the next adventure...

Friends and Family,

As many of you know, I recently returned from 8 months of traveling in Mexico and Central America. The first 5 of those 8 months were spent studying in Mexico, while the remainder few months were spent traveling and volunteering in Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua. My last month and a half abroad I spent living and working with Jason and Sarah Furrow, a missionary couple who have dedicated their lives to creating and sustaining an orphanage in rural Honduras.

In the village of Urraco there are problems of gender inequality, education barriers, violence, and harsh living conditions. Each of these things can be related to farming and the harsh conditions that rural farmers face in their daily lives. Almost everyone who lives in the Urraco area survives from farming, and many are still going hungry.

Sarah and Jason desire that their land be used to grow food, to provide healthy fresh food to the orphans that they will raise, and to be a place where local farmers can access resources and information about sustainable methods of practicing agriculture in the mountains of Honduras. There are many hopes and dreams for their agricultural program, but currently there is no funding that goes directly towards the agriculture that they do, or to the work that needs to be done there.

As a student of “Rural Agriculture Development” at the University of Guelph, it is my interest and hope to return to Honduras this coming summer and to aid in the development of this agricultural program; to begin seed-testing, setting erosion barriers, and preparing and planting the soils on their property. My hope is to work with local farmers, and other nearby missionaries, so that we can exchange farming ideas, and build community.

I have been trying for a while to think of a creative fund raising ideas for this project and I have decided that, for the month of November (which is soon approaching), I will participate in a writing competition called Nanowrimo. In short, Nanowrimo is a competition in which you are deemed a winner if you can successfully write a 50,000 word novel between midnight of October 31 and midnight of November the 30th. My novel will be a reflection of a few of the incredible and diverse women I have met in the last 3 years of travels.

I am asking that people pledge to sponsor me to write this novel. Anyone who gives over 25 dollars will be given a free copy of my music CD (a 10 song compilation of original songs recorded in my living room) and also an online copy of the story (though most certainly not the first November draft). I can assure you that I will be tracing every penny of the money through my online blog so that you can know what it it is being used for and follow my work.

I can make no promises that the novel will be a good one, but I hope it will be the start to something that is both readable and enjoyable. If you would like to pledge to sponsor me, please call me or email me, and let me know the amount. If you could pledge before November that would be ideal, though I will accept pledges until November 31st. December I will contact you to let you know whether or not I have completed the 50,000 words. Please remember that even a few dollars buys a lot of seeds!
Thanks friends,

Bethany Klapwyk
bklapwyk@uoguelph.ca
519 821 4992
my blog: The address to that blog is: http://bethanykyla.blogspot.com
More information about Jason and Sarah and the orphanage can be found at, http://www.givehope2kids.org/. Also check out the600.info/, a nearby ministry I volunteered with and also hope to support.

honduras. and the go now in peace thing

a whole week has gone by and i have still have not been able to find words for honduras.

tomorrow i leave on a plane with the recent memories of the bottom of the grand canyon and its perfect blue waterfalls etched neatly in my mind,

- but mostly i will be thinking of honduras.

many times i have sat down, eager in front of the computer, ready to spill out a bit of the heaviness that lies in my heart,
but articulating this thing inside seems more and more impossible each day. i must admit, there is some anger, and there is confusion...

but thankfully, mostly, there is love.

so i will settle with writing these few things in the thought that we will have plenty of time to talk- and that even if we dont, that if the things i have learned are true, that you will learn them also, in your own time.

honduras.
the facts: after leaving cam and allison in Guatemala i made my way to a beautiful property just outside the teeny mountain village of Urraco, a couple hours from the big city of La Ceiba. A couple named Jason and Sarah are there building an orphanage and I went to do some agriculture stuff... honestly, i can't say i accomplished tons in the time i was there, but none of that matters. I experimented a bit with plants, I visited another missionary couple named Larry and Allison, i talk some english at a local school, i spoke to local farmers, i got soaked in the heavy rainstorms, i bathed in a beautiful creek. i lived in the present in the exact way i have always dreamed of living. i played lots, and for the first time in a long time, i prayed. i fell to my knees feeling the weight of this world, and i prayed.

now in pheonix arizona, i cant help but put the toilet paper in the garbage can, or shiver when I walk into an air-conditioned room. I can’t help but feel odd in this strange land so ordered and so clean, with people manicured and quite tame. here the men do not stare as intently, and everyone’s hair is a little less greasy and a little more silky and soft. here i am again in this dangerously comfortable world- and it is easy to understand why this world exists, and it is hard for me to accept that few are resisting. very hard.

of the crazy little village boys I met this summer while living and working in Honduras, I fell in love with Allen first (motherly love in case you were wondering). One day I was the only person in the house and I was playing the dusty keyboard that sits in the corner of the kitchen, singing to myself. and outside the window he, Allen, was standing there, watching me- listening, trying to calculate and understand what was transcending. Likely Allen has never seen a keyboard in his life, and positively he has never heard Regina Spektor’s spectacular “Folding Chair” song (which, if you don’t know- you should definitely look up). All in all it was a strange meeting of our completely different worlds, and i felt something in us meet right then and there at our incredible differences and erase them boldly, erase them silently. When together with the village kids I felt naked of my history and my education- I felt as though playing was the only important thing in those moments. playing and praying.

Allen and I, and a bunch of the other village boys and sometimes the neighbour girls- would play soccer and swim often, most days. For me that meant at the end of a day of working in the soil. For the boys it meant every afternoon, all afternoon- and when their teachers were gone protesting in the city- it meant all day every day, unless we gave them odd jobs to do around the farm.

On December 28th when I left Canada I wish I had known about the Honduras I would find in my 7th month away. I wish I had gone straight there, to my friend Allen who sleeps in a hammock made of an old rice sac- to him and his 2 “brothers” whose parents are absent. To them whose grandfather works desperately in the mountains to grow beans for food, and whose grandmother is sitting in a chair with a stomach cancer tumour hanging out of her side, waiting to die. I didn’t “know” when I left home about Allen or his brothers, but oh, I knew. I knew just the way you know, just the way everyone knows. Poverty is impatient and murderous, it is now and has been forever. i wish i had known about the existence of incredible people like sarah, jason, larry, and allison- people that are doing great things, inspiring things-- people that are people.

so now i come home to learn about farming in these marginal lands, to read informative books that are impossible to find in small mountain villages, and to rally up an army of people who will fight this disease I call “forgetfulness”… essentially, I come home to serve God in the only way i think he can be served- one day at a time, one broken heart at a time.

id like to be jungle woman
in this modern world of temptations and plans and complications and comforts.

and that's it.

the end, thank you for sharing in this adventure.


(carries a lot of suitcases
But all of them are empty
Because she’s expecting
To completely fill them
with life by the end of
this trip

& then she’ll come home
& sort everything out
& do it all again.
-brian andreas (traveling light))



After a crazy afternoon playing in the rainstorm.

During my visit to Las Mangas and my stay with Larry and Allison and their community of Honduras students who live there and have been sponsored to go to school.

THIS is where I was.

some harvest!! (oh how i miss the mangos!)

Janine, during her visit to Urraco- teaching some English.

one day in guatemala

Around the 23rd day of June Cam, Allison, and I arrive in the ocean-side town of Livingston, Guatemala- surrounded by eager (sometimes rough) Garifuna people, and colourfully dressed indigenous Guatemalans. The moment we arrive I feel myself naturally slipping into Spanish-speaking mode again, something I missed while being in Belize.

Rio Dulce.

A few hour boat ride from Livingston.

We meet a teenager in the park who gives me a shocking introduction to the need, the violence, and the redemption that resides in the borders of Guatemala. I forget his name but he comes up to the three of us as we are sitting in a park trying to figure out what hostel to stay at. He has a long piece of brown paper that he found in the garbage, and on it he has written his Spanish-english dictionary. He is desperate to learn English. I add to the list of vocabulary, and I give him a notepad I don’t need to further his studies. His plan, he says, is to jump on the train and try to make his way (illegally) to the United States to find work. He is doing this because he is responsible for taking care of 3 orphaned children whose parents were killed by machete only a year ago. He wants to make money for them so they can eat, and also he wants to help all the families in his community. For this he will risk his health and his life. He is about 15. His is a poverty clearly defined.

