In Memory of Claudia

My little bird, Claudia, passed away today. She was a spunky, beautiful, loving parakeet filled with song and vivacity. When let out of her cage, she would swoop and dive bomb about our apartment, a little green hornet.

She had the softest tiny belly. She loved sitting on my shoulder, grooming me.

We got her to provide companionship for my white-fronted Amazon parrot, Vincent, whom I’ve had since I was a little kid in San Diego.

She loved Vinnie as much as we do, and would selflessly groom his forehead and sing to him. She would boss him about and eat the food out of his bowl.

Four years ago, we purchased Claudia from a Pet Co downtown and brought her back all the way home on the A train.

In the middle of the night in one of the first months after we’d gotten her, she somehow got herself skewered–literally–on a toy hanging up in her cage. She was hooked onto it like a fish, flapping around in pain and fear. We managed to disentangle her, and I poured hydrogen peroxide on her wound.

We were terrified over the course of that week that she would die, but she was resilient. She was a tough little one. My NY bird.

Because of this resiliency, when she began getting sick over the past month, we didn’t think much of it. I was worried, of course, but I assumed that she would pull through whatever was ailing her.

And she did seem to get better, for a while. But suddenly today, she took a drastic turn for the worse. She was having difficulty breathing, and eventually moved to the floor of her cage, hiding under her food bowl.

When a bird does that, you know things are bad. Birds are good at hiding when they are really sick.

She passed away before my eyes this evening. It was awful. There was nothing I could do to help her.

Whenever I tell people that I have birds as pets, they seem to think it’s weird. And I’m sure that it must seem silly to you to grieve over a parakeet. But birds are wonderful pets. They have vibrant, unique personalities and are filled with the joy of living.

My wife and I have been sobbing all night, and I’m not ashamed to say it. I loved that little bird. And I am going to miss her terribly.

Ashen

I once asked
how close to the earth must I sway,
sweeping in the wind
like a broken tree?

But I have grown a bit
since that time.

That question was centered all around
me;
my struggle; my need.
As if the world
should work for
me.

A better question may be–
how close to another person can I get,
to know love
in every breath?

The world has riven
me, and will continue breaking
waves against any stance I assume.
But I can bend, and learn, and grow.

In the end,
I want there to be found nothing
but gratitude in my heart.

To Be Wed

Ring Ceremony

As of Saturday, I am forthwith a married man. My wife and I have been living together for 5 years, so married life will not be substantially different for us, but I admit that walking around with a ring on my finger does make me feel different. More confident, perhaps, more adult. (We’ll see just how long a feeling imbued by a material object lasts!)

I’ve always loved weddings, because they seem to be one of the few venues where people of all walks of life and ages can come together and celebrate. I am pleased to say that my own wedding was a beautiful celebration, and I am not saying that just because I’m biased. I’ve never seen my parents dance so hard. My nieces and nephews were running around and having a blast and being adorable. My wife and I have incredible friends and family, and they were the ones that made this experience so wonderful. If there’s only one thing I regret about my wedding, it was being unable to spend lots of time with each and every one of them there.

As we were planning the wedding and grimacing over the money spent and the inevitable stress of event planning, I began wishing that we’d just eloped and been done with it all. But now that the wedding has finally occurred, I can say honestly that it was all worth it, no matter how quickly it swept by. It was worth it because it served as a critical reminder of just how fortunate and blessed we are to have our family and friends. Without them, we would be unable to cherish and sustain our commitment to each other over the long haul.

Relationships aren’t magic — they require a lot of hard work, dedication, and compromise. We move into our marriage with full awareness of what real love requires, and with the models and sustenance of our parents and our families and our friends to look to for guidance.

We’ll be going to Kauai for our honeymoon next week. I know I’ve been delinquent in posting here since summer has began, but I think I’ve got a good excuse for it! ;) Keep your eyes peeled for more junk on public education later.

Only The Best Every Day

I finished my last graduate courses on Tuesday. As I walked to the train talking with a colleague who had begun the Fellows program at the same time as me, he remarked on how different we had become since that first summer during our initial training before entering the classroom. How innocent we were then! Teaching changes you, indelibly. I remember how on top of the world I felt at that time, even as I knew the challenges that awaited me. I had been a manager at a demanding and innovative grocery retailer and was physically fit, accustomed to breaking down pallets of heavy groceries, dealing with crazy customers, and working on one full meal a day with 4-6 hours of sleep and a 1 1/2 hour to 2 hour commute each way on what was generally a middle of the night series of subway trains. Yes! I finally had adapted to NYC after a recent move from Lake Tahoe and felt I was ready to tackle anything. Phew. Folks. What hubris, what folly.

