Thursday, November 5, 2009
I Will Run To You
Give me your intolerance, anger & fury. Hit me with your clinched fists or wild hatred, for these things I will hold. I will run to you & love you still. But don't use our children to say your words. Don't use our children to promote injustice. I will hold your suffering. I will forgive you over & again. But don't use our children to fight against love. They are precisely the reason to protect it. Alexa Leigh (Maine 09)
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
A Choice
It's more than wanting you. It's more than needing you. It's more than craving the taste of your body and your soul, in my mouth. It's more than imagining our wild adventures and quiet minutes at home. It's much more than that yet it's all of that - completely.
It is about waking up each morning and choosing to love you. Each dawn, as if for the first time, to choose you beyond need or want; beyond craving or obligation.
And, if that choice takes us to matching rocking chairs on a porch, when we are old and gray, thousands of mornings from the first day, I want to look at you and know I was a choice for you too.
A.Leigh
It is about waking up each morning and choosing to love you. Each dawn, as if for the first time, to choose you beyond need or want; beyond craving or obligation.
And, if that choice takes us to matching rocking chairs on a porch, when we are old and gray, thousands of mornings from the first day, I want to look at you and know I was a choice for you too.
A.Leigh
I Am
Jealous of the dark that holds you all night long.
Jealous of the thoughts that wake you at dawn.
Jealous of the stars that hear your wishes.
Jealous of the woman that holds your eyes.
Jealous of the light and the love,
that hold you deep inside.
A.Leigh
Jealous of the thoughts that wake you at dawn.
Jealous of the stars that hear your wishes.
Jealous of the woman that holds your eyes.
Jealous of the light and the love,
that hold you deep inside.
A.Leigh
Surrender
As the rain hits the earth outside my window, I can't help but wonder if the drops fall willingly from the heavens or grasp for more time in the skies. I can't help but wonder if their fall is freeing or frightening; if they're ready for the quickly approaching earth or scared of the certain collision. I can't help but imagine the peace that would accompany an absolute surrender to letting go. The calm that would embody willingly falling! I've told you this already but the rain is such a powerful reminder to me, to let go. To rinse. To rise again, alas, anew.
A.Leigh
A.Leigh
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Children of the Street
By, Alexa Valavanis
It was a pleasant but ordinary morning in Chico. One could sense the end of summer as fall impatiently waited on the porch. A gentle coolness hung in the air. In households all around town coffee gurgled on its descent into the glass pot as children pleaded for five more minutes with their dreams. People young, old, and in between awoke to do whatever it is they do on Wednesdays in September.
I was off to the Foundation. I had arranged for Sherry and Gary Holbrook to drop in for a visit. Our paths had crossed a few years prior to this morning through our international humanitarian work.
Sherry is the founder and director of Orphan Care International (OCI); a Chico-based nonprofit dedicated to assisting orphans and needy children around the world. One of the primary projects of OCI is a children’s orphanage called the Docsek Home in Mazabuka, Zambia. Some might call it a twist of fate that brought Sherry and Gary to Mazabuka in the first place.
In 2003, Sherry was in a quiet room at the Heathrow, London airport on her journey home from Ndola, Zambia. At the time, she was volunteering for a Canadian-based nonprofit working with orphanages there. After many months with that organization, Sherry realized the western decision-makers were quite detached from the children’s reality in the villages.
“The children would need shoes, and decision-makers thousands of miles from Africa would decide against shoes, strictly based on policy,” Sherry explained. “Worst of all, they were slowly westernizing the children without an understanding of the long-term implications. How would the children reintegrate into society when they left the orphanage?”
It was in this tired and slightly jaded state that Sherry heard her name being called from across the quiet room in the airport. It was a woman she knew from her international humanitarian circle. This woman was on her way back to the states after visiting an orphanage called the Doscek Home in Mazabuka.
For the next many hours, Sherry would learn all about the work at the Doscek Home, and the incredible dedication of its owners, Shern and Tabitha Kaumba.
By the time Sherry landed again on US soil her concept and motivation to establish Orphan Care International would already be in flight. She was determined to help and help differently than her Canadian counterparts. She was eager to get home and share with Gary what she had learned about the Doscek Home and the young Zambians, Shern and Tabitha, who ran it.
~ Mazabuka, Zambia (19 years earlier)
At the age of 12, Shern Kaumba was a child of the streets. His father had six children, yet he was the lone child of another mother. During those first 12 years of life, Shern was ostracized, ridiculed and eventually pushed out of his home.
“I had no choice but to try and make it on my own. I slept on the streets. There was no schedule. I ate if I could find food. If there was no food, I went hungry,” Shern explained.
Today, the 31-year-old Shern, shared with a quiet tone, details about his youth and the days and nights living on the streets of Mazabuka. In fact, his wife, Tabitha, now 26, also recalled seeing the young Shern on their shared village streets when she was a child.
“Even before she knew me, she cared for me,” Shern gently shared. “I remember Tabitha as a teenager, coming by and offering me food.”
After many months on the streets, feeling rejected and alone, Shern, just barely a teenager, decided to end his suffering.
“I tried three times to kill myself. I tried to overdose with drugs, then to be hit by a train, and finally I decided to throw myself in front of a truck.”
Yet, each time this boy eluded death. “After the third try I thought to myself maybe there was a reason I was still alive.”
With tears still wet on his cheeks, after being pulled to safety and away from the grill of the oncoming truck, Shern heard a woman calling to him. This would be the moment that changed his life forever.
“A car pulled up beside me and I heard a soft voice say, ‘What is wrong? Can I help?’”
That angelic voice was from a woman he would come to know as Sister Angela Daily. The woman on that same day would ask Shern what it was he needed and when the teenager replied with “an education” - it would be so.
Sister Daily not only paid for Shern to attend boarding school but university too. It was during these years that this son man finally learned what it meant to be loved and cared for. Shern would go on to get a teaching internship, and find the conviction to help other children living on the streets.
“There were children in the classroom that just looked differently from the others. There was a hurt inside of them,” Shern recalled. “They reminded me of where I had come from. They reminded me of my own suffering.”
That realization was the beginning of his work with orphans. A short time later, Shern would marry the woman who as a child brought him food on the streets.
That was six years ago.
“When I married Shern he was already caring for two orphans. Six months later we heard about a baby called Joshua.” Tabitha’s eyes lit up while letting Joshua’s name slip out of her mouth. She then shared the story of Joshua as we visited in my NVCF office.
“I was visiting a compound when I heard that a baby’s mother was near death. The baby’s father had died during the mother’s pregnancy,” Tabitha explained.
“There was no family left to care for the child, so I took him home. In fact, I took him straight to my parents’ home, and for three days they taught me how to care for a baby. Then I went back to Shern and our work began.”
Their work has not ceased.
Today, Shern and Tabitha care for 13 children at the Docsek Home, and have dreams of caring for many more. With new land they’ve purchased with the help of their “mother and father” - the Holbrooks -- they are working hard to make this dream come true.
“We’ve dedicated our lives to make sure no one else becomes a child of the streets,” Shern concluded.
