasta que comprendí que ganaba sabiduría día a día.
I was afraid of getting old, until I understood that I gain wisdom day by day.
Temía al pasado, hasta que comprendí que no podía herirme más.
I was afraid of the past, until I understood that it cannot hurt me anymore.
Temía a la oscuridad, hasta que vi la belleza de la luz de una estrella
I was afraid of darkness, until I saw the beauty of the light of a star.
Temía al cambio, hasta que vi que aún la mariposa más hermosa, necesitaba pasar por una metamorfosis antes de volar.
I was afraid of change, until I saw that even the most beautiful butterfly has to transform before it can fly.
Hagamos que nuestras vidas en cada día tengan más vida y si nos sentimos desfallecer no olvidemos que al final, seimpre hay algo mas.
Let our lives in each day have life, and if we feel ourselves becoming weak, let us not forget that in the end, there is always more.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Saturday, April 21, 2012
genuine joy.
... has a way of pouring out, whether you intend it to or not.
Much has been shifting for me lately. I'm learning to observe myself. It has created a space for joy to fill. Real joy. Genuine joy.
I was driving back to the CapCorps house after yoga this week and experiencing that joy in me. I parked around the corner from the house, where I always do, and as I was getting out of the car, I accidentally hit the horn with my elbow. Mind you, I am not a clumsy person AT ALL, nor do I ever really use the horn when I'm driving. Well, it just so happened that two guys were walking down the street and turned around when they heard me (accidentally) honk. For a split second they looked intensely at me.
Hey! My bad! I didn't mean to do that, I said.
Hey! How you doing? They relaxed, and laughed.
I'm great. Have a nice day.
You just can't keep genuine joy to yourself. It will find it's way out.
Much has been shifting for me lately. I'm learning to observe myself. It has created a space for joy to fill. Real joy. Genuine joy.
I was driving back to the CapCorps house after yoga this week and experiencing that joy in me. I parked around the corner from the house, where I always do, and as I was getting out of the car, I accidentally hit the horn with my elbow. Mind you, I am not a clumsy person AT ALL, nor do I ever really use the horn when I'm driving. Well, it just so happened that two guys were walking down the street and turned around when they heard me (accidentally) honk. For a split second they looked intensely at me.
Hey! My bad! I didn't mean to do that, I said.
Hey! How you doing? They relaxed, and laughed.
I'm great. Have a nice day.
You just can't keep genuine joy to yourself. It will find it's way out.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
In Lak'ech
Tu eres mi otro yo.
You are my other me.
Si te hago daño a ti,
If I do harm to you,
Me hago daño a mi mismo.
I do harm to myself.
Si te amo y respeto,
If I love and respect you,
Me amo y respeto yo.
I love and respect myself.
You are my other me.
Si te hago daño a ti,
If I do harm to you,
Me hago daño a mi mismo.
I do harm to myself.
Si te amo y respeto,
If I love and respect you,
Me amo y respeto yo.
I love and respect myself.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
chronic pain
I help once a week at a place called the Community-based Chronic Disease Management Clinic (CCDM Clinic). The name explains itself-- we help people manage chronic diseases such as high blood pressure, diabetes, and high cholesterol. I basically help with the flow of the clinic, taking initial info, weights, blood sugar checks, signing women up to get mammograms, and setting up appointments, that kind of thing.
I come into contact with pretty much everyone who comes into the clinic. Often there is enough time to talk a little with people and hear some stories about what is going on in the neighborhood. The stories are also often heartbreaking. Police brutality a couple blocks away, deaths, racist treatment from doctors. Sometimes the stories are lighthearted-- A week ago one woman insisted that I looked just like her granddaughter, Kobe, when I smiled at her. She whipped out a picture and it was as if I was looking at my 2nd grade self. She called out, "Bye, Kobe" when she left, and I told her to take good care. Oddly enough, this happened again to me this week by a coworker who was "freaked out" by how much I look like her granddaughter. It is interesting to me that both the grandmothers were black and both the granddaughters were biracial, but none of us would be considered the same race. Just goes to show how un-scientific (but not insignificant) race is. But I digress.
