A Different View of a Good Life!

The New Words

2011-12-04T15:39:00.000-08:00

It’s the second week of Advent, and like many Catholics, I’m waiting. That’s what Advent is all about, preparing and waiting for the coming of Christ. Yet this year, with the new translation of the Roman Missal, there is a new twist to the wait. And quite frankly, I don’t know what I’m waiting for anymore.

Surely, the season of Advent speaks to my heart in so many ways. On a personal level, I am waiting for my heart to mend and understand as I reflect on a year full of both joy and heartbreak. I am also waiting for moments of clarity as I move steps closer in my vocation as a layperson. Meanwhile, my heart is being prepared for something new and life-giving, while my spirit is being carefully supported for the journey. But sometimes in this process, I find it so very hard to focus on what matters. Instead my heart is hijacked, momentarily, by realities that feel so contradictory to the real meaning within the coming of Christ. And despite my best efforts to go with the flow, my very humanity is vulnerable to change.

You see, as much as I know that the new Roman Missal is bullshit, my heart has not fully accepted the change, nor has my attitude adapted. Actually, today was my first experience with the new words and it didn’t go so smoothly. In fact, it was a much more painful process than I anticipated.

The mass began as expected and knowing that there would be some changes, I braced myself for the awkward transitions. Even the priest stumbled a few times and there was a sense of solidarity in the church, as we glanced at the mass cards, missed our mark, and recited new words to the old prayers. But despite the solidarity, my sense of authenticity began to slowly fade away. I didn’t know if I wanted to continue trying to say the new words, or call upon the phrases already imbedded in my heart. I didn’t know if I wanted to hold the card, or leave it in the shelf, ‘just in case’. And at times, I didn’t know if I wanted to stay for the whole celebration, or walk out and talk to God instead. It was a mess, and I almost held it together.

Actually, I held it together until the final personal prayer before we receive the Eucharist.

The new mass card said, “Lord, I am not worth that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”

But what my heart wanted to say, the prayer always at the tip of my lips is, “Lord, I am not worth to receive you but only say the word and I shall be healed.”

For me, these are the most intimate words I’ve ever spoken to God. I say this prayer in a low, personal voice, so as not to simply say the words, but to really mean them. At this moment in the mass, I am preparing my heart with God. I am preparing to receive God. And even though these are just a few little changes, the fact is, these words have carried meaning for the last 31 years of my life. In fact, as I say these words, I remember my grandmother, standing next to me, whispering this humble prayer before she received the Eucharist. I thought of her as I stumbled over the new words, just like I think of her when I say this prayer. But today, as I stumbled, my memory could not reconcile this change and the tears began to fall.

I stood there in the pew completely surprised and overcome with grief. I will never hear that familiar prayer again, as my grandmother once spoke it.

I stood there in that reality, sobbing, as it all began to sink in.

I would like to say that receiving the Eucharist shortly after my meltdown had a more profound impact on me. I was hoping for that. But instead, I returned to my seat, offered my prayers to God, and cried some more.

I cursed some more too, but not at God. I cursed at the hierarchy, at men, who I do not know personally. And in the next breath I asked for forgiveness. I cursed them again and then asked for forgiveness. Because, in reality, it’s hard to know who to blame.

Who do I blame for this sadness and grief? Men with funny hats in Rome who make decisions? My parish priest and fellow laypeople who implement the change? Or do I blame myself, a glutton for punishment, who walks in the door of the church, hoping for renewal, but finds the same system with new words?

I am having such a hard time with these changes. I am having such a hard time with this church. And I ask God, what exactly am I waiting for during this Advent season? Am I waiting for the church to change or for the church to change me?

Is this moment of piercing vulnerability and pain my signal to take heart and go deeper into a faith community that is complicated and yet so very much a part of my idenity? Or is this the moment, when I leave the church, and the new words behind, to join a community that nourishes my soul and honors my voice?

At this point in the day, I just don’t know. And quite frankly, I am not sure I will know the answer next Sunday either. But I do know that this feeling of pain is much bigger than some “growing pains” due to an adjustment of change, as some would like to believe. And I also know that my relationship with God is much deeper than the pain I feel. And so I wait this Advent, like always, for my heart to be prepared for Christ.

Born This Way

2011-06-25T22:47:00.000-07:00

(A picture of Pride in El Salvador. True Courage.)

In a few hours I will wake up. I will go to church, a progressive Catholic community, and worship with my friends. I will take public transport and head to the PRIDE Parade in Chicago. I am very fortunate.

I am very fortunate because I live in a place and time where my whole being can be celebrated. I am very fortunate because I belong to a faith community that does not judge me the moment I step in the doors. I am very fortunate that I can go to a parade that celebrates the richness of diversity, and feel like being ME, is the best and only option there is. I am very fortunate because my family, the people who I loved first in this world, have always supported me…even when I told them I was gay.

You see, twelve years ago I shared this revelation with them when I was in college, but it turns out they already knew. And with a little reflection on my behalf, I guess there were some signs. So while I was growing up, my family, like any other family, let me know that I was loved…no matter what. And by the time I was ready to “come out”, there wasn’t a whole lot of room for wonder.

I wrote my first love letter to my first grade teacher. I lived my younger years as a tomboy. I wore pants and hated dresses. I played football with the boys and blended in quite well. I made friends with all the girls and all the boys. I started fashion trends in school. I didn’t date until I was in college and have had my heart broken a few times along the way. And fortunately, I was supported because when it all comes down to it, I was born this way.

Given the Gaga reference, this sounds a little clique, but the reality is that I didn’t chose any of this. I didn’t choose to be a smitten kitten over Miss Ford. I simply preferred short hair and comfortable clothing. I had great athletic ability and needed an outlet to get my energy out. I was sociable and got along with everyone. And the reason my heart got broken was because I dared to love in the first place. I dared to live as authentically as I could.

But again, I am very fortunate. And so on this PRIDE weekend / month, I will be thinking about all those folks who struggle to live authentically in this world. I will be thinking about all my LGBTQ sisters and brothers that weep on the phone when they call their parents because the missed the boat on same sex attraction. I will be thinking about all the people who struggle to wear clothing that feels comfortable to them, but are compelled to dress in a “certain” way. I will be thinking about all the people who find it so very hard to be proud of who they are.

It is my belief that the vast majority of LGBTQ people do not choose to be this way or that. It is my belief that we are born this way. And after some time, living, we may develop a certain pride in who we are. And it takes time.

Today I am proud to be who I was created to be and it’s because of all the people who supported me along the way. And so I thank them…

The Churchwomen

2010-12-02T17:27:00.000-08:00

Today is the 30th anniversary of the martyrdom of the four churchwomen in El Salvador. Maura, Ita, Dorothy and Jean lived their lives in a full and real way, taking each day, joys and pains, as a part of their calling to live with the poor of Central America. They died at the hands of men trained at the School of the Americas and US tax dollars funded this endeavor. Today, 30 years later, these men have not been brought to justice.

Today I pray for the country of El Salvador, always present in my heart. I pray for the families of Maura, Ita, Dorothy and Jean as they remember these inspirational women. And I pray for a change in my own government, that the School of the Americas is closed, that assassins (in the US and abroad) are brought to justice, and that history is not repeated.

Ballet in Belize

2010-07-15T12:27:00.001-07:00

I went to the ballet last night with a group of friends,. The Quintana Roo Classic Dance Company came to the city through the Mexican embassy, as part of their cultural celebrations. This year is the Bicentennial celebration of Mexican Independence and the Centennial celebration of the Mexican Revolution. This prestigious dance company has recruited children from all over the southern region of Mexico to be trained in classic ballet techniques. There were a few modern pieces within the show as well, but from what I could tell, the majority of pieces were classical in nature.

There were two pieces that stood out to me. The first was a piece called “Dancing”. As one of the more modern pieces, this particular dancer, Ashanti Perez, was quite expressive and true to the nature of her body through the flow of the music. The music used was an English language piece that spoke of love, self expression and movement of self. I was struck by the emotion that Ashanti had in this piece and I found it to be quite moving.

The next piece that I paid particular attention to was a collection of vignettes called “Ellas” (meaning “women”). Each vignette depicted a celebration of a particular woman in Mexican history. Although I can’t remember each of the names of the women represented, there are images that stand out. There was a nun, a freedom fighter of the Mexican Revolution and another one depicting the life of a dance teacher. Yet the one that stood out he most was a piece that showed the two lives of Frida. As a big Frida fan, I found this vignette to be particularly inspiring. One dancer was the more butch version of Frida and the other was the more traditional, but frail version of Frida, just after her accident. The relationship between the two versions of Frida was like viewing one of her self-portraits and I felt myself wanting to spend more time with Frida and her images. In all, “Ellas” was very well done and I often found myself reflecting on the important women in US history…while thinking how they might be depicted in a dance format.

At any rate, it was a nice treat to go to the ballet last night. I’m not a regular at the ballet but I do appreciate the art and even though I was a bit hungry, hot and cramped, I was quite entertained and even inspired. The event was held at the Bliss Performing Arts Center and I was surprised to find that it was a full house. But I guess when things are free, it’s best to take advantage of the opportunity. I never thought I would be going to the ballet while I was in Belize, but in true travel fashion, one must be open to the array of possibilities.

Traveling Far from Home

2010-07-14T12:52:00.000-07:00

“You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.” – Frederick Buechener, Telling the Truth

I travel a lot, and even when I’m not traveling I am always apart from people I love. This was a reality taught to me at a very young age as I commuted from one parent’s home to the next. And maybe today that’s why I’m still on the move. But I’ve noticed a shift in me lately and I can’t quite put my finger on it just yet but I am realizing that saying good bye never gets any easier.

There are people that I love all around the world. I have moments when I think, “Oh I wish X were here…he/she would love this moment.” And there are other times when I have personal revelations and I want to share that with a specific person, but they are so far away.

Sometimes I write letters or emails. I’ve even made phone calls to stay connected. I think about these people in my life, many of them who cross my heart on a daily basis…and I pray…I pray that they are safe and well. But they are always with me.
On the one hand, it feels good to know that there are people who love me all over the place. It’s comforting to be surrounded by love because there are so many other instances in this world that can make us feel lonely. And yet, being separated from that same love also produces loneliness and longing….the kind that makes you want to turn back and change your life plan. But for someone like me…what would I change my plan to?

Through travel and life experience my identity has been aligned to the people and places of my daily existence. There are certain things about me that are true, with small variations, no matter where I am (I think). And yet, I try to remain open and permeable to the possibility of change in and through a new experience. And so, any one person or event can contribute to my evolving identity. There are societal markers that help people identify who I am and there are labels to pigeonhole me, or at least to help articulate pieces of me. But these words do not always identify my true character… only my family and friends have that ability, and I think that has something to do with this quote…this piece of family and friends “living in me”.
I am a live and evolving body…a collection of people that I try so very hard to be present too. These are the people who help articulate who I really am. And no matter how far I go, I am never so far that my memory of them is not also alive.
I think about this as I leave Belize in a week….as I go back to my childhood home and stomping grounds…and then travel back to Chicago where I now live. These are all places…and collections of people…each and every one of them, that I carry.

Children's Rights in Belize

2010-07-14T12:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had the opportunity and privilege to accompany a friend of mine as she presented a workshop on children’s rights to a group of girls at a summer camp. My friend Flo works for an organization called WIN Belize (Women’s Issues Network of Belize) and a lot of her job is give presentations and workshops all around the country. She is also a talented documentarian, but during the day she presents to groups about topics such as sexual health, gender issues, cultural adaptation to oppression and even children’s rights. And so yesterday she invited me to tag along.

The summer camp is run by an organization called YES (Youth Enhancement Services) and facilitated by two North American women. One woman is a new arrival from the Peace Corps and the other has been in the country for the last year through the Jesuit Volunteers International Program (the counterpart to the JVC domestic program that I was a part of back in Detroit).

In typical Belize fashion, Flo and I arrived late because….well time is different here. And we got to camp right before they were beginning an icebreaker activity. It was the one where each person holds part of a statement from an international proverb and you had to find your match and then decipher the meaning. I’ve played this game a few times before with college students and was wondering how well it would work out with 12-14 year old girls but I found that it just took a little extra time. I found that when I participated in the icebreaker I went right into “teacher mode”, taking on the demeanor and foundationally inquisitive attitude that I once had in a former life as a teacher. It was a relatively natural switch for me and I wondered to myself…why is that…

At any rate, even though some of the proverbs were difficult, the group as a whole was helpful. I must admit however, that there were a few very shy girls in the group and it took a lot to get them to speak. Part of that could be in relation to the new guests but I’m guessing that it went a little deeper than that.

After the ice breaker Flo began her presentation, chatting really briefly about the UN Declaration on Children’s Rights and what that looks like here in Belize, and then there was another activity. The object was for each group to compile a list of what rights children have, or should have. You could make a list, draw a picture, write a poem or some other variation. I spend some time with one group which included three of the older girls and then the two youngest girls who were sent to camp with their older sisters. To my surprise, even when I engaged them in the subject matter, they too had some good answers. Here are a few of the things that I took note of…

Children Have the Right…
• To Play and have fun
• To brush your teeth and pray to God (one statement)
• To eat good food
• To have a house
• To privacy
• To be punished but not hurt (this one was a challenge to articulate because they had the idea but not the words)
• To be sad and happy
• To go to the clinic
• To not talk to strangers
• To be safe from harm
• To go to church
• To get an education

Really, the list went on and on and there was even one poem which I found particularly striking (wish I wrote some of that down). But really what struck me the most was that they already knew their rights. And I think they also knew that they were not always receiving those rights either. Sure, there was some talk at the end about what one might do if they know their rights are being violated, but really, I wondered how tangible the suggestions really were. And given the cultural history of Belize and some of the current reality, children in here are particularly vulnerable the system and the families they live in.

As we left camp and drove back to Belize City I learned that these girls come by bus from all over the district. It’s free, which is good, and there are even field trips. I was impressed by that and excited for them as well. Given what they are up against, these girls need all the support they can get and free summer camp is a step in the right direction.

Driving in Belize

2010-07-12T08:35:00.000-07:00

As it turns out, I actually like rules. But especially ones that pertain to driving. Stop signs mean stop and people actually stop…for bicycles to also follow rules…and for pedestrians to care enough out their lives that they wouldn’t walk in front a car in a moment of arrogance. I like that round-abouts are sort of fun but that they do have a natural regulated flow. I like that I can enter the round-about when there are no cars and signal to leave. It seems like a good system and I guess that’s why I stick to it….even here in Belize.

You see, here in Belize, the rules of the road are just a guideline. And depending on the time of day, people may or may not follow these guidelines. And its really no big deal because the traffic police don’t REALLY care. They simply stand in the middle of the road, blow their whistle, direct traffic and check for valid insurance and drivers licenses. But what do these plastic cards mean anyway?

I’ve spend some significant time in my life driving. I’ve driven in other states in the US and even other countries like Belize. Each place has a certain way of being when considering the rules of the road…but Belize…Belize is in a league of her own.
A friend commented to me the other day, “I can’t wait to get to Chetumal (Mexico) to drive because people actually follow the rules of the road there.”

Hmmm, what a concept….that others also look upon the law for consistency.
I am often one to look for consistency in my life….for people to say what they mean…for actions to follow…for a traffic light to actually dictate a stop or a go. It’s pretty simple really some folks haven’t really caught on just yet.

These are observations really, nothing major. I’ve been driving a lot you see….borrowing a friends car and exploring the city. I do errands, go to lunch, get a choli…and drive. I like it …I like the freedom. And, I must admit that it’s sort of an adventure. But I go slower here and I let people cross the street. I follow the rules of the road despite the honking horns and sometimes I have been known to add in a rule of my own.

Last year I heard a story of a man who hit a child while driving on the road. I can’t remember how the rest of the story went…if he got out of the car or took off and ran. But I heard that people in the neighborhood killed him. The whole reality of vigilantism in Belize is scary…which makes me think that rules should be followed so that people aren’t compelled to take the law into their own hands. That, and maybe the judicial system could be consistent and dependable as well…but that’s just a suggestion.

Independence

2010-07-06T15:09:00.000-07:00

The word independent has a lot of different meanings. Given my life, my current reality, and the passing of another 4th of July weekend, the varied meanings of this single word seem to resonate with me. Here are a few that I’ve been pondering…
• Politically autonomous; self-governing
• Free from the influence, guidance, or control of another or others; self-reliant
• Not determined or influenced by someone or something else; not contingent
Other phrases come to mind like, self-sufficient, self-supporting, not dependant, not affiliated or loyal to….and the list goes on.

So let’s talk politically just for a second and humor me on some of the meanderings of my brain. A little history: Columbus set sail on the ocean blue…yada yada…skip a bunch of years and there’s a “revolution”. People die, men come together and write some stuff down, they hide it in a tree in Connecticut (sorry I had to put that in there), and then this place that I am from, The United States of America, is now independent from England. We can even go on to say that the USA is independent from other nations as well. According to the definition, the US is “self-governing and politically autonomous.”

So I wonder, is this really true? Given the global reality, the way political decisions are made these days (I’ll give you this plutonium if you give me these guns and we’ll call it a day…then to fast forward 30 years…I’ll teach you how to vote and how to run a democracy if you continue to supply us with X, Y and Z for the rest of eternity), is this really independence or rather exercising a kind of control? Because as much as the US, or any other nation, claims itself as independent, there is still the reality of goods and services that needs to be factored into the deal. Plain and simple, when it comes down to it, the US NEEDS stuff…and really, we are DEPENDENT on other nations to sustain our life.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure this is not an original thought but it’s something I’ve been thinking about in relation to my own personal worldview.

One of my favorite authors, Henri Nouwen once wrote in his journal, “I love Jesus but want to hold on to my own independence even when that independence brings no real freedom.”

Keep this quote in mind when you read on. It will be very telling.
So then here’s me and here’s my confession…

I am an only child.

I know, hard to believe. Some may even find this shocking, but it’s true. And even though I don’t regularly show some of the common characteristics of being an only child, there are certain realities that even the best performer couldn’t mask. And at the end of the day, the people who know me most understand that being an only child is a part of WHO I am in the world.

So what are those characteristics….well, sometimes I can be selfish, I tend to see the world as ME and then everyone else, I’m pretty confident and live as if I know what I’m doing (even when I don’t), and the kicker, I live as if I am independent. Actually, I seek to be independent….self-governing, self-reliant, self-supporting, not contingent on another and certainly not dependant on another. But the actual blow of the kick comes when I believe that the things I do are done in a void. When I believe that I have done something by myself, that I stand alone in my thoughts and actions, my personal confidence is fed and the illusion of this cycle continues.

I wish I could say that this realization was figured out a long time ago and that I’ve nipped it in the bud. I wish that I could say that I’m not as selfish as I used to be. I wish I could say that I’ve learned something important about being an only child and that is X….but…I’m still a work in progress. And actually, if I play my cards right, the ebb and flow of personal realizations can take me for a few more years on the wave self-knowing…or something like that, without ever changing my thinking or altering my illusions.

Ok, but here’s the redeeming quality of the whole shebang. Somewhere along the way I’ve figured out that I actually NEED. More simply I am needy.
I need food, shelter, clothing and other misc. things to sustain my body.
It turns out that I need people too. Not only do I like people, but I NEED them in my life. I need to feel welcomed, loved, supported and encouraged. I also need to feel like I can be that for others as well. I need to be put in my place sometimes and learn from those people and experiences. I need to feel like I’m contributing, that who I am matters to others. I need to feel like I have a place in this world and that there is something about ME that people want to know more about…or even love. Consequently, I have to leave the binds of my illusion of independence and suck it up because my internal desire to be self-reliant is counterproductive to fully entering into relationship with people and places. And really, any other version of life is only a portion of what could be. I know this to be true on many days, but I don’t always live it. Sometimes I need a jumpstart to get me out of a holding pattern. Sometimes I just have to surrender, to a place, to the reality in front of me and even to love, to jolt me into realizing that I am not as independent as I think that I am. And, that my grand notions of independence bring me further into myself and not into relationship with the world around me.

Let’s take an easy example of my time here in Belize….

I’ve been coming here for the last eight years and for the most part, I know my way around. But I still have to depend on my friends to keep me in line. Not only do they tell me where to eat, show me around the city and keep me out of trouble but they offer friendship, conversation and guidance when I need it most. Sure, there is some mutuality to my relationships here in Belize, but I can say for myself that my time here would not be so easy if I tried to assert my notion of independence. And really, because of my dependence and personal flexibility, I’ve been able to experience some profound openness in my own heart…the kind of openness that comes when you live as though you have nothing to lose.

For me, this is where the Nouwen quote comes in. I do believe that independence is important especially in terms of being a “free thinker”, a competent individual and being able to determine what you really want in life. Most day’s I am not lacking in this. But when my heart and life are so closed to the guidance of another….when I neglect to realize that others depend on my actions and decisions….when I forget that my own need for self-preservation creates boundaries in relationship…then…THEN, I have taken my own notion of independence too far. And like the Nouwen quote, being “free” doesn’t feel liberating.

Lately, I’ve been trying to live my life in such a way that honors the person that I am….as flawed as I am. I can willfully and joyfully say that I depend on my community (as a whole). I’m continuing to understand all the places I can shed my notion of personal independence to live more fully in those relationships. Personal pain and relational hiccups can serve as setbacks in continuous flow, but the more liberating piece of the pie is choosing to live in an interdependent way even when I know things won’t always go to plan. Exercising my freedom to live as if I have not been hurt…to live as if things will all work out…to live as if each moment is important and part of the plan…those are the pieces that capture me in all the right ways and legitimize my shift of being. (mind you, none of this is very easy)

When I think of the word freedom I find that the world independence is not too far behind. And for some, one idea feeds into the next. They are synonyms if you will. But when looking up the definition of freedom I have found these phrase that resonate with me, given the struggles that I face:
• Release from captivity
• Power to determine action without restraint
• Frankness of manner or speech

I’m guessing that Henri Nouwen was looking to be released from the captivity of his false notions that he was an “independent” man. I’m guessing that he wanted to live his life in such a way that did not give more power to this notion of independence, but more so to the way of his heart. I am guessing that he wanted his life to mean something and that his honest way of living might help him be more transparent and relational. I’m guessing he wanted to invite the same in others.

These are all just guesses….but I know this is true for me. And I know this is also difficult for me. Alas, I am still working on it…

Belizean Morning

2010-07-06T13:17:00.000-07:00

I woke up an hour ago, sweating. It wasn’t from a bad dream but rather from the sheer fact that the sun came up again this morning. It’s damn hot here in Belize and even on a cloudy day like this one (so far), the sun lets you know her lingering presence. I certainly can’t forget it because I crave fans, AC and cold drinks on a daily basis. Nevertheless, I get up, take a shower, get dress properly and prepare myself to sweat it out. And maybe that’s ok…at least for now. For me, extreme heat and cold let me know that I am fully alive. I’m either sweating buckets or shivering my ass off but at least I know I can’t fake it. The reality cuts me to the core.

I’m sitting in front of a fan right now and looking out the window of the second story apartment that I’m staying in. The view is quite majestic if you consider everyday life something spectacular like I do. There are palm trees in between homes, greenery all around and a calm stillness that blankets this place. The roof of each house is covered with red tin that has been weathered by hurricanes and seasonal downpours. Even in the dead heat of the day birds won’t perch on the top, but today there are a few I can see. I can also see three yellow butterflies dancing in the backyard of our neighbor. The dance seems playful and as they round the bend towards the purple flowered tree, one might begin to think that this is paradise. A puppy barks in the distance and consequently a cat meows back (note: some cats have a strange meow here). There are men working on the roof of a high cement house on the next block and I’m sure from their height they can see the Caribbean, which is really just a block away from where I am now. Here in Belize City, the Caribbean is never too far away. And as the city itself sinks further below sea level that reminder is all too present. Homes flood every year during the rainy season, but like the sun coming up in the morning, it’s a reality not to be escaped…especially for the poor.

As much as I am surrounded by the everyday beauty of this place I still find it quite difficult to deny the raw counterpart of suffering amidst the backdrop of vulnerability. Poverty is insidious here just like any other place I’ve been but the global voice deems Belize to be fairing not too badly in comparison to her regional neighbors. And so, the global community can breathe a sigh of relief and neglect the everyday visions of children playing on the roadside, homes washed away by a flooded river, or meals that never quite make it to the table because the money was never there n the first place. “Oh, Belize might be developing but they aren’t as bad as _______.”

Apparently beauty comes at a price and that’s what I’ve been thinking about these past few days. I’ve been thinking about the face of a typical Belizean, the reality that they live in compared with the song and dance show that tourists see. I’ve driven past the tourist village, eaten as some of the typical tourist restaurants and even gone to some of the attractions. And I wonder if the bus drives cover the windows when they drive through the villages. I wonder how they can hide the vulnerability that is so very present. But then again I wonder, how people in places of power, in the government, can actively negate the poverty here or even chose to be blindfolded when deciding where to allocate funds. I wonder…

Granted, I am really just a tourist myself. And it’s easy for me to be critical of my own government and that of Belize. But I do spend a lot of time these days driving around, looking out the window and wondering. I’ve chosen not to be sheltered or barricaded up in the Radisson compound. Instead, I appreciate the sweat I wake up to, the sound of the birds in the palm trees, the men hammering outside my window at god awful hours and even the daily reminders that I receive to show me that my notion of paradise is a little more complicated by reality. Either way, something here still cuts me to the core.

GLBTQ Belize

2010-06-30T10:24:00.000-07:00

Today is the last day of June. Another month of “gay pride” has gone by and I’ve passed the time here in Belize. I did not go to any parades. I did not go to any “gay events”. I didn’t cloth myself in a rainbow flag for all to see. No, not this year…or the year before…or the year before that. Instead, I went to a place of paradox to rest in a world of unknowing. I left home to be home. And as complicated as that statement is, it too is a paradox. And so, I come to Belize for many reasons…reasons all my own, and I know well how privileged I am.

You see, I come to Belize to reconcile pieces of reality that don’t fit for me. I come to Belize to slow down and simply be. I come to Belize to see good people, eat good food and sweat it out. And I come to Belize to put things back together again. It’s a self-serving journey with moments of relational atunement and today Belize is a part of me.

Now I say all of this to help you understand that as much as Belize brings me to life, she also makes me pause in sadness and fear. And because of who I am, I look inward to find understanding. Sometimes I look to God hoping that she too will help me sort and feel all I need to hold.

So, back to the month of June.

I first came to Belize in June of 2002. I volunteered and did some stuff but mostly I tried not to get in the way of my inner transformation. I’ve come back several times since and almost always in June. Each time, I weigh my dual realities and call to mind all the pieces of the puzzle…some that fit and others that don’t. And because it’s June, I do a lot of reflecting on what it means to be gay.

I’ve been out of the closet for 11 years now. My family has know my whole life. At this point, all my friends know, even those here in Belize (or anywhere else for that matter). At school, being gay is a piece of me to add to the conversation, and at work, I don’t have to hide who I am or who I am in relationship with. I have loved women and some have loved me and I am a better person for those moments of care and struggle. And all the while, over the years, I have shared many conversations over cups of tea and caramel lattes….conversations to explore and enlighten and others that reveal and grieve. I have come into my own in so many ways and the process has been so very emotional. And yet, if you were to take the “gay” out of me, I would be less of who I am today. I know this to be true and so I try my best not to compromise my integrity or my identity in the process of living. But, there are times…

There have been times that I have chosen a path contrary to who I am as an out gay woman. And I say the word “choose” because I fully realize my freedom in making decisions, while also knowing the consequences. I try to embrace those moments as best as I can in an effort of self-preservation but a little piece of me hates to compromise in such a way. Nevertheless, I chose.

In the U.S. I don’t have to make these choices a lot, but sometimes I do. Here in Belize, I make these choices all the time, telling myself it’s temporary and wondering how true that really is.

I have chosen to be silent to hide relationships. I have chosen to avoid certain topics and overt the spotlight away from a person who is not out. I have chosen to hold hands with a man to pass as straight and I have chosen to dress in frilly lace to pass as feminine. I chosen to hold back my joy when in a relationship with someone and I have chosen to take deep breaths to hold back tears when I have been in the midst of breakups, lest I want to talk about it. I have chosen to speak of someone as my “friend” instead of my girlfriend and I have also chosen to “play it cool” so that no one suspects. And sometimes I have chosen to let people believe what they want to believe.

Each time I make a choice like this I feel stuck. It feels like I’m being dishonest even by omitting the truth. And I wonder how much of myself I can give away like this until I am a series of half-truths. You see, it’s not that I stop being gay, it’s more that I hide who I really am…to some people and in some circumstances.
Again, it doesn’t happen all the time…but enough for me to know and realize. It happens enough that the moments stay with me. And it happens enough that when I see someone else omitting their own truth, I feel pain for them too.