[Originally published on www.chicosol.org; Republished in the UpState Business Journal, Oct. 2009]
It was a pleasant but ordinary morning in Chico. One could sense the end of summer as fall impatiently waited on the porch. A gentle coolness hung in the air. In households all around town coffee gurgled on its descent into the glass pot as children pleaded for five more minutes with their dreams. People young, old, and in between awoke to do whatever it is they do on Wednesdays in September.
I was off to the Foundation. I had arranged for Sherry and Gary Holbrook to drop in for a visit. Our paths had crossed a few years prior to this morning through our international humanitarian work.
Sherry is the founder and director of Orphan Care International (OCI); a Chico-based nonprofit dedicated to assisting orphans and needy children around the world. One of the primary projects of OCI is a children’s orphanage called the Docsek Home in Mazabuka, Zambia. Some might call it a twist of fate that brought Sherry and Gary to Mazabuka in the first place.
In 2003, Sherry was in a quiet room at the Heathrow, London airport on her journey home from Ndola, Zambia. At the time, she was volunteering for a Canadian-based nonprofit working with orphanages there. After many months with that organization, Sherry realized the western decision-makers were quite detached from the children’s reality in the villages.
“The children would need shoes, and decision-makers thousands of miles from Africa would decide against shoes, strictly based on policy,” Sherry explained. “Worst of all, they were slowly westernizing the children without an understanding of the long-term implications. How would the children reintegrate into society when they left the orphanage?”
It was in this tired and slightly jaded state that Sherry heard her name being called from across the quiet room in the airport. It was a woman she knew from her international humanitarian circle. This woman was on her way back to the states after visiting an orphanage called the Doscek Home in Mazabuka.
For the next many hours, Sherry would learn all about the work at the Doscek Home, and the incredible dedication of its owners, Shern and Tabitha Kaumba.
By the time Sherry landed again on US soil her concept and motivation to establish Orphan Care International would already be in flight. She was determined to help and help differently than her Canadian counterparts. She was eager to get home and share with Gary what she had learned about the Doscek Home and the young Zambians, Shern and Tabitha, who ran it.
~ Mazabuka, Zambia (19 years earlier)
At the age of 12, Shern Kaumba was a child of the streets. His father had six children, yet he was the lone child of another mother. During those first 12 years of life, Shern was ostracized, ridiculed and eventually pushed out of his home.
“I had no choice but to try and make it on my own. I slept on the streets. There was no schedule. I ate if I could find food. If there was no food, I went hungry,” Shern explained.
Today, the 31-year-old Shern, shared with a quiet tone, details about his youth and the days and nights living on the streets of Mazabuka. In fact, his wife, Tabitha, now 26, also recalled seeing the young Shern on their shared village streets when she was a child.
“Even before she knew me, she cared for me,” Shern gently shared. “I remember Tabitha as a teenager, coming by and offering me food.”
After many months on the streets, feeling rejected and alone, Shern, just barely a teenager, decided to end his suffering.
“I tried three times to kill myself. I tried to overdose with drugs, then to be hit by a train, and finally I decided to throw myself in front of a truck.”
Yet, each time this boy eluded death. “After the third try I thought to myself maybe there was a reason I was still alive.”
With tears still wet on his cheeks, after being pulled to safety and away from the grill of the oncoming truck, Shern heard a woman calling to him. This would be the moment that changed his life forever.
“A car pulled up beside me and I heard a soft voice say, ‘What is wrong? Can I help?’”
That angelic voice was from a woman he would come to know as Sister Angela Daily. The woman on that same day would ask Shern what it was he needed and when the teenager replied with “an education” - it would be so.
Sister Daily not only paid for Shern to attend boarding school but university too. It was during these years that this son man finally learned what it meant to be loved and cared for. Shern would go on to get a teaching internship, and find the conviction to help other children living on the streets.
“There were children in the classroom that just looked differently from the others. There was a hurt inside of them,” Shern recalled. “They reminded me of where I had come from. They reminded me of my own suffering.”
That realization was the beginning of his work with orphans. A short time later, Shern would marry the woman who as a child brought him food on the streets.
That was six years ago.
“When I married Shern he was already caring for two orphans. Six months later we heard about a baby called Joshua.” Tabitha’s eyes lit up while letting Joshua’s name slip out of her mouth. She then shared the story of Joshua as we visited in my NVCF office.
“I was visiting a compound when I heard that a baby’s mother was near death. The baby’s father had died during the mother’s pregnancy,” Tabitha explained.
“There was no family left to care for the child, so I took him home. In fact, I took him straight to my parents’ home, and for three days they taught me how to care for a baby. Then I went back to Shern and our work began.”
Their work has not ceased.
Today, Shern and Tabitha care for 13 children at the Docsek Home, and have dreams of caring for many more. With new land they’ve purchased with the help of their “mother and father” - the Holbrooks -- they are working hard to make this dream come true.
“We’ve dedicated our lives to make sure no one else becomes a child of the streets,” Shern concluded.
[Originally published on www.chicosol.org; Republished in the UpState Business Journal, Oct. 2009]
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Promising Not to Forget
By, Alexa Valavanis
A hot summer evening in Chico set the backdrop for a conversation I had waited many years to have. The last time I was with Dr. Godwin Orkeh and Christian Nix, we were in a house built around an avocado tree on the hillsides of San Marco. This tree sat on the crust of Lake Atitlan, Guatemala.
That was seven years ago.
Sitting together again, my mind was flooded with memories of trekking up and down the mountainsides serving the indigenous, listening to their needs, and helping in ways we didn’t know we could - until we did.
However, on this August night, we rested comfortably in lounge chairs on my back patio, and reflected on the journeys we’d been on together and the near decade spent apart.
Godwin, the MD of our lot, had come to visit after finishing his fifth stint in Darfur, Sudan. He had gone in and out of the war-torn, refugee-saturated regions wearing badges from numerous NGO’s including Relief International, World Health Organization and the United Nations. Godwin helped those he could, and promised that the world had not forgotten their plight. His work was never completed but he slept peacefully knowing he was doing all he could.
As the sun made way for the evening stars, Godwin pulled out his baby blue United Nations passport, something I had only seen in the movies. He pointed out stamps that provided doorways to distant lands - Afghanistan, Pakistan and Somalia. And, with each stamp he shared stories that were harder and harder to fathom. Kidnappings. Malnutrition. Malaria. Death. He spoke about the pain of losing children whose lives could be saved for less than $4.
We cried a little. We laughed a little. We hardly noticed dawn arrive.
Christian, the Chinese medicine man, was in between his barefoot clinic in Chicago and his practice in San Marcos. He works in the village hospital and continues to teach the science of medicine in concert with the art of healing. After learning that Godwin had arranged a trip to Chico, he postponed his journey south for the weekend so we could be together.
Christian shared tales in Latin America that I longed to remember. The way time sits still. The way people celebrate what they have, rather than focus on what they do not. The understanding of abundance and generosity that comes so naturally for those people our world calls “poor”.
I asked if there was anything they would like to do while on US soil. After sitting quietly for some time, Godwin said, “I would like to share what is happening in Darfur. I would like my promise to the children to be true, for the world not to forget what is happening there.”
I knew our community would be eager to listen. More than that, I knew something Godwin would later tell me he never dreamed possible; we not only listened - we cared!
