i once saw a tattoo

I knocked on a door that had taken in many women before me. It was a welcoming and safe door. A door that offers second chances—a walking stick for support when the path becomes muddy. Through that door the stars realign themselves to form new constellations, giving us second births and new destinies to seek.

I laid my compass on the table. I explained the arrow was broken. I lost my way North. I had travelled the world with different comrades here and there. I had met kind faces and violent fists alike. I had shivered in lonely tundra and sweat in temples filled for communal prayer. My feet were torn and my heart tired. I had seen it all, but my place was still unknown.

The woman before me picked up the compass. She studied it closely before brushing off some dirt with the hem of her rainbow skirt.  She offered me a place at the table and told me I would always be welcome. She told me I should listen to the beat of my compass, as not every soul was meant for Sirius.

As she walked away, with her skirt flowing behind her like a banner of freedom waving with grace and pride, I noticed she had a woman tattooed on her back. A woman unlike any I had ever seen.  “Wait, who is the woman on your back?” “Every woman who ever has been or ever will be. You are in her, and she is in you. She is a reflection of what we could be if we stood together,” then she continued to float on.

This home felt other-worldly with no two women alike, but each woman honored for her being. It was a  home where all were welcome no matter how many times we abandoned our sisters, or found ourselves on the wrong train west. A home of color and tears and life and laughter and beauty and truth. A home of healing. A temporary home for those passing from one world to another.

Shamans, gangsters, the homeless, and men in suits came to this home seeking remedies and healing for wounds inflicted by a cruel world.  Visitors shared stories of heartbreak, turmoil, love and jubilee. They spent hours at the table soaking in the peace the women possessed. Through their visitors the women gained strength and perspective, realizing they were gifted and needed, capable and good.

I wanted to be a part of this house, but I felt inadequate. These women knew the language of our ancestors, they communed with spirits I had never felt, and they made music with every step they took. Each had her own color, her own story, her own style of connecting to the world. They said they were lost, but I dreamt of being as sure as they.  I asked them to draw me maps of the lands they had journeyed.

They simply laughed and told me we were all on the same journey and had seen the same lands. We had shared the same laughs and cried the same tears. We had carried the same shovels to burry our loves, and we had drummed the same rhythms before war. We had raised the same white flags of surrender and danced to the same songs of hope. We had birthed the same dreams and grown the same futures.

I looked at my hands, soft and sensitive, not a callous to be found. Only chaotic noise flowed from the Djembe with fists of anger and confusion. My feet could not dance the steps of a chief calling for rain. Like a water color dropped in a puddle my dreams were a blur.  My compass was damaged, my future unsure.

The days went on and the present became real to me. No longer living in the past and future, I was living each breath as it came. Every moment embraced with my dreams and reality becoming one. Each sun rise was a new beginning, and each sun set a reminder that I still had a long way to go. A mess of possibility surrounded me like the ever changing images of a kaleidoscope. A mess I was prepared to jump into head first for all flowers take root in dirt kneaded by worms.

The woman with the tattoo came to me one day. She gave me a glass bottle. The glass was every color I had ever seen, more than any Crayola crayon box could contain. “I feel you will be leaving us soon. Keep this always. It is filled with drops of water from every river, lake and ocean. There are grains of soil and sand from every country. Let it symbolize unity and diversity. Inside is a sketch of my tattoo. Let it act as your mirror.”

“I have never seen a woman like the one on your back.”

“But you see her every day, all around you. Her features are a physical representation of a global woman who calls each continent her home. Her jewelry, make-up, feathers, and dress are inspired by world cultures that have celebrated women. In her you can see your history and the future of your daughters. Women of different colors, tongues, and prayers together and strong so the world can be healed after the many scars it has endured.”

With that she got up, turned her back to me and walked through the door to the street. As the door closed behind her I saw my reflection calling me to face the call of the wind and the demands of the road.  I grabbed my compass and bottle, ready for all that I would experience and feel and see and think and hear and wonder, for the souls of those who stood before me were guiding me with grace and wisdom, and the lives of those yet to come would keep me grounded and focused, determined to love and embrace, fight and dream.