However, I do think things are getting better at least a little bit. In the US, my life is pretty protected relatively speaking. I have even been known to hold hands in church with the woman I may be dating. In Belize things are a bit different.
We get US television stations here. I watched my first episode of “The Real L Word” (or something like that). I also bought a lesbian themed movie the other day from our DVD guy. I walked into a women’s organization the other day and saw a poster for lesbian sexual health. One friend just asked his first boy out while another is “exploring the continuum”. I’m probably going to a bar in the next couple of days and although it’s not a “gay bar” it is a bar where you might see more gay people than straight ones. In the short time that I’ve been here, the topic of homosexuality has come up a great deal and I wasn’t the one who started the conversation. And sometimes I still catch a glimpse of a woman checking me out. These are all little things that add up.

I can’t say that I am fully comfortable here and I do worry about safety of self and heart. And as much as I feel more free in the US, there are other realities that tug at the strings of my being there as well. But at the end of the day, I know that I made a choice to come here and be for a little while because I know it’s good for me. I miss things like pot luck BBQs and gay pride marches back at home but I’m kind of ok with that. Because as much as I love being gay (and actually I really do) I would rather celebrate who I am in the context of relationships and in the context of working on the road less traveled than only using the excuse of a parade to really live who I am meant to be.

Today, on this last day of June I celebrate being gay with my friends and family. I celebrate with those who are working to muster up enough courage to come out to their family. I celebrate with those who lose loved ones to suicide, depression and substances to numb the pain of being dishonest. I celebrate with those remain silent to protect identities and reputations. And I celebrate with all our advocates who stand beside us in love and support as we fight the disease of homophobia.

Morning: Sabbath

2010-06-13T07:26:00.001-07:00

Today is the day of the Sabbath and I am relishing in the morning chill and the silence that penetrates the core of my fears. Alone and restless, I breath in the freshness of a new day with ALL that it entails….joys and heartache. Morning poetry and church hymns fill my heart with anticipation as I wonder how life will be revealed today.

Will I gracefully jump from limb to power line like the squirrels near my porch or will I stumble like the almost confident toddler that didn’t quite calculate the magnitude of a curb?

I take this moment as my own, willing to share it with others as a gift, hopeful (although sometimes reluctant) to reveal the soul within.

This is morning on my Sabbath day.

A Priest: A Woman

2010-04-03T09:02:00.001-07:00

There is a woman at my church who I think is really beautiful. She catches my eye every week and when I see her, there is a sense of warmth that I feel as I rest in her presence. Sometimes at mass she sings or she will read and I delight in those moments. I don’t know this woman personally, but friends have pointed her out to me. One friend said that she is studying to be a priest, which in my church, is not unheard of, but in all of Catholicism, her vocational journey is rarely supported.

I don’t know why I am drawn to this woman but I suspect that I see a part of myself in her…and in really, I revel in that.

Yesterday evening I went to the Good Friday service with friends in my community. I saw this woman in the back of the church. A friend told me her name, mentioned that her ordination was coming up and he went over to shake her hand. There were others going over to shake her hand too. She was wearing simple white vestments, like and alter server would wear and I remember saying to myself, “we must be blessing her tonight.”

I had no idea that a simple ordination blessing (as revolutionary as that is) was not the only thing in store.

As custom in a Good Friday service, everything is stripped down. We are a church of the faithful, a cross and the holy Eucharist. Priests wear simple vestments, alter cloths have been put away and the incense comes out. The reverence about the evening is what I appreciate most and last night was a very powerful moment for me.

The procession began as normal and there….there she was again, at the back of the line, where the celebrant is accustomed to walking. Our parish priest was in front of her and he was carrying the foot of the cross while two other women lifted the sides. I smiled to a friend thinking that this symbolic gesture was really beautiful and in my heart of hearts I would have settled for that, hardly knowing that her presence could be so much more.

They processed to the alter, and this woman….this beautiful, God filled woman stood at the alter and began the service with some opening remarks. I remember melting, looking around in amazement thinking that what I was witnessing couldn’t be true. I wondered if I had missed a memo in the bulletin. And as I looked into the eyes of my friends around me I saw the same gaze of utter joy and amazement. We were witnessing something beyond our expectations…

We began, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

I took a very deep breath and smiled…relishing in the symbolism. And she continued on… and I continued to be completely struck with just how beautiful this moment was going to rest in my heart.

There were other women and men who did the first two readings and the passion of Christ, according to John was read. Three women read the passion, representing each part, and our priest….she represented the voice of Jesus. It was all so very moving…

After the Gospel was the sermon…done by ANOTHER WOMAN who carried herself with poise and dignity. She spoke and we were all glued to the importance of her words. And yet, I wondered if this was it. I wondered if the next piece of the service would also include women. I thought that maybe during the Eucharistic blessing things would change. I thought that a man might take over now….and then he didn’t.

Knowing that the Eucharist was already consecrated the night before, as per tradition in the church, I detected the loophole of the situation and thought of it as irrelevant during that time because the actual reality was right in front of me. And as she held up the small wafer for all of the congregation to see, I breathed deeply again.

I remember the words coming out of my mouth, “Lord I am not worthy to receive you but only say the words and I shall be healed.”

I shall be humbled
I shall be stripped of my assumptions
I shall be rid of the box that I sit in
I shall recognize the fear that stops me
I shall realize love in my life
I shall embrace the goodness of transformation
I shall be filled with spirit
I shall BE without counting the cost

I was humbled in so many ways yesterday evening…stripped to reveal pieces of my core and gestures of possibility. Joy might be a good word to explain my state of mind, reverence as I walked up to kiss the cross.

There was a woman who celebrated mass at my parish last night.
A beautiful, God filled woman celebrated mass at my parish last night.
Our priest celebrated mass with us last night and her presence was powerful.

Walking Justice: Good Friday 2010

2010-04-03T08:52:00.000-07:00

I began yesterday morning in prayer, reflection and poetry, curled up in my blanket as I sat on the couch of our common room. The poetry of Mary Oliver seemed to comfort me as I began meditating on the day ahead. I even put one of her books in the bathroom as if to say that I needed a little more connection than usual. And so I asked myself, why today?

Today was Good Friday, the day that marks the death of Jesus, nailed to a cross. And like a typical Catholic, I went to a solemn event portraying the stations of the cross. Actually, I was a part of the stations…

I went downtown with my larger community of friends for the event. When we rode the El downtown, I meditated and talked very little. I’ve been sick for the last few days and my energy level has been low but mostly I was intentionally slow about my preparation. Like the Buddhist, I wanted my actions of the day to be fully mindful. I wanted to be reverent for the day that Good Friday is and for the respect that I would be representing with my body. I sat in my seat, breathing, watching the buildings go by, watching my friends have conversations, smiling…I thought about Mani al-Utaybi, the who died on June 10, 2006 while he was being detained in Guantanamo. He, and two other men, Salah Ahmed al-Salami and Yasser Talal al-Zahrani apparently committed suicide during their time of detention. I’m not sure that this is true, but I do know that their detention in Guantanamo was painful and lacking in justice and so with my body as a symbol, I represented Mani al-Utaybi.

When we arrived to the walk a few of us gathered. I slowly put on the orange jumpsuit, an outfit that characterizes prisoners in places like Guantanamo, Bagram and Abu Ghraib. We took some moments for prayer and then I put the black hood over my head and became the silent symbolic representation of Mani al-Utaybi. There were others standing with me, representing more people who were tortured and died in pain. I became a mindful presence of a man I did not know and yet intimately connected with in his death.

We walked through the streets of Chicago with hundreds of others involved with the stations of the cross. They talked along the way about many things. I did not speak.

I walked and I heard people huff in disgust. I heard the curiosity of others. I heard the reverent understanding of how powerful the representation was. I found myself to have a sense of acceptance for all of this, a realization of the reality and then moving on. I didn’t dwell in any one comment but rather rested in the person that Mani al-Utaybi was.

At the ripe age of 25 years old, Mani al-Utaybi was committed to his faith. He desired to get married, have a family and continue his schooling and religious studies. I find that these are dreams that I too share for my own life. And in 2006, when he died, I remember processing my own hopes and dreams within the context of life. Mani al-Utaybi did not have the opportunity to live.

When we got to each station, each of us dressed in the jumpsuits stood in a straight line. We were still and connected. People looked on. Some took pictures and others simply glanced. Yet it was apparent that our role in this event was different. I was different.

We went through each station, each location was different. Friends were around us in solidarity. I could feel their caring presence. I wondered if Mani al-Utaybi knew that people cared for him. I wondered what he would think of this representation of his body.

And then the 9th station of the cross, the execution….

Kairos Chicago and the Witness Against Torture communities took the responsibility to bring the reality of modern day execution to the forefront of our minds. Using the bodies of those of us in jumpsuits, we reenacted the symbolic death of Salah Ahmed al-Salami, Mani al-Utaybi and Yasser Talal al-Zahrani. Each man died yesterday, rested on the ground with only a sheet for a cover. And I too died…just for a moment with Mani al-Utaybi.

With the death of Mani al-Utaybi and the others I couldn’t help but think of all the other things that died with them.
Their hopes and dreams.
The pieces of them that rest in the hearts of those they love.
The reality of a life not fully lived.
The stark realization of a detention never examined.
The understanding of a story never fully told.
The investigation into the reality of how they left this earth.

As Christians we read the passion of Christ on Good Friday and we wonder if Jesus will remember us when we die. We wonder if Jesus is really like us at all and if he is, how is it that people like Mani al-Utaybi are still being crucified today (literally and figuratively).

Mani al-Utaybi, through the representation of my body, was removed from the circle by six pall-bearers, and the action was done. Shortly after I took off the jumpsuit and became me again. I sat down and looked at all the same people that I had once seen through the black hood. I was grateful to be alive and humbled to be in the heartfelt presence of my brother, Mani al-Utaybi. It took me a while to transition into being me again and yet I never fully left.

Today as I write this, I remember Mani al-Utaybi and all the other in prisons across the world. People who are held in conditions that strip away dignity. People who yearn to be released…people who struggle to find meaning in their existence…people who desperately grasp at each day in order to hold on to what little they have left.

Today, there are men and women being held in prisons who do not belong there. They have not been tried in a court of law. They do not have access to attorneys. And for many of them, their reality rests in a state of torture and impending death.

I cry out for them in prayer and mourning.

Salah Ahmed al-Salami…PRESENTE

Yasser Talal al-Zahrani….PRESENTE

Mani al-Utaybi…..PRESENTE

My 30th Year

2010-03-31T08:14:00.000-07:00

Greetings on this day that celebrates the 30th year of my life. In the words of the Grateful Dead, "It's been a long strange trip."

Lately I find myself in a space of gratitude and a lot of introspection, which I guess isn't out of the ordinary but maybe to a greater degree than the norm. I certainly have a lot to be thankful for...a loving family, friends around every corner, my good health, a supportive community of accountability and care, a challenging work environment and a fulfilling academic life that is emerging into part of the work of my life. I am very blessed indeed.

When I reflect on the twists and turns, I remember those moments of uncertainty, the second thoughts and the holy jumping in that my heart has been provoked to do. I love the newness of a relationship, the gradual process of becoming and even the bitter edge of defeat reminds me that I am alive...so very alive.

Today as I sit by beautiful Lake Michigan (which isn't quite an ocean) I recall memories. I have no real words of wisdom to offer, but fragments of my life that have meant something to me....interactions that have changed me to my very core. Despite the fact that there are many of these (big and small), I will list a few that have been very present to me lately in the hopes that might know what a life well lived looks like from my perspective.

Moments of great importance:
* visits to the tide pools with friends and alone...soaking it in
* My time spent with the people who live near / in the Guatemala City dump
* Long New England drives
* Swimming to the rock and back again
* Drifting in Belize and getting lost in the essence of love
* The Island with the Adlers (my other family)
* Phone conversations in the weeee hours of the morning
* Chats with Dad on the back and forth
* Sailing, the cottage and the boat
* Ice cream chats in the parque
* Fiestas y comunidad
* Chicken bus revelations
* Remembering to breath deeply
* Moments of unexplainable honesty
* The Pilgrimage through Mexico with Tom y los migrantes
* Protest, vigil and resistance
* Las palabras de mi corazon: comunidad, amor, paz, libertad, confianza, compartir, solidaridad, justicia
* Heartbreak and liberation
* Butterflies in my stomach
* Sunrise...Sunset
* Belting out the words to the most beautiful music ever
* Sharing the Story
* Prayer...
* Walks on a dirt road to change
* Frog hunting in the rain
* "When Sunny Gets Blue" and others
* Milestones and Markers
* Family gatherings
* Irish tea, lemon meringue pie, cheese and crackers
* Long walks home
* The waves, crickets and gulls
* That day on the Quad
* Everything just clicking
* Falling apart
* Manifesto on a napkin
* Many moments of love...

The list goes on..and on...and on. My life goes on...with joy, thanksgiving and reflection.

Bread of Life

2010-03-07T16:51:00.001-08:00

Lately I’ve been reflecting on my identity and the nature of my role in this world. Lent is sort of conducive to soul searching and desert treks of the heart and I have not been very far from that nature of questioning.

On Thursday I read the parable of the rich man and Lazarus at our Kairos meeting. I was struck by the tension inside me. The pull between my identity as an advocate for the poor and the actual reality of my life is a lived frustration that is hard to bare. I do admit that I readily practice the sin of cynical rationalism in this country where my heart is often buried below “higher” priorities rather than connecting with my neighbor. Yet I also know that I can hide between the cozy confines of carefully chosen rhetoric and a comfortable economic situation. Despite my concern for the poor on a global level, the more immediate evidence of a caring heart is often removed from the integrity of a situation. I fail to address needs right in front of me and worst of all, I don’t even make an effort to engage the poor right in front of me (think poor of spirit as well).

And so, when I walk past men like Lazarus on the street, I carefully prioritize my thoughts and actions into an interaction that is stale and often lacking heart. I reach into my pocket perhaps, exchange a smile, but I fail to see the complete reality that is so very apparent in hindsight and times of reflection.

You see, I am nothing more than a beggar myself (as pointed out in today’s homily at church). I crave to be seen and connect in meaningful ways. I find myself being attached to needs unfulfilled and dependencies that hold me back from fully growing. And certain pain and self-judgment might surely get the best of me if it wasn’t for the moments when I am reminded of the frailty of humanity.

Yes, the frailty of humanity is what ties Lazarus and me together. And all the cynical rationalizations in the word cannot negate this lived reality.

Lazarus and I drink of the same cup so to speak. We share experiences of community and are offered renewal and moments of understanding who we truly are. In many ways, I will never know the truth of my inner life without a profound conversion within the context of relationship. I will never know the nature of my soul without the challenging connections of agony, defeat, joy, wonder, admiration and patience all wrapped in one. And most importantly, I will never know my calling until I can embrace the discrepancies between who I am and what I do.

As much as I am a globe trotter, crossing boundaries, voluntarily breaking my heart and mending it again, I must succumb to the fact that my personal evolution and identity is found within the daily interactions that create the pilgrimage that I am on. Each day, I am finding myself. And hopefully I slowly let down my guard so that the mirror image of Lazarus does not provoke a tension within.

Patient Trust

2010-03-03T05:54:00.000-08:00

Waking up to the reality ahead of me, the long journey and the tough conversations, I have to remind myself not to get too far ahead. I have to remind myself to be humble and live all the moments in between. You see, I sometimes have the tendency to get overwhelmed. I take my concerns to bed, dream them away for eight hours and when I wake up, the existence of the weight is still shocking. And yet, I feel that I am on the edge of transformation.

Yesterday I heard this piece (again) from a larger prayer by Pierre Teilhard De Chardin. I once read this poem every single day for about a year. Yesterday is was sort of like hearing it for the first time. I find that it is fitting for this time in lent and this place in my journey.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.

Save my life...or lose it

2010-02-18T23:02:00.000-08:00

Somewhere in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus says, “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it. What does it profit them if they gain the whole world, but lose or forfeit themselves?”

Recently I’ve been pondering my vocation…and not really that seriously because in my head, “I have time”. I actually thought I had some things figured out a few months ago before grad school hit me, and then some things changed. And really, what changed isn’t a matter of logistics or possibility, but more so a matter of scope.

I live in sin you see. Most specifically I live in the sin of giving from my profit. I give from my excess and not from my need when it comes to the work of my soul. And somehow I know that I can get away with it.

It’s a hard sin to live while being a so called “social justice advocate”. And yet, I still live within the realm of possibility, that I might change my ways and follow my source of authenticity. However, each day I keep choosing the well-traveled groove that is familiar…that is, what is planed, plotted and just edgy enough not to get called out on.

But there have been times, when I was closer to living fully while being lost in the process…

A few years ago, I lived in the small country of El Salvador. Before that I lived in Belize, Guatemala and even Detroit. There is something in me that loves an underdog, and each of these places takes a prize in my heart for being just that….

I could explain all the things I did in those places. I could recite stories, tell jokes about my friends, show pictures and even give a few lessons learned for the ride home. But few people hardly ever ask me what really happened to me there. They don’t even necessarily know that something DID happen. And sometimes I think that’s because I don’t always live as though I have been changed.

To put a statement on my experiences with the poor of those beautiful places would be trivializing. And yet, it all boils down to Jesus’ words in Luke.

I lost my life.

I lost the life I thought I might have, back when I was a little more than wet behind the ears. I lost my life as I rode busses in the countryside and ate food that I knew would make me sick. I lost my life in worship, the daily expression of my love for God and humanity AND the faith filled breaking of the bread on Sunday morning. I lost my life when talking to my taxi driver about human rights before he makes his trip to the US. I lost my life when I took deep breaths and realized that I was meant to struggle in the midst of suffering. And I really lost my life when I actually thought I could do something about it.
I am not trying to say that I am going to heaven. Nor am I trying to point out any good deeds worthy of praise. However, I am trying to hold myself accountable in some sort of authentic way. I am trying to reclaim my soul, which I apparently lost in transit…somewhere between here and arrogance.

I say “arrogance” because I thought I had my soul all along. I thought I was committing people, places and experiences to memory as if to continually lose my life. But I’ve been going through the motions of being a good…..(fill in the blank).

But I haven’t forfeit myself just yet.

I still have those moments of remembering. There are books that I am reading now that have been nudging at my heart. And there are people here who are starting to understand a little bit of the fabric of who I am and meant to be. And, like any good grad student, I am thinking about my future.

I think about working for change. I think about being present to people. I think about working with migrants and refugees…the poor…children who have been affected by HIV/AIDS. I think about working with the rich too. And I think about working with myself…letting my heart change for something greater than the parameters of these few thoughts.

Today I heard this Gospel in Luke four separate times. It wasn’t until the fourth time that I realized I heard it at least one other time earlier in the day….later to realized it was more. Apparently I wasn’t listening until just now, and I needed the extra emphasis.

I hope to consistently lose my life…even here in the comfortable confines of social justice graduate school living. And I hope that someday my soul will meet my praxis in the ways I have always dreamed.

Lent 2010

2010-02-17T20:16:00.001-08:00

I am a pilgrim. I travel. I journey. I dig….deeper into the source of my being. I am lost. I am found. I am full of paradoxes. I am moving forward. I seek a challenge and run. I search for color and argue black and white. I pray. I find judgment in my soul. I lose myself in beauty. My affect is present. I cling to a past. I obsess about a future. I live in a present moment. I monopolize conversations in a stare. I quiet myself to understand. I grasp on to meaning. I listen intently. I leap for joy. I sink in sadness. I wake before my alarm. I appreciate many and say very little. I carry gratefulness in my head. I express deep thought in a breath. I dream of the ocean. I love many. I ignore some. I cry out for justice. I find mistakes daily. I forgive others. I condemn myself. I search for moments of clarity. I write, hoping truth will be revealed.

I go…on and on…in this pilgrimage.

Greetings to a New Year - 2010

2010-01-01T07:48:00.001-08:00

I’m sitting here looking out the window at the snow-covered back yard sipping my Moroccan tea and reflecting on all the great things I am thankful for. It’s a new year and transitions like these are a good time to take stock.

Today I am grateful for the stillness in my heart, for the place of calm that I now rest in. Waking up to a lack of stress is a good thing. Living my day with hope and generosity is even better. I’m glad that these days I feel very centered and generally connected.

Today I am grateful for my family, as we have endured a great deal together. There is a sense of resilience about us, and some profound wisdom that we hold in our hearts. Even though I live far away from many of my family members, I think of them daily as part of the fabric of who I am in the world.

Today I am grateful for the people I share my daily life with, my friends, co-workers, classmates, community members and seemingly random individuals that I keep in my thoughts. These connections, however brief, are what sustain me as I look to find evidence in the world that I am not alone and that I am truly loved and capable of reciprocating that. Friendship and soulful interactions reach into the core of me.

Today I am grateful for my location in the world. I am glad that I call my Chicago life “home” and that this beautiful and difficult transition came with support and care from others. I am encouraged that Latin America is always in my thoughts and that one day I will return with great anticipation. And I continually yearn for the fresh breaths of New England ocean air, that even a glimpse in my dream can keep me going. I look forward to a new year of exploring the excitement of the city as well as the beauty of nature.

Today I am grateful for my journey of spirituality. I am glad that I do not settle for the story at hand but intentionally dig deeper to find soul. I am surprised to find that for as long as I left the church, my self still felt connected. That means something to me. Yet beyond a doubt, I am most grateful to find that I continue to grow in relationship despite my efforts of preoccupation and persistence at pushing away.

Today I am grateful for the relative safety that I live within. Despite a recession and these uncertain times, I do not spend my days looking over my shoulder. I do not live in a location where war, torture and occupation exist. And despite my involvement in these evils with tax dollars, I do not feel discouraged in using my voice. I will continue to work in resisting the oppression of the poor, the imprisoned, the tortured, the occupied, the violated, the bombed, the weak of heart and all those who daily face the product of humanity gone wrong.

As I begin to live my life in the year 2010 I look forward to the many surprises, challenges and connections that will be made. I’m eager to work on some goals (not resolutions) to expand my capacity to love and live well and I am happy to welcome a new year of life con muchos saludos, amor y paz!

A New England Life

2009-12-04T20:01:00.001-08:00

Every once in a while I get a taste for the New England life. I fantasize about quaint rural towns with a strong history and neatly formed stonewalls. I dream about building a yurt in the woods or buying a big colonial house and calling it a “center for hospitality”. I always imagine the beach in my dreams, the calm presence of the waves, the way my skin feels in the air, and the seagull poop on my car. In this New England life of mine I drive on the back roads at night, pick up frogs in the rain and make random stops to take pictures of nature. Sometimes I just take deep breaths and remind myself that life is pretty good. I read books about simplicity and spirituality as I sip my tea in the morning and I push my eggs around in the skillet thinking that this will last me through the morning hike before I stop for lunch. In these little moments of thinking about the possibility of having a New England life, I imagine myself as a writer carefully collecting stories and precious moments to put on paper. Sometimes I sit in the town diner to connect to humanity, knowing that my dog and cat just aren’t cutting it. I have a favorite place at a creek that I go to often, I work on my fly fishing technique (currently non-existent) and wonder about heating my place up for the winter. Sometimes in this life of mine I escape to the city (I’m not sure which one) to watch a movie, buy some books and music and get a few treats to hold me over. I catch up with a few old friends, but my real home is somewhere in the thick of it all, tucked away.

The reality is, this dream is a collection of memories, of moments I have already lived in some way. They are the “bests”, the pieces I miss in the chaos of this Midwestern, not quite so east way of living. Even in Chicago, I remember the ocean as I go to sleep, and think that even if a grid system helps people navigate a city, I still like the winding roads of back home.

Fear of Living a Radical Life...

2009-11-23T20:19:00.000-08:00

I had a lot of time to think this weekend. Bus rides for hours, dreams I remembered and the life I lived…they all melt together, bringing me to a place of distant joy and constant vigil for El Salvador. It was only yesterday that I stood at the gates of Fort Benning in Georgia and wept for my friends in the land of the Savior.

Resurfacing my memories of the rose garden where the Jesuits were dragged on the lawn in 1989…the place I took the #46 bus to in search of clarity…or the sweat dripping heat of the mid-day sun as I stand on the place where the church women were buried in a shallow grave….and then la capilla, the cold marble and the community of nuns who give tours of Romero’s small house amidst the ever present pain of the cancer hospital that he gave his final sermon at. I am humbled by the people of El Salvador…blessed to share my existence with them…forever changed in the mystery of why my journey led me to such a place. And so as I stood at the gates, with the tears flowing with each breath, I remembered these realities…the current violence, poverty and migration…why does my emotion surprise me?

Back in August of 2005 I was a bit innocent and filled with vague concepts of job descriptions. I didn’t quite know what I got myself into answering this call to service. And yet I knew I was already ruined…living some life that I had no role models for…some beaten path of my own drum or something like that. It rained for days for the first month I was there…full on hurricane, earthquake and volcanic eruption…forget about the martyrs, THIS is the reality. And the real depth of my experience came with each day, building relationships and living a daily abundance of gratitude.

I spend my days back then stuck to a computer, buried in human rights files or chatting with high school kids in some dusty town about the American Dream that doesn’t really exist…somewhere past Mexico. There were no expectations of being something I wasn’t…I don’t think. I lived differently…more fully. And I was terrified and in love…all at once. Was this a radical life?

I protest at Fort Benning, holding up my cross with the names of Ignacio Martin-Baro (a Jesuit psychologist), Ida and Jean and Romero….my spirit sings Presente! And yet I don’t know how present I really am…I drift to memories and longing. At the Kairos meeting a question I pondered was, “If I was not afraid, what would I do?” I made a list in my head, now converted to paper…I realized that my life is too calculated. And despite my intentionality in life, I still falter in facing my fears.
If I were radical, I might consider taking up a few of these issues on my list. I might …put my life where my mouth is.

If I was not afraid, I would….
o Take time each day to write my thoughts down
o Speak up more in groups, class and conversations
o Spend money on things I want to do (travel)
o Give away my possessions to the poor
o Wake up early in the morning and pray
o Tell people how much I appreciate them
o Begin full discernment for Maryknoll
o Cry more often (good insight comes)

Poetry that Speaks

2009-09-15T19:46:00.000-07:00

Recently I've just begun coming out of a fog, a portion of my journey filled with questions and wonderment...a little dichotomy of pain and joy. Within that, my love for poetry, for creative thought has been present, but sometimes distant. Just the other day, a professor began one of our classes by reading a poem from a guy named David Whyte. http://www.davidwhyte.com/home.html

I jotted down the name and just yesterday I found his website while I was searching for reflection / prayer resources. I'm a little obsessed now but I thought I would share this poem as a glimpse into my journey.

To me, this is poetry that speaks.

Self Portrait

It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.

-- David Whyte
from Fire in the Earth
©1992 Many Rivers Press

A Long Time Coming...

2009-07-25T17:24:00.000-07:00

I knew in 2002 that I needed to go to grad school. I was 22 then and full of idealism and adventure. In addition, I was still finishing up my undergraduate years and the idea of more school didn’t sound so awesome at that point, so I put the idea in the back of my head for a while and lived my life.

It’s been a good run, and I find myself finally ready to go back to the world of academia or some semblance of it.

Tomorrow will mark my first full week in Chicago, the new city to add in the destinations of my life. I just quit my job (which I really liked), said goodbye to my family and friends and moved half way across the country (hey, at least it’s not a whole different country entirely).

Really, this has been a tough move…and it was a difficult decision to leave Connecticut. It might sound a bit strange in comparison so some of the other places I have galavanted, but I built a life in CT….and it was a good one. However, I think that I am following the right path…something that has been a long time coming.

Thankfully, once I made my decision to move to Chicago, everything clicked. I snagged a sweet internship with the Ministry office at Loyola (my school), found a really great place to live in a community called Open Hands (think Jesuit Volunteer Corps with folks who have been out of undergrad for a few years) and I will be studying Pastoral Counseling (enough said).

So far, what I have to report is this…

1. Great decision #1… take the Prius upgrade over the Kia…$50 in gas from CT to Chicago can also ROCK your world.

2. Lake Michigan is pretty darn big and people say, “it’s like the ocean…,” and I can respect that with the exception to that fact that it doesn’t smell or taste just right. But that’s fine, because this giant lake is just down the street from my house and that is sweet!

3. Public transportation is really great…I live on the Red Line, which goes pretty much everywhere you would want to go and next to the chaos of San Salvador, Chicago’s CTA schedules are really easy. I’m sold…

4. I already found my new favorite taco place, Thai place, coffee shop and book stores.

5. I live next to a sweet church. (no explanation needed)

6. I am within walking distance of at least two gay bars and a short bus ride away from the lesbian Mecca of Chicago.

7. I met a lot of new folks who will probably be my friends (no payment needed)!

8. Surprisingly there are a lot of free things to do in the city including concerts, lectures and the Zoo!

Leaving friends and family behind is tough. It always has been. There were some tears but, within time I will settle in like I always do and Chicago will feel like hope to. So stay tuned to more adventures.