After numerous public radio spots and interviews with newspapers we had a party. Godwin and Christian got to meet, literally, dozens of people that are working to help others around the globe.
They met local independent business owner, Sherry Holbrook who supports an orphanage in Zambia. They met former swim instructor, Shirley Adams, who builds water-wells in developing countries. They met Manoah Mohanraj, a local public health manager, who also runs an orphanage in Southern India. They met a room full of Enloe Hospital’s doctors and nurse practitioners that travel around the world providing medical care -folks that care so deeply about out brothers and sisters around the world. They also met handfuls of community members who support causes here, at home.
As the weekend came to an end, Godwin and Christian walked up to me and said, “We know now.”
“What’s that?” I replied.
“Of all the places in the world you’ve been, we now know why you decided to make Chico home.”
[Published in the Upstate Business Journal, Sept. 09]
A hot summer evening in Chico set the backdrop for a conversation I had waited many years to have. The last time I was with Dr. Godwin Orkeh and Christian Nix, we were in a house built around an avocado tree on the hillsides of San Marco. This tree sat on the crust of Lake Atitlan, Guatemala.
That was seven years ago.
Sitting together again, my mind was flooded with memories of trekking up and down the mountainsides serving the indigenous, listening to their needs, and helping in ways we didn’t know we could - until we did.
However, on this August night, we rested comfortably in lounge chairs on my back patio, and reflected on the journeys we’d been on together and the near decade spent apart.
Godwin, the MD of our lot, had come to visit after finishing his fifth stint in Darfur, Sudan. He had gone in and out of the war-torn, refugee-saturated regions wearing badges from numerous NGO’s including Relief International, World Health Organization and the United Nations. Godwin helped those he could, and promised that the world had not forgotten their plight. His work was never completed but he slept peacefully knowing he was doing all he could.
As the sun made way for the evening stars, Godwin pulled out his baby blue United Nations passport, something I had only seen in the movies. He pointed out stamps that provided doorways to distant lands - Afghanistan, Pakistan and Somalia. And, with each stamp he shared stories that were harder and harder to fathom. Kidnappings. Malnutrition. Malaria. Death. He spoke about the pain of losing children whose lives could be saved for less than $4.
We cried a little. We laughed a little. We hardly noticed dawn arrive.
Christian, the Chinese medicine man, was in between his barefoot clinic in Chicago and his practice in San Marcos. He works in the village hospital and continues to teach the science of medicine in concert with the art of healing. After learning that Godwin had arranged a trip to Chico, he postponed his journey south for the weekend so we could be together.
Christian shared tales in Latin America that I longed to remember. The way time sits still. The way people celebrate what they have, rather than focus on what they do not. The understanding of abundance and generosity that comes so naturally for those people our world calls “poor”.
I asked if there was anything they would like to do while on US soil. After sitting quietly for some time, Godwin said, “I would like to share what is happening in Darfur. I would like my promise to the children to be true, for the world not to forget what is happening there.”
I knew our community would be eager to listen. More than that, I knew something Godwin would later tell me he never dreamed possible; we not only listened - we cared!
After numerous public radio spots and interviews with newspapers we had a party. Godwin and Christian got to meet, literally, dozens of people that are working to help others around the globe.
They met local independent business owner, Sherry Holbrook who supports an orphanage in Zambia. They met former swim instructor, Shirley Adams, who builds water-wells in developing countries. They met Manoah Mohanraj, a local public health manager, who also runs an orphanage in Southern India. They met a room full of Enloe Hospital’s doctors and nurse practitioners that travel around the world providing medical care -folks that care so deeply about out brothers and sisters around the world. They also met handfuls of community members who support causes here, at home.
As the weekend came to an end, Godwin and Christian walked up to me and said, “We know now.”
“What’s that?” I replied.
“Of all the places in the world you’ve been, we now know why you decided to make Chico home.”
[Published in the Upstate Business Journal, Sept. 09]
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
It's Not a Gay Issue
By, Alexa Valavanis
In a small rural town called Chico, California, about a 100 people gathered to support, protest, celebrate or mourn the California Supreme Court ruling on Proposition 8. I was there. So were many of my dear friends and colleagues. The relentless Northern California sun welcomed the rally's participants. The summer's modest afternoon traffic trickled by. The University students were long gone, and local pub patrons had just begun to tiptoe into their venues of choice. Presenters from as far away as Utah took the newly renovated city plaza stage to share their stories; their particular vantage point about this day - on this day.
However, for me, it started many months before.
It was clear autumn night, on the fourth day of November, two-thousand and eight. Unprecedented numbers of Americans waited in stretched lines to cast their votes, many young and old, engaging in our political process for the first time. As the sun bid farewell to the day and the electors began casting their golden votes, here at home and around the globe, people paused to listen. If you were quiet enough you could actually hear “hope” bounce around the atmosphere; like the sound of a sunrise or the first bloom after a long winter.
Many believe Senator Obama took the White House by a national mandate, commingling the old and predictable map of red and blue states into a sea of purple. A sea made up of people of all colors, religions, sexual orientations, politics and views. Yet, they had one history-making commonality on that November night. They chose an intellectual who wouldn’t shy away from being intelligent to appeal to the average. They chose a man encouraging unity not division; a leader promoting hope and not fear.
For many Obama embodies change. He stands where he stands today as a black man, not because he is black. I echo the thoughts of so many others when I say, he inspires me. I am even prouder today to be an American than I have been for the past thirty-two years.
Yet, amid all of this light there was a shadow on that cloudless day.
On the very same ballot that illustrated the pinnacle of change for a nation that once allowed slavery of a people based on the color of their skin, and denied equal rights to fifty percent of its population because of their gender - our largest state voted “yes” on a proposition of discrimination.
The most painful factor regarding the passing of Proposition 8 is not simply the narrow margin that it passed by but the untruths and lies that drove people to “yes”.
Simply put, there is no correlation between protecting the right of gays to marry and new curriculum in schools. None. They used our children to get their “yes”. They misled our parents to get their "yes". There is no correlation between protecting the rights of gays to marry and the tax-exempt status of our churches. None. They used and misled people of faith to get their “yes”.
Moreover, how can two citizens of the same state have different rights under the same constitution? We certainly can not give the majority a way to discriminate against a minority through ballot measures. James Madison articulated it best in the Federalist Paper 51, when he wrote, "It is of great importance in a republic not only to guard the society against the oppression of its rulers but to guard one part of the society against the injustice of the other part. If a majority be united by a common interest, the rights of the minority will be insecure.”
Fortunately, our courts are here to protect minorities against the unfair will of majorities, if and when needed. Will they get this right eventually? We know that even the highest court of our land ruled on the wrong side of equality at one time. In 1857 when the US Supreme Court, led by Chief Justice Robert B. Taney, declare that all blacks – slaves as well as free – were not and could not become citizens of the United States. But, they found their way to justice eventually.
Still, even with my quiet faith that equality will prevail - I am perplexed.
Many people Obama’s camp rallied to vote on this historic Election Day, voted “yes for equality” at the top of the ticket, and “yes to discrimination” at the bottom of the ticket. Many of whom, know the plight of discrimination intimately. Must we learn each lesson of equality separately? Must we ourselves be discriminated against before we can rise up to fight for others?
