Sunday Morning

I heard the squeaking just as I was rounding the corner. A big brown wooden rocking chair going back and forth at 8:35am on a Sunday morning. "Buuuueenasss!" He said to me from behind little glasses that perched on the tip of his nose. His shirt was off, as always, and he was rocking, belly out, heart open, in the sun.

I gave him a kiss on the cheek, a smile from my own inner belly, and pulled open the screen door to his left.

The room was full of faces of different shades and shapes, but all with the same eyes. Great Grandma was in the kitchen making tortillas. One of her daughters was by the sink washing dishes and the rest of the boys were scattered around the room. Grandpa came in slowly behind me, cane in hand, as he found his was to the sofa. He plopped down and pressed on the tele. The sound of that home-video show where animals do funny things played in the background of the brothers' conversations.

I "helped" Grams make some tortillas, and by "helped" I mean delayed the eating experience quite a bit longer. Anyways, the brothers found it amusing.

They are all grown men, 35 years and above. One by one they took turns kissing their mother and here and there she came over and placed her hands on their shoulders as they told me stories about washing clothes in the river and gathering limes from the forest.

I ate with my hands, just as I like it and I did my best not to feel nostalgic for El Salvador, even though I couldn't help it. It is something I carry with me everywhere.

I asked questions and they responded. They talked over each other and spilled rice and beans. They licked fingers and laughed with their mouths full. I did, too.
We couldn't help it.

They asked me questions and I told too many details. Four grown men, a big sister, great grandma and grandpa, a grandchild for a few minutes, a neighbor or two, and me, eating tortillas and reminiscing about a life that we relive through stories and comida.

"That is how you keep it alive. My children didn't know their ancestor but I tell them stories over dinner over and over. And now I hear them telling the stories, as if they knew my grandparents. That is how you keep your family alive." One of the brothers told me and I smiled whole-heartedly.

The door squeaked open and shut. And little by little the room got quieter. Until all you could hear was the sound of Grandpa's tele and Grandma washing the dishes. And I got up and I hugged her, and her back felt like my Grandma's back and I didn't want to cry so I didn't tell her how much this morning meant to me. And I walked over and I kissed him on the cheek and he giggled and I walked out the screen door and passed the empty brown wooden rocking chair. And I headed home.

For the rest of my life, everywhere I go, I will find the tortilla-makers. The rocking chair rockers.
I will seek out the Sunday family breakfast eaters. The big children story tellers.
The time forgetters.
The door-openers.
The givers: wise with love, humble with humanity.

Based on Not a True Story

Based on Not a True Story

I was sitting at my computer when I realized
that I think too much. and too fast.
that I have ideas that the world doesn't want.
That I simultaneously wanna research the fundamental causes of hunger
while painting landscapes, blasting old school rap and standing on my hands.
So I sat there staring at the screen that color-blinded my eyes and crumpled my hands
and I realized that my brain was broken.
Yes.
Bipolar: having or relating to two poles or extremities.
"a sharply bipolar division of affluent and underclass"
Yes. It is I who is bipolar. I am two!
I do not fit into this One Society.
All equal
All free
All One. We hear about it everywhere! I am reading it on my computer screen. Can't you see it? The Oneness?!
It is so apparent in our laws and policies
how we distribute our food and treat our citizens
It is my brain that is broken!
So, I quickly went to the doctor. And he confirmed what I already knew to be true: I am bipolar. I have intellect on one side. And emotions on the other. And I relate strongly to both.
Bipolar.
Good news. The pills helped. Instantly. They shut down the right side of my brain.
No more emotions.
No more art. music. or hand standing.
No more challenges.
For me
Nor for the Society that says we are all Equal. and Free!
So now, I fit right in!
And I can follow along. Being just as they want me to be.
Quiet. and obedient. and free.
And hey, it's easier for me, now, too. No more challenges. No more hardships. No more exploring both the power of the mind and the heart of my emotions. No more experiencing the highs of bathing naked in a waterfall and the lows of watching your neighbor starve while you have a full belly. Just, One-polar. Knowing one side and not the other. Because it is too difficult for humans to understand both.
we are meant to be numb to this
it makes it easier for all of us
that's why I went to the doctor to fix my brain so that I didn't have to experience it anymore
so I didn't have to fight it
so I didn't have to know a broken heart.
I just follow along a path
I dont have to worry about where I am going.
this is our reality
based on not a true story.
Footnote: This is also literally not a true story.

