I love L.A., and I’ll be sad to leave …
but sometimes living here, in this sprawling megalopolis,
I start to feel sick for the sight of open sky, mountains, for clean air and silence and stars.
“Let’s go to Joshua Tree. Tomorrow.”
So we threw our bags in the car and drove until the city, at last, began to recede.
It's true, you can never leave your troubles behind you
--wherever you go, there you are--
but somehow, in the desert--glorious, vast, and quiet--
all the anxieties constricting, and sorrows weighing on my heart
somehow ease themselves and I feel healed, restored, stilled, at peace.
The front office was done up like a Disneyland facade ...
Outside our room--a horseshoe.
I know it's superstition, but somehow, charms like this make me feel ... lucky.
Perhaps they just remind of how fortunate I am already.
We really were lucky--that night there happened to be an astronomy program at the visitor center.
We looked through a telescope and gasped at images of Saturn, Mars, and galaxy clusters.
A second, deep space telescope was hooked up to a large screen, offering views we'll never forget ...
The Sombrero Galaxy
The Ring Nebula
The Lagoon
The Swan
The Dumbell
Apparently, they have these astronomy programs about once a month--they said the next would be July 13. I think at this point, you probably would have to call or email the visitor center for the schedule--they haven't got the info up on the website.
So, anyway ...
Dear L.A. friends:
When your spirit is stifled and troubles are weighing you down,
I recently traveled to another state where I was (am) being considered for a pastoral position. I did not anticipate how stressful and unsettling it was going to be merely to find myself in a strange locale—a place, in some ways, unlike any I'd ever visited.
It reminded me of how upsetting it was my first week at college, 1,200 miles from home. It was the beginning of a totally different life, in a place that seemed terrifyingly strange. It was probably the third day I'd been there or so—I just laid down on my bed and started sobbing, because everything was so not normal. Of course, I eventually got used to it, and in only a short time, it became a very comforting place.
But the funny thing is ... I went on a couple mission/exposure trips, as a teenager—to Tijuana, and to a place called Tonalá, outside of Guadalajara—and instead of having that feeling of culture shock, I felt exactly the opposite—as if I was coming home—as if I'd been so many long years in exile, I'd somehow forgotten, but that this was where I really belonged, and felt at peace.
I wonder if there might be something about the national character of Mexico that particularly resonates with me. The Enneagram Institute believes nations tend to have three dominant personality types (scroll to "In Cultural Studies")—and it seems not improbable to me that Four (the Artist—my basic type) would be one of Mexico's three.
Several months ago, I was in Zumba class, and we were doing this one song—"Dame Un Tiempo Mas"—and all of a sudden, I had this intense memory of being in Mexico—it was a deep feeling of peace, and relaxation, and of just being at home ... Beautiful ...
Anyway, it took me a long time to figure out what the song was, not least of all because the lyrics do not appear to be posted anywhere on the web, as of this writing. So, here is my best guess—may it, perhaps, benefit someone out there. Probably this is going to be laughable to anyone who speaks Spanish—please, comment if you can help me correct it. Some of this really just did not make sense to me, but I took a stab at it, anyway (I get points for trying, eh?).
Letra de Dame Un Tiempo Mas
Dame un tiempo mas
y pon esa cinturita a bailar
llenando te de besos
que pronto la maniana llegara
Por eso, dame un tiempo mas
y tu corazoncito reconquistar
Nunca mas estare lejos
y solita no te vas a quedar
Fue muy dificil
mi vida sin tenerte
que no estes pegadita a mi
pasar noches en vela
Yo nunca te voy a herir
(no que voy a herir)
Yo no lo haria jamas
(No lo haria jamas)
Yo quiero estar junto a ti
(junto a ti)
Yo solo te voy amar
(Te voy amar)
Es que sin ti yo que haria?
(que haria)
Pero tengo la suerte
de sentir que vuelves ...
The temp agency had me doing data entry for a couple weeks. It was ... not as boring as it could have been, but pretty darn boring. Regardless of what job I'm doing, though, I always try to do it as well I can, and I always hope to learn something. And sure enough, I was really struck by two ways that my immediate supervisor demonstrated what good leadership looks like.
First, when I made a mistake, he took responsibility for it. Even though I was the one at fault--I had just made an assumption, rather than asking for clarification on what I was supposed to be doing, but--he apologized and said "I should have explained that better."
Now, I've read in books that a good leader is supposed to do that--but I will admit, the idea offended my sense of fairness. But having now, personally, been the recipient of just that kind of grace, I appreciate that it's unfair in a good way.
The other thing is that he referred to everyone in the office, affectionately, as "my people" and talked about looking out for his people and being happy for his people. (This was not particularly directed at people whom he was supervising, but just everyone.) And that struck me as something remarkably loving, seeing as how it was just some cubicle-filled office for some company I sincerely doubt anyone there was particularly passionate about.
Anyway, that's all. Just felt like sharing. Ya learn something new every day.
