New Earth

2006-07-18T16:29:00.000-07:00

life lives in dying

2006-02-15T21:32:00.000-08:00

i can't hear your truth. i can only hear mine.

and all it says is i'm not worth your care or your thoughts or your time or your way that's real and authentic and more refreshing than rain that falls when there's sun. all i hear is not good enough, too late, should have, would have if you did. and i hear this often and i hear this loud.

i wish you'd just speak louder, but look at me. now i'm blaming you the way my voices do. i hear your mumblings but they are nothings to the screamings, the poundings, the hazings, the silencing stares of me looking back at me. i want to sit in your quiet presence and feel your way. your truth. your life.

to feel my belovedness.

but i don't know how. i want it. i desire it. i lust for it. or do i? perhaps i prefer my self-contained state. perhaps i'd prefer to think that this all stops at me. the world is flat. there's nothing else to see. somedays it's this way, i'll admit.

but i know that my longing has not been short. i know that life lives in dying. i know that forgetting self is how one finds. i know these things in my head. now it's time they go to the heart.

let's forget the former things

2006-02-03T11:33:00.000-08:00

After feeling so cynical about this earth, I'd like to share God's (and my) vision for a new one.

ISAIAH 65:

17 "Behold, I will create
new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
nor will they come to mind.

18 But be glad and rejoice forever
in what I will create,
for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight
and its people a joy.

19 I will rejoice over Jerusalem
and take delight in my people;
the sound of weeping and of crying
will be heard in it no more.

20 "Never again will there be in it
an infant who lives but a few days,
or an old man who does not live out his years;
he who dies at a hundred
will be thought a mere youth;
he who fails to reach [a] a hundred
will be considered accursed.

21 They will build houses and dwell in them;
they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit.

22 No longer will they build houses and others live in them,
or plant and others eat.
For as the days of a tree,
so will be the days of my people;
my chosen ones will long enjoy
the works of their hands.

23 They will not toil in vain
or bear children doomed to misfortune;
for they will be a people blessed by the LORD,
they and their descendants with them.

24 Before they call I will answer;
while they are still speaking I will hear.

25 The wolf and the lamb will feed together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox,
but dust will be the serpent's food.
They will neither harm nor destroy
on all my holy mountain,"
says the LORD.

disgruntlings

2006-02-02T22:28:00.000-08:00

I read an article today about Bono's address at the National Prayer Breakfast where he said God "would not accept" our unfair trade restrictions and our withholding lifesaving medicines from people in Africa. Bush's comments: “The thing about this good citizen of the world is he’s used his position to get things done,” Bush said. “You’re an amazing guy, Bono. God bless you.”

That's it? Um, excuse me... but You're the most powerful man on earth. Perhaps You could use Your position to get things done. You know, like putting Yourself out there for others? And I'm not talking Your oil buddies. But care about others. Just a little. Bit.

I'm feeling cynical (where's my vodka) and somehow feel like capitalizing Bush's pronouns as one would Jesus'.

I missed the State of the Union the other night as I was drinking and playing lively rounds of dominoes at a bar down the street. So I decided tonight would be a good time to get reacquainted with my sorry little president (not that I want to claim him) and our egotistical nation. Basically, what happens now, is, I give you a quote, then make a scarcastic, off the cuff comment generally in the form of a question. Let's play!

--------------------

We will choose to build our prosperity by leading the world economy -- or shut ourselves off from trade and opportunity.

How could we get shut out? We're the ones who write the rules.

--------------------

Every step toward freedom in the world makes our country safer.

Not when you're stepping through a minefield.

--------------------

At the start of 2006, more than half the people of our world live in democratic nations.

And the other half live in complete poverty and squalor at the hands of the democratic nations' practices.

--------------------

No one can deny the success of freedom, but some men rage and fight against it.

Is he still pulling this "freedom-hating" crap?

--------------------

Lacking the military strength to challenge us directly, the terrorists have chosen the weapon of fear.

Really, I thought that was the weapon of our media?