I Think She Was a Human

I think she was a human. Just like me.

She covered her arms in dark stains and painted her hair a different color every week. She put piercings in weird places and dressed so that you stopped to look at her. She was surrounded by eyes and ears. She sung beautiful songs from the depths of her soul. And often her arms were exposed and her bones looked fragile and she looked cold. Still, she sang a song so powerful you could feel her truth. And if you denied it, deep down you knew it was only because you have been denying yourself for so long.

I think she was a human, just like me.

She used drugs and alcohol. She stayed up all night and slept through the days. It didn't matter if it was Tuesday or Thursday or what it would be tomorrow. She smoked and sipped the days away. Still, she sang.

I think she was a human, just like me.

She wanted to share things, so she sang. She wanted to feel, so she sang. She wanted to be awake, so she sang.

And the world, as she knew it, was afraid of her aliveness, because it had gotten so used to numbness. So they judged her for her stains; for her outward way of being. They mocked her for her clothing. They questioned her about her songs.
Her songs.

All day they all watched. In conformity. Complacency. In chaos. In cubicles. In tight cubbies that children learn to place their paper bag lunch boxes. Orderly. They watched.

She. She was not orderly. She was wild and unruly. She put her ugliness on her arms, while we put ours in our bellies and then wish them away and they stay.
She put her ugliness in her songs. So that she could feel it and see it. In a world that taught her to hide it.

She wanted freedom.
She thought.

She didn't know.

Doesn't everybody in this world?

Not allowed to be dirty. Not allowed to be down.
Not allowed to step outside the box.
of freedom.

She drank more and used more and sang less.
Her song stayed trapped in her soul and when it tried to come out she smothered her ugliness in thick, grey smoke. She smothered her ugliness until she couldn't sense it anymore.

And then, she wasn't anymore
ugly
or here.

I think she was a human
just like me.

New York Encounters

There is a group of 4 men wearing construction uniforms up ahead. They are gathered together on the side of the road talking loudly. I keep walking with my head lifted and I look at them in the eyes as I am about to pass by. "Hi! How are you?" One of them says to me joyfully and I smile and answer back. "Happy New Year to you," he says and I continue smiling until I make it to 6th Avenue, laughing at myself a bit. You judgemental b*tch. Not everything is what we think it is going to be.

It is freezing outside and I come up with a list of productive things that I can do without having to leave the comfort of my four walls. My friend comes to meet me later to go to the film centre. He recommends that we walk and at first instant I think that he is crazy. In that case, I grab my hat and gloves. As we walk, a full moon hovers low in the sky in front of us. A bitter wind whips at my face and dances with the strands of hairs that are not zippered up in my jacket. It's cold and I can feel it. And I am happy inside and happy that we decided to walk.

I get off the train at 125th street and walk around for a bit. Harlem is different than other parts of the city. I like it. I like the culture. I like that I haven't been here before and now I am. I stop and talk to the guy from Mali who is selling hand-made soap and incense. He's friendly and not overly pushy with his sales so I stay awhile and we laugh about random things like the bottle of oils that is labeled "Michelle Obama". Harlem is different than the lower east side, just as the village is different than the upper west side. The people are different, too. They are different inside the city and different outside the city and different than in Costa Rica. The things we talk about and the way we laugh doesn't feel so different.

My friend holds a guitar in his hands and he's playing music and my hands are frozen. I smile as I watch the people passing by stop and glance in his direction. I am fascinated by the scene in front of me. Some people come by and ask questions and give money and others just keep going. I like the faces of the people who stop and let the music touch them.

A lady gets on the train and tells me that she is pleased to see someone reading a real book and not the kindle. I agree with my words and my heart. My shoulder and back disagree.  We talk for a long time about modern society. She is from Trinidad. I feel that she is angry at me for some reason. By the way she looks at me and the way she holds her hands and how she interrupts me when I speak. I am not sure if she is angry at me. This may just be what I think.