Voices of Women

my friend Britt and I are starting a blog/group dedicated to highlighting the stories of women all over the world. we just started it a few days ago so it's not really how we envision the final product, but it's a work in progress. we wanted to make it because we are both in the Philippines where women don't support each other a whole lot and they are often critical of each other. we talked a lot about this and realized that this is also the case in the u.s. and many other places, but it takes different forms. we decided we would create a blog that highlights and encourages different women and brings women together to celebrate each other for no reason other than they are women and through that they are exceptional people living remarkable lives that should be honored. eventually we are going to put together our own articles featuring different women as well as video interviews with women, but right now we are just posting articles and information we get from other sources. we hope that through this women can join together to help each other in whatever ways they see fit, as well as just have a space for community and connection. 


so if you're interested please follow our blog: http://voicesofwomen.tumblr.com/

and here's our fb page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Voices-of-Women/246217788814381

 http://paper.li/Voices_of_Women/1341638044

back to africa

I’m going back to Africa.

I have been waiting years to say that.

Like most of my better decisions in life, it was a spontaneous decision. And like most of my better decisions in life, I chose to go back to Africa in the middle of the night.

I think we, as humans, are more honest with ourselves at night. I think we have a clarity at nightthat escapes us during the day as we busy ourselves with work and errands and meetings and people and so many other things. But, at night we can choose to pause all those things and spend time with ourselves. The parts of ourselves that we are sometimes scared to dialogue with because who knows if one night that part of ourselves will tell us to go back to Africa or to sell the house or to quit your job or take a risk on love. When we are left with nothing but our hearts we are able to see the truths our souls are searching for, but more often than not these truths leave us vulnerable. Vulnerability is a strange thing. It’s such a powerful and beautiful thing, but many people today seem to avoid vulnerability because they are scared of the outcomes. What happens if I get malaria or I won’t have a place to live or I won’t be able to find a new job or my heart will be broken? 

I know I’m young, but I’ve found that the times in my life where I allow myself to be the most vulnerable I discover great things about other people, the world and myself. During those times you are reliant on the goodness of other people and strength of yourself. You aren’t held back by fears and doubts, so you allow yourself to walk new roads filled with revelation, companionship and adventure.

I’ve thought about going back to Africa for years, but I always found reasons not to go back. Last year I thought about taking my peace corps money and spending it to go to Africa, but the rational side of my brain, no matter how small that side is, convinced me it was better to go to Southeast Asia since I’m already over here and it would be pretty cheap. I convinced myself to wait for Africa till after grad school. 

If you know me you know Africa has significantly impacted my identity. It has given me passion, shown me grace and offered me wisdom. It has given me hope and strength and a reason for living. This will sound cliché, but I have literally dreamt of Africa since I was a little girl. I have always understood Africa to be God’s gift to keep me going. For many years my dreams of Africa were the only things I had.  Life used to be a lot for me to handle. On my worst nights though I would feel a comforting presence as I fell asleep to beautiful smiles and an overwhelming sense of freedom and peace and hope and the vivid colors of a marketplace and the powerful sounds of drums. I would wake up and continue on. Africa understood me. It cradled me and strengthened me. It gave me an identity and a purpose.  I knew I would one day go to Africa and I knew the embraces from my dreams would again be felt.

I have been blessed with a couple opportunities to spend time in Sub-Saharan Africa. One of my greatest pet peeves is when people refer to any one country in Africa as “Africa.” It is such a massive continent filled with diversity of language, ethnicity, religion, art, music and history. But, no matter where I have been in Africa, whether West Africa, East Africa, Central Africa, or South Africa I have been welcomed by the same red soil and the same sense of belonging. No matter where I have been in Africa it has felt like home…the place that has given me so much and taught me the value of life. So, until I find this statement to be untrue, Africa, the whole continent, is a place of significance for me.

Africa is this continent of majestic power. It is a complex place filled with mystery and clarity. It is a real place, and the moment you come in contact with African soil you know you have met all that ever has been or all that ever will be. When you close your eyes you can see thousands of years all right where you are standing. You open your eyes and can see the way all those years have changed you and illuminated the histories that have formed your being.  Ancient truths are realized, while each step presents a new discovery. Africa teaches that each moment and each breath is a true gift. It is something that can be taken at any moment, so you must learn to celebrate each breath and mourn each passing. It is a place where there is always time for another person. Food is shared as are laughs and tears. Time is measured in the songs of children, blessings of rain, and the passing antelope. Time is found in relationships rather than a watch. Africa teaches that enlightenment and peace can only be attained when we see who we are through the lives of other people and we see the lives of other people in ourselves. We are all connected, and that connection is what gives Africa its power.  It is a place where the supernatural and the ordinary are one.

