Liberated: Frightened As I've Ever Been, And Loving Every Second

Today I had to present my Liberation Theology project for Sister Peg, one of my favorite teachers I've ever had. I can't even call her my teacher, she's a wisdom source as she might say. She's this wonderfully lively Sister of Charity who has been living in El Salvador for the past 35 years or so. She has a snow white head of hair and the most pleasant smile I've ever seen.

She exudes warmth.

For our final project we had to present what has liberated us. What has made us free from the things that had trapped us previously?  What moments of re-birth have we been a part of? How have we responded to the immense love in this country? How have we responded to the pain?

For my project I decided to compile some poems I have written over the semester. The lines in these poems speak to me. Deeply. They each represent a liberating aspect of my time spent in this beautiful country. I would like to share them with you.

The first is entitled "Open the Wounds" and represents a realization I had about the healing qualities of sharing one's story. This stems from a conversation I had with my History professor, Gene Palumbo. We spoke about the attitude here from people on the political right. A sentiment felt country-wide is the idea that people should just get over the Civil War that happened here in the 1980's. They should just move past it. While I believe there may be some truth in this sentiment, what is painstakingly obvious is that people did not get a chance to get over the war. The people most seriously affected, the campesino farmers, had no outlets to share their story. They never got the catharsis they needed. A lot of this mourning is finally happening now. In recent years delegations and programs such as Casa de la Solidaridad have allowed this process to get underway. I realize the importance of sharing one's story and the liberating affect it can have on on'es life. Our liberation or intertwined and therefore I must also share my story, my words, inadequate as they may be.

Open the Wounds

Open the wounds,

Not the wounds of others

But your own

Wherever they may be

Take a long loving look

And tend to them

Open these wounds,

These wounds that have been

Neatly neglected, quietly ignored

Covered up with a beige colored band aid

That doesn’t quite blend seamlessly with your skin tone

And deal with the uncomfortable

The dried blood and the warm mud,

The blisters, the puss

The blood taken and the blood spilled

The rust

The old age and wrinkled face,

The missing teeth and hard calloused hands

And the shit

Open your wounds

And converse with the past

To enlighten your present and work toward a future

With properly healed appendages

And ever clear eyes

Cry. If you have to

Crack open your eyelids and tell your tearducts

You’re thirsty

Your wounds need a drink

Immerse your sores in the saline sea

Wherever they may be

End the drought

Open my wounds

And remove all the doubt

From my hard seasoned heart and my vice gripped lungs

Free me from infection,

Share your scars and breath new life into me.

And when the wounds have recovered

Both yours and mine

Which may take a long weekend or a short lifetime

Let us walk toward our dreams

Proud of our scars and aware of our past

Moved by the urgency of our present

And invigorated by the ineffable unknown that lies ahead

We’ll smile with the knowledge

That when our long gone lips and dried up tongue

Can no longer recount our memories from our shriveled brains

When the blood’s gone from our veins

The scars from our wounds will tell the stories that need to be heard

And perhaps heal the wounds that have yet to be healed. 

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This poem is about the idea of allowing myself to be immersed in ambiguity and be liberated from the notion that the American society has about always needing to have the answer and be in control.

Finding Light in Darkness

Light from the darkness,

Watch as the stark and desolate

Landscape, by night, becomes illuminated.

Look above, we made it

To this lonely woodland field

Teeming with life

Far from the city light

Now a rare commodity

And to some an unexpected oddity,

Full of fears and anxiety,

Loss and regret

An LED lit society

With all of its insect drones,

Blinded by the artificial light

And more confused than ever.

But on this lonely plot of land

Connect-the-dot patterns

Act as natural lanterns

Just the right amount of mystery and security to facilitate

True growth.

Soak

In the vast unknown

Embrace the abyss

Share a starlit kiss and fall in love with the moon

We don’t have much time as it might all end soon

And all we’ll be left with

Is the pit in our guts and the LED lights

And the honking car horns

To lull us to sleep.

The benefits reaped are short lived at best

As the 9 to 5 grind

And the financial mess

Pick up exactly where they left off.

If only we had long term memories

And could stay star gazing

Amazed by the idea that

Darkness produces its own light,

and our eyes will always adjust.

This poem is about the feeling I've been having since arriving in this country. The feeling of overwhelming responsibility to the world and to myself. Liberated in the knowledge that sometimes trembling and owning your feelings, whatever they may be, leads to something greater than your self.  

Standing before God, Naked and Trembling

Is this what it means?

Is this what it looks like?

To stand before God?

Whatever the hell he, she, it is?

I’m trembling.

Trembling, because the corner I just turned

opened my eyes so suddenly

to such immense beauty and light,

fear and darkness,

pain and joy.

I’m looking out from some Salvadoran Mirador

Immersed in the cool January air.

I’m staring into these endless coffee colored eyes,

With charcoal in one pocket and hope in the other.

I’m smiling

and laughing.

I’m petrified.

My dry and dusty bones are awaken

by the first light of some eternal sun,

but I have yet to feel its warmth.

I’ve seen glimpses of its beauty,

Of his beauty of her beauty, of your beauty

Through these rays, these slivers of sunlight.

Powerful enough to violently pry open my eyes,

But not yet powerful enough to comfort me.

I’m uneasy, and nervous.

Drenched in ambiguity,

like a young man precariously positioned under the falling cascada.

I hope I get to see the fruits of this pain, this frustration, this ugliness,

This pure euphoria and utter despair.

I long to see, fully, this light

I think I want to just get there already.

Impatient as I’ve ever been.

I need to see the sun and be engulfed by its warmth.

Blanket me, I’m cold and shivering.

And I used to want to cease trembling.

I really did.

But now I’m not so sure.

Maybe I’ll never cease trembling.

And maybe I shouldn’t try to.

Maybe I need to tremble.

Maybe that’s the point.

Yeah that’s it.

To tremble forever, and ever and ever.

And never look away from god, or the world or yourself.

Let’s take those long loving looks, right now together.

As petrifying as that may seem.

Because you see the cold,

and the fear,

and that feeling you get when you realize how tiny you actually are on this speck of swirling blue and green mass,

It means you’re getting it right!

These are my growing pains.

So here’s to never getting fully comfortable

And always having growing pains.

A ‘notha round…

Peg ended class with some words of her own today.

She said, "If your dreams don't scare you, they are not big enough."

Gauging the amount of fear I have at the moment, I'd say I'm dreaming pretty damn big.

Thanks for reading guys,

Much love as always,

Antonio