Tangential, Quixotic...Me

Although one might consider the benefits of having a cast far outweighed by the drawbacks, and while I would generally agree with them, one benefit is that I have the ability to blog instead of going to sleep, because hey...what am I really going to do tomorrow? There is a bit of bitterness in my voice, but not too much. The cast will be off Thursday morning, and then I can return to regularly scheduled programming, as it were. Be warned...this post makes little sense and has even less continuity.

I am a cynical person. I have had some incredibly lofty and wonderful ideology, and my goal is that I can get back on that horse, as it were, in spite of being sadder and wiser. It's a fight, though, and right now I would have to say that I'm a recovering cynic. This experience of service has been difficult not only in discovering more about me, but in dealing with knowledge. I have talked about the beauty of individual people in several blogs, and no blog entry would capture the beauty and wonder (despite the flaws) of any person, least of all those who have been closer to me, and certainly not by any stretch of the imagination she who has been closest during this experience. However, I somehow find myself in a paradoxical situation: as my love for individuals grows, my view of humanity somehow diminishes. I think (but haven't gotten it into my heart) that this view comes from a misattribution.

You know, I also paradoxically think of myself as a great person and a really lousy person. I'm in the process of searching for equilibrium, and this journey was a blessing from God to show me how desperately I need it. In all my complaining about society, I fear that I've been hesitant to venture into it. Heck, I haven't even registered to vote! It's easy to be the unregistered naysayer withdrawn from the world, talking about being a responsible voter and the ridiculousness that is the contradictory stances either US political party holds as their own. And there's always a truth in what naysayers and even hypocrites have to say...but man alive, I have to wonder how I sleep at night, sometimes.

I went to the National Catholic Prayer breakfast in 2009. I was probably more arrogant and cynical then. I heard the introductory speaker speak on Christians as cretins or viewed as idiots, counterproductive, etc. for their views. It was smart, it was intelligent, and it informed the American citizen that being a Christian means opting for what people who take easier or more immediately pleasurable routes might consider incomprehensible. Then, the keynote speaker, a bishop emeritus spoke. I recognized his name as being one who was very much anti-abortion, so I prepared myself. Don't get me wrong, I am NOT a fan of abortion and have some very, VERY strong views, but I also take issue with the current conservative view that makes it a single-issue ticket. I won't get into them here, but let it suffice to say that if for no other reason, it makes politics very, very boring and predictable. I had this bias going into his speech. I was probably the only one in the auditorium with this sentiment. Had I heard this speech by myself, had His Excellency been addressing me alone, I might have had a very different reaction to his speech. Instead, I was immediately turned off by what I perceived as mindless yes-men applauding to every other sentence. I am impatient; I wanted him to get to the point. It's hard when people break out into applause every half-minute. His speech, predictably, though very fairly, talked about being responsible Christians and citizens, and how having the courage to speak to one's representatives in order to ensure that one is in fact being represented is important, especially regarding the values of life. He arrived to a point about politicians wanting to avoid getting implicated in something that might (heaven forbid) jeopardize their spot as a politician or make their voice unheard, how sometimes they'll talk about wanting to save that voice and that pull for another cause that is also important and in line with the Christian faith. Now, when a politician needs to be called out and, well, grow the courage to be a discordant voice of truth amidst a throng of common trend and self-deception, I support that. In fact, sometimes a person needs to really weigh how much the cause they want to support is the cause that they need to support. The bishop's words were not incorrect, uninspired, or anything of that nature. HOWEVER, somebody interpreted what he said in a very different way...or at least I thought so. A woman at the table next to me (I will avoid description because I do neither of us charity by judging her down to her jewelry) sneered, "Social Justice," as he arrived at this portion. I feel I'm justified in my interpreting her sneer to pertain to the subject at hand, citing a specific example of what other causes a representative might wish to support instead of the taboo "abortion" dilemma. This...sent me over the edge.

Thinking that one law or Supreme Court ruling will eliminate the problem or change the culture is simplistic. To me, it is the very idea of social justice that has the ability to change the culture and make legislation more feasible and more effective. If we look at low-income families and the poverty of finances and education (both in general and regarding sexual education...which is distinct from talking about different sexual positions and contraceptives), and look at how to remedy those problems, well, that's a bit more holistic. Much more difficult, granted, but addresses the root of the problem. In the end, though, what experience has shown to me as the "liberal" idea that legislation and more government initiative solving everything isn't the answer, either. As long as the man next door doesn't care for his neighbor, as long as a man lacks the conviction that he needs to give a crap about another, the letter of the law is ineffective. The spirit is what brings that perfection. That's my soapbox. The reason I bring it up is because I had little faith that humanity could really pull it off. With that woman's sneer, I wondered if the people proclaiming themselves as Christian from either side could ever bring themselves to see the sense in some portion of the other side, because neither side has got what it takes to bring about the kind of peace that Jesus preached if they go it alone. Of course, there's the fact that we'd still be Christians, and many people aren't and don't share those views, and...well, there you go.

