As I was sitting here in my office, at my desk, diligently crossing off items on my to-do list and fully engaged in my daily strive to be a productive volunteer, I began to hear the sounds of drums outside. Not even 50 ft from where I sit now there is a Garifuna celebration going on at the Dangriga HelpAge center for senior citizens. I hear the drums, then the maracas, and finally the soft voices of young children chanting a song passed down from generation to generation. A few of us look up, surprised by the new noises and continue on to our work. Soon the music gets louder and now the adults have come out in their traditional dress and song, dancing and chanting to the beat. I stop because I haven't heared the sounds of drums like this in a while. Sure, I hear drums all the time in the streets because it's apart of their everyday culture, but these drums were different. They produce a feeling inside me that I haven't felt since the first time I heard them here in Belize. They hit my heart in a way I didn't expect. I was instantly captivated to start watching the dances. The singing and laughing of the audience.
There's life here.
I watch.
This time I watch with new eyes. The beat captures my heart and I realize that I love the drums. I love the beat, and the dances, and the shrill singing from the Garifuna elderly. I love the passed down traditions and the children who want to preserve it even more. Their feet shuffle from left to right. Oh yes! I remember that dance when I lived in Georgetown! The kids spent hours trying to teach it to me. I feet compelled to go out there and say "look here! I can do it too! I love and embrace this culture too!" I resist this spontaneous craving and instead savor this moment of epiphany as the sea breeze hits my face. This epiphany that not only is this my home but that I love my home.
The drums stop and start a new tune. I'm not familiar with it but it causes the rest of the staff to laugh, start bobbing their heads and toes to the beat and take a glace at the reenactment behind our little office. One of my coworkers says "yes, drums of freedom!" in which another coworker, Odelia, in her cute cuban/spanish accent replied "I know, I love da drums. I love dem."
yes, me too Odelia, me too
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Springtime
It's springtime in Belize and I love it! There is new life everywhere.
There are magnificent blooming trees with the most radiant colors at every corner I turn. My favorite has to be the bright orange blossoms that, when I look up, stand out brilliantly against the clear, blue sky. I find myself stopping every time I see them, amazed, as if I've never seen a blossoming tree before. Truly gorgeous. Belizeans must still assume I'm a tourist because I never fail to take my camera out when I pass by these trees. They always seem more beautiful than the last time I saw them.
Not only are there beautiful flowering trees but mangoes have come back into season as well! Oh my mangoes, how I love them! I feel like myself, along with the rest of my Belizean community, have a newfound hop-skip in our step from the utter excitement of these sweet and succulent, juicy fruits. I just found out that there are about 8 different types of mangoes we'll see over the season. There are different names for these mangoes that each have their own subtly distinct taste. We have the Slipper mango, sugar mango, thundershock mango, number eleven mango, bellyful mango, blue mango, apple mango, and Julie mango. Yes, there is actually a mango that is named Julie and I'm really excited to try it (along with the bellyful mango - that one just sounds like I'll love it). People walk down the road, eating a mango in the hand like it was an apple. I've started doing this but only when I know I have access to floss in the near future. The fibers are the trickest thing to get out of the creavases of your teeth. The streets are littered with eaten mango seeds and nearly every day I receive free mangoes from friends and aquaintances.
One more thing about spring that makes me smile pretty much every day is the amount of puppies everywhere. They're everywhere! All different kinds. They're always in their yard, stumbling around with their floppy ears playing with whatever they can get their paws on (no pun intended). They're just so adorable, I want to go up and squeeze them and kiss them and smell their puppy breath. But I restrain myself. I get enough joy just from glancing at their playtime.
The only thing about spring that is almost unbearable is the heat. I've never in my life experienced heat like this. We been reaching around 95-100 degrees and that's not including the heat index with the humidity. I sweat when I walk, when I eat, when I sit, even somehow when I'm standing in front of the fan. I'm still sweating. I'm averaging about 3 showers a day which for me is quite the record. In the meantime, I'm praying for the rainy season and thanking god for my flowers, mangoes, and puppies that keep me so utterly content each day I'm here.
There are magnificent blooming trees with the most radiant colors at every corner I turn. My favorite has to be the bright orange blossoms that, when I look up, stand out brilliantly against the clear, blue sky. I find myself stopping every time I see them, amazed, as if I've never seen a blossoming tree before. Truly gorgeous. Belizeans must still assume I'm a tourist because I never fail to take my camera out when I pass by these trees. They always seem more beautiful than the last time I saw them.
