Big Dipper

Six points of contact, and you've struck every one.

Wild, confused thing needing focus,

Poor child, you know that shift isn't fleeting

That ribbon leaves its searing mark, insidious red letter

A changed thing, striking blind at the whirlwind

Unaware of your limits, your strengths

And denying your weaknesses and their permanent effects.

Lace burning holes in your skull

And your resolve.

We're all trying to find the answer to the same questions.

All trying to both see the connections, and see through them...

Look up.

Look through the chaos and the glittering distractions

That faint constellation of truth, hope, love, and promise - it shines down on all of us.

Some brighter than others, but we're still all looking up at the same bright star.

Behind bars. Or, open/shut.

Hold on tight, fragile thing.
Hold it dear and close.
Keep it quiet as it may never be as much as it could.
Lucky, fortunate, thankful for this chance to grow.
This is only a warning. Not your first red flag, but maybe the biggest and, I hope, the last.

Sleep, dream of me as I dream of flying castles too great and rivers of stone and tiny, sacred things.
They tell me the truth, these small things.
They say this is all we will ever have.
That I had better pay attention, the answers are closer than I think.
And those answers matter less than I want them to.

Muse.

"Duel Nature"
I have a dual duel of my own.
Days seem brighter, nights shorter.
Doubt, a delusion, swerves outside it's lines.
I have a habit to learn.
You're right, I am always looking for the next big thing.
It's wanting what you have, I know, but I need more for now.
It's a phase, let me stumble a little please.
3-year-old tantrums or 15-year-old angst, it's not forever and no matter how much you explain and entreat, I still have to kick my heels on the ground to see whether or not it will open below me.
Someday, everyone should see the Grand Canyon with their own eyes.
You should compare Niagara Falls to the post card, because you cannot print the lace and fog, the browning leaves, the rolling thunder bass, the little details that create an experience.
I may have slipped a little on the rocks, I may be cold and wet, but I got to see it for myself.
Understanding vs. Acceptance.
Support vs. Consent
Thinking vs. Feeling
Why vs. How vs. Now...
Someday I'll be satisfied, my hunger for new things. Thank you for your love and patience.
Thank you for an intriguing opportunity.
"A wise man in the making."
I swerve outside my own lines sometimes, reject the default for no other good reason.
I know where my home is, though. I know where safe is.
I am learning to talk less and breathe more.

Dual lessons in the earth and the clouds.

Through the trees

This is my tell.
I want to write.
I want to tell the story of my lonely heart.
I want to breathe warm air
I move less, sleep more.
I ache.
Maybe I start reaching for things that fill in.
"Shove another needle down a hole"
More caffiene, endogenous opioids.
Cheap thrills, expensive mistakes.
Chipping away at my eggshell exterior.
No attention span,
Needing attention, protection.
Acute disappointment, guilt and confusion,
Razor-sharp and hair-thin.
A blue eyed woman combs my souls from the wall.
I won't give in, this time.
It's always the last time, the last one.
You never plan it, and it's always deeper
Than we imagine.
I am ineffective. Good for little more than
Navel-gazing.
And it kills me to see again.
For the thousandth time- people never change.
There's a power where I don't want it.
Such power, always more than we imagine.
If you've never been there, you cannot understand.
You will never know. And maybe, while I am learning more about myself- I am powerless to effect sustainable change.
Maybe I don't have it figured out.
Maybe it's because I like being this way.
This is my tell, she said.
Can't see the forest through the trees, so we look for the tell-tale signs: fallen logs, and a leaf or two give it away. Back here again, eh?
Well, then I have learned nothing. Nothing.

Which way out.

"Please... Please let me in."
Don't shut me out I won't let you down.
Alway here, never left. Never left you
You never left me.
Finding what's right, what's still left to say
Trying to believe in the best of intentions
But still wondering if, deep under the water
If I had something to do with it.
If it had something to do with us.
Fixing by adding, one-plus-one-plus
Keep piling on until one day we turned around and found nothing left.
Two wrongs. Trying to make it right.
Trying. That's all I can ever promise.
Taking on another project- who's collecting broken wings now?
Who's the one with the mangled menagerie?
Darting, cagey, but holding my cards out for all to see.
Jumping- was that the word?
Shall- ten extra points?
Wet- aren't we?
Deep under water, yes. There's a dim silence in the night, between the swaying trees and creaking rafters.
There's a quiet longing.
A jeweled threat.
A standing offer.
Whether right or wrong the "only thing left to do is jump..."
I'm excited about possibilities. I have faith in the right opportunity. I am keeping my head out of the drink. Treading water well.
But it's still just under my chin.
And I'm not sure I would like it any other way.

Home.

