Moment By Moment

As the months turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into days, I have watched time speed up and slow down, compress and expand to fit every detail of the last moments of my time in Houston.

There has been momentous celebrations, like the time we rode the bus with Dawson for the last time. Dawson determined to ride a total of 65 bus lines before the end of the year, and we were with him to celebrate the last one!

There was the time we ran around in the Splash Pad because it was hot.

There was the time Erica and I went hunting for art, butterflies, and frozen yogurt. 

 

There was a party celebrating our time in Houston.

There were bitter sweet goodbyes at our church, Pleasant Hill Baptist Church. 

This week finishes my time at the Fifth Ward Community Redevelopment Corporation. Next week we will be gathering for a retreat to help us reflect on our time in Houston. Then I'll be heading back to Phoenix. 

The thoughts and emotions bundling within me are hard to express in words. 

Let Us Go Then, You and I

LET us go then, you and I, 

When the evening is spread out against the sky 

Like a patient etherized upon a table; 

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, 

The muttering retreats 

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels 

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: 

Streets that follow like a tedious argument 

Of insidious intent 

To lead you to an overwhelming question…. 

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” 

Let us go and make our visit.

And indeed there will be time 

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, 

Rubbing its back upon the window panes; 

There will be time, there will be time 

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; 

There will be time to murder and create, 

And time for all the works and days of hands 

That lift and drop a question on your plate; 

Time for you and time for me, 

And time yet for a hundred indecisions, 

And for a hundred visions and revisions, 

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

- From "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot

Two weeks left,

and my heart skips beats

anticipating what is still here 

and what is yet to come,

and my stomach crumbles upon itself

reminding me that I am helpless 

in so many ways,

and my mind fails me;

my body fails me,

and I must lean on those around me,

resting on community,

and laughter,

and late nights,

and reflection,

and intention, 

walking ever deeper into myself 

and into all. 

Now I Become Myself

Now I become myself. It's taken 

Time, many years and places;

I have been dissolved and shaken,

Worn other people's faces,

Run madly, as if Time were there,

Terribly old, crying a warning,

'Hurry, you will be dead before-'

(What? Before you reach the morning?

Or the end of the poem is clear?

Or love safe in the walled city?)

Now to stand still, to be here,

Feel my own weight and density!

The black shadow on the paper

Is my hand; the shadow of a word

As thought shapes the shaper

Falls heavy on the page, is heard.

All fuses now, falls into place

From wish to action, word to silence,

My work, my love, my time, my face

Gathered into one intense

Gesture of growing like a plant.

As slowly as the ripening fruit

Fertile, detached, and always spent,

Falls but does not exhaust the root,

So all the poem is, can give,

Grows in me to become the song,

Made so and rooted by love.

Now there is time and Time is young.

O, in this single hour I live

All of myself and do not move.

I, the pursued, who madly ran,

Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun! 

- May Sarton

In the Right Light

"In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary."

- Aaron Rose  

We ran for cover from the torrential downpour that threatened our blankets, our clothes, our hair. 

We laughed and played and wrapped ourselves up in cold wet blankets and found some friends with a tent. 

We found some balance. 

We lost our balance. 

We found some light. 

Late nights of heart and sadness and conflict. 

Anxiety. 

Therapy. 

Comfort. 

Lots of comfort. 

Only three weeks left. 

How did this happen so quickly? 

An Unexpected Route

While filling out my application for Mission Year, I came across the question: How would others describe you?

I know how I'd like others to see me, but how do they actually see me? I didn't know. So I went to my brother and asked him. 

How would you describe me? 

He paused a moment then said, "Well, you like to have a plan. It doesn't have to be your plan. You just like to have a plan." 

I hadn't really thought about it before, but he was right. I liked to have a plan, a guide, a direction and a destination. I still do. I love mapping out my route, creating a plan that maximizes my time, that gets me to where I need to be, doing what I need to do, in the time I want to do it. 