If we’ve learned as a nation that separate is not equal, then why must we try and apply this broken logic again in pointing to civil unions as the solution to denying one group of citizens the right other citizens have. Equality does not have degrees; it either is or is not equal.
There will be a day when the children of this state look back and are amazed by the institutionalized inequality and discrimination that once existed in this land. Until that day, everyone who believes in equality must stand up and fight for it. This is not a gay issue this is a human rights issue.
[Originally Published on ChicoSol.org; Syndicated on Newamericamedia.com]
In a small rural town called Chico, California, about a 100 people gathered to support, protest, celebrate or mourn the California Supreme Court ruling on Proposition 8. I was there. So were many of my dear friends and colleagues. The relentless Northern California sun welcomed the rally's participants. The summer's modest afternoon traffic trickled by. The University students were long gone, and local pub patrons had just begun to tiptoe into their venues of choice. Presenters from as far away as Utah took the newly renovated city plaza stage to share their stories; their particular vantage point about this day - on this day.
However, for me, it started many months before.
It was clear autumn night, on the fourth day of November, two-thousand and eight. Unprecedented numbers of Americans waited in stretched lines to cast their votes, many young and old, engaging in our political process for the first time. As the sun bid farewell to the day and the electors began casting their golden votes, here at home and around the globe, people paused to listen. If you were quiet enough you could actually hear “hope” bounce around the atmosphere; like the sound of a sunrise or the first bloom after a long winter.
Many believe Senator Obama took the White House by a national mandate, commingling the old and predictable map of red and blue states into a sea of purple. A sea made up of people of all colors, religions, sexual orientations, politics and views. Yet, they had one history-making commonality on that November night. They chose an intellectual who wouldn’t shy away from being intelligent to appeal to the average. They chose a man encouraging unity not division; a leader promoting hope and not fear.
For many Obama embodies change. He stands where he stands today as a black man, not because he is black. I echo the thoughts of so many others when I say, he inspires me. I am even prouder today to be an American than I have been for the past thirty-two years.
Yet, amid all of this light there was a shadow on that cloudless day.
On the very same ballot that illustrated the pinnacle of change for a nation that once allowed slavery of a people based on the color of their skin, and denied equal rights to fifty percent of its population because of their gender - our largest state voted “yes” on a proposition of discrimination.
The most painful factor regarding the passing of Proposition 8 is not simply the narrow margin that it passed by but the untruths and lies that drove people to “yes”.
Simply put, there is no correlation between protecting the right of gays to marry and new curriculum in schools. None. They used our children to get their “yes”. They misled our parents to get their "yes". There is no correlation between protecting the rights of gays to marry and the tax-exempt status of our churches. None. They used and misled people of faith to get their “yes”.
Moreover, how can two citizens of the same state have different rights under the same constitution? We certainly can not give the majority a way to discriminate against a minority through ballot measures. James Madison articulated it best in the Federalist Paper 51, when he wrote, "It is of great importance in a republic not only to guard the society against the oppression of its rulers but to guard one part of the society against the injustice of the other part. If a majority be united by a common interest, the rights of the minority will be insecure.”
Fortunately, our courts are here to protect minorities against the unfair will of majorities, if and when needed. Will they get this right eventually? We know that even the highest court of our land ruled on the wrong side of equality at one time. In 1857 when the US Supreme Court, led by Chief Justice Robert B. Taney, declare that all blacks – slaves as well as free – were not and could not become citizens of the United States. But, they found their way to justice eventually.
Still, even with my quiet faith that equality will prevail - I am perplexed.
Many people Obama’s camp rallied to vote on this historic Election Day, voted “yes for equality” at the top of the ticket, and “yes to discrimination” at the bottom of the ticket. Many of whom, know the plight of discrimination intimately. Must we learn each lesson of equality separately? Must we ourselves be discriminated against before we can rise up to fight for others?
If we’ve learned as a nation that separate is not equal, then why must we try and apply this broken logic again in pointing to civil unions as the solution to denying one group of citizens the right other citizens have. Equality does not have degrees; it either is or is not equal.
There will be a day when the children of this state look back and are amazed by the institutionalized inequality and discrimination that once existed in this land. Until that day, everyone who believes in equality must stand up and fight for it. This is not a gay issue this is a human rights issue.
[Originally Published on ChicoSol.org; Syndicated on Newamericamedia.com]
Monday, March 17, 2008
After All These Sunsets
after all of these years,
you continue to surprise me.
You continue to remind me,
that loves expands -
it changes form,
and reinvents itself again and again.
I am so very grateful for you, for us -
and, for the love we've made.
a.leigh
Saturday, March 1, 2008
A Trademark on Morals
A friend of mine wrote an article this morning in our daily paper illustrating the conundrum of morality without faith. This is an interesting contention and one that has been extensively explored; nevertheless, I thought I'd bite.
yes, that's right, if "Good is God's",
and, "God is Good"
- what about evil?
The word “altruism” emerged nearly two hundred years after the word “philanthropy.”
But, we can’t forget Machiavelli alone, influenced Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, Mill, Kant, Hegel, Marx, Nietzsche and Dewey in regard to virtue – so, ‘tis a courtesy bow and we are moving on…
If Good is God’s, and we are of God, than we must be good; therefore free-will would not be free-will but ordained-will.
"O.k. you can go into the candy store and pick out one candy, absolutely any candy, but just one.” And, then after the child has thought long and hard about it, and has finally made a decision, saying to her,
“Oh, no sweetie, any candy but that one.”
Good is not God's alone even if God is Absolute Good.
Monday, February 25, 2008
To Awake by Love
To be pulled awake, in the middle of the night, by a single thought of you. Once again reminded that love does not sleep nor does it surrender to my fearful heart. You may never know, my sweet darling, how deeply I love you. How deeply I have always loved you. But, my dreams remember.
A. Leigh
Monday, February 18, 2008
Muse My Muse
It has been too many days since I last put black on white. The blank page and blinking cursor grow ever more intimidating as the moments, the days, the weeks pass by. Interesting how the muse can arrive unannounced and uninvited, only to quickly disappear. There is no welcome needed or permission necessary to offer, as she always has and always will, do as she pleases. It is her grace, indeed, her mercy - which allows sanity to remain amid the wait.
Yet, a need to write with or without her always lingers...
Yet, a need to write with or without her always lingers...
A. Leigh
Monday, October 29, 2007
Human Warming
Giving from Shanghai to Guatemala to Chico
By, Alexa Leigh Valavanis
Shortly after the 21st century arrived I accepted a job across the ocean, on the central coast of China. The destination was a booming metropolis called Shanghai. At the time, Thomas Friedman’s book, “The World is Flat” hadn’t been released, and there were only a couple of places amid the bustling Shanghainese vendors to buy Big Macs (McDonalds) and Caramel Macchiatos (Starbucks). The prime-time reality show “Survivor” wasn’t there yet, nor was the National Basketball Association’s preseason. In fact, when I landed in the ‘Paris of the East’ the Canadian dollar was as it always had been – behind ours, and our Nation was not at war.
It felt like a different time.