Horseback at the Finca Ixobel (finca means farm).

One day in Guatemala, with my two lovely dorm room-mates (Elsa and Dana Banana) and 2 volunteer guides I went on a horseback riding adventure while Cam and Allison went caving.

A small group of us set out at 8 am and I am given a beautiful white horse named Pancho. All morning it is bright bright bright sunshine as we walk through green cattle pastures and lush jungle (our guide Roy had to machete the way through!).. Sometimes we walk on deep muddy roads and watch as Guatemalan men steal rocks from eroding hillsides. Some of the hills, naked hills once covered in jungle, are half gone because of deforestation for cattle farming and erosion that most-inevitably results.

Regardless of land-health, everything is intensely green and for this, glorious.. Cantering through open pastures feels rather dream-like. I remember the first time we began to canter, the precise way I had to remind myself of the importance of living in the present moment. I then lost myself in the moment’s recklessness, and with it-a sweet release…

Mid-day we arrive at a creek where we eat lunch and enjoy cool waters. All morning the sun had shon down on our shoulders but now we see behind us a storm is moving in. We mount the horses again and with greater speed begin the journey back home. Through fields we fly- our bodies at risk of the most painful of falls, our hearts racing, and our leg muscles holding tight the the saddles. We are lost in the danger… in the bliss.

And then, 10 minutes before the rain begins to fall, my horse takes off with incredible speed charging me directly into a branch. I yank hard on the reigns but his force is unfaltering. The branch is closer, closer, closer- it is in front of my face… I put my hands up, grab a branch, and-while Pancho canters away, I hold the branch for dear life. I swing hard down from the branch and land on my back on the ground. Elsa turns around to find me laughing.

Only a few hours before I had briefly mentioned how I thought it was cool in movies when people grab onto branches and their horse runs away naked of his rider. Ya, I did that.

But the adventure is not over. As soon as I am back on the horse the rains begins to fall, the thunder crash, and the lightning flash flash flashhhh. Here, there, everywhere there is lightning- so close I fear we will be hit. Moving targets through open fields open fields we soar- so fast that the rain hitting my face hurts, and I can’t keep my eyes open. “Please, for the love of God, no more running me into branches Mr. Pancho,”- I think, while holding on tightly to the saddle.

After a few more hours through the driving then gentle rain, we arrive at the finca and race back to the stables. Every part of my body is wet, and every part of my body is sore. For a week it hurts to walk, but heck it was an a-m-a-z-i-n-g day.

Canada Day at Semuc Champey.

One 530am morning in Guatemala, after seeing Tikal- the cool-time-beans pyramids in the jungle of North Guatemala, we (Cam, Allison, Jeff the eccentric Australian, and Elsa the well-travelled French woman) set off by the light of the sunrise for a hitch-hiking adventure. After a day of sheer luck and the generosity of Guatemalan folks, we arrive in Lanquin. The next day, Canada day, we go, by foot, on the 9 km journey up the mountain to Semuc Champey (beautiful waterfalls in the jungle). We bring along with us Jeff’s pot, some food to cook, and matches.

After a grueling but breath-takingly beautiful walk we arrive in Semuc Champey where we bathe our sorrows (sweat) away in the pristine river and waterfalls. When we get hungry we leave the park, and find a spot along the road where we build a fire and make a wonderful meal of salsa, guacamole, and hummus (we had to cook the chick peas)… we are joined by Mayan children- energetic boys and 2 bashful girls- and in their company the afternoon is purely delightful. For dessert we buy homemade chocolate from the little girls that has been made by their mothers- vanilla, cinnamon, and cardamom flavours… delightful. Jeff and Elsa learn how to sing “Oh Canada” on the 9 km walk home, and even though we are far from home it feels like a grand Canadian celebration.

A few days later we head to Lago Atitlan where we watch the sun come up over the lake and almost flip kayaks in late morning waves.

After that we visit Xela, the city that smells like a city. At night the waning moon shines from behind the city’s clouds to light up the quiet city with a dim light. The crazy and wonderfully hilarious group of Israelis fills the hostel kitchen with their jokes and inevitable laughter.

Then we go to Antigua, the city that smells like flowers, fine foods, and foreigners. We climb a lava-leaking volcano, we sit in parks and watch people go about their lives, we meet fellow travelers, we test our limits with the squishy chicken buses…

and then we split up.

belize

it is night and the whole world seems to have fallen into a gentle silence. inside the small thatched roof hut a lamp burns and from a couple steps outside the light can be seen through the cracks in the planks of wood that are the hut´s walls.

a couple more steps and I am in complete darkness except..

it looks like the night sky has fallen. They are all around me- dancing, flitting, floating, flickering- hundreds, thousands of fireflies lighting up the night. I walk away from the hut and to the open field at the top of the hill. There I sit in the wet grass and watch them; a moving canvas of light, of shooting stars.. sporadic.. breathtaking.

at night my sleep is deep, my dreams are strange, and I am the first one to awake in the morning of Cam, Allison and i. The family is already up. A fire has been lit, the chickens have been let out and are running around pecking the ground; last night´s dishes are being washed, and the second oldest daughter, Angela, is grinding corn for tortillas. She asks me if I would like to learn, I say I would, and my are muscles are soon awoken as I attempt to turn the handle on the corn grinder.

it is a day of simplicity. We explore up river in the jungle, help make tortillas, play soccer in the field, attend ¨church¨in the back of the hut, play uno with the kids, and learn new words from the beautiful language of Mopan. All 3 meals are eaten together, and we share in laughter and fellowship throughout the day.

when Cam, Allison, and I got on the bus at 4 in the morning the next day we were leaving with beautiful memories of Hemeterio, Matilda and their 4 children- Roberto, Rosa, Elvira, and Angela.

Belize was, is a confusing, poor, and pushy country-
and though I will remember it as dirty streets, begging men, and unsmiling cities- I will remember too with great fondness these few days we spent sharing in the life, environment, and generosity of a Mayan family.

No morirá la flor de la palabra.

In my first blog entry I confessed that one of the reasons that I wanted to go to Mexico was because of what I had learned about the Zapatistas...

And though every part of living in Mexico turned into a great experience, a time finally came when I remembered my original urge to visit the Zapatistas so... the c and b adventures continued into the lush green mountains of the state of Chiapas to find the Zapatistas.

The day Carelynn and I visited the Zapatistas was an intimidating and suprising one, a day most certainly on the top of the list of the life-telling adventures of b and c.

After wandering through a chaotic market on the North side of San Cristobal Carelynn and I found a collectivo (shared) taxi that was going to the town of Oventic, a town I had heard through word of mouth was where the Zapatistas were... (what that meant, I wasnt sure).

When we arrived in Oventic we were greeted by a masked man at the gate asking for our passports. We didnt have our passports. We had no idea we might need our passports. He demanded what we were doing there and a bit startled I said that I simply was inspired by the Zapatista movement, and that I'd like to talk to them and see their village. Carelynn nodded trusting that what I was saying in Spanish was something reassuring while I fumbled in my bag to find my Guadalajara student card. I handed it to him, and h took it and then he went off to conference with some other villagers nearby. After a few minutes he returned and reluctantly opened the gate. It was then that we entered into a world of buildings covered with the most gorgeous murals I have ever seen, murals of struggle and victory, of the uniting of nations, all set against the backdrop of a pure blue sky and the ever present green mountains.

The man escorted us into a small cabin where we were smilingly greeted by a group of men wearing ski masks..(so i couldnt exactly see their mouths but their eyes were definately soft and friendly). There we were sat down on a wooden bench and questioned. I had to speak for both Carelynn and I, and as they asked our objectives, our organizations, our intentions I felt my heart race. I fumbled with my words, trying to explain how were we simply students inspired and interested in their resistence movement. As much as I felt like I was back in high school, in the principal's office getting in trouble for something or other, my excitement to be in hat room, in that place kept me calm.

