Eulogy to a Dying Town

I stand at the edge of a desert cemetery watching the impressions that my feet make in the sand. It is a cool, sunny, mild winter’s day in West Texas. I look up at the ominous cypress trees and blink away the sun and then scan the graves that are brightly decorated with silk and paper flowers. “Even the flowers are dead,” I say to myself under my breath. And as much as I’d rather be anywhere but here, I have to admit that this is a victory, which is a horribly depressing thought. It is easier to mourn the dead than wonder about the dissappeared. 

Emailing Shamans, Critical Thinking, and Retrieving Souls

On Tuesday I emailed a shaman. That is a very bizarre sentence, when I say it aloud to myself I can’t help but chuckle, but the 21^st Century is a very bizarre time and you can indeed contact them through that medium. I was interested in doing a soul retrieval, something I had first read about in Elena Avila’s bestseller Woman Who Glows in the Dark: A Curandera Reveals Traditional Aztec Secrets of Physical and Spiritual Health. The basic idea is that when you suffer a trauma or susto (fright) a part of your soul leaves your body leaving you disconnected or lost. This is very similar to psychotherapy’s concept of disassociation, but the difference is in therapy the focus is why and in soul retrieval it is where. Both interpretations seem valid, but from personal experience in psychotherapy, the constant rehashing of wounds and wrong doings can become rather self-indulgent. It seems that the shamanic practice is less concerned with why and focuses more on the practicality of bringing those pieces back together. It is difficult to say if analyzing the hell out of why we are dysfunctional facilitates the process. I don’t think in my case it hurt, but I also feel that most people who seek out therapy have a fairly good idea of why their lives are falling apart and maybe a soul retrieval would save a lot of time and grief.

Mala herencia

I found myself in Portugal when the news of the ruling in the George Zimmerman trial hit the press. Portugal, the birthplace of the African slave trade (a fact curiously absent from most tourist guides), located in the Iberian peninsula, where the concept of “America” or the “new world” originated. So, it struck me as historically appropriate that this drama unfolded in Florida, where the first European set foot in what would be the United States. From that point until present day we have had to live with the consequences of that inheritence.

On Death and Dying

This is actually a post I meant to do long ago, but couldn’t find the right words. I’m glad I waited because I had the honor of seeing a presentation done by someone who does death midwifery and home funerals. The amazing woman who does this was one of my classmate’s at Sacred Journey School of Herbal Wisdom and she introduced the concept to us on the first day of class. For months I thought that meant that she specialized in still- births, and because I didn’t want to think about death I didn’t inquire any further. I can say with confidence that after 5 months of this class my fear of death has diminished greatly, and I was dying (pun intended) to hear her final project presentation about using herbs in deathwifery. As expected I was blown away. She spoke about how the modern funeral industry has taken the beauty and ritual away from death and has turned it into a vulgar and very scary thing. As a death midwife she gently guides the dying to the other side (preferably at home) and helps them come to terms with their passing. She spoke of sacred rituals, spirituality and love and reassured us that death did not have to be so terrifying, in fact if we came to terms with it we could truly find healing. These are ideas I’ve toyed with in the past, but to have it laid out in such a clear way was incredibly helpful and therapeutic. They are offering a very affordable workshop in June and I am so bummed that I will be out of town that weekend, but I’m sure there will be more. This is something I’d actually consider doing as a calling, which came as a surprise because just a few months ago I was one of the most death phobic people around. Actually, maybe it does make sense because phobias are obsessive thoughts, but that is a whole other story. 

The Fall of a Tyrant

Yesterday, former dictator Rios Montt, who ruled during the most violent phase of  Guatemala’s 36 year civil war was found guilty of genocide and crimes against humanity and sentenced to 80 years of prison. It marks the first time a former head of state has been convicted of genocide in their own country.

Decolonized Mirror

Like most young women in the United States I have spent far too much time disliking things about myself. I did not like the shape of my body, my funny laugh, big feet, face that blushes easily or nerdiness. I don’t really remember when I stopped liking myself, but it was pretty early on. It seemed like no matter what I did I would never look like the girls in the magazine or have it all like the television promised I could if I just had the right products. I saw the women around me lamenting their fat, hating their faces and gossiping about each other behind their backs. By the time we hit puberty my friends and I were mirroring their behavior. I can’t tell you how many of my peers have struggled with eating disorders, self-harm, or low self-esteem which lead to all sorts of self-destructive behaviors. Highschool is still a blur.

