Trust in Pride

With permission from Cecelia, here is her contribution on the subject of toxicity in the Chicano culture.  First a brief description about Cecelia.  Cecelia and I met at a writing workshop.  I was there with a living hero, Jimmy Santiago Baca.  He allowed me to participate despite never being published or credited as a writer.  Cecelia was there too.  She supported me during a really difficult moment during the conference.  I didn't believe myself to be a writer and I was among professional and aspiring writers.  I was challenged to share my work out loud.

I was asked to read aloud my novice writing.  With my voice trembling in my tentative tone, I read a poem.  It got rocked and I was told my writing wasn't passionate.  I was called out, and I remember it went something like this, "your writing seems to lack passion".  With that statement, woke the calloused part of my soul.

I found an inner passion to describe the sadness I live with.  I told them about the parts of me that skirt around the big dogs because I don't feel I belong.  I have never been asked to read aloud.  I told the group how difficult it is to play passionately because what I am passionate about will provoke and confront their privileged metaphorical Anglo playgrounds.  I have to be somewhat abstract to conceal the sacredness of the moment and those involved.  But I let my educated, learned, and vetted understanding of myself and history propel my passionate, possibly disappointed, perspectives flow.

They came out in a voice that turned from trembling into a shaking near tears fountain of rawness. Out came my thoughts, from the depths of the cellars they have been kept quietly pacing.  Like bunched up New Mexicans at the labor lines waiting for the opportunity to contribute to my cause.  It felt like a petition, and quickly I realized I had spoken my truth.  At the end I found myself embarrassed and ashamed.  I felt like I had no right to be so passionate in someone else's passion playground.

But to sum it up, I described how I hold myself back because it feels like my place.  My place is modest and purpose centered.  I watched my grandmother prepare the best New Mexican food for the richest Anglos in New Mexico, and never ask to be called a chef.  I watched my grandpa build cabinets for several churches in the North Valley of Albuquerque never asking for recognition or profits.  I try to live the same way.

Here I was a wanna be writer among skilled writers just happy to be in the same room as Jimmy Baca.  I couldn't be passionate because I was scared that what I had to say would hurt feelings.  The source of my passion is in their ancestors injustice.  Especially the judgment, maybe jealousy,  I see in how free the Anglo culture is allowed to be proud and loud.  The passion I have is rooted in the paradox of being given opportunity to be great but only knowing how to be modest.

Cecelia and a few other strong Latin writers supported me and best of all shared the feelings.  I had skeena.  I have shared my passion with people who rarely understand and often call me disruptive, cynical, and harsh.  I have had to remind myself that I am a tender person who is a warrior.  I have to keep close the reminder that I was raised not to fight, and not to be afraid to protect myself.  Cecelia ratified my emotions, ideas, and passion.

We sat at dinner and she shared her story with me.  I knew after leaving that weekend that I must speak my passions modestly.  I will not be afraid to defend myself, my story, and my perspectives.  I will know that my truth is not necessarily offensive but can incense emotions in others.  It's not my responsibility any longer to wonder how my story will make others feel.

Thank you for the standing along side me.  It has felt for awhile as if my ideas are isolatingly antagonizing.  It is a joy and relief to be in the spirit of great people like Cecelia.

Cecelia  shared the following:

Ron,

This is a reflection on both Toxic Humility and Mistrust of Pride, as I see the two topics inextricably linked - at least in my experience as a Mexican-American woman growing up in southern California in the 50s and 60s.

My father was a strong man, with a humble spirit, and unspoken pride in his heritage, his work ethic and the accomplishments of his children.  He taught me "never draw attention to yourself" as that was arrogant and unnecessary.  He believed that "If you work hard and do what you have signed-on to do, people will notice and they will recognize you and reward you, as appropriate.  You don't need to promote yourself."

I have lived my 65 years of life believing this is true, acting in concert with it and seeing his prediction play out in my own life.  And yet, there have been moments when I too have been unable to take pride in the "magnificent" parts of myself and that has felt uncomfortable and (although I never would have come up with the term myself) "toxically humble."

These posts have shined a light on layers and layers of my being and my identity - for me to reexamine.  I will let you know where that road takes me.  Thank you, Ron.

Cecelia

Criticize to rationalize its a better direction

I am in an amazing space in my life.  I am accruing debt at a higher percentage than ever.  I wake up and it scares me.  I am not buying luxurious things, its just necessities.  I am learning to appreciate the dependence that I have chosen, dependencies that are tied to social norm.  I realize that much of my life is still geared toward a balance between simplicity and convenience.  So I worry, but I don't think I am overwhelmed.  Now how do I synthesize this into wisdom.