They conferenced among themselves in the thick and beautiful Tsosil language, finally coming to the conclusion that we were good-hearted and deserving of a meeting with the "Junta"- the official Zapatista spokespeople (or something like that)... They led us to another building, sat us down outside, and told us to wait until we were called in.

Frantically I wrote down the questions I had for them- who were they exactly, which indigenous groups made up the zapatistas, what did they win and lose in their rebellions, what were they still fighting, what did they believe about earth stewardship... Before long I had a page full of questions and though I was prepared once we were called in and seated in front of them, 4 masked men and one masked woman, my heart was pounding once again.

Waiting.

Before we walked in to the room a huge group of woman came out of the building saying hello, welcoming us, shaking our hands- and though I don't know what it was there is something about it that even now sticks with me... It was a magical moment. Here was a hoard of woman with bright clothing, with lives, with histories rich, with a culture I would never fully understand-- and then there were the two of us, with our stories and with our cultures those woman would never know. It was all too overwhelming. Running into them, there, seemed different somehow than running into them in the city for we were right there, in the very lands they had fought for, staring out at the countryside that had become, and rightfully so, theirs once again.

In the meeting my questions were answered by a kind eyed man who kept apologizing for his lack of Spanish, while I apologized for mine...

He told me of the uprisings, rallying up the indigenous groups involved in the fight, their history with the land, current struggles..

Though the answers were not surprising and were mostly things you can read on wikipedia (and i highly suggest that you do so) what was suprising was what was in the air around us. It was something personal, something emotional, something so much more tangible than any lecture or lesson I've had in school- it was real life floating around us... real, powerful, shocking life. I felt like there were shards of glass exploding in the room, gently poking back to life some little parts of me that had forgotten why I had situated myself so far from home, forgotten why i had abandoned my community and set off in the first place. I suspect (and hope) that those little pieces of glass might just forever gently press beneath my skin at my heart and memery when I am far away in time and place from that room and those mysterious masked people.

It was over so fast.

We walked around, saw children having class outside of the beautifully painted school, sat and enjoyed the mountain view.. And then we returned to the city of San Cristobal.

the Life-Telling Adventures of Carelynn and Bethany

though leaving Guadalajara was a bit chaotic and not at all in time with regular occurances in these parts of the world (slooooow...) everything that has happened since I left has been mind-blowing and unpredictable...incredible.

top on the list are...
full moon bathing in puerto escondido
visiting the zapatistas in Oventic
running wildly through waterfalls in the jungle of palenque
staying with a mayan family in Belize
horseback riding through a lighting storm in el Peten, Guatemala
and hitch-hiking from North Guate to where we are now, Lanquin (dont worry we were 5!)

If ever I am feeling weary of this life, of the life on the road, of fragmented friendships, and of sharing the most incredible experiences with persons who might forever be in worlds apart from me, I stop myself. I look around. I breathe in fresh mountain air, or taste the salt on my lips, or marvel at the faces around and I cease to feel exhausted. I look forward to when I can stay somewhere for a while and use my hands to serve or to get to know a people more than just fragmented relationships... but while I am on the road I am enjoying every bit of adventure, every taste of new air, every sight of exotic landscapes.

Since I dont have time to recount the adventures that I have had since leaving Guadalajara for Michoacan I will simply tell a few stories from along the way.

The Life-Telling Adventures of Carelynn Loopstra and Bethany Klapwyk began on a hot Guadalajaran day when I sat in the centre Guadalajaran square and saw in the distance a tall white Carelynn walking bewildered on the other side of the park. I ran to her, we reunited, and the seed of a great adventure was planted.

Our first stop was Michoacan where we went to the Bosque Village (where I had been in April) to volunteer for 2 weeks. While there I was excited, harassed, challenged, dissapointed, and inspired by all that I learned about community through the many conversations that were had. I also spent about half the day each day on the computer trying, with great frustration, to complete my final school projects.

After 2 weeks we went from there to Pachuca, Mexico´s ¨Windy City¨, 2 hours to the north of Mexico City. We went to stay at the house of my cheery and hospitable friend Melody. While there I finished my final projects and the 3 of us went to explore the wild and hugeee Mexico city. After a day of wandering the wild and colourful streets of the city we went to a baptism party in a real and rough part of town. We danced and laughed the night away in a one room house with people of all ages, then slept the night in Doña Lupe´s house- a woman who sells churros (donut things) out of her front door. We visited the Anthropology museum the next day and after a community dinner with Quakers in the centre of the city we headed ¨home¨ to Melody´s house. There we explored Pachuca and the mining towns nearby. I stayed there for a few days longer than Carelynn to finish my school-work and then went to meet Carelynn on the beach in Oaxaca... but first I stopped for a solo adventure in Oaxaca city.

Oaxaca city was an awesome, but also a strange day of being chased by strange Mexican men, hiding in (and enjoying) art museums, eating lunch with a shoe shiner, being caught in a teacher´s protest, and sleeping in a beautiful cathedral.

I met Carelynn in Puerto Escondido the next morning. We spent a couple days and nights beach-bumming it- by sun and by moon in Puerto Escondido and then we headed to Mazunte, where we did the same. There we cooked our meals in the kitchen of the Mexican Restaurant we were staying behind and ate our dinners by candle-light under a waning moon.

Next was the beach of Zipolite and then we set of to the wonderful and bright streets of San Cristobal. While there we visited a few small towns in the mountains nearby and got off the beaten tourist path a bit. First was a town called Tenejapa. Stepping out of the collectivo taxi we had arrived in another world. We were very clearly the only foreigners around and stuck out like a sore thumb. It seemed as though a hush was over the town and indeed there happened to be a sort of spiritual ceremony going on. We tried to go in their interesting looking church but were very firmly shooed away by a religious leader in all black holding a long staff. We observed that at one side of the central square there was a line of religious leaders sitting and holding staffs, wearing hats with ribbons of every colour falling from the rim of their hats down to their eyes. We left the small central square for the market and when we tried to walk through a part of the market we were stopped in our tracks by a group of spiritual men who were standing in a wide circle in front of a house. After befriending a local who knew some Spanish (his second language after the mayan language of Tsosil) we learned that they were warding off an evil spirit that lived in the house...

As if visiting that little town was not fascinating enough the next day we made our way to Oventic, the headquarters of the Zapatista army...

TO BE CONTINUED!

In only a few days the ¨Mexico Journals¨ will be coming to an end and I will leave the country... However, the journals (if there is time) will continue as next my plan is to head deeper into the south- first Belize, then Guatemala, volunteering in Honduras for July and August...and by the time August 23 comes around I should have found myself in San Jose, Costa Rica to begin the journey home (fly to Pheonix Arizona, visit the grand canyon, and then greyhound it home!)

Wow.

It is hard not to think it, not to say it quietly into the thick Mexican air every minute of every day- I am so blessed. I am blessed to be seeing, to be shaking hands with, buying fruit from, smiling at a grand diversity of people in a grand diversity of settings.

Since the last time I blogged a million things have happened (of course) and spending my time blogging while the adventure waits to continue seems silly, but it is about time I gave something of an update.

Currently I am in Palenque, the dreaded jungle where I got terribly sick in January. Carelynn really wanted to see the ruins so while she does that I am... um.. blogging. ha ha .. and then I will be going to splash around in and explore the nearby waterfalls!

Guadalajara is far away now in distance, but not in heart. I left Guadalajara a few weeks ago during the chaos of the swine flu for the tranquility of the mountains of Michoacan and for the Bosque Village (ecological centre). There I spent my days working, learning about community, learning about permaculture, and doing my final projects for my classes.