I meet so many people. So many really, really, good people. Some of them take the time to think and be awake, some of them don't. Even with those who don't, I have a really hard time seeing how the cogs of society crunch and grind and go in so many directions I don't want to go down, that I know beyond any shadow of doubt are ways to certain...well...unconsciousness.

It's hard to fight that cynicism, that discouragement, that temptation to give up hope and give into impatience and despair, in the midst of a giant cloud of black. There's a certain guy who would always call me naïve for my views. A part of him was right, because eventually I let my own broken heart make me condemn and judge everybody in sight and see the world as a place incapable of goodness and change, or a place unlikely of it happening...and instead of fighting my best anyway, I let myself become bitter. Becoming bitter is easy. Being judgmental and arrogant and sanctimonious is very easy (Exhibit A: this post). The title has "quixotic" in it...but perhaps that's not quite right. "Quixotic" means overly idealistic and impractical. I think that this experience has helped me take what was originally me--idealistic, hopeful, uncompromising in stuff that counted--and took out the naiveté. I had had my heart broken...and it was rebuilt here, and I've been shown without minced words what the world is like, and what it's like to try to live seeing the world as it is while aiming to make it as close to "as it should be" as possible. I'm sure it will happen again, and harder, and I hope that I'll be ready for it. Only way to do that is to learn to trust. Here we go. Still.

Holy Family

Many things have happened: Thanksgiving was a wonderful event even if the turkey didn't get cooked all the way, December and Advent have been nothing short of beautiful experiences (albeit very challenging at times), and all of a sudden, quick as the madness began, it stopped. Here I am, the day after Christmas, one of maybe 40 people in Ciudad...about 15% of the normal population. I won't see most of those kids ever again, and while I almost started crying when Hermano Hugo called us up at Mass on Saturday night to be given a farewell blessing, I was glad to see these boys go. I was glad to see them walk confidently and happily out of the pabellón into the promise of a summer that won't be as carefree as one might hope, but in any case is summer. The promise of summer is a privilege whose full benefits, I think, are reserved for those in the academic sphere. The passage of time has helped the boys be confident: having a few months just being in your own skin while the changes of puberty start really setting in help tremendously. Knowing the routine, going from a new kid to a veteran, having the swagger of being "not freshman" and/or "upperclassmen"...I know the self-assurance such happenings can give a teenager, and I had a bit of pride to see the boys I'd seen as short, awkward kids walk out as not-quite-as-short, almost-confident-in-social-situations teenagers.

It'd be arrogant to think "My work is done," because a lot of that work is the natural course of time unfolding; I was merely a witness and cheerleader, adding the occasional formational remark. It was sad for me, and will be sad still...it'll hit more when I'm on the plane heading to the States, and more so when I realize that I can't just strike up conversation with whatever gringo is around about the ridiculousness of these boys and have them truly understand from sharing that same root experience of being in this place. I know that even in the midst of coming home, even in the midst of being welcomed back, of coming back to people who've been missing me, I'll be struggling with feeling very alone. I'm coming back a different person with different experiences, a different diet and different preferences; people will rely on my description of Jhon to form an image of him, unable to just draw on their knowledge of his quick-as-a-whip friendly tongue-in-cheek from encountering him in the kiosco. This is very tangential. The point is that as I feel more alone, as I feel my time in a community in which I've become comfortable comes to a close, the realization that I might not ever see these boys again will become more acute. And that's the way of things, and I'll fight the negativity tooth and nail and work on being grateful and trusting God as the time comes.

Now to the point of my post: Today's the Feast of the Holy Family. I could go on at length, but I'll let this suffice: Like those of the Holy Family: In every one of our relationships, may we have the Father as our first father, the Son as the first child born of the relationship, and the Spirit as our first lover.

Recurrent themes

This post originally was going to be about something completely different, but the title remains the same.

My junior year of college, I had what many would consider an awful 1st semester. A friend died, a family member died, a friendship went freefalling, I had a million responsibilities, a lot of academic work, and then, as icing on the cake, I sprained my ankle shortly before Halloween. I hated that time, I was mad at myself, I resented the situation, dwelled on the negative, and really let myself get to a bad place. I had found it hard to pray before that had started, but I certainly had no desire to pray after. God was unfair, He was my competition, and I could tell that He wanted me closer to Him, but man did He have another thing coming.

Of course, my desire is to say how foolish I was, how immature, how self-damaging and infantile in my tantrum, and...well, yeah, I was. I hurt myself, I closed up a lot, I hurt others, and everybody felt that energy coming from me. It was so easy to go to that place, and while the loudest voice in me told me to continue in that vein, there was a voice that told me that I had to try. That voice was muted at times, distant, or even without any passion: a monotone radio announcement, a bored mantra. All the easier to shut it out. And man, I shut it out. I didn't give up on school; I put more effort into school, as I was doing well with it and I derived my sense of well-being from it (I also liked my classes a lot...well, mostly. Some classes I was awful in. I'm sorry, Dr. Mc). I worked really hard at Esto Vir. Here's the thing, though: I didn't tell anyone what was bothering me. I didn't pray because it was just that much easier to ignore my need to do so, having had active reasons to rage against God (so I thought).