I was just leaving the coveted shelter of academia, with a bachelor’s degree in communications and a four-year career as a “Wildcat” point-guard under my belt. Up to that point in my life, I’d had very little time to experience other cultures, contemplate globalization, glean the realities of poverty, or examine the morality of actions – as individuals and world citizens.
That would change.
After I finished a year in China working for International Kindergartens I took to travel. I journeyed throughout Southeast Asia to villages in Vietnam, Laos and Thailand. In small doses I began to absorb the reality about the way most of the people on the planet lived – or survived. I became bound by the moral and ethical obligations I learned as a child, yet only then could begin to grasp. Throughout those first years abroad, I listened and learned about the abundance generated through simplicity and gratitude.
Asia broke wide-open a new hunger for humanity within me. I found my way to Central America where my heart was pulled to work. The lessons in this ancient Latin land echoed those of Asia yet were wrapped in very different colors, flavors and sounds. In Guatemala, I established a nonprofit foundation with a Nigerian doctor and three colleagues. Our foundation would strive to redefine the role, impact and sustainability of foreign-aid.
The highlands of Guatemala held me. The people overflowed with generosity and grace. During the next couple of years, I would travel throughout Nicaragua and El Salvador and be met with similar lessons in patience, compassion, and above all else, generosity.
The more I experienced there - the more I shared here. What resulted was an immense outpouring of compassion and eagerness from people who wanted to get engaged. When others heard about the challenges, injustices, or disasters facing their global neighbors they were moved to help; compelled by their internal compasses to do something.
Some people sent money while others prayed. Some people committed to our cause while others volunteered for new projects at home. But, overwhelmingly people met the needs with actions. It was then, that my belief in the power of philanthropy was solidified. Moreover, it was in these days that my understanding of human connectedness took root.
Today, we live in an interdependent world. One nation’s struggles deeply impact the rest of us. We are all vulnerable to changes in climate, the spread of disease and terrorist threats. We are more intertwined than ever before. Technology has bridged the natural divides and generated interconnectedness on a profound level.
We see each other. We hear each other. We impact each other.
Everyday I see evidence of this connectedness and the vast generosity of human-beings. People around the globe, and certainly here at home, are eager to help when they learn how they can make a difference. The statistics are staggering. Seventy percent of American households give some money to charity each year. In 2006, Americans gave almost two percent of our Gross Domestic Product (nearly $300 billion) to places of worship, emergency relief or to meet local community needs.
Philanthropy is becoming more and more hands on. People not only want to give, they want to do more of it. They want to share that experience with their family and friends. The great challenge is not in convincing people to give, but sharing with them a genuine opportunity to be effective.
Contemporary philanthropy is coining new phrases like ‘social entrepreneurship’ and ‘return on social investments’ for a reason. The standards for philanthropy are rising. Expectations are increasing. Transparency is a mandate, and accountably a must. Our billionaires are giving, our millionaires are giving, and the woman across the street that lived modestly her entire life - is giving to make our world better.
For the past three years I’ve had the privilege of working here, in Northern California as the CEO of the North Valley Community Foundation. I’ve witnessed firsthand the generosity of our local residents. Together, we are creating new ways to address the pressing social needs facing our communities. We are developing innovative strategies to mobilize resources to meet those needs, and achieve measured results. Our method is a hands-on, heart and mind approach to change. I am grateful for the opportunity to be part of it.
The more I experience and engage in philanthropy, the more inspired I become. It doesn’t matter what you call it or how you do it, there is no doubt that people are engaged in GIVING. Here and around the globe – people are GIVING. Perhaps, more than ever before, there is a movement of organized and effective generosity.
I call it, human warming!
[Published November 2007, UpState Business Journal]
By, Alexa Leigh Valavanis
Shortly after the 21st century arrived I accepted a job across the ocean, on the central coast of China. The destination was a booming metropolis called Shanghai. At the time, Thomas Friedman’s book, “The World is Flat” hadn’t been released, and there were only a couple of places amid the bustling Shanghainese vendors to buy Big Macs (McDonalds) and Caramel Macchiatos (Starbucks). The prime-time reality show “Survivor” wasn’t there yet, nor was the National Basketball Association’s preseason. In fact, when I landed in the ‘Paris of the East’ the Canadian dollar was as it always had been – behind ours, and our Nation was not at war.
It felt like a different time.
I was just leaving the coveted shelter of academia, with a bachelor’s degree in communications and a four-year career as a “Wildcat” point-guard under my belt. Up to that point in my life, I’d had very little time to experience other cultures, contemplate globalization, glean the realities of poverty, or examine the morality of actions – as individuals and world citizens.
That would change.
After I finished a year in China working for International Kindergartens I took to travel. I journeyed throughout Southeast Asia to villages in Vietnam, Laos and Thailand. In small doses I began to absorb the reality about the way most of the people on the planet lived – or survived. I became bound by the moral and ethical obligations I learned as a child, yet only then could begin to grasp. Throughout those first years abroad, I listened and learned about the abundance generated through simplicity and gratitude.
Asia broke wide-open a new hunger for humanity within me. I found my way to Central America where my heart was pulled to work. The lessons in this ancient Latin land echoed those of Asia yet were wrapped in very different colors, flavors and sounds. In Guatemala, I established a nonprofit foundation with a Nigerian doctor and three colleagues. Our foundation would strive to redefine the role, impact and sustainability of foreign-aid.
The highlands of Guatemala held me. The people overflowed with generosity and grace. During the next couple of years, I would travel throughout Nicaragua and El Salvador and be met with similar lessons in patience, compassion, and above all else, generosity.
The more I experienced there - the more I shared here. What resulted was an immense outpouring of compassion and eagerness from people who wanted to get engaged. When others heard about the challenges, injustices, or disasters facing their global neighbors they were moved to help; compelled by their internal compasses to do something.
Some people sent money while others prayed. Some people committed to our cause while others volunteered for new projects at home. But, overwhelmingly people met the needs with actions. It was then, that my belief in the power of philanthropy was solidified. Moreover, it was in these days that my understanding of human connectedness took root.
Today, we live in an interdependent world. One nation’s struggles deeply impact the rest of us. We are all vulnerable to changes in climate, the spread of disease and terrorist threats. We are more intertwined than ever before. Technology has bridged the natural divides and generated interconnectedness on a profound level.
We see each other. We hear each other. We impact each other.
Everyday I see evidence of this connectedness and the vast generosity of human-beings. People around the globe, and certainly here at home, are eager to help when they learn how they can make a difference. The statistics are staggering. Seventy percent of American households give some money to charity each year. In 2006, Americans gave almost two percent of our Gross Domestic Product (nearly $300 billion) to places of worship, emergency relief or to meet local community needs.
Philanthropy is becoming more and more hands on. People not only want to give, they want to do more of it. They want to share that experience with their family and friends. The great challenge is not in convincing people to give, but sharing with them a genuine opportunity to be effective.
Contemporary philanthropy is coining new phrases like ‘social entrepreneurship’ and ‘return on social investments’ for a reason. The standards for philanthropy are rising. Expectations are increasing. Transparency is a mandate, and accountably a must. Our billionaires are giving, our millionaires are giving, and the woman across the street that lived modestly her entire life - is giving to make our world better.