See, the thing is that teaching takes much more than simple ambition, physical drive, stamina, and dedication. It takes deep internal spiritual and emotional wellsprings to maintain composure and constancy. Every facet of your being will be challenged, every hidden assumption, every underlying prejudice, every underdeveloped part of your psyche and soul, every trigger of anger or annoyance will be released and exposed and prodded and overturned. You will be scraped hollow. You will be on the verge of mental breakdowns–or actually have them, depending on your level of mental stability. You will nearly break into tears–or actually break into tears, depending on your level of stoicism–in front of other adults or students. Oh yes. Teaching changes you.

And there will be days when you wonder, given how close to the breaking point you can come, just at what point a human mind becomes broken and can no longer be made whole again. And at the verge of this question is a rift of despair and anguish so deep that you can’t really quite go there–you have to wall off the reality of the lives of your students from your own life in order to protect your own emotional and mental well-being. Your students. Some of them living lives so unfathomable that you have to build a wall of professionalism in order to protect yourself. Or risk craziness, despair. Breaking down into tears at the mere mention of their name. Because it’s not about you. It’s about them. It’s always about them. And even during the most challenging moments of confrontation, even during the worst days of acting out behavior, you know that this is all about serving them. About becoming a better person so that you can better serve them. Becoming a better teacher so that you can negotiate the land mine pathways of the heart and mind and guide them there by proxy.

Anyone who thinks that they can step into the midst of this situation and create a revolution will not survive. Idealism has little place in the day-to-day marathon battle of seeking to transform the very soil that these children are rooted within, confined within. Only steady, patient, nurturing, every day, constant, consistent, repeated love–love–love. Tough love. Real love. Love that does not accept mediocrity. Love that does not accept falsehood. Love that does not accept anything except the best from your beloved. Because you know that’s what they really are. The best. No matter what they tell themselves. No matter how much they try to show you the worst in them (and they will–it’s a child’s way of testing your commitment). Every day. The best. Only the best. The best in you. The best in them. Even when neither of you have it in you. You come the next day to try again.

Until one day, there is a moment when you look around you, into their eyes, into their hearts, and you feel it. You can feel it. Again, you almost begin crying, but this time, for another reason. It’s love. It’s real. And it is changing you. And if it is changing you, it must be, it must be changing your students, too. This is what you came here to do. And that is the only thing that can keep you going. That hope. That wish. That love.

Dialogue: Love, Faith, & Humility

Within the word we find two dimensions, reflection and action, in such radical interaction that if one is sacrificed–even in part–the other immediately suffers. There is no true word that is not at the same time a praxis. Thus, to speak a true word is to transform the world. . .

Human beings are not built in silence, but in word, in work, in action-reflection. . .

If it is in speaking their word that people, by naming the world, transform it, dialogue imposes itself as the way by which they achieve significance as human beings. Dialogue is thus an existential necessity. . . .

Dialogue cannot exist, however, in the absence of a profound love for the world and for people. . . Love is at the same time the foundation of dialogue and the dialogue itself. . . . Because love is an act of courage, not of fear, love is commitment to others. No matter where the oppressed are found, the act of love is commitment to their cause–the cause of liberation. . . If I do not love the world–if I do not love life–if I do not love people–I cannot enter into dialogue.

On the other hand, dialogue cannot exist without humility. . . Men and women who lack humility (or have lost it) cannot come to the people, cannot be their partners in naming the world. Someone who cannot acknowledge himself to be as mortal as everyone else still has a long way to go before he can reach the point of encounter. At the point of encounter there are neither utter ignoramuses nor perfect sages; there are only people who are attempting, together, to learn more than they now know.

Dialogue further requires an intense faith in humankind, faith in their power to make and remake, to create and re-create, faith in their vocation to be more fully human (which is not the privilege of an elite, but the birthright of all). . .

Founding itself upon love, humility, and faith, dialogue becomes a horizontal relationship of which mutual trust between the dialoguers is the logical consequence. . . False love, false humility, and feeble faith in others cannot create trust. Trust is contigent on the evidence which one party provides the others of his true, concrete intentions; it cannot exist if that party’s words do not coincide with their actions.

Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed

Risk an Act of Love

Solidarity requires that one enter into the situation of those with whom one is solidary; it is a radical posture. . . The oppressor is solidary with the oppressed only when he stops regarding the oppressed as an abstract category and sees them as persons who have been unjustly dealt with, deprived of their voice, cheated in the sale of their labor–when he stops making pious, sentimental, and individualistic gestures and risks an act of love. True solidarity is found only in the plenitude of this act of love, in its existentiality, in its praxis. To affirm that men and women are persons and persons should be free, and yet to do nothing tangible to make this affirmation a reality, is a farce.

–Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed


Journey

There are times when I need space to reflect, a mountain to climb. A venture into the wilderness, where I can become, momentarily, a lone animal following his instinct, reliant solely on his own wiles. Once I am there, at the peak of solitary vision, all I can think about is going home. And so when I return to my safe harbor from the world, it is new, it is warm, it is imbued with the light of re-discovered love.

Grace Full

To be grateful, grateful, full of grace and grit and compassion and loving for every event and person that crosses your awareness, even when your caffeine coffee high is on its wending way downward. The people that before might be registered in your awareness as incidental or fixtures of the trash laden pavement become transformed creatures reflectant of a certain hue and shade of light that is dependent on their placement in that certain spot at that certain time on that certain street. There is nothing, yet, that you can say to them, but what must and needs be said is conveyed through the placement of your head upon your neck, the way your shoes plod onward, the way your hips and arm swinging and laden satchel are balanced moving forward beyond and through and with them. Because you have nothing to hide, no empty barren space of shame nor fear nor any diminishing of divinity that might take place in any human heart at any time when we grow distant from ourselves and thus and subsequently, each other.

When the tongue is full and pressed to the roof of the mouth in silent and overwhelming praise at the smell of this summertime air that swoons so softly up into this apartment where I sit, grateful, singing and typing rapidly into this network of praise, that I may reflect, as a deliberate practitioner, this life that I am so lucky to live and to choose to live and to have the opportunity to fulfill with fullness of life and love and complete awareness of everything that I am so fortunate to be capable of losing.

This is Struggle, These Words

Apparently, I am seeking to unfold a new methodology of articulation in this medium. If I was perfectly honest with myself, I would acknowledge that my writing is in some way a form of laziness, in that I simply write things off the top of my dome that tend to be similar in essence to something I’ve already written before. Which I’ve conveniently forgotten about. I burp up fragments from my inner sanctum of feeling, some containing a momentary burst of inspiration, but mostly just some convoluted form of self idolatry, perhaps.

It might be helpful at this point to give voice to what it is I want my writing to really be about: I want it to be about integrity, about the inner connectivity that binds all disparate individuals and strangers together into love and deeper knowledge. I want it to be about me, but not about the me of the surface daily mundane realm of miscommunicated passings, but rather about the me that is divine, the me that is you, the me that is us, the me that is everything and nothing. Less spectacularly, I want it to be about reality, and about the life that I live as told, pragmatically, from out of dry wit and a sordid heart. I want my writing to sing to you, to speak to you, to inspire you aflame, to nod your head in rhythmic understanding, to know exactly what it is I am talking about and to smile in recognition.

Most importantly, however, is that my writing expresses something that I am unable to express otherwise. That I learn of myself from my own act of self-creation. Thus learning of you, in that leap from difference to communal know-edge.

What is it that I am trying to say? I think I want to say that this is supremely important to me, and that I want it to be important to you. That I want this to be much better than what I am. That I want the world to be much better than what it is. That I want to write my way into you, in understanding, in peace, in confrontation, in commiseration, in fire, in quiet pain, in love.

Togetherness

We are rooted into each other, unabashedly interwoven, each one heart the sap that sustains the other. You are my best friend, my worst enemy, the one who knows me most and least, for without you, I would be someone else entirely. We can now only define ourselves together; apart, what would we be? Of what is our history but the discoverance of each other? Our love is something much more mundane than eternity; it is something renewed through struggle daily. This love is something that grows, that flowers, that yearns for ever more sun. This love is not simply something we have stumbled into but that we have earned, that we deserve. This love is something that we create. We discover each other again, every day, growing increasingly confident. We are still here together, in this new place, in this new day. It only gets better. Our love only grows stronger. This work we have put into our future will bear its fruit.

Engagement

I had surreptitiously slipped it in at the end of another post, but just to reiterate it more formally and proudly: I am now engaged to be married. My fiancée and I have been living together for some time, and we could have continued to live together for some time hence without the formal commitment of betrothal. But I came to an internal realization vis-a-vis formal and informal commitments: I had already demonstrated to myself that I was deeply committed to my relationship. Whatever my superficial doubts, fleeting emotional resistance, and mental ruminations might be, I want to support and love my beloved as fully as I am capable. I have lived with her in the mountains and pine forests of the Sierra Nevadas, journeyed with her through the jungles and mountains of Colombia, been bored to tears with her in San Diego at the home of my parents, driven across the American South in a truck with my Amazon parrot to live with her and her family in a dense city on the other side of the nation, and am now enslaved in a long commute and demanding work in order to make it in said city. Why would I do all this if I was not deeply committed? So why not ask her to marry me, and cast away both of our doubts and fears? To formalize this commitment is to turn away from the past, turn away from doubt about the present, and face fully the future.