For a long time I didn’t know if I had an identity other than Africa. I was that girl who wanted to be a doctor in Africa. That’s all there really was to me. That’s what people knew about me. I feared I would lose Africa. I feared I wouldn’t end up living in Africa. I feared that if my path changed I would be nothing.

In time I learned that Africa wasn’t my identity. It isn’t who I am. At least not entirely.  It is a part of me as it is a part of any person. It is a place that has encouraged me and has gotten me to this point in my life. It helped me get through many hard things and I will forever be connected to the people I have both dreamt of, have met, and will see in the future. It will continue to inspire me and sing me to sleep, but I have realized it is not all I am. 

I think I was afraid to go back to Africa because I fear I have romanticized it. What happens if the colors are different than I remember and the songs are sung to different tunes? What happens if I don’t feel the connection? What happens if I never leave? What happens if my feelings of helplessness become too much? What happens if I realize I will never live there or I realize it is the place I will die or I realize I no longer have realizations while I’m there?  What happens if God no longer speaks to me in Africa?

I have let go of those fears with the knowledge that whatever happens will happen, and whatever is felt will be felt. Whatever I see I will see, and whatever I hear I will hear. Africa and I have an ancient relationship. One that was formed before I was born, and I trust that that no matter where life takes me, or how the universe directs me, Africa will always be with me, and in my times of need it will remind me to stand with faith. I’m excited to see what she says to me this time.

One of my favorite books is “African Nights” by KukiGallmann. She is an eloquent writer and her words bring to life my experiences with Africa. Enjoy:

“Africa is a continent of extremes.

There are droughts and there are floods. There is an Africa of tragedy and famine, of corruption and war, of blood and hunger and tears, of incurable disease and tribal clashes and misery and violence and political unrest. It is the Africa we read about today in every paper, the one we see daily in biased cable television reports. It is an Africa captive to and dependent on the blackmail of foreign aid constantly judged, constantly criticized and never understood. Here the rich West has imprinted its competitive, frantic image, created alien needs, imposed alien philosophies and financed impossible schemes, unsuited to the potential and true spirit of this troubled and fantastic continent, all too ready to take back that help and sit in judgment of yet another failure.

I do not sing that Africa. There is no need for another negative reportage, which will leave a bitter taste and serve no purpose.

There is a different side of this ancient land. It is the Africa that, since the beginning of time, has evoked travelers a deep recognition, an inexplicable yearning to return. The place that still has what most of the world has lost.Space.Roots.Traditions.Stunning beauty.True wilderness.Rare animals.Extraordinary people.the land that will always attract those who can still dream…

This maternal, primordial Africa taught me acceptance, endurance and survival. I recognized it as a place to find wisdom. A place to end this journey and begin a new one.A place of renewal and rebirth. A good place to die…

Walking alone through the pervading magic of untouched African landscapes, open to growth as one is when at the bottom of pain, I felt quintessentially part of the whole. One evening, looking down at the breathtaking depths of the Mukutan Gorge in the Great Rift Valley, in this living cathedral of the spirit I discovered my crusade and found peace…I was in Africa, and this was my cure…

Mine are love stories about Kenya, my Africa. it is the Africa of sunshine and endless vistas, or roaming herds on the plains of red dust and galloping giraffe, of forests and snow and prehistoric lakes, of gentle, handsome, intelligent people who protect the young and respect the old, care for the sick and feed the hungry, even if it means sharing the little they have; generous people, ready to smile and to forgive; people with a song in their heart and a dance in their step; enduring, compassionate and infinitely patient. The people of Kenya, whose ancient, proven wisdom I respect. I salute them and thank them for having allowed me to live amongst them, to bury my men in the soil of my garden as Africans do, and for allowing me the honor and the choice of becoming a Kenyan like them…

Magic, and the unexplainable, still touch our lives. This is the lyrical, therapeutic Africa that I describe, the one I live every day of my life, the one that is my life aim to preserve.”

scholarships, birthdays and prayer

Most of the time I wonder what it’s all for. I wonder if I’m doing any good here. I wonder if it matters that I’m here. I wonder if I will change or benefit anyone or anything while I’m here. Most of the time I wonder because most of the time I see no difference.