--------------------

The terrorists hope these horrors will break our will, allowing the violent to inherit the Earth.

No, he di-unt.

--------------------

Once again, we accept the call of history to deliver the oppressed and move this world toward peace. We remain on the offensive against terror networks. We have killed or captured many of their leaders -- and for the others, their day will come.

Firstly, how can he talk about peace and killing people in nearly succeeding sentences. Secondly, how can we deliver the oppressed while we're also the ones engaged in oppressing?

--------------------

Iraqis are showing their courage every day, and we are proud to be their allies in the cause of freedom.

And oil.

--------------------

With so much in the balance, those of us in public office have a duty to speak with candor

Awww... Did someone use a big word?

--------------------

...our nation has only one option: We must keep our word...

Hold it right there. We must keep our word? Like the promise our nation made to give .7% of our GNP to worldwide development assistance? You know, that promise we made 36 long years ago? Yet we're still only giving .15% to poor countries. That's a huge pile of shit, folks. Our word is a huge pile of elephant shit.

--------------------

And our nation hopes one day to be the closest of friends with a free and democratic Iran.

Who's your daddy?

--------------------

We show compassion abroad because Americans believe in the God-given dignity and worth of a villager with HIV/AIDS, or an infant with malaria, or a refugee fleeing genocide, or a young girl sold into slavery. We also show compassion abroad because regions overwhelmed by poverty, corruption, and despair are sources of terrorism, and organized crime, and human trafficking, and the drug trade.

I think that our compassion and dignity for human life should be so great that we shouldn't have to add an "also" about terrorism.

--------------------

We will build the prosperity of our country by strengthening our economic leadership in the world.

I only got a C in economics (my worst grade ever - yes I'm a nerd), but I recall learning about the idea of there being only a constant amount of wealth and power in the world, and for one person, entity, or country to get more, it is always at the expense of another. To talk of our prosperity and increasing wealth does not correspond in my mind with the compassion Bush claims we'll show abroad.

--------------------

In the last five years, the tax relief you passed has left $880 billion in the hands of...

The rich. Okay, that was too easy. I could have been much more clever. But I'm tired.

--------------------

Keeping America competitive requires us to open more markets for all that Americans make and grow. One out of every five factory jobs in America is related to global trade, and we want people everywhere to buy American. With open markets and a level playing field, no one can out-produce or out-compete the American worker.

That f*#@er did not just say that! He's an absolute two-faced hypocrite. Come and get me, CIA.

--------------------

I urge you to support the American Competitiveness Initiative, and together we will show the world what the American people can achieve.

Don't we already have the upper hand?

--------------------

A hopeful society acts boldly to fight diseases like HIV/AIDS, which can be prevented, and treated, and defeated. More than a million Americans live with HIV, and half of all AIDS cases occur among African Americans. I ask Congress to reform and reauthorize the Ryan White Act, and provide new funding to states, so we end the waiting lists for AIDS medicines in America.

Ahem. Weren't you the one to cut this funding at this SAME time last year? Let's not forget that there are also 39 million other people in the world with HIV/AIDS too. Let's not forget.

--------------------

Lincoln could have accepted peace at the cost of disunity and continued slavery. Martin Luther King could have stopped at Birmingham or at Selma, and achieved only half a victory over segregation. The United States could have accepted the permanent division of Europe, and been complicit in the oppression of others. Today, having come far in our own historical journey, we must decide: Will we turn back, or finish well?

Did he just put himself in the same category as a great emancipator and liberator of human rights? Egotistical bastard.

--------------------

Well, that's my rant. I hope it makes sense on digital paper.

woman who cannot rest

2006-02-01T22:36:00.000-08:00

I'm restless. The antithesis of rest more. And yet, the time of day tells me I should do more resting than not. (Why do I always forget to order decaf?)