It’s a demonstration of just how much I have changed from the Monk of yore, the fact that I would even consider getting hitched. I have bloviated in the past against the institution of marriage, and swore that I was never to be married. I was an anarchist, a free spirit, a subversive and enlightened alien whose journey was determined by the happenstance wind. However, my resistance to the institution was challenged when both of my sisters, whom I love very much, became engaged, and I became involved in assisting them with their wedding planning. Because I admire and love my sisters, I had to come to a grudging embrace of their decisions to become married, and finally even came to recognize the reason why individuals would deliberately choose to formalize their temporal relationships. This was around the same time that I was becoming aware of how the personal is political, of how our personal development is integrally attached to our professional development, of the necessity for planning, diplomacy, and collective agreement in our lives.

So when the decision now came before me, it actually wasn’t a hard one to make. My life had already made it for me, and it was really just a matter of coming to terms with my reality. It didn’t feel weird to set about finding and purchasing a ring. It felt just about right.

As to the story of how I proposed, I’m afraid it was about as unromantic and informal a procedure as could be. Everyone loves hearing “the story,” as I’ve quickly come to realize once I made the announcement at my workplace, and so I might as well relate it here.

I had ordered the ring online from a reputable retailer, where you can design the ring yourself. I then left for New Jersey for a two day management training session, knowing that the box would arrive while I was gone. I was hoping that I could just put the box aside without opening it. But as soon as I got home, she kept asking me about what the box was and insisting that I open it. The box had no markings on it that would betray what was in it. I told her that I thought it was an Obama T-shirt that I was getting for having donated to his campaign, which is in fact being delivered to me shortly. I thought that she wouldn’t be that interested in seeing a T-shirt, and that I could then re-direct the conversation to something else. But she was not to be deterred: she wanted me to open the box. I tried several times to redirect the conversation, and had even hidden the box from sight while she was in the other room, but she continued to implore me to open the box, or to give her the box to open it herself. At that point, I decided that I might as well get it over with anyway, and so I said, sure, go ahead and open the box. It’s for you anyway.

She opened it up, and then got still when out of this big box was discovered a little tiny ring box. She said quietly, “What is this?” Even though she must have known quite well what it was. I said, “Open it up.” And then I asked her to marry me, while she was sprawled out in bed, and we were both in our pajamas.

I had had a whole proposal speech typed up and printed out, and I had meant to wait until my days off, so that we could take a walk together in the park and I could make it more dramatic. But instead, I just handed her the speech I had written and we read it together. In a way, this was more fitting for us as a couple in any case. We are pretty low key. For us to have one of those dramatic, publicly announced proposals, where the guy gets up on a table or loudspeaker at a stadium or something, would just have been too weird.

I think we both felt a little tripped out by the “adultness” of the situation. But it feels good to be able to make the announcement. We aren’t planning on a ceremony anytime soon, as we would both like to be more secure in our careers first. But at least now we can start thinking about plans together without feeling scared or weird about making them. Before, when we talked about future long-term plans, there was always this element of “maybe we won’t still be together at that time.” Now that doubt can be erased, and we can move forward in our relationship and individually in our lives.

Separation in Harmony

A friend said to me the other day something that resonated with me greatly, when we were discussing relationships and the problems or non-problems thereof: “It is important to separate, in a relationship, your own personal issues and development from the issues and development of the relationship.” Well, she didn’t say it quite like that, but I was already getting drunk off some wine that I was drinking so I disremember what it was exactly, but that was it’s general import. It struck me because it was something I had been attempting to articulate to myself internally, but had not yet arrived at in the cusp of outside understanding, which of course is why we have friends, so that they can state the unstated for us.

This is an important insight, on many different levels. At its most obvious, we must pay heed to the distinction of restraining ourselves from blaming our own internal problems on our partners, or from projecting our insecurities on each other, or what have you. But at an even more fundamental and general level, think of this in application to our relationships with wider society. How often do we blame our own issues on the problems of our society?

