A Single Breath

Sitting on a plastic chair in an open air patio where groups of children are playing everywhere around me, I take notes and observe the happenings. There are probably 30 children and a few adults surrounding a table shouting while passing fruit cups around. It seems quite disorganized and out of control. Others are sitting at tables playing with cameras or cell phones. The more energetic children are playing on the fake turf, doing hand stands, back bends, and cartwheels.

Music plays in the background from the kitchen area where 3 cooks are preparing today's lunch. The vibrant colors of the murals decorating the walls brighten up the area and make even the walls seem alive. One child lifts himself up onto his hands and walks down a ramp while balancing only on his palms. Some children stop and glance over at me in expected curiosity, but most keep their distance. But then, quite unexpectedly, a child sits down next to me and directly asks me where I came from, what I am doing, and what it is like where I live. He asks me questions about music, English, and my hairy arms.

My observation is taken from broad and encompassing to focused and narrowed in 3 simple questions. He challenges me to answer his inquisitive thoughts about what I am doing and why. He tells me that the students around the table are  participating in a biweekly "store" where they learn business practices, which explains the scene's odd resemblance to the stock exchange. He calls friends over to talk to me and asks me to say English words. They tell me about their break dancing lessons. He tests his English skills on my native ears. With a single decision by a 12 year old boy, my entire observation is changed. My entire experience of that area, that moment, and that social interaction shifts with a single breath of "hola".  I began to learn about and understand the world more clearly, and then, rather than functioning on my previous assumptions, I was able to more appropriately understand what was happening around me.

A young boy shifted my view, my understanding, with a simple word. He had the courage, or maybe lack of exposure, in order to defy the traditional fear and distancing from people who are different or simply older. He wanted to know some things, so he asked. Therefore, he not only molded my understanding of the world, but also his. Both of our worlds shifted because of a single decision on his part to say hello.

.I plan. I predict. I look ahead to my next conversation. And yet, in each moment my life is turning on the brief and seemingly minuscule breath flowing in and out of my lungs. Every moment is new, different, and unique, yet I fool myself into believing that what I already know will be forever.

I am pulled this way and that way, pushed and shoved by structures and norms, motivated by emotion and desire bubbling up within. In every situation, there are tensions; realities that must be held in contrast to one another without ever letting go of either. I navigate and explore these tensions with every step I take into the unknown future, constantly rewriting my understanding of the world. However, I never really know if I could end up selling bracelets at a lake in Guatemala or teaching a class on occupational therapy in a university. Everything is subject to change and nothing seems to be completely predictable.

Views and opinions clash in classrooms, churches, and political debates, synthesizing new and different understandings of the world. Ideas are digested and processed by small groups and large scale media. My mind is changed, formed, altered, and shifted while at the same moment it is changing, forming, altering, and shifting the world through my actions. I am constantly changing, learning, redeveloping, and emerging with the world and the others in it.

I can look out on to the world and see every raindrop like the last, every ripple in the lake as a repetition, and every man who approaches as simply another homeless man asking for money. Alternatively, I can see every droplet as a new addition to the puddle, every ripple as movement that has never occurred before in the water, and every approaching person as an opportunity to learn from someone new.

Scary yet comforting. In every moment I have an opportunity to change, to make a decision, to do differently, however the pull and strength of my past, my expectations, and current understanding deter me from believing a new or unexpected way of thinking is possible. I am pushed to believe that I can predict what I will be doing tomorrow, next week or even next year, but simultaneously I am consistently reminded that every moment and every person has the potential to reorganize and reshape my understanding of the world.

I often feel tied to the past, incarcerated by its seeming rigidity, its cyclic and repetitive nature. But then sometimes in just one moment, I am reminded of the value of the unexpected and the consistent ability for the world to change, the consistent ability and right for us to change together. I am not bound by the past, in shackles of consistency. We can change, evolve, and understand the world together.

In a single simple action, like saying hello to a stranger, I can change the world for myself and those around me. By standing up and doing, I can begin a process of change, initiate a conversation, explore new ideas from different perspectives, and challenge the status quo, all with a simple breath. Who knew something so small could be so influential? Who knew we were allowed to be so malleable as humans? Imagine what more we can do if we take a breath, let ourselves shape and be shaped by the world around us, and remember that we are all just figuring it out as we go.

A Church I Can Believe In.