My last few weeks in Guadalajara were strange, lonely, and beautiful. The majority of my foreign friends left just in time to escape the Swiney whiney ridiculousness and life was rather interesting after they left. I thought that since my only friends that live nearby had left I would be left alone (the city is a huge place and all my Mexican friends lived far away so hanging out was difficult)... but every day I seemed to find myself surrounded by different groups of people, all diverse, all beautiful.

My most favourite day in Guadalajara occured on mother´s day. I was invited to the house of a Mexican family (two twins and their mom) to spend the day. Their house was on the other side of town, the side where the streets are more chaotic, the markets are more colourful, and the people are not so intimidatingly well-groomed... aka. their house was in the poor part of town.

the morning began with going to the market and buying fruit for bionicas- a special mothers day treat we were going to make consisting of (in my translation) yogurt, fruit, and granola.

The rest of the day was spent doing things like dancing salsa in their living room, playing volleyball in the street, and then riding in the back of a pickup truck to the most beautiful place in Guadalajara: the Mirador- a lookout into a breathtakingly huge canyon and river running through the mountains at the very edge of city.

Describing why the day was so awesome is too hard. It was the people in that part of town... the way I tried to buy buttons from a lady down the street and she wouldnt take money for them... the way the markets we visited were hot and sweaty and smelling of exotic fruit... the way we delayed our picnic for hours to wait for another family who were to be joining us (Mexican time)... the way we shared stories and laughter... and then, finally, it was the way it started pouring just as we got back to their house and, whie eating bionicas we smelt the earthy streets and listened to the thunder from inside a cozy living room... yes, it the way i broke a chair and everyone thought it was the most hilarious thing ever (though I was horrified)... it was everything simple and pure and pacient. It was a beautiful day.

IUn my last week I went to the orphanage for one last time and didn´t say a proper goodbye. The kids were watching a movie and I had to get going so I did a wave and walk away. I did say goodbye to Gina, a beautiful child who is 11 and only now is
learning to read. She was the child I bonded with the most in my final visits and she is the one I think I miss most. We exchanged very sincere "i love yous" and I walked out the door.

On the way home in the bus my heart felt ripped apart. I felt sad because I had had othing to give them, and what I wanted to give them most- time - i did not have. All the love I had felt and exchanged while there would become a memory and I would forever be in debt to the worlds they opened for me in my heart and mind.

Okay. enough bloggin for today. im off to some waterfalls!

raindrops keep falling on my head.

the city
a place of a million hidden magical corners
of cracks and flowers growing in them
of dirty looks
of lusty stares
of sparkling eyes
it will all soon be a memory of something i once tried to understand.

it is the moments that i have spent alone downtown or on buses around this city, liberated by ordinary adventure, that i cherish most of my time here. the hours I have spent, consciously and not, searching for music in the hustling and bustling, in the trudging, barefoot and slow.
the way i can sit on a bench and within moments of sitting down, watch poems write themselves in the dust beneath the feet of men in business suits
of children in rags
and of their eyes when they meet

the city
to say, "it takes some getting used to" might be close to describing how I feel.
this description, however, implies a possibility of being able to get used to this crazy place, which I am not sure is true. there seems to me an impossibility in being accustomed to the sensational architecture, those who constantly sweep the sidewalks, the venders selling everything from chickens to fake ipods...

and the men
just when I think I am used to the everyday cat-calls, or the deviousness of guadalajaran taxi-drivers, or eyes watching my every move (because i am most certainly not mexican looking)- something happens and I am left unsettled. walking down the street the other day a group of men tried to get the attention of myself and two of my friends by hurting a dog. I could hear them laughing, and the screams of a suffering dog- and inside I felt my blood start to curdle. i felt so small- like a weak woman against the sneers of lewd men.

i was on a bus going home from the airport where I dropped off my friend Emily and this man in the seat beside me would not stop looking over at me, just staring for the whole 40 minute drive.. getting beneath my skin in the worst way...

this morning a man grabbed my hand flirtingly demanding that I tell him my name- and I did so he would let me go. The other day a taxi driver was absolutely ridiculous trying to charge the equivalent of 30 dollars for a ride... AHHHH!

ive never understood what it means to be blinded by anger but my anger my certainly takes hold of my heart, mind, and tongue in these situations. always I want to politely break these strange inhumane connections by assuming the best of that person and starting a friendly conversation, but sometimes i feel that if I open my mouth I will say something in anger, or I will get myself in a situation I don't want to be in.

yet, at other times, when i do happen to stike up conversation (or indulge in the conversation these men are so desperately trying to begin), i feel myself becoming less of a goddess, and more of a human being- and that feels wonderfully relieving.

one of these such times was the morning of my 20th birthday when i was sitting alone in a park near downtown writing in my journal and a man came up and awkwardly began speaking to me. i decided that, since it was my birthday, i would be try to be exceptionally patient and open, so i invited him to sit with me. his name is esau. he is from monterrey. he and his girlfriend just broke up.

we chatted for quite some time and i discovered that he was just a lonely and bored guy, perhaps he secretly hoped to relieve his loneliness by picking up the "oh-so-exotic (not)" white girl, but in the moments we spent together none of that mattered. he seems a good man.

the city
oftentimes it is in silence that this city abuses me, amazes me, and confuses me. i let stares drive me crazy, i let the beauty of the shoe-shiner filled plazas stun me, and in places where there are crowds of people, i train my heart to be still. i sometimes ask myself if i am wasting my time and life as hours pass among crowds in the city, but then i think that there are worse things to spend one's time doing and that life is not meant to be rushed. im on mexican time.

for some, I feel that downtown is just another place of indifference- a place where those from their respective levels of society become even more accustomed to their situations, affluent or wealthy, that they become another one of hundreds of dull faced stranger on the road. i too am guilty of this thing.

the city
as I walk home I notice a naked baby sucking happily on a bottle while lying in a wooden crate at the side of the road.
I watch as his caretaker runs around, knocking on car windows, attempting to sell water to tired drivers waiting in traffic.

as i walk i notice an indigenous women and two little girls begging for money. i give her some sweet bread i have bought specifically for an encounter such as this, and instead of staring back indifferent like so many others sometimes do, she smiles gently, bringing tears to my eyes. the poverty here is gentle, is is harsh- it is so many things.

the city
is a bit funny right now with this swine flu.
everything is a bit frustrating
i tried to choose something fun to do for my birthday- hike in the bosque de la primavera- and it was closed (after taking a bus and cab farrrr out of the city we found out...).
second thing i tried to do was bike on the big road they close every sunday- also cancelled (after getting up at 630 am to try to get there early enough to rent bikes).
oh dearie
but still people rub shoulders (and exchange air?) in the streets and markets and restaurants and malls and...
weird
a bit more choas than normal

the city
is alive
it rained for the first time yesterday. the streets smelled fresh and earthy after.
it rained again today- i danced in the rain with my host sister Ivannia (10) and her niece Alexia (3?)
then sat and watched the thunder
the played escondieras- hide and seek

i've wanted to leave this place, for in some ways it has exhausted me,
but now the time is really coming and a part of me can't bear the thought

i leave thursday.

unpacking

on my floor in a giant heap is an opened backpack, and it's contents of a tent, a sleeping bag, a ukelele, and very, VERY dirty clothes. I have said the word to myself several times; "unpack", but the more I say it, the less enticing it seems. The word fills my mouth, and nothing else- my sore muscles, my happy heart- every part of me is content to stare at the mess for a while.

so here's a different sort of unpacking- the kind where material things stay put in their corner mess, and real things come out in writing.




vacaciones
my parents came to mexico for a week in march so i took the week off from school (a risk i was willing to take), and went to join them in the beautiful sunshine of puerto vallarta. after spending 11 hours at a bus station with my friend holland who came with me for the first weekend-- (the two of us and 4 mexicans got left behind- our bus left without most of it's passengers and the next bus with available seats wasn't until 9 in the morning... what a disaster!) we arrived in puerto vallarta, boarded the most chalk-full bus i have ever been on with backpacks full of things, and rode to the hotel.

reuniting with my parents was classic-- i felt a bit like a lost dog bounding across an open field into the arms of their owner; running across a pool deck into the arms of my mother.