Not only are there beautiful flowering trees but mangoes have come back into season as well! Oh my mangoes, how I love them! I feel like myself, along with the rest of my Belizean community, have a newfound hop-skip in our step from the utter excitement of these sweet and succulent, juicy fruits. I just found out that there are about 8 different types of mangoes we'll see over the season. There are different names for these mangoes that each have their own subtly distinct taste. We have the Slipper mango, sugar mango, thundershock mango, number eleven mango, bellyful mango, blue mango, apple mango, and Julie mango. Yes, there is actually a mango that is named Julie and I'm really excited to try it (along with the bellyful mango - that one just sounds like I'll love it). People walk down the road, eating a mango in the hand like it was an apple. I've started doing this but only when I know I have access to floss in the near future. The fibers are the trickest thing to get out of the creavases of your teeth. The streets are littered with eaten mango seeds and nearly every day I receive free mangoes from friends and aquaintances.
One more thing about spring that makes me smile pretty much every day is the amount of puppies everywhere. They're everywhere! All different kinds. They're always in their yard, stumbling around with their floppy ears playing with whatever they can get their paws on (no pun intended). They're just so adorable, I want to go up and squeeze them and kiss them and smell their puppy breath. But I restrain myself. I get enough joy just from glancing at their playtime.
The only thing about spring that is almost unbearable is the heat. I've never in my life experienced heat like this. We been reaching around 95-100 degrees and that's not including the heat index with the humidity. I sweat when I walk, when I eat, when I sit, even somehow when I'm standing in front of the fan. I'm still sweating. I'm averaging about 3 showers a day which for me is quite the record. In the meantime, I'm praying for the rainy season and thanking god for my flowers, mangoes, and puppies that keep me so utterly content each day I'm here.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Earthquake
I experienced my first earthquake last night and was probably one of the craziest, scariest, most surreal moments of my life.
It was a little before 2:30am and I was suddenly awakened by a weird feeling that my bed was moving. It was a smooth, swaying motion and felt as if I was in the middle of the ocean. Trying to snap out of my dreaming/waking stupor, I quickly realized that this wasn't a dream, it was most definitely an earthquake I was experiencing. I always assumed earthquakes were quick jolts and lots of shaking but it wasn't like that at all. It felt as if I were in the middle of the ocean with high, thick, rapid waves. As the waves became more intense my bed began to move to the center of the room. Scared, not knowing what to do, I jumped out of bed. I heard a loud crash in the bathroom and discovered the tiles had fallen off the wall and shattered on the floor. I walked into the kitchen barely keeping my stance. I felt I was in some kind of lucid dreaming state and could barely keep my composure as the rocking became more intense. I looked over at my shelves and felt relieved my dining-ware hadn't fallen and broken. I felt my heart beating through my chest and I questioned whether I should hide under the bed. As I made my way back to my room the earthquake settled and I paced back and forth for a while - partly because the adrenaline had completely taken over my body and partly because I didn't know what else to do. I finally went back to bed. I woke up two more time during the night from aftershock waves, moving my bed in a swaying motion again - just less intense.
The next morning everyone was talking about it. The news, friends, strangers. People I'd never met before would say "good mornin'! How'd you like that earthquake last night??" I found out that the epicenter near the island of Roatan off the coast of Honduras and was measured at a 7.1. I hear that Belize's quake measured in the 5 range. I don't know how accurate that information is though since I have not heard about it in the news yet.
Meanwhile I'm still processing the events that took place last night. I felt the earth move. How powerful. Mother Nature has a mind of it's own and we have no other choice but to succumb to it's desires. We're so small, defenseless, and helpless when it comes to Mother Nature's almighty and commanding plan. The experience was terrifying and yet, somewhat humbling at the same time.