Prison in Belize

2009-06-06T10:13:00.000-07:00

A few years ago when I lived in Belize I heard about the prison in Hattieville. I heard that “outsiders” were not allowed in. I think I was misinformed. And of course, I wanted in. I later met a Jesuit Volunteer who once worked in the prison. We didn’t talk too much about the prison then but I remember being intrigued that an “outsider” got in. How exotic!
Being a traveler, an adventurer of sorts, the “road less traveled” brings a certain thrill into my existence but more than anything, I always want to see things for myself. I don’t simply want to hear about the conditions within a town, school, organization or prison…but I want to see them with my own damn eyes (thank you very much)!
However, in the case of the prison, I have to admit my professional interests as well. Before I was born my parents did some sort of prison ministry. My mother also wrote letters to one man. My father later worked with violent (and mentally ill) criminals. The thought that I might carry on my life’s work in a prison is an interesting and potential full circle of sorts. And so, maybe this whole prison trip during my “vacation” to Belize was just a bit self serving. But what an experience it was.
So let’s start a few days before we got to the prison.
In true Belizean form everyone knows someone and any little connection helps. As it turns out, I have some good and well connected friends. One friend knew a priest that goes to the prison daily while another friend has a connection with the director (aka the warden) of the prison. Now we have our names to drop at the front gate after we leave our wallets, cell phones, and everything else in the car.
Ok, but the really funny part about this whole pre-trip to the prison was letting other friends know our plans for Friday. A typical conversation would go like this.
Person A: “What are doing this weekend?”
My friend: “Oh, we’re going to the prison and then to Bakab for a swim.” (*Note: Bakab is a resort that has a nice pool and some animals.)
Person A: “What?! Why would you want to go there? (turning to me) Meg, why would you let them bring you to the prison on your vacation?”
My friend: (to my defense) “Oh, Meg wants to go…she’s going to be a social worker.” (*Note: in Belize a social worker is anyone who does counseling.)
Person A: “Oh”
Ya, so basically, the idea of going to the prison in Belize, is a conversation stopper. Everyone has a good laugh and walks away thinking that I’m a little crazy (which is really ok with me). However, the whole interaction is very telling.
The Prison:
It’s Friday morning and my friends and I stayed out late the night before at some rasta bar downtown. We still managed to wake up early but I’m dozing off in the bus and car on the way. I could tell that my friends were getting a bit nervous because they start telling jokes about going to prison and never coming back. “Well as long as we get out (of prison) then we can go to Bakab,” one of them says.
She is only half joking…
We drive out into the bush on the highway. It’s been a while since I’ve seen houses and a friend points to the prison coming up. There are people behind this shotty fence, working. It’s already hot out at 9:30am and I think to myself, “oh, this is a working prison.”
We pull up in front of the gift shop and someone says, “we’ll have to go there when we come back,” and we nod in unison.
As we get to the front gate I hold back. Sometimes when people see a gringo they get nervous and/or suspicious, so I let my friends to the talking as I watch a woman pour packets of kool-aide into a ziplock bag of sugar. Family members often come for visits bringing extra provisions for loved ones that are not provided by the prison. Everything from clothing, bedding and food are coveted items for those behind the fence. I know that they guard had searched her bag before we arrived but the interesting thing is that we were never searched at the gate. The guard just told us to leave money and cell phones in the car so we did. But that was it. I wasn’t really looking forward to the frisk in the hot sun anyway.
So we got through the first gate and then waited in the reception area. Walking into this building a gringa woman was going up a staircase above me with a man who wore a long sleeve shirt that he buttoned to the top of his neck, the style I am accustomed to with some gang members. I wondered if she was a counselor, a minister or maybe a lawyer. I remember catching myself saying, “I wonder what he did,” with the added internal commitment to stop sizing people up while I’m in the prison. Note to self: Human Dignity.
In the reception area men passed back and forth. Some of the men had uniforms and the rest did not. That was the only distinction I could make between people who went home at night and those that didn’t. We waited around, got our visitors passes and Mr. Perez, a guard with three stripes on his shoulder, began our tour. As the only gringa in the group, Mr. Perez first began to address me, probably thinking I was the reason the rest of our group was there in the first place (partially true). But in typical Meg fashion, I played it off and hung to the back, knowing that my talkative friends would begin asking questions soon enough. The first stop was the cafeteria where I learned that an outside organization prepares breakfast, lunch and supper for the inmates. Inside the kitchen, the head cook brought us around as big pots cooked rice and beans. It was REALLY hot inside there and we soon took the questions and conversation outside.
One thing that I became immediately struck by was just how polite people were. Probably part of it was because we were visitors and everyone was on their best behavior. However, I think there is also a certain cultural understanding of politeness within Belize. So as prisoners and guards passed by, we were always greeted with “good morning” as if we were walking down a Belizean street. I think that helped in keeping my wandering mind away from the potential crimes of the men I was meeting. And to be honest, I wasn’t really afraid while I was within the prison compound, but rather I was more attuned to treating those I met with a sense of compassion lacking in judgment. My friends on the other hand, they were afraid.
We walked a bit more into the compound as Mr. Perez explained the different sections to us. Men played a game of barefoot soccer as Mr. Perez pointed out the buildings and the “Tango” system. Tango seven, to our left was a maximum security building. There were not allowed to leave their metal fenced wall and play soccer or work in the field. They were here for long sentences and Mr. Perez that they might try to escape. He says this just as we begin walking towards Tango seven and he points to the armed guard on the roof holding a large semi-automatic rifle. The doors to the Tango seven compound open. Two men, prisoners, open the door for us. It’s a sort of honor system. They know who can come and who has to stay. One of my friends begins her nervous laugh as we walk past the gates bidding them a “good morning”. We walk into the building of Tango seven, there are men outside watching us and I remember thinking, “this is not the tour I expected…maximum security!”
The short entry corridor before the office presents two rooms on each side with a metal barred door that locks. There are seven bunked beds within each room and I see men walking in and out of the rooms freely. In one room, men gather around a very small TV and watch a rap video on MTV. They look at us and I smile, looking at the tattoos on the arms of one man. He looks like a stereotypical gang member. I am more interested in understanding the meaning of his tattoos (I’ve always been interested in body art).
At the entry way to the office behind a plexiglass window, a man with dredlocks walks up to us holding two baskets made of paper that he just finished. Inmates make crafts to sell in the gift shop. The baskets are small and colorful. My friend later buys his two baskets for $5BZ each. Later we plan and plot about prison marketing initiatives to sell those “cute” baskets at Easter time.
Inside the office of Tango seven we give the woman in charge our names. They write everything in a daily log, including visitors. Mr. Perez explains the “Prefect system” of prisoners who serve as peer supervisors within the Tango. The Prefect is the person that you go to if a light is out, the water stopped running or there is a general problem. He’s the guy who will contact the correct people to get things done and from what I understand, they have a bit of leeway in the Tango as well.
We didn’t make it any further than the office before we continued with our tour outside of Tango seven. One friend of mine gave a sigh of relief as the doors of the compound opened to let us out. On the walkway we passed by the Jesuit priest we knew. He goes to the prison every single day for mass and counseling. He was carrying a bag while some other men were hauling the amplifier and some more materials. We greeted him in passing and continued on.
Mr. Perez pointed out the building with the technology and radio system, as the current piece of entertainment was a recording of a gringa evangelist televised over the loudspeaker. She talked about sin, resurrection and conversion. I wasn’t interested and felt the synic in me wondering why the prisoners had to be subjected to such garbage. Then I realized that some of them might actually be listening and/or be looking for that kind of message. To each his own…
The pond to our right had a little turtle in the center, sticking his head out of the water. Men pass by and smile at us as we point to the turtle. For once we aren’t looking at them. We continue on our way around the pond, Mr. Perez points to one of the Tangos. “That’s where the crazies are,” as he points.
Apparently, this is the part of the prison where the mentally ill are kept. He doesn’t bring us any further into that Tango as he explains that those people “went crazy when they got here.”
We asked him if there are counselors and he says yes. I wonder about the frequency or what else happens behind closed doors but I don’t ask and we continue on to the juvenile section.
The juvenile section is for boys 17 years and younger. It’s run like a military unit with marching and barrack style sleeping. Apparently, they are preparing these young men to become part of the military later on. That seems common. They wake up at 4:30am, do exercising, make their beds, wash up and continue on with their regimented day. The guards who look over this section act as parents according to one man we met. He has two stripes on his guard uniform and brings us to each building explaining how things work. We even go to the room where boys are carving wood figurines to sell in the gift shop. Some of those boys are very talented.
The man giving us the tour of the juvenile section explains that they can leave prison with a craft and earn money. Some will learn to carve and others will learn how to farm, pointing out the garden to the side of the classroom. As it turns out, he was once an inmate but he changed his life around. Now he works at the prison. He says that he understands these boys and they respect him for it. He later invites us to come back someday and talk with the boys, ask them why there are there. “They will tell you everything,” he says.
“Poverty…abusive fathers…stealing to eat…they will be honest with you,” he continues.
His long lecture / conversation in the hot sun is a bit annoying because it’s so hot and it feels so long, but it’s also very interesting. I appreciate his invitation for a follow-up visit. I think to myself, “maybe I will come back someday.”
At this point in the tour I am dripping with sweat and I’m hungry. I can feel the sun beating down and I am planning my next meal. Mr. Perez brings us on to another section. From my understanding this next area in the far back corner is not technically part of the Tango system. The men inside are not prisoners anymore but are there on their own will. It’s a really a rehab program where men with substance abuse issues go through a three month workbook series before they leave the prison system. The Prefect who greets us at the door is very jovial and explanatory. He is eager to explain how this program works, emphasizing that he is a graduate himself. We later learn that he chooses to live there because every time he leaves, he gets hooked again and evidently ends up back in the system. According to Mr. Perez, he likes giving back to this community and prefers staying.
I was really quite impressed with this section of the prison. It was the first time during my tour that I saw evidence of officials helping the inmates transition into civilian life again. The fact that so many men decided to participate in this program seemed hopeful to me. Maybe it’s a “rose colored glasses” kind of thing.
Our next and last stop was the women’s section. Also set off in a far corner, the women’s section is not only far removed but very small. When we entered there were two AA meetings going on, one for English speaking and the other for Spanish speaking. Apparently everyone is in AA. As it turns out we knew one of the women. I recognized her from Orange Walk, where I once lived. I couldn’t remember her name but my friend talked to her for a while. She explained that she was just let out of the prison but they hired her to work there in the AA program. She wants to go back to school to be a social worker. As we leave the women’s section Mr. Perez talks about when she first came to prison and how skinny she was. Now she has meat on her bones and is back on her feet. She too prefers to live at the prison, knowing that life on the outside just might be too challenging for her right now. People seem to respect that.
As we leave the prison and return our visitor badges back in I think about returning. There are a lot of unanswered questions I still have. And there’s a part of me that wants to do something or help somebody. I’ve got to get over that and just BE sometimes.
Nevertheless, the experience was quite interesting. I’m sure I will be thinking about that day for a long time.

A Surprising 2008

2008-12-18T15:46:00.000-08:00

Short of any catastrophes, I’d like to call the game early and say that 2008 was a pretty good year…especially when I compare it with the humdinger of 2007! Heck, 2008 was a walk in the park. (Sort of)

Let’s take some stock here…2007 had a whole lot of changes packaged wrapped into 12 short months. New country, new job, new time-zone, new food, new friends, new path, new everything really with the exception that I moved back to my home state and so I didn’t have new roadways to navigate…but that aside, I was the new kid on the block.

This year…this year was different…and there were even a few surprises to boot!

1. I rediscovered kayaking and had a great time doing that! Let me tell you, there is nothing like a good paddle after a day of work. Throw in an early afternoon and that is one damn good day!

2. I can cook….a new discovery in my life. It took a while but I am getting better and better. Sure, pasta and eggs are great…but what about stir-fry and chili. (PS. I love my slow cooker!)

3. Let’s talk about resourcefulness…I have about five area libraries wrapped around my little finger, which is great! Some of the librarians even know me by my alias now! Simply amazing!!!

4. How about my apartment…a little oasis as some like to call it. Quaint, cute and cozy are familiar words to describe my humble abode. Really, the place is just ME, small and simple with a lot of character! I even got a bed upgrade and just purchased some rodeo sheets! That’s right…the Wild West is now part of my motif!

5. I make a living and I like it…I like it a lot actually, which is part of the reason that I work so many hours. I must say, not selling my soul to make money was a great decision!

6. Now my friends, they are the ones that steal the show! I’ve made a lot of new ones this year and we have built quite the community. Eclectic, fun and generally good people, sometimes I wonder how it is that I got so lucky! They are exactly what I needed to make 2008 great!

7. Max and Charlie…they take the cake (quite literally)! Max is three and his sister, Charlie is one and I simply love spending time with them. I have dinner with them at least once a week, I go on family vacations with them, and we read stories and do craft projects. Max considers me one of the family and Charlie gives me hugs when I walk in the door. It really doesn’t get much better than that!

8. I’ve read some great books….watched some inspiring movies and even created some things myself.

9. I see my family enough and there is a general appreciation for each other. After being away for so long the luxury of easy phone calls and spontaneous visits aren’t taken for granted quite so much anymore.

10. The largest surprise I think is that I really like it here. I sort of dreaded coming back to the States. There was a good deal of anxiety in moving back for various reason but after this year, I find myself doing odd things like making local investments, saying things like, “next year we will have to do_____,” and even considering another year in these parts just because I like it so much.

It’s startling sometimes when I think back on how much has evolved in the last year…or even the last two. And I’ve even been able to notice changes within myself…more verbal, less scheduled, more conscientious of doing good things for myself…(the list goes on). I’m certainly not perfect but it is more evident to me that I do change, and I can name those changes and claim them as my own. Sure, there are certain things that remain true…the general character of me, the contents of my heart, my hopes/dreams…but the good news is that we are all evolving. Little pieces make and create us each day.

Today I am a collection of those ten different surprises (and more) that I wasn’t a year ago. Next year will be the same thing…but more. And I am grateful….for all of it…even the parts that break my heart. Certainly I am changed because of it…

Obama and Donna Rose

2008-11-05T19:24:00.000-08:00

Obama and Donna Rose

Wow! Today was quite the day. Waking up to change is a beautiful feeling…a beautiful recognition of hope! I went to sleep early after a string of very long and stressful days. Obama won Pennsylvania and I felt it was ok sleep instead of wait in anxiety. As it turned out, it was a good decision.

Lord knows that I haven’t been a huge fan of any of the candidates. At times I am a cynic about politics but mostly it’s hard for me to trust politicians and even though there was an Obama bandwagon going around, I just couldn’t get on board. Even yesterday, as I cast my vote, my reluctant heart felt vulnerable in trusting something that seemed so unsure…in trusting a person…an idea that has a historical precedence of a let down. But nevertheless, I voted…I waited and I rejoiced this morning with the news…the speech…and the reality check that this wasn’t all just a dream.

Let me tell you, to talk into work and hug a friend…knowing that we were entering into a new age together…a time of change….was a remarkable feeling. To reflect back on the day that Bush was re-elected just a few years ago and spend that day I disbelief and sorrow…to live in that moment of knowing that life would drastically change…My God, the contrast from today is startling.

And so as a reluctant….partly cloudy Obama supporter I relished in the day that at least some of my views of equality and justice were represented and that there is a chance for more change.

And as if that wasn’t enough, work turned out to be not all that bad as I got to spend some of my time learning about the life of Donna Rose and spending some time personally with her.

As an undergraduate, I learned about Donna as a transgender warrior in our country. I looked up to her then as the kind of social advocate I wanted to become, that is, an “everyday” kind of person who chooses to stand for something greater.

Donna Rose, a celebrity of sorts in the LGBTQ world, is know for her personal transformation from being a man (David) to becoming the candid, articulate and REAL woman that we know her as today.

Over dinner this evening, before her lecture, I had the opportunity to learn more about her journey from living as a man (for 40 years) to becoming a woman. I learned about some of her friends…some of her struggles…some of the funny moments and some of the nuances that I take for granted in what it takes to “be” a woman. From the way we walk, to the way we carry ourselves and even the way we shake a person’s hand, the transition and transformation of one’s socialization is quite radical. And I couldn’t help but to think about how passionate she was and how unique of an experience it was (sort of happenstance) that I was there to be taking it all in.

I thought of my friends, gay, lesbian, transgendered, that probably need someone like Donna in their life. I thought about what it would be like to switch places with them so that they too could have the moment…the connection. After all, it’s not an easy road to change…to change your appearance or how you identify. And you need community…you need understanding and I felt that Donna was that kind of person.

At any rate…it was quite the day…change is in the air…after a whirlwind October, November is looking up and I can only imagine and hope for what 2009 can bring.

Marriage

2008-10-11T20:12:00.001-07:00

I gotta say, it’s good to wake up to marriage, taking fresh breaths of freedom and equality. Ahhh….it feels good to be gay in Connecticut today!

In case you’ve been living under a rock, the Supreme Court of the great little state of Connecticut legalized same-sex marriage yesterday around 11:30am and I am just beside myself with joy.

As a gay person in this world, I will take the small victories and always dream for the big ones, and yesterday was one of those kinds of days. The anticipation…the hope in the air was historic and unforgettable. The kind of hope this country needs.

When the decision came out I just told everyone I saw, acting as if everyone agreed with the outcome from the beginning. Truthfully, I didn’t even care if the disagreed. I was going to live the moment to it’s fullest…resting in the fact that it wasn’t all an illusion and completely in awe of just how monumental October 10, 2008 would go down in history.

My God, when I think of how painful the history of GLBT history has been, the victories of today are even sweeter. I think of my friends in other countries who still live in the closet (that’s where we were 20 years ago…even less) and I have the choice to be OUT in the open. Sometimes the distance between these two realities…these two worlds can be discouraging but then that spirit of hope comes to me, inspired by the decisions of California, Massachusetts and now Connecticut.

As I watched couples hold hands, dance and laugh together last night I thought, “Three down, 47 to go and other countries to follow.”

It’s good to wake up to marriage today, tomorrow, the next day and the next…..

Critical Conversations for Critical Periods

2008-09-23T18:52:00.000-07:00

Lately I’ve been thinking about a few key concepts and how they relate to my life. For the most part, many folks think of me as “very grounded”, which in some ways I am. But what people don’t realized is how much I really do reflect and evolve over time. This is a concept that is hard to see in me unless you are one to stick around for the long haul because the subtle realizations don’t happen every day and are only verbalized after the repetition of said realization has been mulled over for a bit (ie. I am not a verbal processor).

At any rate, back to the key concepts.

1. I’ve been thinking a lot about identity. I know, a huge concept…how uncharacteristic (notice sarcasm)!
2. I’ve been thinking about what I consider my “spiritual home”.
3. I’ve been thinking about love and relationships…mainly because of this great film I saw the other day called “Chris and Don”. A great documentary that I highly recommend!
4. I’ve also been thinking about the quest of strengths…aka “Strengths Quest”.

Ok…now I’ve been thinking about these issues for some time now (you know, my whole life) but recently they have been coming up in conversations a lot more than usual. And I think that is where I have been seeing these changes take shape….changes that were barely manifested three years ago but are now the beginning of a paradigm shift of sorts. I’m not talking monumental mountain moving, but something more along the lines of what I like to call “deliberative heart exploration”.

I know…sounds a lot more Zen than it really is.

But after being back in the US again, being close to home again, refraining from the regular practice of going to Mass and actively engaging in self analysis, these changes have really taken a front row seat in the life that many people perceive to be so (insert word) focused, guided, grounded, deliberative etc.

Hmmm which makes me wonder…if these things are in a process of changing now, I wonder what 5 years will look like?

Certainly, these things can freak some people out. Self analysis and all that stuff…it can’t be tough. But so far, I’m taking it all in stride…one day at a time…and even prioritizing fun over heavy reflection.

It’s good to be in this place…I’ve got to say. To give myself permission to think creatively…to change and melt ideas. It’s liberating even to name this stage as something less firm and more moveable so as not to count of any realizations as “truth” but rather “process”.

And I would recommend this for anyone but then again…everyone is on their own journey.

On that note…off to live it and breath it.

Epic Kayak Trip

2008-09-16T18:11:00.000-07:00

I had only been 22 for a bit less than a month when my grandmother died. Mary…she died two days before her birthday. I was devastated. But still, a month later I got on a plane headed for Belize for my summer vacation. My last conversation with gram, on the phone was about fish (she had fish for lunch)…important relationships in my life…and my upcoming trip (which she felt uneasy about because I was flying by the seat of my pants always). I talked to her on a Thursday I think…she died the next day (the same day I was coming home to visit…the same day I was going to say goodbye).

She knew she was dying…we all did. She said all her goodbyes and she went on her terms. Of course she did.

She knew she had cancer (again) way before the doctors did. She had the surgery and refused the chemo. Mostly so she would have one good year left in her. It was a quality of life issue. And she lived her life well.

When she died, there were instructions. She asked for a memorial service at her church…food (everything is better on a full stomach she preached)…and cremation of her body so that the ashes could be scattered in the bay that we put grandpa in two years before (who also died of cancer among other things).

As a family we did all of the above but the ocean part. Instead my father kept the ashes. I guess people weren’t ready. At least until yesterday.

Six years later, my family felt ready. Of course, some things changed. We didn’t scatter the ashes because that’s against the teachings of the Catholic church…so we had to improvise instead.

So yesterday afternoon, on an overcast Sunday, my father, uncle and myself took our boats (two kayaks and a canoe) out in the ocean to the breakwall, a mile off shore. We paddled against the current, against the wind and into the choppy September swell. It was a little crazy given the conditions. But damn, it’s been six years! There was no turning back. Who knows when we would have actually followed through with it if we postponed the experience?

As my father tossed her box into the ocean to sink 30 feet below the sting of death came back all over again. Our family just hasn’t been the same without her and we’ve had six years of more painful deaths, including her oldest son, Butch, who died a few weeks ago.

Butch the free spirited, black sheep (if there ever was such a thing in a family of no-conformists), died after his 15 month battle with esophageal cancer. Butch tried his best to live life right up to the end. Reading books, spending time with family and taking walks out in the back woods of his West Virginia property, we all hoped for the best in a situation that just wasn’t working out. Even with the radiation and chemo, his tumor couldn’t shrink enough to make him a good candidate for surgery and then the poison spread…everywhere. Damn the cancer that took him before he was ready to go.

Needless to say, I had a lot to paddle through yesterday…a lot of stuff to work out in the waves. And as much as the timing of all of this stinks, my family certainly knows how to take the road less traveled. Nothing is quite done normally. And everything is quite unique and adventuresome.

Gram probably would have been pissed at the big “to do” that was created in burying her. But she would have laughed at the absurdity of it all. And if she had her way (which she always did) she would have told us how to do the whole thing better.

But the one thing that I have learned from all of this is that it’s not about how you are let go in the end. It’s not about the obituary or the eulogy or the people present at your memorial service. It’s more about all the days that lead up do that experience.

It’s about the conversations about tasty fish…talking with people about the ones you love…sharing your favorite books…digging a hole and planting flowers. It’s about singing in church, even if you are tone deaf and spending too much money on your grandkids. It’s about taking vacations, enjoying each day and spending some time reflection on how blessed we are.

No Woman is an Island

2008-09-01T18:10:00.000-07:00

No Woman is an Island

The book “No Man is an Island” is one of my favorites. Written by Thomas Merton, the late Trappist monk, I’ve found a lot of wisdom in his writings and the greater concept that was revealed to me when I was in high school. That’s the last time I read the book. A few years ago I lent out my tattered, musty smelling copy to a friend, hoping that hope might be revealed in the words.

I think what I like about Merton is his sense of justice, mixed with his conviction that life is not lived in a vacuum and therefore, careful balances of patience, active humility and community are essentials for sanity and solid communion.

Sometimes when I am in a bookstore I see copies of this book and the title screams at me!

I am not alone.
I am a collection…of people, places and experiences.
This is all a part of my life.

Sometimes I wonder if a crisp shinny copy will ever say something different. If a new copy will bring new perceptions?

In this last year or so of my life in the States, I have come to find community in some unlikely places. It’s taken a while to cultivate. And like any new place I go, the process is slow…mostly due to my fears. But day-by-day I deal and overcome and give up little pieces…

I’m certainly looking forward to what the future might bring in the next year and beyond but I can honestly say that not a day goes by that I am not grateful for this exact moment. This day….this realization. Because as much as this independent heart of mine goes off into the world and risks desertion, I always go back within my collected self and consult the reflections of the people, places and experiences that have created and nurtured me along the way.

Saying Goodbye

2008-06-19T17:13:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago I took off work and headed for Rhode Island; the place I went to college and the place where my heart feels at rest these days. I met a friend and we walked like 10 miles on the Newport Cliff Walk (ok, more like 2 miles but it felt like more). We drove around and looked at the houses, passed by beautiful picturesque scenes, talked about life and had some good laughs. Then we went to this river she knew of, and inlet to the Narragansett Bay. After a somewhat quick change in the car on the side of the road under the guise of a towel I was ready for swimming. Well, it was more like wading in the mud. After all the rain, the silt was all soft and I pretty much sank as I tried to walk in the waste deep water. I didn’t last too long there and we decided to go to the tide pools instead. The tide was coming in so I could swim around and find creatures. The water was a little chilly and I hyperventilated a bit (due to the cold and the initial idea of sharks and other creatures below). But it was a nice swim and more good conversation. Then dinner with some more friends at a favored watering hole. And then lying on a blanket on the quad…talking some more and drawing out the inevitable.

You see, my friend is leaving. She is beginning a new phase of her life. And for a change, I am not going anywhere.

I’ve said goodbye to friends and loved ones before but somehow it’s different when I am the one going away. There is a preparation ahead of time…a rehearsal in my mind of the last hug and kiss. And I can get use to the idea over and over again with each departing. Plus there is the excitement of change. But when someone else leaves there is no rehearsal. It’s a one-time deal. And a hard realization that I am staying and she is going. And although we will miss each other, moving on to good things is bitter sweet no matter who leaves.

It’s like when I move away to other countries. There are people I wish I could take with me and experience life with. And maybe they will visit for a few weeks (that never happens) but I always want to share those moments with people who are special to me. Which is probably why I write.

This friend of mine…we will keep in touch…talk on the phone…visit over breaks and someday, who knows, we may even live next door to each other. But for now, I am in CT and she is out in the big world and it was simply hard to say goodbye.

But life goes on…and I can count on that.

Today I left work early because I caught a cold/the plague. So I did some work at home…I took a nap (I love naps), I watched a movie, ate some good food, blew my nose a bunch, took a shower and drank lots of healthy tea (I love tea). Thank heavens I have AC. And I am certainly glad that all I have is a cold…because it could always be so much worse…

On that note…off to do some more work before bed and another early start tomorrow to do it all over again! Oh the routines in life!

Labrynth

2008-06-16T18:58:00.000-07:00

As a kid I always liked a good maze! I had this ability to look at a maze and figure it out with relative ease and speed. It was soothing for me and a way to be engaged without blowing a gasket. Somewhere down the line I stopped doing them but I don't think I ever fell out of practice. I remember that once I finished the actual solution I would go over the maze again and see if there was another solution and if I was feeling really crafty I would make my own maze for someone to figure out.

Now as an adult I find that I am intrigued by the mazes that I come across in life. From the walking / meditative labyrinth, to the many options that one could chose to get to a certain destination, I always search for the alternative. A regular on "the road less traveled" I often find myself on adventures...sometimes spontaneous and always though provoking I enjoy taking the path that is different.

Now that it is summer, I take the long way to work on the back roads and even take random days off. Tomorrow I will go explore a new place and soon I will make some decisions in my life about those "next steps".

As I ponder what it is to follow a path or go off the beaten path I find myself looking at that maze and viewing all the possible options knowing that they are all "good and important". To some, a maze is daunting and uncomfortable just as change is difficult and often avoided. But sometimes stepping into the unknown is like watching David Bowie in a movie...a bit weird, so very interesting and oddly perfect.

(PS: please note that although I really stink at spelling, the word Labrynth / Labyrinth as two, if not multiple spellings. I had to look it up. Just like the time I had to look up the word program vs. programme which is the British spelling)

Sweet Summer Sunday

2008-06-08T17:42:00.000-07:00

Today I had a great summer (pre-summer) day with my friend...mi esposo (aka my work husband) Miguel. We went swimming in the pool at sweet authentic Mexican food (al pastor con pina rocks my world) and then we went to Diane's Pool which was pretty sweet. It's where the river runs in the woods and there are these little pools formed and some water falls and rapids and people swimming and sun bathing (in the nude). After the Pools, we got stuck in a thunderstorm with rain like Latin America and when it let up, we went bowling! Two games and Guelito beet me both times! Only once in a while I rock the bowling alley...namely on my birthday (yahoo for 5+ birthday celebrations in Salvador).

After I dropped Miguel off at his house I went home to cool off AGAIN and then I ate grapes and mangos and read!

This all equals one awesome day!

On a side note...mom goose now has FIVE babies. I don't know where the other two came from since the last "goose report". Plus, their soft down like feathers are almost gone and they have a black head/neck now! Ahhh the joys of nature!