What first comes to mind is my self perception.  Even after 37 years of life, 34 years of memories, and 20 years out of high school I still judge myself.  I wake in the morning and recognize that my eyes are a little more tired looking.  My body takes a lot longer to warm up when I work out.  My joints are more stubborn than I remember them being.  But my mind laughs.  My mind says "you can still hang brother".  If I stop now, it will only get harder later.  I  rest more and push myself less but I live the same.  I am borrowing from laziness to pay off the debts I have accrued with anger and discipline.  I am cashing in on some pleasurable comfort, knowing I am going to pay intensity back with interest.  I am not wasting my lazy time though.  I get enough done, but this allows me to feed my dreams, fears, and insecurities.  In my laziness I remind myself of the disappointments in lifestyle, livelihood, and achievement.  I am building a stockpile of motivation that I know I can do without but for humanistic reasons have convinced myself I need.

I realize I am willing to live with others, for others, and in spite of others.  In the past I was living for me, to get mine.  This is a subtle shift towards a community that I can't clearly recognize.  The others in the first sentence of this paragraph is as dynamic as the weather.  I can't clearly identify who is it that I am moving towards, with, or against.  There is appreciation for chaos and a mistrust of planning.  I am seeing balance everywhere.  I am finding meaning in most or at least looking for it.  I am preparing for surpluses and harvests that can't be seen in this drought.  I am accruing a personal debt that may not be able to be paid off tomorrow, but I am not wasting the goods rendered.  I am irresponsibly being devoted to simplicity.  I am choosing to spend credit to keep from having to increase my income.  I am spending laziness to keep from having to increase my intensity.  I am resting because right now life feels like I can.

So this is a demonstration for how I have taken my criticisms and used them to build a rational for explaining my recent laziness.  I might even call it excessive rest to give myself a poetic hug.

Learning from the world

Delinquent Mind

The delinquent mind has to be one of the most influential minds in existence. These are the minds that have been neglected by norms, mistreated by convenience, and ignored by efficiency. I have come appreciate the delinquent mind as much as I appreciate the savant mind. The delinquent mind is equally as creative as the savant. We have many new technologies that have been created to adapt to the delinquent mind. The delinquent mind is as efficient in finding shortcuts as the savant mind. The delinquent mind does not fall into the category of common. Often the delinquent mind is left in dismal conditions and molded by misfortune and mayhem. The processes that most people participate in as children like breakfast, school, recess, afternoon snack, leisure activities, dinner, and bedtime don't include the delinquent mind. The delinquent mind is reared in chaos, surprise, and instability. Comfort is not common to the delinquent mind. I think the delinquent mind is restless in acceptance, peace, and uniformity. The delinquent mind is misunderstood and never clear in its message, deliberately mistrusting anyone and most, weeding out those who's intentions are to sabotage the comfort found in being different. The delinquent mind holds part of the truth. The delinquent mind is the consciousness that helps each of us deal with shitty aspect of ourselves and others. The delinquent mind is the willing part of us to die and feel pain. The delinquent mind is the reckless creativity that allows us to go beyond what is seen as rational. The delinquent mind hides behind our shadow, waiting to be punished, and likely the last part of ourselves to be loved.

Crafty Caring Critic

The critic is a quality that has tormented me, motivated me, and polished me.  It brings great suffering to my learning, loving and interpreting.  This facade is the most interesting because it is the part of me that helps me improve.  My critic is necessary. It is not a part of me that can be excluded.  I'm seeing a change, a softening of my critic.  I think this means approaching my critic not with criticism but with feedback wrapped in compassion.

Shadow & Ego Lense

Early on in my childhood the shame and worry of failure conceived the critic.  I think I began to judge myself, push myself, and fear mistakes out of trying to succeed and behave.  The irony is that the fear created shame and the shame caused hesitation.  In learning hesitation only delays the absorption and experiences needed to build confidence and trust.  Punishment also plays a significant role in the development of my critic.  Because aptitude was measured with achievement I began to protect myself from the harsh effects of criticism by creating an internal judge who could be more critical than societal judges.  Societal judges being parents, teachers, peers, and coaches.  The critic grew to be more and more severe as I encountered more and more insecurities.

What inspired my critic to be so harsh and severe?  I grew up in a culture with shame and embarrassment.  Being latino, was at times, seen as a disadvantage or unfortunate burden, especially identifying as lower middle class.  This bread insecurity and comparison into my personality.  I had disciplined and punishing parenting, although loving I would consider it conservative.  My family often focused on improving mistakes and not breaking the rules.  I felt pushed, punished, and expected to fit systems.  This environment motivated me to criticize myself, discourage myself from experimenting, and hate losing.

I learned to only do the the things I excelled at.  As I got older the critic grew darker and more committed to helping me be the best.  It helped me to adapt to systems, feed off of scarcity, and take advantage without appearing to do so.  I know being little, underdeveloped, and poor didn't help.  I think my critic never had the chance to fail gracefully and in contrast tortured myself into competency.