I have finally seen a difference. A small difference, but nonetheless a difference.

I can’t take much credit for this difference, but I know that if I weren’t here it wouldn’t have happened. That’s an exciting feeling.  That’s a good feeling.

The Peace Corps Alumni Foundation has a scholarship program, and earlier this year I helped a handful of students who qualified fill out their applications. My role was miniscule. All I did was introduce the scholarship, edit and type the essays, and pay the small fees needed for the parents of each candidate to travel to Alaminos and get their tax exemption forms. All the work was done by the students. They are the ones who have worked endlessly for the last four years despite numerous physical and emotional setbacks, and they are the ones who wrote essays that moved the scholarship board to grant two of my students the scholarship.

The scholarship will cover tuition, books and course material costs for four years, pay for housing and food, and then offer an additional sum for fieldtrips and any other school related events. This is huge, and when I found out that two of my students were awarded the scholarship I was thrilled. Thrilled might be an understatement. I felt like a proud mama. People say your wedding day is the happiest day of your life, or the day your first child is born, or the day you graduate med-school, but for me the day I found out Reynaldo and Ericka were receiving the scholarship was the happiest day of my life, and I think few things will top it.

This gives two students the ability to go to college. It gives them the opportunity to further their education and hopefully will equip them with everything they need to find a job. If they are able to find jobs in their respective fields they will be able to support their families and move their families out of such extreme poverty. Not all of their problems will be solved, but they will have a chance very few people here have to fight the cycle of poverty. 

I think too often middle and upper class Americans take higher education for granted. I think too often middle and upper class Americans often take food and other basic commodities for granted. A very small percentage of students from my school will go on to college, and an even smaller percentage will graduate and an even smaller percentage will find jobs due to a series of circumstances I often compare to predestination or the caste system in India.

 Being able to tell Ericka and Reynaldo that they received the scholarship was a powerful experience. Neither students ever expected to receive the scholarships and both looked at me with a dazed expression before they erupted with joy to the point where they couldn’t sit still. Then, being able to meet with Ericka’s mom so she could sign the scholarship forms was a humbling experience. This is a woman whose husband was murdered when Ericka was only six and her sister was two. This is a woman who has worked endlessly to save enough pesos to keep Ericka in school this long. This is a woman who has been homeless, has found herself living with a drug addict in manila to stay dry amidst Filipino rains, and has been remarried all for the benefit of Ericka and her sister. This woman is a survivor and has passed on her skills to her daughters. Ericka was in and out of school depending on her families’ financial situation. She worked in grade school washing dishes to help her mom make money and she took care of her sister while her mom was off seeking a better life. Ericka never stopped studying and never stopped hoping.  I knew though that when I talked to Ericka about the terms and conditions of the scholarship that neither her nor her mother ever expected such a miracle. I could see that Ericka was grateful but cautious.  She knows that she needs to succeed in order to relieve her mother of all of her struggles. 

Everyone knows education is valuable and that an education has the potential to change a persons’ life, but until I saw two students who one day had no thoughts of being able to pursue a degree, and then the next day the opportunity to choose to study any course at any school in the Philippines I never realized the power an education had to completely transform a families’ life. One day you are preparing your kids to work in the fields for the rest of their life and the next that child is opening a bank account and is on his/her way to a life with a salary enough to buy food and medicine.  Hungry nights no longer await your children, and they won’t be passed on to your children’s children. Something so simple and so cheap can change the future.

In the Philippines an average college educations costs 3,000 Php a semester. That is about $75.  It is not expensive yet it is enough money to determine the fate of millions of people here.  My happiness for Ericka and Reynaldo can’t be accurately expressed, but when I look at the rest of their class I wonder why the world is so unfair. I am grateful for the scholarship money. Eternally grateful, but there are 100 other graduating seniors from my school this year and many of them will not be going to college despite their amazing minds and the abilities they have to create, think and question.  And my school is just one of several on my one little island. Imagine what the world would be like if every child was fed enough food, given enough sleep, and had access to medicines when he/she was sick. Imagine how many bright minds there would be sitting in our classrooms absorbing knowledge and gaining the ability to critically assess and analyze the world. Imagine if all of those minds were given the change to grow to an even greater level at college. The world would be exponentially better. So many more ideas and creations.So many more able minds and hands working to solve the world’s problems. If that were the case entire generations wouldn’t be born into poverty. If that were the case dreams would be dreamt and people would strive for things they have never seen before.  I wish there was a way I could help every student here go to college.