Working at the clinic makes me think quite a lot about chronic pain, what is really at the root of that pain, and what is really causing it. I mean, come on, OF COURSE the people who come into the clinic have heart problems and tension, just listen to the stories they tell. Their hearts are hurting. But instead of undoing racism and poverty in our communities, we tell people to take medication and eat better. That way, they are told it is their fault for the condition they find themselves in, someone profits off of their suffering through pharmaceuticals, and we don't have to lift a finger working to change our world.
I encourage you to check out some talks I've been listening to by Dr. Gabor Mate, who understands that we cannot separate the mind from the body and we cannot separate individuals from their environment. He specifically talks about high blood pressure and cholesterol and diabetes as a result of chronic stress manifested in the body. It is well worth the time listening to him if we are going to learn how to heal.
To be most honest, the reason all of this interests me so much is because I'm searching for how to heal my own chronic pain. I've had persistent stomach problems since coming back from Peru, and I know it's not really about diet or bacteria. Something deep in my human organism is crying out and my gut enflames. I understand that if I am to be a force of healing, I must heal myself.
I don't know how to heal myself, but I'm learning. I know I have everything I need to heal. I know healing comes from within, that I actually have to want to heal. Or at least be willing to be willing. To release the need for this in my life. I know I belong here, now. I know we belong to each other. I know I need to relax. I know it is okay to feel. I know that the longer I try to hide from pain, the longer it festers in me. I'm noticing my defense mechanisms. I know my body has knowledge beyond me. Something lately has been really shifting for me. I can't and won't explain it, at least not yet. But I am observing the sensations of my body, whatever comes, whenever it comes.
I pray. I meditate. I move. I notice.
I'm going to create more space at the CCDM clinic to connect to people. To hear stories, to listen. I think its that connection that helps us heal, not just manage.
We belong to each other.
I come into contact with pretty much everyone who comes into the clinic. Often there is enough time to talk a little with people and hear some stories about what is going on in the neighborhood. The stories are also often heartbreaking. Police brutality a couple blocks away, deaths, racist treatment from doctors. Sometimes the stories are lighthearted-- A week ago one woman insisted that I looked just like her granddaughter, Kobe, when I smiled at her. She whipped out a picture and it was as if I was looking at my 2nd grade self. She called out, "Bye, Kobe" when she left, and I told her to take good care. Oddly enough, this happened again to me this week by a coworker who was "freaked out" by how much I look like her granddaughter. It is interesting to me that both the grandmothers were black and both the granddaughters were biracial, but none of us would be considered the same race. Just goes to show how un-scientific (but not insignificant) race is. But I digress.
Working at the clinic makes me think quite a lot about chronic pain, what is really at the root of that pain, and what is really causing it. I mean, come on, OF COURSE the people who come into the clinic have heart problems and tension, just listen to the stories they tell. Their hearts are hurting. But instead of undoing racism and poverty in our communities, we tell people to take medication and eat better. That way, they are told it is their fault for the condition they find themselves in, someone profits off of their suffering through pharmaceuticals, and we don't have to lift a finger working to change our world.
I encourage you to check out some talks I've been listening to by Dr. Gabor Mate, who understands that we cannot separate the mind from the body and we cannot separate individuals from their environment. He specifically talks about high blood pressure and cholesterol and diabetes as a result of chronic stress manifested in the body. It is well worth the time listening to him if we are going to learn how to heal.
To be most honest, the reason all of this interests me so much is because I'm searching for how to heal my own chronic pain. I've had persistent stomach problems since coming back from Peru, and I know it's not really about diet or bacteria. Something deep in my human organism is crying out and my gut enflames. I understand that if I am to be a force of healing, I must heal myself.
I don't know how to heal myself, but I'm learning. I know I have everything I need to heal. I know healing comes from within, that I actually have to want to heal. Or at least be willing to be willing. To release the need for this in my life. I know I belong here, now. I know we belong to each other. I know I need to relax. I know it is okay to feel. I know that the longer I try to hide from pain, the longer it festers in me. I'm noticing my defense mechanisms. I know my body has knowledge beyond me. Something lately has been really shifting for me. I can't and won't explain it, at least not yet. But I am observing the sensations of my body, whatever comes, whenever it comes.