Classic Conversations

2008-06-06T15:08:00.000-07:00

Just the other day I had a brilliant conversation with a kindred spirit over a long lunch. As you may know, long conversations that really click are pretty much my favorite activity ever! I love sharing moments with people and exchanging ideas…not feeling like I have to hold my tongue and at the same time there are no feelings of judgment. I think that when people are comfortable with who they are and the process of life that they are engaging in, then even the heaviest versions of these conversations can take on a heartfelt form of mutual learning…keeping in mind that there is a base of trust and mutual reciprocity. I think that when you have people like that in your life they will not only hold you accountable, but also be open to the changes that occur inside them and in you. Because after all, we are all a work in progress…

At any rate, the conversation the other day was a nice melt of film and culture critiques mixed with a bit of real life with snippets of heart felt searching/sharing. To sum up, we talked about a recent South African lesbian film that we had seen as well as a shorter German film that preceded it. (http://www.ctglff.org/ff/2008/CTGLFF/6_04.html)

Now if you don’t know, June is Gay Pride Month and in CT there is a film festival. My friend and I talked about our pride activities, and the reoccurring themes within the film and the larger LGBT community. Maybe in a later blog I will go more in depth….but for now lets stick to this classic conversation. Now because neither one of us are “small talk” kind of people, critiquing these movies only went so far and eventually the real “stuff” in our life became our subject.

My friend had just finished a human sexuality class that she was taking for fun (I wondered how she even had the time). Throughout the semester we had visited different topics within the class but during lunch we talked about the larger idea of a “sexual revolution” that needs to take place.

I will just speak from my own thoughts and say that there is way too much judgment going on about “what” people do in the bedroom, in relationships and with their life in general. I will admit that I do not understand “why” people make certain decisions but I really do work on refraining from judgment, knowing that I am also scrutinized by others as well. This realization helps me feel more open towards people and their different ideas and I am more in a place of compassion and learning.

Now judgment is one of the reason why I think there needs to be a “sexual revolution”. I think that society has been operating under this status quo of how laws of attraction and sex should be. But the LGBT community doesn’t fit into that norm for so many reasons. I mean, even the marriage conversation aside, individuals in society make a big deal out of things that really shouldn’t bother them…but for some reason, they do. And for the record, this rigidity doesn’t just affect the LGBT community but even heterosexuals who live in a different paradigm and refuse to uphold the status quo.

I’m not going to pontificate any further on what I think this revolution might entail but I want to ask some questions to provoke thought….in you (and even I me).

Questions to ponder…
In this modern era of technology, are the people you meet on the Internet “real” relationships?
Is internet foreplay/sex real? Is it OK?
How do you feel about toys, props, outfits and theatrical roles? What about role reversal?
Is it ok to entertain thoughts or even flirt with someone you attracted to if you are married/committed?
What about open relationships? Are they OK?
What if the person you are attracted to is older…younger?
What if the person you are attracted to changes his/her gender?

Ok…I think you get the point. Now if you were engaged in the conversation that I had with my friend the other day then you might get my answer to some of these questions. And if you’ve known me for a while you might realize a change in thought, which is my larger point here.

In reality, I think people are in a process. Which is why I think the status quo really needs to be busted. There are a lot of people that who don’t want to challenge society, religion, self or partner…but there are a lot of us out there who base their life on the constant flow of change. I think being open to that change in you and in others is not only healthy but fulfilling.

Ok…enough that…lets update a previous blog about my geese babies.
So yesterday morning..there was mom, and babies like always. I got home from work and the mom goose was walking all over the place squawking but the babies were nowhere to be found! I was alarmed…thinking they had been killed…or goose napped by some suburban kid! But then today I got home from work and 3 babies are back (one missing). I’m confused…because these guys don’t fly yet. So where did they go and where is #4? hmmmm

Familia

2008-06-03T18:36:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago I had a rather large argument with my father. He opened a can of worms with me by bringing up a subject that he thought we felt the same way about. Yet it only took seconds for him to realize that his assumption was wrong. With tears streaming down my face I yelled at him as he continued to speak. I think he was caught so off guard that all he could say was, “I didn’t know this meant so much to you.”

Certainly, what we fought about still remains an intensely personal topic for me but the larger conversation and argument we had was probably even more heartbreaking. In some ways, the thing we argued about represented a handful of other personal issues that I am pretty sure he had no intention of surfacing…but it happened.

As I’ve mulled over this experience, I came to the desperate realization that my father is not who I perceive him to be. And in some ways I think this is one of the most heart-wrenching experiences of a child’s life.

To realize that your parents are not who you want them to be is…tough. Especially when you have held them on a pedestal for so many years. As the man who raised me…through a lot of difficult times, he certainly deserves an award….but the picture I painted in my mind about him changed.

As children our parents mold us. I became a small clone of my father in some ways with subtle improvements here and there, mixed with the spunk, intelligence and creativity of my mother. But everyone knows, I am my father’s daughter.

But those “subtle” improvements are more like larger gaps in our relationship. As a result of societal changes, culture, the life I had growing up I now have a different outlook than my father ever will and maybe that is just the way it is going to be. Bur for someone like me…devout…loyal and generally optimistic…it’s hard to find bridges with such important issues.

As I’ve learned in life “learning to agree to disagree” is sometimes the best option. Accepting that people evolve at different paces is important to live. And realizing that you can’t change anyone is a difficult realization to put into practice.

My father is liberal, compassionate, caring, funny, open minded, faithful and loyal.

I am all of those things as well in a different generation. Let it suffice to be said that I evolved from the base that my father created but he didn’t necessarily follow too far behind.

As I write this, I realize how cryptic this really is. But I think the general theme is…I will always love my father unconditionally. And I am grateful that we can disagree on something and it doesn’t end our relationship. But disagreements and arguments of such degree chip away at our hearts…and these days I am more interested in “heart preservation” rather than defending why.

In the end, my father decided to go against what I thought was right even though he felt he was compromising. To fight him any more would have been the real self-sacrifice

Parent Orientation

2008-06-02T18:13:00.000-07:00

Parent Orientation:

Today I had the lovely experience of mingling with parents of incoming freshman at the University of the Richest State in America. The experience was another of the many tasks one engages in if he/she works with college students. Nevertheless, representing the broad spectrum of Student Activities, my department, at such an affair is certainly noteworthy in the ebb and flow of summer college life. Which is probably why I jumped at the chance to get away from the office.

Dressed in my navy polo shirt (made in a Honduran sweat shop) with department emblem on the left side, and nametag on the right I became an extrovert for about 2 hours. I initiated conversations like: “How you doing? Is there any activity that your son or daughter is particularly interested in?”

This is usually followed by a few different responses…
1. Yes, my son/daughter will be doing sport _____________
2. Yes, my son/daughter does everything.
3. I have no idea…(a typical response for shell shocked, almost empty nested parents.)
4. Well, he/she is interested in a lot of things but he/she is here for the academics first. (My favorite response) which is usually followed by my comment “well we usually find that students who are involved with other things in college tend to be better students and manage their time more efficiently…” (Insert inside voice: “and they meet good people to party with later on…”)

At any rate, those are how the typical conversations went today. Except for one.

A father and mother walk up to our table and I greet them with the usual jovial attitude that you might find during the holiday season…something in between genuine and genuinely tired. The mother proceeds to glance at the array of pamphlets, printed in full color and a damn good waste of resources (not to mention the newly cleared land from the trees that the paper came from).

As the mother stuffs her bag with paper, the father engages me in conversation. “Our daughter is interested in sports (I can’t remember which one…my guess is rugby).” As I hand him the brochure about club sports he proceeds to lean in closer and ask, “do you have any rainbow alliances?” This is the cautious way of asking, “where are the gay people?”

Well, being the good informed employee that I am, I smile saying, “Oh yes, we have a very active Rainbow Center and several groups to chose from as well!” At which point the mother turns around to join the conversation that her husband prodded. I have now become cornered by two parents, who have created a small intimate circle with their bodies, lowering their heads to my level and their voices to match as they begin their assortment of questions about this said “rainbow group”.

The husband says something towards the effect, “we don’t want to intrude” which is code for “we don’t want to assume you are gay but…” at which point the wife stops him, points to me and says, “well obviously is (referring to me)”….meaning that yes, I am gay and obviously I know where the gays are.
(Note: at this point I am laughing out loud in my head and I even stop for a moment to wipe away the tear that is forming out of amusement or even excitement that these parents are taking such interest).

At any rate, I explain to these now rather relieved parents that this campus was once one of the most homophobic back 10 years ago when I was a freshman but today it has been rated as one of the most accepting and active for LGBT students. They were pleasantly surprised and asked why. I explained that it probably had something to do with hiring good, open people and creating excellent programming. They were so happy…like little country pigs in shit.

I went further to say that I myself asked about the level of acceptance on campus when interviewing for the job and was pleasantly surprised. I told them that I frequent the Rainbow Center often (they have a stellar library, DVD selection and award winning people) and that I would be happy to introduce their daughter, as I handed my business card over.

Let me tell you, they were so relieved as they walked away from our table. I even patted the father on the shoulder as he left, as if he was my own father.

Man, times have changed.

Now parents are asking these questions just like the students are. Kids are coming out earlier and they are choosing a college based on how accepting they are. How revolutionary!

Even though the whole encounter was really funny (I was so type cast for my role as Rainbow Center Ambassador) I was really glad I was there today.

I later commented to a coworker and Rainbow Center staff, that next time I will wear my “celebrate diversity” pin but for some reason my “inner butch” was shinning forth today. At which he commented “ ‘Inner Butch’???? Honey, it's showing on the outside with that swagger and short haircut!!!”

Ahhh…you just have to laugh. Gee it’s great to be gay! I so love my job...

Sailing Disaster...

2008-05-29T17:14:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago my dad bought a 14 foot sailboat from a friend. He bought new ropes and cleaned it up nice and today I left work early so that we could sail it on the lake. By the time I got there, dad already had the boat in the water and the sail attached…rainbow of course!

We had difficulty getting the rudder into place and the wind was powerful. So I hurdled myself into the boat, he pushed it out and we might have gotten going if we actually knew how to sail. But for the next two hours we stayed in the cove…

Most of the time we spend on the rocks or painfully close to the waterfall. We almost caught some good wind…and the rudder was down but dad spend more time in the water as I learned the finer points of sailing from within the boat.

At one point, people from the shore were coaching us by yelling things…hahah…but we were too far away to hear.

Two guys in a little fishing boat came by to tug us in. But their boat started taking on water and flooded their boat and the battery that was powering the engine made contact with the water. In turn, that electrocuted the guy who was powering the motor as he held onto the side of the aluminum boat.

So, two boats stuck in the middle of the cove. We had to lend them a paddle so that they could make it in shore and dad swam the boat back in!

When we finally got the boat back to shore we put everything away and then it dawned on him….we forgot to put down the keel! My god…no wonder the damn thing had no direction. It caught wind but just kept going all over the place…

The keel is in the middle of the boat under the water. It’s responsible for giving the boat direction and balance….hahaha! We were all over the damn place.

Aside from the slice in my knee…and my exhausted dad (and the electrocuted man) the trip could have been so much worse.

We discussed the lessons learned over cheese burgers and a vanilla shake. Dad will take the boat out again with his brother and then with any luck we will sell it with a profit. Meanwhile I am sticking to kayaks (hopefully I will buy a river one this weekend).

So much for sailing! At least her sail was pretty.

Heart Awareness

2008-05-28T17:18:00.000-07:00

About a year ago I had some trouble with my heart. I went to the doctor. They hooked me up to some monitors...things attached to my chest recording activity all day.

You see, my hear skipped beats. I felt it. It skipped beats at random moments. Just like I was in love...it skipped like someone scared me. But I knew what was coming all the time.

So the cardiologist read the monitor and said it was inconclusive. She said that I what I probably have is called "cardiac awareness"

How poetic.

It means that I can feel my heart. It means that my heart is the same as everyone else, except that I FEEL mine more.

From what I understand, our heart can skip a beat and continue on as if nothing happened. Sometimes our heart beats in our chest and for no reason, all of a sudden, you can feel it.

This awareness, it can be alarming...and sometimes it even feels like I am wearing my heart on my sleeve. Which, if I look at my life in retrospect, maybe this is all fitting and metaphorical.

In reality, I prefer to simply live...and love...and not worry about those moments of self awareness/heart awareness and how that might affect me. For as much as I feel and strive for personal transparency, the ebb and flow of life will always cause the momentary skip of a beat.

Late Nights

2008-05-27T19:40:00.001-07:00

Lately I've been going to bed with heavy thoughts and having strange dreams.

The other night I had a dream about vacationing in China. Which probably has something to do with the fact that I want to eventually work with people during crisis situations (ie. earthquakes).

Last night I had a dream about sleeping in my kayak. (Lighter subject matter than vacations in China).

Sleeping in kayaks probably has something to do with the fact that my kayak almost flew off the car yesterday in transit (note quiet chuckle). And now the kayak rests in a corner, covering part of a door because I couldn't get it up in the loft (the same loft I want to figure out how to sleep in during the winter which I know is a bit strange).

At any rate...I wake up from these strange dreams, sweating (because I still have my heavy blanket on...it's almost summer) and feeling like I have slept a full night. But I can always convince myself to go back to sleep...and I do. I rarely have trouble sleeping.

I wonder what I will dream about tonight...probably fair labor practices of companies that make athletic apparel...or people who come back into one's life after a hiatus.

hmmmm meditation and bed.

We Evolve

2008-05-26T19:17:00.000-07:00

I am currently reading a book by Henri Nouwen. It's cracking into me...hard core.

There is something about a sojourn that really gets to me. Maybe it's the familiarity of the spirit within...the journey...the comfortable/uncomfortable doubt. Or possibly just the sense that I am working on something...that I am forming and growing and being challenged. Maybe it's the reminder...the body check...

Damit...we evolve! And THANK GOD! As scary as it is to change at times, to rip the band aid off the fresh wound and wait for the scab to grow and to heal, our very nature is to evolve. Sometimes this evolution just forms and flows and sometimes it's provoked...out of necessity (Thank you for all those who have held me accountable...we are each others keepers).

So, back to the book...in a prayer, Nouwen spoke about his fear and asked for courage...he wrote, "Is this going to be my chance to see my prison and escape it?"

He goes on to quote John Eudes. "This is a time of purification. A time to identify your ambiguous relationships and ambivalent attitudes, and to make some decisions and chose some directions."

That is where I am. It is so good to know that.

New England Life...

2008-05-18T15:44:00.000-07:00

Those who know me have the understanding that my heart is often working out the things of life. Those who are close to me know what things I am working out.

As it so happens, my heart misses a life I once had but lives in anticipation of the present, searching for the moments that bring meaning. Recently I have been reminded, yet again, just why I am here at this place. I was reminded why I am in New England, my birthplace with all her beauty and puritan pride. Sometimes as a native of this strange land, I feel like a stranger. And there are other experiences that feel so comfortable and perfect.

Recently, the goose in my back yard had chicks. (Note: I also have ducks and a beaver but the beaver has been missing for a while). My geese, pictured above, are quite cute. And every morning I wake up and look out the window of my perfect apartment and look for my babies. I love them for so many reasons, but namely for what they represent; rebirth, which brings me to my next point.

My boss recently gave a speech about commitment and weathering the storm, at the end of the year banquet. He used a favorite Indigo Girls ballad called "The Wood Song" to illustrate his point.

As it so happens, this particular song has greater meaning to me than meets they eye. Now I believe that everything takes place for a reason...good and bad... painful and joyful. And so I leave you with the lyrics of this beautiful song to tie together the strings and even find the missing link of how it might bring wonder into our own life.

The Wood Song

the thin horizon of a plan is almost clear my friends and I have had a hard time bruising our brains hard up against change all the old dogs and the magician now I see we're in the boat in two by twos only the heart that we have for a tool we could use and the very close quarters are hard to get used to love weighs the hull down with its weight but the wood is tired and the wood is old and we'll make it fine if the weather holds but if the weather holds then we'll have missed the point that's were i need to go no way construction of this tricky plan was built by other than a greater hand with a love that passes all our understanding watching closely over the journey yeah but what it takes to cross the great divide seems more than all the courage i can muster up inside but we get to have some answers when we reach the other side the prize is always worth the rocky ride but the wood is tired and the wood is old and we'll make it fine if the weather holds but if the weather holds then we'll have missed the point that's where i need to go sometimes i ask to sneak a closer look skip to the final chapter of the book and maybe steer us clear from some of the pain that it took to get us where we are this far but the question drowns in its futility and even i have got to laugh at me cause no one gets to miss the storm of what will be just holding on for the ride the wood is tired the wood is old and we'll make it fine if the weather holds but if the weather holds then we'll have missed the point that's where i need to go

He's dying...

2008-05-06T22:08:00.000-07:00

I said it for the first time yesterday and it meant that I had to admit it. It was true all of a sudden and now I can’t deny the reality anymore. No matter how many visits he has with the doctor or trips there are to the VA hospital for another procedure, the fact is, he is still dying.

Cancer…it’s taking over. Hospice comes to the house now. We’re hoping for a good summer. Last month we hoped for surgery.

It’s amazing how priorities change when you are dying and how some of the most mundane things in life stay the same just to remind you that there is still a breath within.

He reads books…has conversations (not thinking they could be his last)…goes to the grocery store…even does the laundry. The rest of us go about our day…maybe trying to forget.

For the sake of dignity…he will die with grace, surrounded by those he loves and I guess we can only hope that for each other.

Turning 28...

2008-04-07T16:41:00.000-07:00

I recently celebrated a birthday….my 28th. And like always, I was quite reflective, which I guess is not too different than my everyday routine, but maybe just different. I had a good look at my last year of life…where I had been and where I thought I was going. And I realized a few basic things, which are sort of empowering and heartbreakingly normal.

I realized that I was sad last year for a lot of reasons but basically because I was in transition. Because my heart was broken and because I was lost.

I realized that I am quite happy now…at least today….and on a growing trend, most of the time.

I realized that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Which is ok in my world and I am sort of surprised by that.

I’ve had an amazing 28 years. Certainly uncommon in some aspects, and quite normal and run of the mill in others, I am living a good life. I am grateful for the brilliant, amazing, loving and life giving people that have crossed my path. I am in a place of gratefulness, something I don’t express often and probably should. I am content and challenged at the same time and that is quite OK with me. I am moving forward and find hope in that, loving the moments when I am “schooled” on my faults, misgivings, imperfections and random moments of forgetfulness.

I am happy with the woman I am becoming and I look forward to viewing progress in the future. But for the time being I am living for this day.

This year I am going to work on some things…namely gratitude and self-judgment. But in all…life is quite good!

Living With War

2008-03-19T20:09:00.001-07:00

When I was in the fourth grade I remember that Operation Desert Storm was taking place. I remember that I made posters in my school from newspaper clippings to hang up around the hallways and the classrooms to “Bring Home the Troops”. I remember writing letters to our troops and making care packages. I remember the images on the TV of the oil fields on fire and the missiles shooting through the night sky. I remember seeing how a sand camouflage tank would jolt when it shot at something. I remember the yellow ribbons and the American Flags I helped pass out.

Today, years and years later, there is a new war from unfinished business. And I remember the day it started five years ago. I remember the protests and the prayer vigils. I remember the reoccurring video footage of the twin towers falling over and over again. I remember the images of congressional meetings and the speeches of justification. I remember watching the first attacks and how I sobbed watching the TV, knowing that I would never forget the moment. And now, more than anything, I intentionally remember the faces of Iraqi citizens who are stuck in the bureaucrat middle ground of the business of war. I remember my friends who work with Iraqi refugees in Syria. And as I walk past Vietnam Veterans near the state hospital not too far from my home, I think of all our troops who will suffer from the affects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I remember Carlos Mejia and his descent to the war and all the other Contentious Objectors who face the struggle of opposing a culture of war.

I am a 28 years old woman. I drive a car, probably more than I should. I have a job that pays well with good insurance. I am educated. I read the New York Times on a whim. I drink Caramel Latte’s on Saturday’s. I oppose the war on principal and I have a hard time keeping the daily bombings and death tolls straight. Which is probably a purposeful laziness. I call myself a social activist and yet there is so much I have not done.

I am 28 years old….I am living.
I am living with war.

I am not living in war.

A New Year

2007-12-31T07:21:00.000-08:00

On this crisp morning with the New England snow falling I can’t help but remember where I was a year ago. With full anticipation, a naive heart and adventure in the air, I rang in the New Year surrounded by fireworks in Granada, Nicaragua. Let’s just say that the climate was not the only change that has taken place since last year. Hahahaha

Certainly right around this time of year, folks do a lot of reflection about the year that has just past, and the one they are anticipating at the drop of the ball in Times Square! However, I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting this year and I’m really ready to just LIVE!

As crazy, trite or cliché that it may sound, life is meant for living and experiencing. As much as I try to plan my way around and through life, navigating speed bumps and trying to avoid uncomfortable pain or even bouts of unexplainable joy, I am gradually finding that it means very little in retrospect. In fact, those very moments that I try to avoid are the exact experiences that I am meant to live. I don’t mean to say that I am meant for pain or any of the raw crappy events that fill up some days in a life, but rather, moments are meant to be lived and not avoided.

Life is meant to be lived and not planned and plotted.

In this last year, I have rested my head in 6 different countries. I read some great book. I listened to some fantastic music. I met some really incredible people and even built relationships with some of them. I made contact with old amigos that still make me laugh. I have danced my heart out on several occasions. I went though at least two boxes of tissues by myself this year (for different reasons…who knew that I wasn’t invincible…haha). I made some people laugh and some others cry and I think my family is really happy that I am home. I think of Latin America every single day and I’ve managed NOT to plan my next big trip. But rather, I am living for the moment…the here and now.

On this eve of a new year, I am truly grateful and humbled. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.

Guatemala

2007-11-24T19:12:00.000-08:00

In the summer of the year 2000 I found myself in Guatemala. I had just finished my freshman year of college. I was on a trip with friends, doing things I didn’t quite agree with (“missionary work”) and realized my place in the disconnect of it all. That was the moment that I realized my calling and I stopped for those few minutes to collect myself. I was on a rooftop terrace, staring at a volcano, I took a deep breath and reflected.

I left Guatemala shortly after, only to revisit it in my memory, every single day since. Not one single day passes when I don’t think of Guatemala. I have collections of memories in my mind…of people, places, smells, beauties and joys and all the places in between.

I have since been back to Guatemala several times to recollect all the pieces that I lose in the process of living. I go to Guatemala to collect myself and reflect. It’s not the only place that I go in this world when I am looking to regroup but it is the place that keeps me grounded and connected to all that was and all of the hope of who I might become.

Guatemala, in all her beauty, suffering and transition also holds a piece of my heart, vulnerable to the textured mapping of my life…all that I have lived and all that I live for. And thus, my heart has been broken there, in every sense of the word…broken and mended, broken and mended…broken…
Ready to live and thrive again. So that I stay humble…so that I remain open…so that I strive for compassion…so that I always hope for the best in people and situations.

I never lose hope….
I never lose hope…for Guatemala…or what I have learned there.

We are all called to live lives that are full. I am grateful for my youth and that I am living out my calling in a diversity of ways and emotions.

Dia de Gracias

2007-11-23T05:59:00.001-08:00

Thus passes the day of giving thanks 2007. My first time at home for this holiday in three years. Good food...good laughs...I miss El Salvador. I won't go into too many details, but I will say that somehow it's easier to be fully thankful there...than it is to crack a smile here and really feel it some days. Beyond the fake hugs and kisses at the local watering hole the other night, I am past my eyes in fake gestures and superficial conversations. I miss the hard core reality that strips away all the crap...and a simple conversation with a fiend in ES seemed to mean more than I anticipated them to be.

But don't let this reality check fool you....I am still very full of life...full of anticipation...full of many things to be thankful for.

My family...friends....all those people in between...a job that I love...sweet sunshine in the morning and the realization that I am living a life that is in a place of privilege.

So yesterday as I remembered the pilgrims and the native...and their struggle...as I recalled the injustice and the oppression that this country was built on, I also remembered the true spirit of this holiday...the spirit of giving thanks. A spirit that can transfer over to other lands (like ES) where I celebrated Dia de Gracias with a whole lot of other people last year.

Living a life of gratefulness is what I will strive to cultivate in this heart of mine.

Last Saturday

2007-11-03T17:13:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I was in Boston with some of my students for the weekend as they encountered homelessness for the fist time. Last Saturday I did a lot of things with homeless folks...and a lot of things with my students.
Last Saturday I pushed a cart around with books at a healthcare facility for homeless folks so that they would have reading material. I talked about classic books, mysteries, romance, poetry...I even picked out a few based on my own reading.

This Saturday I went to my local library in my comfortable suburb of Hartford where a bunch of wealthy / middle class white people waited in line for the fall booksale. They bought boxes of books. And as one lady in a lime green shirt pushed me to get to the non-fiction end of the room I wondered to myself "where in this irony is the disconnect"?

I bought a book about the church in Latin America but I probably won't read it for a long time because it will make me nostalgic and sad.

I miss Latin America like I miss all the moments where the little fragments of life connect...these days they seem so few and far between.

What is Love?

2007-10-21T18:30:00.000-07:00

Love is when my father listens to my step mother recount the latest character and plot developments in her favorite soap opera just before she goes to work. Love is when my father listens to every word and doesn't need the "filler" information because he's been hearing these stories for years now. Love is when he still sends her off to work, accompanying her to the door and kissing her goodnight and never mentioning to me about how much he doesn't really care about soap operas.

Pace of Life

2007-10-20T19:29:00.000-07:00

I’ve been back in the US for 8 months now. There is still a certain amount of culture shock to be had and cognitive / emotional dissonance to go through. Most days I wake up with memories from the south…of Salvador, Guate, Mexico, Nica , Honduras and Belize in my head. I can’t really escape it. This morning I had the memory of those cream filled Chinese cookies that were sold on the corner by where I lived and how I use to buy them to surprise friends. And I also remembered what it felt like to walk from my home to the bus stop…all the exact places that I would cross the street and the people I said “hello” to on my daily routine. It was that kind of simplicity that filled my day. Choice encounters, random surprises, choreographed spontaneity…meeting with friends, riding the busses. Those are the moments that filled my existence down there. And here is just different.

About a week ago I realized why I felt so off. I realized that my pace of life changed so quickly that I had no idea what really hit me. Even though I love my job, I didn’t realize that it had begun to consume me in such a way that I have begun ignoring the simple pleasures that I once relished in just a few short months ago. As a person who values contemplation, intentionality and quality of time, my world has now changed to be chaotic and impulsive to the point of doing things because they need to get done and not concentrating on the act itself. And despite my morning and evening reflections, my daily life has little room for extra self-centering.

I’m not trying to say that my life in Central America wasn’t busy. But rather, the things I kept my life busy with were life-giving events of nourishment and self-enhancement. My life in El Salvador was full and healthy with a balance of work, play and sport…love and loss and real challenges. Here I have all of that, but the mere pace of things throws the balance off in a direction that leans more towards a certain point of no return.

In this day and age, productivity is what is encouraged…but I would rather cultivate the simplicity of soulfulness in the hopes that real productivity would become a product of a happy and healthy ME.

Paul Rusesabagina

2007-10-20T18:58:00.001-07:00

There are times I life when exposure to greatness catches us in awe and we may not even realize the moment until it passes. When I met Rufina Amaya, I hung on every word she said. I never swayed from the conversation and the passing of those few moments has remained with me since.

Just yesterday I had the opportunity to listen to Paul Rusesabagina speak. He is the person that Hotel Rawanda is based on. He spoke about what it was like in Rawanda during that horrible time of genocide. He spoke of his own fears and his own reactions. And he talked about what is happening in Darfur now. How can genocide continue to happen? Did we not learn anything from Rawanda?

However, what struck me most about Paul is that he was so normal. If you didn’t know who he was, one might even say “average”. And really, that’s what he is. The son of a farmer, Paul is just a regular guy who listened to his heart and did something extraordinary. And despite the violence and oppression he has lived through, he still manages to have a certain hope about him.

Rufina also lived through the horrible reality of war and mass killing. She listened to the sound of her family being tortured and killed and she remained hidden so that she might tell the story one day. And even still, she had hope until the day she died (this past February).

I am struck by average people who have such conviction in their heart that they continue to tell a story of their life that the oppressors refuse to hear but struggle to silence on a daily basis. These “normal” people…campasinos, farmers, hotel workers…they are the prophets of our day. They are the ones we should be listening to because they have the experience that speaks to us without the need for words.

However, it was Paul who said last night, “I will never fight with a gun…I will fight with my best weapons…with words.”

The lives of great people have been spared so that they might speak out for those who died voiceless in the face of oppression. But as long as we turn away from the cries of injustice, we too muffle their words of hope, compassion and a real form of social justice.

Don't Polarize Me!

2007-10-13T08:46:00.000-07:00

Al Gore just won the Nobel Peace Prize. If he runs for President again he will polarize the issue of the earth’s wellness even more than it already is. There are so many things in this world that we are forced to take a stand on. To not have an opinion or to still be discerning your personal belief is seen as weak or less credible. But there is a part of me that thinks about the importance of relationships and bridge building when it comes to taking a stand. Because in some ways, ever time I take a stand, I also begin to alienate someone else who believes differently or I sway someone prematurely.

