sábado, 20 de septiembre de 2014

The Guest House

The Guest House: By Rumi
This BEING human is a guest house, every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, 
Some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!  
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, 
Who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, 
Still, treat each guest honorably. 
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice, 
Meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes, 
Because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.


The house-wrecking sorrows and the paralyzing depressions. . . those house guests are very loud and very persistent down here in La Esperanza.  They stand on your doorstep, screaming and banging until you let them in.  When I was here 8 weeks ago, every day was a struggle.  I cried often, swore always, and lived under Eyeore’s rain cloud.  In preparing to come back, I worked my ponpones off to be in a centered, zen state.  And I’m so amazed at how much a little perspective and a few deep breaths has kept my feet planted firmly on the ground.  There is still the same tornado happening around me – kids are malnourished, gunshots ring out (in fact, a gunshot came through the school building during one night, and went through two walls), all of the kids and teachers and volunteers demand nearly every minute of my every day, and the program has a continually growing to-do list.  But, within all that, I still have carved out a few minutes of sacred time, where I meditate and sing and dance and practice a little gratitude.  Of course I still get sad, and frustrated, and soul achy.  My stomach hurts when I see the gunshot hole in the wall. But I know that those fear emotions won’t consume me.  I know that I can let them in to my guest house, feel the emotion deep in my bones, and then I take a deep breath and then do a silly dance.  Or I run outside and play jump rope, or find a hug, or ask my brother for a joke. 

My English team right now consists of 1 teacher who has been here for a year, 2 that have been here for 3 months, and 2 that are brand new.  I was planning on jumping back in with both feet to work on curriculum and behavior management tips and tricks and other teachery stuff I assumed the teachers needed (this is all their first time teaching).  But what I found, was an INTENSE need for connection, creativity, and vulnerability.  One of my new teachers is terrified being here – of the community and the classroom. Another teacher is angry and exhausted.  One teacher has not connected well with the others, and another was feeling so many emotions she was crumbling inside. There was no feeling of community among my group of teachers, but lots of feelings of frustration, confusion, anxiety, depression and discontent.  So, I threw my plans out the window, and have been knee deep in creative facilitation research. 

In the last two weeks, we have become poets, artists and actors.  We have played and laughed and danced and cried together.  We have pushed through the fear of judgment and comparison, and shared incredibly vulnerable things about ourselves and our experiences here.  We have found new respect for each other through the sharing process of our creativity.  We have connected with each other, through understanding that we each experience the intense emotional dichotomy of life here - “It’s not just me!” is such a liberating realization. We still have a long way to go.  Every week I have planned a different creative workshop – each one asking us to step out of our comfort zones, be creative, and be vulnerable.  We will practice self-compassion, meditation, gratitude and a drum circle. 


I have absolutely fallen in love with this process!  I am so grateful that I have the honest empathy to facilitate this for these women.  I have been in each of their shoes before.  I have experienced the unbearable rage at the injustices here, the deep depression that kept me glued to the couch, the soul aches of missing home, the heart wrenching sorrow of hearing and seeing death, the confusion, disbelief, horror and despair.   This time around, thanks to my conscious decision to stay grounded, and the open doors of my guest house, I am able to help them in the middle of their tornado.  We’ve only had three workshops so far, but they have blown me away.  When people are courageous enough to be vulnerable, it gives me piel de gallina and tears in my eyes.  It gives me such respect for that person, makes me notice their radiating beauty, and reminds me of our shared humanity.  

My collage from one of our workshops, showing the dichotomy of emotions

martes, 2 de septiembre de 2014

Back to Guate with some love in my back pocket

I have a self-diagnosed "savior-complex."  It's this urgent, incessant, nagging need to help people.  I always think I can fix people, their problems, their stress. I rarely focus on my own life, and put all my energy toward others - in sometimes helpful ways, and sometimes "Hey, you don't know my life better than me and I don't need fixing" kind of ways. I'm working on finding a balance, while simultaneously fighting the need to fly around the world with my super-heroine jet-pack, sprinkling joy, education and safety on the masses.  I'm trying to teach that naggy fix-it all chica in my brain to chill and meditate more.  And sometimes I give her a cerveza to calm down. 