But let me disregard the more abstract and generalist applications of this idea and bring it back to myself. I have discussed my problems with over-analysing my relationship in the past, and it is a constant issue with me because I have strongly defined myself based on long bouts of loneliness, self-sufficiency, and a lone wolf lifestyle. For me to be in a long term relationship is still something that I find to be a novelty at times. I thus almost automatically question it and challenge its presence. How essential is this to my self-definition? Is this restricting my ability to be myself? These are the terms by which I question things. But we must note that these questions are fundamentally skewed, when brought into the light of the original insight with which I began this post.  Because I bring my own personal issues and stages of development and project them onto my greater relationship with my loved one, thus delimiting the capacity of my relationship on the terms of my own need and hubris.

Because the fact is that my relationship is quite beautifully stable in and of itself. It is only when I bring my own personal instability and lone wolfishness into the mix that I complicate and negate positive things. In separating my own problems and personal issues out of my relationship, and in learning to distinguish these issues from whatever issues I might share with my beloved, am I able to better appreciate what I do truly have before me.

This Selfishness is Selflessness

As the storm whips around us, we settle into the deep water, we sink slowly overcome by the weight of the mindless water, a calm, quiet drop as chaos wages outside of our chosen nested halo. There is at first the sense of entrapment, a frenzy born of our own device, our own story-line plot written in ambition. But it becomes apparent that this is where we are meant to be, weighted down by our decisions, enduring the everyday forces of dislocation. Now, here, we must wait, deathly breathless, riding out the storm. Sacrificing for our future. Nibbling at crumbs to await a feast that may not even be our own.

Little beams of divine mystery sometimes make it down into the deepened vacuity where we are poised. Is this enough? It must be enough. Even these fleeting moments of beauty makes worth the space in between the stars.

Strength lies in rootedness, in the quiet, searching sap of endurance. What is dead and fallen will be  converted and resurrected in our veins. Upward, the branching movement into light. Our territory, our place, our time, established by the work and rut of our past. We are growing into ourselves, nurturing the steady development of our own narratives. This selfishness is selflessness. This work is the world’s work. We will shine out of the darkness of our creation. We will make of ourselves a voice that will speak of encouragement, of betterment, of love. Together. Unbalanced. Fighting. Enduring. Developing.

Steady Love

Summer Bloom

Summer Bloom

Love evolves in my life, broadening its branching to include all the world in its fruit, while narrowing its focus to the sustained, steady, and slow nurturing that comes from daily persistence. I once thought of love as a passionate, momentary outpouring of connection discovered from the sudden rupture between two worlds; this it certainly can be, but found more plentiful, more sustainably in the constant rediscoverance of love right here at home, in the one world that has been forged through struggle and dedication. The recognition that shambala is already here before me, and there is no need to hold myself apart. That perfection and attainment of bliss are not unattainable images of desire; they are at my fingertips, ready to expand with attention, flowers blooming within each step of awareness. They have always been there, pinnacled tips of contentment, but self-doubt gets in the way, blinding me to my own wonder. Forget about ideals; how much better is this reality fulfilled!

Nesting

It becomes apparent, as we face new challenges in life, that we are much stronger together than the insecurities of our past selves could tear apart. There are plenty of chances, daily, for demons to climb out of the hidden fear within us and jump out into the air over nothing to take a chunk out of each other’s hearts. Because when you are afraid, you hurt the one closest to you. Because when you are insecure, you hurt the one who is most able to see through your self-created fortifications.

But I am not afraid of being with you. I am not insecure enough to ruin what I have right next to me. You are the quiet tide that keeps me balanced, the ebb and flow of constant nurture that helps me grow. In our many differences, we have created something between us wholly new. I can’t wait to build another nest with you.

The foundation for our future has already been set, and we are carrying out the hard work of manifesting our dreams. The blueprint lies between us, unspoken but knowing, hidden but clear. Just as a bird weighs each fragmented piece of the world in its beak, instinctively knowing what will work neatly as the next brick in the lining of its nest, so we find each piece of our home to be scattered before us, patiently achieving the outline of what will come.

A Drop of what was once Passion

There comes a point when you can no longer forfeit what you feel for what is the more comfortable compliance, without some serious loss of presence. All of this time that you once spent in development can so easily be lost, and you are left with a shallow shell of what once was, and all of your capability is a memory. Achievable, you know, with disciplined time, but the window recedes further with each passing day, with each fleeting moment spent unfocused, unbalanced, untuned.

There must be some way to way to reconcile the need for introspective stillness with the needs of nurturing others. Some way to find concentration in the act of complacency. Some manner of extreme cognition in the shelter of what is acceptable. I don’t even know what I’m talking about.

There is a certain unreachable distant loneliness that resides within us all, and how to understand this, cherish it, embrace it, while harboring the movement of the wider world? To be an oyster with the pearls around your neck? To move ever inward, ever deeper, while fostering acceptance and even love in the face of mediocrity?