usually my adventures end up in the cheapest ugliest hostels, or far in the wilderness with a tent and smelly armpits... therfore finding myself in a nice hotel, around a beautiful large pool, with a few obnoxious spring breakers in loads of tanning oil, and many other north american tourists-- it was the a side of mexico i had not yet seen.

i remember my mom saying, "you better enjoy this because this might be the only time you spend in a nice hotel like this is your life!" which is entirely true as i generally steer away from normal vacations.

but the week was luxurious and beautiful in it's way. mostly i just enjoyed being with my parents in the beautiful sunshine, and enjoying the water. my favourite night with them was the first, when we shared a delicious dinner and talked about what had gone on in our respective lives over the last few months.

i took my parents and holland to sayulita, a beach i had visited before and loved. holland and i sat on the beach painting for most of the afternoon until a little indigenous girl came by to try to sell us stuff. after we said we didnt want anything she stayed staring at our paintings looking incredibly fascinated. holland asked her to paint with us and before long she was sitting with us and painting- shyly, cautiously- as holland held her things. soon her family came by to see what was up. the family consisted of young parents holding a baby, a shy boy hiding behind mom's leg... and together, my family and theirs, we laughed. i couldnt help but thinking this was quite a magical exchange of laughter. our families, different in so many ways, yet, for a moment in time, together in the same sort of laughter.

we invited the little boy to paint and his technique of painting was, well, very special.. he would paint the whole little canvas one colour, tell me he was done, and then start again. he did this over and over until he had painted the thing probably more than 8 times. he did it with great concentration and vigor and we all got quite a kick of watching the process.

holland left on sunday and i spent the rest of the week lazing around, adventuring, and working on my essay. my favourite adventure was to a place called yelapa- which is a town only accesible by water taxi. the town was chaotic, built up on the side of a mountain, and full of playful dogs (almost too playful)...

after a week of playing the "yes, i am indeed a tourist" role- eating delicious food, soaking in bright sun, and playing travel scrabble with my parents- it was time to return to being a citizen of this country.

fun fact: when i returned my belongings had been moved to a room on the second floor of the house because the girl who is now my room-mate broke up with her boyfriend so i now share a room with her. this is fine with me, of course, as the room is about 3 times the size and a has lots of natural light. i do, however, miss the sleepovers with my lovely little roomate, Ivannia...

fun fact 2: we now have a baby and mother living with us-- the baby is the grand-daughter of my host family and the mother is their daughter-in-law. HAVING A BABY AROUND IS AWESOME. seriously. she is full of smiles and is such a wonderfully simple creature. when or if I am bummed all i do is make a silly face at her and she makes me melt with her gorgeous baby smile.

fun fact 3: last time I ended off my blog entry complaining about writing a minimum 12 page paper in spanish- and now, jumping jimmy, i am here to declare that i successfully wrote a grand spanking 14 pages! I have yet to find out whether or not I passed the paper- but I wrote it none the less which in itself seems a grand success.

niños
i went to the orphanage the following weekend and this time was one of the best (every time i go i become closer with these kids and more moved by their resilience, and by the stamina of their caretakers). holland and i were put in charge of a group of boys who were absolutely off the wall. locos. trying to get 5 year olds to clean a kitchen is not exactly an easy thing to do, and there came a point of surrender when we both realized, why stress? we embraced their energy, and after a couple of hours, many silly fights, and water everywhere- the kitchen was, more or less, clean.
not that i dont love hanging out with the girls, there is something especially hilarious and special about this group of boys that i had not understood or noticed before- so spending this time with them was pretty awesome.

escuela o no escuela?
in the week before semena santa (the two weeks off from school that just ended), 2 of my 4 classes were cancelled... or rather, they were cancelled in the mexican way.
i went to the first, one of my thursday classes, and the teacher didnt show up. all the students were there and we had a debate about whether or not we should leave until finally we realized it was definitely stupid to stick around. the next day i did my 40 minute commute to school, and waited on a bench for my teacher to arrive. the class is sceduled for 7 pm and at 830 i was startled from my major zone out position- lying on a bench, listening to music, watching the stars come out--
a janitor told me she was going to lock up the classrooms.
I said, "I have a class"
she asked, "when?"
I replied, "7."
she laughed; "honey, it's 830, I think you can go home now"
currently I am worried because usually this teacher sends many emails, and always let's me know what is going on-- and I have still not, two weeks later, heard from her... no sé que hacer...

trabajando
so then my two week "vacations" started.
for the first four days i went to the orphanage to help with a conference they were having there. all the kids had been sent off to a camp nearby with the exception of 1 boy and 2 girls who had an unfortunate case of chicken pox, barisellas.
Never before have I worked for so many hours, and never before have I felt so inspired to work. I worked in the kitchen for a lot of the time under a sour faced woman name Loupita. By my final day, she began to loosen up and when i asked what the time was during my last afternoon there, she said, "It doesn't matter, your not leaving!"

while there I worked every minute. I got up at 630 one morning and would work until 11 pm. I worked alongside people that have dedicated their lives to serving God... the real kind of dedication- to be there, in the presence of real revolucionaries-- the sort of people that work until there is not more work left in them- was empowering. While in the kitchen I overheard a lot of the conference that was going on. there were preachers of many different sorts and styles, and lots of SINGING. i capitalize singing because it wasn't just any singing, it was whole-hearted, hands-in-the-air, bouncing-up-and-down, praise-the-lord, kind of singing.

The Emmanual Foundation, the foundation that was having the conference, does work in prisons all across Mexico. Out of that work was born an orphanage in Guadalajara, called a "Casa Hogar"- however the most part of the foundation works to reach out to people in prisons and offer them a life of purpose. Watching those people gathered, people that have lived in prison themselves- people that have known the real depths of human existence-- there were moments where i could do nothing but succumb to the power of it all, turn my face, and hide my tears in the dishes i was washing, or vegetables i was cutting... soup i was stirring. como agua para chocolate.

descubriendo
i returned to my house, packed my bags, and before the sun had risen the next morning I was on a bus heading on another adventure; cumbre yah! the original plan was that I would go to a wwoofing farm (willing workers on organic farms) in michoacan- a mountainous state to the south of jalisco (the state i am living in). however, i was informed when i applied for a position at the farm that they were having an event called "cumbre ya!" and that i was more than welcome to come, and after the event I could volunteer.

"cumbre ya!"- (cumbre meaning summit) was delightful. at the bus station in guadalajara i met up with 4 other girls from guadalajara who were heading to the event. first i met a girl named carla who ended up being my busmate- and she was hilarious, sweet, and patient (a required quality if you want to have a conversation with me in spanish). the 5 of us arrived in a town called patzcuaro, went downtown for lunch, and then took a taxi to a town called erongaricuaro (say that 10 times fast) where we were to be picked up.

in eronga we met brian- the owner of the farm, and raul, a volunteer at the farm. they drove us in a big white van up a bumpy dirt road up into the mountains. we arrived at the campground/farm, met some dogs (there are 10!), and set up our campsites.