When I went to Guatemala, I was fulfilling one of my decade long needs of getting out there and trying on my dream job for size. Turns out - it doesn't fit all that well.  This realization has slowly been sinking in for 5 months, over the course of myriad emotions and experiences.  And it hasn't been the easiest of realizations. 

I have been madly in love with my experience there and the amazing kiddos and women I get to spend time with. I also have been incredibly depressed and paralyzed by the intense emotional roller coaster, doing nothing but sitting immobile on the couch.  I have had anxiety attacks over the responsibility of holding a child's future in my hands and from hearing the nightly chorus of gunshots that ring out.  

When I came back for my few week stay back home, I realized I probably have a mild form of PTSD.  I have seen one too many dead bodies.  Heard 1,000 too many gunshots.  Held way too many crying women and children.  In addition to all that trauma I'm trying to process, I also am understanding that I can't save the world.  I never ACTUALLY thought I would save the whole world, or even Guatemala.  But there is that part of me that thought I could surely make some kinda difference.  When I wrote my last blog post, I was feeling on edge from some of the truths I was wrestling with.  People asked me what difference I was making, what things I was doing to change the broken systems, and what I was accomplishing.  I was feeling very raw about the thought that I wasn't making ANY difference, and those questions were pushing the exact button I was trying to ignore.  It's definitely my default to just say "You wouldn't understand!" rather than figure out what is triggering me.  

Someone asked me recently why I choose to do my humanitarian work overseas, and not in my backyard.  There is equal need, no doubt.  Usually, I get defensive to this question - not wanting to seem like I was ignorant or uncaring to the problems we have here.  But, in a moment of clarity, I answered truthfully.  I choose to work abroad because I have a love affair with Latino culture.  The language is challenging and fun.  I love the way Latinos wear their emotions on their sleeve - they are all in.  The passionate crying and anger and laughter gives me (with my emotions tightly bottled up in) the permission to be honest and open with my feelings.  Human contact is NORMAL and expected - hugs and kisses all around!  Strangers will take care of me at the drop of the hat.  Family is priority number one, and members fiercely protect each other.  I love waking up to the sound of roosters and hearing the accordion music blasting at top volume.  The tortillas and community and love are what draws me overseas.  I know that I'll come back and do work here, but for now - over the border is where my heart is being pulled.  

Here's the thing.  It has been really hard in Guatemala.  It has been a tough experience full of so much learning and love and heartache.  I've been working hard these last few weeks to come to a space of peace with heading back.  I am so excited to see my friends and family again.  I can't wait to hear all the street noises and laughter and music.  I'm excited to see my rascal students and be swarmed with hugs and kisses. At the same time, I got very emotional boarding the plane last night.  I started to cry unexpectedly, as I felt the fear of returning to the death and pain and malnutrition and gangs.  But, I also feel prepared.  I know what I'm getting myself into this time.  And I am realistic about my role there.  As one of the dad's in La Esperanza told me "Courtney, even if you don't see it, you are making a difference.  The time you spend with my sons means so much to them and to us. You show them so much love."  

I can't change the flawed school system.  I can't fix the number of young boys flowing into the gangs at age 13.  I can't even convince the women of my co-op to find trustworthy men to serve as mentors to the boys (one of my original goals 7 months ago).  I can't stop the cycle of violence in this community that I adore.  Surprise, surprise.  I can't fix. . . I can just love.  I am headed back to Guatemala knowing that I will still do my work and plant the seeds of hope and change and consciousness that get me fired up.. .  .knowing that no matter the result, the biggest thing I am doing for this community is loving them. As a white person, and an outsider, it's not my place to come in to fix and change.  It's my place to listen, learn and share.  And when the sky is dark, and my super jet-pack runs out of fuel, and when the gunshots are too loud for me to hear my own heart beat. . . I will rely on that love to keep me centered and grounded.