It was a little before 2:30am and I was suddenly awakened by a weird feeling that my bed was moving. It was a smooth, swaying motion and felt as if I was in the middle of the ocean. Trying to snap out of my dreaming/waking stupor, I quickly realized that this wasn't a dream, it was most definitely an earthquake I was experiencing. I always assumed earthquakes were quick jolts and lots of shaking but it wasn't like that at all. It felt as if I were in the middle of the ocean with high, thick, rapid waves. As the waves became more intense my bed began to move to the center of the room. Scared, not knowing what to do, I jumped out of bed. I heard a loud crash in the bathroom and discovered the tiles had fallen off the wall and shattered on the floor. I walked into the kitchen barely keeping my stance. I felt I was in some kind of lucid dreaming state and could barely keep my composure as the rocking became more intense. I looked over at my shelves and felt relieved my dining-ware hadn't fallen and broken. I felt my heart beating through my chest and I questioned whether I should hide under the bed. As I made my way back to my room the earthquake settled and I paced back and forth for a while - partly because the adrenaline had completely taken over my body and partly because I didn't know what else to do. I finally went back to bed. I woke up two more time during the night from aftershock waves, moving my bed in a swaying motion again - just less intense.
The next morning everyone was talking about it. The news, friends, strangers. People I'd never met before would say "good mornin'! How'd you like that earthquake last night??" I found out that the epicenter near the island of Roatan off the coast of Honduras and was measured at a 7.1. I hear that Belize's quake measured in the 5 range. I don't know how accurate that information is though since I have not heard about it in the news yet.
Meanwhile I'm still processing the events that took place last night. I felt the earth move. How powerful. Mother Nature has a mind of it's own and we have no other choice but to succumb to it's desires. We're so small, defenseless, and helpless when it comes to Mother Nature's almighty and commanding plan. The experience was terrifying and yet, somewhat humbling at the same time.
Sovereign's Day Travel
Last Sunday and Monday I took advantage of the holiday weekend to do some sightseeing around Belize. Myself and a few other volunteers made our way west to the Mayan Ruin Xunantunich (shoo-naan-to-neech) and then down south to the Blue Hole National Park (the one on the mainland).
Xunantunich
We started in Belmopan taking the bus down the Western Highway to San Ignacio. The Western Highway is quickly becoming one of my favorite roads to travel. There are many small Mestizo and Mayan villages along the stretch including Camalote, Teakettle, Ontario, and the mennonite community of Spanish Lookout. These small villages usually consist of one primary school, one or two churches, some chinee shops, and plenty of chickens and dogs running around on their own free will. What I love most about the Western Highway is the mountainous scenery and rolling hills of the Cayo District. Cayo is filled with lush jungle (just like the rest of Belize) however it is also home to piney woods and red clay that give me that old nostalgic feeling of the Pisgah National forest in North Carolina. There are also plenty of citrus groves, cattle ranches and agroforestry projects that keep my eyes captivated by life's simple pleasures.
Once we passed San Ignacio, we made our 15 minute trip to the small village of San Jose Succotz where we crossed a river by a hand-cranked ferry. 1 mile walk in and we made it to the site. Even though little is known about Xunantunich, it is believed to have been a very important ceremonial center for the Mayans. Xuanatunich consists of 3 plazas, a ball court, and the 130ft tall El Castillo temple. Even today, El Castillo stands as the second tallest human built structure in Belize. At the top of this temple is a 360 degree view of the Mopan River Valley and into Guatemala. It was the first Mayan temple I've ever seen and it will surely not be my last. What I love most about the site is the spirit of the place. It's not something you can feel from looking at pictures; only from the experience of seeing and touching these magnificent structures. You get there and something comes over you. A sense of awe, overwhelming respect for the nature of living history, the beauty of the art of life. As you tour through the sites your mind wanders as you try to paint a picture in your head of exactly how the plazas were used. I could see the crowds in the stands watching the football game; or the people working diligently on stone carvings; or the thousands of Mayans gathered around El Castillo making sacrifices to the gods. The site was said to be abandoned around 850A.D. due to an earthquake.
After a few hours wandering around Xunantunich, we made our way back to San Ignacio where we ate the largest $4bz burritos I've ever laid my eyes on at a small hidden restaurant called Eagle's landing.
Blue Hole National Park
The next day we took an early morning trip from Belmopan on the Hummingbird Hwy to the Blue Hole (about 15 minutes). After a 20 minute hike through the lush jungle we came to the Blue Hole which is a clear pool that was created as mountain streams rose to fill a sinkhole before flowing off back into the earth and eventually into the Sibun river. The limestone surrounding the hole is what gives the clear water it's blue hue. The water was cool and refreshing. A nice way to relax after hiking in the swealtering heat Belize is experiencing right now.