I learned to lie to myself as a strategy for motivation.  When I say lie to myself, I like to think of the worst possible friend, and that was my subconscious.  In adolescents, sports were my go to activities.  I started working out in my 6th to 7th grade summer.  I put to bed the child and introduced the professional.  My dad and I created a workout schedule that I followed loosely.  Regardless I was training.  The most difficult realization I have made this round of introspection is body image.  I can now remember beginning to compare and observe my progress around this time.  I was always little and the younger athlete on my teams because of my August birthdate.  I always felt like I had to work harder and convince myself I wasn't ready, good enough, and there was more to practice.

Remember the worst possible friend I mentioned earlier.  Well he stuck around despite my aging.  That little voice in the back of my head that feeds me shitty thoughts, believing he is just trying to prepare me for the worst so I'm not surprised and let down, is alive and thriving in my psyche.  This is the part of me I am working to change.  When I would practice this voice would invoke the worst possible names it could to motivate me with anger.  When in love he would convince me that I wasn't good enough or remind me of the little I had to offer.  In learning he would start me off with how lazy I was with reading, continue with how forgetful I was, and finish it off with a few shortcuts and pity parties.

My ego has been a functional and effective motivator, but not very graceful.  I have created self suffering in the form of pity, shame, guilt and regret.  I have punished myself continually for my failures. I work diligently on being better and improving.  As a result I can say I made it a long way with dysfunctional sidekick.  My ego along with my shadow have left a legacy of torment, and surprisingly currently not disrupting my direction change towards a more graceful perspective.

True Self

What does it look like to fail gracefully?  I think it would include more encouragement than dissapointment.  I think had my family put an emphasis on what I was doing well could have helped me feel more confident with approaching the challenges causing me to fail.  Failing gracefully looks more like the measurement of progress versus collection of errors.  

I am softening my critic.  I have grace and appreciation for the progress it has made.  With the use of trust my critic is softening.  I am resisting the urge to judge myself in favor of understanding myself.  When I fail I first recognize that I made an attempt and that is something to reward.  This has allowed myself to forgive my shortcomings and recognize the opportunity to learn from them.  This has allowed me to finally see progress after so long being forced to focus on failure.  I think for this process it is important to note that writing this paragraph brought me to tears, big crocodile ones, and with them peace.  This is a young transition I'm in but so much more efficient.  Donald and I talked about not being fast, be fluid, and fluid is fast.  Well being graceful is being fluid and the changes in me may not be fast but they will be fluid.

The difficult with my critic is that it is the framework for how how I treat those I love.  It has been the default response mechanism for me.  It has been the part of me that people grow to despise avoid and even divorce.  I won't quit on my critic.  If my critic has taught anything it has been that quitting is the trophy for failure.  It might be an internal enemy but it is my greatest asset.  It is what has always woke me up in the morning and it is the part of me that tells my hands to wipe the tears.  It is the part of me that convinces me the pain is just weakness leaving the body.  I love you critic, I just can't continue to function without giving you an overhaul. 

If my true self had a love song to my critic's ego and shadow it would sound like this.

The egotistical father

When dealing with my daughters, I notice myself forgetting the "both and" in preference of dualism.  I forget that they have insight more powerful than mine.  They have the child's guide, a wisdom needless of teaching.  I think my teaching might be undoing precious lessons already engrained.  Getting it right might need to be replaced with getting to know them.  How do I teach those important qualities in life that are hard to get across like fearlessness, audaciousness, and daringness?  How do I help them understand themselves?  What ends up happening is me teaching them what I think they should know, or worse me teaching them what I wished I would have learned.