Now I’m not saying that being opinionated is bad, but what if belief in anything was based on a continuum? What if I could change my mind over time and experience? Would I lose my credibility or would I even be taken seriously anymore?

In the last few years I have thought about this a great deal. Those who know me, understand that taking a stand on social issues is what I do. People know where my heart rests even if I am comfortable with those who oppose me. However, through the years, I have also alienated people because my beliefs were strong and at times, felt I would never budge. However, I have….on many issues.

There have been moments when I have been forced to take a stand on a particular issue in a conversation even though I wasn’t passionate about it. The mistake I have made is that I argued the point as if I had passion about it. Thus, creating the illusion that my thoughts were set I stone. I became a statistic of the polarization of the issue without ever really needing to. I never built the bridges in the relationships and never allowed myself or others to simply change their minds.

Really, I should know better.

When I was in college and realized that I was gay, I thought that all homophobic people were crazy and they instantly lost credibility in my mind. There were some people that I never even gave a second glace. I wrote them off as ignorant and never worked to understand where their thoughts were coming from. Thankfully, I learned over the years, that this kind of behavior is not in line with my larger principles of building community and loving people for where they are at. To this day, I have friends that believe quite differently than I do….and I realize that they, like myself, are in a state of becoming and understanding.

I say this only because, the same has happened to me on the reverse. I have been written off for the belief I professed and the conversation closed for my “ignorance” on a particular issue. However, what some might find surprising, is that I since changed my mind.

Today as we ponder the larger questions in life, I wonder what it would look like if we simply allowed humanity to BE in the state of becoming rather than chart the course we see fit? What if we said, I believe ______ because of my experiences…but if I had another experience, I might change? Would we build relationships and community with these kinds of statements or would be seen as lacking credibility?

For myself, I maintain the beliefs I hold today…but today is all I have and tomorrow could be very different.

Hope

2007-09-25T17:31:00.000-07:00

This quote is one I like and just discovered thanks to my good friend Tom. A lesson I deeply try to keep in my heart even when I feel lost. A perspective to keep close, knowing that a hardened heart is not what I seek in life.

"It is not easy to know how to keep on hoping, and we must all answer the question in our own way. It seems that everything is agains hope. But for me at least, where I see there has been great love, I see hope being born again. This is not a rational conclusion. Perhaps it is not even theological. It is simply true: love produces hope and great love produces great hope." Jon Sobrino S.J

Cross My Fingers

2007-06-07T10:12:00.000-07:00

Today I crossed my fingers and hoped that something positive would come out of the Senate Debate over immigration. But when I crossed my fingers, I realized that it felt strange to make such motions, as if I hadn’t done that since I was a kid. Does the middle finger go over the pointer or is that switched around? I just don’t know. And does it really matter?

You see, I don’t think it’s all about luck…or wishing upon a star…or getting all your ducks in a row as if to collect friends and votes and end up smiling. Reforming a broken immigration system in the United States is an endeavor much too large to place false hope in the “luck of the draw”. Rather, true reform comes from an intrinsic understanding of placing strong value on human dignity.

As I watch the news reports of Senators voting today, I can’t help remember this February as I traced the steps that thousands of migrants make on the dangerous journey through Mexico with the unfaltering belief that they will get a better paying job in the United States. I remember, as if it were yesterday, the conversations and heart-bending stories of mothers leaving their children in countries like El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala and Nicaragua in the hopes that they money they make in a distant land full of more opportunity than their own country, will help put food on the table for their family left behind. I wonder where the dignity is in that.

You see, to understand the Immigration Debate as it is now, one must understand the root causes of this mass exodus of people. It must be understood that a failing economy and governmental structures that support the rich leave little room for the poor. It must be understood that no one really wants to leave their family behind to get a job, but that is the decision that must be made to survive. It must be understood that such a dangerous journey through Mexico is also a product of our broken promise as a people of Faith to defend the poor at all costs.

So as I cross my fingers today with others in solidarity, I know that there are many in this world who just don’t get it quite yet and will vote the way the vote despite the fact that they don’t know the reality of WHY people are migrating in the first place. If anything good is to come of this debate…hopefully it’s a greater awareness based on education and heartfelt understanding of the strangers among us.

Pupusas!

2007-03-15T08:07:00.000-07:00

Lately I had been feeling sad about leaving El Salvador. I won't lie, transition really stinks. I have a lot to look forward to in my new life here in the US, but the reality of who I was in El Salvador is still very much a part of me. Most days I try finding a new voice within me to keep me sane and moving and connected...a voice that means something in this culture. The search is a challenge and the actual connection, if found, is hard to maintain.

But today there has been a ray of hope.

As it so happends, I live with a Salvadoran woman who is quite amazing. And with her heart of hospitality and kindness she brought me two pupusas and a smile.

If you have ever been to El Salvador you know how important the pupusa is to the culture of Salvador and you know how it brings people together.

I can't tell you how many wonderful conversations I had over pupusas and cokes in El Salvador. The relationships built over these inexpensive yet tasty meals. In some ways, my whole social scene was build on them.

And now, here they are, right in front of me. A piece of El Salvador right here in Massachusetts!

A ray of hope indeed! Gracias a Dios!

Oh Mexico!

2007-03-01T12:11:00.000-08:00

Well, as the story goes, I have left El Salvador. Needless to say, I am sad. However, there are also a lot of interesting updates to come in the new future as well as some highlights from the new projects I am working on.

However, I wanted to let you know that I went to Mexico during February to travel on one of the migrant routes. I lived to tell the tale and now I am basically processing...but more will come later....Stay tuned.

La Chacra

2006-09-18T09:51:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I went with a friend to her work site in an area of the city known as La Chacra (translated as The Farm). On the outskirts of San Salvador, la Chacra epitomizes urban poverty with the community dangling onto the side of a mountain. The homes within la Chacra are small and close together. Some homes are cement, while others are made of scrap metal. The people who live in this area are beyond poor and have been forced to live here through the years due to the changing economic situation brought on by neoliberal politics and globalization. The crippling poverty coupled with the changing family model (brought on by the rapid migration of Salvadorans) and the elevated influence of gangs, la Chacra is also plagued as one of the most violent places of the city.

As if poverty was not violent enough, the people of La Chacra face the terror of armed violence, rampant drug use, domestic violence and a slew of other text book cases of the ills of society.

My time in La Chacra last week was to visit the Fe y Alegria schools (a Latin American model of schools founded by the Jesuits in 1969). I have visited other Fe y Alegria schools in Guatemala, and to experience this type of community in El Salvador was a real treat. I enjoyed the time with the children which was a change from my usual day in front of a computer. And by the afternoon, we were able to sit down with the parish priest for a little lunch.

Just as we were finishing the meal blessing, repetitive shots demanded out attention. Different from the usual fireworks that go off every now and then, these shots were deliberate and distinct. As Padre Luis made the sign of the cross, praying that no one died, our group felt a certain fear knowing the shots were only about a block away.

We decided not to leave the house for the rest of the afternoon and skip the planned house visits that we were going to go on. Instead, we rested, and waited for news to arrive throughout the afternoon. As I learned, this kind of lunchtime violence is almost daily in La Chacra. On this particular day, it was a drug deal gone wrong. A man about 25 years old tried to escape down the river bank and was shot and killed. We heard the police sirens about 45 minutes after the shots and I am not sure that this particular murder made it to the media.

The truth is, rarely does all the violence in the city make it to the media. This kind of thing happens almost everyday in La Chacra and places just like it. It’s the poor who suffer the most and it is the poor who are killed. If you want to talk about the Crucified Christ, go to La Chacra.

Dónde Están?

2006-09-06T12:54:00.000-07:00

There are family members of those left behind. Their loved ones tried to go to the US through Mexico to find a job and now they have dissapeared or they have died during their time of transit. In the organization I work with, CARECEN International, we help look for those individuals who have died or dissapeared, but the process is not easy.

Today was the first march of COFAMIDE (Committee of Family Members of people who have died or dissappeared or died). Today, we marched to the Mexican Embassy to demand that they help us build a database that looks for migrants who have been found in Mexico. Tomorrow we are going to the Salvadoran government to demand that they finance and maintain this database.

As 700 Salvadorans leave their country every single day to find better opportunities in the US, our work is cut out for us. With the help of COFAMIDE, we will keep looking for people, but this time there are specific stories behind every request.

Today, some members of COFAMIDE could not come to the march because it´s too difficult. It´s too difficult to talk about the poverty that drove someone they love to look for opportunities in other countries. And its too difficult to imagine that thier loved ones have died. In Solidarity they were with us today as I hope you were as well.

Violence in El Salvador

2006-08-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

I had a short visit to the States a few weeks ago, and when I was there I realized something about myself. I realized that I had been living my last year in El Salvador in a heightened state of awareness. And in some ways I sort of knew this, but it became all to real when I felt like I was finally able to breath and articulate my thoughts.

Imagine living in El Salvador, a place where a foreigner is not the only target. In other places around the world, someone who looks different is always an easy money maker for random robberies. But here in El Salvador, everyone is a target...and robberies turn into murders.

El Salvador has a culture of violence and trauma reinforced by a history of a brutal civil war; a war that ended with some peace accords that basically lied to the people by saying things were going to change. It is true, things did change. Many say that the poverty rate is worse now than when it was in the war. Imagine that, the people have gotten poorer? The rich polititians have brought in their neoliberal politics and trade agreements (CAFTA) to benefit their friends in corporations. And the people are slowly losing their right to march and protest the injustice going on in their country because as the government likes to say, the protests of the left are terrorist acts, so now there is new terrorist legislation.

Then there are the gangs. The gangs of El Salvador originated in the US, but with the slick deportation process of the US government, El Salvador found a new problem to deal with. The gangs are neither leftist or rightist, but Tony Saca likes to think the gangs are all leftist (even if Arena does pinta y pega with gang members during the elections). And so, with the easy solutions of the Arena government, all the youth of El Salvador are a target. So much for treasuring your future!

So when you couple a history of violence with a people in growing need for food, shelter and jobs, youth who are being targeted, gang members who target everyone (especially busses), and the slow political process that takes human rights away one by one, one might find a breading ground for a whole mess of effects brought on by this culture. One such effect is widespread violence.

A lot goes on in this country every day. Busses are attacked and burned if they didn’t pay the gang fare. Patrons of busses are robbed or killed every day. In the night there are shootings, and we have a homicide rate that is through the roof. Occasionally there are protests, but the last one turned into a police instigated riot with helicopters equipped with gunmen.

Now take all of this into consideration when you decide to leave your house. How would you prepare? What would you bring with you, and how would you act? These are the questions I’ve been asking myself everyday for the last year, and realized in the States that I didn’t need to worry about that!

I live in a pretty nice residential neighborhood with a gate and an armed guard. My area is pretty middle class, and they have luxuries like a car and pretty gardens. I have a pretty garden too, but I ride the bus. When I leave my house to start my day, I make sure that I have my wallet with not much more than $20. I have some money in my wallet, and some money outside of it (just in case if the bus I am on is robbed, I can just give them the few dollars I have that is not in my wallet...but because I am white, I might get hassled more because people think I am rich). In addition to my wallet I carry my visa card that is issued by the government. Because I have this special document, I don’t need to carry my passport like other foreigner friends of mine. If I am stopped by migration people, I pull out my card, have a little conversation with them and I am on my way. If any of my friends are stopped (and chances are they don’t have my same visa because it’s really hard to get) then they might be fined or even brought to migration, or even forced to leave in 48 hours.

I have my wallet and visa in one pocket and my $30 phone in the other pocket. I also carry a bag with an umbrella, water, my notebook and my agenda. I don’t carry much more than that because it could be stolen. When I am on the bus I try not to let myself drift too far off into daydream land. Sometimes that’s hard to do, but for the most part, I try to stay alert and be aware of who is getting on an off the bus and where I am in proximity. But the reality is, anyone and everyone is in danger at times. These same rules of being alert apply to walking in the street. I am usually very aware of where I am and who is near me when I am walking. I always pass men who have some cat call to project, but it’s safer to just keep on walking instead of saying or doing something that might feel OK in the States. I make sure that when I pass drunk men, that I am polite but that I keep walking, and I try to be aware of the places I can walk into in case there is a problem.

At night, the whole dynamic changes. Everything is more dangerous and people are more on edge. If I do go out at night, I try to go out with a group of people, I don’t ride public transportation after a certain point and if I am really far, I take a taxi home at night.

And then, because I am in El Salvador, the political situation has to be taken into account when leaving the false comfort of your home. There are always protests, marches, demonstrations, road blocks and the like going on at seemingly random moments. However, nothing is really random here, and it’s best if you can catch these hand ups quickly. As a foreigner, I can be arrested and deported if seen at a protest, so I steer clear of them for that reason. However, marches and demonstrations can easily turn into protests and those can easily turn violent, which is something I would rather not be a part of. The July 5th protest that I previously spoke about was not very far from where I conduct a lot of my life, and so it’s important for me to be aware of what’s going on before I leave the house (if at all possible).

You know, the reality is, living here is different...its difficult. But I am only here for a short while and basically I can leave whenever I want. What about the people who can’t leave...the people who can’t make enough money to move into a safer neighborhood where people aren’t being found dead in the morning? What about the women I know, who were waiting for a bus on pay day at the GAP maquilador that they work at, and they were robbed and rapped repeatedly? What about the young teenage boys who are afraid to leave their houses to go to a crafts workshop held by a church group, because the police will pick them up and even abuse them as targeted gang members (even if they really aren’t gang members at all)? What about the bus driver who didn’t pay the gang a special tax and so he gets shot and killed in broad daylight while his bus is set to flames? What about the man lies sprawled out on the sidewalk in a nice neighborhood with a gunshot in his head?

I am not trying to scare you with these thoughts and these stories, but think about it...a really large percentage of this world lives like this. Then take places like Iraq and Lebanon? What about the neighborhoods you never go in? The North end of Hartford...the projects...you know the places that you hear about on the news.

I mean, shouldn’t people have the right to be safe? Shouldn’t people have the right to FEEL safe?

I am leaving El Salvador in 6 months and I will be living in a place where I can breath again. I can go to work with a bunch of useless junk in my bag, my pockets full of money and money cards, I can listen to my MP3 player as I ride public transportation...and if I wanted to, I could escape and forget about it all.

A story of Violence

2006-08-15T10:42:00.000-07:00

Here is the blog of a friend of mine here in El Salvador. I am going to copy some text from her blog and also copy the link so that you can read it in more detail. If you can help, please do!

http://salijo05.blogspot.com/

Dear Friends, Family, and Supporters,I send you my greetings to you from El Salvador. I am still here working as a long-term volunteer, teaching English, coordinating youth sports programs, and organizing around environmental issues. I want to thank you all for your generous donations and your emails. I am inspired to report that the children here are putting the donated sporting equipment to good use on a daily basis and everything is going well Sadly, my motive for writing today is not of a joyful nature. I feel compelled to share this experience because this time, the danger we all face on a daily basis has come close to home.Around 3:00 am on Saturday, August 5th, Esper was leaving her job at a factory just outside the city of San Salvador. She and two co-workers were attacked by a group of armed men. It was payday so Esper and her co-workers had their monthly salaries of $150 cash with them. The men physically threw the three young women to the ground, beat them, and stole their money. They raped them repeatedly, taking turns. After, the men drove away.All three victims are currently in the hospital, recovering from their physical injuries and receiving medication to prevent the development of HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases. The anti-HIV medicine will cause them to be physically ill for the next few weeks and requires a proper diet which they could not afford on their current salary, let alone if the medication makes them too sick to return to work.My best friend Marina is Esper's sister. Marina is a full-time teacher during the week, and a night student at the University of El Salvador. She wants to take this semester off from her studies, so that she can work a second job to support Esper and her family through her recovery. If Marina stops studying this semester, she will delay getting her teaching certification, which in turn would get her fired from her teaching position, leaving her in a worse position than today.I can personally speak to how hard this entire family works to stay afloat financially, and to try to make a better life for themselves and their children. They are fighters and survivors, but this weekend’s violence has pushed them beyond their limits.It is not easy to hear stories like Esper's. There are a few things we can do to walk in solidarity with these women. First and foremost, we can send them our positive energy, and keep her and her coworkers in our thoughts and prayers.We can also ease their financial burden. Each woman lost a month’s salary, and may not be able to work while in recovery. My goal is to raise a minimum of $1,000, the equivalent of three months wages and medical costs for Esper’s family, and to give anything above that amount to the other two women who are also suffering. Please, consider committing to give $20 a month for the next three months to help out it would be the equivalent of giving up one movie night (no popcorn), or a week’s worth of Starbucks each month, and a wonderful way to contribute good karma to some very deserving people. I know that money is always tight, and I am as grateful for your positive energy, and for passing this email along to anyone you feel may want to participate, as I am for any donation you can make. I will continue to update you on Esper’s condition through my blog. You can donate by clicking on the link I put below. Please feel free to contact me with any questions you may have, or even just to pass along good wishes to Esper.Thank you, with loveSally Hansensalstar17@hotmail.comPlease feel free to pass this along to your friends, family, schools, and places of worship.

Salvadoran Gay Pride

2006-06-26T10:43:00.000-07:00

The month of June is International Gay Pride Month. In large metropolitan cities like New York, Chicago, London or Paris, there tend to be large parades and events celebrating the diversity of sexuality, gender, gender identity and the millions of individuals who have struggled for equality and positive visibility. June is a month of awareness and acceptance for gay communities all around the world, in hopes that one day, people won’t be violated, discriminated against or shunned by their families. It’s a month of education and empowerment, of entertainment and conversation and maybe an extra push for some, to finally come out of the closet.

Here in El Salvador events for the month of June within the gay community are on a smaller scale, yet still alive and growing in vibrance and visibility. And this year, the big day was the 24th of June. The morning began with various groups setting up tents in the central park of El Centro, across from the cathedral. There, these groups displayed their work and held education forums on issues ranging from STDs, HIV / AIDS, condom application and other safe sexual practices.

(Side commentary: I was disappointed to find that the majority of conversations and information were based on sexual practices and disease prevention. On one hand, this heavy emphasis certainly reinforces certain stereotypes of the gay community, but on the flip side, the highly attended educational campaign reached individuals ranging in sexualities and sexual practices. I would have liked to have seen more conversation on gender identity and sexuality as a whole, however, I was quite surprised and impressed with the amount of people who courageously participated in such a taboo event in this homophobic country of El Salvador.)

Some highlights to this part of the day included the passing out of free condoms (male and female). I also got to watch one man transform into a woman (and a very attractive woman at that). I watched as another man applied his makeup, as they picked out his outfit and later, as she marched in the parade (notice the pronoun switch from he to she).

In addition to learning some new things about AIDS in El Salvador, I also had a lot of personal conversations with people who were willing to share their stories of being gay in El Salvador. I met one man, who I will not name at this time, who is a soldier in the Salvadoran military. This young man talked with me about his time in the military and his boss who forced him to have sex. He spoke about how his boss hit him and threatened his life if he did not engage in relations with him. In addition, when he reported the incident, the military denied the incident took place, and now there is a lengthy court case which could result in this soldier being put into jail. At the moment, this young man is not only suspended from the military while his case is pending, but he can't apply to any other jobs to make money because he is tied up in this case. He has been kicked out of his family (a military family) and has been staying with his grandmother. He further explained that he just wants this all to be over with, understanding that his boss will never be brought to justice with the amount of corruption here, and that he just wants his life back.

I met a lot of people who had similar stories of being shunned by their families, of moving from their pueblos to the city and finding acceptance among a few people here. The stories are not unlike many other gay people I know in the US and unfortunately, this seems to be the reality.

However, I did meet a mother who accompanied her son to the march because she wanted to support him. I met another young boy who guided us from the bus stop to where the march would take place, and he had many interesting things to say, at the ripe ate of eight. We asked him if he was involved in the movement at which he happily replied "yes!" We then asked him if anyone in his family was gay.

He nonchalantly replied, "No, I just have an uncle who dresses like a queen."

We later saw this boy walking through the march as if he had no care in the world. He seemed to know a lot of people, including a lot of the other men who dress like "queens". And I couldn't help but hope that this young boy, and his attitude, would develop into the future of this country and the handling of homosexuality.

In all, I had a really good and interesting time at this march of solidarity. I certainly had a unique experience that other foreigners were not getting. I found myself being very grateful for the community I have in the United States, and yet I also realized that there is a lot of work that needs to be done in the US as well. And so, as June is coming to a close, I wish all my GLBT friends and those who support us, a Happy and Healthy Gay Pride Month.

Mothers Day Salvadoran Style.

2006-05-11T12:53:00.000-07:00

The 10th of May marks Mothers Day in Latin America, no matter what day it is. This year, in El Salvador, places were decorated and the florists were filling the street corners waiting for sons and daughters to buy that special combination of colorful flowers for their mother.

Even though I am accustomed to celebrating Mothers Day on a different date, I still did a little bit of reflecting as Salvadorans honored their mothers (and mother figures).

I am finding in my life, that who you call Mom, says a lot about you. Here in El Salvador culture with a mix of poverty really changes the family dynamic. There are many single moms here and many women who have children with multiple men. I won’t explain the how or why of this (this is not the time of discussion), but I will say, that the role this woman plays in the child’s life is even more important. In addition, there are times when one or both parent leave the family to go North to support the family. Sometimes the family still stays in touch with the person who migrated, but that is not always the case.

I read a story recently in which a mom emigrated to the US to make enough money for the family. As a mother, she was the primary breadwinner for her family, but she was not the primary caregiver. Instead, the older sister assumed the role, which leads me to wonder. Who do Salvadorans call Mom? And when exactly does a woman become a mother?

Here, there is a strong presence of influential woman with strong character. I have met women here who are a definite force to be reckoned with and are seen as the matriarch of a whole family or community at times. These are the women who keep careful watch over every child (no matter what age) and keep the men in line and on their toes. In such a machismo culture, I find this reality to be surprising and a bit refreshing.

As a feminist who is blessed with many different individuals who have assumed mothering roles in my life, I often wonder what kind of mother I will become someday. Although I admire these strong Salvadoran women, I am not sure I want that kind of responsibility. It is my hope however, that my future partner and I complement each other in such a way that the typical mothering characteristics are distributed among the two of us. I feel that if life works out that way, then our child (or children) will understand that traditional gender roles do not need to be fulfilled to raise a healthy child, or to have a healthy family.

So in closing, Happy Mothers Day, to all those women and men who care for children and raise them to be happy and healthy adults. My blessings, gratitude and awe go to you…

Typical Sunday!

2006-05-11T12:50:00.000-07:00

Every Sunday I have this ritual. It’s a new thing for me. I am trying to work on routine…trying to ground myself…trying to connect my heart to my environment. And so, I roll out of bed and start thinking about church. I think about it and ask myself if I really want to go. There was once a time in my life when it was just a given that I would go, but now, I find myself seeking other options for spirituality. I have been singing a new song.

If I decide to go to church, I do the normal life thing of getting dressed and all that jazz. I also eat something (even though it is against church teaching) and then I begin the journey. I jump on the number 46 bus…it goes from one poor neighborhood to another…I am somewhere in the middle of the line but economically speaking I stand out! I love riding the bus, and somehow that seems a bit strange to me…but never the less, it’s a part of my life. It’s such a real experience, passing through the different neighborhoods, looking at the people getting on and off, wondering where they came from and where they are going. That in itself is a spiritual experience. Its the reality of liberation theology right in front of me without ever stepping into a church. I wonder what the Vatican thinks of such revelations?

I’ve learned about the layout of the city by riding the buses and the images I have gathered run through my head when I think about the things I love about El Salvador. Mostly, its about the people….I have fallen in love as Arrupe would say. As the bus passes the big parks, and the hospital Rosales, I can’t help to feel a tug at my heart. People say that Rosales is the hospital for the poor and that you go there to die. It’s not a pretty sight and the people waking in and out of that place don’t really look alive. I don’t know how you could when dignity is handed over as admission. Someday I will go there to see it for myself…but for now, I just look at the reality from my bus window.

From Rosales, the number 46 goes down the hill to El Centro. And within minutes the streets are full of people and little booths of vendors selling everything from fruits and veggies to bootleg DVDs to clothing and tools. You can find anything at El Centro and for cheap. I love El Centro…I love that it’s dirty and raw…and real. To me, this is San Salvador. And after a while I can see the top the Cathedral which is my stop. My cute to get up is the stop light right before the central park. And when I do, I feel like I am stepping into a new reality. A change from observation to living.

It’s the Cathedral where Romero’s funeral mass was, when over 40 people were killed as the government opened fire. The Cathedral is where I was when I saw my first protest, when some people overtook the tower to protest the conditions in the prisons. The Cathedral is the only sight seeing place I went to when I first came to El Salvador back in 2001 after the earthquakes, and so every time I go to the Cathedral, I remember that experience. For me, the Cathedral is a central point of reference…or reflection and of internal conflict.

There are two religious services at the Cathedral on Sunday. The formal mass is held upstairs in the ornate décor of what you imagine a church to be. The doors are open and its loud and I call it the hierarchy mass, because that is the mass for the people who follow the Catholicism of the Vatican. Downstairs in the cripta is where I go to the Misa de los Pobres (The Mass of the Poor). This is the place where Romero’s body now rests and people come to pray at the monument that memorializes him. The people gathered are normal Salvadorans, many of whom are very poor and travel a bit of distance to celebrate there. This is the people’s mass and the people have to fight to keep it. The funny thing is, there is nothing out of the ordinary at this mass. The readings are the same, the offerings are the same, the priest has the same teaching…but the hearts of the people are different. Every Sunday, the people at this mass convert the readings and Romero’s past reflections into real soul food. They take the message and apply it to their life…the life that struggles to create social change. And I guess the hierarchy is threatened by that…

My Sunday trips to the Cathedral certainly don’t resemble the times I go to church with my family…but then again, my life here doesn’t really resemble the life I have anywhere else.

Rufina Amaya

2006-02-13T19:15:00.000-08:00

(El Mozote building destroyed)

Rufina Amaya, the woman who will remain in my heart for the rest of my days. If you know anything about the history of El Salvador, it is possible that you may remember the name of Rufina from reading a book about El Mozote, and the massacre that took place there in December 1981. The tragedy at El Mozote killed more than 1,000 campesinos, and Rufina is the only survivor. Her testimony is simple, it is real and it is full of a certain pain that she has carried with her every since.
Today I met Rufina, and looked into her eyes for the first time, knowing that my own heart will remain connected to hers. I’m not sure I will ever think of the history of El Salvador again, without thinking of her. As I walked through the streets of this small town in northeastern El Salvador, I had to remind myself to take deep breaths, so that I wouldn’t cry, in encountering the reality that Rufina once lived.

(church where men were killed)

We walked these dirt streets, accompanied by neighborhood kids, and the truth was revealed with the bullet holes in buildings. We walked past the home of Marcos Diaz, the richest man of El Mozote at the time, who convinced the families of the town to remain in the area on one particular day (the day that the Atlacatl battalion arrived), despite other intelligence that said something bad was going to happen.
We took pictures of the center square, where the town was forced to congregate before being divided by gender. I walked into the church, and prayed, the place where the men were brought and killed. We walked the path that the line of women took as they were escorted to a home where they would be raped and killed. It was on this path, that Rufina managed to find refuge and escape. It was on this same path, that soldiers walked day and night, dragging bodies (including Rufina’s husband and children).
I saw the tree that Rufina hid in, and the foundation of the house, where the bodies of women were exhumed. Nearby, was the giant crater from a 500 lb. bomb that was dropped by a US airplane just a few days before, and a perfect view over the trees, of the church in the center of the town.
The reality in this tragedy, is that everything was planned with the purpose of terrorism. The fact is, the soldiers of Atlacatl, were trained at The School of the Americas in Fort Banning, Georgia. They learned the latest technology of terror, fresh from the analysis of the Vietnam War. Basically the idea is, if you take away the towns where the guerrilla forces are strong, the guerrillas will also die of hunger. Thus, in the master minds of the six Americans that accompanied the Atlacatl battalion, killing everyone in El Mozote was a strategic move against the opposition. Never mind, that women were raped, children thrown into the air and shot, and the men decapitated. And never mind, that US tax dollars paid for this important education, as well as the guns and ammunition.
Today when I met Rufina at her home, she spoke to us a bit about her experience (minus the details, because there is no need to repeat it over and over again). We talked about her life now, the poverty of her family and those around here. We talked about the oppression that still goes on today and her hopes for a more liberated future. She explained that even thought the peace accords were signed in 1992, the root causes of the war were never addressed, and today she thinks it is even worse. With CAFTA, privatization, electoral fraud, and the dollarization of El Salvador, some things only got worse. Yet somehow, she still remains hopeful, that someday, the Left will take power and eradicate poverty in her country.
When asked about her faith in God, Rufina responds that her faith has always been strong. Even during the war, and during the massacre, God remained in her heart. She attributes her life, to her faith.
The images at the top, I took while I was in El Mozote. I’m not very fond of guided tours or being a tourist, especially when it involves the lives of real people. However, I felt that for this time, my photos might tell a visual story, of the history of El Mozote, and the memories that fill the heart of Rufina Amaya.