Xunantunich
We started in Belmopan taking the bus down the Western Highway to San Ignacio. The Western Highway is quickly becoming one of my favorite roads to travel. There are many small Mestizo and Mayan villages along the stretch including Camalote, Teakettle, Ontario, and the mennonite community of Spanish Lookout. These small villages usually consist of one primary school, one or two churches, some chinee shops, and plenty of chickens and dogs running around on their own free will. What I love most about the Western Highway is the mountainous scenery and rolling hills of the Cayo District. Cayo is filled with lush jungle (just like the rest of Belize) however it is also home to piney woods and red clay that give me that old nostalgic feeling of the Pisgah National forest in North Carolina. There are also plenty of citrus groves, cattle ranches and agroforestry projects that keep my eyes captivated by life's simple pleasures.
Once we passed San Ignacio, we made our 15 minute trip to the small village of San Jose Succotz where we crossed a river by a hand-cranked ferry. 1 mile walk in and we made it to the site. Even though little is known about Xunantunich, it is believed to have been a very important ceremonial center for the Mayans. Xuanatunich consists of 3 plazas, a ball court, and the 130ft tall El Castillo temple. Even today, El Castillo stands as the second tallest human built structure in Belize. At the top of this temple is a 360 degree view of the Mopan River Valley and into Guatemala. It was the first Mayan temple I've ever seen and it will surely not be my last. What I love most about the site is the spirit of the place. It's not something you can feel from looking at pictures; only from the experience of seeing and touching these magnificent structures. You get there and something comes over you. A sense of awe, overwhelming respect for the nature of living history, the beauty of the art of life. As you tour through the sites your mind wanders as you try to paint a picture in your head of exactly how the plazas were used. I could see the crowds in the stands watching the football game; or the people working diligently on stone carvings; or the thousands of Mayans gathered around El Castillo making sacrifices to the gods. The site was said to be abandoned around 850A.D. due to an earthquake.
After a few hours wandering around Xunantunich, we made our way back to San Ignacio where we ate the largest $4bz burritos I've ever laid my eyes on at a small hidden restaurant called Eagle's landing.
Blue Hole National Park
The next day we took an early morning trip from Belmopan on the Hummingbird Hwy to the Blue Hole (about 15 minutes). After a 20 minute hike through the lush jungle we came to the Blue Hole which is a clear pool that was created as mountain streams rose to fill a sinkhole before flowing off back into the earth and eventually into the Sibun river. The limestone surrounding the hole is what gives the clear water it's blue hue. The water was cool and refreshing. A nice way to relax after hiking in the swealtering heat Belize is experiencing right now.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Passerbys
"Upon those who step into the same river, different and again different waters flow"
- Heraclitus
I recently spent two weeks at a hotel on the beach during my transition to new living quarters. Thankfully Peace Corps paid for the whole stay and they couldn't have been more supportive of my situation. I stayed at a place called Pal's guesthouse and the owner, Clement, was nice enough to give me a room with an ocean view and a private balcony (on an extremely discounted rate). I woke up every morning to the sun rising over the ocean's horizon. Gorgeous. My balcony felt like my own little hideout, away from everyone but still in the thick of things. I sat out there and read a lot, or just sat there a soaked up the beauty of the world. During this time I noticed so many types of people using this one piece of land for different purposes. I found it beautiful in a way. This same piece of land intertwined in the paths of so many different lives, used in various ways. I jotted down a few of my observations:
The Old Man and the Sea
A man, 50 or so, sitting in his old dory. The sunlight bounces off a shiny object in his hands, blinding me for a quick second. The object comes down hard on a wooden plank in the middle of his boat. He's cleaning his catch-of-the-day while four pelicans wait patiently for scraps. When bones are finally thrown behind his back into the air the pelicans reach their enormous beaks into the air, flapping their wings frantically for a piece of this old man's trash. He bails a few buckets of water that had gathered in his dory during his break. He re-situates himself back into his seat and starts paddling again, disappearing around the corner.
Sundays
Sunday are family days. No one works. You may find a few shops open in the morning for a few hours but never past 12pm. Sundays in Dangriga are reserved for families to do nothing but enjoy each other's company while eating enough food to feed a small country for the month. Sundays are a day for the beach. Families come to my little nook on the beach with their 10 kids and dogs. Lounging, playing in the water, laughing.The kids are swimming in the ocean with their clothes on as they usually do. The boys form a triangle and are throwing a rock between them. Someone is carrying a pot of rice to cookout on the beach as the sun sets. How very American with a Belizean twist. They spend all day there in the water for hours at a time.