For the past three years I’ve had the privilege of working here, in Northern California as the CEO of the North Valley Community Foundation. I’ve witnessed firsthand the generosity of our local residents. Together, we are creating new ways to address the pressing social needs facing our communities. We are developing innovative strategies to mobilize resources to meet those needs, and achieve measured results. Our method is a hands-on, heart and mind approach to change. I am grateful for the opportunity to be part of it.
The more I experience and engage in philanthropy, the more inspired I become. It doesn’t matter what you call it or how you do it, there is no doubt that people are engaged in GIVING. Here and around the globe – people are GIVING. Perhaps, more than ever before, there is a movement of organized and effective generosity.
I call it, human warming!
[Published November 2007, UpState Business Journal]
The Standard
Truth and equality do not have degrees; it either is or is not the truth; it either is or is not equal. We can put the broken pieces of this nation back together only after we abandon all the variations we have learned to accept, and hold honesty and equality as the only acceptable standard. A.Leigh
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Another Form
How comforting it was to fall asleep last night and find you keeping minutes with my dreams. Perhaps this love, at first controllable, now has a hold of me. You are my days and nights. You are my quiet moments and brilliant storms.
a.leigh
a.leigh
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Sunday, September 30, 2007
My Ocean, Your Island
You are my ocean
I, the island your waves crash upon
You arrive unannounced
and then, without warning
you are once again gone.
A. Leigh
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Inside that Moment
The very first time the sun rose above the ocean's crust and revealed light upon the earth, inside that moment, this love was born.
A. Leigh
A. Leigh
Rocking Chairs
Is it not better to risk losing everything for love than to hold onto certainty and lose thyself?
A. Leigh
A. Leigh
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Mind Immortal
If only here, within these walls, a place exists where my mind and soul converge. If only here, there is a place eternal. For words, unlike body and skin - will transcend. If written then immortal.
If immortal then alas, there is a way to love you without end.
A.Leigh
If immortal then alas, there is a way to love you without end.
A.Leigh
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
No Stranger of Mine
It occurred to me this afternoon, wandering around my house, that longing was the worst kind of discontent. It dwells much deeper than disappointment, and resides further from happiness than sadness ever might. Longing keeps you up at night. And, if you manage to find your dreams it is longing that wakes you unabashed before they are complete. Longing holds you closely. Longly holds you tight. Longing removes all the contentment from a perfect sunrise. And, leaves you in wanting.
A. Leigh
A. Leigh
Thursday, July 5, 2007
A Thousand Times
Might you come to me in sharing and reveal in that instant all that arises. If you were to change form a thousand times within that moment, might you sense my understanding. If your sharing took the form of silence, echoed only by the moon, might you share that too. For even now, within our unclear evolution - my deepest prayer is to hold you as you are - not as who I imagine.
A. Leigh
A. Leigh
To Your Doorstep
Many moons have come and gone since we last exchanged words. I think of you now, as I often do.Praying the world brings light to your doorstep, kindness to the window of your soul, and love to fill your essence so completely you overflow. A. Leigh
Saturday, March 24, 2007
New Day
A thought of you gently tugged me from my dreams into morning. I lay there wondering what it would be like to hold your lips against mine, to feel your chest rise and fall against my back. In that first moment of the new day, with dew drops fighting the sunrise for a moment more, I fell deeper in love with you than ever before.
A. Leigh
A. Leigh
Friday, February 23, 2007
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Time
Northern California Coast
I awoke this morning to a pearly grey dawn. For a moment the breeze held her breath and I heard the massive ball of flames rise above the horizon. One of the many forgotten priviledges of waking up on this part of the globe is the uninterrupted passage of time. Our hours aren't filled with bombings and bloodshed, hungry cries and human tragedy. Our minutes free from the search for shelter, food and safety. As the ancient war in the Middle East sheds new colors of red, I pray for peace.
A. Leigh
I awoke this morning to a pearly grey dawn. For a moment the breeze held her breath and I heard the massive ball of flames rise above the horizon. One of the many forgotten priviledges of waking up on this part of the globe is the uninterrupted passage of time. Our hours aren't filled with bombings and bloodshed, hungry cries and human tragedy. Our minutes free from the search for shelter, food and safety. As the ancient war in the Middle East sheds new colors of red, I pray for peace.
A. Leigh
GuateMaya
As I cut through the chest of Guatemala’s highlands I was drenched in mysticism. Within moments the colonial colors and catholic churches of Antigua were replaced by ancient roots of Maya civilization. Tin roofs atop rectangular blocks climbed the mountainsides. The hills wore fields of golden maize, and massive scars documenting where the trees once reigned. The modern world held nothing but an old taste in my mouth as the bus travelled northward through Alta Verpaz. Maya dressed in magnificent colors of honor and humility dotted the road, barefooted, with the season’s harvest on their heads and children at their toes.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez once said, "The Latin American writer’s great problem is not to create fantasy from what is real, but to make Latin America’s reality believable."
On this day, I thought of Gabriel's words and understood for the first time its meaning.
A. Leigh
Gabriel Garcia Marquez once said, "The Latin American writer’s great problem is not to create fantasy from what is real, but to make Latin America’s reality believable."
On this day, I thought of Gabriel's words and understood for the first time its meaning.
A. Leigh
Eternal
I found myself inside a gentle morning in November. Dawn and the cloudless sky above stood witness. My thoughts were tied to the tranquility of the surroundings. The trees wore twenty-seven shades of green. I heard nothing but silence and silence whispered back to me, quietly. My eyes found invisible doorways to ancient times, as I walked and walked, and the sunlight cast deep shadows on to the mountainsides of San Lorenzo, Guatemala.
The journey was a peaceful transition into the lazy afternoon, for even the bird's were slow to stir. So, you might image, when the unfamiliar stare appeared so abruptly in my path my mind was hesitant to digest the interruption.
His darkness frightened me. We stood there connected by the blade of his machete against my neck and the matching color of our eyes.
The quiet air held our breaths as we exchanged sudden movements atop the hillside. I heard distant screams and cries only later to realize they were my own.
It was a violent collision of our birthed realities. His dark skin carrying the burden of hunger and pain; my white skin reflecting all that was opposite his oppression.
Face to face, we stood divided.
Yet, I knew somehow, if either of us were to escape that dark abyss, we would be bound by light eternal.
A. Leigh
The journey was a peaceful transition into the lazy afternoon, for even the bird's were slow to stir. So, you might image, when the unfamiliar stare appeared so abruptly in my path my mind was hesitant to digest the interruption.
His darkness frightened me. We stood there connected by the blade of his machete against my neck and the matching color of our eyes.
The quiet air held our breaths as we exchanged sudden movements atop the hillside. I heard distant screams and cries only later to realize they were my own.
It was a violent collision of our birthed realities. His dark skin carrying the burden of hunger and pain; my white skin reflecting all that was opposite his oppression.
Face to face, we stood divided.
Yet, I knew somehow, if either of us were to escape that dark abyss, we would be bound by light eternal.