I go to a Food and Farmer's Forum by myself and I meet a farmer. I love the way he speaks about what he does and I don't need him to tell me that he does not know how to separate his work from his life from his way of living and I appreciate this. I stay after to speak with him and we get a coffee together. The next week he invites me to a gathering at his friends house. When I get there, I do not know anybody and then we have a beer and start cooking together. I make the tortillas. The place is warm and full of good energy and I don't feel out of place at all. Later, all the guys and a really beautiful girl start making music together on drums and guitars and I wish that moments like these could last forever.

I see my old friends from high school and it is not hard to fall right back into wherever we were when I last left. They make me smile and laugh and we can talk about deep things or light things, serious issues or things that don't matter and I feel safe to know that I will always have these people in my life. They start to dance to the music that is played in the bar and I watch and smile and soon it is time for me to go home and I walk alone to the subway and at first I am not sure about going alone, and then I remember how much I love it. And I sit there on the subway and I toggle between people-watching and reading. I love to watch the people. {especially in New York}. I wonder if it bothers them when I watch and I hope I am not too obvious. The lady in front of me smiles. I think she can read my mind.

New York is a dreadfully busy and beautiful place.
A place that I have left for long periods of time.
A place that scares the shit out of me.
A place that brings me home.
A place that lights a fire in me.
A place that keeps me feeling. A place that keeps me alive.

You Chose This

I'm laughing and I can't decide if I continue to brace myself for the bumps and bangs or just let go and let my butt bruise. I'm cradling a baby in my arms and she's fast asleep. I am trying to keep her comfortable as I slide and clench in the back of the pickup truck. The wind is blowing in our faces and dust kicks up around the sides of the truck. Then, she pees on me. 

How is she sleeping through all of this? 

We park on the side of the road and there are two women sitting on the floor of a house with a beautiful view. They have their legs stretched out and I wonder what they are talking about. A dog runs up to us as we climb out of the car. We chat for a minute. With the women. Me with the dog. They still sit on the floor, but let us enter their house to use their bathroom. 

We begin the hike to the river. Somehow, I'm in flip flops. Awhile ago, I stepped 2 inches from one of the most poisonous snakes in the world. And somehow, I'm wearing flip flops. 

There is a lump on the back of my head and I try not to think about it as we walk through the fields. I don't have health insurance. They say its a "torzalo". A batt fly. They lay on your skin and burrow and a little worm is in there. They say its not dangerous. They can squeeze it out or we can suffocate it and it will come out. You get them from being in the fields. I go into the fields a lot. 

I try not to worry. I try not to feel dirty or gross.

You chose this, Jaime. 

We get there and, as always, I am blow away by Mother Nature. I walk away to be my myself for a little bit. My friends set up a little picnic of tortillas and gallo pinto on a rock below the waterfalls. I find a quiet place and I take off my clothes. It feels weird to be naked. It feels free, with my feet in the cold water and all the green and blue and browns around. Still, it feels weird. I feel vulnerable. Like someone can hurt me more readily like this. Like there are eyes looking at me. Judging me. I try not to look at myself. When I look at the water, I see my toes beneath the stream and I am happy and free. And then when I look at myself, I feel a little bit scared and I dig through my bag for my bathing suit. Sometimes, I still don't know who I am.

You chose this, Jaime.

I walk back over to the group and they offer me their food, of course. 

We climb the rocks and we jump off. The baby is watching with her Mom. I bet she doesn't pee on her Mom. 

I stay beneath the water as long as my breath allows me. I love this. I always have. It's so quiet there and, again, I feel free. But this time, I'm not afraid. I am powerful.

I climb to the top of the first waterfall and I find a little space where I can sit in the water without it pushing me over the edge. Hopefully. I sit and I closed my eyes. The water rushes around me. The voices of my friends are sweet hums in the background. They are laughing often, and this brings a small smile to my face. The water sounds powerful, yet you can still hear the birds and the trees blowing.

You chose this, Jaime.

I think I am smiling. My eyes are closed and I can feel the sensation but it is inside of me and not outside of me. 

This is my therapy. And I must always remember that this is what I need. I will always make time for you: water, trees, Earth. I will.

I choose this. 

There is a bump on the back of my head. 

There are poisonous snakes.

And I miss my family. I miss my friends and I miss their babies.

You chose this, Jaime.