It is interesting to observe the optimism that has spread amongst the fourth year population here. Before the results of the alumni scholarship were announced I offered all the students who qualified a copy of another scholarship they could complete. Only three students took it. After it was announced that Reynaldo and Ericka received the alumni scholarship all the students who qualified for the other scholarship came to me to ask for a copy so they could apply. I ask them why now and not before. Without fail they all said they never thought that students from Anda would win a scholarship, but now they see that it is possible.  Ericka and Reynaldo have set a momentum here and I can only wait to see what good they do with their degrees and the opportunities they have awaiting them. 

My host sister and I built a compost pile everyone should be jealous of. It’s massive and composting at the speed of light (that’s maybe a slight exaggeration, but really, this things on steroids). I’m pretty excited about it.

I have had the opportunity to talk to Leah quite a bit lately and I’m very grateful for that. Leah, if you don’t know her, offers a lot of peace, strength, understanding and perspective.  She is someone who I have an immense amount of respect for and who often offers me a lot of spiritual guidance.

She was recently talking about prayer and how she thinks that you can feel the prayer other people offer you. I think this is true.

I don’t know what I think of the traditionally Christian concept of God. I have a hard time believing God is all knowing, all powerful and all good. I don’t know what I think about prayer. I don’t know if I think there is some sort of supernatural being who listens to our prayers and answers them and makes those things happen. I think if that were the case a lot of suffering would be eliminated. 

I do think though that people are deeply connected to each other and all life forms on earth and beyond. I think we are all a part of something big and grand, and I think we have lost a lot of our abilities to communicate on a spiritual level. For me prayer is the same as offering feelings of love, positive vibes, or good thoughts to other people. I don’t know how it works but I know that these things really have the power to bring security, hope and strength to people who need it. It sounds like I’m a naively optimistic hippie when I say this but I think if we open our hearts (I think this is something that happens on both a metaphysical and physical level) we are able to release some sort of current or transmission that is able to be received by other people.  I do believe in miracles and I like to think that some prayers are answered but it makes me sort of upset to think about because I don’t know how God would pick and choose certain prayers to respond to while not responding to other, so for me prayer is the process I described above where we exchange our humanity, our souls, our love with other people who we may know or who may be strangers from a distant place. 

After this Leah and I started to talk about miracles and spiritual experiences. I have seen miracles happen and have great faith that the impossible can happen if you choose to believe it and see it and let it happen. I don’t know how that all works, but it does.  When we were talking about spiritual experiences the issue psychology and expectations came up. A devout Christian who walks into a church and expects to feel or see the Holy Spirit may very well have an experience where he/she sees the Holy Spirit. Some people say this is like the placebo effect where your mind is able to create these events to give you the sort of faith and encouragement you may need at a particular time in life. Spiritual experiences have been said to happen among people of all religions and even among non-religious people. Whether or not God, or whatever you want to call the supernatural, really does make himself/herself/itself present in different ways to different people during these religious experiences is of little significance to me. Whether these experiences are all in a person’s mind or are tangible and “real” (however you want to try to define real) doesn’t matter to me. If they are real, then great.If they are made up in our heads, well great. I don’t think such an experience can be belittled if it simply some reaction of the brain. To me that demonstrates the complexity and the miracle of brain composition. It  makes me think that whatever divine being was around during creation was pretty amazing to be able to wire our minds in a way that we can perceive such vivid images and experiences.

Another thing Leah and I were talking about recently was violence and the role of violence in changing the world. She said that she is reading a book about the preacher who went to Sudan and Uganda and fought with a machine gun killing anyone who tried to hurt the community he was trying to protect.  Is this amount of violence necessary to create the change he wanted?

Nelson Mandela, a man who is known for ending Apartheid, a man who won the Nobel Peace Prize, and a man typically seen as a role model of peace came to the conclusion that an institution as violent as Apartheid could only be ended with violence. He said you can only change things if you speak the language of the oppressors. If you don’t speak their language they will not hear you and will not respond.

