And so it is that a year into a new business venture I find myslef no better off than when I started. These days it seems as if angst is the bane of my existence and each day gives multiple births of frustration. I find sighing a momentary relief, a reminder that e-mails, voice mail, faxes, and day planners are not the fiber that makes for soulful living. Perhaps my breathing is a reminder that after all is said and done all we have left is the breath in our lungs. Do you find this despairing, reader? You shouldn't. Life is made up of all manner of twists and turns. Some seem to be expert navigators but most of us just ride the waves in hopes for understanding, connection, self awareness, and that "thing" we each search for. My hope? Well, it is this, that with evangelical fervor I will be relentless in finding the true meaning of compassion in the poetry of the commonplace among all the souls I call my friends. I want so to not simply be understood by others but to live in such a way that love, acceptance, grace, and passion are not simply terms that attempt to define some ideal we seek after but that instead these are incarnated in the things we hold dear to us and the things we are willing to lay our lives down for. There can be no peace without compassion and compassion comes only to those who can be quiet and who can listen. All the great sages and prophets have told us this already. Only those with all the answers reveal their true ignorance of the real issues and real questions.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Xenophobia
Okay, so I’m sitting in my car this morning and randomly reach for my Oxford paperback dictionary. I decide, this fine stormy morning, to read all of the entries for the letter “X.” Don’t ask why. I’ve no clue. But I read every single one, and there were 24 of them to be exact –which is rather interesting considering the fact that the Greek letter “Chi” is the twenty fourth in the Greek alphabet. (Do you think Oxford just happened to chance on that one? Hmm. I don’t think Oxford and cute ever partner for anything linguistic.) One word hits home this morning. I sit. Read. Play with the thoughts for a while. I took Greek in graduate school. So, when I find myself at “xenophobia” I begin to wonder.
A compound word … xenos for “stranger” or “foreigner” and phobos for “fear.”. A fear of foreigners.
Ah, a classic word for life in the southland of America! I’m Puerto Rican. I didn’t grow up down here in the southeast. In fact, I remember as a kid growing up in New York’s South Bronx (hey, maybe I can still claim to be a “southerner”) that a lot of my black friends, yes- black! I never called them “African-Americans”, would always brag about “goan-dah-oon-sah-uff” and it wasn’t until years later, no joke!, that I finally realized they were “going down South” for the summer. What did I know! The only south I knew back then were the directions my grades were going in Mr. Lester’s class at P.S. 39.. He asked the class one day what “Watergate” meant. I shot my hand up like I was at an auction and proudly answered “Oh, those are games people play in the water, like water volleyball and stuff!” I’m sure that’s when the first “Duh!” was uttered in America. We’re talking the 1970s here.
Well, it’s 2004 now and I live in Birmingham, Alabama now. The story behind how I arrived here is a rather interesting one. Xenophobia does thrive here still, but as in most places across our nation it is taylor made for the region. A missionary to the xenophobic I am not. But I am Hispanic and live in a locale where the Hispanic community is in a neophyte stage developmentally. Here in Alabama if you are “Hispanic” it means you are Mexican. You cut grass or take jobs from citizens who are starving forlack of work but never quite manage to get in line for a job. If you are Hispanic it means you are part of a “problem” that local politicians can use as campaign fodder to garner support from confused and scared citizens who may have never crossed the borderlands of whitewashed suburbia. If you are Hispanic you belong in the fast food industry, serving up taco and chimichangas with just enough of an accent to be cute and authentic.
Here’s a twist for you. I live in a town where a mayoral runoff pitted two business men who have been vociferous in their commitment to deal with the illegal immigration issue in our city. Every article in the newspaper has zeroed in on their promise to deal with “these people”and “this problem” should they be elected into office. Hooray! Finally, we have some men who will take up the charge and jettison these illegals back to their homeland where they can rejoin a culture of poverty and be out of our hair once and for all. The ironic thing about all this is that BOTH of these men own construction businesses. They have subcontractors they hire for specific and skilled construction labor tasks. I’ll give you one guess where they get their zealous-to-work laborers. Viva Mexico!