I am pretty sure that 3 years later, exactly to the day, I found myself once again without the mobility I'm so used to. Slightly different reason than before: This time I dropped a pot of boiling water onto my right heel and got a nice 2nd-degree burn. This is the same foot that got severely sprained 3 years prior. October 28th (day of said injuries) is a special day here in Perú. It commemorates the feast of El Señor de Los Milagros. Years ago, there was a huge earthquake in Lima. The whole city was decimated, save for one mural of Christ Crucified, which stood completely intact amidst the wreckage. It came to be known as El Señor de Los Milagros (Lord of Miracles). Of course, at first I thought it a very ironic occurrence to receive a burn and be confined to rest and a crutch on a day associated with Miracles. It's easy to make a joke about how God needs to resort to physical injury to send me messages or that He just enjoys watching me in pain.

This time, though, I really needed to fight the negativity. Somehow, I put on a fun face for everybody last time and let it eat my core. This time, maybe I won't tell people how hard it is to fight going stir-crazy or to fight my mind's crazy formulations or impulses due to boredom, but I feel more honest and less angry about life. I can't tell you what the differences are between this time and last, but I feel the message is the same: "Trust me, be with me, talk to me, follow me. And Hope!" Last time I was in such pits and so pissed and...wanting the world to give me some recognition and loads of sympathy. I found some. To everybody who interacted with me then: thank you, you have shaved several years off of purgatory, I'm fairly positive.

I've had my moments of frustration, despair, of being brought to tears, of doing stupid things like eating crap in huge amounts due to boredom even though I know it'll drive me crazy because of how unhealthy it is later on and the fact that I can't do exercise that I'd love and want to do. I've allowed myself to go paranoid partially out of boredom, partially out of being so alone and feeling so vulnerable. It's easy to think that people despise you or resent you when you're so worried about having to ask for help or admit you're weak that you inadvertently become self-involved. When forced to grapple with yourself, it's easy to avoid that battle and fall into a spiral of self-pity and frustration because you wish you weren't a burden. I've sat staring at the ceiling at night because I've rested all day and while my mind is exhausted, my body (having done little more that be vegetative and recuperate) is wide awake, ready and reporting for duty.

I've needed to deal with the same things, and I've been able to receive some of the same gifts: Wonderful, genuine people who have care and concern and show me love in a way that is very touching. It's amazing how those small acts, like people asking if they can get you something from the market or bringing you dinner when they come to visit or ask after you whenever they have the chance can be so very powerful in the experience of somebody who is needing to feel assured and embraced and loved.

Bright sides seem easier to find this time. Part of that is being willing to let my girlfriend in, and her willingness to keep me from dwelling (even when I really want to). Part of it is a desire to hope and a knowledge that I can't give in to all of that anger and resentment, all of which stems from...fear and from pride. It's a tough battle at 3 AM when you're wide awake and can't sleep no matter how much you'd like to do so, but it's nice to think that through the grace of God both in my all-too-imperfect openness and in others' love and presence, I'm at least willing to try to see what He might be saying to me. It's a tough thing to do because I hate not having all the answers, knowing what will happen, how it will happen, etc. I like being in control, I like being on top of everything, and to even admit that maybe God's trying to tell me something is to admit an imperfection which is a blow to my pride and sets my anxiety alarm off. I was lucky enough to have a bright side: now I have time to do what I complained I didn't have time to do. I can pray, I can write applications to grad school, and I can rest. And I can keep learning how to believe and have hope.

It's tough to have to admit that you have to learn something. I was too wrapped up in myself 3 years ago to see it. I'm still too wrapped up in myself in some ways to see lessons that I'm sure God's been trying to scream; I hope that continuing in the spirit of surrender I might unclog my ears a little bit and maybe take my fingers out of them, too.

At the end of it, though, this has been a miracle. And...how fitting for me that the only thing that stood in a city with all of its solutions for problems, all of the ways that people look to escape (granted it was the 18th century, so this is my own 21st century spin on things) that you can find in a city, the things that can absorb us entirely, the one thing that remains intact was a mural of the crucifixion. The message "The road of love leads to Calvary" has been on my mind, and the idea of surrendering to that is my (life's) task, but how fitting that the only thing that will stand strong and endure is that paradoxical image of selfless love and perseverance; that, with the eyes of faith and hope, speaks of the resurrection and immortality that lies after the death and the initial pain.

Intellectual processing of this: 78% complete (roughly)

Holistic processing and integration of this: 5% complete. Estimated time remaining: rest of natural life, and perhaps then some.