There are people starving and now I understand why. I lived with them in El Salvador. I lived with them in the USA. I live with them in Costa Rica. They are children. They are grandpas. They are immigrants. They are lovely people. And they are starving.

I came to Costa Rica to go to the University for Peace so that I could understand why. 

Now, I know. A little bit.

About the system that human-kind has invented. And convinced ourselves that it is reality. That it is the only way. 

And it is not.

I am sitting here in the water with my eyes clothes and the water touching me sweetly.

And I can tell you, for sure, that the system we have created is not the reality. And it is not the only way. And the very system that we have created, in direct conflict with our Mother Earth, will destroy us. It already is.
There are people starving. Everywhere.

I can feel it. I can feel the starvation of the children who knocked on my door in El Salvador and asked me for lunch. I am starving with them.

You are, too. Starving. And you try to fill that void with stuff that the system has told you will make you feel better.

Mother Nature will not tell you anything. She will just be there. Waiting for you.

Waiting for you to feel. 

And when you get there. And sit down in her pool of water. You will know, too, that the system we have created is not working. And for a moment, your starvation will go away.

Because Mother Nature feeds you. 

And you will think, in that instant, that everything is okay.

Before you get back on the pickup truck. And go back into the city. And remember the bump on the back of your head. And that you do not have health insurance. And that you do not have papers to be a citizen. And that you do not have much money to survive in this reality we have created.

And again, you can feel your starvation come back. 

You chose this, Jaime.

The water is wrapping around me and the palms of my hands rest on my naked thighs. God, this world is good. This one here. This real one. The one you can feel. It's so fucking good. This is where I come from. And I must know that. I open my eyes and I take it all in. This vast, abundant goodness of my home. The real one. 

In the back of the pickup truck the baby is in my arms and we are bouncing. I am laughing a lot.

for now.

I don't want her to get hurt. I cradle her. I take the bruises on my bum readily, because I just don't want her to get hurt. She is precious and pure love and she is in my arms. We are natural beings who want to give. Mother Nature leads us to be this way.

And then, we pull into the city. And I pass the baby over to her Mom and there are cars all around the and the bump on the back of my head hurts and I have work to do so that I can pay to stay here and my Grandpa neighbor wants me to go have tamales with him and I think to myself that I don't have time because I have to do work. And this is the reality. No time for my neighbors. I feel myself starving again. 

Just a moment ago, Mother Nature was cradling me with her waters and I was satiated and happy and free.

Just a moment ago, I was cradling a baby in my arms and I was comforted by knowing I could provide for her, for now.

We pull into the city and we separate to head to different sized houses. 

You chose this, Jaime. 

The baby is in her Mother's arms 

and 

she squints at me with curious eyes. 

What is Consciousness?

...and what is Christmas? 

Consciousness: the quality or state of being aware, especially of something within oneself. (merriam-webster) 

Consciousness is a very tricky thing in the modern world. Let's consider our daily lives: We wake up in the morning and we reach for our phone. We have a list of emails telling us who we must respond to today. We have messages asking for favours. We have news feeds showing us what the world looks like outside today. 

Then we shower. We go into our rooms and picket a set of clothes that fits a certain set of standards: the clothes must fit us, they must shelter us, and they must be culturally appropriate. 

Perhaps the TV or Radio are on. Perhaps there are lyrics to songs telling you how to feel about yourself today. Perhaps the news is talking about world disasters. Perhaps there are advertisements showing you what you need to buy today to "stay healthy" or "fit" or "cool".

Then you go downstairs and your husband or mother tells you what they expect of you today.

Outside on the streets you see so many images plastered on billboards and roadsides that you think you are immune to them. You don't even notice. However, they enter your consciousness. They are captured by little neurones in your brain that start to crave the colors, the clothes, the body type, the glamorization of success.

And all this stuff is happening all around you, permeating your brain...your mind...
And you don't even realise it.

But how do you turn it off? 

If you are so used to it playing on all around you every single day, you become numb to it. 

And did you ever stop to think what it is that YOU want?

What if all the distractions were gone?
What if you were alone? 
You didn't have a phone or a family or a society to respond to.

What would you need to live the life that you want? 

This is where your consciousness comes into play. You get in tune with what it is that ticks your soul. And when you connect with it- it propels you forward. Because the Gods and the Sun and Mother Earth have your back. Because they know that when you live from this place, you are not only taking care of yourself, but you are taking care of everyone around you, including our Earth.