Community and bus routes severely limited my planning ability. I suddenly had to run my plans by six other people; I had to coordinate my schedule with theirs; I couldn't just go when I needed to go; I had to wait for the bus; I had to walk in the sweaty heat; I had to ask co-workers for rides to the post office and to the vet; I had to rely on others and be flexible. 

I'd like to say that all this experience with community, learning about white privilege, of savior complexes, of systematic injustices, of bus routes, of bike riding, of planning without a personal vehicle has taught me to let go, to allow things to happen as they will, to lessen my grip on control. 

But that's not really true. 

The Go-and-Do mentality is prominent in my family, from my dad's dad who still volunteers and is always trying to help as many people as he can, to my mom's mom who has retired twice and refuses to really stop working in her 70's, to my dad who is losing his health because his heart to take care of people is bigger than his ability for self care. Working ourselves to sickness and exhaustion seems to be normal in my family. 

I know I don't want that. I want to find ways of balancing, of giving without depleting myself, of learning that I do not have to control everything within reach.  I want to live a long life of service and relationships, with less anxiety and panic attacks. 

It's going to be an every day lesson. It's going to take accountability from close friends in community. It's going to take insight. And perhaps a therapist. But it's possible. It's possible to learn to let go. 

I practice on my yoga mat, I practice in my relationships, I practice in community. It's an every day, every moment practice. 

All the above rambling was inspired by this view today:

The train was blocking my normal walking route to work, so I got on the 11 Bus because it has air conditioning. The bus driver waited the required length of time then detoured around the train. She had to skip the stop I needed, so I ended up getting off a bit farther than I wanted and had to walk over the highway. I paused for a moment to enjoy an out of the ordinary view that I don't get to enjoy often. 

It felt nice to say at the moment, "Slow down. This is unexpected and it's ok. It's going to be ok." 

Squinting

Beauty in the every day. 

Sometimes I have to squint.

But it's there. 

Inadequacy

Lately I have felt like the skin on top of warm milk, thin, easily torn and drowned under the surface.

With only five weeks left in Houston I've found myself cowering under the pressure of the to-do lists, the weights tightening up the muscles in my shoulders, craning my neck in awkward positions that require chiropractic adjustments and massages I can't afford.

My body responds to anxiety before my brain. My sinuses fail, my head aches, my muscles tighten. Suddenly all I want to do is sleep, wrap myself on the couch in the quilt my grandma made for me. Goodnight, world.

I have been doing case work for my elderly neighbor: cleaning her house full of horded antiques and plastic spoons; helping her acquire a State ID and birth certificate so she can get her electricity and water turned back on; holding on to all her important documents like the hospital and doctor bills she can't afford to pay; working with Adult Protective Services to get her into safer housing accommodations; bringing her water and food on a nearly daily basis; spending hours sitting on her porch talking about the car she wants to buy, why she shouldn't invite strangers into her house, what a mail scam looks like.

She's still living on her own in a house that is falling apart. She still doesn't have running water because there's a leak somewhere in her pipes. She's still trying to send in money to the mail scams. She still leaves the hot plate on when she leaves the house. Her dog is still infested with fleas no matter how many baths I give him or how much medication I put on him. She still doesn't have a phone or a way of contacting the police if anything happened to her.

For how much we've been able to do, I know I won't be able to get done everything I want to get done for her before I leave. No matter how many people/organizations I get involved with her, they don't seem to have the time to sit on her porch with her and listen.

I cry to my city directors. I cry to my team. I cry into the blanket my grandmother made out of pieces of sari I wore in India.

I leave a piece of my heart everywhere I go. There's pieces of me scattered across the globe: Kenya, Kolkata, Houston, Phoenix. I fall in love so easily.

I will be glad to be in Phoenix, to root in one place, to know I can fall in love over and over again and I will be there to see it through, to walk in that relationship for my whole life.