Martin Luther King Jr. is typically seen as another role model for peace. People say his peaceful techniques are what led to the downfall of segregation in the U.S. and the Jim Crow Laws.  But, I wonder if his peaceful techniques would have been heard if Malcolm X and the Black Panthers weren’t promoting violence. Is it possible that the white government responded to the demands of Martin Luther King Jr. because they would rather work with him than with a violent African American population? If there wasn’t a violent counterpart to his work, how much longer, if it would take longer, would it take for anything to change? If the peaceful protesters weren’t violated, beat and sent to prison would the general population respond to their cries? Even if MLK never used violence himself, he was assassinated and violence was used against him making him a martyr and giving his cause even more strength and momentum.  Is violence necessary to create change?

And then you have Jesus. Jesus was a peaceful guy.  He walked and healed and prayed and loved, but ultimately he was crucified and it was only because of this violent death that he was able to resurrect. While he did have followers before the resurrection, it is the story of the resurrection that is so often shared with people and so often used to spread Christianity. It is how people really knew Jesus was the son of God. 

I met a man in India who had been having a conversation with two missionaries who were trying to “save” him. They were talking about how Jesus was a sacrifice and shed his blood because he loved Ram, the man who I talked to. Ram asked why he would want to believe in a god that could only change the world by killing his own son.  It’s a good question. If God is all-knowing then he would know that Jesus would be crucified.  Why was this the only way? Couldn’t God have used a completely peaceful way of spreading his/her love? Why is violence always involved, and why do people only seem to respond when there is violence?

It makes you wonder about justified violence. Is there such a thing and if so who determines what’s justified and what’s not and where are the lines drawn?

My birthday here was good. My students, teachers and host family gave me a wonderful day full of thought and care. My counterpart wrote and read a beautiful poem, my advisory students performed several dances and wrote me a song, some fourth year students gave me several pieces of shell art while others made me one of the best desserts of my life, and the teachers threw me a party where they gave me a massive basket of fruit.  Then my host family had a feast to celebrate the joint birthday of both my host mom and I. it was perfect.  

It got me thinking about my most memorable birthdays. 

One of these was a surprise weekend at Peak n Peak with Katie, Abbe, Elissa, Nick and Nathan. We had been at a show at the Hang Out in Edinboro just like every weekend back then. Afterwards Katie, Abbe and Elissa were supposed to sleep over at my house but instead my dad drove us to the Peak. We spent the weekend snowboarding and hanging out in the condo. Everything about it was perfect.

Another great birthday was when my friends transformed Katie’s house into Africa complete with trees, snakes in the trees, lion king music and “African” food (I remember there were carrot sticks and I think worms in dirt).  Again, everything about it was perfect.

Then there was my birthday in South Africa with my host family. It was mine and Heather’s last night with them and they bought a feast worth of food. KFC chicken, multiple watermelons, chocolate and anything else imaginable. That night we had to say goodbye to them and stay at Cornerstone College before leaving early the next morning for our journey to Petermeritzburg. I think we were three hours late at getting to the school, but it was wonderful to spend that last night with them. The entire family came with us to the school to say goodbye.  Again, everything was perfect.

And, finally, there was my birthday Junior year of college. My first and last birthday in California.  In the morning I went to the temple with Matt and Audie to meditate, I came home and took a nap and then my roommates were throwing me a “surprise” party I got the invitation to.  It was a wonderful party. So many amazing people and so much good food. It was my 21’st birthday but knowing my dislike of alcohol everyone brought sparkling juices and pop instead. The best part was a book they made filled with comments from my friends in both California and Pennsylvania. We then went to Kristi’s apartment and had a dance party.  It was perfect.

I’m blessed to have such incredible people in my life all around the world.  