Tourists
Two women from America. Cute and stalky. Strong in demeanor. They're laying on the beach in the sun for hours like any good tourist would do. They've set up an umbrella which I've never seen anyone in Dangriga do. I don't think anyone owns a beach umbrella. That's what the palm trees are for I suppose. They're on their phones (like any good tourist) doing business. One of the women is leaving a message on someone's voicemail. Threatening. Insisting on receiving an email that day. I suddenly feel like I'm spying and go inside to pick up my book where I left off (The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver).
The Morning Crew
Children before school. I don't know if they're bathing or just plain having fun at the break of dawn. The physically fit come out to play as well. Some with intense workout routines, some leisurely pacing themselves. The older generation wears the whitest clothes I've ever seen. White baseball caps, white t-shirts, white shorts, white socks, white shoes. Sometimes you'll find a stripe or two on their shorts or a Nike check on their shirt. They look fresh out of the package every morning. I must find their secret. My neighbor (for two weeks) Jorge for Germany. I've seen him jump in and out of the ocean so fast it's as if he were replacing his morning coffee jolt with the refreshing sting of the ocean water to wake him up and start his day.
The Clean up Crew
Belizeans take great care of their beaches. Every morning there is a man, the same man, with his wheel-barrow and rake. He rakes up anything that has washed up onto the shore over night. He's very good at what he does, making the straightest lines possible with his rake. Not a leaf of seaweed in sight or a shell nearby. Every morning. Everything is clean and organized.
- Heraclitus
I recently spent two weeks at a hotel on the beach during my transition to new living quarters. Thankfully Peace Corps paid for the whole stay and they couldn't have been more supportive of my situation. I stayed at a place called Pal's guesthouse and the owner, Clement, was nice enough to give me a room with an ocean view and a private balcony (on an extremely discounted rate). I woke up every morning to the sun rising over the ocean's horizon. Gorgeous. My balcony felt like my own little hideout, away from everyone but still in the thick of things. I sat out there and read a lot, or just sat there a soaked up the beauty of the world. During this time I noticed so many types of people using this one piece of land for different purposes. I found it beautiful in a way. This same piece of land intertwined in the paths of so many different lives, used in various ways. I jotted down a few of my observations:
The Old Man and the Sea
A man, 50 or so, sitting in his old dory. The sunlight bounces off a shiny object in his hands, blinding me for a quick second. The object comes down hard on a wooden plank in the middle of his boat. He's cleaning his catch-of-the-day while four pelicans wait patiently for scraps. When bones are finally thrown behind his back into the air the pelicans reach their enormous beaks into the air, flapping their wings frantically for a piece of this old man's trash. He bails a few buckets of water that had gathered in his dory during his break. He re-situates himself back into his seat and starts paddling again, disappearing around the corner.
Sundays
Sunday are family days. No one works. You may find a few shops open in the morning for a few hours but never past 12pm. Sundays in Dangriga are reserved for families to do nothing but enjoy each other's company while eating enough food to feed a small country for the month. Sundays are a day for the beach. Families come to my little nook on the beach with their 10 kids and dogs. Lounging, playing in the water, laughing.The kids are swimming in the ocean with their clothes on as they usually do. The boys form a triangle and are throwing a rock between them. Someone is carrying a pot of rice to cookout on the beach as the sun sets. How very American with a Belizean twist. They spend all day there in the water for hours at a time.
Tourists
Two women from America. Cute and stalky. Strong in demeanor. They're laying on the beach in the sun for hours like any good tourist would do. They've set up an umbrella which I've never seen anyone in Dangriga do. I don't think anyone owns a beach umbrella. That's what the palm trees are for I suppose. They're on their phones (like any good tourist) doing business. One of the women is leaving a message on someone's voicemail. Threatening. Insisting on receiving an email that day. I suddenly feel like I'm spying and go inside to pick up my book where I left off (The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver).
The Morning Crew
Children before school. I don't know if they're bathing or just plain having fun at the break of dawn. The physically fit come out to play as well. Some with intense workout routines, some leisurely pacing themselves. The older generation wears the whitest clothes I've ever seen. White baseball caps, white t-shirts, white shorts, white socks, white shoes. Sometimes you'll find a stripe or two on their shorts or a Nike check on their shirt. They look fresh out of the package every morning. I must find their secret. My neighbor (for two weeks) Jorge for Germany. I've seen him jump in and out of the ocean so fast it's as if he were replacing his morning coffee jolt with the refreshing sting of the ocean water to wake him up and start his day.