There is an injustice, xenophobia, and racism that systemically runs deep here in this place I have chosen to live. I’ll stay here though. I like the weather, the history here is grist for the mill, and waitresses don't get histrionic here when I ask for sweet tea. Plus, they could use a few good Puerto Ricans from the South Bronx here in this place. Maybe within time some Alabamians will come to learn, embrace, dialog and respond rather than serve up their sentiments by way of reaction and unadulterated xenophobia.
A compound word … xenos for “stranger” or “foreigner” and phobos for “fear.”. A fear of foreigners.
Ah, a classic word for life in the southland of America! I’m Puerto Rican. I didn’t grow up down here in the southeast. In fact, I remember as a kid growing up in New York’s South Bronx (hey, maybe I can still claim to be a “southerner”) that a lot of my black friends, yes- black! I never called them “African-Americans”, would always brag about “goan-dah-oon-sah-uff” and it wasn’t until years later, no joke!, that I finally realized they were “going down South” for the summer. What did I know! The only south I knew back then were the directions my grades were going in Mr. Lester’s class at P.S. 39.. He asked the class one day what “Watergate” meant. I shot my hand up like I was at an auction and proudly answered “Oh, those are games people play in the water, like water volleyball and stuff!” I’m sure that’s when the first “Duh!” was uttered in America. We’re talking the 1970s here.
Well, it’s 2004 now and I live in Birmingham, Alabama now. The story behind how I arrived here is a rather interesting one. Xenophobia does thrive here still, but as in most places across our nation it is taylor made for the region. A missionary to the xenophobic I am not. But I am Hispanic and live in a locale where the Hispanic community is in a neophyte stage developmentally. Here in Alabama if you are “Hispanic” it means you are Mexican. You cut grass or take jobs from citizens who are starving forlack of work but never quite manage to get in line for a job. If you are Hispanic it means you are part of a “problem” that local politicians can use as campaign fodder to garner support from confused and scared citizens who may have never crossed the borderlands of whitewashed suburbia. If you are Hispanic you belong in the fast food industry, serving up taco and chimichangas with just enough of an accent to be cute and authentic.
Here’s a twist for you. I live in a town where a mayoral runoff pitted two business men who have been vociferous in their commitment to deal with the illegal immigration issue in our city. Every article in the newspaper has zeroed in on their promise to deal with “these people”and “this problem” should they be elected into office. Hooray! Finally, we have some men who will take up the charge and jettison these illegals back to their homeland where they can rejoin a culture of poverty and be out of our hair once and for all. The ironic thing about all this is that BOTH of these men own construction businesses. They have subcontractors they hire for specific and skilled construction labor tasks. I’ll give you one guess where they get their zealous-to-work laborers. Viva Mexico!
There is an injustice, xenophobia, and racism that systemically runs deep here in this place I have chosen to live. I’ll stay here though. I like the weather, the history here is grist for the mill, and waitresses don't get histrionic here when I ask for sweet tea. Plus, they could use a few good Puerto Ricans from the South Bronx here in this place. Maybe within time some Alabamians will come to learn, embrace, dialog and respond rather than serve up their sentiments by way of reaction and unadulterated xenophobia.
Here Comes Ivan
Well, it's Wednesday, September 15th, and our attention has now turned from the residual fear factor of 9/11 to a tropical storm, hurricane I think, by the name of Ivan that, even as I speak, is pounding on the Florida panhandle and is threatening to chomp its way up to us from Mobile, Alabama. So, last night I'm at my daughter's high school PTA meeting and in the midst of loudspeaker humor by the principal I hear talk of how there is not a battery left at Walmart.
Today, just minutes from where I have an office there is a news crew interviewing patrons at a local hardware store patiently waiting in line for a truck to come and deliver more batteries. Here in central Alabama whenever there is a threat of inclement weather you can be assured that there will be no milk, no bread, and no batteries left anywhere to purchase. I haven't purchased any of the above. Why? I'm not sure. I rather like seeing people scurry to Walmart and herd each other along as they follow the instructions of our local meteorologists -who I continue to clamour are in kahoots with the local grocery store chains! Well, it's a thought.