Back home now. There was some confusion in the morning Thursday that had us waiting for our pilot for 4 hours at the Les Cayes Airport. It's the same in many tropical places - island time! Our trusty old jalopy of a Cessna carried us through the green mountains north of Les Cayes and out over the Caribbean. I was so sad to leave so much suffering behind. Sad I couldn't do more, sad to leave the few friends I had made. There's so much to do there, so much. I felt selfish about wanting some vietnamese soup, a bigger seat on the airplane, and a long, long, long shower. Guilt creeps in a little around the corners - but I have to remember the standard is so different in the US. We all do what we can. I paid what I am sure is a year's salary in Haiti for a sooner ride home. Got home at noon on Friday - tired, but running on adrenaline and the excitement of being home.

Everyone asks me "How was Haiti?" At first, I said "Great!" and kept a positive attitude about things. As Friday wore on, I started feeling a little worse, a little overwhelmed and got more honest about it.

"Interesting."

"Nuts."

"Intense."

I tell the stories about the things I saw- the maggot-infested leg, the amputations, the lack of care, medicine, supplies, organization. The people I met - the thankful teenagers, the singing man, the surgeons both Haitian and foreign doing all they could. The frustrations we all had.

I don't tell enough, though the things I learned. I learned some about myself and I strengthened my faith in the inherent goodness of the human spirit. Most of all though, I was reminded that the only thing that matters in life is relationships. I am convinced that if there ever is a Judgement Day, we will not be judged on the merit of our actions, the purity of our intentions, or certainly not the size of our cars or houses. In the end, the only thing that really matters is love. I believe that if there is ever a judgement to be made, it will be based on the love that we give and the love we receive.

Each of us exists tenuously. Some of us are lulled more than others into a mistaken sense of invincibility or immortality and this breeds irresponsibility. Everything you have could be taken from you in a moment by a car wreck, a gunshot, an earthquake, a hurricane... And what will you have left? What do you have that cannot be taken from you but the love of your family and friends? What thing in your house, what shiny possession or green dollar bill or job achievement will carry you through the darkest, loneliest times in your life? The people I met in Haiti have nothing but the clothes on their backs, but they smile and sing anyway because they still have love. They have eachother.

There is so much that drives us apart - our cell phones, computers (the one I'm typing on...) transactions, closed-up cars and fences that get in the way of real human interaction. One of the 10 principles of Burningman is decommodification - "resisting the substitution of consumption for participatory experience." (www.burningman.com)

/soapbox

I could preach forever, but I'm not here to criticize or give some sermon on how we need to change the world and tell you the American way of life is bad and all that.

It's just that I got a big reminder to keep the people in my life close to my heart, and let them know how much I love them because at the end of the day, they are all I have ever had, or ever will have.

Day 5 - Wednesday

Wound care again today with people I know. One woman sang hymns to cope with the pain of her dressing change. These are incredibly stoic people. The 4-year-old near the nurses station was hit by a car recently and thankfully had no other injuries besides extensive abrasions on her face. I was asked to put some neosporin on her scabs. She eyed me suspiciously when I sidled up to her, so I blew up a glove as a balloon and handed it to her. The international sign for "It's gonna be ok." Her little face lit right up. She bounced her new toy off my arm and turned her head to the side patiently while I applied goop. She grinned and waved when I moved on. I stopped to play peek-a-boo with her later, and she waved every time she saw me the rest of the day.

The little things.

There was a kitten in the back room where I was organizing. It was shy, but every time I went back to work it would come out from behind the boxes and meow loudly. Whether it was mewing for its mother, some food, or just to be heard, I'll never know. I don't speak enough Creole.

As I walked back to the guest house for lunch, I took a left turn off the road and got about 50 yards down when a boy on a 10-speed rode up next to me. He introduced himself and asked where I was going. I was a little wary but told him I was staying at the guest house. He said "it's not this way." I had taken the wrong turn. He rode back up the road with me and we chatted until I got to my gate. He said goodbye and rode on. These people are kind-hearted. I am a little ashamed of my mistrust.

My EMT friend and I talked more about the difficulties of the situation. There's no heroism here. You can't expect to come in and do a lot of good in a short period of time. Establishing relationships is required to make long-term, lasting changes. I am ashamed of my unwillingness to spend more than a week here.

These people love to sing. They sing their prayers to God - singing hymns of sorrow, praise, humility and thanks. Families, friends and strangers gather around one bed and then the next and all who can join in the melody. One man sang all day from his bed. All. Day. I stopped for a moment to smile, breathe and just listen. I will remember that.

I have all these little memories. The kitten in the storeroom, the boy on the bike, the man in the corner... All these snapshots, moments of connections that I have made. Everything helps. Every smile, every "Bonjour" and "Bonsoir", every touch, every bandage, every pill, ointment, dollar, prayer, everything helps because the need is so great. These people have nothing.

We leave at 7am tomorrow. I am changed a little, in ways I didn't expect. In ways I won't begin to realize for months to come. "Was it worth it?" my husband asked me last night. Yes. Would I do it again? Absolutely. With fewer expectations, and more forgiveness for myself. Will I come back? Maybe. Maybe yes, maybe no. Certainly not for a while, I'm going to need some time to recover.

The right opportunity always presents itself.