Nightmares and Such

If a country refuses to respect the humanity of its’ population, it has no future in the world of development.
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I struggle with photography. There is so much I want to document. So much beauty, so much suffering, so much magic, so much that is ordinary.  I want to document all these things with my camera so stories can be shared and the gaps between lives lived can be lessened, but I struggle. The camera is such an invasive piece of equipment. It separates the photographer from the experiences around him/her.  It turns people, plants, and animals into objects of entertainment. Sometimes untrue stories are told through the lens of a camera. Someone is made to believe an elderly woman with no teeth is poor and destitute when in reality she is proud and healthy matriarch. But, without a camera parts of the world would not know the others.  Pictures inspire action against that which is wrong. They unite us and bring us together. They show that there is magic in the simplest of things and plainness in the most spectacular glitz. They slow us down and give us time to appreciate that which we have and that which we do not. They introduce us to those we share this earth with. But I often worry that the camera is just another means of brushing over the depth of each object we photograph.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about people who are corrupt, bitter, degrading towards others, angry and abusive of their powers.  How do people become like this? What were they like as children?  Is it an event that makes someone like this, or is it a part of who they are naturally? Why do some people in positions of power do good while others do bad? Why do some people in positions of power possess an air of entitlement while others remain humble? What do people think and feel about themselves when they abuse their power and the people around them? Why live a life that makes those around you miserable as well as yourself? How long does it take for a person to transform into this sort of person? Am I capable of growing into one of these people?  I hope life and the people around me keep me in check so I don’t become one of those people.

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So I’m back. I’ve got many months behind me and have just under that many ahead of me.  What a strange place to be. Not necessarily a physical place, but an emotional, mental and spiritual place. 

As I’ve told a few people it’s always really hard for me to say goodbye to people in the states who I love and don’t want to be away from.  It’s really hard. Don’t get me wrong. I couldn’t be more grateful for the experiences and opportunities life has graced me with, but it does take a toll on me.  I often wonder why I have such a restless soul.  I wonder what it is I’m constantly in search of. I wonder why I have the pressing desire to pick up and move to places where I know no one in order to struggle and work to get to know people who I can work to help in one way or another when there are so many people who are already in my life in the U.S.  I wish I could be with and help through this chaotic journey we call life. I wonder if this will be my whole life, or if my heart will change directions.  And as I wonder I move from one plane to the next, one bus to the next, and return to Anda. I return to a small island most of the world has never heard of to be welcomed “home” by my neighbors, students and co-workers. 

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The UN warns that “65 percent of humankind will be living in water-stressed and water-scarce countries by 2025”—International Herald

“215 million women around the world do not have access to contraception.”—International Herald

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I heard a group of 14 year old boys talking about hand jobs today.  That’s an awkward conversation to overhear. Especially when the realized I was within earshot and they started laughing in the way kids do when they know that a teacher overheard them say something inappropriate. I probably should have said something to them, but instead I thought it was funny and just laughed a little bit.  I think the one I overheard was nervous or embarrassed as I was laughing because he twisted his pen until it split open. Ink sprayed all over his hands and face.  I thought the whole scenario was comedic.
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I have been having a lot of nightmares lately. They started just before I went back to the states, and picked up speed in Erie. I have brought them back with me to the Philippines, and every night I try to dialogue with them as silently as possible so I can learn what they are trying to show me.

I’ve always had vivid dreams. My dreams direct me. They tell me where I will be going next and let me know when I’m in the right place. They give me guidance and strength, inspiration and vision.  I have also always had nightmares. When I was little they used to scare me. I used to wake up before they had finished thinking once I opened my eyes they would disappear, but that was never the case. They would come back again and again until, like all things, it was their time to go.

It didn’t take long for me to learn that my nightmares were as valuable as my good dreams. My nightmares also gave me guidance and strength, inspiration and vision--if I gave them time to unravel themselves and respected them by contemplating the value of their images.  I would see great suffering and abuse. People tormented not in their sleep, but when their eyes were open. People deliberately, sometimes strategically and sometimes chaotically, instilling pain in others. Some of these people took delight in their actions while others felt remorse but didn’t have the ability to stop.  These dreams always left me exhausted and sad when I woke up, but they gave me a great gift. They minimized my fear, increased my empathy towards those suffering as well as those who were instilling the pain, and gave me places to go. They gave me something to work towards and made my good dreams great blessings. 

Sometimes these nightmares were about friends and family members. These dreams were symbolic and were more difficult to decipher, but after too much practice interpreting their meanings they became easy to understand.  In the past these were the dreams I could more easily respond to because I was closer to these people than to the people in my other nightmares. But, now, it’s different, and these are the dreams that are the hardest to handle due to the width of the oceans.

Lately, the nightmares have come back. And while they do not scare me, they worry me. I wish there was something I could do. I need to remember that their attempts to haunt me bring me insights and wisdom and new visions for the future, and for this I am grateful.