Yo quiero ir...

2006-01-16T19:34:00.000-08:00

About a month ago I was in a taxi, and as the usual line of small talk questioning goes, taxi drivers usually ask me what I am doing here in El Salvador. I never lie to avoid conversation, because I learned early on, that every little moment counts in my new line of work. So I tell them, I work with migrants at CARECEN. And then the stories come...

Last month I met a man who wanted to migrate to the US, and so on the way to my home, I told him about his human rights as he is in transit. I wished that I had brought the little pamphlet with me that explains his human rights, but for some reason I didn't have any, so I told him to call our office. I don't know if he ever did.

This morning when I woke up, I was feeling a little hurried, as I had an early meeting to talk about the work I will do for the next six months or so. When I was packing my bag for the day, I noticed the little yellow cartillas (pamphlets) sitting on the floor, and so I grabbed a few and tossed them into my bag, thinking that they might come in handy.

My day continued on, and was a regular manic Monday with just a hint of frustration, because I felt like I wasn't being productive enought with the extra chaos of a new schedule that has come into my life. Nevertheless, not being too hard on myself, I decided to see a film with friends, and catch a cab later on.

This evenings taxi ride was another important one, because I met a man who will be leaving within the week. He explained that it's been really hard for him and that he's decided to go North to meet some family in New York, who can get him a job flipping burgers. He's planning on traveling alone, but will meet a coyote (a paid guide) in Mexico. I asked him how much the coyote costs and he told me $2,000. My taxi driver doesn't know the coyote, and later asks me if learning english is hard. I reach into my bag and pull out a cartilla, which I so carelessly tossed in my bag 14 hours early in the day. I flip throught the pages as he drives, and I chat with him a bit about his human rights and the places where he can find a meal and a place to stay while traveling. I also explain that he can call our office for more information or more cartillas for his friends.

My taxi driver this eveing is leaving a country that he loves, to continue on a trip that will be very dangerous. He will probably hold that cartilla very close to him in the coming weeks, and ask he tells me about Santa Ana (where he is from), I say a little prayer for him, because I know it's not going to be easy.

This man is 27 years old, and he is leaving his family for a job in the states that pays minimum wage. He's risking his life to enter into a country that says he is not welcome, and vigilantes on the border will tell him in many ways. He asks me if New York is beautiful, and I tell him that it is, but it's expensive. And when I leave the car this evening, I extend my hand and tell him to be careful. He says "Rest well Megan." And I wish for him to do the same.

I think that 10 minute conversation was the most important thing I did all day.

Campo vs. Conferencia

2005-12-23T08:25:00.000-08:00

So I’ve had a taste of the Salvadoran world for the last four months, and now I have some time to relax and reflect (some of the things that I do best). When I first got here, everything was adjustment. Someone would ask how I was, and I would just say that I was adjusting. Which is quite true, considering all the things that are so very different about El Salvador. I mean, walking out the door every day here, is more than an adventure, it can be downright alarming and exciting all at once. Not to mention that fact that, the simplicity of a single moment can evoke great reflection and questioning. Imagine having lots of these moments in one day!
The first month here was all over the place, and sort of unsettling. I was living in someone else’s home, I didn’t have a routine to begin adjusting to. In some ways, the month of September was all about me metaphorically dipping my toe in the water.

At CARECEN (work) life was intense. By my first week, I was looking at our human rights files, of people who disappeared in transit, or who died. I’m talking pictures of dead bodies, personal letters, pictures...the whole nine yards. Talk about putting a face on migration! That experience alone will stick with me for the rest of my life...you can’t really forget something like that.

At any rate, things have slowed down a bit. I’ve had time to collect myself (daily), I’ve picked up a routine of sorts, although that is sort of relative in this mas o menos land! I’ve become familiar with the city, the busses, what to expect in terms of the weather, and how I can feed myself on a slim budget (I LOVE Pupusas).

I’m figuring, that this next part of time after Christmas is when I really get into it. I’m really looking for something different. Don’t get me wrong, being in the CARECEN office has some advantages, but I need to be with the people more instead of behind a computer. A lot of the work we do in the office is boring really. Phone calls, computer searches, collecting data, writing reports...you name it. Life in the campo is with the people, those who have or will migrate, working with their families and talking to them about their reality. Because the thing is, there really are two realities here...

Campo vs. Conferencia

There is the life that is lived by the people...those that struggle everyday and are forced to reckon with the pressures of a global economy and the abuse of US consumerism everyday. A lot of these people don’t have options. They don’t have a job, their family struggles, and their only idea is go north and find something else...anything else.

Then there is the world of people who do a lot of talking about "issues". These individuals may have been part of the campo reality at some point, or they work with those in the campo now, but are now working within the realm of "professionalism". They talk about the reality at conferences, at fancy hotels, where the level of water in your glass never goes past a half full before a waiter comes by and fills it. In the reality of Conferencia, you try to get really important people to come so that they hear the message...and maybe even give your organization some extra credit. You spend a lot of money to make some people comfortable while they learn and explore the facts. You pack them with information, bring in the press, have your break time for side chatter and future planning, and you have yourself a successful movement underway.
So what the heck does this mean for me?

Well, I’ve experienced a lot of the Conferencia reality since I’ve been here. I’ve been to all the major hotels, I can spot the human rights Lady a mile away. I’m beginning to recognize who is important and who is REALLY important. And most importantly, I know what bus to get on to get to each hotel, because really, it’s all about being there (and for me, experiencing the other half).

But where I really want to be is in some canton that I can’t even pronounce the name. I think that public education work is really important, but I want to be the one experiencing things and then writing it all down. When an important UNDP document says that nearly 600,000 people have left the country from Jan. To May, I want to be able to know that I had contact with at least some of them on a personal level. I want to know that they had a cartilla in their hand, that I shook their hand and wished them a safe trip (instead of learning about them on a general basis at a conference).

As the year 2006 approaches, I am thinking that there are a lot of things left to know and experience. I want to take the year and make it a challenging one, so that by the time I leave in February 2007, I can say that I know what Salvadoran migration looks like from both sides of the coin. It’s all about having a well rounded experience...and that’s what I am aiming for.

Entre Amigos

2005-12-17T19:12:00.000-08:00

A few years back in college, I decided I was going to do a paper on the history of homosexuality in Latin America (it was for a Latin American History class). Well besides the fact that I was a little bit ambitious, I did learn a great deal about the culture of homophobia in Latin America in general (and I learned even more about Cuba, after a narrowed my topic down). Who knew that paper would end up manifesting itself into further exploration and discovery later in my life?
At any rate, I remembered that I had read some articles on an organization in El Salvador called ENTRE AMIGOS, an organization devoted to the GLBT population of El Salvador. In my reading, I discovered that the founder was one of the few openly (and public) gay figures in El Salvador at the time. I also remembered that he had received death threats and such for his work with the GLBT community.

After my personal research, I found nothing else to note about the group and figured that it had fizzled out, thinking that maybe it was suppressed by the government, or maybe the founder just decided to go back underground. How very wrong I was...

About a week ago I was having lunch with a coworker and she was sharing some pictures that she brought from home. Pictures of when CARECEN first started (the organization I work with), pictures of her family and some of her friends. Then she showed me this one picture taken a few years ago. The photo captured her with about five other men, including an drag queen (depending on the culture, you might also refer to her as transgendered). My coworker continues to explain that these are her friends from "AMIGOS" and that they are all gay. She specifically points out the other woman in the picture (besides her) and says, "that’s a man!"
I smiled and told her that I knew...

We continued on with our conversation about her friends, about the GLBT population here, gay culture, and the misc. people who come into our office that are gay. Apparently there are a lot, and she knows them all! In addition, she has a lot of friends who are in the sex industry here, both men and women. He tells me about so and so who sells things at the market by day as a woman, and at night she is a cross dressing prostitute....or some of the men she knows that don’t even hide their identity and dress in women’s clothing, sell things at the market and also provide sexual favors. She knew a lot more about gay culture here than I had ever expected I would learn as a "Catholic" volunteer.

In my curiosity, I asked her how she knew all these gay people. She proceeded to tell me that she only hangs around gay people...she doesn’t really like straight people (even thought she identifies as straight). This I found interesting. But basically, her extensive knowledge comes from the fact that she has been involved with ENTRE AMIGOS for a long time, the same group I had thought fell off the face of the earth.

Much to my surprise, ENTRE AMIGOS is flourishing here in San Salvador, and by the next day, I was on an official tour! As it turns out, EA is so close, that I pass the office everyday on my way to and from work!!!

What I learned...
At EA, we had a long conversation with one of the directors, Joaquin. He talked about the history of the group and what they do now, which includes advocacy work and a lot of community education in relation to homosexuality in general, and also a safe sex campaign. EA is the only group in El Salvador that works directly with the GLBT population and does HIV / AIDS education. Basically, the conservative administration here won’t even touch the population, and EA is forced to tackle the reality alone. While other AIDS organizations get a ton of money to do education work, EA has to rely on private international donations. If you want to talk about human rights, look at the inequality of funding here...it will make your head turn!
Joaquin told us about their creative campaigns and the extent of their work. As it turns out, even our organization has worked with EA in the past, helping HIV + migrants, travel in a safer way. I also learned about their charlas they do (little chats) in the parks and areas where there are a high concentration of gay people (who probably aren’t being educated correctly).

At any rate, I gave Joaquin my name and number and told him that I would be interested in helping the organization. I explained with a smile, that although I am a Catholic volunteer, I still have a life and free time to work with other people..and have diverse experiences. The way I see it, the GLBT community is one of the most oppressed and marginalized populations here, and so I think it’s my job to learn more about them, and be a witness to their struggles.
So when I actually start doing something with ENTRE AMIGOS, I will let you know.
On another note...and related to the topic at hand.

I went to a mass on World AIDS Day at the Cathedral here. I noticed that there was a person on the opposite end of pews who would be identified as trans. I couldn’t help but think to myself, "Man, she has a lot of courage to step into this church, with the culture of homophobia surrounding her!" She was surrounded by people when the mass started, but as the mass went on, people gradually got up and left their seat for another location, so that by the end, she was all by herself.

My heart was very affected by this observation, and it has sat with me ever since. I think it’s kind of funny that a week later I was introduced to ENTRE AMIGOS!

Everyday, I learn more and more about the culture here...including the things that people don’t normally talk about. Even though I am Catholic, I am glad and grateful that people have been comfortable enough to share such personal, and sometimes controversial things about their lives. I am a better person for it all.

Padre Jon Cortina

2005-12-12T17:22:00.000-08:00

(Google Images)

A good man died today and now a country mourns his presence. Padre Jon Cortina has never left the Salvadoran people. Even with death threats and the assassination of his fellow Jesuits in 1989, Cortina continued living the Gospel of Jesus by accompanying the people of El Salvador through a war, disasters and picking up the pieces to begin a new life. Romero was killed along with the Maryknoll church women, and still he picked up his cross. Jon was a champion of human rights, when the US government broke every rule in the book. He accepted his calling with dignity and a kind heart, while impacting the souls of those he spent his full life with.
Even after the war, Cortina continued the investigation of human rights for the people of El Salvador. He formed an organization called Pro-Búsqueda, which helps families locate children who were disappeared or kidnaped during the war. It was one of the many ways Jon helped the Salvadoran society grieve and pick up the pieces.

Padre Cortina spent a great deal of his time in northern El Salvador, an area greatly affected by the war. There, communities are still isolated from US materialism, as they struggle to put food on their table in the mists of a condition of poverty that the government still neglects in some ways. His love for the people can be seen in their faces, as they talk about the amazing relationship he had with them.

A few days ago, I attended a mass at the local Jesuit university where Cortina taught. The mass was to celebrate his birthday and pray for his health. And the pews were packed...people flowing out of the chapel. Just the presence of so many people was a testament to his great love. But there was much more than that. The emotion in that room spoke volumes; as I looked around, I could see people taking deep breaths as they tried to emotionally grasp the reality that they would soon face. I sat next to one woman who cried through the whole mass, start to finish, and her body shook as I hugged her for the sign of peace. There were students, professors, community members, families helped by Pro-Búsqueda, and volunteers just like me, sharing at a table of a collective memory.

The Salvadoran people have faced death head on with the destruction of their past. A vivid memory paints a picture of a culture formed in the image of suffering, and as one of the spiritual healers has died, one must ask "how much sadness has to exist?"

Many will say that Padre Cortina is a prophet, others will declare him a saint...but such labels are not important in retrospect. The important this is, we was there through it all...it was his presence...and something tells me, he will never leave.

For more info on Padre Jon check out this blog from a friend.

A Connection

2005-12-10T07:26:00.000-08:00

Do you ever have these moments, when you meet someone, and you are forced to think just a little bit more about everything in your life? It’s because of who they are, the conversation you have with them, the way you are attentive to their words and the way your heart peacefully reflects on their presence. There is something intrinsically perfect about their personality and how your soul craves a certain magnetism of spirits. It’s not about who you are, but who you might become. It is about the moment you meet and every second after. It’s a connection worth having, worth remembering (even if it was just that moment).

I met such a person...I had this experience.

Vatican Document

2005-12-01T11:25:00.000-08:00

Some of you might have been checking the blog periodically for my upcoming thoughts on the Vatican´s document about gay seminarians. There is a long story about all of this, that is better left to fireside chats by the beach with a cup of coffee. However, I will say a few short things and then leave you to think for yourself.

In my humble opinion, the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, does not know their community very well. In addition, it is my belief that they forgot about what Jesus taught in regards to judgment and love. Furthermore, this new document is not only sad, but is also a powerful display of the institutionalize homophobia of Catholicism, and most of Christianity for that matter.

As a Catholic who believes in the unity of humanity and the true vision of the Universal Church, I am not prepared to give up when the going gets tough…and believe me, there is a tough road ahead of us. Instead, I urge you to speak to your priests, bishops, and laypeople of your communities. Let them know what you really think, and let them see the vision that you have of one unified body. In addition, pray for our priests…especially those who are being forced back into the closet…that their hearts may stay close to those that love them well.

My heart is sad but my spirit is strong…

Building Strong Relationships

2005-11-24T06:41:00.000-08:00

You know, Thanksgiving is a really great idea in concept. To give thanks for the blessings in your life is a practice that should be practiced in your daily life. The whole history around the day is crap (see this article I just read), but the idea of giving thanks really resonates with me, and has caused me to reflect a bit more deeply.

My mental inventory of blessings, leaves a lot for me to be thankful for, but by far, the people in my life, make my days truly complete. And I can say with an honest heart, that being far from home certainly makes the situation difficult. It is hard to be away from those who give you life. It is hard to conduct life without their presence, and in turn, also miss parts of their life.

Nevertheless, they are always with me, even in the most random moments of my day. And even more importantly, there are those who may not be from my "home", but they certainly have significant roles in my life.

But here’s the thing...here’s the more personal side of my thought. I build relationships everywhere I go. I engage my heart in conversations, I invest my emotions in people and I very truly fall in love with those I come into contact with. I can’t really help myself...it’s the very fabric of who I am. The kicker is, I fall in love with these people...they fall in love with me...and then I leave!

I can’t even explain how hard it is to leave someone...leave many someones, over and over again. To say goodbye, see ya later, and start all over again. It really is hard stuff, and if you think about it for a long time, you could get stuck in a holding pattern.

You see, the temptation here is to say, "Well, I am going to be here for only _____ time, and so I will find some friends to hang out with while I am here, but really I’m not going to invest very much so no one gets hurt."

I know that people live their life like this. I know that people let this certain fear of intimacy and loss, dictate their life, but in reality, the unhealthiness of this attitude, maintaining this level of superficiality, is what I most afraid of.

Besides being afraid of fire and heights, I am afraid of people not knowing me, and in turn, that I might not be able to connect with people. Now for the record, this fear is not really active in my life. At my current state in living, I don’t have a hard time building relationships (even if I am a little socially awkward at times...ie the phone) , but I think if I actually allowed myself to be tempted to hold back on the building process, my actual fear might become more of a reality.
Building strong relationships, as difficult and challenging as it is, is what I believe to be the core of the human experience. To honestly open your heart to another person (even in time of pain), can be one of the most fulfilling and REAL experiences of your life. And even though I have failed miserably at some points within this process, I never stopped valuing the people or the relationship itself.

With that said, I have also come to realize, that not all relationships are meant to last forever. There are some connections that are meant for a perfect time and a specific place, and the duplication or revisitation of the moment is impossible to rekindle. But that doesn’t mean that the relationship was any less meaningful or important in the journey of life. It doesn’t mean that love was not shared, or a true connection was never made. There is no fault of one person or another for not keeping in contact...it’s just the way things happen sometimes. And yes, this too is painful. But if you think about the people in your life that you might have only known for a short period of time, chances are, some of those people made a significant impact in your life. The professor, the mentor, the high school best friend, the coworker you had at your first real job...the list goes on. Those are the people who left a mark on your heart, who helped shape a bit of who you are, and in some ways, simply acknowledging their role in your life, helps when building other new relationships that may or may not last very log.

You see, I’m not really very judgmental when it comes to the people I surround myself with. Yes, there are certain traits and characteristics that I am fascinated and attracted to in a person, but really, I build relationships with a lot of different people. Because the way I think is this, "What if, this person, is the one who will completely turn my world upside down...what if this person is the one to make me think of something in a new way...what if this person is the one to introduce me to the love of my life...what if this person IS the love of my life...what if this person was put in my life so that I might help them...what if, what if, what if?"

Man oh man, these are the questions the rest in our hearts every day, and sometimes we really don’t even know it. And sometimes, we are so very afraid to know it. For all the struggles, the joys, the sorrow, the uneasiness, the awkwardness, the loneliness, the incompleteness and the completeness, I am a better person for sticking with the process of building strong relationships, and really, it has all been very worth it.

On this day of giving thanks...please know that I am thankful for YOU!
(PS...I know this is a little cliche, but if you know me, you know it is from my heart...and you know that I am saying it with that certain smile...and that there is always a warm hug, and tender eyes of compassion looking right back at you to know that I really do mean it!)

The Simple Little Moments

2005-11-21T15:27:00.000-08:00

It’s the simple little things in life that make me really happy. And I try to fill my day with simple moments. Sure, there is a lot of depth and beauty in the complicated intermingling of relationships, but I value the small moments...the good conversations...the hugs...the passing glance and smile...a really good laugh.

I love the moments in a day when everything seems to add up. When you wake up with a smile on your face, share a good lunch with a friend, encounter a random stranger on the street who engages your heart, and finish off the day with a good book.

And then there are the little gifts that a day brings. Like when it’s Monday and you have an unexpected visitor or a really good email from a friend.

Today, was one of those good simple days, full of simple moments that made me smile.

1. I was given a book by a friend so that I can understand the reality here a little more. We talked about the book and how it makes him feel. Sure, it’s going to take me forever to read it (it’s in Spanish) but I feel that this simple little gesture is like a glance into his world. And there is something really profound in that simple exchange...

2. I had lunch today with a coworker that I see once a week. We talked about simple things...family, food, clothing. But we make each other smile, and that’s a good thing!

3. Today I passed my a man on the street. He usually just sits there, and I think he sort of waits for me to walk by everyday because he says "Hello" with such exuberance. I look forward to my passing moments with him.

4. And then this afternoon when I bought a papaya and brought it home to cut up. Sure, I almost cut my fingers off (I’m not too skilled with knives...see blog about my hobbies). But, I love papayas because they remind me of my childhood and some really good moments drinking papaya juice. The simplicity of eating a bowl of papaya, brought a little feeling to my heart that made me be really grateful for that moment.

5. And then there’s the really swell music I’ve been listening to while I do work. I great little mix of great musicians that I can sing along to, and not really care who is listening. Songs with meaning and emotion really make me smile.

So in all, today has been a great day because of all those little moments that make the day complete! I may be a simple girl, but I find a lot of meeting in all those little moments that go unacknowledged.

My New Hobby

2005-11-20T20:00:00.000-08:00

(My new baby made especially for me!)

I’ve found a new hobby! Go figure that it would take me this long, but there’s no time like the present, right? I know that I should have picked up the guitar way back with I was a kid. After all, having a mother who is a musical genius, might actually mean that I have music in my genes too. But apparently, it’s just taken me a while to get on the bandwagon.

Anyway, I have a new friend here, Vince. He happens to be a really talented musician, and he is teaching people guitar here. So far, I’ve been taking lessons at the Episcopal church in the evening with these young kids. And during the day I paint their church. Thursdays end up being fun days! (And No, I am not going to become an Episcopal...at least not now.)

So Vince asked me why I want to learn guitar. And I said that I want to serenade women! But in all seriousness, I figure if I can sing, I might as well start playing the music as well. So my goal is to be able to sing and play my new favorite songs like Casas de Carton and Todo Cambia. But I’ve also had a recent discussion about great songs to know how to play, and after giving it some thought, maybe learning American Pie won’t be so bad after all!

In other news, I have picked up a new art project as well. Wood carving....go figure! Ya, that new hobby isn’t going as well as the guitar lessons. I cut open my left thumb on the first day. Which made my guitar lessons, the next day, a little challenging! What can I say, it sounded good at the time!

Small Christian Community

2005-11-20T13:30:00.000-08:00

This Sunday, I took a walk in reality. A breath of fresh air mixed with the truth of non pretentious faith within a community. And in some ways, the experience was like coming home...

With some friends, I went to a Small Christian Community in the Mejicanos area of the city; an area that I once didn’t live too far from. Mejicanos is an area that is marked with violence, but many of the people have a deep faith that transcends their surroundings, a characteristic that is indicative of El Salvador.

This same faith is what made this group of believers, Pueblo de Dios y Camino, rise up and form a community. This community meets in a home and shares the word like the first Christians did. They don’t follow Rome really, and in some respects, the hierarchy here still seems to have a watchful eye on them. I think that this community still might consider themselves Catholic, but they probably aren’t recognized as such. But does it really matter?

The great thing is, there is a certain feeling of equity. Today a woman presided over the service, beginning the prayers and initiating parts of the liturgy. When I think of the liberation of the women in the Church, this is what my vision is like. And I can’t help but smile.

And it’s not like she had a sermon prepared. Instead, it was the community that interpreted the readings with real life examples from their lives. Examples from the journey...from the streets of El Salvador to the political oppression that they face every day.

Communion was simply sharing bread. There was no formal blessing or hierarchical presentation, it was simply the humble faith of the community that transformed the moment...that changed the bread into something that one needed to receive.

You know, as a good Catholic girl, there is no judgement in my heart about this experience. It was so very obvious that God was there, and that she was blessing them with such a rich and real experience. I’m sure that Rome is pissed and doesn’t really understand the reality of the church today, but my faith, I hope, will never be complicated with such a critical view.

I truly do respect the individual hearts of others, even when they think differently than I do. But I most certainly envy those who are searching...searching for God, or meaning or a new way to believe. Those are the people that I crave to experience life with...as I too have been in that place, and will continue to be.

This community that I visited today, was like that, and I couldn’t help imagine myself coming back and engage my heart in the pursuit of true community...a community of faith.

I'm doing just fine...

2005-11-19T09:46:00.000-08:00

I've found my happy place!

I get plenty of rest!

Sometimes I work!

I've managed to make friends!

I make sure that I have plenty of time to reflect.

In a nutshell I am doing just fine. So don't worry!

ps...more pretty photos to come

The Christmas Season!

2005-11-17T20:41:00.000-08:00

So today I walked into the office and found that I had entered a winter wonderland! Strange, considering that I am in El Salvador. Apparently the Christmas season is in full swing here. I didn’t get the memo! Stores pretty much have been getting seasonal supplies for the last few weeks, and I guess my office jumped on the bandwagon and now we are ready to show off! We have lights all over the place, little Christmas trees and tinsel! Simply Amazing!

I will admit that this is a little odd, considering that I am use to the fan fair after Thanksgiving, but since they don’t celebrate the oppression of the pilgrims here, they can begin Christmas any time they please!

All I have to say is, if this is anything like Christmas in Belize, then I am in!

A Typical Day

2005-11-15T19:03:00.000-08:00

(Google Images)

So today was my first border visit to Hachadura (the western border to Guatemala). Basically, our objective was to put up posters, leave some cartillas about human rights and figure out if this new project will work. The new project is for people that are being deported back to El Salvador. The get back to the border, with no money and they have to find their way home. So the idea is that we would have a fund for them to have bus fair back home, some food, and a shelter to stay in overnight. Otherwise, people end up doing desperate things and there also isn’t a whole lot of dignity in being forced to sleep in the street. So Luis asked some people around the are about the feasability of the idea and how we could work out logistics. Easy enough.

The real interesting part about our trip today was the drive, and our encounters with the law. That’s right, we had several encounters!!!

OK...number one...early morning on the Pan American Highway. Luis is driving along, pointed out all the mudslides, sighting statistics....the usual. All of a sudden, we are going down this hill and there are like five military men with big guns on the side of the road, and they end up flagging us down. Great! So we pull over. The guy leans in and holds his gun just so...asks where we are going. We say, Hachadura. Then Luis asks, "why?" You know, I would have let it go, but whatever....the guy explains they are just doing random questions. Ok...blood pressure back to normal....

Later in the day, killing time at the border, sipping a coke...a border patrol truck pulls up in front of us. All these guys get out....with their big guns. This one guy stays behind as he looks for something in his pocket...meanwhile, he’s literally dangling his semi-automatic weapon as he looks for spare change. My God, what if he gets spooked....

Then we go to the beach...no guns there. Just pretty olas (waves) and some shells. The sand is wicked hot (notice the Rhode Island slang...I still have the touch)...and I also find a dead blowfish (a first for me).

Back in the car we get. On the Pan American Highway again. We are almost into the city, not too far from where we were first stopped, and we see the cop and then military guys running the opposite way on the highway with their weapons drawn. The police officer had a shinny silver gun and the military guys had big automatic weapons. Let me also mention that their uniforms are all wrong...a really bad fashion nightmare (with pants that taper to the calf...who wants that?) But besides that, these guys are really scary! Anyway, a little way up the road is another police officer standing next to an abandoned bus, talking to another guy...must have been a robbery or something.

Number four...you heard it correctly! We get back into the Antiguo Cuzcatlan area...where my home is and there is a big accident. Then just down the road we get chosen "randomly" for another vehicle check. It’s like we are wearing a big target. By this time, I already have my memorized statement in Spanish ready just in case (I work with CRS and I need to call this number). You know, your mind wonders to the most random things when in the company of law enforcement. Plus, its hard to get out of my head that these guys have big guns AND might have been in the war at some point...killing people. (Mind you, this is all a little drastic, but is just the beauty of the mind).

Anyway, so we get through the gauntlet and are in the Santa Elena area. I notice that it’s an area for rich people and it seems that we passed places like UNICEF. "Interesting!" I think to myself. Continuing down the street we come across the fortress like place, covering the space of a full block. Plus, this place is really rich looking and has lots of police and military guarding it. We get half way down the block and I ask Luis, "what is this place?"

He says in plain English, "It’s your home!" (My home, meaning the US Embassy). Ya, I saw the huge sign as soon as I finished my question!

So I let out a good laugh, and say to myself, "Of course it is!"

Luis says, "You don’t know your embassy?"

And I say, "No, and I don’t particularly want to either!"

He laughs and pats me on the head (a quirky little child thing that he does to me...which is case and point for this interesting cultural conversation on age that I will talk about at a later date).
We continue down the road and I think to myself, "If that is what my embassy looks like, I don’t want to be anywhere need that place!"

(Now I know that I might be singing a different tune if I have a bullet in my body or I am at serious risk of having a bullet in my body, but for the time being, I think will stay way from at least one of the sources of oppression around here!)

So this is basically just a typical random day in my world!

Spanish & Meg

2005-11-14T20:18:00.000-08:00

Everyday I murder the Spanish language a little less and I feel better about this illusion that I have, that some day I might actually become fluent or bilingual (although I am finding that the definitions of such words are in the midst of debate). Either way, I just want to be able to express feelings, complete and correct thoughts, as well as some common jokes. Then I might be happy.

And today I got a little closer to that goal.

I had a conversation with a coworker today about Mercedes Sosa, a brilliant vocalist who has this song called Todo Cambia, and it simply makes me melt.

The fact that I can talk about such beautiful music at least a little bit, and have the person across from me understand what I am saying, and also understand how much I truly enjoy the song, makes me wonder, and actually believe that I am progressing just fine.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...when someone calls, I still can’t understand what the Hell they are saying to me on the other end of the line, and so our conversation goes a little bit like this...

Them: "Blah, blah blah (a word I understand) blah, blah"
Meg: "Oh si?"
Them: "Blah, blah (oh, another good word), blah"
Meg: "Oh, gracias...adios"

Please note: In real life, things aren’t that bad. I get along just fine, but just imagine speaking a foreign language over the phone. A lot more depends on expressions than you think. I’ve learned that the hard way from language assessments over the phone. Some really smart people in some really important offices call me, blab about stuff in Spanish...I attempt to answer them...the interview is over...I feel like crap. Trust me, it’s a dumb idea and experience you don’t really want in life.

