Oh perseverance, you sly cat

You know the moment. That one where you want to give up, but you push through anyway to find the end result is better than you expected?

My kayak is teaching me all kinds of things, but this past Sunday's trip was the biggest lesson. Let me explain.

After getting Kelp (for those of you who missed it, Kelp is my kayak. I like to name all of my mere possessions, maybe because I have so few. My plant's name is Jose Ricardo. You'd like him. He's sweet.) all strapped up on my car, I headed off on a little jaunt thinking, "It's a beautiful Sunday afternoon. I'm going to drive right up to the lake and set off on a journey" (or something not quite so lame). Since moving here I've wanted to get out on Kalamalka lake, known for it's crystal blue green waters. Leaving so randomly at 4 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon, listening to Edward Sharpe and having no idea where I was going, seemed great.

Yeah, not so much. I probably tried 16 different spots to get into the water. Some were not hand launches, meaning there were boats all around me, backing up, sideways, yelling at me for being in their way (maybe not yelling so much, but honking and it felt hectic). There were a few places that had huge NO TRESPASSING signs up, even though I could see the water so close I wanted to run right into it. And a few spots weren't even Kalamalka, they were Wood Lake, the neighbouring one that I've already been on.

Not only this, but a kayak is pretty awkward. So in front of all of these young boaters who are all shiny shirts, pumping tunes (I think Wake Me Up by Avici is the only song they know how to play) and being altogether 'super groovy' I didn't feel like getting out, hauling my bulky kayak off my car and all the way to the dock by myself. They were ruining my moment!

I decided, super frustrated, to go home. Maybe I'd just go off to Wood Lake like I always did. Get a paddle in and move on with my day. But, I saw a sign for Kekuli Bay and thought I would try one. more. time. At first glance, more shiny shirts...but then, like a cloud clearing up, I saw a small hand launch beach! And better yet, two gorgeous long haired men (the least shiny shirted possible) coming up with two kayaks. My place!

So I set off. Confidently taking the kayak off my car in front of all these boaters and pulling it to the privacy of the beach. And the water! Oh my gosh. I can't describe it, but here's a few snapshots.

Not only was it the most beautiful water I've yet to paddle on, but there was an even bigger highlight. I found a small dock that was enclosed just off the side of a hill with no one around. It was around the bend, so the sun was shining right on it. Then and there, I banked the boat and went for an epic float.

And as I was floating on my back in this crystal blue green water (with my purple tie dye bathing suit on, feeling a bit like a mermaid) thinking about nothing, but finding answers to everything, I realized that this day was just a metaphor for life. Life always seems to work that way. You try something, it doesn't work. Maybe you try again - it still doesn't go your way. You get frustrated, you think you should give up, you want to turn around or go away, and yet sometimes you persevere. Even if you think you'll look like a knob or if you're scared and tired. I always seem to find that if you have the right intentions and you push just a little harder at the things you enjoy most, all of a sudden you find yourself in a world of opportunity. On Sunday, my world looked like this. Am I glad I kept going?

Si claro!
The lesson? Always persevere, even if you have NO IDEA where you're going.
(Duh.) 

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La Lucha de El Salvador

Where can I begin this post? First, "Lucha" = Struggle. I am slowly falling deeper into this country and all it's history that no one seem to ever hear.

I'll start with the bad...and try to end with the good. There's so much more than what I have time to pound out on this keyboard. In due time I'll share!

First. El Mozote and Perquin's War Museum. We arrived in "Rebel territory" around 3 p.m. Monday after a night of driving in the dark, a lunch with a well known Pastor here in San Salvador talking to us about the war and drug trafficking and the powers-that-be over chimichangas and tacos, a morning of our car stalling and dying, ending in me directing traffic and helping to push the car down the street.

So, when the war started, civilians headed for the mountains simply because that's where their opportunity rested. Where they could become strong, initiate peace talks, and collaborate hope for social justice. Where they could teach their community reading and writing and how to stand up for what you believe in - rights, justice, and truth. Yet also where they armed and protected themselves and showed they would not be taken without a fight. Although I am not a believer in violence, I am a believer in standing up and fighting for what you believe at your core is right. And for that I respect them.

So the war museum in Perquin showed them. Their photos, their colours, their faces. The ones who were murdered and the massacred and were "disappeared" by the Salvadoran Government and Military. Our guide there was of a local indigenous tribe and explained that because none of them had the opportunity to become educated, the potential lies within the youth's hands to learn, educate and fight for the transformation of this country's social justice.