One local news room has offices directly across from a major grocery store. Recently they were joking about how they could see the multitudes rush to the doors after listening to a weather update. The whole scene is a statement of the media's incredible power to sway the public and capitalize on the fears of nervous types who most likely purchased half a ton of tissue paper and enough bottled water to fill 2 swimming pools in prep for the big Y2K scare. Remember that? The money that was made off of that one! Sheesh!
And get this, I turn to an online weather site to see what gives with Ivan. What am a treated to? Simple. A short weather update video brought to you by a major hardware/lumber company that decides to inform the public, during this threat of Ivan, how very much they have done to help in storm and disaster relief services. This is without a doubt pertinent info with disaster looming. Of course all through this we are treated to beautiful pictures of their company truck pulling out on to the road, dark clouds all about, to save lives and restore communities.
Yes, Ivan is coming! He's close! Almost here! Make sure you buy plenty of batteries, milk, and bread. And ... above all ... make sure you visit your local The Home Depot to satisfy all your needs in homecare and construction.
Today, just minutes from where I have an office there is a news crew interviewing patrons at a local hardware store patiently waiting in line for a truck to come and deliver more batteries. Here in central Alabama whenever there is a threat of inclement weather you can be assured that there will be no milk, no bread, and no batteries left anywhere to purchase. I haven't purchased any of the above. Why? I'm not sure. I rather like seeing people scurry to Walmart and herd each other along as they follow the instructions of our local meteorologists -who I continue to clamour are in kahoots with the local grocery store chains! Well, it's a thought.
One local news room has offices directly across from a major grocery store. Recently they were joking about how they could see the multitudes rush to the doors after listening to a weather update. The whole scene is a statement of the media's incredible power to sway the public and capitalize on the fears of nervous types who most likely purchased half a ton of tissue paper and enough bottled water to fill 2 swimming pools in prep for the big Y2K scare. Remember that? The money that was made off of that one! Sheesh!
And get this, I turn to an online weather site to see what gives with Ivan. What am a treated to? Simple. A short weather update video brought to you by a major hardware/lumber company that decides to inform the public, during this threat of Ivan, how very much they have done to help in storm and disaster relief services. This is without a doubt pertinent info with disaster looming. Of course all through this we are treated to beautiful pictures of their company truck pulling out on to the road, dark clouds all about, to save lives and restore communities.
Yes, Ivan is coming! He's close! Almost here! Make sure you buy plenty of batteries, milk, and bread. And ... above all ... make sure you visit your local The Home Depot to satisfy all your needs in homecare and construction.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
Remembering September 11
When the misery of September 11th struck I was an office manager for a magazine and was living in Birmingham, Alabama. I recall I arrived to work a few minutes late that morning and when I entered our editorial offices I noticed a large group of our staff huddled in a small conference room watching television.
I don't often remember specific thoughts I had at particular moments in my past but that morning I recalled that I felt a tinge of dread as I, for some odd reason, thought that the President of the United States had been shot. To this day I've no clue as to why I thought that.
There were enough people in the conference room where it would have been uncomfortable for me to try to squeeze in and see what the big deal was all about. So I stood outside the room and watched through a glass pane. I could definitely see that something was up in New York City.
I could see the twin towers and one of them was smoking away. How odd it all looked! I then thought "Oh, man! One of the towers was hit by an airplane! Sad!!!" I wasn't far from the truth. I still didn't realize that it was a terrorist attack. I will never forget the feeling of fear that gripped me when I saw the second plane bury itself into the other building. I knew then that things would never be quite the same in America again. When the buildings crumbled to the ground a part of America fell too. I think we realized that day that America, great a nation as it is, is vulnerable. We felt that morning things that many other people in many other countries feel on a regular basis. I thought all these things that morning.
I thought also of my sister in New York City, where, incidentally, I grew up. People were crying all around me, hugging each other, and editorial work for the magazine was out of the question for that day. I still remember what one of the editors did that morning of 9/11. She was a close friend and writing mentor of mine. She hugged me, crying, and quoted a passage out of the New Testament. It was from the Epistle of St. James and spoke about praying for one another.
"...pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The effective prayer of a righteous person can accomplish much."