Have a great Thanksgiving!

"Rejoice in the Lord Always"

"I say it again, rejoice!" I'm not a major Bible fiend in the sense that I can quote and then cite passages with perfect accuracy, but reading the Office of Readings sure gives me some awesome things to read each day, and I get a rush out of reflecting on the readings for each Sunday and finding some of the ways that they connect and send a message. Sometimes, context and full meaning aside, little passages and/or phrases just jump out to me...This portion of Philippians chapter 4 (verses 4-7, de hecho) always makes me think a little bit. I know this is a recurring theme I talk about, partially because my own journey right now and forever will always be about learning to trust and have faith, to hope, and to know the peace that comes from that, a mystery to those who experience it and confounding to those who see it from the outside.

One of the boys who was in the pabellón where I worked named Alfredo Navarro, 15 years old, has a benign brain tumor. Of course, when tumors decide to take up residence in the brain and are freaking large, it's hard to imagine a tumor being benign. He's had a biopsy and now has had a device put into his skull to help with fluid from accumulating and building up in the tumor's area. I need to visit him soon. A part of me is scared. Don't get me wrong, a part of me is selfish, but the selfishness and callous attitude I'm tempted to have comes from someplace completely unexpected: a fear. I know it's silly to post confessions on blogs, but hey, you all wanted to know me better, anyway. Lauren and I were the same year in the same school since age 5. We went K-8, Freshman to Senior year of high school at the same schools. Then we went to the same college. I remember when I first heard that she had cancer...I prayed for strength. I didn't pray for strength for me, or at least I didn't think so: I wanted strength to not doubt, to be there for others...and because I didn't want to acknowledge how awful a thing cancer is. She and I weren't best friends. We actually fought a bit back in 4th grade when I was acting up and stood behind her in line. Haha, I kissed the back of her head on accident in 3rd grade and was humiliated for the whole day. Everybody forgot within a day, at least as far as I know (though I was never one to be in the gossip circles, nor would said circles' opinions really influence me, so who knows?). In any case, we kinda went our separate ways in high school and college. But did we? There she was, a small reminder of home in a strange land in college, a reminder of what we both experienced at our parochial school in high school. And then we heard her cancer had come back, full force. And then she gave her final showcase the summer after freshman year of college in our high school's theater. One of the moments of my life I regret most, I think, happened that night. Instead of waiting to talk to her, instead of acknowledging how seeing her sing even though I knew that she was in pain and that she was tired made me feel both so sad and incredibly hopeful, instead of even just meeting her eyes and giving her a hug and saying hello...I bailed. I went with my friends who didn't go because they didn't feel they knew her (and a few who went but didn't know her well) and went in search of ice cream. I can't say I enjoyed my time with friends, I can't say I enjoyed the time I stole to avoid the discomfort of acknowledging that, unbeknownst to me before seeing the showcase, I was a little bit destroyed (a little, not totally) that she was not going to be a constant for the rest of college, that I'd only hear her astounding singing voice in youtube recordings made before I was 21...I was so terrified of facing that, and yet I was miserable not doing so.

I sometimes wonder, especially now that Alfredo reminds me of her situation, and even of her, with certain facial expressions he makes, how life would have been different if I had just stayed that night, if I had allowed myself to see her, if I had allowed myself to cry, if I had allowed myself to admit where I truly was in that moment. I doubt that life would be incredibly different, and yet the significance of that one small act/omission is vast. My mind has so many places to go with this thought.

The first thought is nothing new: a life lived in fear is hardly a life. It's the difference between surviving and thriving: it's a huge difference. You can read old blog posts to read about that.

The second thought relies on a quote from our pal St. Paul: "If God is for us, who can be against us?" (Romans 8:28). Well, people can be against you, cooperate against the grace that's trying to be there, but the lovely thing about God is that...well, He Is Who Is. In the end, if we're receptive to Him, His grace is enough to bring us to what we all want. I look at the moments wherein I've let fear I've misattributed to strength or sensibility and my answer to Paul's question is, quite simply: We can be against us. We are our greatest and truest obstacle, and when we let fear or pride (the two actually go hand in hand, at least in my experience) call the shots, we don't give grace much opportunity to act. I mean, it's still God, so He doesn't ever give up, but yeah. I want to be strong, which I often take to mean hiding my weaknesses, not showing them, not even taking time to realize I need to confess them or justifying myself IN Confession. But...it's precisely in that brokenness that we can find grace waiting to wash us over, peace, love, and we can tune our strings to the true tone.

Third thought: People think of hospitals as depressing, and I can understand. There's so much illness, sickness, bureaucracy, dehumanization, mortality, etc. Somehow I see myself there for another reason, and perhaps not as a doctor or nurse. Perhaps due to experiences in the past, or my experience now with Alfredo, I feel like it's a place that offers so many profound invitations for us to recognize where we are, both in how we feel and that we are not perfect and that we need other people. I know that the feeling of there being people there to grasp your hands when you reach them out is incredible, affirming, strengthening, and ennobling. When that happens, there's a light that one can't help but ignore. In a way, it highlights some of the key points of the human experience: birth and death (clearly), but also how to deal with suffering, what it means to be social beings...I have begun to ramble.