I discovered the first night that the tent I had borrowed from my Mexican family was too small for me, so I unzipped the door and slept with half my body outside.

i remember a bright moon. i remember quiet; it had been a long time since i had fallen asleep without the sound of car alarms, distant cars, and endless activity in the streets. it felt, oddly enough, a bit lonely- but it was, of course, the sort of lonliness that one craves. the sort of "hey, maybe now I'll be able to hear with i have to think" lonliness.

the only light outside was natural light- the light of an almost full moon.

the next couple days were spent participating in workshops led by fellow cumbre ya participants. i led a workshop, in spanglish, on what little i know of south african gumboot dancing (thank you madavine!) which was a lot of fun. i learned how to make tortillas, practiced writing poetry, painted, sang around a campfire, and listened to the people around me. my inability to follow and understand everything that goes on in spanish conversations has, it seems, made my world a softer one. it is hard to explain, but i feel my opinions, my want to express my view on things- softening, as though some invisible voice is saying, "hey, we could use another listener".

the event ended and the forest quieted down significantly as all that was left was a small handful of volunteers. during the following week i learned about building a cob house- using only natural materials such as dirt (clay), pine needles, and sawdust- i planted seeds, dug out the fertile compost below oak trees, played with 2 little girl visitors, painted signs to mark campsites, and with sophie, a volunteer from Ingleterra (England), began the digging of the great "swail".

the swail.. basically many permaculturalists (is that a word?) believe that if your forest grows up an incline (or crops or whatever) you can dig a trench near the top of that incline and the water will soak more slowly into the ground causing for more growth and greenery below the swail. wow. "swails" "micro-climates", "plant-propogation" "grey water systems"... lots of things to think about and research.

if i can i will return in the beginning of june to see the forest come alive with the beginning of the rainy season.

during a tour of the farm in my first few days there i asked brian, "if your plan is to eventually create an eco-community (which is his plan), why did you do this all of this alone?", and he said something along the lines of, "well, with a dictatorship you can get a lot done. i know what i want and i go for it"

hmm

i have reserved judgement on the statement- however this was the cause of many pensamientos, thoughts, during the week. yes, the place is beautiful, and the things that have been built and accomplished there are incredible. there are cabins, cisterns for collecting rainwater, solar hot water heaters, solar panels for energy... and it is all very impressive but...

community is something i have been trying to understand, and i have no desire to stop trying to find it and to understand it. it is therefore a good thing for me to see the other side- the power of an individual, and an individual's want (need?), to direct those processes.

it's tempting, it is- but no thanks, i think ill stick to community. (we were put on this earth with other people for a reason?)

i spent many hours reading, painting a mural, singing, hiking through the woods, and listening to the stories of the people around me. i met a 28 year old woman who has been travelling the world since she was my age. i reveled in her stories of mongolia, zimbabwe, spain, nicaragua... i challenged an idealist who was good at talking but whose actions confused me (admittedly, i saw a lot of my own faults in this guy)... i cherished the humility of one volunteer and the sweetness of another. in a places so tranquil i find that people can be a little too quiet sometimes- as though afraid to interupt the uncomplicatedness of the silence around...but why should we let each other be quiet all day when everyone has so much to say? why sit in silence with others when they just might have some of the answers, knowledge, or love we've been looking for? why try to discover everything independently through books when there are real people, with hands and heart full of the knowledge of experience?

the bosque was good for me. it reminded me of the importance of living a balance- being both dependent and independent. i spent hours alone throwing paint on a wall in the company of only the occasional lizard- and these hours were especially refreshing. i also was surrounded by the most incredible books, and was reminded of the joys of reading. candles, sunshine, refreshing cool air-- the place was full of nothing other than the richness of life.





lluvia por favor!
and now, i am back in the city. it is much warmer and the air is different than when i left. yesterday, walking home from a movie the wind was blowing furiously, and i jokingly did a little rain dance. i heard a loud crack of thunder later in the middle of the night- the first thunder i have heard here in mexico. it didnt rain a drop but the air smells of earth and i can tell the heavens are thinking of opening soon.

like the seasons, i am going through changes that are inevitable. it would be easy to wake up in a new season and not realize that the other had ended, but i feel small things becoming different in me. in more than one way, i feel rain coming soon. the air is thickening and becoming more stagnant as the days go on, and with slight desperation (it is hot out!) and strained excitement i can't help but think, "bring on the rain!"

this one goes out to the one i love (part 2)

plate of fruit

last night my friends holland and courtney came over to watch a movie and after, holland and courtney sat at my dining room table to do their homework

and when they were done we sat at the table, chatting.
holland started doodling on the oranges sitting on a plate in the centre of the table...
doodling on the bananas,
making them into funny little heads saying, "te quiero" (i love you)

now this picture of holland is precisely what i love about her
she is a child, and she always will be one- but at the same time i have had the most profound and mature of conversations with her... we have shared, "church" on a roof-- an afternoon listening to podcasts of sermons from her church back home, painting, dancing, and discussing lifeeee. she is not like so many people I know that are too old to be childish, yet too young to have mature conversations with.

but as for the fruit...

when i awoke this morning I walked into the kitchen and saw the bananas and oranges she had coloured on in a plastic bag on the counter

and then, i got a sinking feeling in my stomach. i guess the joke hadnt been funny to my host mom. immediately when I saw my host mom- i wished her a good morning, and said "i am sorry about the fruit..."

to which she angrily ranted about how it
-bothered her very much
-that she can not serve contaminated fruit
-she would like to speak to holland
-that "maybe this would pass at the orphanage, but not here"

and that was about it.

and yes, it is only fruit
yes, it was a sign of disrespect
but contamination aside- and the orphanage also (because that is just a horrible thing to bring into all of this)
life has been given to us to be lived,
and to be taken lightly

to not cry over spilt milk.

but holland and i ended up crying on the sidewalk together. it started as a horrible cry, then a less horrible one, then a beautiful discussion of life and meaning...

a flower grows through the cracks in the sidewalk.

death of a dog

this one goes out to the one i love

i found jay on a sunny florida afternoon by a canal, thin and sad. after visiting him every day for 2 weeks armed with food and water, i took him back to the place i was living at the time- a tent at a farm in florida. there he slept outside my door, until i caved and let him come and sleep beside me in the tent. every day while i worked he would follow me around the farm, never leaving my side. when i returned to canada he came with me. he always was weak, and beaten by life-- and i kept thinking one day i'd see him run.

i called him jay. he had an old face, and a history that ill never know.

last week i recieved an email saying he was dying and that my parents wanted my permission to put him down. dear lord...

many times i have held him when he shook in his sleep, and he would lay his head upon me when i cried in mine.

so this is for my beautiful dog named jay, a dog who carried me through and out of dark places, and who showed me exactly what love should be- pure and simple. his quiet head in my stomach.

though i can't see it now- i feel that he is running.

the orphanage

On weekends, if i can find it, i go to an orphanage to hang out with some dang-cool kids. tomorrow we are having a sleepover party with all the girls (ha ha even though every night they have sleepover parties, this one is going to be different... candy perhaps? no teeth brushing?)

a lot of the kids have incredible stories- and although i dont know the half of it, i know a few facts: most kids have mothers in jail and have grown up surrounded by drugs and unimaginable violence.

i am an observer when i go. though generally i do not believe that an outsider has the right to judge certain things, i hope someday i can show them what i believe sunday school should be. i didnt like their version of sunday school. it was horrifying. the children all had to sit in a row-perfect posture, hands in lap- listening to bible verses being read- then summarize what was read. my favourite part was when one of the boys, clearly fed up with the situation, turned around and started peeing in the garden. he got in quite a bit of trouble for that, but i think god cheered him on. "be playful my children, live while you've got the energy!"

i'm not lost!

the last time i tried to go to the orphanage i got "lost".

but i was never Lost. one man tried desperately to help me, getting on a different bus just to show me the way- but i still didn't find where i needed to go. trust me, it was hard. the first time i went i took three different buses for 2 hours...

my day turned into an analysis of the word lost. always i trusted that there would be people that could help me find my way back to downtown... and from there i could find me way home.

i spent the day as a wanderer. in these places where people come and go- downtown squares, park benches, bus stops, stores... there is a strange air. though i spent a day moving slowly through these places, slower than i ever have- i still couldnt put my finger on that strange thing.

i sat for two hours at a bus stop in the middle of no where, observing the travellers, and the other constants: a drunk man lying on the bench behind me, a man selling tacos, an annoyingly typical couple..

somehow sitting alone in a forest for hours, which is something i enjoy to do very much- seems comparable to this day. it was a patient, slow, "stop and smell the flowers" kind of day. i left at 1030, got home a 7. waste of time? i think not.

coffe con leche por fAvor

i have visited the beach twice. the first was a visit to sayulita- a cool surfing town about an hour from the touristy puerto vallarta. the second was a visit to barra de navidad- a town filled with retirees who sound hilarious when they attempt to speak spanish (coffee con leche, por fAvor?)

we didnt do much at the beaches other than take in the sun and play in the waves... but of course, they were beautiful weekends. this past weekend when we were driving home we just missed being in a huge accident. a truck carrying sugar cane flipped on its side right in front of our bus, killing the driver, spilling sugar cane all over.

it was an eerie night.