It is easy to mock the hungry passion of the misaligned, but not so easy to mock yourself in your dry stasis of daily existence. Where is the key that would unlock this door? Where the wind that would rustle skirts? Where the tiniest tip of real blood that would give credence to your emptiness?

Patience, patience, patience is the rhythm of your future dreams. It remains to be seen, the fruits that might fall from beyond your reckoning. Can you measure up to your potential? Will the secret corridors whose shapes are suggested in the profile of your silences open up one day to the masses, tickets sold out?

All remains to be seen. In the meantime, there is only our imagination.

Travel Story

cactus.jpg

Traveling is an experience that always compels a re-evaluation of your own habits and customs, and throws you continuously into new situations that further impel you to critique your own perceptions, your own self-image. During my trip to Perú, I had found myself going through a lot of introspection, for I was traveling alone and often had little else to do but contemplate and turn inward. I also had been dealing with the death of a friend and co-worker, and overall, the whole trip became rather spiritual in nature due to this thought and self-exploration. I was learning self-reliancy, confidence in new and challenging situations, and the ability to allow the universe to manifest some of its boundless potential.

As in any trip, therefore, my trip to Colombia has a sub-context, a narrative that extends throughout, present beneath all of the surface-level passings of circumstance and activity. The whole trip has not been anything at all like what I experienced alone in Perú, and the reason is quite simple: I am traveling with my girlfriend. And thus the underlying story of this trip has been one of our relationship. I had foreseen this before we’d left, knowing that travel is always stressful for relationships, whether between friends, family, or lovers. And it has indeed been a rocky road. All of my experiences on the trip have been filtered through the window of our togetherness.

At first, I found myself frustrated with the lack of freedom. While traveling alone is often lonely, it also gives you the ability to freely associate with strangers in ways that you are buffered against while traveling with other people. You tend to drift into random conversations with people in bars, on the street. You speak only in Spanish because you don’t have any other option, other than just hanging out with other gringo backpackers. You are more open to being placed into potentially sketchy situations, because you have only yourself to worry about.

Traveling with someone changes all of that instantaneously. You have someone to conversate with at all times in English, so thus anywhere you venture into, you always have a buffer of safety with you, wherein you can speak your own language and avoid contact with strangers. And traveling with your girlfriend, you feel much more protective, and less willing to be placed in potentially sketchy situations. You are more secure, and thus more unwilling to take risks.

So I had to contend with these differences and realize that this trip was not going to be the trip that I had envisioned before coming to Colombia. I was not going to go out dancing all the time, I was not going to meet and hang-out with many locals, and I was not going to speak much Spanish beyond the interaction of commerce and transport. Thus, other than the time spent with my extended Colombian family, I have had little insider insight into the culture, and have rather been stuck on the outside, and somewhat bitter about it, I suppose. This has resulted in some squabbles between my girlfriend and I until I came somewhat to terms with the trip as it is and will be.

And on the other side of this has been the self-questioning I’ve been undergoing about our relationship in general. Basically, I was getting something like cold feet, because I was thinking too much about the future, and could only envision the looming mirage of marriage, kids, etc, and this only made me frightened. When all of this internal torment finally came out and I laid it on the table, my girlfriend made me understand that I can’t think that far ahead into the future. I was thinking so much about some distant, uncertain future that I couldn’t allow myself to enjoy what I have right now, which is all that really matters anyway.

When you spend every waking and sleeping minute with another person, all of the bad sides of yourself can’t be shuttered up or given the space needed to be released without inflicting suffering on the other person. I’m the type of person that doesn’t know what he feels immediately, and I need some time to process and work through things before I understand where I’m at. So sometimes, before I know what’s happening, I’ll just start to be mean, because I’m trying to work through something and I don’t know it yet, and I’m trying to get space.

So this journey in Colombia has been a learning experience in ways that go beyond the bus trips and hostal stays and excursions and forays and food and cafés. I’m learning that I’m not always the person I want to be, neither for myself, nor for my girlfriend. I’m learning that I need to learn how to lead, and not just hesitate and wait for things to happen. I’m learning that I can be a difficult person to get along with. I’m learning what it is to be loved in all of my daily and eternal imperfection, and I’m learning how to try and give that love back, unconditionally.

So where my trip to Perú was about introspection and self-questioning, this trip in Colombia has been about my relationship, and about going beyond myself. I think it is somewhat fitting in some ways, given that Colombian culture in general is more fast-paced and based on the fleeting moments of the everyday, with its coke and its plastic surgeries and its ongoing warfare. On another post, I will attempt to grapple some more with what impressions I’ve gotten of Colombia as a whole, as that is a whole ‘nother beast to tackle. Til then.