Almost exactly one year ago I was getting restless for the very reason I cannot rest tonight. The UNAIDS year-end report. It confided in me that 5 million new people were infected with HIV last year. It said that women with little or no income were most at risk, and that their own marriage and fidelity were not enough to protect them against the ravaging AIDS virus. The report mocked me, saying that wealthy countries were no longer the only places where people could have a reasonable chance of receiving ARVs - saying that 80% of people needing drugs in Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Cuba had access. But over 60% of the world's 40 million AIDS cases are in Africa, where only 1 in 10 have access to drugs, at best. At best?

Hmphh...

It said that Zimbabwe's incredibly high HIV rates were slightly beginning to decline, but actions like President Mugabe displacing several hundred thousand people from their homes in the slums could likely reverse these promising trends. It told me that in KwaZulu-Natal, 40% of women aged 20-24 are infected with HIV. Forty percent.

I am 24.

I am a woman.

I am an American citizen (white, at that).

I am a 24 year old, white, American woman who cannot rest.

Not until something changes. Not until life is valued. Not until people are no longer judged by the color of their skin. Not until the world cares. Not until I make people care.

How will I do this? Well... I'm open to suggestions. But one thing is certain: I can't just wait for Dave to become president.

one of the broken, one of the beloved

2006-01-30T00:16:00.000-08:00

photo by me, Malawi

becoming the beloved

2006-01-29T23:56:00.000-08:00

From Henri Nouwen's The Life of the Beloved:

Taken. Blessed. Broken. Given.
....these four words have become the most important words of my life. Only gradually has their meaning become known to me, and I feel that I won't ever know their full profundity. They are the most personal as well as the most universal words. They express the most spiritual as well as the most secular truth. They speak about the most divine as well as the most human behavior. They reach high as well as low, embrace God as well as people. They succinctly express the complexity of life and embrace its ever-unfolding mystery. They are the keys to understanding the life of Jesus of Nazareth, but also our own lives. I have chosen them not only because they are so deeply engraved in my being, but also because, through them, I have come into touch with the ways of becoming the Beloved of God.

***

Everything changes radically from the moment you know yourself as being sent into this world. Times and spaces, people and events, art and literature, history and science, they all cease to be opaque and become transparent, pointing far beyond themselves to the place from where you came and to where you will return. It is very hard for me to explain to you this radical change because it is a change that cannot be described in ordinary terms; nor can it be taught or practiced as a new discipline of self-knowledge. The change of which I speak is the change from living life as a painful test to prove that you deserve to be loved, to living it as an unceasing "Yes" to the truth of that Belovedness. Put simply, life is a God-given opportunity to become who we are, to affirm our own true spiritual nature, claim our truth, appropriate or integrate the reality of our being, but, most of all, to say "Yes" to the One who calls us the Beloved.

in need of rest

2006-01-29T13:43:00.000-08:00

in presence of emptiness and knowledge of nothingness, i trudge towards the end which only begins that which i wish were not beginning. the rains rush to seek soulmates amid white strands as i wait for a speck to play knick-knack on my nose. my old man went rolling home, to a place where savages are civil and crooked white streaks split the sky and show people for what they are.

africa. my soul will ever be restless until it rests in thee.

Irony

2006-01-27T14:14:00.000-08:00

I was almost killed by a pro-lifer on Wednesday. I was driving down a rural part of I-5 (which could basically be any part of the highway) when out of the corner of my eye I saw hundreds of miniature white crosses. I was so focused on trying to figure out what the crosses were for - turns out they represent the number of pregnancies terminated each day in America, that I almost side-swiped the car beside me.

Could you imagine the headlines?

I got it at ______

2006-01-24T16:42:00.000-08:00

Today I was trying to fill my empty void with clothes I couldn't afford, calories I'll never shed, and yards of fabric that will never become the flowing skirts I so vividly picture in my mind. And when I looked around at the other ladies frantically grabbing bargains from my hands and sucking back diet cokes, I couldn't help but wonder what caused the holes in THEIR lives.

Though I walked out of the store with 2 skirts, a blouse, and a shirt that I swore was only $3.99, I feel that I came away with more. Or less, depending on how one looks at it. Either way, I got it at Ross.