His voice echoed agains the walls as he began his sermon, reverberating against the golden pillars and through the glass protecting ornately decorated ecclesiastical statues. Slightly muffled by the low quality microphone, the deep and somewhat monotone voice was difficult to understand as he discussed Corpus Christi and the transubstantiation of the bread and wine. My mind wondered, dazed with a long night's sleep the night before. My Spanish brain was not working as well as it should have and the content seemed like sermons I had heard before. A piece of soft sheer vanilla-colored fabric attracted my eye as a breeze, from some unknown origin, lifted and spread it out in front of the congregation like a sail that had just caught wind. Several large pieces of fabric, cream and wine colored, decorated the aged walls of the Cathedral. The breeze gently caused them to dance, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, in and out of the view of the church goers. One brave soul attempted to tame these delicate beasts but unsuccessfully resigned to their presence over and sometimes touching his head.

As I sat distracted and feeling uneasy with the amount of wealth and treasure that adorned the walls, a woman nearly in front of me fanned herself with the church bulletin. From outside, the sound of an ice cream salesman's bell harmonized with the priest's resounding tone. A baby cried in the back of the church and then a shuffling of chairs to allow the mother to stand and walk with her child up and down the aisles. I repositioned myself against the back of my pew which seemed to be designed at a ninety degree angle to keep anyone from slouching even in the slightest. As a variety of sounds from a distant car alarm burst through the open doors of the church; the flames of the candles covering the altar seemed to shiver at the intrusion into the solemn and respectful space.

"...el descubrimiento de la corrupción organizada en entidades estatales..."

"Guatemala Pains Us"

The word corrupción immediately caught my attention since corruption has be a main topic in the political discourse over the past few weeks here in Guatemala as the country approaches presidential elections this fall. As my ears were redirected to the priests words, his tone and energy shifted from somewhat monotone and obligatory to animated and passionate. It seems the content of his homily had shifted to something a bit more timely and political. I was interested to see how involved the sermon would be in making commentary on the political situation of Guatemala. At first it seemed more informative than opinionated, providing information that recounted the scandal of the Vice President as well as other high level officials who had been embezzling money through a variety of sources. I thought it might simply be a public service announcement to make sure the church was aware that the rich had stolen from the poor – an ironic public service announcement at that, seeing as it was given from a pulpit and altar decorated in gold and jewels. It turns out, instead, he was actually attempting to bring to life the content of a communication, found on the back of our bulletin, from the Episcopal Conference of Guatemala, a conference of bishops that had both opinions and advice for their flock.

The priest passionately and pointedly describes the tumultuous and broken system of political parties and bureaucracy that faces Guatemala, "...un deterioro profundo del sistema político guatemalteco". He began to criticize all the political parties for disregarding the needs of the people and only playing

political and economic

games, claiming they "...surgen y desaparecen en ciclos breves, se caracterizan más por la personalidad de quien los organiza y menos por la propuesta política que los inspira". He blatantly describes the disenfranchised people and a skeptical mentality that prevents many from participating in the political process. But he also commiserates with them, recognizing that their options, as they stand now, are between bad and worse. But, he says, this is why there have been "manifestaciones multitudinarias que expresan..." the indignation and wrath of many citizens. He proclaims that the demands of the protests and demonstrations in the streets across the country over the past few weeks, which have only been peaceful, must be answered and resolved immediately.

Additional to this demand of the government, he reminds his people that they are also responsible for the situation of their country.  When it rains, "las calles en Antigua están inundadas por la culpa de ministerio publico..."  but the roads are also flooded because the people continuously throw trash into the drains. He reminds his congregation that, as Christians, they must participate and support their country in a governmental process that resolves issues like child malnutrition, corruption, and poverty. He challenges them to confront the false christians who are stealing from the Guatemalan people, to not stand with "brazos cruzados," and instead ask what they can do to decrease corruption and improve the political stability of their country. Because they, as Christians, do not place their faith in a political party, not in a candidate, but instead in "...el amor de Cristo Jesus." 

His tone and emotion had reached out and pulled every eye toward him, seeking to not only move the soul but also the body. It almost felt appropriate to stand up and clap at the end, but no one did. As the priest left the podium and the mass continued, my companion, Juliana, leaned over to my ear and said quite matter-of-factly while nodding her head, "una charla tan buena."

How amazing to see the church taking an active role in the political support of its people, supporting, not a party, not a candidate, but the people and their needs as a whole. This was not a call to believe or passively live morally well, instead it was a stimulation of action, a fanning of the fire for change, an instigation for the pursuit of justice, and a reminder of the value of peace. This was a church I could feel a part of, even with a physical appearance that so contradicted  the message it sought to proclaim. I could feel welcomed in an institution that stood by what that priest had offered to his people. At least for this moment, for that hour, my beliefs and understandings of the world greatly coincided with this institution that is often so complex and convoluted. I felt at home within those walls, even though I absolutely would have decorated them differently.

As I stepped out into the street after mass had ended, navigating the cobblestone stairs, I felt rejuvenated and hopeful. I felt that the world could change, and that it just might. In that moment, I turned to Juliana and said, "Esa, esa es mi iglesia."