I had a fourth thought, but sleep deprivation has killed it. Perhaps in a later post.

In the end, it boils down to more how one is rather than how one does. The latter will have significance only if the former is there. And I'd like to be in a place of trust, of rejoicing in the Lord at all times, in all things, always. I'd like to be in a place of faith.

God willing, I'll see him this week. Send prayers, any of you folks who still read...and feel free to send me your intentions, too!

Post-Retreat (s)

Halfway through my stay in Panama I almost found myself troubled over the state of peace which had been granted to me. There amidst the lush green, the fecundity wafting in the air rife with stifling humidity that makes the ceiling tiles droop and fall into convex bumps on the ceiling grid, there was a sense of tranquility that I didn't expect. As I sat in a chapel revealing my humanity and discovering that of others, rain cascading like waterfalls onto the tin roof, I was home in the unknown.

My gecko roommates (as opposed to the human and infinitely cooler roommate sleeping on the bed that was NOT atop a desk) scurried along the walls and squeaking blithely into the wee hours of the morning served more as a source of wonder than a source of annoyance. Not even the roosters who were so dedicated to waking the dawn as to begin crowing mere hours after the sun disappeared from the sky could shake my appreciation and joy at seeing skies and sunsets that God had apparently decided to take out of his private collection of art straight from his own palette.

In the midst of the sun and humidity that left me drenched, a huge wave of contentment rolled over me. Going from the retreat I had with the Ciudad personnel immediately before hopping my plane to Panama to the CapCorps International Retreat put me into official "Retreat High," I think. The mere fact that I felt much more connected to Ciudad's community after that retreat was terrific, and then we were in PANAMA, moreover with very cool people we hadn't seen in over a year! I was so excited to go to Ciudad back in August 2009, but it was crushing to bid farewell to the two Nicaragua communities as they passed through the security gates in the Milwaukee Airport. Alyssa, Tania, and I were a community, but we were gifted as an international group with a sense of overall community, too, and to feel a distinct connection and kinship, to simply be able to bask in the wonderfulness that is these 8 other incredible people, makes parting a bittersweet act of faith. So yeah, that was definitely present as the 6 lovely people living and learning in Nicaragua headed out into their own unknown. I savored the existence of this imminent retreat with all of us together from the moment I heard it was happening, so it's safe to say that the excitement of being with them helped give me such a feeling of ease.

To get the less important part of this post out of the way, I'll start with my reactions to just being in Panama that were entirely individualistic: I felt an awakening of the sense of adventure that allowed me to come to Peru in the first place, that same feeling that, though sleepily, has sustained me and helped me to fight off fear in any number of circumstances. A breath of the air on that first morning in Central America vividly told me that my days of travel are not over, made my excitement for the future and its possibilities and uncertainties truly present and alert. A breath of that air gave me the feeling that anything and everything was and is possible, similar to what happened when I was in Honduras. A part of my heart most definitely belongs there, and God willing I'll be able to travel there again and spend more time than a week or two. I felt...alive.

The most immediately moving thing for me during and after these retreats, clearly, was the sense of community, the rejoicing in being very much in an element that allowed me to grow, be challenged, and to laugh and have an incredible time all the while. After a year of growth and challenge as an individual, with retreats in Ciudad first focused on the individual, the change to focusing on the essential nature of living as a community as Christians was welcome and a necessary step. Of course, it felt a little bit sad to have a feeling of, "Oh...duh," as I was there with the Ciudad community, being reminded of all the things that are poisonous to this essential component of Christian living and how many of them we'd allowed to permeate our daily interactions, as the immediate inclination for me was to think, "So glad we've got this piece of the puzzle here as time winds down," in a sarcastic or bitter way. But, as several folks mentioned in Panama, one of the keys to these next four months is to think of them more as beginning, or of their own time, rather than just the winding down of an 18-month experience. In Panama, we focused on Eucharist and what and how we are supposed to do in memory of Him. We had the opportunity to re-realize that we weren't perfect as humans nor community, to offer nothing more nor less than ourselves to God, each other as a big community on retreat, our respective communities in the rest of our time together, to the new community members, and to those with whom we work. The fact that we who all enjoy each other's company were able to go a little bit deeper, reveal some of our own struggles, receive others', and find a connection in our humanity (i.e., both our faults and the desire to do better and to overcome the obstacles that arise due to those faults), perhaps gain insight into our own situation from others' brokenness....what a wonderful gift CapCorps, our coordinators, the prayers that everybody back home offers for us, and the financial backing that people are generous enough to impart have given to us!