The Clean up Crew
Belizeans take great care of their beaches. Every morning there is a man, the same man, with his wheel-barrow and rake. He rakes up anything that has washed up onto the shore over night. He's very good at what he does, making the straightest lines possible with his rake. Not a leaf of seaweed in sight or a shell nearby. Every morning. Everything is clean and organized.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Crushed Spirit
I have had a pretty difficult past few months, thus, the absence of my blog entries. It's much more fun to write about the good stuff, right? Well my reappearance doesn't necessarily signify a return to happier days, but more on the realization that my life here must be documented for myself, and my family and friends, no matter what the circumstance.
I think the main source of my recent difficulties has been the product of what I call a crushed spirit. What does a crushed spirit look like? To me, hopelessness, discouragement, fear, confusion, and most of all, disappointment. A crushed spirit. It embodies all feelings that conjure up the word "can't" into one's everyday vocabulary. "Can't" is a dangerous word and I'm doing everything in my power to rid of it.
One negative occurence piles on top of another, day and day. I've been let down too many times than I can count. I've been told these issues I'm dealing with is part of the Belizean culture. They told me adjusting to life here would be hard. But, man....it's hard.
The weight on my shoulders pounds me into the ground so hard my feet feel planted there forever. No more forward steps. No more growth.
Homeless. Due to security issues I was forced to move out of my house that I was beginning to love so much. That happened in the beginning of March. I lived with other volunteers for a while and for the past two weeks I've been living in a hotel. I'm moving into my new place tomorrow. I'm excited to finally have a place to call my own. Home. I never realized the importance of home - wherever it may be. The place where you are rooted, where your life revolves around. People have many ways of defining what home is to them. I've heared people say "home is where your stuff is", but i beg to differ. To me, I've realized home really is where the heart is. Where your life and love is. Where your connections are and familiar surroundings are. It dawned on me the other day something a Peace Corps staff member said to me in the midst of my homelessness that helped me peer out of my deep hole I had been digging myself. He talked about the importance of finding something or someone in my community to, not only connect with, but to love. To keep my eyes open and once there's even the littlest connection, grab it, hold on to it, nurture it, learn from it, love it. Find that foundation, that root, and grow from there.
I have to admit, in my moments of quiet despair, the thought crosses my mind, wondering if this experience is right for me. I end up fantasizing about seeing my family, my friends, having endless food options, driving, enojying the American pace of life - going back to the life I had. Sure, I could do that. But what would be the point? Am I going to run every time something gets hard? That's not why I came here. One of my amazing friends back in the States reminded me to revisit my intentions of coming here. To branch out, to find new meanings in life, to help others in need, to face my challenges and become a stronger person. Yes, indeed. Those are my intentions. I've decided it is not a wise decision to work one's way out of hardships but rather, work through them.
I recently read a book titled "Love and Butterflys." It's numerous journals entries of a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ghana and the lessons she learned through her experience. At the end of this exerpt, I smiled. The same lessons are being leared everywhere.
" I slowly walked the three miles home that day and thought long and hard about poverty. when I finally reached home my perfect, neautiful, rich, blessed, and exhausted body crashed on the bed... and I felt sad and alone. I thought about poverty that comes in the form of sickness, hunger, and oppression, and about the kind of poverty that surrounded us not only in Ghana, but also everywhere else in the world. This is a poverty that is harder to see; the dibilitating kind that comes from within. It is the poverty of spirit that clouds our vision so that we see only what we don't have, what we can't be, and those who we think are better off than us. It is the poverty of character that makes people agonize about what they are not getting, instead of what they are failing to give. It is the poverty of mind that makes us think that the answer is somewhere 'out there', instead of realizing that it is within each of us. If we could all wake tomorrow morning and choose happiness; if we could embrace our place in the world, yet always strive to realize our dreams; if we could feel blessed with what we have, yet have faith in our limitless potential; if we could commit to love and understanding and compassion... then I think we could change the world after all.
We can fight poverty, but we don't have to travel halfway around the world to do it. We just have to start with ourrselves, and let it grow."