The thing is…disliking yourself takes up a lot of time and energy. Time and energy that could be spent on making the world or at least your community a better place.  Deciding to like myself has been one of the most radical steps I have ever taken. It means I can’t be sold products I don’t need or pressured into activities that further colonize others because I am secure enough in myself to listen to my inner voice (a.k.a conscious). It means I’m less afraid to try something new because failure is less terrifying when you know you are enough. It means you can give of yourself without giving it all away. 

Girls: On the Perils of Becoming a Woman on the Border

My family has called the Chihuahuan Desert home for a very long time. On a recent trip home I asked my grandmother how long, and she wasn’t exactly sure, but the rumor was that my great-great-great grandfather was a Spaniard who married an indigenous woman and that is how our clan started. I’ve always felt the desert was in my blood, encoded in my DNA and running through my veins. As a child I would look up at the clouds in the endless blue sky or watch a sunset exploding behind those barren rocky mountains and imagine that my great-grandmother had done the exact same thing. I roamed the same streets that they had roamed on both sides of the border. Even then Cuidad Juarez was considered a dangerous place, but all I have is fond memories of a multi-cultural, transnational childhood. For me  Juarez meant culture, music, markets, and a bustling city that though only seperated by one mile of distance and a bridge (and now a fence) was a world apart from my home in sleepy El Paso. I have always had a strong sense of place because I deeply belong to my landscape, which I know is a rare privilege in 21st century America. It is a gift that I am very grateful for.

To Quinoa or not to Quinoa

I’m alive!! I have spent the last several days in bed with what I am guessing was the flu. Boy was it horrible, I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so sick. I considered writing a post about herbal remedies, but none were really Latin American influenced and the best cure for the flu is really just rest, nourshing yet simple foods, and proper hydration. I didn’t take anything except a few drops of eucalyptus oil in a hot bath and it cleared up on its own.

While I was bed bound I spent some time thinking about my diet and health journey. There are a lot of things I can’t eat now and a lot of things I’ve had to limit because they irritate my gut (ex. coffee and spicy foods. So sad!). It often feels like I am re-learning to eat. At this point I can say it has mostly been a positive experience. I feel more in control, sleep better, and have more energy, but at times it seems very tricky and a little overwhelming. It becomes even trickier because I am a bit picky, on a limited budget, and am trying very hard to make ethical food choices.

Quinoa is a beautiful plant

Quinoa at first glance seems to be the perfect food; it is high in protein, relatively affordable, and goes down nicely. For awhile it was a fairly regular part of my diet, but there is a huge catch to this super food. Vegetarians and vegans often say that they chose their diets because they are against cruelty which I can respect, but if that is the case then I think we have to examine what we are eating even more closely. Much of the foods and especially health foods we eat are imported from the “global south” which has a very long history of exploitation from Europe and the United States. When we eat these imported foods we do not know under what kinds of conditions they were grown, but can assume that there are often human right’s violations and environmental degradation involved (such as with cultivation of asparagus in Peru or bananas/avocados in the tropics). We really have to look at the consequences of our appetites  on the rest of the world and quinoa is a perfect example.

Since quinoa became trendy the cost of it world-wide has gone up. This means that fewer people in the Andes (where the crop originates) can afford it. This is troubling especially for a poor country like Bolivia where malnutrition is a serious issue. This ancient sacred grain is being replaced by cheap processed food a la USA which is a double whammy punch of colonization. First we drive their prices up and then we sell them cheap processed food, the result has been a dual nutritional burden of stunted growth and obesity. No wonder the USA is so beloved in Bolivia!

I am not writing this post to make anyone feel guilty because I know how difficult eating has become. There are so many things to consider that it is hard not to have some sort of food hang-up. I’ve considered this issue for quite some time and am just really starting to address it. When I was in Ecuador this summer I asked one of our program directors who is Ecuadorian, but has lived in the USA for quite some time if she ate quinoa and what she thought about all this. She basically told me that it was complicated, but she felt you should eat the things your “people” were meant to eat. In her case that meant quinoa in mine… well..I’m still working on that.