El Mozote was different. It is a massacre site where the troops killed over 700 people in an intent to instil terror and fear in the people. In December of 1989, they gathered the people of this unassuming town in the town square and separated the boys from the girls. They killed the boys and fathers. They separated out the girls under 9 years old, raped them and killed them so their mothers would hear the screams. And then they came for the mothers. In this small town, there is a memorial wall that shows the names of all (they could find) who had died. There is a memorial church where the bodies of all the children are buried. The youngest in the community was 3 days old and the oldest, 90 years old.

Learning about what it was really like during the war
and the now (and ever) present economic &
political issues from Carlos & his wife.

No more repression.

Our trip to El Mozote not starting off well..

They are not with the dead,
they are with us
with you
and with all of humanity.

The genocide memorial.

The memorial where all of the children's bodies are buried.

In the garden of reflection near the site.
There is still beauty present amidst all the sorrow.

President of the Human Rights Commission
of El Salvador. Assassinated for defending
the rights of her people, March 14, 1983

The faces of the war.

50% of Salvadorans live in misery.

At the bottom it reads: Join the
National Campaign to stop the
U.S. sponsored bombing
of El Salvador.
See me?

"Salvador" (his rebel name) after speaking to us about
the cooperatives and his part in the war.

At our small hotel, we had a humble dinner of rice and plaintains and a man came to sit with us. He told us of how he was in the rebel troops. The army was taking people from every village or killing them so him and his brother fled. He was 11 at the time. He had been shot three times and showed us his scars. Yet his outlook on the war was a positive one, which was ...different...nice different...to hear. He learned to read, write, cook, work with propaganda and the press and do special projects. He felt that the war showed the people that they had a voice and allowed them the opportunity to realize their potential.

Yesterday, we went first to Oscar Romero's Chapel and then to the University of Central America. Romero was a pastor of the people. He was elected Archbishop and had decided to keep politics completely out of religion. He didn't want a part of what was going on in the country outside of religion. However, his best friend was assassinated a year later and that began to change the way he saw what was going on in his country. In his last sermon, he called on the army to put down their arms and to stop killing their own people. The next day, March 24, 1989, he was assassinated when giving mass. Shot through the heart by a drive-by sharpshooter (who is now a car dealer in San Francisco and lives safely in the States). He had been quoted months earlier saying that if he was killed, his spirit would rise in his people.


Next, at the UCA, six Jesuits were hauled out of their rooms and murdered by the Salvadoran military..along with the housekeeper and her daughter whom were raped & murdered. Brutally. I saw pictures of their dead, ravaged bodies. I felt sick to my stomach with the evilness of humans...which created a philosophical discussion last night at dinner about what this evil balance is in life? Where did it come from? Is it man? Is it the "devil"? Is it money and greed? Or all of the above? Honestly, it raises so many questions that we can't begin to answer at this time.

Yet, there is the good. The University is now about hope. It is taking all middle class students and part of their program - every program - is working with the poor and among the poor. It's turned something awful into something resilient and strong. It's turned into an opportunity for the youth and humanity of El Salvador.

Just prior to posting this, I've posted a blog titled "Let the Poor Break Your Heart". It is written by Dean Brackley and is from a short book titled The University and Its Martyrs: Hope from Central America. I found it profound and I hope you take the time to read it.

The point from where Romero was shot, just outside the
doors in a drive-by shooting.

"If I die, I will return & rise in the Salvadoran people."
Spoken a few months prior to his assassination.

Last night Otoniel talked to us about the hope for a Food Security Project (the one I am here to potentially intern with next year). More to come on that. Today we're meeting with a former Rebel Commander of the guerrilla army and his wife, the Director of the Women's Rights Organization whom Jim and Brenda know well. And Thursday...if you can believe this...she has us lined up for a meeting with the (correction) Director of a Salvadoran Human Rights Organization for FESPED (Fundacion de Estudios para la Aplicacion del Derecho)!! Excuse the punctuation marks, but I am mucho, muchisimo excited.

The rebel army hills.
So much beauty, hope & resiliance in this broken land
of El Salvador.

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Have a Little Faith

note: I started writing this blog upon returning home from India, thinking I'd love to share details on Hinduism and my experience with (or without) faith. Since then, I've had many in-depth discussions on more religions I can count. Major faith overhaul here!

As I go through various stages of change in my life, I keep hearing the usual sayings, "Have faith, things will work out, you reap what you sow, everything happens for a reason."

Those are fine to hear in a crisis, but what do they really mean? I found myself asking what faith means to me? I have never been a religious person. Yet I strongly believe..

there's something bigger than us going on here.

For good and for bad...there seems to be a yin and a yang, some cosmic karma going on that balances the Universe. Is it a God? The Universe? Or simply energy fields based off of our physical vibrations? Physics. Maybe some combination of it all?