How wonderful it has been to have an experience that makes me realize that everything I learned about Church, about its necessity, its universality, get a little more integrated into my heart! And how wonderful it is to welcome Mike and Jeanette into the community! How genuinely blessed it was to see my parents for an incredible 10 days this month when they came to visit! How amazing to have even more excitement for seeing my brother again in less than a year! How exciting it is to be careening into October, a month of insanity, and rush toward another transition, but to know that a beginning started when I walked off the plane in Panama City!

More than ever, the idea of The Communion of the Saints has become something that gives me strength, sustains me, and moves something in me. The thought of perhaps not being able to ever be with them in that community setting that we were lucky enough to experience this September and in July and August of last year is saddening, but the gift of knowing that we enjoy each other's company is so wonderful. And when I miss them, it actually now offers me a great deal of comfort and joy to think that I'll see them in the Eucharist. And my family. And those others whom I miss. And those with whom I clash.

What a blessing, this life. I think I need my resolution from those retreats to be that: The constant realization of that blessing. From realizing that blessedness, that love, from incorporating that into my core (with God's grace), God only knows what will follow...and at the moment, I'm perfectly content with that.

Cusco, Las Alturas, Y Más

I do realize it has been a long time since my last post, so there is a lot of ground to cover.

I have a new stamp in my passport. It's a ridiculous ink imprinting of Machu Picchu. I mean, I am thrilled to have a stamp saying that I've visited what people consider a marvel. I feel that the stamp's over-the-top nature kind of demeans the purpose of having it being taken seriously. I guess that's what I get for being a tourist.

The trip to Cusco was amazing, in all honesty. My stomach, as it has vowed to never let me be at peace for more than a moon cycle, piped up now and then, and I had some emotional outbursts due to stress and having to be with people during what I dub "me time," but it was a nice learning experience. The latter part. My digestive system doesn't like anything I give it. Meh, what can you do?

We went to Cusco while the kids had winter break. From Lima, that's a good 22 hours (the books say 20, but don't believe their lies) by bus. We would have gone by plane, but it only would have been cheaper if we were (all) Peruvian; the cheapest fare is reserved for Peruvians. If foreigners try to buy tickets with that tariff, they get charged a good $175 more, at minimum. While sitting on a bus isn't the most fun experience, it can have its advantages: beautiful scenery, some time to unwind. When we arrived, we realized we were much higher up in Cusco than Lima (duh). Lots of climbing! Our hostal wasn't just at the top of a hill leading to the central plaza, nor was there more climbing upon reaching that hill; the hostal itself had three distinct areas, and ours was the topmost, meaning two more floors' climbing. The hostal was really cool, in a cool place, and I'd like to think that needing to do that prepped me for the days ahead, so I really don't complain!

As is standard, I believe, the weather was much better than Lima. In winter, except for the rare day of glorious, glorious sun, we are enshrouded in gray and cold. While the nights in Cusco are definitely cold, the days were brilliantly sunny and warm. I LOVED this. So we stayed in Cusco for 2 days, being awesome and exploring places that didn't cost us money and enjoying the atmosphere. The air was crisp and clean, the people incredibly friendly and respectful, and there's a connectedness with nature in that kind of city that one just doesn't get in...well, Lima is my obvious comparison. Friday morning, we embarked on a Jungle Trekking excursion that was truly epic. Day 1: riding in a car up a mountain, then biking down, the valley, the jungled hills, the river, etc., as our backdrop. I might have screwed my bike up once...I like biking fast, and in order to avoid somebody who braked suddenly, I was sent into a ditch. I was lucky enough to jump clear, but the bike...not so much. It still functioned, so I was fine. The afternoon was spent in Santa María, a little pueblo in the valley. We hung out, and it was lovely. I have to say, I have gotten accustomed to it being cold in July (which goes against everything my body and mind has been taught for 22.5 years). To go to this valley and be very warm and sweaty due to heat and humidity was...well, odd, in what I've come to accept as winter. To still be this way a few hours after the sun went down was mind-boggling. I do not complain, though!