For now I have to figure out how to get through the next five weeks, loving the way I love, caring the way I care, but without burning out so completely that I'm an empty useless skeleton.

How to stay fully present when I'm wrapped up in worry.
How to stay fully present when I'm searching for a house in Phoenix.
How to love my housemates fully when I feel so exhausted and sad.
How to do my job at the CRC when I feel so anxious.
How to love Celeste and be present for her when I know I'm leaving.

Somewhere deep I feel the Spirit of Light sitting with me, hidden somewhere in my worry, being a point of peace. I wish I could peel away the layers to get to that Light. 

A Seven Day Summary

Runny nose. 

Lifetime of paperwork to decipher. 

Resource book to create. 

Conversations on purity culture and masculinity. 

Macaroni and cheese. 

Yoga on the balcony. 

Ants in the carpet. 

Ants on the couch. 

Ants on the bookshelf. 

Ants biting my feet. 

Doggie Dog. 

Roaches in the bathroom.

Roaches in the living room.

Roaches in the couch. 

Conversation about women. 

Conversations about oppression. 

Conversations about systematic injustice. 

Father's Day.

Journaling. 

Naps. 

Elderly care. 

Self care. 

Sleeeeeep. 

Rain. 

Deepak Chopra. 

Washateria. 

Exactly six weeks left. 

Anxious.

Sad.

Nervous.

Excited.

Overwhelmed.

Sick. 

Books to mail. 

Plane ticket to be bought. 

Lost checks to be found. 

Dwindling bank account. 

Providence. 

Encouragement. 

Knowing it is enough. 

Resilience. 

Systems

“Where are you?” She asked, leaning heavily on her cane as she struggled up the stairs in front of me. 

“I’m right behind you,” I reassured her.

//

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you.” 

― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

//

"No matter how they were started, by whom, or to what end, systems of suffering can only be perpetuated when people fail to tear them down and transform them. Even when we’re not actively building them, even when we’re intellectually opposed to them, if we are not also actively trying to change them, we are, in effect, perpetuating them. When we fail to live in ways that disrupt these on purpose, then we end up feeding the monster on our table scraps and it gets bigger."

- Dharma Cowgirl

Splash, Then Come & See

A large part of Mission Year is focused on justice: reconciling relationships, disrupting oppressive systems, and shedding light on local and global injustices that impact us all.

This weekend my team was able to put our Justice Project to work. We saw that folks in our neighborhood were not entirely aware of the resources available to them, so we decided to have a Resource Splash Day where service providers and local vendors would provide free and low cost services to residents of Fifth Ward.

The event exceeded my expectations and our whole team was able to engage with our neighbors in a fun and productive way as we stood in line for free snow cones, painted faces, ran through the Splash Pad, and talked with service providers who offered medical testing, pet food, housing counseling, home repair, and a whole lot more.

Swayne, a man of many talents, cut hair in his mobile haircut unit and performed motivational hip hop on the Jam Stage. His story is really interesting. Swayne had a tracheotomy a few years back and was told by doctors he may never speak again, let alone rap. He proved them wrong and went on to record several songs, perform at multiple venues, and is first known person to record over 10 projects with a Tracheostomy Tube in use.Check out some of his stuff HERE!

We had about 200 community residents show up to our Resource Splash Day, and it looked like they all really enjoyed themselves. 

The day after our Resource Splash Day was Mission Year's Come and See art benefit, one of our final fundraisers and a way to let the community know how we have been impacted by these last 10 months in our neighborhoods. 

Celeste accompanied me to the event. I performed poems, we shared some pie and brownies, drank coffee, and Celeste insisted on holding Quentin. 

Most of these photos were taken by Don at Love Is Studios. Check out his Facebook! 

If you would like to continue to help make events like these possible, and get a limited edition t-shirt for donations $50+, check out Mission Year's current Finish Strong campaign by clicking on the banner below and feel free to choose my name from the drop down menu!