Finally

2005-12-03T18:09:00.000-08:00

Well, I've finally decided to add another post to the ol' blog. It's not that I've meant to take such a hiatus, but life has been busy and the internet has always been too distracting. Plus, most of my blogging generally occurs in the middle of the night, and I now have to trudge through ice and rain to reach my computer in the basement. It's just not worth the effort.

Earlier when I was out driving, it felt like a blogging day.

But now it really doesn't. I don't have much to say. And I have to go to the bathroom which is located upstairs. So, thus begins and ends my overdue blog post.

Love Your Mother

2005-09-19T10:29:00.000-07:00

Mother Teresa, that is.

What I would have done to meet this woman when she was alive. She was my inspiration to go to Malawi. In fact, before finding the NGO we chose to work with, I was calling the Missionaries of Charity (her ministry) all over Africa, asking if they needed volunteers. One nun in Cape Town told me they were located in too dangerous a part of the city and recommended we not come.

Mother Teresa said,
"When we recognize that our suffering neighbor is the image of God himself, AND when we understand the consequences of that truth, poverty will no longer exist and we, the Missionaries of Charity, will no longer have any work to do."

Kristin

2005-09-17T01:40:00.000-07:00

You must all go at once to my friend Kristin's blog and check out her amazing photo gallery (particularly the feet category). You'll be glad you did!

http://www.avmi.org/designministry/

A Liberation Theologian

2005-09-12T14:39:00.000-07:00

A woman came up to me at yesterday’s festival, and asked in a thick Spanish accent, “What ees theese globaal poverteee? I'll tell you what eet ees. Eet ees the reech steeeling from the pooooor.” This woman was impassioned like no other. If only her voice could be heard above the crowd, and above Congress in DC. If only we all were listening.

(Note: The poor spelling is only to convey the accent, and not a comment on this woman's speaking ability or intelligence.)

Global Festival

2005-09-12T14:37:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, we had the great joy of participating in Portland's Global Festival. You could not ask for a more glorious day. The park was tree-lined, the weather was breezy, and the music was groovin'. We met lots of great people, particularly young people, who have restored my hope in our generation.

But there's always one.

This one wasn't young, nor was he great. This man, looking as though he just popped out of a book on British colonialism, began describing to me his experience with Peace Corps and his other African travels. I thought we were somewhat on the same page until he said that AIDS was Mother Nature's way of taking care of Africa and it's overpopulation.

So those of you who know me well, know that the instant after my heart stopped it began beating a million times per minute. I calmly (amazing, huh?) but strongly told him that he should be ashamed of himself, and that he would not say such things if he truly knew the severe sorrow, suffering, and deprivation that accompanies this dreadful disease.

He proceeded to say that he felt somewhat sorry for children born with the disease, but that we should place the needs of healthy children over them. I was about to rip our nonprofit's brochure out of his hands and send him on his way, but my husband walked up and said something to the effect of “well we believe that ALL humans have dignity…” My husband engaged this guy for a few minutes more, but I needed to connect with the others that were coming by the booth.

I admit, I had half a mind to pull out my gun and tell Mr. Colonial that our booth was feeling a bit overcrowded… With his logic I’d be completely justified… maybe I’d even be given an award for solving nature’s ills.

Oh, and I almost forgot…Rwanda's genocide? You can give props to Mother Nature for that one too.

Untitled

2005-09-09T02:09:00.000-07:00

heart heavy with love
pulls me low

though i need to rise
on the dark
to a place where
smiles are sincere
and people are human
and life lifts
with the sun's rise

where shadows leave
nothing more than
shelter from the light
that keeps the rain
and me from running
in patterned pools
of tan and brown

where beauty aches
with knowing looks
of age and life and death
that smell of earth
and faithful hope
that shouldn't be
yet is in word

where shoulders rise
and fall in dance
with thoughts that swirl
and choke and pull and leave
me with wants of breath
that speak a voice
more clear than I know

where black is black
and white is rich
with useless things
whose substance knows
no thing of that which goes
unbridled and unceasing
in you and me

Margaret Has HIV

2005-09-02T07:52:00.000-07:00

It was confirmed today, that our Malawian partner, our Malawian mother has HIV. We are not sure how long she's been infected, but can assume it's been for at least one year, as that is the length of time her philandering husband has been dead.