A+ for effort

school. i have been avoiding the topic.
i have learned A LOT since I got here, don't get me wrong. i have a notebook in which i write new vocabulary and everyday i increase my spanish vocab - but it is not enough. i have readings equivalent to the amount of reading i have in canada- and they are all in spanish (obviously). i have a 12 page essay due for next thursday so i asked my prof if i can research in english...he said not for this essay (for the next one, yes). he gave us specific articles to read...
now i am at a loss for how i will go about it. there is literally nothing i can do except try. if i fail, i guess i fail.

classes are three hours. i have a class at 7 am tuesday mornings, a class until 9 on fridays, and class all day thursdays- a rather strange schedule. i have acquaintances in my classes, but no real friends. in one of my classes i am the only student. that class is my favourite. the teacher is always smiling as though my presence is absolutely delightful. it is funny.

the campus is nice and small, and there is always something going on- like theatres in the garden, and parties on the street hosted by the history department... or hosted by the social science deparment... the "i think we should just have a party in the street for kicks" departments..

between classes on thursdays i have a spot where i nap in the garden. my favourite "friend" (what constitutes friendship?) at school is a girl named claudia. i see her every thursday and we always have lengthy conversations about our lives before our prof starts the session. she has never travelled, she likes the band metric (suprised? so was i), and she has a pregnant 20 year old sister (which apparently is not a good thing... i learned that after congratulating her. ha ha).

being the foreign exchange student is fun. and not fun. depends if i am ignoring my treacherous homework situation or not.

but now it is time to face up to the problem at hand.. if there is a "how to write an essay in a foreign language" for dummies book, i would be delighted if you sent it my way.
peace friends

this one goes out to the one i love

"In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour. 
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."
-Kahil Gibran:

i can hear waves crashing and my body feels their pull, but the beach is miles away. my skin feels warm as though under a beating sun, but the sky is dark and it is a quiet night.

what is it that i hear? and what do i feel? is my body perhaps ahead in time, ahead of the rest of my being?

though i am now in mexico at 4 in the morning, my imagination is comfortably resting in months past- in a tent, at a farm, with a dog named jay. there is a candle burning and it is just the two of us, and there is a warmth like no other warmth. i know one thing only, and that is that the warmth must stay. though he, though Jay is gone, he is not gone. for the warmth that was then is the warmth that is now, and that warmth is a beautiful, lasting form of love.

it has been a particularly strange week, full of pure experience of life;
a life of loss,
a life full of comfort,
a life full of necessary indifference and liberation.

i have observed a sunday school in which the sacred words of the bible were chokingly shoved down children's throats- in which parentless children were asked to read about "obeying their parents". i have sat with these same children in their beds talking simple things, trying to love on them as much as possible, because they are regular human creatures like the rest of us and just need a little love to be good.

i have blown bubbles with a friend and eaten chocolate (against my diet rules) in a downtown square, playing with children- a child myself.

i have spent a day lost, but not at all lost- observing with carefree slowness the beauty and ugliness of this city.

i have cried with a friend on a side walk over a bowl of fruit (and oh, so much more).

i have felt a bitter lonliness and confusion when deciding to let one of my closest friends and greatest loves be taken away by a strange substance in a needle in a gross smelling vet office.

i have chanted silently, "have no fear", while floating in the ocean- eyes closed and listening to the sea. I have let waves crash me into sand, and I have laughed hysterically, choking on salt water, then laughing some more..

i have stood in the "twilight zone" and have seen a highway littered with sugur-cane, seen the belly of a large truck. i have stared at brilliant stars and have hoped compassionately that someone might be able to feel sad for the man dead in the front seat of the truck.

and then, a few moments ago, i have felt a powerful fear, possibly for the first time in my life when walking home against my better judgement in this city's dark streets (let me explain mom...!)

so i will tell these stories soon, for though they are not all redemptive, they are all reflective of real things. that we may grow wiser together. that you might be able to fill in my blanks, or that together we might be able to answer some hard questions.

"...And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring."


goodnight jay
goodnight friends

post traumatic stress disorder

some oranges at a market in tonala

alexia

laura's birthday

oh mexico...


i have been going out to the movies quite often here.

i know what you are thinking..

"you are in mexico, of all things, why the movies..."

my host family can get my friends and i free tickets because they have a membership (you know how i feel about free things), and as much as i would love to put up my (sometimes pretentious) natural hippie-defense and say i hate everything commercial and of western-culture- i have become quite a sucker for the movies. foreign movies, stupid movies, sad movies, action movies- hit me with any one and i'll probably love it. and ill probably cry and laugh significantly more than the john doe beside me. opps, mexico reivision: i will probably laugh significantly more than the jose lopez beside me.

anyways, the end scene of the last movie i watched, the curious case of benjammin button, twisted my heart and brain in a funny way and i feel inclined to share it with you.

if your looking for mexico news, im afraid this might be lacking. there are some colourless things of life that deserve a bit of quiet attention today. a few black and white photos of my past that have been hanging out frameless in front of my face crying out for attention. so here goes.

the extremely diverse worlds that i have found myself in over the past 2 years, are colliding, softly and beautifully.

i suppose it could've happened had i been home because there are movie theatres everywhere, but at the end of this particular movie i became overwhelmed with emotions and thus began to cry because, a) well, it was a little sad and i have inherited my super-sensitivity genes from my mama who cries during just about anything (ie. survivor-love you mom); and b) it was about hurricane katrina.

back to me came the many stories of the 20 or so peoeple i interviewed while in mississippi.

for those of you who don't know- last year i spent a month on the gulf coast of mexico and volunteered for the university of southern mississippi conducting hour + long interviews with people about their experiences with hurricane katrina.

and now, in my lungs is that, 'i don't know whether to cry or to laugh' feeling... and i just can't swallow it.

so here it is, a little bethany vomit for you.

i went away during my 2nd semester of university last year because i wanted to be punched in the face by a strange thing i had heard about, a thing called reality. now i realize that i must find it again. and again. now i realize that i live to be metaphorically punched in the face by bittersweet beautiful music, by the melancholy songs of humanity.

and i also realize that it is wrong to resent, as i have in the past, those who are content in lives of comfort. resenting is never good. and it is hypocritical. there are better thing for a human to do.

and i realize a lot of things but it is not important that i say them all, it is only important that i live them.

the first person i interviewed in mississippi was a man named jorge. jorge is an artist and the only man i have ever truly cried with in my life. jorge told me about post-traumatic depression. he told me about it, but more than that, he showed me it. he began to tell me of girls he saw in the wall-mart parking lot covered in dirt as though walking out of the hurricane.

and i remember him stopping. silence breathed heavily between us and i opened my mouth to say something, but, as though choking, he whispered, "wait". i remember waiting. i remember being humbled by the silence between. i remember understanding in that moment that the way his mouth had frozen, the way his eyes had gone hazy, and his tears had fallen- that was what he was trying to tell me. one minute he was speaking about the hurricane, and the next he went on to telling me about the work he had done during and after the vietnam war with people who had parts of themselves blown away by mines. armless people, legless people, stone-eyed people.