The next day was hiking. All day. 9 hours, more or less. It. Was. Awesome. LOVE hiking, and with the sights and the challenge, I had the time of my life. I would say more, but...well, it was just really cool. All kinds of scenery, annoying mosquitos, walked along the Inca Trail for a bit, ridiculous uphill, painful downhill, riverbeds, waterfalls, roads, jungle canopy paths...we covered everything. I then enjoyed an ice-cold shower at our hostel in Santa Teresa, another pueblo (a bit bigger) along the way. The dinner was lovely. Oh, that day at lunch we had the most amazing guacamole ever. Ever. No contest. Delicious. After a good night's sleep, we began a long walk on Day 3 to Aguas Calientes, the base for everybody who heads up to Machu Picchu. This walk was a lot less strenuous, but definitely full of beauty. Got to see banana trees, eat a banana from said trees, see the ruins of Machu Picchu perched atop their hill. Then we got to explore Aguas Calientes in the afternoon, which is a cool town, albeit completely touristy. At dinner that night, we discussed our plans for the next day: Machu Picchu. There are two options to head up to the site: foot or bus. The bridge that leads up to the city opens a little before 5 AM. Now, our tour began at 7 AM. Everybody wanted to get up there early for this reason: Wayna Picchu. 400 people are allowed to climb the mountain per day, and there are 3 time slots you can enter. We wanted the 10 AM slot, so that we could have our tour without worry (the other two are like 8 AM and noon, one being kinda late and the other in the middle of the tour). Thus we wanted to get there fairly early to a) be allowed onto the young mountain, and b) get the time slot we wanted. Taking the bus is a nice idea, because it takes just 30 minutes to ascend. However, to get on the first bus, one has to be in line at the bus station at about 3 AM. The buses don't leave til 5:15 or something. Yeah. The other option was walking, but the guide said that he took 2 hours to climb that. Edinson and I wanted to walk. We wanted to get there early. This meant waking at 4 AM to get to the bridge before other people.

The girls decided to ride the bus; it had been a grueling few days. Edinson and I, sadly, discovered that no matter how early you arrive for something, somebody will always be there before you. Or, you know, 100ish people. Yeah. When that bridge opened, and after we had shown our admission tickets, it was pretty much a mad dash to...get in line behind everybody else as they climbed up some 1200 stairs along a dirt winding path up to the summit. Of course, people will weave between each other, and there's a bit of separation that occurs maybe 2 minutes after the initial block. I was very courteous and didn't touch anybody, but people still said many nasty things. Then, without reason, some gigantic German man stopped and I crashed into him. He turned around and said, "If you push me, I will push you." SHOOT. "Okay, that's fair." "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" "I SAID THAT THAT'S FAIR. WITH HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE BEHIND YOU, DON'T STOP FOR NO REASON WITHOUT WARNING!" I didn't actually say that. I just walked ahead of him. I ended up making it to the summit in 40 minutes or so. It was glorious.

In all honesty, the nature surrounding that little city is far more impressive to me than the city itself. I am fascinated by the masonry, the technology that this culture had, but being there really didn't augment my awe for Machu Picchu. I was more amazed by the views we had, the sheer magnitude of it all, the verdant peaks in all directions, a valley and river below. The fact that breathing came easily and in the heights I was connected more to everything that surrounded me than I am in hard concrete clanking honking clamoring metropolis awed me more than the ruins we saw. Still worth every minute? Of course.

Then we went back. Now I'm here, busier than ever. The new volunteers are here in Lima! Still in their host family stay as they study the language and get to know Peru a little bit more. They'll be here in Ciudad on the 12th, so we're getting geared up for that! It's crazy to think about how time flies. Back when CapCorps told us when the volunteers would be coming, how they'd be coming to Ciudad the same weekend we returned from the International retreat, I thought of how long it would be til then. Lo and behold, it's upon us, and the rest of the year will snowball to a close, I'm sure. I remember thinking that the days kind of acted weird when I was here this time last year. Now they're just going by in the blink of an eye and I don't know what to do! Savor it, I guess, be in the moment and don't stress out...let go and let God, as they say.

At this point, my brain has failed, and I've been working on this for a month. It's high time to publish. I'm sorry for the brain fart, I'm sure that next blog post will be far stranger and at least superficially thoughtful. Cheers, all!

A Variety Post

These are invariably longer than usual.

Things here are winding down a bit. Vacations are literally in two days, I'll be going on adventures of the crazy (but clean) variety the week after, and then...who knows? Time goes more quickly with every passing day.

I went a little ballistic at the beginning of July. We had a very frustrating meeting, and I saw so many things that I had seen in October happening again, and I didn't want to have a part of it. Rather, I did, but I wanted to be somebody with a voice. So I went and I talked with the director, and it was very favorable...to an extent. I was given the gift of knowing I'm not alone in my observation. This is wonderful beyond words. As a foreigner, I can't tell how much of my reaction is just me being financially well-off, white, and Estadounidense (i.e., from the United States). Some things appall me, like the noisiness and lack of respect in meetings (though you'll find that in teenagers across the board. They will look at you like you are from another planet if you get mad at them for punching each other even though you have said three times beforehand that there is absolutely none of that permitted). It's hard to cross so many boundaries and make accurate or useful observations and/or criticism. A lot of the time, I think that's cowed me into not saying anything and chalking it up to an internal battle of patience with myself and the new sphere in which I find myself. Maybe that's a final thing to do, but I've missed a step, and that's in actually daring to see how right or wrong I am in my observations. This time, it would seem I'm right. Of course, my observations fit for children of any lower class background, essentially, but being in a less affluent and developed country sure affords more obvious (and very often, more extreme) cases. It felt good to get angry and impassioned about it. My challenge, of course, is to keep that passion, do what I can to better things, and not lose hope of doing any good. It's easy to do that when there's no hope of finding people equipped to work with teenagers who would give up their lives as they know it to help problem kids. I'll do my best.