Uruguay’s President is a Dream Boat

If you are my friend you are probably surprised that it took me so long to write this post. It is common knowledge that I am obsessed with President José Mujica and his peaceful little country. I often spend afternoons writing “I love Pepe” over and over again and imagining our beautiful little life on a marijuana farm drinking maté and growing flowers on the side. Ok, I don’t really do that, but the thought has obviously crossed my mind.

José Alberto “Pepe” Mujica Cordano has been president of Uruguay since 2010 and since then has earned the titile of “world’s poorest president”. His “poverty” is due to the fact that he donates 90% of his monthly salary to the poor to top it all off he is a vegetarian, drives a beat up Volkswage Beetle, lives in a tiny house on the outskirts of Montevideo, and cultivates and sells chrysanthemums to pay his bills. I’m half passed out from swooning!

What the Maya (Didn’t) Say in 2012

Last Friday when social media was abuzz with bad end of the world jokes there was actually something amazing happening in Mexico. Something that showed such dignity that for the first time in a long time I dared to hope.

For those of you who know me you know the rap. Mexico is in crisis. The economy may not be tanking, but the human right’s abuses and a widespread acceptance of corruption leading to impunity make for a nightmarish situation. It is hard to get numbers, but  it is not out of reason to say that since Felipe Calderon declared a War on Drugs there have been hundreds of thousands of causalities. There is little hope that the new President, Enrique Peña Nieto will change this since he is basically a pretty boy puppet of the PRI, the corrupt party that “democratically” ruled the country for over 70 years (1929-2000). Slightly, more surprising than Mexican voter fraud is how un-informed we are in the United States about Mexican politics and history even though we share  nearly 2,000  miles of border. If you want to learn more I’d reccommend checking out Molly Molloy’s Frontera List, anything by Melissa del Bosque or John M. Ackerman and if you are really interested Charles Bowden has written several books worth looking at. I personally think that is some of the best stuff out there on violence in Mexico in English.

Unfortunately, silencing dissent is nothing new in Mexico and that is what brings me to the Maya. If you don’t know about the Zapatistas I strongly encourage you to do some research. Basically, they are indigenous people (different groups who are descendents of the Maya) from the southern state of Chiapas who have formed a mostly non-violent “army” to protect themselves from a State that has a long history of abusing indigenous communities. They gained faim mostly due to their internet presence in the mid 90s back when internet activism was uncharted territory, and are known for occulting their faces with ski masks and their  spokesman, the blue-eyed Subcomandante Marcos.  This is a gross over-simplification of the movement, but I could write dozens of posts about it and still only be scratching the surface.

On December 21st, 2012, 40,000 indigenous men, women(some with infants in their arms), and children, marched  in perfect formation, through the cities of San Cristóbal de las Casas, Ocosingo, Las Margaritas, Comitan, and Altamirano. What is amazing about this march was that it was done in complete silence. In a country where words often mean nothing their silence meant everything. For nearly two decades they have been organizing and in those two decades there have been considerable efforts to stop them. Politicians aren’t going to listen to their demands, but they can’t deny that they are a force to be reckoned with and with social media their struggle is once again taking place on a global stage. I have never seen a march conducted with such dignity and unity and I was frankly saddened when most of my friends did not even know it was going on. I probably wouldn’t have either if I wasn’t such a twitter addict.

The date they chose was no coincidence. Not only was it the end of the Mayan calendar, but it was the day before the 15th anniversary of the massacre at Acteal  where 45 members of an indigienous pacifist group were killed for voicing support of  the efforts of the Zapatistas. This bloody event was carried out by “guerrilla” armies supported by same party of the very recently inaugurated president who also has employed guerrilas in the past when he served as governer of the state of Mexico. I really hope he was scared when he saw how organized they were and that he realized that the people are tired of the fighting and violence. Peaceful protest is becoming the norm  in a country being torn apart by violence. In a country where activism is often frowned upon. Maybe it really is the beginning of a new era.