I asked my daughters to dance with me to a fun song that came on while we were cleaning.  I started dancing and called them over.  They looked at me like if I was nuts.  I wanted them to join me.  I see them dancing all the time, I thought this would be easy for them.  It wasn't.  I came to the conclusion they already have in their mind and behaviors fear, displayed through shyness.  I know they can dance, so what was it about dancing with me that made them shy away? Well I asked my little one.  I got the response "I just didn't feel like it".  But this was not until later in the evening after a much more disappointing and tragic set of events.
There is a tragic part of this story that scares me to share.  But I am trying to be as genuine as I can with bringing my shadow into the light so I've decided to share.  This is embarrassing, it shows my vulnerability, insecurity, and weakness.  When I saw my daughters look at me like if I was a fool, an overwhelming defense came rushing from my stomach to my head.  I got full on angry.  Something loving and fun turned into a moment of defeat and disappointment.  I turned into a 4th grader in about ten seconds.  I raised my voice at my littlest daughter and said something as follows.  "How come you're looking at me as if I'm stupid.  I'm not afraid to be silly, but the way you look at makes me feel like an idiot. At least I have the courage to dance.  Look at you you're scared."  She turned white as a ghost and had that nervousness that I remember as child where the only thing to do was look off to side wearing a timid smirk.  I defended myself against my 10 year old daughter's shyness revealed as a condescending look.  She shut down quick and my understanding of the situation didn't get any better. 
After witnessing her sadness and even possibly fear, I continued.  I satisfied my ego's desire to be this movie like dad.  You know, the dad that can dance silly with his daughters, teaching them the cathartic value of rhythm and flow.  The motivation being more about me feeling like a good dad than me just wanting to dance with my daughters.  So I took it to an egotistical fiasco that might scar for life.  I started  investigating why I got the look and why they refused to dance.  I obviously got nothing from either daughter. This moved me from investigator to victim.  
I took the victim route.  I persisted, following my daughters into their room.  At this point my intentions to dance had morphed into this tragic flare up of my ego to protect the rejected and insecure father facade.  I broke out into an emotional expression of how important it is for them to learn to dance.  It became about how much I wanted them to be liberated from judgment.  It became about me wanting them to cherish their childhood moments with me.  It became about me wanting to have memorable silly moments to compliment the rough and stressful ones.  All of us in tears by now, my last guilt filled request was that if something happened to me that they would promise me to always try and dance with their children, even if they laugh at them.  I am far from the movie dad, far from the patient man I feel I need to be, but being a born again optimist, I realize that seeing me passionate about being a father might reveal the complexity and hazards of wanting what is best but not really knowing what that is. 
So what this means for me is that there is so much going on in my head, so much concerned analyzing, sometimes I use too many moments to mold them into the courageous women I'd like them to become.  I lose sight of what they are willing to accept. The key piece to this is the use of "I".  I rarely ask them what they'd like to learn.  It's what I think they need to learn.  I rarely ask them what they already know.  I spend so much of my time trying to teach, that I lose touch with the importance of learning.  I think I have learned that opportunities to teach have intruded my willingness to learn.  It is ironic that my love for them distorts my ability to empower them.  I wanted to dance with my daughters, but forgot the most important step of asking them if they felt like dancing.  I call myself an egotistical teacher because when my love is grounded in fear, I impose my lessons.  I look for what scares me and my ego moves to teach solutions.  My daughters might never know the importance of being liberated by dance, but if I push it on them they definitely will never know the true meaning of empowerment.
Elena and Veronica please forgive me.  There is no manual for being your dad, just this broken and fumbling boy who finds himself now a father.
Through him, with him, and in him.

Che & Pac

There is a bigotry I see in the distribution of ideas. There are ideas that are discouraged, smudged, feared, or ignored. There is a poetic justice that is delivered with the lyrics that come from 2-Pac. There is a invigorating patriotism that I find in Che Guevara's lifestyle. The bigotry is found when trying to make their message mainstream and respected.

I recognize the bigotry as I try and build a bridge between the messages of these men, and the message found in scripture, Poe, Thoreau, Oliver, Niche, Jefferson, Chomsky, Rand, Douglas, Frankle, Dr. King, Horney, Gandhi, Twain, or Cash. The bigotry is not so much racial as it is for dominance. There are too many people who refuse to look in the shadows, preferring to remain in the limelight. There are too many people who prefer short cuts to a thorough journey. There is a bigotry towards sacrifice and a bias for reward. There is a bigotry towards decomposition, whether it is physiological, emotional, or theoretical.

In this post decomposition can be described as breaking down. Most people are judgmental of failure, creating a stigma around failure. It becomes bigotry when one group of people decide what is failure. In America, the dominant culture, this being white European, determines the definition of failure. This has created a subculture of failures, those who don't fit in, or what can be described as perceived failures. The bigotry is a collective idea that there is a right and wrong way of living, feeling, or being. The bigotry is detrimental to the necessity of paradox, causing imbalance.

I see the bigotry manifesting itself in education. I was taught what the dominant culture chose and still chooses to teach. I was taught that I was lessor by my community of Chicano elders by their insecure choices made while facing an immigrant white culture. I continue the bigotry by believing I am lessor and unfortunate, separating myself from the mainstream, and judging lifestyles. The bigotry comes into play when I am entertained, by being overwhelmed with what the dominant culture has chosen to be worthy of publication, and my desire to reject it by seeking out the underground. The bigotry comes into play when I am influenced, by being punished, restricted, rewarded, or deceived, with aspirations molded by the dominant culture. The bigotry of ideas is tainting the learning process and gaining momentum in the educational systems I belong to. The bigotry is flowing to me and from me.

