sitting in the Dark...

20^th February, 2015

I sit in the dark again and I am thinking about light. In particular the mass of wires that clings and droops every which way, heading in many directions from the couple lampposts on the street below. With that colossal tangle I am surprised the power is on as much as it is. I see all the light that the lamp is giving out since I am looking from above, but I see the shadow below the light, I have walked that way before and know that the light barely reaches the ground.
Like watching a show, I wait for my neighbor prepare to play the piano; jiggling this wire and that until it is in just the right position to let the instrument produce The beauty it was meant for—Sound.
People who live here fiddle and giggle the wires not bothering to think that it could be any different. People sit at night by candle light when the power goes out because that's the way it is. They walk down a poorly lit street because they don't even notice the tangled web of wires preventing the light to come through.
I wonder if we all are not the same, living in our spiritual darkness, wiggling our wires for the slightest bit of life, satisfied with only a little light shining on our way, because we don't realize there is a tangle of lies blocking the light. How can we live any different than how we are if we do not understand we believe the lie that this is the way that is meant to be.

 18^th February,2015

Electricity is not something we think about most days, that is unless we don’t have it. In the west there is a nice orderly system for dealing with power outages. If it is just your house a nice guy from the power company treks out to fix the problem the same day and is all apologetic about any inconvenience, if it is the neighbourhood they will be up on the poles and looking at the wires to remove the obstruction as soon as they can. Rarely is it the city that looses power, since “that only happens in some freak accident” or a “strike from mother nature”.

When you walk down a street in the west you barely even recognize the power lines unless a bird sitting on the wires poops on you. No for the most part they are tidy, up high or underground, so when you walk down the street at night it is no big deal to walk the same way you would during the day; and when you walk up the path to your home the motion sensors easily do their job and turn on the light, we don’t give it the time of day because that is what is supposed to happen.

It’s a bit different here. On this side of poverty awareness is key to staying alive and not being strangled by the wires that droop to shoulder height along the foot path, during the rainy time it can be shocking watching some exposed wires dance in a puddle. When you move from one house to another, the sockets and wires are just part of the furniture. In the next place you join all the other neighbours who have amassed a wad of wires to the lamppost, so even when the electricity is on at night the light on the street eeks out on to the road inhibited by the tangled mass dangling in front, around behind and beside.

It’s these lampposts that have got me thinking. One cause for poverty is said to be the lack of access to systems; not that i think this is even a main reason for poverty here but the electricity is barely a system, and I am living in the city. There is a basic structure, but even the middle class don’t have consistent access. I was talking with a friend and she expressed how she likes the florescent lighting. I was at first surprised—who would prefer the sterile, flickering light of a florescent light but it seems to be the preference around here, so I asked her why. She told me that in the villages (and edges of the city) they use candle light, here we have electricity and the florescent lights give more light. More light means longer working hours; longer working hours mean we can make enough for the day. Form my privileged point I saw I was looking at preference rather that practicalities.
Electricity or no, work starts early and continues until late around here and I again see that the tangle of wires on the lamppost outside sheds only a sliver of light on the reasons poverty is here.

March 9, 2015

Sometimes certain prayers just stand out to me as we read them as good and right.

“Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities that happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Who lives and reigns...”

The Rainbow Log

For those of you who don't like descriptions of gross things skip over this reading please! Actually maybe you all want to skip over this one except for my sister. You see I have been sick a bit recently;and anyone who has lived in another country that is different than their home environment can probably testify that on such occasions while lying in bed many crazy thoughts come to mind. I think of my family and friends often (which isn't so crazy), but on this particular occasion I thought of my sister and If I was sick at her house there is a little book in her bathroom called the “Poo Log”, and so I mainly wrote this for her. Being sick at her place sure beats being sick far away from home. So To my sister!

The Rainbow Log

If I had a “poo log” here 

One like my dear sister has,

The variety of entries would astonish.

Black and greenish; Golden and ruddy brown.

Some are like Jackson Pollock

and others astonishingly realistic to what I ate

—Just painted brown.

The fast and the slow 

the floaters and the sinkers

all get dropped off at the super-bowl.

Everyday a new kind

This is becoming my new “normal”. 

They say lots of experiences makes for a good book 

...I think I'm going to need a bigger journal.

Though writing this log book zaps me of strength, 

and makes me want my sister close,

to all the Fuss and I say thus: 

“I'll have the best Rainbow Log ever”  

Learning Language...

The tears come streaming down my face—I couldn't choke them back this time. What's the matter with me? I even understand what she wants me to say! And the tears aren't helping my pronunciation any either. I blubber out the answer, much slower than I could have if I wasn't sniffling in between each of the words. I have been prepared for this moment as a friend had once said learning language can make even a grown man cry. I had believed her when she said it, but the experience of it is awful. (For those who know I don't like public speaking the feeling I get is almost the same. Its like a two or three hour long speech every morning. )
I am assured there will be “ah ha” moments, though today is not one of them. I am reminded how much I had to study for a passing grade in school and I wonder can I do this? I have changed the phrase I use when I meet new people from “I am learning this language”, to “I am SLOWLY learning the language.”
My language helpers here sometimes say “it is easy, no?” They think (and they are probably right) that English is harder to learn. But that thought doesn't help so much right now because even if it is easy, it is stinking hard right now.
I understood what my friend who moved from Mexico to California told me about the difficulty in language and homesickness; I understood and knew it was worth it, but now I know so much more... my clear vision back then helps me see over this mountain of language now. There is a hope that someday I will be able to have deep and meaningful conversations with people who have become friends through the long months together. Though it seems miles away now someday I will stand on top of this mountain and do a little happy dance, singing some happy little song.
Today is not that day, but it will come.