¡Happy New Year’s from Medellín!

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Hope y’all had some good New Year’s festivities wherever you be. Here in Medellín I didn’t do anything too crazy, just went up to a lookout spot to see the city at night, then walked back down along the river where all the Christmas lights are strung up. It is indeed a spectacular sight.

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All I could think about was all the electricity being wasted. We then walked the long walk back to the slums where our hotel is located—because no taxi would stop and pick us up, for some reason—dodging street kids, drunkards, and transvestites, to celebrate the commencement of the new year in the security of our hotel room, wherein we imbibed a bit of Ron Medellín mixed with some gaseosa. The firecrackers in the streets, of course, went off all night long.

It is my established tradition to give some kind of commemorative New Year’s speech, and not wanting to disappoint, I’ll attempt to dredge up some inspiration for one here. A lot of the sub-narrative of this trip in Colombia, so far unsaid, has been about my relationship with my girlfriend—as I am traveling with her—and when traveling, relationships are always put under stress and challenged in every way. I will delve more into that topic specifically in another post, but for now, my point is that I have been thinking much about what a relationship is really about, and what I would like to do now is to unite some of those conclusions with a broader vision of what our relationships with each other as a human species is all about:

When you love someone, and are interconnected with them deeply, whether a family member, a lover, a friend, or a co-worker (c´mon, you see them everyday and interact with them—that’s an important aspect of our lives!), you have entered into a new world of relations with the entire universe, whether conscious or not. Because the fact is that you have come to realize that you are more than one singular, solitary individual, alone in all the cosmos. You have come to realize, through the act of empathy, compassion, and mutual perception, that you who once were one are now 3. Another way of stating that last bit is to say that what was once 2 distinct individuals is now one. Whatever way you look at it, there is a triune evolution in your existence, in which you evolve upwards into a greater unifying dimension, which allows you to descend back down into a wider, embracing perspective from multiple viewpoints. Think of it this way: two separate, disparate individuals begin to share a life together, and their once distinct and detached worlds begin to mesh, and at some point, you cannot clearly delineate a clear separation between the two anymore, because whereas before there were clearly two, now it becomes manifest that there is really one; or at least, a movement and development towards unity. But at the same time that there is this unity, there are still two clearly distinct individuals, with different personalities and so on. So there co-exists the two separate worlds alongside the higher unifying oneness between them. There is an evolved trinity.

All of that is rather vague, perhaps. But the idea I really want to convey here is that we all exist in our material selves as detached, separate, distinct individuals, with our own personalities, trajectories, perceptions, etc. All of humanity appears, on the surface, as fragmented shards of a fallen deity, split asunder into factions, fear, and locked in the eternal warfare of dominance, greed, and misunderstanding. When leaders rise up that would try to better unify us, they are shot down ruthlessly by barbaric, murderous, bestial elements, such as just recently Benazir Bhutto was so barbarically slain before the eyes of the world. It would seem, at first glance, that there is nothing that can string all of us together.

But the lie in this deception is apparent when you look closely at your own life, at the threads that tie you so intimately and immediately to others. We are not all detached, alone, and astray. We are all evolving together into the greater unknown that lies beyond appearances, beyond multiplicity and fragmentation, beyond logic and reason, beyond complacency and habit. In this world beyond that coexists right here and right now within and above our own, we cannot yet speak—yet we can sing; we cannot yet walk—yet we can fly; we cannot yet understand—yet we can intuit. It exists and we know that it exists because we feel, because we love, because we always and forever will strive to know of this divinity, this greater unity, even in the face of the greatest suffering and despair. It is there. We have love, and we know that this love takes us there. It is in extending this personal love in each of our lives all the way out to include and interpenetrate all of humanity and the world that lies the challenge.

I would like to end this little speech with a quote from my guru of the moment (because whomever I happen to be currently reading is my guru), Sri Aurobindo: “. . . on one side Nature works according to her limited complex of formulas . . . but on the other side there is an overseeing, a higher working and determination—even an intervention—free but not arbitrary, often appearing to us magical and miraculous because it proceeds and acts upon Nature from a divine Supernature: Nature here is a limited expression of that Supernature and open to intervention . . . by its light, its force, its influence. The mechanical, mathematical, automatic law of things is a fact, but within it there is a spiritual law of consciousness at work which gives to the mechanical steps of Nature’s forces an inner turn and value, a significant rightness and a secretly conscious necessity, and above it there is a spiritual freedom that knows and acts in the supreme and universal truth of the Spirit. Our view of the divine government of the world or of the secret of its action is either incurably anthropomorphic or else incurably mechanical; both the anthropomorphism and mechanism have their elements of truth—but they are only a side, an aspect, and the real truth is that the world is governed by the One in all and over all who is infinite in his consciousness, and it is according to the law and logic of an infinite consciousness that we ought to understand the significance and building and movement of the universe.”