So Che Guevarra and 2-Pac have lessons to teach. I am seeking mature learning systems that can critically look at their message and learn as much as they can about the people they represent. This desire to understand can lead to respect. Respect might lead people to personal dignity. This personal dignity can lead people to reconciling the histories of being left behind, oppressed, smudged, and exploited. The reconciliation might lead to prosperity for all, not just American's. We might be a world under God, we might one day ask God to bless our enemies, and we might one day realized that faith is written on our hearts not in the pages of scripture. This week is the birth anniversary of two inspirational men in my life, their lessons will be taught and promoted......by me.

No you are not right, but yes you are not wrong

In today's economic struggle we see the unfortunate consequence of materialism and a desire for sustained growth. I see it in my longing for convenience. I see it as the theory of exponential growth. Can life be entirely about constant convenience? Our business schools preach efficiency leading to profit, our politicians preach simplicity and function with complexity, and most American lifestyles are motivated by prosperity. Efficiency, simplicity, and prosperity are all qualities of convenience. We are destined to prove that we can continually improve.

I call this reaching for perfection.......Godliness. I might not be fair in saying this. It is probably more a projection of my own personal desires. I think the intellectual wants to prove God false, the scientist wants to know Gods secrets, the athlete wants to prove himself immortal, the romantic wants to prove herself all desirable, the jefe wants infinite worth, and we "all" want bliss.

Convenience is how I exploit God’s gifts of intelligence, emotion, and senses. I am now recognizing the importance of inefficiency in the paradoxical system I call nature. In destruction there is prosperity. Between two polarities there lies reality and construction and destruction....feast and famine....invention and robbery...cultivation and pruning.

Loving the game!

I think I have learned what the most challenging aspect of a man's life is.

It is loving a partner fully, completely, and purely. I have trained and prepared for many challenging things in my life. I have had coaches teach me skills and techniques in preparation for games or events. I have had the discipline and self motivation to be committed to preparing for all the anticipated aspects of competition, and trained for how to deal with the unexpected. In baseball I crafted my defense, I conditioned regularly, and I made a point to improve always. In individual sport events, I transferred this mindset into my workouts, research, and dedication. I learned to become my own coach and learned the quality of self discipline. Unfortunately, all these qualities worked well for me in competition, but seem detrimental to my ability to love. My professional career has embraced and leveraged my athlete's mind or warrior spirit. I am learning or becoming aware of how useless these skills are, when it comes to love.

Love is not a competitive event. So most of what I learned in my young adult life has not helped me love. In fact it has taught me how to love with my mind versus my heart, which for me is not loving at all. I also can't remember having a love coach. I don't recall ever having love workouts. I rarely made time for learning how to love. My coaches never made room for love in their warriors curriculum. I was filled with anger, focused rage, and a thirst for strength. I was told that losing sucks, and its all about winning. Not much love in this message. If it takes a man to lose his ability to love to gain a championship then I welcome the losers bracket. I was not taught how to hold ferocity with care.

So as I open my heart to the concept of love, I see how my competitive mind distracts my God given thoughts. The heart doesn't compete. My heart is waiting for my mind to rest long enough to be coached in the language, rules, and spirit of the game called love. It is a game where if played for the right reasons everyone wins. It is a game where the best are the example and the worst are honored for participating.

The most challenging thing I have done in my life is to live for another. I have questioned and still question my ability to commit to one lover. Loving is so much fun...this is my exploitation of love. I am loving for its fruit and I have become unwilling to learn the complete love lessons that are learned in sacrifice, self control, and discipline. I am a love tycoon, seeking to tap into loves aquifers, drill love's lands, and mine love's bedrocks. I have not let go of my addiction to the profits that come from using love, like infatuation, pleasure, or thrills. I am an adolescent lover. This game called love has put on its full court press, it has brought in the hard throwing lefty, and I am in the middle rounds with love's best pound for pound lover. I am excited, because love respects my stupidity, arrogance, and foolishness, it won't use it against me, but for me.

Through Him, with Her, and In Them.......

Amen!

Internal politics

Around the country I see a desire for exploiting resources, gas, oil, minerals, forest, addiction, and sickness. I see a desire for deregulation believing this will solve economic crisis. I see a desire for limited collective power and the elimination of unions. I see a desire for traditionalism and fear of moral chaos. I see admiration for self struggle. I see pride in innovation, capitalism, and free-markets. I see an upper middle class arrogantly cheer how possible it is to achieve. I see an elite group of resource hogs talk about how sensible capitalism can be. I recognize me.

I see......how wrapped up I am in my own fear of being alone, experiencing pain, and having pure freedom. I understand you, conservative. You are in me. I remember believing that all I had to do was work hard, get up early, stay late, and put in work. I remember thriving in this individual effort to get me closer to wealth, which I believed would make me, my family, and my community better. Well unfortunately, conservative, you're truths for me are incomplete.