I have started writing reflections on Sunday readings again. It helps me tremendously. Thank you, Fr. Regis Armstrong, for giving me that tool. At this moment, I've been given the opportunity to look at myself through the readings and through my frustrations with others, and it's been a tough but awesome introspection. I still need to work on being motivated to change what I need to change, of course, because inertia and homeostasis are always the easier things to do. But whatever, I'm staying positive.

I rediscovered an online journal I kept in high school and sparsely updated in college. I fought internal change and challenge tooth and nail. Admitting that maybe I haven't gotten everything figured out for myself, really admitting it, and starting the work to become a better person, was something my pride hated, hated, hated doing. In fact, I know that this difficulty hasn't gone away. I think it's hanging around now. Yuck.

One of those journal entries read pretty much as follows: "The world is in need of some real, genuine, good men. Because I'm tired of hearing how much men suck." I've heard about a lot of men sucking in this world. Random passerby, exes, friends, fathers, brothers...you name it. I've had the opportunity to hear people share their struggles recently, but it's by no means a new thing for me. My reaction was the same in the past, too. My immediate reaction is generally pain. To see the hurt hurts me in turn. If I let it, the hurt becomes overwhelming.
Perhaps to counter that, or perhaps because it's the right and natural next step, I feel anger. Rage, even. My heart accelerates an incredible amount, my temperature rises, and you might think that my hair actually became fire. I want something to be done. I want there to be accounting for what has happened. "Father, forgive them: they know not what they do," actually fuels my rage, because instead of their ignorance serving as a grounds for sympathy, empathy, or mercy, it makes me think that they are stupid or willfully ignorant. After all, I happen to know (or at least to some extent, maybe) that what they've done is wrong, inconsiderate, hurtful, etc. I can get stuck in this stage for an indefinite period of time. It's easy, and it's certainly easier than struggling with what comes next.
That said, the next stage is me wondering how much I really want to beat these folks to smithereens or somehow give a devastating blow to their ego. That kind of anger is parasitic. That kind of anger is hate. That kind of anger doesn't make me feel better, because it's not exactly just retribution, is it? My anger in part starts in a just fashion, because that is the reaction that injustice, hurt, and sin need to have. This discontent is enough to send me back to just being fuming, or denying it all until the issued gets brought up in conversation, which will then trigger Michael on Fire again.
I then realize that, more than some physical punishment, more than some nauseating voice in my head desires vengeance for a perceived wrong, I want the person to KNOW. I want them to understand, to see in some measure how their actions affected another person's life, what pain they have caused. That's more painful and possibly better than anything I could ever hope to afflict. "Better" meaning "edifying," not "more damaging". It's powerful. Knowledge is power, but it's also, on occasion, immobilizing if there's not hope of mercy.

I started thinking about this, actually, two Sundays ago, with the parable of the Good Samaritan. It's well and good for me to want to be like the good Samaritan and help somebody whom I hate or who hates me if I see them half-dead on the side of the road. How many times does that literally happen? Hopefully not too often. However, it happens all the time on another plane. It's mind-blowing to realize how much hurt there is in this world, to see how much we suffer at the hands of ourselves and other people. How often we are the ones dealing damage! I know that I have been a man who has left at least one girl in a position where she could complain about how I've hurt her. In any case, I figure responding mentally and spiritually with mercy to those who are hurting and who hurt us is a way to be neighbor to another. Those are always necessary. Sometimes physical response is also necessary. I desperately want mercy, so I guess I should start practicing it in any way that is available to me, even if it's in asking for the ability to be merciful, because sometimes it feels so beyond me.

So where does it lead me? Do I know if they'll ever know what they've done? Nope! Do I get justice for their actions? Well, was it ever mine to ask for, anyway? Even if it was, I'm supposedly drinking from a cup full of the blood that's more gracious than that of Abel every Sunday (...well, not really, they don't really offer that species of the Eucharist in Peru these days). Does it leave me in a better place? Yes. And them? Well..it can't hurt to have somebody opening themselves to them and hoping for them.

In the end, I still find that humanity, in some huge ways, is in a deplorable and miserable state. It can make my disposition less sunny than Lima in winter (this place is seriously set in a semi-permanent cast of gray misery). I still sometimes wrestle with hating men in particular. There's such a lack of good manhood in the world. However, I feel that being willing to accept where I am and go from there allows me to find a way to channel the anger in a threefold way: 1) look to myself to remove the beam in my eyes before going to remove the splinter in that of my brothers'; 2) fervor in following Jesus to the cross and praying for mercy for the persecutors; 3) passion in helping those who are becoming men become men of the right quality to the best of my ability.

...Though that third part requires that I go to sleep right about now. It's okay, it was about time for me to get off the soap box, in any case.