Margaret was unable to bear a child for her husband and her in-laws "advised" he find another woman, which he did. He left Margaret, only to come back to her later. As a Catholic, Margaret did not have room for divorce, and says that the church forced them to get back together. At the time she knew this increased her risk of HIV. She has told us several times of the role the church often plays in the spread of this disease.

Margaret is a strong woman, and I hope she will speak of her status openly as an example for others. She may need to wait for us to return though, so she can have some support.

It feels ever more urgent that we raise our funds quickly, so that we can begin our projects. I am excited to get back and start working, yet am saddened, knowing what the future holds for Margaret and for us being with Margaret.

It's not that I look at Margaret differently now. We knew she was likely infected. But I have to mentally prepare for what's coming.

So, if you pray, be praying for her. Be praying for our funds to come in. Be praying that we don't lose money on this upcoming fundraising tour. And be praying for my growing restlessness.

Thanks.

Tranquility

2005-08-24T15:10:00.000-07:00

Better one handful
with tranquility

than two hands
with toil
and chasing after the wind

2 in the morning

2005-08-23T01:39:00.000-07:00

It's pushing two in the morning here in Portland.

In Malawi, it's nearly lunchtime. Mrs. Malunga has probably just said goodbye to slimy-fingered, runny nosed children leaving the orphan day center she runs out of her home. Kwatha is probably darting from school, with a mischeivious grin, wondering what adventure she can have before making the afternoon nsima. MacDonald is likely wining and dining the heads of the National AIDS Commission to get even more money for his phony projects.

Life goes on.

I've only told my husband and my mother, but there was a time in Malawi when I swore to God. The night is so incredibly vivid in my conscious.

It had been a long day, and I had just bathed and prepared for bed, and was angry when Mrs. Magombo whisked me away and down the dirt road to the ex-magistrate's. I sat in the dimly-lit room of a family that called me to their side to seek advice on health issues. The man, older, a grandfather, was having such difficult pain in his rectum, from piles (we know them as hemmorhoids), and was practically starving himself to avoid the pain of passing his digested food. He needed money to get more treatment, as his condition had not improved from previous treatment (a sign of HIV), and he needed money for transport to a clinic to get his blood tested, as he was too well known in his town.

I don't remember when Caroline came into the room, but I will never forget the drop in my stomach when I saw the spots on her arms. They say you can't tell by looking if someone has HIV. But I can.

I calmly asked about her condition, how long she'd had the rashes and splotches and lip sores and diarrhea and vomiting and weakness and weight loss. It's incredible that a nine-year-old girl could suffer for three years without a single doctor recommending that her blood be tested and that she be put on ARVs.

It was then, politely smiling into her knowing yet unknowing eyes, holding her frail hand, touching her spots, that I made my solemn vow.

Tonight I've been listening to moving African songs and viewing the raw video footage we took in Balaka. And I am overcome with grief, because tonight I realized for the second time that my friends are dying.

And I am powerless.

And not dying in the sense that we're all mortal. But dying in the most inhumane, painful, miserable, lonely and shamed way they could go. GOD! (Sorry, 5 minute violent crying interlude...)

And what am I doing about it? I'm sitting on my ass trying to get over my depression enough to write compelling copy for a newsletter and brochure and video presentation to prove the African plight and the validity of my intentions to help. I hate wasting my time crafting reality into just small enough a dose that the average person can ingest it, feel a few pangs, but not enough to take cyanide and vodka.

Here's what I want to say: People are hungry. People are sick. People are dying. People are lonely. You're rich, comparatively at least. Give me your money, so I can help other people with it.

That's all.

Well, actually, I could say a lot more, and sleep is still a long time in coming, but that's all I can handle to write tonight. Thanks (to all 2 of my readers) for letting me share.

The Jesus of My Day

2005-08-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

If a baby cries alone in the village, does it make a sound?