I belong to a community of spiritual people who have instilled in me a respect for community, a commun-ism, no not the communism that makes you cringe like a little lamb, but the commun-ism that teaches me to incorporate cosmos, earth, water, enemies, sick, and foreigner. My commun-ism looks on you with pity, compassion, and empathy. I belong to a community of wise, simpleminded, and rooted people. But conservative in me, don't be afraid, I need you just as much as you despise me.

You have taught me how to push myself beyond the limits my weak body believes it can go. You have instilled a fire in me that motivates me to improve. You slap me in the ass when I am scared, tired, or frozen. You help me to clench my fists. You taught me how to function when alone. You gave the courage to embrace the darkness on my own. So conservative in me, when you have beaten me down, I will be ready once again to join back with you to seek the truth.

Si se puede!

I used to think that César Estrada Chávez was Mexican. I used to think he fought for immigrant rights. It was by economic circumstance that most people he fought for were immigrants. It was by life circumstance that he was fighting to be treated respectfully. It was by social circumstance that the voice took on the look of a Mexican. It was by spiritual circumstance that his voice was herd. I used to ignorantly hold pride in his name. I used to believe that he was a brown man fighting "The Man". My perceived ideas were angry and possibly misguided.
"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me" (1 Corinthians 13:11)

Now I'd like to think I am no longer ignorant. I have since learned that he was born in Arizona. He was American with Mexican heritage. I have since learned that he fought for every worker's human rights, in the form of appropriate working conditions and fair wages. He was like Juan Galt, in that he invented a motor that propels peoples' belief in themselves. But unlike John Galt he was real, not fiction. He did not discriminate...openly. He did not seek to be treated as an oppressed, but asked that he and those like him be treated with dignity and respect. He was an advocate for fairness, justice, and dignity. He was educated, but not by schools. He served in the United States Navy. He was a boy who learned how to be man who could lead men. He is one of my American Heroes.

In Synch with Dirt

It is interesting how the Lord works. For me when I talk of the Lord, I describe a mental concept or philosophy, a formidable connection to my mortality, an understanding of my dependence on others, a strong feeling to be committed and responsible to all(people, animals, water, earth, air, and ideas), an internal guide that surprises, corrects, and steers me. To summarize this it She/He/They are the energy that fuels my mind, body, spirit.

In continuation of my Lenten tradition, I am wanting to share with you how I understand God. It feels natural to want to keep it secret because it feels really foolish to describe something that feels childish. None the less, the essence of healthy and unhealthy are alive and well in me, and rightfully so I teeter respectfully with both. I have learned that in my unhealthiness I can learn, and in my healthiness I can destroy. This lesson for me is beautifully humble.

So the synergy between my mind, body, and spirit is leading me to dirt. Like the color of my skin, I relate to dirt. I recently began planting for the first time in my life. The pilgrimage this Lenten season will be completed with a 24 mile walk to a sacred New Mexican church. There lies a pit that is believed to hold healing "Dirt".

As the political and economic debates about environmental climate change rage on, I know that for me the battle is only with my resistance to a deep connection with dirt. I recognize that business decisions are made in metal towers, using silicon tools, and are complicated by profits. The connection to earth is not discussed by boards of directors (I assume). But that's cool, they serve a different and necessary purpose. I am lucky to feel connected to something as simple as dirt. Haaaaaa haaaaaaaa! Fuck-N-A, I am proud of my journey towards simplicity and scared to get there, cause I know it is a return to the dirt.

Until I get there and God willing it be many years away, I pray to be like the hummingbird.


If your interested the clips are from a documentary, its available for free at Hulu. I highly recommend the 1hr and 1/2
Dirt! The Movie

Lent

A tradition practiced in my family, is Lent! I hear the same old message from the pulpit, and recognize why so many Catholics can identify as non-practicing. Lent is a time for sacrifice and alms, this is what the clergy asks of us. Unfortunately I gotta say check yo self before you wreck yo self. Who am I to question, I am only laity. Well I have a sermon. Lent for me is being loved, a selfish desire for God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit.

So the ritual is to give one thing up for 40 days out from Easter, so its absence will remind me of Christ. This is an individual quest for the divine. What I hear is, find one thing in my life that is distracting me from acknowledging God. What is so special about a 40 day period? My answer is that even Jesus, the incarnate, might have been overstimulated. Why else would he choose to enter the desert. What better place to eliminate distraction than the desert.