Beyond Complexity

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What drives us is the incessant need to be loved. At the heart of things, we are incredibly lonely, desperate to be fully understood, fully touched, fully appreciated. All of human interaction could be reduced to our fundamental need to be loved. Even the most horrifying of acts. Even the most mundane of interactions. Because it is not simply human love that we crave; for many of us, it is only something beyond humanity that we feel can love us and know us in the deepest and truest sense. So we perform sometimes atrocious acts in the attempt to please this distant god. But at root, it could still be accurately said that all human beings ultimately act in order to be loved, to be most truly and fully loved.

Which leads one to the thought that perhaps love immediately withheld may be one of the root causes of our suffering. It is important to have constant attention, constant grooming, from some source, or else we begin to withdraw into ourselves, withdraw into a quiet bitterness that may one day explode. We all need this steady love, whether it is from ourselves, our god, or our lover. We need to feel that we are important, that we have a purpose and meaning that is beyond the detached existence that our material existence accords us.

Such a simple need, and how easy to fulfill! But what is complex about it is that while the urge to love drives us beyond ourselves, the very fact of our own detached self is itself a barrier. It is hard to conceptualize, let alone manifest, any kind of deep interconnectivity that would eliminate the separation and distinction of your own self. Even while you crave so much at every moment to merge into a viscous stream with all creation, so you also fear this flow, and fight it at every step, in the struggle to maintain your sense of identity and control. It is no doubt a humorous and cruel irony that the very tools that would give us liberation and love would also harness our spirit and repress our instinct.

Recognizing this essential compulsion in humanity, however, is key to understanding other people and the way they act, which can seem at times obtuse. But recognize that everyone is simply trying to be loved in the deepest sense of the term, and you will begin to understand even complete strangers. You will see through violent or self-destructive acts. You will see through smoke screens of intellect or emotional fantasy. You will see human beings as what they are beneath all of the baggage and defense of their created universe: naked, lonely, and hungry to be loved.

Forging Networks

Coming close to this everlasting present, the infinite presence that is almost touched for the briefest space of a few breaths, you know that there can’t be anything more critical then communion. These moments of complete openness. There is nothing more that is needed. To be possessed by something beyond yourself, contained within yourself, incorporated within yourself.

It is an ingrained notion we have as humans to consider perfection, harmony, or love to be something complete, something attainable that could be captured. But that’s a traditional thought process that shatters immediately, and repeatedly, in the face of true power and beauty. Life has never been about the completion and culmination of an individual, nor of any one thing—it is rather the momentary bridges forged between distinct entities that unites them into a greater harmonic vision. This bridge necessarily dissipates, as boundaries are revised, and breaches are created in some other part of being. It’s like an air bubble in a sealed container. The bubble can be pushed, expanded, broken into smaller compartments, but the same volume of air will always be there, until it is released into a vaster field of containment. So we journey ever outward, expanding our capacity for awareness, forever dismantling old bridges (because what was once detached is now one entity) and struggling to cross into new. The landscape of the soul is seemingly ever changing, and yet the total energy remains constant—the states simply shift as they find new dimensions in which to attempt to dissipate into, to merge into, to possess and to be possessed thereof.

Love—like enlightenment—therefore, is something that would appear to be unachievable except for singular moments of time. But inwardly, what occurs is more like the dynamiting of a tunnel through two separate caverns—suddenly the water flows between the two until a steady state has temporarily been achieved—that is until another hole is blasted through into yet wider spaces. Like the roots of a tree, the tentacles of awareness seek restlessly their source. Eventually, over time, as the outer world shifts to reflect the release of tensions into greater harmonic wholes, localized about the exploratory meme, a forest is formed, a network is evolved. So too in love, after ups and downs and fights and many starts and finishes, the heart begins to forge a solid network, the base of a building that can sustain itself for centuries.

All of this is rooted in the breakthrough of momentary climactic impulses. The skin knows. The heart knows. The mind is always playing catch up, struggling to define what has already occurred. All that really must be done is to allow ourselves to change, to continually change, knowing that what we truly desire can never be fully possessed. Until we have built up the forests of the heart, all across the world, then we will forever be restless.