I knew the passage. At the time I was a divinity school student studying for my graduate degree in theology. I felt pretty helpless that day in terms of ministry. I just listened a lot mainly and didn't offer much in the way of emotional sauve for anyone. People needed to cry. We often run from grief but grief is a part of what it means to be human.
Several years have already passed now since that day, but I remember that day like it was yesterday. A writer friend of mine in Indiana called my office that morning frantic. "Are you okay! Is everything okay with you and your family!!" She was crying.
Well, that's pretty much it for now.
I don't often remember specific thoughts I had at particular moments in my past but that morning I recalled that I felt a tinge of dread as I, for some odd reason, thought that the President of the United States had been shot. To this day I've no clue as to why I thought that.
There were enough people in the conference room where it would have been uncomfortable for me to try to squeeze in and see what the big deal was all about. So I stood outside the room and watched through a glass pane. I could definitely see that something was up in New York City.
I could see the twin towers and one of them was smoking away. How odd it all looked! I then thought "Oh, man! One of the towers was hit by an airplane! Sad!!!" I wasn't far from the truth. I still didn't realize that it was a terrorist attack. I will never forget the feeling of fear that gripped me when I saw the second plane bury itself into the other building. I knew then that things would never be quite the same in America again. When the buildings crumbled to the ground a part of America fell too. I think we realized that day that America, great a nation as it is, is vulnerable. We felt that morning things that many other people in many other countries feel on a regular basis. I thought all these things that morning.
I thought also of my sister in New York City, where, incidentally, I grew up. People were crying all around me, hugging each other, and editorial work for the magazine was out of the question for that day. I still remember what one of the editors did that morning of 9/11. She was a close friend and writing mentor of mine. She hugged me, crying, and quoted a passage out of the New Testament. It was from the Epistle of St. James and spoke about praying for one another.
"...pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The effective prayer of a righteous person can accomplish much."
I knew the passage. At the time I was a divinity school student studying for my graduate degree in theology. I felt pretty helpless that day in terms of ministry. I just listened a lot mainly and didn't offer much in the way of emotional sauve for anyone. People needed to cry. We often run from grief but grief is a part of what it means to be human.
Several years have already passed now since that day, but I remember that day like it was yesterday. A writer friend of mine in Indiana called my office that morning frantic. "Are you okay! Is everything okay with you and your family!!" She was crying.
Well, that's pretty much it for now.
Friday, September 10, 2004
Entering the world of Blogging
10 September 2004
I spoke with a friend today that mentioned blogging. Her name is Heather. She makes movies. I don't know any other film producers. I thought I would take up the challenge to record my thoughts here. There's so much to say! Where does a person even begin? Who reads all this anyway! Is this for me, for you? Who? I have always had a penchant for a word fitly spoken. I feel naked writing here in this cyber journal. I can't quite remember who it was that said this, I think maybe Walker Percy, that it is odd how we can talk to an individual and not feel the pressure of exposure like we feel when we are faced with having to address one hundred people all at once. What is the difference? Well, I am, I think, talking to millions here. Maybe not. It's more the potential of speaking to so many that makes me feel insecure. I am a man. Simple. I have many thoughts about many things. I have lots of stories to tell. Maybe some of them will be of interest to you and maybe some will not. My thanks to Heather for turning me on to this. I enjoyed the conversation today and walked away feeling heard. Thank you. Rare moment I will remember.
I spoke with a friend today that mentioned blogging. Her name is Heather. She makes movies. I don't know any other film producers. I thought I would take up the challenge to record my thoughts here. There's so much to say! Where does a person even begin? Who reads all this anyway! Is this for me, for you? Who? I have always had a penchant for a word fitly spoken. I feel naked writing here in this cyber journal. I can't quite remember who it was that said this, I think maybe Walker Percy, that it is odd how we can talk to an individual and not feel the pressure of exposure like we feel when we are faced with having to address one hundred people all at once. What is the difference? Well, I am, I think, talking to millions here. Maybe not. It's more the potential of speaking to so many that makes me feel insecure. I am a man. Simple. I have many thoughts about many things. I have lots of stories to tell. Maybe some of them will be of interest to you and maybe some will not. My thanks to Heather for turning me on to this. I enjoyed the conversation today and walked away feeling heard. Thank you. Rare moment I will remember.
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