As I finish up a little research on Ayn Rand, she reminds me of how foolish the followers of Jesus are. We are irrational, as she would call us. She might even call us enslaved and victims of communism. I think she would feel a need to educate us and explain to us how valuable our lives could be, if we only recognized our own desires. I would say, "Mrs. Rand, might I call you Dr. Rand, altruism is what I believe it to be, and if it offends you, please forgive me." If serving the less fortunate frustrates you, I apologize, I will try and do it where you don't have to see it or pay for it. Sorry you see me as a corrupt person, and belonging to a corrupt set of people. I hope you will see that I fear your ambitions, and love my hope. If believing in the unprovable is foolish than cast me away with the other fools. I admire your desire for rational. So in honor of you and my Lenten tradition I will do my best to find my own deserts to walk in. With compassion for Ayn Rand I will think freely and rationally about scripture, carving my own understanding of what it means to follow Christ, building an internal industry of faith, aspiring to be as industrial as her fictitious invention John Galt.

Irrationally in love with forgiveness, empathy, grace, suffering, and sacrifice

I feel more understanding of how I am an immigrant soul wondering in this human experience

What does our Country think of us?

New Mexico has a rich history of culture, simplicity, and sustainability. We have immigrant cultures who have brought education, technology, government, and an art culture that we are marginally benefitting from.

Photographer John Collier Jr.

Why was this desert region a refuge for the American immigrant. The American immigrant refuses to see themselves as a foreigner, exploitative, profiteering, and impossing. As I have learned, which may be inaccurate but willing to be corrected, many easterners came to escape the onset of Tuberculosis. Our climate was convenient for recovery and lifestyle. With them came their culture and imposed value systems.

My Grandma and Grandpa remember a couple of these families, thier names are Simms and Dietz both immigrants with plenty of wealth and education to exploit a dusty Spanish artifact. Symbolically a message of "you reap, what you sow", for a people who once exploited a wild native region of indigenous peoples. John Simms' family later went on to have sons who prospered in this state, enough to become a representative and governor. They weren't illegal by their definition, but alien by my definition. The Dietz family is also immigrant to this region. Both of these men were lucrative land owners. They contributed to the discriminatory white (not white indicating race, rather what society sees as legal) markets called government, brokering, and banking. Both my Grandparent's families worked for these families, during the depression era. My Grandparents, as humble as they are, appreciated the opportunity to work their land, nurse their children, and prepare their meals. I on the other hand, I despise their laziness to be gluttonous enough to need servants to manage their material stockpiles. They were welfare gluttons, using their intelligence to manipulate the best business strategies, buy low and produce high. I am still learning what these families did for a living, all their children attended college and am not sure if they served in the war. I know they paid my grandparents families well enough to feel grateful. I see the payment as the distraction needed for these immigrants to sink their fangs into a culture, and start the feeding process. I will seek to see the compassionate perspective just not yet.

Around the time when these families had settled in and made themselves at home, the government needed a place to experiment. They needed a wasteland, a useless testing area to blow things up. They needed a target range. Well, what better place than that barren state with those Spanish speaking Catholics. What have they got to lose. So as we have all learned and been taught to admire, the nuclear age was born here. We were the first place to have been nuclear bombed. This is reflective of what America thinks of us. This continues today, as we suck on the tit of the energy department, continuing to develop and harvest weapons of mass destruction, unwilling to recognize our real capabilities. This has resulted in defense and energy contracted corporations imposing more capitalistic movidas, under the disguise of laboratories and research facilities, called Sandia (watermelon) Laboratories and Los Alamos (cottonwood) Laboratories. For years we only entered these facilities as groundskeepers, janitors, and mules. As, we, the youth, have been educated, we have become the modern house slaves, excited that we can wear a badge and enter their gated areas.

Around the early 90's the government again needed a place to experiment. This time it was with their garbage. Not your normal everyday garbage, but the worst kind, nuclear waste. I think about where I keep my garbage, then I realize awe this is what Gringo politicians think of my region. This region is that stinky part of the city where no one will care if we leave our garbage. Again we have been taught to feel honored, as a place, respected enough to hold Americas shit. The American immigrant explains to us ignorant and powerless pendejos, "Be happy, It brings jobs!"

So my understanding of New Mexico's participation in America is understood through this lense. It is through this lense that I formulate an understanding for what immigration means. It is through this lense that I ask myself to see the benefits of this immigrant culture. It is through this lense that I wonder how our privileged educational institutions isolate themselves from the deterioration found in barrios and reservations. I am beginning to understand how these privileged institutions can have such a unique perspective on acceptance with an aptitude and a knack for success.