So to sum up, my progress with the Spanish language is getting better and I’m just glad I’m not trying to learn Swahili, because that seems more difficult. But somewhere in my head I’ve decided I want to learn Portuguese and French too (languages of the developing world), but I really have to slow down on these thoughts because I still have to master Spanish.

Romero and the Jesuit Martyrs

2005-11-13T22:03:00.000-08:00

(complemts of Google Images)

Every time I walk past the UCA (the Jesuit University here) I can’t help but think that people were murdered there. I came to El Salvador knowing a bit of history and a very specific history of the Jesuits here, and yet it was my own apprehensive heart that prevented me from really knowing the place that the six Jesuits and two women were killed in 1989. I didn’t want to visit until I was ready.

Well, Friday began with a bang! I accompanied a coworker and a friend to the Hospital of Divine Providence, the place where Oscar Romero lived and was murdered. Another place I was avoiding out of fear....

So as the story goes, Romero was made the Archbishop of El Salvador in the mid 1970's. He was appointed as a person who would not make a lot of changes and maintain the status quo. In the beginning, Romero was a friend of the rich, and they thought they were supporting someone "safe". But as history took its course, Romero also evolved. Through his relationship with Rutillo Grande (now a Jesuit Martyr), Romero learned about the reality of the poor of his country, and he was forced to live life with his eyes wide open. In time, Romero became the true man of God that he is known for today. He became a man of the poor and began speaking out against the oppression of the rich and the government. His sermons were prolific and prophetic, and like Dr. King, he knew his words had consequences.

While saying mass at the hospital chapel (a hospital for those with terminal cancer), Romero was assassinated by a man who was later linked to the School of the Americas. A week later, Romero’s funeral was packed with Salvadorans flowing out into the park. The government used the opportunity to open fire on the crowd, killing the defenseless mourners.

Today, Romero is the Salvadoran Saint. Although Rome will probably never canonize him for political reasons, Salvadorans have already given him sainthood status. He is there national hero and a beacon of light. And in some ways, because he is a martyr, his message has been heard by even more people. On behalf of the government, killing Romero was probably one of the worse moves they ever made!

I visited his humble home on Friday as well as the very spot his body fell when the bullets hit him. I saw the bloodstained clothing he was wearing and his limited personal possessions that proved his commitment to live in solidarity with the poor.

It was an intense experience to say the least, and in a way, I felt closer to the Salvadoran people by getting a closer glimpse of a person they admire so greatly.

By Saturday, I woke up and decided to take the morning off, knowing the evening was going to be filled with more intensity. By three in the afternoon, I waltzed down to the UCA so join the festivities of the 16th Anniversary of the Jesuit Martyrs.

The first thing I saw on the campus were the unusual amount of gringos. They come here in delegations for the event...to learn more about liberation theology...and experience the certain mysticism that martyrs bring. But besides the gringos, I saw beautiful alfombras (rugs made of sand). Groups of students at the UCA get together and interpret the reality of El Salvador through artistic expression. They spend tedious hours on this one large rectangular space that will later be photographed and destroyed. Simply amazing pieces of artwork, and onetime occurrence.

By the time we had seen the alfombras, it was time to finally go to The Romero Center and see the Rose Garden, the place were the Jesuits were found. They have a little museum off to the side with personal effects from the Jesuits as well as the other Latin American Martyrs including the Maryknoll church women, James Carney and Rutillo Grande, to name a few. One of my favorite memories about that experience was walking next to a campasino man as we went through the museum and when we got to the El Mozote display, he tapped me on my arm to show me all the bullets they found in the mass graves. I looked into his eyes at that moment, and I could see a certain sadness of collective pain he has faced throughout his long life in El Salvador. And the thought did cross my mind, "was he from the area of El Mozote?"

After the museum, I went to the Rose Garden and just stood there for a few minutes. I couldn’t help but visualize the last moments of the Jesuits and two women. The horror of finding soldiers in your yard...hearing gunshots in close proximity and knowing they are coming to you next...wondering if there is a way to escape...saying a last minute prayer before death. Today there are rose plants in the space where some of the Jesuits were found. Besides contemplating the cycle of life to death and the symbolism of death, the site itself has a certain calm intensity....
After that experience we decided to get some good fresh juice and take it easy before the vigil. We saw some friends, went to the chapel to see the stations of the cross art by Roberto Huezo (a really talented Salvadoran artist).

By 6pm the vigil started and also welcomed thousands of people. The was an interpretive dance that kicked off the vigil and I couldn’t help but cry (I’m one of those closet emotional folks...connected to everything and everyone but you can never really tell). They danced to this song that I hear often here, and that I like a lot, but this time I really listened to the lyrics and reflected.

Translation of the refrain: "Changes...there are many Changes..."
I couldn’t help but think of the cycle of changes here in El Salvador. A brutal history of murder and corruption marked with committed, loving people who don’t give up. The poor who fight every damn day for ever ounce of dignity. The United States who parades their wealth here and flaunts their level of power by influencing government policies like its their job. The Salvadorans that I know, who have such a deep and sad history of love and loss, of assassinations and struggles. And I think "cambios, muchos cambios..."

I wonder if anything really does change here...the acuerdos de paz that are for shit...the US presence that make me want to denounce where I am from...the Salvadorans who always talk about the past for fear it will happen again, so that we may never forget. How could you not get caught up in that experience.....

So after my little moment, I joined some friends, including my house mother when I first came to Salvador (she took such good care of me). It was really a special experience walking through the vigil with her because it is her history that she shared with me that I think of every day now.

I think of her three daughters who are my age and now live in San Francisco. I think of how her brother was a member of the guerrillas, trained in Cuba and killed here in El Salvador (17 years old). I think of the 1986 earthquake that took her house as she had to care for her three girls alone, without a husband. The trauma of dealing with the aftermath of the disaster and the war with her children. Her connection to the people of her country and her commitment to her faith. I remember her story of how she was there in the park at Romero’s funeral when they opened fire. It’s all these stories and more that I remember every time I hear a song...or hug her...and so walking next to her in this vigil was really important (and unplanned).

But let me tell you, this vigil was huge...thousands of people with individual histories and a real feeling of understanding and solidarity. It wasn’t particularly somber, but I think it is part of the historical mourning that is taking place here.

After the vigil, was the mass. And all I really want to say about that was that the sermon was really rockin. Whoever the guy was, he was really right on. He really got to the core of the reality here. From the long standing poverty, to the government corruption, the unequal distribution of wealth, the collective sins brought on by violence and the ever present "natural disasters" that he also believes aren’t quite so NATURAL. I really found myself hanging onto his every word, really glad I believed in the same God he did...really glad he was representing Catholicism...the Catholicism that I know and Love.

At any rate, after mass, was an interval documentary and a solidarity concert. There is really something awesome in this world when you can sing some really great music that has such a powerful message that people connect with. Music can move mountains man, and when you think of the power of music and media here, your thoughts can really go somewhere.
So that’s how I ended my night. I sang Casas de Carton as I lulled myself to sleep, and found myself thanking God for another really great Salvadoran day. And these are the moments that remind me that this could be the rest of my life....

On a side note: Bought some swell music and a T-shirt with Romero, Che and Marti on it. The shirt is so intriguing that I couldn’t help but buy it in the hopes that it would create future conversation. I’m not so convinced that these three men had the same ideals, but I do see some of the similarities and their differences are what makes the shirt interesting!

A Letter from Dad

2005-11-13T20:31:00.000-08:00

I recently received a letter from my father after a rather heated discussion about faith and religion over the phone. My father and I are both very passionate people, committed to the ideals that we believe in, and matters of such great depth evoke a certain emotional response.
My father is a compassionate and humble man, and this is what he wrote to me.

Dear Meg-
The church is certainly in turmoil, but no more so than many hundreds of times throughout history. In the fourteenth century there were actually two popes and people were forced to choose or be persecuted or killed. People of wisdom and courage did not choose but rather set their sights on the true leader of the church, our Lord and Savior.

Any Catholic with a brain struggles with his or her faith. All good people struggle with their faith. It is part of being alive. It matters not that we fall but rather that we once again stand, take a step and continue to struggle forward.

People in the church that persecute the faithful for their sexual orientation believe that they are in power. But rather, we are the church and our Lord is in power.

Do not allow people to have power over you. We people of faith will stand up against this injustice. It will not last, our Lord will have His way.

I Love you Megan and I have faith that you will continue to struggle as long as you live. I have Faith in you and I believe in you. And I pray for you.

Enjoy each day
Cherish each day
and I miss you
With My Love,
Dad

PS. I heard about Sister Jennine Grammick. Her ministry to Gay and Lesbian Catholics, helping to bring them back to the church. I saw her show on PBS but I do not have info on her. It was a beautiful piece on Sister Grammick "In Good Conscience" a documentary. I did not see the documentary but rather a small piece on her work on the PBS show "In The Life".

You know, my Dad is a very good man, and reading his letter reminded me how important the struggle is...and so, I am still here!

A Sticky Situation

2005-11-08T14:30:00.000-08:00

In El Salvador, having a plan is really not the best way to conduct life, at least not in my opinion. It has been my experience that in this "mas o menos" culture, a lot changes in a short period of time. And with that, even time is sort of relative anyway. Plus, there are just those days when you have to change everything you wanted to do, abandon ship and get the heck out!

Case and Point:
Yesterday, was a Monday, one of those Manic Mondays they call it. I decided to sleep in (until 7:15am) and got up to do some work on the website I was putting together. Usually I read the news in the morning, but I was pretty consumed with what I wanted to do, so I skipped the news and said I would read it later (mistake numero 1).

I did my thing on the website and then went to meet my friend so that we could have some lunch and then go to a museum about the history of the war here.

So I met my friend around 12:15pm and we went to get lunch. The comedor was packed and so we had to get food to go, and we at it in the park (which is sketchy at night). Then we board a bus and go to the museum that she says is open ALL day (at least that’s what they say). Well, as it turns out, the museum is closed until 2pm. Operation: Change Plans!

We decided to go to the Cathedral in the center of the city. This is where Romero’s body is and there’s a lot of life downtown too. Plus, I have to meet another friend there later in the day, so it sort of worked out perfectly for me.

We hop a bus and off we go to El Centro (a sketchy area, but part of the Salvadoran experience). When we get to the Cathedral, we hop out and there is a whole mess of people in the park (more than usual). Across the street, at the Cathedral, the doors are closed (they are open during the day for free flowing traffic) and the gates are plastered with "Anti-Articulo 103" posters.

I say to myself, "this looks like a protest!" Then I survey the scene a little more.
Most of the people in the park are men, and some groups of them are starting to get energized, and there are men in the bell tower with masks. I think again, "this is probably not the best situation to be in."

So I get out my little book that has phone numbers to call my other friend to tell her to meet at another place. While I thumb through the book, a police officer comes up to us (not my favorite group of people) and he asks in plain English what we are doing there.

I respond in Spanish that we were going to see Romero but the Cathedral is closed and so I was going to call a friend and we were going to hop on a bus again. He continues to speak in English and says that we need to leave now, that the situation is very dangerous. According to him, gang members took over the church because they want "their rights, or something like that." He also includes that they are not suppose to be protesting.

I thank him for the heads up and that we are leaving as soon as I alert my friend. He says that’s a good idea!

Well the phone card doesn’t work, and right about that time there was a loud noise and people started to flock to the other side of the park....our cue to leave. We hop a bus back to where we came from.

I get back to work and try to call my friend, but have to wait for my coworker to call a bunch of people first. Life is all about patience here. I try and try to get through, but I can’t
Plan B: I talk to Luis and ask him what to do about my meeting with my other friends back in the hot zone. He says, "I have experience with these sorts of things. "By the time you get back, the people will have left."

It doesn’t seem to me that Salvadorans are the type to give up so quickly, but I took his word for it because he IS a Salvadoran and he "has experience".

So I hop back on the same bus and head to the Cathedral. When I got there, the mob was also still there, and my friends, gringos like sitting ducks on the side of the street.
I said, "Dude, we’ve got to get the hell out of here!"

Five minutes later, we start walking. Process is always slow with a group of people (especially people caught in the moment). We walk a bunch of blocks away from all the action to the place where I later bought my new guitar (I am starting lessons).
We made it in once piece!

The Reality:
There is a maximum security prison in Zacateculuca that is affectionately known as "Zalcatraz". This prison houses criminals from the gang Mara Salvatrucha (many of the members once lived in the US and have been deported back due to crimes committed).

The people in the park protesting were members of a group called COFAPES (family members of the incarcerated) as well as other gang members. They were protesting Article 103 which was bringing about reforms at the prison around visitation rights.

The protesters were denouncing the really horrible conditions of the prison as human rights violations (the facilities really stink and people are really packed in there ie overcrowding.) and they wanted some changes.

Now human rights groups are trying to work with them and settle this matter in a peaceful way. The president of El Salvador said "they do not have any justification." So there you go! I haven’t heard anymore lately, except that the Cathedral is still being occupied. But that’s the story in a nutshell.

My opinion:
I really have no opinion on the situation, except that I can see where the people are coming from. I am a bit disturbed that the media is portraying the protesters as a bunch of gang members (as if gang members shouldn’t have rights...plus, there was a lot of family there too).
At any rate, I had a different experience I guess you would say and I am alive! What are ya gonna do?

For further reading about the prison situation, check out these links
CRISPAZ

LA Times

A Special Day

2005-11-06T20:28:00.000-08:00

(Google Images)

Today was a really special day because I got a really different view of la realidad. Fr. Dean invited us to go with him to the Ignacio Martin Baro Cooperative in Llanos Verdes, a part of Jayaque. I knew this morning when I woke up, that this was going to be a very memorable day because traveling with a Jesuit in the campos is an experience in itself.

We began the trip by traveling to Las Palmas, a part of the city that was really hit by the rain in October. Las Palmas, a marginal community just a short distance from my house, struggles with the reality of city life. There is a good deal of violence in this community due to gang influence as well as the combination of different political parties. Dean told us that during the rain, the river rose so high that homes were totally wiped away with the mudslides that were created. You can look down the side of the road now and see what use to be the material possessions of some of the humble dwellings there. While Dean visited a home there to get some of our traveling companions (Silvia and Martin), I got out of the car an looked down the side of the road for myself. It was an incredible sight of sadness and loss, and I did take a moment to say a little prayer.

While I waited for Dean, I simply stood on the sidewalk and greeted people as they walked by. One older man came to greet me and we talked for a while. He told me all about the area, things that Dean had already mentioned. We talked about this mans family. He had 7 brothers who died. I didn’t ask why. He also told me about God. As an Evangelica, he thinks that God is only for the "good", but I explained that I think that Dios is for everyone. He thought a minute and we talked some more, but clearly I didn’t notice that everyone was packed in the car and ready to go. Unfortunately, I had to cut our conversation short and hop in the car. I did think to myself as I left, "what would it be like if I lived there?"

In the car, I met Sonia and her novio Martin. Sonia’s mother works with Dean in the Las Palmas community and Martin is a student at the UCA. I found out later that he is studying psychology, and so we had a lot to talk about. He is a very kind young guy who has a certain internal compassion. I always admire that in a person.

We continued on our way, with a quick stop in San Benito, a community of the rich, where once, their priest, a young guy, started to make some changes and he was killed. Change is dangerous here....

On our way to the Santa Tecla market, Dean showed us the areas that were totally destroyed by the earthquakes of 2001. You could see the mountains in the close distance, with the mudslides from the rain and the obvious possible danger that another earthquake could pose. We picked up some beans at the market (a market frequented by natives for the cheap prices) to later give to a particular woman.

We then drove for about 30 minutes outside of the city on the Pan American Highway, known for its curvy way through the mountains. It was really a sight to see all the sights where the mudslides were. Incredible....

Eventually, we arrived at the cooperative that Ignacio Martin Baro helped encourage. Ignacio, affectionately called Nacho, was a Jesuit who was killed with his 5 other fellow priests and two female domestic workers in 1989. Together, they are called the UCA Martyrs and this week is the anniversary of their assassination.

Nacho was known for his commitment to the people of Llanos Verdes. The children knew him for the candy that he had for them, while the older members of the community knew him for his dedication in accompanying them in the reality. He visited people daily and had strong relationships with them. They say that he is still there with them.

So there was a beautiful mass at the cooperative with beautiful music and really great heartfelt worship. You can tell that the people of Llanos Verdes have a different relationship with God than the rich of the world. These people have a simple faith really grounded in the reality of the world around them. I always say, if you want to know who the crucified Christ is, go meet the poor of the world...they are connected to God everyday.

The sermon that Dean gave was really great, and we had commented before, that here, it is much easier to connect with the people through a sermon. You don’t have to stretch so much to make the readings apply to life. Everything really fits with the realidad of today, and the people hang onto every world because the words are about their life.

After the mass, we had tamales and some cholocate with people. I walked around, and met some of the Casa kids, and then we left for some more visits with Dean. Up the mountain we went, and stopped to visit a man that is bedridden. Nacho had visited him religiously. After that, we went to find a particular woman that was friends with Dean. We knew that she was living in a school now since the rains washed away her house, and so we had to find her. Luckily, we found her walking up the hill as we were going down. She was such a kind soul, full of joy. We talked on the side of the road there with her for a while, and I couldn’t help but look around at the beauty of the place I was, and the beauty of the moment and think, "God, this is such a great life, and this is exactly what I want it to look like!"

After a while, we gave her the beans, which she was so grateful for. I later found out that many people can’t even buy beans sometimes because they are so expensive and so they go without a protein source. And so for this woman, the 5lbs of beans that Dean bought for her was protein for a while. She continued her walk up the hill with her grandchild and I thought, "The people suffer here so much because of the rich and yet she is so full of joy."

As it started to get dark, we began our drive back to the city, but we stopped at a church that was being used as a temporary shelter after the rains. At one time, there were 700 people in the shelter, but as the rains subsided, thanks to God, many could go back. Now there are a bit more than 100 people there, yet many of them are children. It was dinner time when we arrived, and the kids flocked around us, wanting to learn some English rather than get their dinner. The main woman of the shelter gave us a tour and showed us the reality across the street.

"See,"she said, pointing to the mudslides on the side of the mountain. "This is where these people use to live, and now they are here, and the government hasn’t helped us."

I noticed that most of the people in the shelter were women and children...lots of children, who were so happy to see us. And as we left, I noticed some soldiers who had just arrived. I asked Martin, "why are they here?" And I knew my answer as I asked the question, as I saw the smile on Martin’s face.

If you think about it, the poor forced together by result of a disaster that the government hasn’t helped with, makes a community that is very dangerous for the government. These soldiers were there to monitor the "situation". A disgusting reality and abuse of power that is all too familiar in El Salvador.

As we left this community, I couldn’t help but make not of how important that moment was for me. As the children waved as we drove away, someone commented on how different campo life is in relation to city life.

We continued on our way once again, but quickly made another stop at a little comedor to get some drinks and pan ducle. As it turned out, the place we were sipping refrescos at, was a favorite place of Monsenor Romero. He liked to come there to rest, and he was very involved with the community there, and good friends of family at the comedor. We had a nice snack complete with a guy who played tunes on his harmonica for us. To think that even my snack time meant something today...that at one time, Romero also reclined at table and sipped the same cold drink that I was enjoying. And thus, life comes full circle.....

Today was a great day full of really important thoughts and experiences. Although I like my job at CARECEN, working with migrants and their families, I can’t help but think if I would like this kind of life better...accompanying the people of the campo...going to their homes everyday... being with them during their daily struggles. It’s a different life, that is for sure, but maybe it is what my heart is looking for.

I Can't Breath...

2005-11-04T13:52:00.000-08:00

(Google Images)

There are some days here when I feel like I can’t breath. I wake up in the morning and I want to take a deep breath and welcome life in, but then I remind myself that I’m in San Salvador. Instead, I stretch, take medium breath, just enough to let myself know that I’m alive, and I continue on with my new day.

When I first got here, I kept waking up with a sore throat. I would tell people this, and they would say that I’m getting a little gripe, and would go on to tell me that it’s because of the lluvia. But as the day went on, this would clear up, and that was that. But I came to figure out that I did not have a gripe and the lluvia had little to do with my sore throat. In fact, my body was adjusting to the pollution of living in the city.

Now one would think I would be use to this by now after living in Detroit for the past year (and I use to live near River Rouge), but in fact, I find the conditions worse here.

There are some days that I sit on the bus, and cars pass by with the trail of black diesel smoke behind. And then there are the busses, with no sort regulations on the amount of pollution they create. I stand on the side of the road, waiting for whatever it is I am looking for, and I dream of wearing an oxygen mask. And then there are the days that I just dream of being in the campo.
The air is cleaner in the campo. You can smell wildlife and stoves burning (also not very good for the lungs..but they smell better than exhaust). Campo life is also a lot more tranquilo...and maybe that’s what I’m looking for.

I didn’t take any deep breaths today...I’m actually holding my breath for the day that I can. I think this country girl is just adjusting to city life....

Rosa Parks

2005-11-02T08:18:00.000-08:00

Here's to show you that even criminals are good people. Even an every day citizen can spark change. Even women have voices.

Rosa Parks was a great woman and an important hero of our time. I hope we never forget the importance of one human being and what one soul can accomplish in a life.

(I found the photo on Google Images, complements of www.lawyernews.com )

Disaster Spirituality

2005-11-01T19:30:00.000-08:00

I was reading another mans blog the other day, looking for the perfect passage to inspire conversation in a reflection group. I was looking for a quote that would comment about spirituality in the midst of a disaster. A book called Like Grains of Wheat: A Spirituality of Solidarity had a perfect quote that I found in this particular blog, and it has really struck with me ever since.

This community also understood how much the disaster was worsened by the long legacy of injustice, repression and exploitation in these countries. They understood why the poor people who had been forced to live in areas most vulnerable to natural disasters were once again the vast majority of the dead, injured, and homeless. They understood how the deforestation and over development had altered the climate of the region and left the earth vulnerable to the landslides and flooding caused by seven days of torrential rains.

Solidarity means more than giving food to the hungry and shelter to the homeless, it also means addressing the question of why they are hungry and homeless.

Here in El Salvador, asking the question of why has been very present in my mind lately. After a month of disaster, one simply prays that things will just stop. After watching the news every day, seeing people suffer, listening to the government and their lies, things just become more frustrating. I sit on the bus and I can’t help but wonder what life was or is like for the person sitting next to me. Sometimes I imagine them leaving their house in the morning, saying goodbye to their family. In my mind, the person sitting next to me lives in a home made of scrap metal and wood, and sometimes in my mind, the house is resting on a hill with a straight drop down.

It’s easy to imagine these conditions, because I see them everyday. My bus drives by marginal communities where homes have fallen in the valley below due to the rain, earthquakes and mudslides. It’s not hard to find someone around here who hasn’t been affected this way. And that is the reality that sticks with me every day. I wish it was just me and an active imagination, but this time reality tells the truth.

So if I am really a person of solidarity, then it is my responsibility to ask the tough questions. And trust me, I’ve asked these questions before, but this time it’s different, because I had this little revelation of sorts. It goes like this...

The so called "natural disasters"are caused by unexplainable forces of the earth. But we know that with things like global warming, the patterns and reactions fo the earth are changing every day. And we know that part of the problem of global warming and other abuses of the earth are caused by an over consumption and pollution of the earths people. But ask yourself, who is doing the over consuming here? Is it the campesino who still uses an ox to till his field, or is it the rich guy who insists on driving his BMW to work everyday instead of taking the bus, even if it’s just for a mile and a half?

El Salvador had a hurricane, earthquake and volcanic eruption all in one week. The effects included flooding, mudslides, falling volcanic ash, power outages, contaminated water, destroyed homes (the list goes on). The fact that all three of these "natural disasters"occurred in one week, doesn’t really seem like coincidence anymore.

When you think about who uses the majority of the earths resources or where the rich have placed the poor people of the world, it is not hard to see all the strings attached to this "natural disaster". Not only is the current situation in El Salvador, and all over the world, a perfect example of environmental racisism, but its also are really good example of a generational cover up of one giant human rights violation.

I think that the term "natural disaster"was created to take blame off of someone, or some body of individuals (ie the government). I think that when we use the phrase "natural disaster"we are welcomed to feel sorry for those affected, but we aren’t encouraged or mandated to change our lives.

Blame it on God....blame it on the earth...blame it on the cosmos...whatever. But why would anyone actually take the blame for the historical proof of oppression that has contributed to the suffering that we know today?

This is not a conspiracy theory...this is not some kind of liberal crap on a stick. This is what the poor have known for a long time. Think about it....

The tsunami, earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, mudslides, wars...who are the ones who suffer and die?

Voces Inocentes

2005-10-23T07:46:00.000-07:00

(This photo was found with Google Images on the website of Cine Premiere)

A few days ago I watched this film called Voces Inocentes (Innocent Voices). It was one of the first things I heard about when I came to El Salvador. EVERYONE asked me if I had seen the film, and being the new gringa on the block, I could barely figure out what the heck they were asking me. But, I am proud to say that I purchased a pirated copy of the film the other day and watched it in its entirety in the original Spanish (no subtitles for me, unless I wanted to read the Portuguese, because English wasn’t available).

Let me just begin by saying that Voces Inocentes is one of the best films that I’ve ever seen (and if you know me and my little obsession with film, that’s saying a lot). I don’t know, I have just been thinking about this film all week since I’ve seen it. I want to watch it again, but I’m trying to pace myself. The story is really compelling, but watching it in El Salvador is like having a religious experience. It’s hard to explain (even for me).

Voces Inocentes is the true story of Oscar Torres, the screenwriter of this film. The main character, Chava, is only eleven years old but he has become the "man of the house" as his father abandons the family in the middle of the civil war (typical of a Salvadoran family during the war and today for that matter). At this ripe age, Chava not only watches the violence of the war erupt in his community, in his school and in his life, but he has to face the reality that in one years time, he will turn twelve. During the war, the Salvadoran government forcefully recruited twelve year old boys to fight in the war against the guerilla forces of the FMLN. It’s a reality he dreads and you can certainly see that his tender heart is not meant for the life of a soldier.
Chava’s story is not unique to El Salvador or the world for that matter. TODAY there are more than 300,000 child soldiers fighting in more than 40 countries (statistic found on VI website). As I learn more about the realities of El Salvador, I am always amazed at the individual stories of people here. I have met people just like Chava and his family. And I think for me, that is what made this film all the more real.

I seriously recommend that you see this film. Spend the ten bucks if you can or get yourself a pirated copy like I did!!! It’s a great way to learn about the reality I am finding, as well as entering into Salvadoran culture in a unique way. Plus, I am always a fan of education through film. And when you do see the film, let me know what you think.

Here’s the film website for you http://www.innocentvoicesmovie.com/eng/HTML/home.html

2005-10-16T18:21:00.000-07:00

Wonder

Blast from the Past

2005-10-16T12:26:00.000-07:00

I just came across this old blog that I wrote in college. I am deciding to keep it only for the purpose of showing that life is a process. If you care to indulge yourself, then by all means, do so. http://snazzychica.diaryland.com/

Homosexual y Cochino

2005-10-16T11:01:00.000-07:00

"Homosexual y Cochino"

This past week, I encountered the rather rampant homophobia of the Latin American world. Backed by a culture of machismo, El Salvador seems to take certain social cues from their religion of choice. If it isn’t the legalism of Catholicism, it’s the over emphasis of particular biblical versus emphasized within evangelical Protestant churches. Either way, the horrid displays of homophobia here seem to be a common practice.
This week while I was in the campo doing migration education in small communities, I came across two incidences of direct homophobia that exhibited a certain lack of diversity education.
Examples:
1. While sitting in the car outside of the local house of culture in Santa Elena, I noticed some graffiti on the next building. The words, "Homosexual y Cochino"were displayed. I certainly could figure out what the homosexual part was all about, but this word, "cochino" was something new, and something told me it wasn’t good. I asked what cochino meant. As it turns out, cochino means dirty, like a pig. So apparently, someone at this place where graffiti is, is considered gay and dirty.
As it turns out, the graffiti was on the wall of the local post office. In that case, I wonder, what exactly does this graffiti imply?
The letter carriers must be gay and dirty, or maybe the woman at the front desk? No, maybe these individuals in question mean to say that anyone who enters the post office or benefits from their services is gay and dirty! Certainly that can’t be it!
I tried to wrap my head around this phrase and what it meant, but I came up empty.
Typically with homophobic individuals, they have this belief that homosexuality is wrong, however, they don’t have any great evidence for their beliefs. They may be able to cite a biblical quote, or give a stunning moral example (those men who have sex together just isn’t "natural".) But most of the time, the actual argument of a homophobic person has no real educational or intellectual backing.
Incidentally, this graffiti on the post office was situated directly across the street from an evangelical church that was blasting religious propaganda. I wonder if there is a connection?