That, what I had just heard, is a church I can believe in.

Never separate, always connected.

I feel the pressure of the concrete pushing up on my thighs. I sit on the waist-high shelf formed from an entrance to the ruins of the old church. My heels press against the wall as I look out at the yellow pilas where indigenous women used to wash their clothes. Cars, tuk tuks, and motorcycles pass in front of me on the cobblestones, sometimes fumigating me with exhaust. The missing pieces in the arch overhead create a pattern of firm smoothness and aged scars, a testament to its many experiences. My hands press firmly on the rough surface, creating intricate and complex patterns in the skin of my palms. Seemingly ancient twenty foot doors tower behind me, emitting both a sense of wisdom and wear as if they embodied the priests who may have once served within the church.

I realize if I lift my legs up and scoot back into the recessed concrete cove, I could hide myself a bit from the world. I re-situate myself, crossing my legs and supporting my back against the worn wooden door frame, I open my back-pack and begin to observe the world through the lens of my camera. A group of teens sitting in the pilas populate my frame for a moment. A police officer and his friend walk along the uneven sidewalk entering my view and then disappearing again. Two women sit gently speaking with one another as my small window of the world passes over them. I feel almost invisible, safe behind my shield with life continuing around me, seemingly unaltered. I am nearly separate, unnoticed, and external, completely invulnerable and inconsequential to those around me... or so it felt for a moment.

As I observe my surroundings from a distance, continuing my plan to remain unnoticed, suddenly a older gentleman appears directly on the sidewalk before me. He turns and notices me almost immediately, somewhat surprised to see a random man with a camera sitting in the recesses of the church's entrance. He says hello and somewhat quizzically asks "¿Como estás?" At first it seemed peculiar, almost uncomfortable, that this man could somehow see into my little world, my closed off reality. How did he so matter-of-factly find me in my separateness and what made him decide to stop and inquire? We begin a polite conversation that eventually and oddly leads to the topic of my home state of West Virginia and the song Country Roads, a song he apparently loves. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he says "Tenga un buen día" and continues walking toward his destination. My sense of separateness was dissolved; my cove of solitude, revealed to be false; my distance from the situation, imaginary.

It was impossible for me to hide, separate myself from the world. I could not remove myself from the goings on of Antigua, Guatemala. My mere presence was altering the path of a gentleman, enlightening me on the popularity of a song, and calling attention to the oddity of my actions. Life was still going on with me in it, whether I wanted to recognize it or not. This connectedness to the world and people around me is both daunting and exciting. In every moment my body, mind, and presence is interacting with and influencing the actions, perceptions, understandings, and ideas of people around me. In every second, I am influenced and changed by every aspect of the world around me. Even the direction of the wind is altered as I feel it pass across my cheeks, sending chills down my spine. It is inescapable.

I am integrated – linked to every atom, substance, and person in the world. Even memories of people and years past, influence how I interacted with that man. Songs I have learned, languages I have stumbled through, and obstacles I have overcome all emerge in my interactions with the world today. I am connected and carry the years of my experiences and interactions with me. I cannot elude the reality of my synthesis with the world. I am, in every moment, affecting you, and you me. We each carry that effect with us for the rest of our lives, holding the experience of the other in ourselves, remembering, learning, and feeling.

Once, a long time ago when I was very young, my family experienced a great loss, a time when it felt like the whole world had been ripped away from us and we stood alone, separated, angry, and isolated. At this time, for some odd reason, I made up a song:        "A line, a line, a so far line. That's how we stay together."

It seems silly to think of a simple line connecting each and every one of us, passing through time and space to connect us to someone we had lost. But maybe my five year old brain was grasping at something it took me 20 more years to even begin to understand. We are all pervasively consequential to one another. We are linked, whether we like it or not.

We are connected. We are integrated with and through each other. I carry the love, experiences, challenges, and interactions with all my family members, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances with me every day. Sometimes they reside in the recesses of my soul, hiding, seemingly forgotten. However, every once in awhile, a moment occurs, a man asks me how I am doing, and I am reminded that I exist as a deeply connected being to everyone and everything around me, even those who have left us. I carry them with me in the way I say hello to a stranger, care for a friend, or say I love you. Our connectedness does not stop at the living. Their memory and existence have forever altered the trajectory of my life and will always have a place in my soul. They are never lost – nothing is ever lost.

Although we sometimes don't want to admit the illusion of our separateness when it means loving and caring for those who we don't really enjoy, it challenges me to live life continuously reminded that I am always deeply consequential to others and they to me, even with the most random of passers-by. And further, it gives me great comfort to know that, no matter how far or where I go, I carry with me the love and experience of those who have left me. I always carry them with me in every breath I take and every action I do.

I am never separate, even from them. Instead, always connected.