Not in our world.
Not in our hemisphere.
Not in our country.
Not in our town.
Not in our backyard.

But I can hear it. It's as faint as those of the prophet Isaiah's in church. "Maintain justice," his booming voice echoes to faint mumblings, muted by the padding of the sanctuary chairs, "and do what is right," the whisper calls, "For my salvation is close at hand and my righteousness will soon be revealed."

I don't understand why, but it seems God has tied his hands to justice with the very rope he used to unloose us. And now it's our turn to say, "Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come buy wine and milk without money and without cost."

I love the Jesus of the ancient days. I love the Jesus of Martin Luther King's days. I love the Jesus of my day, who says that his people will inherit a double portion in their land, and everlasting joy will be theirs. And though I don't understand why, and am often angry to the point of cursing about his seeming lack of action, I understand that because he is not here on earth, in the physical, tangible sense, I have the responsibility to carry on his mission.

I must preach good news to the poor.
I must bind up the brokenhearted.
I must proclaim freedom for the captives.
I must release the blind from darkness.
I must proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.

And I must refrain from being a white liberal that cares more to talk about actions than I do to act on them.

Amen.

For My Sweet Caroline

2005-08-05T14:15:00.000-07:00

oh, honey
those spots are just where the fireflies kissed ya, where the horny toad bit ya, where the fire barely missed ya,
so don't you worry your head

oh, honey,
that pain is just from the goat that nearly got ya, from the baobab branch that swat ya, from the cock that came and faught ya,
so don't you worry your head

don't you worry your head

Inheritance

2005-08-05T14:01:00.000-07:00

Her father left her inheritance
A brown wooden box
Not to be opened for some years

When I found her
She was peaking beneath the lid
And I scolded her

And her grandmother said
It's not what you think
She'll be alright

Was her father alright?
Hear my words
She doesn't have long

Her father left her inheritance
A brown wooden box
Not to be opened for some years

A Little (Turned Into A Lot) About Me

2005-08-05T11:45:00.000-07:00

I grew up in the East Bay Area, awkward and shy by day, rambunctious and smart-aleky by night. I am the oldest of 3, though my brothers have far surpassed my 5'4" frame. My father worked various jobs, but reveled in telling me about his year in Belgium where he spoke French like a Canadian and learned the old-style printing trade. My mother was a nurse since before I was born, and on a regular basis I was asked by unknowing souls if I wanted to be a nurse like my mom. Unable to stomach the thought, let alone the sight, of blood, I opted at an early age to at least not follow my mom's shoes.

When I was in high school, my dad (with my mom's permission) quit his job to try his hand at writing a screenplay. He only made it to page 72 before he began exploring computer animation, made a short demo reel, won a prestigious award, and was offered jobs at 20 high-end studios. He only took one. I wrote essay upon essay, mostly for the sake of scholarships, about my dad, the hero, who pursued all odds (primarily my mom's complaints) to follow his dream of some career in film.

Around this same time, my grandparents, who had flipped off age for adventure, set out to Burkina Faso, West Africa, for a two-year stint as Associate Missionaries. This meant my grandmother got to socialize, in 100-degree humid heat mind you, and my grandfather worked in the business office, managing the mission's funds. Somehow they persuaded my cautioned mother to allow me, on my 16th birthday, and my goofy, freckle-faced 13-year-old brother, to travel, alone, to visit them. This was when Africa first captured my heart, though if you asked me then, I would have said the cockroaches skittered my romantic thoughts away. I guess you could say it was a budding relationship, one that needed years to congeal.

I raced through college, odd, because I always loved school, graduating with a degree in graphic design because I had told my dad that I wanted to be a professional ransom note writer and he thought a designer would be more financially and legally sound. I married my high school sweetheart halfway through, and we lived on love, as he told my father we would.

My husband, a musician, was reading a book on the spiritual journey of U2, which led to us reading The aWAKE Project, which led me to saying, "Let's go to Africa for a year," which led him to saying, "How 'bout the summer instead?" So we went, this time to Malawi, where for two months we worked with a fairly corrupt local AIDS education NGO, and yet still fell head over heels for the people of Malawi.