And so, in the spirit of, Christmas...

The Christmas that is about 

Celebration
Sharing 
Joy 
Love
and 
Gratitude 

I'm bring Consciousness back. 

What does a Conscious Christmas look like?

A Conscious Christmas is anything that encourages your greatest good to see the greatest good of another. It is sitting there and thinking, what would really make my Mother happy. It is being present for one another.

Some Conscious Christmas Ideas:

• Create!
• Make stuff. Write a letter. Draw. Paint. Collect stuff from the natural world and explain it's meaning to your gift recipient.
• Experience
• Offer a trip. A walk. A picnic. A movie to your partner. Create a time and place where you can just be together and get to know one another. Explain to your recipient why you want to do this. 
• Reduce spending
• consuming products does not often bring lasting happiness. It contributes to a world of waste, anxiety and artificialness 
• Before you buy, ask yourself, is this really necessary? What happens to this product when I have no need for it anymore?
• Listen
• Ask your gift recipient how you can be a better presence in their life. Ask them what it is that they need from you to be a more loving daughter, friend, or spouse. 

I have requested that my family members exchange no purchased gifts this year. Instead, we are just going to have dinner together and spend time with one another. Without and electronics or expectations. 

And because I do so love gift-giving every now and then, we are, instead, going to exchange 1 gift to one another on New Years Day. Something meaningful and thoughtful that will help propel us into a grateful and nourishing 2015.

Conscious Christmas is not just a day- it's a movement. It is setting a new pattern. It is clearing our minds of the advertisements, marketing, news and honestly, the BS. All that stuff that tells us how we are "supposed" to live. It is picking December 25th to get in touch with your own story... 

What do you need to be happy?

When all the clothes and products and gadgets disappear, who will be there for you?

When your health is compromised, who do you want at you bedside?

When you want to dance, who will you call?

We are social beings. We are not consumers. 

We are fulfilled by sharing.

Not by taking.

Let us come back to Consciousness.

Let us come back to Christmas.

No Presents, Just Presence

"Jaime, I don't like this time of year".

She talks to me with pain in her eyes. So much pain that I don't know what to say or where to look except deeply into her eyes.

"They all start playing the music and that music reminds me of my childhood home and it is hard for me to remember that. We didn't have much. A dirt floor and shaky walls. My father drank away most of the household income. That was until the first old man offered him money for me. That was when it all started and I was only 9 years old. I didn't understand. I didn't understand even when I had the first baby."

It was a long day at her house that day. I spent most of it in silence: listening, absorbing, walking in her tattered shoes. Feeling what she felt. What she was still feeling. After all these years.

In my mind, Christmas is different. Christmas is snow and jingle bells. Pine trees and cookies in the oven. Christmas is my grandma's salami pie and my Mom decorating the house. Christmas is my Dad giving us sleigh rides and my sisters pulling socks out of our stockings.

In my mind, Christmas is carling and happy Christmas music.

It is also TV commercials and advertisements. Envy and jealous. Greed and selfishness.

And here I am, listening to her story of child prostitution, and I wonder how I could possibly relate.

I am going back this year, to New York and I know what it is going to look like. I know what it will look like on the streets on the tv screen sand on the train platforms.

I am a bit frightful, not because I do not like New York, just because my reality has changed and the culture shock never gets easier. For example, as I am writing this there is a herd of horses walking past my window and a gecko walking across my wall. Its just...different...

And the beauty of the contrast, the shock, is that I waken up a bit more to what it is that I am. You see, as creatures of habit, we fall into a rhythm and whether it is good for us or not, we keep going because we have become comfortable with it.

Just as babies, we learned to repeat what our parents said until it became a habit.
Then we grew older and learned how to get dressed and kept doing it the same way because it became a pattern.

And now, we see a world that has formed a habit of consuming. We have inflated our bellies and even more so our minds. Our egos are on the verge of exploding, and often they do, right in front of our very eyes. You can see it in our police officers, lonely adolescents and military men and women. You can see it in our children, our school teachers, even our Catholic Fathers. You can see it everywhere- the obesity of our mind: wanting more and more, never being satisfied, still not good enough, still not happy, still self-doubting, still fearful of difference- we must fill this space so we continue to consume:

the false food
the false advertisements
the bullshit

anything that seems like a quick fix to this hole that we are feeling
in our egos.