A. Leigh
Without
It is not what Gandhi was able to do that is so remarkable. It is what he was able to do without. Today our young nation's leaders move in violence in the name of religion, freedom and peace. It is a mentality of consumption matched only by the citizens of this young land. I question now not only what we do, but all that we can no longer do without.
A. Leigh
A. Leigh
when an instant became infinity
sometimes i get so excited jumping from one cloud to the next my eyes change colors, believe me, i checked once. and, sometimes i spend the entire day following the footprints of raindrops or chasing the shadows of bluebirds - i don't even stop when my head starts to tingle and i think i might faint. sometimes the colors get so vibrant and intense they get all blurred together in my mind, but me too sometimes. and, sometimes when i shut off the lights i glow in the dark, you'd have to sleep over to know it's true. sometimes i don't even have time to explain it all because i'm racing falling stars, from one to another to forever, and i can't stop until i get there. sometimes everything smells like honey and tastes like caramel...and the moon spoons my soul before i fall asleep. sometimes it feels like magic. not like rabbit and the hat kinda magic, but magic magic. and sometimes, i think if i were to grasp even a teeny tiny glimpse of 'it all' i would instantly dissolve into light, which might be the trick; finding the moment with an instant becomes infinity. i think that's when butterflies get their designs, and ladybugs their dots, and humans their souls, maybe, but who knows for sure? sometimes it's so perfect i know for certain i have wings and can fly... because mosquitoes can fly and they bite... i don't even bite. sometimes i really like the colors here, and my senses turn into gigantic crayons and i walk the sidewalks in zig-zags painting the clouds in lavender and red. and, sometimes it feels silly to wait for anything - when i can breathe deeply and wade through it all -- even the big stuff that makes me feel so small.
A. Leigh
A. Leigh
Mother's Womb
On The Shores of Lago De Atitlan
And so this journey began
a million sunrises before
my mother's womb,
when paved roads were dust
and cities - mudhuts.
Centuries before 'This',
and before 'That' too.
But please don't think for a moment
not even the lesser of a second,
that I might dress up words
and speak on such a matter
"Gracias a Dios"
I know the better.
So, let me return to the beginning
for that's how this story begins -
it was a million sunrises before my mother's womb,
and I can say one thing for certain
something, somewhere was born,
and it birthed another.
And another.
And somewhere on this path towards forever,
sometime between
(perhaps during Spring)
we each appeared.
Here.
Where this collective dream took form.
Today, on the shores of Lago De Atitlan.
A.Leigh
And so this journey began
a million sunrises before
my mother's womb,
when paved roads were dust
and cities - mudhuts.
Centuries before 'This',
and before 'That' too.
But please don't think for a moment
not even the lesser of a second,
that I might dress up words
and speak on such a matter
"Gracias a Dios"
I know the better.
So, let me return to the beginning
for that's how this story begins -
it was a million sunrises before my mother's womb,
and I can say one thing for certain
something, somewhere was born,
and it birthed another.
And another.
And somewhere on this path towards forever,
sometime between
(perhaps during Spring)
we each appeared.
Here.
Where this collective dream took form.
Today, on the shores of Lago De Atitlan.
A.Leigh
Fields of Green
He woke in a field of green with the soft concentration of the Latin sun against his back. The generous shade from the glossy coffee leaves dangled overhead and provided a subtle transition from his dreams to his day. The world was quiet save a few morning birds, as the final dew drops whispered on their ascent back to heaven. His hands were stained from yesterday’s labor. His jeans and shirt resembled the earth he worked inside. His teeth were dirty. His feet were sore. His morning thoughts still caught in the dream he’d had each night for the past two years.
In his dream, he walked for miles until he reached his village. It was here, where his wife and children worked to keep their modest hut, from tin-roof to dirt floor, clean and ready for papa’s return. He stepped onto the porch and the familiar smell of homemade tortillas and chicken soup dropped him to his knees. It had been too many days and nights of longing to let go of standing up. In the dream, his children wore clean clothing and smiles as they shared stories from school. He looked outside and noticed even the old avocado tree, which stood bent outside the kitchen window for decades, had a youthful sway. They ate and laughed, and carried on as the crescent moon begged for their attention. He told his family memories collected from the coffee fields; about the ripening fruits he named one-by-one in hopes their harvest would bring him home. They listened to their papa until the warm night bowed her head to dawn.
It was this sunrise which found him still, asleep beneath the coffee leaves, without his family or the youthful sway of the avocado tree. He looked up at the open sky, hung above Guatemala’s Highlands, and offered his daily promise to his wife and children. It was the promise of returning home with enough money for food and school for his babies - perhaps, a new life where they could welcome each sunrise together. Until then…he would work each day and hold them in his dreams each night.
Inspired by Juan Antonio – Coffee Field Worker in Fraijanes, Guatemala
A. Leigh
In his dream, he walked for miles until he reached his village. It was here, where his wife and children worked to keep their modest hut, from tin-roof to dirt floor, clean and ready for papa’s return. He stepped onto the porch and the familiar smell of homemade tortillas and chicken soup dropped him to his knees. It had been too many days and nights of longing to let go of standing up. In the dream, his children wore clean clothing and smiles as they shared stories from school. He looked outside and noticed even the old avocado tree, which stood bent outside the kitchen window for decades, had a youthful sway. They ate and laughed, and carried on as the crescent moon begged for their attention. He told his family memories collected from the coffee fields; about the ripening fruits he named one-by-one in hopes their harvest would bring him home. They listened to their papa until the warm night bowed her head to dawn.
It was this sunrise which found him still, asleep beneath the coffee leaves, without his family or the youthful sway of the avocado tree. He looked up at the open sky, hung above Guatemala’s Highlands, and offered his daily promise to his wife and children. It was the promise of returning home with enough money for food and school for his babies - perhaps, a new life where they could welcome each sunrise together. Until then…he would work each day and hold them in his dreams each night.
Inspired by Juan Antonio – Coffee Field Worker in Fraijanes, Guatemala
A. Leigh
New Year
The right hand of the God has appeared extending the gift of a New Year.
May you keep time by the songs you sing, and dance wild with the heavens and seas. May the open sky offer you tranquility and the white moon, rock you to sleep. May you rename the world with your grace and light, so you may be called 'day' and your lover the 'night'.
A. Leigh
May you keep time by the songs you sing, and dance wild with the heavens and seas. May the open sky offer you tranquility and the white moon, rock you to sleep. May you rename the world with your grace and light, so you may be called 'day' and your lover the 'night'.
A. Leigh
Thirty-Three
Present is the urge to tie life so closely to my day that I might soak up every drop of sunlight just to witness where the light meets the horizon.
As I breathe in Belize I relinquish the impetus to cling to familiar. Drifting here - thirty-three shades of green staring back at me through the bus window. The humidity reminding me I am alive. I can't say with any definitive certainty where I come from nor where I will arrive. The river bends around my fingers. The banana leaves and palm trees stand still against the sky, shouting 'Gracias A Dios".
As I breathe in Belize I relinquish the impetus to cling to familiar. Drifting here - thirty-three shades of green staring back at me through the bus window. The humidity reminding me I am alive. I can't say with any definitive certainty where I come from nor where I will arrive. The river bends around my fingers. The banana leaves and palm trees stand still against the sky, shouting 'Gracias A Dios".
