lessons from the bus trois

Sorry about the lengthy intermission... I was on a thinking fast :)

So I'm sitting in a bus on Kensington on my way to work. We are inching along slower than I can walk (well, maybe run!) I'm finally able to see the corner where we will turn right and the traffic will thin enough for us to travel at the speed limit at least. And I think about how enduring this stretch of the road is a requirement for getting to the next stretch. Finding beauty in the trees to my right and the stream of red lights in front and white lights behind helps to make the slow passing of time more enjoyable while I anticipate the stretch where the throttle can be opened up wide (unless of course someone pulls the "next stop" cord) and we can roar up the hill in a much more "going some place" fashion.

And I ponder... it seems sometimes the "slow" stretches, as painful as they are, are a prerequisite for the next stretch. Whether it's because we need the skills learned in the "slow" stretch to enjoy the "fast", to appreciate the "fast", or to endure the "fast".

Whatever the case, no road remains the same in either terrain, treacherousness or speed limit for its entire length. The only way to get the best out of life is to find the best in each stretch and revel it.

Thankfully God is good at helping us out with this... He has a way of making the seemingly complicated things much more plain for my simple brain.. but most of the time it takes me a while to catch on. :)

This is how I know myself...

I had the most excellent adventure at my writing class this week... We read a poem by Joy Hargo named "Protocol". The last two lines of the poem are "This is how I know myself. This is how I know who you are." For our opening write (kinda like warm-ups!) we were supposed to write starting with one of these lines...

This is what I wrote...

This is how I know myself…

I know myself as a quiet mouse. Skimpering behind the scenes, unbeknownst to those in the forefront. Following behind at a safe distance, close enough to hear but far enough to go unseen. Perhaps the plant behind the TV or the trinket behind the glass on the wall.

Occasionally, I jump off my stand or fall from high up on the wall, making a loud crash or breaking into pieces, scattering debris in all directions. I hurry quickly to gather all my pieces and put them back together as best I can. But it seems that every time I crash or every time I break, it becomes harder to put the pieces back together in a tight fit. So what this leaves is a rough creation, jagged in spots, with holes in others. Large cracks that lead to mismatched pieces. This is how I know myself…

On rare occasions, I find myself disassembled on the floor. And rather than quickly gathering my parts together in mismatched form, I allow them to sit, staring at each other. Noticing each other’s wounds and glories. Seeing the depths of the infections but also the scars left from healed wounds. This is when I really begin to know myself…

Then the next exercise was Renga, Japanese writing where one person starts by writing 3 lines, then the next person adds 2 more lines, the next 3 lines and the last person 2 more, creating a 10 line poem... the challenge of the exercise is to listen and hear the writing of the first person and to continue in the rhythm and style that they are using.

This is the collaboration that came out from my first three lines...

This is how I know myself...

On rare occasions I find myself disassembled on the floor.
Rather than quickly gathering my parts together in mismatched form
I allow them to sit, staring at one another

Slowly a pattern emerges, different from before
Allowing me a glimpse of another self

The darker bits are oddly comforting,
Cushioned as they are
Between family heirlooms and the prairie sun.

I know who I am
Strong, beautiful & ready for others to know me

I was astonished at the result. I have known the people in the class for under two months... I see most of them for 2 hours once a week... but this is what they come up with when they listened to my opening write and to some of my other selected writings in the last two months... It was so cool...

The lesson I learned on this day... courtesy of a wise wise man - It's not in the holding yourself together as one who can do it all, it is in the honesty of wrestling aloud, being truthful with sorrow and joy, admitting the struggles, and choosing to engage the pain rather than ducking that we truly know ourselves and allow others to know us and to journey with us.

The City

Thought I would post this. It is a poem penned by my mom about Manila, but it stirs my heart for this city.

I love you mom.

j

I love my city. I love my country.

I love the throbbing heartbeat

from traffic, factories...

love the skyscrapers crammed

with humanity...

i weep for the ghettoes...

where darkness falls and the children wail

from hunger and fear

and no one cares...

i ache with affection

for the lighted windows

in the sky,

where people like me

are living out their lives.

My heart stretches out through the night smog

wondering, wondering

who they are,

what they're doing,

what their lives are like.

I love the province...

the bumpy roads, the smell of rice straw burning...

the tiny markets,

the graceful palm trees, the green mountains,

the simple cheerful folk

who would give you the shirt

off their back to help you

i giggle at the the smiles, the laughter,

the friendliness of the people and the earth

away from the city...

the thump of the ocean as she curls herself

on the shore, shaking her surfy curls

in the sunset...

the breathless heat of the noonday

and the fresh breeze of morning

i love it all...

my land, my people,

my home.