2. While driving to a more remote location, we passed by a house with a "manwoman". In other words, a transgendered person lives at this house. While passing by the house, the person in question, was sitting on the porch and waved and smiled at us. "Cindy"as she is called, was once a man, but had an operation, and now she is a woman.
Certainly, this operation that Cindy had was expensive and rather time consuming. I found it interesting that she actually went through with the whole operation, in light of the economic strain. It’s something I wouldn’t have expected in El Salvador. Certainly I am not implying that there are no transgendered people in El Salvador, but I just assumed that the actual operation would be too costly for Salvadorans.
At any rate, the individuals that were in the car with me, who pointed Cindy out to me, didn’t seem to mind too much about her change. They laughed a little bit about the concept and continued on. I expressed that I had friends that were the same as Cindy (and I wished I had a more politically correct word in my vocabulary to explain "transgendered") and they seemed to be a bit surprised (as if they didn’t know that more of these people existed), but in total, they didn’t seem to care too much about Cindy.
In general, I’m not sure their reactions were as much homophobic as they were a direct result of a lack of diversity education...something pretty typical in the campo of El Salvador.
Nevertheless, I will continue to monitor the situation of homophobia here in El Salvador. It is certainly not easy being gay in this world. Of course some places are more accepting of diversity than others, but El Salvador is certainly not a the top of the list. Incidentally, neither is CRS (just a point of reference).

Gay? What is that all about?

2005-10-10T07:48:00.000-07:00

There are times when the search for personal identity can be one of the most painful moments in a persons life. There are realities that one faces, harsh realizations, and tender moments left to reconcile with. It’s all a part of being alive, of being fully human...accepting and loving the depths of who you are. This metamorphosis is a right of passage made of internal growth to build inner beauty and strong character. However, not everyone has such a positive awakening of self. There are those among us who struggle with who they are, simply because there are those who will reject their life and the love they have within them.

Tomorrow is October 11th, National Coming Out Day. In the United States, millions of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered individuals will come together and celebrate who they are. This special day is meant to be a testament to the nation, that the GLBT community is strong in love. It is a day to encourage open hearts, and acceptance within society so that some day we might have the RIGHT to LOVE those in our lives.

The theme for this years National Coming Out Day is “Talk About It”.

Society is only as homophobic as you let it be. If you listen to the gay joke and don’t say that you are offended, you might as well have told the joke yourself (don’t worry, we’ve all been there). If you haven’t come out as a straight ally yet, you should do so, because our real allies are those who are out of the closet too. And if you are gay, you know that coming out is a process, and so on this day, continue your process of loving and living well, by being OUT in your communities.

No one said this was going to be easy, and as any gay person can tell you, some days are better than others.

The following is a short list of things you can do to be a better ally or even combat the homophobia within you. Hey, lets be honest, not everyone is ready to accept gay people for who they are, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t change.

1. Express your love. If you know someone who identifies as GLBT, make sure you tell them how much you appresiate them. Give them a hug and tell them that you love them. Many times, we lose those we love because a lack of acceptance. Families disown us, friends can do the same. We end up building our own families and communities, but it is always important to know that we are loved. So on this day, shower you GLBT family and friends with love. Leave your judgement at the door, and simply let them know that you care.

2. Come out as an ally. Nothing says I love you more than standing up to homophobia and oppression. Real commitment in a relationship is demonstrating loyalty in the difficult moments, and sometimes it’s as easy as wearing a T-shirt that people will see, and know that you are accepting of the GLBT community. Here’s one you can check out… http://www.finebyme.org/
To be a ally, check this out…

3. Educate yourself a bit. If you don’t know a lot of gay people, or haven’t been a part of someone’s “coming out story”, then now is the time to of awareness for you. Many times, coming out is traumatic and painful, but on the flip side, realizing one’s sexuality can be a liberating moment full of love and acceptance. Check out these coming out stories, and learn what it’s like.
But don’t stop the education there, expand your world and start meeting people. Watch a movie that has a gay person in it. Read a book by a gay author, or attend a lecture in your area about homophobia. Every little moment is important for you, and each experience should be processed through dialogue and self reflection. We all have to begin somewhere, and education is always the first step. (Note: If you want to get really educated, find out what it’s like for GLBT individuals in other countries. Depending on cultural differences, things can be a lot more difficult and even violent. And in our sheltered world, the reality can be eye opening.)

4. Host a GLBT friendly event. Maybe you will host a GLBT documentary and speaker at a local community center, or encourage religious dialogue at your own church. Any event that promotes dignity and love of the GLBT community is another step in the right direction .

5. Monitor your words and encourage healthy dialogue. In the spirit of this years theme, freely talking about GLBT issues in every facet of life means one less place we have to be closeted. Learn about the power of words and identify those phrases in the lives of GLBT individuals that are encouraging and those that are offensive. Many times, these words will be different for everyone, but it never hurt to ask. Here is a list of terminology you might want to stay away from.
* Fag or faggot or dyke
* Lifestyle
* Love the sinner, hate the sin.
* Homo
* Fruit

Look, this is the bottom line. It’s damn hard to be gay these days, but it sure is a lot easier than it was in the past. We can use all the help we can get, so that one day we can lead lives with the same rights as everyone else. We are normal people who go to church, have families, jobs, we vote and we have love in our lives. Being gay is not about sex...it’s about love...and it’s about identity. We’ve all lost people in our lives because they couldn’t love and accept us for who we are, but now is the time to start accepting new people in our lives who are willing to love AND fight oppression by our side.

A Haiku (or Three)

2005-10-10T07:39:00.000-07:00

A Haiku or Three

1. Great heart of depth
transparent visionary
compassion spirit.

2. Connected to one
trusting liberator feels
humble in stillness.

3. Passion, loyal, fee
gracious in mind, body, soul
connected to you.

Trapped

2005-10-06T12:33:00.000-07:00

We’re in the middle of a national disaster here. There’s a very testy volcano, a hurricane just passed over us, and the rain doesn’t seem to want to let up. There are mud slides everywhere, flooding in the streets and there are thousands of refugees in shelters all around El Salvador. The poor are suffering immensely here, and I can’t help but wonder where God is in all of this.

Today on the news I saw one particular story that has been challenging my heart. In times like this, it can become second nature to turn your heart off when there is such extreme suffering all around. During these moments, may be easier to watch the news and see the devastation and think, “It’s not me!” But I can’t be like that. I can’t just turn my heart off when things get difficult, or when I feel that my breath is being taken away. There is a part of me that naturally enters into the intensity of the moment, even though it is difficult. Today there was a moment while watching the news, that a felt my heart leading in that direction.

The story goes like this...there was a mudslide, and the force of the mud crashed into a cement home that left the building destroyed. There were three children in that home when the slide occurred, but the rest of the family was not in the home at the time. Two of these small children died within the rubble of their home, but one little girl was still holding onto her life. She had been trapped in such a way, that the bottom half of her body was covered with cement blocks and pieces of her house. She rested on her stomach, sometimes crying in agony, as the rescue workers labored to set her free.

The camera crew on this particular news worthy event, made sure to get a closeup of all the action. The collected shots of a rescue worker wiping the blood from the girls head, or another worker lifting pieces of rubble off her tiny body. The reporter also made sure to comments from the crowd.

He asked one rescue worker, “Why didn’t this family leave the house yesterday for the shelter?”

The man replied, “We asked them, but they didn’t want to leave.”

The reporter then found the mother of the child, a woman who already lost two children today, and was facing the possibility of losing this girl too. The reporter asked the mother, “why didn’t you leave yesterday when the red cross asked you?” (You could hear the cries of the girl in the background.)

The mother, in tears replied, “We didn’t want to go to a shelter. We’ve heard of those places, crowed, full of disease...and there’s no food. We decided to stay here.”

The reporter pressed on and said, “Now you have two dead children, and this other little girl is trapped.”

The mother cried.

The reporter went on to interview others, who commented and blamed the situation on the negligence of the family. The reporter seemed to prove his point, and just as he was wrapping up an interview, the little girl was being lifted out of the rubble.

She was calm, yet shivering. She was very conscious, and had an IV attached to her hand as five men carried her away on a straight board. As she was being taken way, the reporters final comments on the situation were something towards the effect of, “Due to parents negligence, two children paid the price with their life, while this young girl will face pain.”

I watched this whole story unfold for five minutes, and then I saw it repeated on the next newscast. I found myself being more and more angry with that reporter. He was a man of privilege, at least to an extent. He had a steady job. His home probably isn’t in danger. And he will probably not have to spend his evening in a shelter tonight (unless of course, there is a big story there). And he will probably have a shower a good meal when he goes home tonight.

He is in a position of comfort, a place where it is easy to criticize others. But at a time like this, his privileged criticism was graphic and heartless (in my mind at the time).

The fact of the matter is, it doesn’t really matter what choice the parents made in the past. The reality was, there was a mud slide, that no one could control, and there was a girl in pain that needed more support and encouragement than a group of voyeuristic reporters looking for a good story.

The story that the reporter wasn’t telling was this...

There are shelters all over the city and the country, and the list of refugees keeps growing everyday. Despite nation wide collections of clothing, food and medicine, there is still not enough to meet the needs of the people. The shelters are over crowed with people who are already poor, and access to clean water and food is like a roll of the dice. People are sick, and unknowingly spreading diseases to each other, as they are in such cramped quarters, and they have no where else to go.

There reporters aren’t telling that story too often. They prefer the graphic details of people being crushed by buildings, or swept away by a flood. They forget about the dignity of the people, and the real humanity of all of this. The reality is, it is the poor who are suffering here in El Salvador. And if Christians want to talk about the crucified Christ, he is here today in the midst of all this destruction and pain. The cries of a young girl pinned down by cement, is Christ speaking to our hearts, and begging us to give a damn, because his daughter, who he loves, is suffering.

I think if we are honest with ourselves, and the reality around us everyday, we have the ability to see Christ in everything. We have the ability to discern his voice in a difficult situation, and face the challenges that are put in front of us. It is the voice of Christ that encourages us to ask questions, while still leaving room for the dignity of those around us.

I see poverty every day here, and it is hard for me to not engage my heart. I have seen many of these things before, but today this little girl will serve as a reminder for me.

I will remember how she and her family were not treated with dignity.
I will remember the calm demeanor of the little girl, and her cries of pain.
I will remember the choices that were made by the girl’s family, and remind myself that often the poor are trapped between inhumane conditions on both sides.
I will remember that Christ was present, although I couldn’t necessarily identify him.

Materialism

2005-10-06T12:32:00.000-07:00

I come from a culture of consumerism, a place where materialism can be likened to storing treasures in heaven. In this culture, everyone has stuff (Stuff: a technical term for the clutter of possessions that one acquires within a period of time). And like a creature of habit, I too acquire objects to fill space in my life.

There are people in my life who think that I am not materialistic. They think that since I move to these far off places of the world, with two bags and a carry on, that I am not exercising materialism. They think that I am not attached to the stuff in my life, and that I am above the struggle of acculturation within my society.

I am here to tell a different story.

The fact of the matter is, I struggle with materialism. Like an alcoholic that craves a drink, I too crave certain luxuries in life. And at times, I have found myself stretched, when thinking how to do without these things that apparently bring richness to my life.

Lets take an inventory of the things I brought with me to El Salvador.

The Basics:
Clothing... I have some really hot T-shirts for every occasion of life. I have a collection of fun T-shirts that I find for cheap at second hand places, and the great find is half the excitement. And while we’re on the subject of T-shirts, let me just note that I wear half the clothing I brought, and the rest is still packed in a bag.)

Shoes...I did ok in this department. Two pairs of sneakers, two sandals and one pair of dress shoes. I love a good pair of shoes, but the reality is, I don’t wear too many shoe combinations here. So I don’t need them.

Music... Many of you know that my interest in music spans the gamete, and collecting albums over the years, as equaled one really large collection. And to conserve space, I managed to put most of my favorite music on my laptop.

Books... If you have been to my parents house, you will know that the small square of space that I call my room is filled with bookcases of books. I read everything from history books (my favorite is Latin American History), travel books, poetry and books on theology and prayer. I literally have hundreds of books that I have read or partially read. Now, when it comes to El Salvador, I was able to restrict myself quite well (I

Bastante...

2005-10-05T09:26:00.000-07:00

In the Spanish language the word “Bastante”means “enough”. But the meaning goes further than this simple translation. This one word is used to describe the degree to which something happens. In a common conversation, for instance, you will find a Salvadoran explaining that it rained enough (meaning that it rained an adaquate amount or maybe a little too much).

I happened to learn the more profound meaning of “Bastante”after my first week here, and lately, I’ve just been relishing in the intensity of this simple statement.

Just after my first week in El Salvador, I was invited to a national conference of migrants and migrant organizations. I went with a coworker and I met others associated with the issue once I was there. I was just getting my feel for the country, and the new issues of my life, and so naturally, I was asking a lot of questions and simply watching what was happening around me.

The organization that I work with happens to be one of the leading migrant organizations in the field, and we had helped organize this conference. There seemed to be a lot of people at the conference, and I had noticed a few people that were pointed out as migrants.

At one point, I asked Luiz, my token tour guide at work, what I thought was a simple question.

I asked, “How many migrants are here?”

Being a typical American I guess, I must have been looking for some kind of cumulative answer that would result in a positive or negative reaction. It’s not like I knew what a lot or a little was at this point, but it was a simple Spanish sentence in my world, and chances are, the answer would be simple (in the form of numbers, that are easy to translate).

Instead I received this answer....

Luiz said to me, “the question is not ‘how many migrants are here,’ the answer is bastante.

And he left it at that...for me to figure out.

In the context of Salvadoran culture, his answer explains a lot about the people here. What he was saying was this...

It doesn’t really matter how many migrants were at the conference, the fact that there WERE migrants there, was enough! The fact that migrants were represented there, was enough! The fact that migrants could come back to El Salvador from the US (which is quite the sticky situation, and quite dangerous at times), was enough! Luiz was telling me that there were enough migrants at that conference to offer a voice for those who attended and the larger international community.

Here in El Salvador, the outcome of an even is not measured on the amount of data collected, or the number of people that attended. The real measurement is in relation to the quality of interactions within people. The fact that migrant organizations in the US and those in El Salvador could spend time in one room for a while and share thoughts and ideas, was enough reason to have such a conference. The fact that migrants could come to this place and speak about their experience, and maybe see their family and country again, was enough reason to have such a conference.
Bastante means enough, but it means more in this cultural context, and once I figured this out, I understood a lot more.

For example, I was invited to another migrant conference a week later at a swanky hotel called the Intercontinental. The kind of place that would be hundreds of dollars in the US...a place where the rich go to be wined and dined. (So much for simple living!)

At any rate, there were more people from the public at this conference, people who belonged to other organizations that worked with migrants in some way. At this conference, we were presenting current information for other organizations and the press, on the current state of migrants here and abroad.

A coworker of mine came to the conference late, and asked me how many people actually showed, followed by “bastante?”

I replied, “Si, bastante!”

I haven’t mastered the Spanish language but certain little realizations go a long way.

***For a little treat, check out this link and find a picture of me. I am the one in between two men, the guy sleeping is Luiz! How perfect!
http://www.laprensagrafica.com/dpt15/noticias/04092005/294722.asp

Socialism?

2005-09-30T16:12:00.000-07:00

I found this quote today that has been sitting with me. Maybe it will sit with you as well and make you think. That is the point, is it not?

"You cannot claim to worship Jesus in the Tabernacle, if you do not pity Jesus in the slums. . . It is folly -- it is madness -- to suppose that you can worship Jesus in the Sacraments and Jesus on the throne of glory, when you are sweating him in the souls and bodies of his children."
- - Bishop Frank Weston at the 1923 Anglo-Catholic Congress

A Dead Man

2005-09-28T13:47:00.000-07:00

During my third week in ES, I had just finished work and was going home a few minutes early to try to escape the rain. I walked my usual route to the bus station, and discovered a small crowd of people and a police car with officers. There was a man lying on the sidewalk, and police tape all around his body, a crowd of people watching and a police officer nonchalantly taking notes. I had come to realize that this man had died, and the investigation into his death had just begun. I had probably passed by this man earlier in the day, and now a few hours later, he was dead. There was no blood and no sign of a struggle (a least to my eyes). I had draw the possible conclusion that this man could have been one of the drunk men I had passed earlier in the afternoon. I thought it might have been possible that he had a heart attack, but the reality is, I didn’t know.
As plain as day, he was there, flat on his back, and very much not alive. No one seemed to pay too much attention besides the initial moment of their discovery, and I had come to realize that this was just another regular thing that happened quite often here. With a culture that has a memory of war, and the assassinations of their past, why would a random dead man mean more now? As people, and even children have become accustomed to seeing death, why would this scene be more shocking? The fact is, this is a normal part of life, and at least for the next year and a half, it may become part of my reality as well.

Liberation Theology and Me

2005-09-19T13:29:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: As I am not one to wear ALL my thoughts on my sleeve, there are times that I chose to do so for clarity and maybe posterity. The following thoughts are not set in stone, but rather an account of what has been a long and continuous process of internal conversation and debate. These thoughts are not a final project, and therefore should be viewed in the context of history. Just for the record...I still like Jesus, and my faith hasn’t been lost...so don’t worry!

Lately I’ve been doing a lot of serious rethinking about what I really think about liberation theology and how that applies to using force in oppressive situations. I’ve always adhered to the nonviolent way of life and felt that this lifestyle was well complimented with my belief in liberation theology. Yet lately I’ve been having my doubts...or at least questions.

I finished reading this book called Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder. It was a New York Times bestseller, and has created a general stir in many intellectual circles, and I guess it has created a stir within me as well.

MBM tells the story of development in the life of Dr. Paul Farmer, as he is on a quest to help the most vulnerable of the world. As Motorcycle Diaries chronicles the awakening of the man we know as Che Guevara, MBM documents what a life can look like with such powerful awakenings of inequality and injustice.

The fact that I read this book when I first moved to El Salvador, is probably not just divine providence, but a little bit humorous as well. Nevertheless, the experience of reading this book while learning about the realities of El Salvador has been quite an experience to say the least.

Now, to the meat of my thoughts...I will begin with a quote from Farmer.

Farmer explains that he distrusts all ideologies, including his own, at least a little, because, “...all ologies fail us at some point. At some point, I suspect, not very far from where the Haitian poor live out their dangerous lives.” He goes on to say that, “If one pushes this ology to its logical conclusion, then God is to found in the struggle against injustice. But if the odds are so preposterously stacked against the poor - machetes versus Uzis, donkeys versus tanks, stones versus missiles, or even typhoid versus cancer - then is it responsible, is it wise, to push the poor to claim what is theirs by right? What happens when the destitute in Guatemala, El Salvador, Haiti, wherever, are moved by a rereading of the Gospels to stand up for what is theirs, to reclaim what was theirs and was taken away, to ask only that they enjoy decent poverty rather than the misery we see here every day in Haiti? We know the answer to that question, because we are digging up their bodies in Guatemala.”

For the record, let it be known that I too distrust ideologies at least a little bit, for the simple reason that the human condition, as complicated as it is, is never the same for any one person. There’s a larger philosophical debate within this statement, but it really doesn’t interest me at the moment, and so I will skip it for now.

In a simplistic form, liberation theology is a rereading of the Gospels in hopes that the wealthy may redistribute their wealth, and the poor may stand up for a future of equality. Before liberation theology, the poor were told to wait and withstand the trials here in this life, and their true reward would be coming in the form of salvation. This is a widely held Protestant belief today, and as s good Catholic girl with a completely different world view, I just can’t accept this reality / theology. If you really want to know what I think about this, continue on to the next paragraph for a slight tangent...otherwise skip the next paragraph and continue on.

Ok, so basically I think this Protestant belief (and lots of Catholics believe this as well) is a complete copout so that any blame can be removed. First of all, if you’re Protestant, chances are you think all of humanity is basically flawed and therefore, conversion to Christianity is the only way to go in terms of life long salvation, when you eventually leave this earth in death. With this kind of thought structure, any bad luck while on earth, is your lot in life. You’re expected to just grin and bear it, and your true reward will come in Heaven. For the poor of the world, this basically translates to “deal with it” and make sure you evangelize along the way. If you’re rich, well then, God has blessed you, and tithing 10% of your income is what God requires of you to be a good hospitable steward of the Lords creation. I have a huge problem with this view for more reasons than I can count, but basically, it gives rich Christians an excuse to feel comfortable in their wealth, while their “brothers and sisters”suffer and die because of an unequal distribution of goods and services. Heck, with this idea, evangelization for the purpose of salvation, gives people the illusion that they are actually doing something in life...helping out the situation if you will, and maybe storing up some brownie points with the Big Guy!

Now with liberation theology, the poor are encouraged by the revolutionary spirit of Jesus, to rise up with love in their heart, and reclaim their dignity....and really, reclaim their share of goods and services. With a bit of Marxist analysis, liberation theology calls for a redistribution of wealth and a general change within the class structures of the world.

This all sounds fine and dandy, however, it’s really hard to live out, and the consequences of this way of life are quite life threatening to many. This is exactly what brings me to my next little internal debate.

Here in El Salvador, 80% of my conversations are about the civil war of the 1980's that was funded by the US government. Everyday, I talk with people from the FMLN (former insurgents / guerillas) during the war....and just for the record, the FMLN is made up of the poor and intellectuals of the country that spoke out, and were assassinated everyday by US bullets funded by US tax dollars. Our current conversations focus on what life was like in El Salvador in the 1980's. We talk about the Peace Accords, and what a load of crap they are. We talk about the poor and how life is getting more difficult with imperialistic treaties like CAFTA. Mostly I ask a lot of questions, and occasionally, I offer my own thoughts, but I am finding that to be more difficult than I had bargained for.

I always thought, that if you really claimed to love humanity, how could you justify killing another person. Of course I can understand why a person would act in a violent way when protecting family, but I could never reconcile that action in my own life. Thus, with this questioning, living a nonviolent life has been met with minimal questions, especially in the US. I’ve found that I can agree with people like Che, right up until his revolution, and then the violence becomes too extreme, and a non-negotiable for me. Here in El Salvador, I’m not quite so sure I could come up with a positive alternative to the war that was fought here (and is still going on in other ways today...stay tuned to future blogs). When the government starts killing people? Sit around and watch as everyone you know is assassinated? It’s not like you can call on the international community...they are just as oppressive as the government of El Salvador. Heck, it was the US that helped created the whole mess here.

So people chose to take up arms, which I can understand...I just don’t know how that sits in my own heart. I asked my Spanish teacher about what she thought about nonviolence and if it would have worked here, and she said it wouldn’t. Besides the fact that the government was killing priests and nuns and getting away with it, they were also assassinating common people in broad daylight...all in the name of removing “Communism” from El Salvador.

So here’s the conflict in a nutshell. Nonviolence is a great concept to live by and has some really useful ideals for life. I think Jesus was a man of nonviolence and therefore, we should all strive to be like that. However, if you also adhere to Liberation Theology, my question is, how exactly do the poor stand up? Either way, they are stuck in a catch 22! You can either speak out and be shot...or you can shut up and be shot...you can rise up with arms (and maybe get away with your life). So exactly how is Liberation Theology a way to be like Jesus, if he was a man of nonviolence. Here lies the dilemma!

I have a feeling that at some point in my life I will reconcile this question somewhere in my heart. I have a feeling that this restlessness of questioning will eventually settle. It’s not like I’m in complete upheaval, just at a state of in-between! So stay tuned and maybe there will be more thoughts to come on this subject.

My Barrio

2005-06-14T14:12:00.000-07:00

Ten minutes on the South West Side
muchachos walking out of the house
a lot of drugs sold from there...

The buracho sauntering in a zig zag
down the walk way
a wool hat on his head in the middle of May.

Church bells ring a tune of Ave Mara
a woman speaks a little louder over the phone -
an important cal from Jalisco.

A Hot Rod races by
Spanish Rap blaring with a forceful base
a quick toot of the horn
to acknowledge the woman passing by...
(I’m not part of her business, so eye contact is avoided).

A young couple talk for a bit
a welcomed distraction
from the car engine that needs fixin
A yellow traffic light turns to read
two cars beat the chase
not worth the time of the policia
walking into the greasy spoon.

I can hear the radio off in the distance
Mariachis with their love ballads
I can just make out the strums of the guitars
as the neighbors pit bulls bark at a kid on a bike.

The avion flies overhead
and I wonder where it’s going
Most of my neighbors never came to
Mexican town by a plane
they walked from the southern border
some have the same zapatos
I could never wear them.

As I step inside
Rafael yells across the street
"Como estas?"
I nod and yell "Muy Bien!"
As I open the door to my casa...
I know I am home.

Protestors

2005-06-13T12:25:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I was at a conference with some students in Buffalo, NY (home of Buffalo Wings and Canisius College). The topic of the second annual national gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender conference for Jesuit colleges and universities was "Identity, Faith and Advocacy". The main purpose of the conference was to let students and leaders "understand, integrate and promote identity, faith and advocacy into our lives and the lives of those around us." This sounds like a pretty simple and non-threatening conference but apparently, there were some who were quite disturbed. They were disturbed enough to hold signs on the side of the road. They were disturbed enough to hand out pieces of paper with their message. They were disturbed enough to yell and scream at students as they walked by.
Now these individuals have their right to protest...I will not argue with that. However, I am offended by the fact that it is all in the name of "Jesus". Give me a break!!!
Besides the fact that the arguments they used against homosexuality were quite see-through and lacking in proper theological foundations, the manner at which they went about all of this was quite contradictory to the example of Jesus. Of course it’s frustrating to hear such hollow arguments constructed out of ignorance and fear. But it’s a lot harder to walk past a yelling protestor, who probably hates me, and yet find just a bit of love within me for them. After all, I am called to love those who persecute me.
The reality is, I’m pretty use to this line of thinking. I’ve been struggling with it since day one. I’ve tried to put my life out there as an example. I’ve tried my best to be in open dialogue with those who "Love me, but hate my sin." I’ve tried to maintain relationships that were challenging in hopes that we would grow together. I have tried to live my life with dignity and love while reconciling the long hard journey. And the honest truth is...it is all very hard.
Yet even with such exposure to pain and struggle of this kind, it really doesn’t get any easier. Sure, I learn how to cope, I learn how to love a little more. I even learn how to put on a smile and say good morning to the protester screaming in my face. But I can never shut off the jolt of my heart when it begins to realize the pain of it all. I can’t shut my heart off when I remember all the painful conversations of my past (and the ending of some of those relationships). And I can’t shut off my heart when it tells me I have to keep working for change.
The reality is, I know what I need to do. I know that I need to be a voice. I need to be a voice in my community and especially my church, because I don’t want people to think that Jesus is like the protestors. I need to be a voice because there are millions of people around the world who lack certain human rights. I need to be a voice because I might make it easier for one person who is coming out of the closet and into the wardrobe (because coming out is an everyday process). Yet even this reality doesn’t make things any easier, but really listening to your heart is really quite compelling.
I know that I will encounter many more protesters in my lifetime. I know that I will have many more difficult conversations. I know that I will lose more friends because of who I am. I know I will never give up struggling for the greater good, because THAT IS WHO I AM!

Oh Ratz!

2005-04-20T13:04:00.000-07:00

I am 25 years old and I have been Catholic my whole life. My faith has been challenged time and again, and I have always come back to the same loving God I have always known. I grew up in a family that taught me to be a good Catholic, that is, someone who loves and accepts everyone. After all, I was told that Catholic meant "universal", and as the universal church, we are called to be welcoming to all. When it comes down to the reality of the matter, I don’t know how to be anything but "catholic". I don’t know how to be a lover of Christ and an oppressor of my neighbor. It’s just not in me. That is why today has been a struggle for me.
I have only known one pope throughout my lifetime. Like many, I had my problems with him and parts of his theology, but I always knew things could be worse. Let’s just say that I knew my church history! Nevertheless, I still managed to find faith in God, and I believe that is what is important.
As a member of the church who is often oppressed, it's even harder to accept this new pope into my life. It's hard to see the Spirit at work in all of this, when clearly, the church is not truly represented today. It is hard to be a believer when thinking about the future of this church that I call home.
Yet the reality is, I am never going to be just another face in the pew. I am not going to sit and accept more oppression. I am not going to give certain people power over me by leaving the church. I am not going to be silent.
I am going to believe in God with my whole heart, and love His people well. I am going to continue to fight injustice within society and the church. I am going to make myself known. I am going to stay in the church to make sure that there is still a voice of the faithful.
I certainly don't know how long this guy is going to last, but I know that I will last longer. I know that this time is like the temptation of Christ, but I will not faulter. I am frustrated that my brothers and sisters are oppressed daily in this world by the church and their inability to address the needs of her people. But I am also encouraged by the faith of the people and the great love that grows in the hearts of others around the world.
Faith is a journey, and I will accept this path with all that it has to offer and teach me. May the Lord grant us all a sense of love and comfort in these confusing times.

I read today this passage by St. Francis de Sales, I think it's important for these days.
Do not look forward to what my happen tomorrow; the same everlasting Father who cares for you today will take care of you tomorrow and ever day. Either He will shield you from suffering, or He will give you unfailing strenth to bear it. Be at peace, then, put aside all anxious thoughts and imaginations, and say continually: "The Lord is my strenth and my shield; my heart has trusted in Him and I am helped. He is not only with me but in me and I am in Him."