We went to Griffith Observatory to view the partial solar eclipse on Sunday. We bought some awesome special sunglasses that let you look directly into the sun! All you see with the glasses on is blackness, and an intensely beautiful glowing orb. I used the glasses on my camera to take some photos of what we saw. I've included images in chronological order, which give some idea of the arc of the moon's path.
We also used binoculars to project an image of the sun onto hands, ground, paper, whatever was handy.
In the backyard of the house where I grew up, there was a grapefruit tree. We didn't take very good care of our yard, but the tree always looked like it was thriving, wild and overgrown. I wondered, with all that full, green leafage, why it didn't produce more and better fruit. Then one day, I looked a little closer and saw that the tree had actually been taken over by a weed.
It was that invincible weed with ugly flowers that my mother hated. That thorny vine with little curling tendrils and complicated blossoms I had taken a pseudo-scientific pleasure in dissecting as a child. That weed seemed almost impossible to kill. The stems were unbreakable and the roots developed enormous tubers, so that you couldn't pull them up--I remember throwing my entire weight into repeated attempts at pulling up those weeds, but I only succeeded in making my hands sore.
It took forever to dig up those bloated roots, and when at last the tubers lay, still cool, dirty, and huge upon the pavement, I shuddered as before some botanical obscenity. Having clipped the vines at their bases and pulled them down, out of the branches, I now saw the poor grapefruit tree as it truly was, gaunt and emaciated, victim of a wicked parasite. No wonder it hadn't been producing fruit.
Ever since then, I thought of that weed as a metaphor for neurosis and even the demonic--the way it created a false appearance of health and vitality, while clandestinely sapping all the life out of the tree.
Then, just a couple weeks ago, I was thinking to myself I wanted to get some soothing herbal tea--and I went to the store and found one called "Siete Azahares" / "Seven Blossoms"--which had a picture of that very weed on the box.
Apparently, it's called "Passionflower," and it has significant stress-relieving properties. Who knew! So, I guess after struggling for hours in the backyard against that plant, I should have made its leaves into tea to calm my frustration.
Correction: Oh, whoops--I was actually conflating two different weeds in my mind, both of which took over the grapefruit tree, but only one of which was invincible, with thorns--it had tiny blue berries and needle-like leaves, I think. If anyone knows what it is, please comment!
They were handing out megaphones
and teaching the chants
to those of us that looked least crazy,
the young and well dressed,
while a woman with a too-weak voice
gave an impassioned but ineffectual speech.
Of course I noticed when they showed up,
wearing some kind of Native American
traditional,
you know,
strange get up.
And as I was handing out flyers
talking to passersby--Blah blah blah injustice!
Blah blah blah mass incarceration of our youth!
and Blah blah blah money, they replied,
Blah blah blah politicians--the smell of burning sage wafted by
and a drumbeat began,
and they started to dance.
And a different voice
intoned
some stuff
that I didn’t really hear,
invoking our Earth Mother
and the Great Spirit
or something like that.
And we began,
this tiny motley crew,
to march the streets of downtown L.A.,
police car escorts clearing our path. I admit I was a bit distracted by the tall, silent, brown skinned guy in a blue--apparently Captain America--costume.
“The whole damn system’s got to go!”
“We say no to the new Jim Crow!”
“Stop mass incarceration!”
And all the while we're led
by these hopping, stepping, drumming
Aztecs.
And at first I just thought
“What the heck”
and “Only in L.A.”
but then
I felt something that--putting into words--well--their beautiful clothing
with the bright colors and abstract designs,
and those awesome feather headdresses,
the legwarmers with rattling shells,
the ancient rhythm to which they moved,
the sounding of the conch--it was a different kind of protest.
Not like our angered shouting of “No! No! No!”
It was instead, a “Yes.”
We said “Not That”
and they said “This.”
They said beauty, humanity, spirituality, and organic harmony. (Laughing nervously out loud--I can hardly believe I'm buying into it.)
They said with their feathers and shells and
their sacred dance in the midst of the
courthouses, sky scrapers, freeways, surrounded by
irritated commuters, stopped in their cars as we passed,
they said,
We are part of something much bigger than ourselves--bigger than this city--more powerful than politicians, and the LAPD--we are the children of the Earth.
Nothing can violate the sacredness,
nothing can overcome the divine within us.
We have already begun to be
the change we wish to see.
[Sad that this video has so little footage of the Aztec dancers--just a few seconds, at 1:23--and no footage of the guy in the Captain America suit--tsk tsk--I guess they were trying to make our group look more respectable, heh. (You can see me at 0:43 and 1:52, for those who get a kick out of seeing someone they know "on t.v.")]
[You can see a little of the Aztecs' costumes in this video, but it was before they started dancing. I'm also there behind them, toward the right--holding some flyers that I had been charged with handing out to passersby--you probably have to view the video in a larger format (on youtube) to recognize me.]
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