Grappling
Cycles, cycles. A child cries two stories below this Quetzaltenango apartment as I gaze out the bedroom window across the tin rooftops spanning the horizon-- a boy riding his bicycle there, clothes drying in the breeze over there. Rolling hills stand guard in the distance as I grab hold of my racing heart.
Six Carpe Diem students and myself have been engaged in one-on-one Spanish classes throughout the week in this southwestern department of Guatemala. My 27-year old teacher has brought this old, narrow cobblestreeted city alive for me by sharing stories through her lens—meandering through town to where her parents fell in love over hot chocolate and Holy Week bread; a Mennonite bakery and then an outdoor market where she helps me find three herbs- hierba buena, limoncillo, and sabia santa- to soothe my parasite-ridden gut; a visit to the cemetery where my teacher is reminded of the kidnap and murder of an old girlfriend, and where I´m invited to graffiti the tomb of a broken-hearted Vanushca who will grant my wishes for love.
Today, after flipping through pictures of my teacher´s two year-old son during morning session, two of my Carpe Diem students and our teachers came together to watch Voces Inocentes. Through the life of an 11 year-old boy, the movie depicts the agony of the twelve year-long civil war in El Salvador (1980-1992)… the violence between the national military, equipped and trained by the US and its tax dollars, and the guerrilla, fighting for a society with more equitable distribution of resources… and the innocent lives caught in the crossfire.
This was my second viewing, and hotter than tears, I burned anger and annoyance born out of how small-minded we can be—to get so carried away with the greed, power, weaponry, bloodshed. What waste. Seems so blaringly obvious how childish it all is, this minority of men and their games, that my head heavily shakes and eyes roll up in exhaustion.
From the video room, I briefly hop onto email and read a message from home. Worlds collide as my eyes roll over mom´s message about the Catholic Church in Flagstaff and their advice to undocumented families: have your documents in order and identify someone you trust to take care of your kids in case of deportation. Again, innocents suffering in the mucky gap between economies and psychologies ripped apart by war and global economics of free trade agreements and the promise of the multiplying power of the US dollar.
And in mom´s email as well, she relays her conversation with a friend who laments the brutalities of the narcotraffic war in Mexico, creating layers of fear, mistrust and innocent bloodshed which is also rippling down through Guatemala, every day more present and generative of the same tired and exasperated look of worried mothers.
Documentaries tend to depict these instances of civil war as slices of history come to an end—¨a 12-year civil war¨ but hmm, how blurry those lines become, how quickly they curve into themselves to become but cycles of the same ego-consumed war games that destroy potentials of young lives to grow, explore and experience.
As in Voces Inocentes, in this budding millennium there are intermittently so many uplifting moments of music, laughter, connection, creativity and choosing of peaceful resolution over violence… aka ´cycle transformers´. Our Carpe Diem team of eight seekers sat down for two and half hours last night over cups of thick hot chocolate to discuss our journeys of self-awareness and self-growth after countless adventures over the past month that have pushed each one far beyond his or her comfort zone… and in these priceless moments I saw faces of bliss and heard words of ¨wow, this never happens… why can´t people speak with each other more often with such authenticity about our deeper experiences of living?¨ These cycle-transforming moments create great torrents of energy… I pray for wisdom to thoughtfully, humbly and gently move into spaces inclined toward this… knowing you all, my friends,—my breath and body—, are budging the current similarly.
With you,
Six Carpe Diem students and myself have been engaged in one-on-one Spanish classes throughout the week in this southwestern department of Guatemala. My 27-year old teacher has brought this old, narrow cobblestreeted city alive for me by sharing stories through her lens—meandering through town to where her parents fell in love over hot chocolate and Holy Week bread; a Mennonite bakery and then an outdoor market where she helps me find three herbs- hierba buena, limoncillo, and sabia santa- to soothe my parasite-ridden gut; a visit to the cemetery where my teacher is reminded of the kidnap and murder of an old girlfriend, and where I´m invited to graffiti the tomb of a broken-hearted Vanushca who will grant my wishes for love.
Today, after flipping through pictures of my teacher´s two year-old son during morning session, two of my Carpe Diem students and our teachers came together to watch Voces Inocentes. Through the life of an 11 year-old boy, the movie depicts the agony of the twelve year-long civil war in El Salvador (1980-1992)… the violence between the national military, equipped and trained by the US and its tax dollars, and the guerrilla, fighting for a society with more equitable distribution of resources… and the innocent lives caught in the crossfire.
This was my second viewing, and hotter than tears, I burned anger and annoyance born out of how small-minded we can be—to get so carried away with the greed, power, weaponry, bloodshed. What waste. Seems so blaringly obvious how childish it all is, this minority of men and their games, that my head heavily shakes and eyes roll up in exhaustion.
From the video room, I briefly hop onto email and read a message from home. Worlds collide as my eyes roll over mom´s message about the Catholic Church in Flagstaff and their advice to undocumented families: have your documents in order and identify someone you trust to take care of your kids in case of deportation. Again, innocents suffering in the mucky gap between economies and psychologies ripped apart by war and global economics of free trade agreements and the promise of the multiplying power of the US dollar.
And in mom´s email as well, she relays her conversation with a friend who laments the brutalities of the narcotraffic war in Mexico, creating layers of fear, mistrust and innocent bloodshed which is also rippling down through Guatemala, every day more present and generative of the same tired and exasperated look of worried mothers.
Documentaries tend to depict these instances of civil war as slices of history come to an end—¨a 12-year civil war¨ but hmm, how blurry those lines become, how quickly they curve into themselves to become but cycles of the same ego-consumed war games that destroy potentials of young lives to grow, explore and experience.
As in Voces Inocentes, in this budding millennium there are intermittently so many uplifting moments of music, laughter, connection, creativity and choosing of peaceful resolution over violence… aka ´cycle transformers´. Our Carpe Diem team of eight seekers sat down for two and half hours last night over cups of thick hot chocolate to discuss our journeys of self-awareness and self-growth after countless adventures over the past month that have pushed each one far beyond his or her comfort zone… and in these priceless moments I saw faces of bliss and heard words of ¨wow, this never happens… why can´t people speak with each other more often with such authenticity about our deeper experiences of living?¨ These cycle-transforming moments create great torrents of energy… I pray for wisdom to thoughtfully, humbly and gently move into spaces inclined toward this… knowing you all, my friends,—my breath and body—, are budging the current similarly.
With you,
posted by Amanda Joy at 4:40 PM
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