A year of depression over the lives I witnessed there, the friends I couldn't see, and the helplessness I felt, led me to rashly suggest our joining the Peace Corps. After turning down an assignment after the lengthy and expensive application process, we just randomly decided to pack up (as we had already given our 30-day notice) and move to Downtown Portland. Every night we paced the glistened streets of the city, searching and never finding nightlife that we could afford, pondering the placement of our future and how Africa fit in.

Not long after moving our nonprofit sprouted, dedicated to mobilizing and supporting African communities in response to poverty, suffering, and inequality. And that's where I am now. Not in Africa, but the states. We recently returned from a dedicated research trip in Malawi, where we consulted hundreds of individuals and NGOs about their most pressing needs and how we could be of service. The result was (1) We need food. (2) We need small business opportunities to make enough money to buy our own food. We've listened and are now working with our Malawian director on finding our project's first beneficiaries, and are raising funds and awareness on the plight of women and children in Malawi, Africa.

So that is a "brief" summary of me. So now when you read my blog, wondering who this girl that rants and raves about poverty and Africa is, you'll know. Thanks for reading!

A Cry of AIDS Victim

2005-06-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

By Dennis Didimo
:I am 14 years
:Am Standard 8
:I am an orphan

Title: A Cry of AIDS Victim

AIDS is a song of cry
AIDS is not a dream which goes away during day time
AIDS is a beautiful name with an ugly surname
Which is death

AIDS means opening wide
To many ugly diseases
They come to enjoy your body
Yes to stay and to destroy,
You know what I mean

The greater the deeper
The pain goes until death comes
The pain is deeper still
When friends avoid you and worse still
Your own relatives care is not there
Even their eyes are avoided

I cry for you friends and my relatives
Look at me with no fear
With no sympathy
I need your handshake, smile, and love

AIDS has taken my parent
AIDS has taken my sister
AIDS has taken my uncle
AIDS has taken my aunt
AIDS has taken my brother
Boys and girls, lets us fight against HIV/AIDS

This poem was written by a young boy in Balaka, Malawi, Africa--where I am currently staying. The people AIDS has taken from him are not metaphors, but the sheer truth. May his words ring loud and clear.

T.S. Eliot

2005-04-24T10:13:00.000-07:00

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

—T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

I Can't Sleep

2005-04-24T00:16:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep.

This could be in part due to the fact that my husband is snoring like a walrus, or at least making sounds that I assume, without ever having heard one, a walrus would make.

It could be that I just finished watching a movie that made my face hurt. One that used every muscle of joy and sadness. One that has made me thoughtful and yet unable to pursue thoughts of sleep.

It honestly doesn't matter why I can't sleep. It just is what it is.

I Want to be Paul Farmer

2005-04-17T10:42:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if this post is finished yet.

I want to be Paul Farmer;
To smell blood, sweat, poverty, breath,
and not feel ashamed or fearful.

I want to be Paul Farmer;
To shake the dust from my feet and water from my back
and turn from ignorance to need.

I want to be Paul Farmer;
To implore creative means of redistributive justice
solely for the sake of the poor.

I want to be Paul Farmer;
To give my days to climbing rock and hillside
to ensure one man is cared for.

I want to be Paul Farmer;
To, at twenty-three, know the world and myself
and elect to find deeper water.

I want to be Paul Farmer.

Living Sacrifice

2005-04-17T10:09:00.000-07:00

Every week during church, I cry out. I stand beneath the solemn steeples and stained glass, and all eyes turn to me, as I rush the reverend and say,

Woe to us! Woe to us. We say we love God. We say we hate poverty. We chant. We sing. We pray.

We hate poverty, yet we adorn ourselves in gold, diamonds, cashmere, and brushed cotton. We hate poverty, yet we fill our bodies with excesses of food and drink, to the point we unbuckle our belts. We do not love God. We do not hate poverty.

Poverty gives us our status. It defines us. The unpoor. The middle-class. The ones above. As God is above.