I pray. I meditate. I move. I notice.
I'm going to create more space at the CCDM clinic to connect to people. To hear stories, to listen. I think its that connection that helps us heal, not just manage.
We belong to each other.
privilege as wound
I've been thinking a lot about what privilege does to us. Mostly I've been thinking about his because I've been trying to understand the White Wound so that I can come from a place of compassion towards white people. I've noticed a couple of different mindsets some people have around privilege. I bet there are a lot more than the two I have noticed, but here they are:
1. Some people, knowing that others do not get the same privileges that they do, feel incredibly guilty. Sometimes people try to hide their privilege because of their guilt, sometimes they try to convince themselves that they really earned their privilege, etc.
2. Other people feel very blessed for the privilege, either wanting to use it to help others get to their level of comfort or just feeling very lucky.
I think there are some real problems with both of these mindsets. I could write an essay on the problems, and maybe one day I will, but for now I'm just going to talk about how I've been thinking about privilege. Hopefully you can help me see where my own perspective is limited and complicit.
Okay, privilege is a wound. I'm not quite sure yet if all privilege is a wound, but I'm starting to think that most privilege is. It is the kind of wound that we are taught not to notice, but nevertheless we still feel it somewhere inside of us. I think the depth of the wound comes because privilege teaches us that we do not need each other.
Let me give an example. For the first time in my life, I have access to a car almost whenever I want. I'm taught to think that kind of mobility is a freedom, a good thing to have, again something that makes me more free and independent. I don't have to depend on bus schedules like I have before, or the kindness of others to pick me up, or my own legs to get me where I need to go. I can be independent of all of that. But independence is a great American lie. I actually depend on a lot of other people to drive that car. Dependence on fossil fuels, on the workers who extract them from the earth, on the people whose environment and homes are destroyed, etc. But because I don't have to see them, I can pretend I am independent of them. I learn that I don't need others.
But we do need each other. We come from the same source of Love called God. We need each other because we belong to each other. All of us.
As long as I don't have to think of my privilege as a wound, I will want to keep my privilege, even if I try to keep it in order to make other people's realities "better." As long as I don't think of my privilege as a wound, I can stay sick without even knowing it. I can convince myself I'm right.
How is that working for you, Jess?
Yea, I didn't think so.
1. Some people, knowing that others do not get the same privileges that they do, feel incredibly guilty. Sometimes people try to hide their privilege because of their guilt, sometimes they try to convince themselves that they really earned their privilege, etc.
2. Other people feel very blessed for the privilege, either wanting to use it to help others get to their level of comfort or just feeling very lucky.
I think there are some real problems with both of these mindsets. I could write an essay on the problems, and maybe one day I will, but for now I'm just going to talk about how I've been thinking about privilege. Hopefully you can help me see where my own perspective is limited and complicit.
Okay, privilege is a wound. I'm not quite sure yet if all privilege is a wound, but I'm starting to think that most privilege is. It is the kind of wound that we are taught not to notice, but nevertheless we still feel it somewhere inside of us. I think the depth of the wound comes because privilege teaches us that we do not need each other.
Let me give an example. For the first time in my life, I have access to a car almost whenever I want. I'm taught to think that kind of mobility is a freedom, a good thing to have, again something that makes me more free and independent. I don't have to depend on bus schedules like I have before, or the kindness of others to pick me up, or my own legs to get me where I need to go. I can be independent of all of that. But independence is a great American lie. I actually depend on a lot of other people to drive that car. Dependence on fossil fuels, on the workers who extract them from the earth, on the people whose environment and homes are destroyed, etc. But because I don't have to see them, I can pretend I am independent of them. I learn that I don't need others.
But we do need each other. We come from the same source of Love called God. We need each other because we belong to each other. All of us.
As long as I don't have to think of my privilege as a wound, I will want to keep my privilege, even if I try to keep it in order to make other people's realities "better." As long as I don't think of my privilege as a wound, I can stay sick without even knowing it. I can convince myself I'm right.
How is that working for you, Jess?
Yea, I didn't think so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)