- Taylor Mclean "Love and Butterflies - A Collection of Memories"
I think the main source of my recent difficulties has been the product of what I call a crushed spirit. What does a crushed spirit look like? To me, hopelessness, discouragement, fear, confusion, and most of all, disappointment. A crushed spirit. It embodies all feelings that conjure up the word "can't" into one's everyday vocabulary. "Can't" is a dangerous word and I'm doing everything in my power to rid of it.
One negative occurence piles on top of another, day and day. I've been let down too many times than I can count. I've been told these issues I'm dealing with is part of the Belizean culture. They told me adjusting to life here would be hard. But, man....it's hard.
The weight on my shoulders pounds me into the ground so hard my feet feel planted there forever. No more forward steps. No more growth.
Homeless. Due to security issues I was forced to move out of my house that I was beginning to love so much. That happened in the beginning of March. I lived with other volunteers for a while and for the past two weeks I've been living in a hotel. I'm moving into my new place tomorrow. I'm excited to finally have a place to call my own. Home. I never realized the importance of home - wherever it may be. The place where you are rooted, where your life revolves around. People have many ways of defining what home is to them. I've heared people say "home is where your stuff is", but i beg to differ. To me, I've realized home really is where the heart is. Where your life and love is. Where your connections are and familiar surroundings are. It dawned on me the other day something a Peace Corps staff member said to me in the midst of my homelessness that helped me peer out of my deep hole I had been digging myself. He talked about the importance of finding something or someone in my community to, not only connect with, but to love. To keep my eyes open and once there's even the littlest connection, grab it, hold on to it, nurture it, learn from it, love it. Find that foundation, that root, and grow from there.
I have to admit, in my moments of quiet despair, the thought crosses my mind, wondering if this experience is right for me. I end up fantasizing about seeing my family, my friends, having endless food options, driving, enojying the American pace of life - going back to the life I had. Sure, I could do that. But what would be the point? Am I going to run every time something gets hard? That's not why I came here. One of my amazing friends back in the States reminded me to revisit my intentions of coming here. To branch out, to find new meanings in life, to help others in need, to face my challenges and become a stronger person. Yes, indeed. Those are my intentions. I've decided it is not a wise decision to work one's way out of hardships but rather, work through them.
I recently read a book titled "Love and Butterflys." It's numerous journals entries of a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ghana and the lessons she learned through her experience. At the end of this exerpt, I smiled. The same lessons are being leared everywhere.
" I slowly walked the three miles home that day and thought long and hard about poverty. when I finally reached home my perfect, neautiful, rich, blessed, and exhausted body crashed on the bed... and I felt sad and alone. I thought about poverty that comes in the form of sickness, hunger, and oppression, and about the kind of poverty that surrounded us not only in Ghana, but also everywhere else in the world. This is a poverty that is harder to see; the dibilitating kind that comes from within. It is the poverty of spirit that clouds our vision so that we see only what we don't have, what we can't be, and those who we think are better off than us. It is the poverty of character that makes people agonize about what they are not getting, instead of what they are failing to give. It is the poverty of mind that makes us think that the answer is somewhere 'out there', instead of realizing that it is within each of us. If we could all wake tomorrow morning and choose happiness; if we could embrace our place in the world, yet always strive to realize our dreams; if we could feel blessed with what we have, yet have faith in our limitless potential; if we could commit to love and understanding and compassion... then I think we could change the world after all.
We can fight poverty, but we don't have to travel halfway around the world to do it. We just have to start with ourrselves, and let it grow."
- Taylor Mclean "Love and Butterflies - A Collection of Memories"
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
"One of the intangible legacies the Shakers left to the world is their demonstration that it is possible for man to create the environment and the way of life he wants, if he wants it enough. Man can choose.
The Shakers were practical idealists. They did not dream vaguely of conditions they would like to see realized; they went to work to make these conditions an actuality. They wasted no time in raging against competitive society, or in complaining bitterly they they had no power to change it; instead they built a domain of their own, where they could arrange their lives to their liking."
- Marguerite Fellows Melcher
The Shaker Venture
The Shakers were practical idealists. They did not dream vaguely of conditions they would like to see realized; they went to work to make these conditions an actuality. They wasted no time in raging against competitive society, or in complaining bitterly they they had no power to change it; instead they built a domain of their own, where they could arrange their lives to their liking."
- Marguerite Fellows Melcher
The Shaker Venture
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