We hate poverty to the point it allows us to maintain our status. We hate poverty enough to give 10% of ourselves and nothing more. We love God "enough."

We should be the depth and width and breadth of the sea. Our love should span oceans to places impounded by death and disease. We should love until it hurts, love close enough to catch someone's cold, or worse. Loving at arm's distance is only loving ourselves.

Woe to us. Woe to us.

Ever weak, I stand and speak. Prophets have done so every week for thousands of years. I demand justice. I demand sacrifice. A living sacrifice. Lack of pride. A living sacrifice. One that lives as though it died. One with nothing more to lose. Naught to gain. Selfless, sight set above, without earthly things.

Let the solemn steeples point the way.

Else woe to us. Woe to us.

To

2005-04-17T10:07:00.000-07:00

i want to cry
i want to weep
i want to crumple
i want to run, run, run

i want to want
i want to know
i want to need
i want to love, love, love

i want to cry
i want to run,
not away,
but to

The Verge of Becoming

2005-04-14T11:12:00.000-07:00

canvas before the sun’s rise
twinkle of new love’s eyes
loom of light beaming from pines
i am on the verge of becoming

sapling's strength to push through earth
crown of a newborn's head at birth
sound of weeping turns to mirth
i am on the verge of becoming

Potential Lies

2005-04-14T10:20:00.000-07:00

potential lies
twisted in a salty heap of cloth at the end of a bed
potential lies
weakened by mistake in the immobile muscles of a man
potential lies
folded blind by fate over the bright eyes of a small girl,
potential lies
disabled in the arms of a mother, cold in the world

potential lies
it says to rise from that which holds us down
potential lies
it tells us the power is none but our own
potential lies
it claims inherent ability, we just have to try
potential lies
potential lies

potential lies
our pockets are as bare as your bones
potential lies
we judge on content of character alone
potential lies
your life means as much as our own
potential lies
potential lies

They Will Always Be With Us

2005-03-19T11:16:00.000-08:00

If you want to read a good article, pick up this week’s issue of Time magazine. If you want to have an argument with your ultra conservative in-laws, leave it on the kitchen table, where they can mock the title “An End to Poverty,” which obviously contradicts Christ’s desire for the poor to always be with us.

Where is my Jesus? The one that proclaimed, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.” The Jesus that said, “He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor… Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

Perhaps that was said in Jesus’ young, idealistic years, before he became cynical and all knowing. Before he became a Republican. Now that Jesus knows better he is self-serving, disgusted with the poor, and disenchanted with life. He pretends to rifle through his pockets for change, producing only lint, or perhaps a tract to the hardened hand of his neighbor. After all, these people need salvation more than they need material possessions, and they’d just spend the money on booze, anyhow. Sometimes when Jesus is feeling generous, he’ll toss a few coins or socks out his car window, and then pray for the man at the dinner table, so everyone knows his selfless deed. They are the poor. They will always be with us.

Jesus knows about malaria and tuberculosis. He knows about the AIDS crisis. He has seen girls so thin that they are unable to walk. He has heard countless mothers cry for his mercy, and later curse his will. He has walked past toddlers, eating clumps of dirt. There was a time when he would touch those with leprosy, and offer the cooling waters of both the Jordan and his spirit. There was a time when he would curse the apathetic and self-important. But now, he not only complacently accepts the early, lonely deaths of his mothers, brothers, and children, but he has preordained it to be. They are the poor. They will always be with us.

Jesus wasn’t explaining to his disciples that their time together was short due to his impending death. He wasn’t reprimanding their judgmental attitudes towards a woman who gave him an expensive gift. Jesus was not saying live in the moment and continue the work of caring for the poor the next day, when they would be without him. No. Jesus told his disciples to enjoy their suede couches, air conditioning and big screen TVs, to rest their feet on their ottomans and hands behind their heads, to misquote scripture and revel in the knowledge that they’re older, wiser, and have a monopoly on the truth. With their backs to their brothers and their hands bound to self; they are to ignore the poor. They will always be with us.