And I have nothing against gift-giving
I LOVE it actually
It's just that I don't always see the connection between the giving and the receiving.

The product has become the end goal
Instead of the relationship

And so, I see us continuing to consume, just to fill our egos and grow our bellies, instead of to satiate.
Instead of to fulfill.

Because I think that what was missing from my friend's family, from her father's life, was love and meaning in his life.
And I think I see this a lot in the world in New York, as well.

So what is missing is not presents,
just
presence. 

With anything I give or do this Christmas, I want it to be about presence. I want to put in thought and love and care in all the moments or experiences I share with my Mother and with my Father.

I lost a friend recently, right before I planned to tell him how much I appreciated having him in my life. I used to joke around with him a lot, pick on him. And I wanted to make sure he knew that all the joking was just joking and I really loved having him in Ciudad Colon, because he made this town feel like home to me; a nomad who lives geographically separate from many of the people who give me life. And then, in an instant, he was gone.

And I feel again, the importance of presence.

Truly being there with one other. Sitting there and seeing each other's souls with our eyes.
Being there for ourselves, so that we understand our beauty and also our own shadow. So that we know that we all go through voids and you cannot fill that space with alcohol or cupcakes or an iPad or self-loath. Those things will not make the void go away.

Only presence can do this.
Learning to be there for ourselves and be there for one another.

We are social beings.
We need each other.

The reality of the world we have created today is not conducive to our natural lifestyle. We have invented so many distractions that we often lose sight of our connectedness.

For this reason, I hope to set a new tradition with my family:

Of giving presence
instead of presents.

So that we have just another day to celebrate being with one another. Appreciating one another.

And as I prepare for this upcoming conscious Christmas, I find myself living each day a little more consciously. I find myself thinking about the things that might make my sister Christina happy. I have started wondering what it is that really makes my father smile. I have started paying closer attention to the things my mother says, so that I can create something that will really light up her soul.

Because these things matter to me.
And I am sure that as I pack my backpack up again to leave New York and head back to Costa Rica, I won't need space for some items that will eventually break or lose value or get stolen.

Because I'll have all the memories within me.

You see...

This conscious Christmas means a lot to me for a lot of reasons. I spent 1 Christmas in a very underserved community in El Salvador in 2011. And by underserved, I mean to say that the commuting is not as acknoweldged as other communities in the world are. And what I mean by this is that the government does not give much assistance to the people there. There is not much concern for creating equal opportunity or access to natural resources: such as water and food. It is okay in that community to beat women. It is okay to starve children. It is okay to educate some over others.

As much as we do not see it on a daily basis, we are all a part of this problem. The uncontrolled consumerism of the world has created a terrible unequal distribution of wealth. The economic system that we have become slaves to creates unfair competition- mostly in parts of the world where the people have the least amount of opportunity. For example, my farmer friends in El Salvador buy chips and soda for lunch because it is cheaper than the important grains- US industrialized farms can produce these grains at a much cheaper cost. So guess what? The farmers get fucked. If you have grown up on a rural farm with no infrastructure and no access to mainstream education, you spend most of your days learning how to farm- because that is your only option. And then, when the cost of living exceeds your daily pay- you are forced to move. I don't know, if your family was starving, would you stay on the farm in El Salvador or would you go to the place that has been glorified for the land of opportunities?

Anyways, without seeing all of this first hand, without talking to the people and walking in their shoes, we are all going to continue living the same way we live today. Because we are creatures of habit and we are not interested in putting in the effort or discomfort to change.
So those who are born oppressed and marginalised, will continue to get fucked.

If there is any day that we can decide, *choose* to be more present, to the reality of the world, then let it be on Christmas.

A Conscious Christmas is not about becoming depressed about the reality of the world we have created and actively participate in on a daily basis, it is about taking a break for a minute and acknowledging the present moment. It is about saying, "I don't need any more stuff this year. I need to learn how to love my mother a little bit more or forgive my sister."

It's not just about giving up the stuff
It's about creating experiences
Thinking about all the opportunities that arise when you can just be present with one another.
And I think this will have more power than we can even begin to believe.