Horrible things happen to good people and you wonder how in the world there could be a God. People show incredible generosity and humanity and you wonder how there couldn't be a God.

Somewhere in there, you remember that it's HUMANS running the world right now and both bad and good things happen due to, and because of, humans. Man. Maybe nothing is left up to fate anymore? Or faith?

My grandmother was a very religious Mennonite. The Mennonite's lived by the Bible and focused specifically on peace and non-violence (values I can get behind!) She went to Church often, but my mother never really did. My grandma was a brilliant baker and cook, read the bible every night, served in her church, quilted for women she had never met overseas, and yet still drank wine because (as she used to say) Jesus drank wine! She had big faith in faith. Spending time around her was my first introduction to religion and it was a strong one. My grandparents were married for 67 years and died within a year of each other.

Growing up my parents never pushed organized religion on us, yet they did teach us that our church was in our hearts. Acting with love and kindness everyday was important. This was our way of worship; although I still prayed some days and strayed far away from love OR kindness at times.

A couple years ago I became interested in Buddhism and Kabbalah and read a lot on both subjects. I made a good friend whose parents are Baha'i and learned about that faith (I value the core idea behind the Baha'i faith: in that they believe there is just one God who reveals His will to humanity through different religions and messengers - Moses, Krishna, Buddha, Jesus, Muhammad - each representing a successive stage in the spiritual development of civilization.) I spent a couple of hours the other night asking questions and listening to a good friend who is a Jehovah Witness and discovered I was completely intrigued. I've also been working with Habitat for over a year, a Christian organization. We begin and end each meeting, ceremony or dedication with a prayer and it's changed the way I look at praying. There, it's just us talking to a Higher Power about a project that's important to us. Communicating in common words and terms to God, hoping someone will help us build a house in the timeline we need for a hardworking family. Prior to this, I always felt prayers were so...full of preaching or convoluted with words and names I didn't understand.

And finally in India, I was introduced to - wait, more like hit over the head with - Hinduism.

I definitely value aspects of all of these religions and (surprising myself a bit) I felt that I could relate the most to Hinduism. I'm an extremist and this religion is extreme. There are thousands of Gods that are blue and pink and mulit-coloured. The Gods have multiple arms, elephant heads, pitchforks, animal consorts. and beautiful faces. They are represented in every car, tuk tuk, business and home, and they star in cartoons, company names and even theme parks! There are so many myths and stories that it's hard to keep them straight and often the names change (with spelling or pronunciation) depending on whom you're talking too. It's fabulously over the top and crazy, yet one of the most authentic religions I've witnessed.

It is much too complex to explain the origins of one of the oldest religions in the world, so I will simply share my limited knowledge of Hinduism. There is a holy trinity of Supreme Gods that act as the anchor for thousands of other Gods: Brahma (the Creator), Vishnu (the Conserver) and Shiva (the Destroyer). There is Ganesha (God of everything - wealth, luck, prosperity, happiness), Krishna (God of Love), Yama (God of Death), Hanuman (the Monkey God), Kali (Goddess of time and transformation) and so many others.

There are many stories behind the Gods. Too many to name here, but be sure to ask me about why Ganesha is the first God of worship (although he is Parvati and Shiva's son) and or why Hanuman is a favourite and always reigns over evil. Worshiping Ganesha can remove obstacles, Hanuman puja (a Hindu term for worship) can give you strength and wisdom.

After returning home from the land where spirituality is so important and, yet literally for sale, and then having conversations with many of those involved with organized religions here, I wondered how I'd ever find out how to pray or who to pray too. I find it a little dangerous to pray to a God that you don't necessarily believe in. Or in a temple where you are constantly asked for money.

This is what I know for sure: there were times in India when I really thought things were NOT going to go my way. I prayed to three various "Gods": my grandpas who have passed on and who I believe are angels watching over me, to Ganesha, as I was given a statue from a special friend to protect me on my journey, and to my Traveling Buddha that was a gift given sporadically when a friend I didn't know very well simply "felt I needed it". This little guy has traveled all over Africa, Europe and now to Asia and back with me.

I guess that's my holy trinity and (luckily) they always seemed to pull through for me. It could be that in my hunt for faith, faith found me. I value all religions and want to learn about them as much as I can, but for right now faith exists in the only temple that for me it can - my heart.

As for the common term everything happens for a reason I've heard both sides, "Isn't that a weak mindset?" and those that believe absolutely everything does happen for a reason. After chatting about it with my sister, I believe that either way, it helps people look at the positives that can come from a negative situation. It allows a sense of purpose and optimism when the most random, awful things are happening. Hey, that's reason enough for me.

Pyaar! 

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