All I can think of is a softer world; one where suffering fades like the stars into a cloudy night; where equality and integrity drive the social engine. And that's all crazy, that's crazy right?
Today, on this 16-hour journey from here to there, sitting beside strangers who feel familiar, holding familiarities that now somehow feel strange - I think I'll choose this dream for awhile. We are more than a collection of staggering minutes in the same hour. Today if never again, let time be witness to change, even if only for the revolution in my mind.
I offer this prayer to the Caribbean sea...
I offer this prayer to the Caribbean sea...
"Might we all have days when we lose ourselves so completely that we find ourselves anew, awake and alive; willing to offer love and grace to all those who cross our paths."
A. Leigh
A. Leigh
Ancient Love-Affair
It was the morning of Don Florenzeo’s 81st year. He woke at the second dog's bark and quietly got dressed in the dark, a ritual he had performed each morning for decades. His lover of nearly half a century remained asleep, unaffected by his routine, as she too had done for decades. Before entering the day, he paused beside their bed and found himself still enamored by her beauty. He whispered, “Clemenzia, me amore”, kissed the air surrounding her and wandered outside.
The garden stretching around his six bedroom haven was itching for some attention. It was his greatest daily pleasure. First to the watering, then pruning, and perhaps today in preparation for the afternoon fiesta he would mow the lawn. Chicera, the 3-year-old mutt, greeted him with her usual good mood. And, Thursday officially arrived.
Dona Clemenzia awoke with the scent of her lover still in the air, after all these years still allowing him the right of passage to begin the day first. She loved laying there as he stumbled around the room trying not to disturb her. However, on the occasional morning when he stubbed a toe or dropped his comb she would secretly smile to herself. An occurrence which happened more and more frequently in recent years. But, today he dressed, blew kisses and left without a hitch. It was a special day and Clemenzia could hardly wait to start preparing for the party. The fiesta started at noon which gave her plenty of time to finish the tortillas and cook the chicken. Her eldest daughter, Elva, would be arriving any minute to help with the last minute details. Elva was her favorite daughter, although she knew it was an unspeakable secret - one even too sacred to offer her Florenzeo. Perhaps, it was because of Elva’s undaunted kindness and good intention. Even after finding herself ten years in the arms of a drunk husband and with the sole responsibility of feeding the children, her spirit remained unharmed. Unlike Clemenzia’s other children, who splashed perpetual judgment on their eldest sibling, Clemenzia understood her eldest daughter's spirit and found her heart inspiring.
Before long the only grandson, Kevin, was awake and kicking the football around the yard doing his best to drive Chicera insane. But, today was the kind of day when nothing could go wrong. The boy was anxious for his mom, Lucia, to arrive. As a ten year old, in the middle of a three-month vacation at grandma and grandpa’s house, it was all he could do to find entertainment. He spent most of his time waiting until his grandparents weren't looking and would climb the staircase off the second floor patio to the roof. It was here Kevin entered the world where he was one day a soldier in the Guatemalan army conquering the Spaniards, and the next day an eagle soaring over the vast and expansive mountaintops of Jocotenango. I was still asleep. It was my first night as a guest in the Agirra’s house and I had slept so soundly not even the afternoon could wake me. Fortunately, Kevin discovered the day before that I enjoyed the privacy of an early afternoon on the rooftop and knocked gently at my door. In simple spanish he whispered, “You must rise now to find alone time. My family will be arriving shortly in celebration of my grandfather’s birthday.” I was deeply grateful for the gentle alarm for I had not been told of the day’s events. In fact, I had only met the family two days prior and was still lost in appreciation of having an additional sleeping arrangement closer to Antigua.
Before long the house was overflowing with smells and sounds of Guatemalan goodness. I found my appetite for the food and family nearly unquenchable. Around the table conversation was simplified for my sake. We laughed, drank whiskey, ate spectacular food and celebrated Don Florenzeo’s day. As I secretly celebrated the romantic aroma of an ancient love-affair; one that grounded the entire family in togetherness.
A. Leigh
The garden stretching around his six bedroom haven was itching for some attention. It was his greatest daily pleasure. First to the watering, then pruning, and perhaps today in preparation for the afternoon fiesta he would mow the lawn. Chicera, the 3-year-old mutt, greeted him with her usual good mood. And, Thursday officially arrived.
Dona Clemenzia awoke with the scent of her lover still in the air, after all these years still allowing him the right of passage to begin the day first. She loved laying there as he stumbled around the room trying not to disturb her. However, on the occasional morning when he stubbed a toe or dropped his comb she would secretly smile to herself. An occurrence which happened more and more frequently in recent years. But, today he dressed, blew kisses and left without a hitch. It was a special day and Clemenzia could hardly wait to start preparing for the party. The fiesta started at noon which gave her plenty of time to finish the tortillas and cook the chicken. Her eldest daughter, Elva, would be arriving any minute to help with the last minute details. Elva was her favorite daughter, although she knew it was an unspeakable secret - one even too sacred to offer her Florenzeo. Perhaps, it was because of Elva’s undaunted kindness and good intention. Even after finding herself ten years in the arms of a drunk husband and with the sole responsibility of feeding the children, her spirit remained unharmed. Unlike Clemenzia’s other children, who splashed perpetual judgment on their eldest sibling, Clemenzia understood her eldest daughter's spirit and found her heart inspiring.
Before long the only grandson, Kevin, was awake and kicking the football around the yard doing his best to drive Chicera insane. But, today was the kind of day when nothing could go wrong. The boy was anxious for his mom, Lucia, to arrive. As a ten year old, in the middle of a three-month vacation at grandma and grandpa’s house, it was all he could do to find entertainment. He spent most of his time waiting until his grandparents weren't looking and would climb the staircase off the second floor patio to the roof. It was here Kevin entered the world where he was one day a soldier in the Guatemalan army conquering the Spaniards, and the next day an eagle soaring over the vast and expansive mountaintops of Jocotenango. I was still asleep. It was my first night as a guest in the Agirra’s house and I had slept so soundly not even the afternoon could wake me. Fortunately, Kevin discovered the day before that I enjoyed the privacy of an early afternoon on the rooftop and knocked gently at my door. In simple spanish he whispered, “You must rise now to find alone time. My family will be arriving shortly in celebration of my grandfather’s birthday.” I was deeply grateful for the gentle alarm for I had not been told of the day’s events. In fact, I had only met the family two days prior and was still lost in appreciation of having an additional sleeping arrangement closer to Antigua.
Before long the house was overflowing with smells and sounds of Guatemalan goodness. I found my appetite for the food and family nearly unquenchable. Around the table conversation was simplified for my sake. We laughed, drank whiskey, ate spectacular food and celebrated Don Florenzeo’s day. As I secretly celebrated the romantic aroma of an ancient love-affair; one that grounded the entire family in togetherness.
A. Leigh
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Destination: End of the Earth.
Pearl
Metal Mile
Seven-Second Freeze
Planned Destination
No Eatty - Only Looky
Field Trip
Very Pretty
Deep Water Bay. Hong Kong.
Sleepless in South Vietnam
Saigon
Mui Ne.
Luang Prabang. Laos.
Krabi. Thailand.