Roark, Kelly.(2011). Natures Sanitarium: Getting Well in New Mexico. New Mexico State Record Center and Archives

Yo soy un Gringo

San Agustin Catholic Church, Isleta Pueblo

I spent half my life knowing the word gringo as a way of describing White people. It has more than one meaning, it also can be derogatory. It holds a whole deeper meaning. As I mature and process the emotions that comes with witnessing life, injustice, and grace, I find it hard to use gringo as a term to simply distinguish a group of foreign people. It has become too superficial of a use. In my adolescence and early adulthood it served its purpose and allowed me to express my belonging to a Chicano culture, by helping me believe I could discharge my vengeance and vindicate my own Latino pride. Education and understanding has defused this arrogant energy. Life has broken my pride and dignity down enough to allow compassion to seep into my soul's crevices. The compassion has infiltrated my defenses, it has manipulated my hatred. Unfortunately for my primitive mind this is the downfall to my ignorant thought process. I still come to judgment when I meet an arrogant white person. My defenses and radar for arrogance is honed, probably because I held so much myself for so long, that I can smell it...sense it. I see it in every one, the gringo quality that is. The term "Gringo" is a mentality.

I have my prejudice and it steers me wrong most times. So I am trying to deal with it. I could say that it reveals my ignorance, wounding, and my humanity. My stereotypes and bitterness are being broken apart, slowly, but certainly. Today was a great example. After working out and preparing to shower, a mature white man had his clothes sprawled on the bench. Significantly, symbolically, we were both naked, and he apologized for having his stuff sprawled out. Then he said words that don't seem that profound, but rocked my conscience sternly. Paraphrasing he said sorry mate, I am like a refugee, i don't have a locker. I connected because I don't have a gym locker either. For the first time in my life I was forced to see a white man declare himself as a refugee. Again, "Gringo" may only describe a mindset. It could very well describe someone who is a foreigner for opportunistic or self-serving reasons. It could describe the refugee or the imperialist. Regardless now I can recognize the refugee in the white face, crushing my rooted understanding of the stereotypes that white means selfish, individualistic, oppressor, and restless. All I can conjure is an apology, to who, I don't know, all my animosity is never truly acted on. I try to seem pleasant to everyone. But bringing this out, makes me guilty of living it. I have grown into a thinking that I condemn in others that have the same gringo thinking.

I recognize how my ancestors were "Gringo" to this land. The archetypal quality of an inspired immigrant shares the gringo's beliefs, and is a hopeful refugee full of ideas. I am a Gringo, to my Chicano communities because I don't dress, appear, or talk barrio I am gringo to my American institutions because I resent them for the culture and community they've created. I am gringo to myself because each identity that I am insecure with, ashamed of, and embarrassed by i suppress, reject, and oppress. I think if we were to look at our immigrant selves as refugees we might recognize the rejected, suppressed, and oppressed.
In honor of my white internal refugee, may I keep close the pain I left behind, be mindful of suffering I can create by arriving, and I give the respect that I wish I had received in the place I abandoned.

Somos Peregrinos

Mark Gonzales - As With Most Men

There is a collective idealism floating through us, in us, from us, some call it the Holy Spirit, some energy, some karma, some truth, some God, and the list goes on. In our humanity we trip over semantics or the fear of someone else explaining it better. Despite all this idealism, there is another collective quality that we do equally well and that quality some call hypocrisy, some contradiction, some two-faced, some cognitive dissonance, some confusion, some denial, and the list goes on.

Enjoy this elegant display of the paradox between what we want to think is true and the surprising reality that "believing" isn't an efficient process.

Smoothing Out the Angst...

I left facebook for three reasons.
1) The superficiality of being virtually connected, and the false sense of belonging that it created in me
2) The idea behind Facebook going public to harvest peoples interests and supply marketing and industry exploiters with the necessary information to propagate their consuming mentality and culture
3) I feel the depth I am willing to share with my friends is not reciprocated in the form of vulnerability, interest, and passion. I was discouraged by the lack of depth and connection people are willing to achieve with Facebook. As if we as a community are unwilling to be our embarrassing selves by conforming and at the expense of what mainstream media finds attractive, chingon, or worthy.

I retreated because I don't by into it. I am embarrassing, and I am proud to say stupid shit every now and again. I know I am offensive. I also know I am loving, kind, thoughtful, and my intentions are not only to let my daughters know who I am, but now to also let you know who I am. I wish the same anxiety for everyone of you because some collective instinct tells me we share in this existential crisis. I am glad to see all your shining faces, but please don't be afraid to share your deeper faces.

I am returning to the point where I can have perspective. I am a recovering cynic, and daily I have to remind myself that there is so much good in the world that despite what I hear, see, and worry about, life has a way of self correcting. I have a feeling of acceptance this week . I am accepting the fact that people change but not on the account of others reactions, arguments, or discoveries.

I changed because of an internal and intrinsic alchemy. What has been produced is a vision for comparison. I no longer am attached to my ideas but to the understanding that all ideas are worthy of understanding, not necessarily belief, but surely understanding. In this view of "understanding all ideas", I still account for health, truth, and validity. This is achieved by effort in understanding, in me, for me, and of me. I can only then integrate ideas that withstand the test of health, truth, and validity. Otherwise I am left conspiring and mistrusting the unknown.