And for some reason i can't get his story out of my head now.
though i do not understand the feelings of post traumatic stress disorder- the way his eyes blurred and voice softened... i feel that now in myself. the stories of the hurricane will always be with me and whether or not i desire it, they will creep up on me at the most unexpected of times. but in a strange way, i think i desire it to a certain extent. i desire to feel, to feel for others- and in turn, to feel for myself.

when i am walking down the street in a year, might i see something that reminds me of a lesson i learned or a story i heard in this place?

about a year ago i was in a hospital asking god if i would ever be able to get out of the culture i was in (and not enjoying). i was sick with infections that were fought with antibiotics that hurt my stomach. and i wasnt just sick in my stomach and i was sick in my head/heart. today i am still sick in my stomach... tomorrow i will probably be sick in my stomach, but it doesnt matter. my head and heart are okay. in fact, im grateful for my sickness.

it was my stomach sickness that gave me a sickness in my head. it was the sickness in my head that drove me to slight insanity. it was this insanity that told me to drop out of my second semester of university.
it was this break from school that drove me to explore the glory of organic farming and the pains of a hurricane.

and the liberation i have felt when breaking free from the traditional has once again driven me away, driven me to mexico. so i am here. i have been here for a month and already have many tales to tell of this place. but in the end what more, besides the ability to recount fun stories, will i have?

i am beginning, with great caution, to engrave some new things on my heart...
... as soon as i know (which could be long after i return home) i will let you know what these things are.

or better, i wont say a word.

now, i can only allude to what i think might be happening inside of me, to what i am coming to understand. it has a little something to do with standing at the bus stop around the corner from my house and feeling alive in the wind made by the cars speeding by me, feeling alive in the dirty smells of the streets, feeling alive in a cement and steel world.

yes. it has something to do with not being angry for the ugly things around me. my humanity, i see now, is very much a part of the manufactured landcapes around me.. and for me to remove myself from the city, is to remove myself from millions of human beings that create and populate these places.

forests


i have begun to think that there are two kinds of forests...
forests of trees
and forests of people

both are entirely different, but they are both equally beautiful.
both hold powerful, mind-blowing stories.
both require patience; you must gently prod your way in, quietly explore the traditions, the norms...the foreign things. build up an understanding.

i have spent quite some time in my life learning to speak the language of the natural, the slow and simple swaying of leaves and branches at 7 in the evening when a forest is preparing for sleep.

and now i am learning to speak the language of a city and its people. it is a fast, hard, unpredictable language that includes much more than just spanish words.

that said- i am waiting. waiting to wake up and feel the language on my tongue, in my bones...
and everyday i ask myself, "is it even possible?"

rose gardens, beggers, clowns, and couples kissing shamelessly in the park

a break between classes
the mysterious rose garden
chapala, a city near guadalajara that i visited with some friends last saturday
being silly at the salsa/cuban bar



whats crackalackin?

well it's saturday morning in guadalajara and the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the world is aliveeee...

actually i am just kidding about the birds. all i can hear is the swishy wushy of the washing machine.

i am feeling a little less creative these days as all my brain juices are being used to learn the wonderful language of espanol, this entry may not be as exciting as the first but it's been while since ive updated this baby and and it is about time.

I am currently sitting in the sun on the cement roof of mi casa. i don't know why but whenever I come up here I climb out my window instead of taking the door. it's more fun. i feel as though my host family would think im a little strange if they knew, but no matter.
today i don't have anything specific to report but an array of thoughts, reports, and facts about this city, its people, and my life.
i will start with this.

every day I awake to the sound of bells from something somewhere nearby. I assume it is a church, but one day maybe ill follow the noise just in case it happens to be an obnoxious 70 year old man who happens to own some loud pots and pans and likes to wake up the neighbourhood for kicks. that's be fun. i generally believe in keeping my eyes peel for surprises however i just looked straight ahead and from this roof I can see a bell tower... should i re-evaluate this belief? nah.

i quietly jump out of my bed so as not to wake the sleeping ten year old beneath me (Ivannia), go to the kitchen, and make a clasic breakfast of rice, honey, rice milk, and sometimes almonds (as most of you know i am on a weird diet where I can eat only certain things and here in mexico the only grain i can find to eat is rice... so ohh baby, rice it is again!). I then walk for about 2 (ha) minutes with Oliver, another student who lives here, to the language school. From 8 until 2 I struggle to keep up with students who are much more advanced than i without having my teachers notice how out of the loop i am. two days ago my morning teacher noticed. it was funny. so i tried the lower level but it was much to easy. there is no middle-ground for me so i'm going to stick with the tough level.

after school there are a number of things i might find myself doing. first i make lunch- usually some sort of beans with vegetables... ussually camote (sweet potato). after lunch (which is ussually around 3 or 4) i procrastinate for the rest of the day ( i dont like homework) by doing the following sorts of activities:
-climbing up here to the roof and painting for hours with my friends
-dancing (steve erkle style) on the roof with my friends
-going to parks and playing soccer
-getting lost walking this city
-going to the gym and pretending to work out (ha ha ha...ive never had a gym membership before and i probably wont again, who am i kidding- i cant exercise inside. that is if can exercise at all...i just hope i dont get smog-induced lung cancer from running outside)
-going to movies
-going to bars and drinking martinis/beer/nothing... listening to jazz/mariachi music
-not going to bars and sleeping instead and/or talking to the beautiful child that i share a room with...

I had my first salsa lesson Thursday night, and wow- i am not naturally coordinated. i am not sure what i think about trying to force myself to learn something my body so obviously sucks at but for the sake of mexico, i will give it a solid try.

now my thoughts. i have been thinking lately that i know myself more than i thought i ever could. maybe this is a strange thing to say, i mean i am myself so why wouldn't i know who i am... but there are people that go to the ends of the earth to find themselves, and i thought i was one of them. but i'm not. i am here out of the pure joy and exhilaration there is to be had by trying to understand a foreign humanity. i am here because this is just one of a million places where a little extra love is needed and that the realities of poverty are impossible to ignore in this place.

yet there are so many things i am struggling to understand about that (poverty).

everyone's homes are significantly gated here and having neighborly love is just as foreign a concept as i've seen it be in canada. the community in the house i live in is beautiful and i feel very blessed to be where i am; but i haven't met my neighbours yet...

i question myself everyday on what i am doing here. i want to volunteer and get into the core of why i really come to places such as these. so far nothing has worked out. it is also because i am afraid. and many times i catch myself thinking, "well i don't have time".. but really, who the hell has time?

my friend knows of an orphanage a few hours away and we will probably be going there some weekends which i am very excited for. i want to be reminded of why i love and believe in love. love is a necessity of life. sometimes i forget that.

a friend here reminded me during a two hour walk home from a bar that we just weren't enjoying that if i truly was who i say i want to be i would sell all my things, hop on a bus, and go live with the poor. i know that. i ask myself "why not?" everyday... i ask myself why i cant just put all my faith in jesus that ever day he will provide...
so im working on that.

however, in the meantime i am still being my simple self.

i understand that when i am in a sophisticated bar drinking a martini that it is necessary for me to kick of my shoes and sit cross-legged- very unsophisticated-like. i understand that when a bunch of other exchange students are going out to the bars yet again, that i won't have that much fun so i often don't go. i understand that i will sit and people watch, and wonder exactly what sort of fun people call this... and also wonder why it feels so much like i am in highschool again. i understand that being silly and finding friends that i can laugh all day long with is all i truly desire.

andddd i understand mexico time!!! (being late for everything)
-- getting lost in the hours and getting lost in the city i have had some beautiful moments. i have stumbled upon rose gardens and beggars, sad clowns and couples kissing shamelessly in the park.

some cars here have built in whistles so often when walking around i will be caught completely off gaurd by the mechanic whistling. however, i am never flattered. the attitude that some men have towards women is disgusting, frightening, and confusing so all those feelings come to surface when a mexican man looks at my white woman skin and yells, "barbie."

f. off por favor.

but that's not to say that all mexican men are like that and as with every culture there is a balance. lucky for me i have been fortunate enough to befriend several very respectful and beautiful mexican male-souls that remind me not to be dismiss their demographic. and i usually choose to believe that people can be a product of their culture, therefore i place only careful and selective blame in individuals.

in conclusion what i would like to say is that people are people wherever you go and that it has been beautiful for me to realize that my silliness does not have to be relinquished here.

so yes, i am comfortable in my own skin here and yes, i am not going to shave my legs very often here... if that's what your asking.