Guatemala and Big (Personal) News

Last spring, during Semana Santa, I had the wonderful opportunity to travel to Antigua, Guatemala…

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…with my fiancee, Elena!

Yes, it has been difficult for me to post as frequently as I’d like because of some crazy (awesome) life events including proposing to my amazing fiancee and transitioning back to the United States to continue teaching (I’ll post more on that later), but I hope to resume somewhat frequent blog posts about life, literature, and travel.

So…back to Guatemala. Semana Santa literally translates as Holy Week, and it is an important Catholic holiday in Latin America (and important on the Christian calendar all over the world): the week before Easter. Many people are on holiday that week, if not for the whole week then usually Thursday and Friday at least. Trying to avoid the overwhelming crowds the weekend of Easter, Elena, her sister and parents, and I visited Antigua Sunday through Tuesday.

Sometimes, when traveling, one of the difficulties is that certain cities/countries/areas might be rather unsafe. Thus, one of the great treasures of Latin America is Antigua, Guatemala. The government has maintained stricter security there, it is very safe, and it allows one to experience the incredibly rich Latin American culture without some of the security issues in other places.

So imagine walking down rustic, stone streets, meandering through various side streets, surrounded by antiquarian, colonial architecture, breathing in the sights and sounds of artisan peddlers, food vendors, musicians, and various languages from diverse travelers all over the world. Old churches and cathedrals, literally hundreds of years old, look down on the people, inviting them to share in their history of piety and religion (and, unfortunately at times historically, exploitation). The plaza is a focal point which provides beautiful greenery nestled within the small city as well as plenty of park benches to sit and soak up the atmosphere. There are cafes with incredible coffee, restaurants, and bookstores. The air there is fresh and cool, the advantage of its somewhat higher altitudes. And though there really isn’t any one specific tourist attraction (e.g. the Eiffel Tower), it’s almost nicer because there’s no pressure to rush around to anything in particular. Instead, one simply walks the streets in good company and breathes the deep, satisfied breath of another cultural gem.

Enjoy some of the pictures.

 

Self-Realization

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Two things everybody’s got tuh do fuh theyselves. They got tuh go tuh God, and they got tuh find out about livin’ fuh theyselves.

Zora Neale Hurston’s character, Janie, said this at the end of Their Eyes Were Watching God. This next week is my last before receiving my third degree, this one in literature (the previous two in religion). I just submitted my final research paper, “Self-realization in Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Though Hurston was a famous figure in the Harlem Renaissance, her works are often conspicuously devoid of racial politics. Alice Walker noted this as well: “I think we are better off if we think of Zora Neale Hurston as an artist, period—rather than as the artist/politician most black writers have been required to be.” Nevertheless, Hurston’s novel should appeal to anyone who feels they don’t have a voice. Part of my thesis was that Janie, the main character, only achieves self-realization by pushing past social norms, social expectations. As a chronic people-pleaser, I can’t help but think of a phrase my very wise mother has been repeating to me a lot over the last few years: “You’re not responsible for anyone’s happiness but your own.” I still struggle to internalize that, but what freedom! This isn’t a cop-out from serving others (it’s not a selfish self-happiness that ignores all others). But it IS understanding that it’s not my ability/responsibility to control how people react to situations. Also, I don’t need to worry so much about social conventions. I just “got tuh find out about livin’ fuh [myself].”

It’s not until Janie stops listening to rigid social norms of her culture that she finds love. But what a love! So coincidentally, shout out to both Black History Month and Valentine’s Day (a few days ago)! May you find self-realization and love and freedom! Even after Janie’s great love, Tea Cake, had died, she found life from her love.

Then Tea Cake came prancing around her where she was and the song of the sigh flew out of the window and lit in the top of the pine trees. Tea Cake, with the sun for a shawl. Of course he wasn’t dead. He could never be dead until she herself had finished feeling and thinking. The kiss of his memory made pictures of love and light against the wall. Here was peace. She pulled in her horizon like a great fish-net. Pulled it from around the waist of the world and draped it over her shoulder. So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see.

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“Tea Cake…lit in the top of the pine trees.”

a little bit of love, E.E. Cummings and Damien Rice

The thing about poetry is that its power and brilliance lies in its weakness. There are only a handful of universal themes, but poetry takes that vague generality and fractures its meaning and its telling (its story) into a thousand-million little tributaries which break off from the complete thing and then eventually find themselves coming back to their source or running dry awhile away.

What can be more general than love?

Famed avante-garde American poet E.E. Cummings explores the tension of love in his poem “[love is more thicker than forget].” Love is paradoxical in nature, just beyond defining but never going away. “love is more thicker than forget,” says his opening line, forcing the attention and the absurdity while defying normal English conventions. It is “mad and moonly,” “sane and sunly.” But importantly, “it cannot die.”

Famed Irish singer-songwriter Damien Rice has appealed to select audiences throughout the years, namely my college roommate Jimmy. Because of Jimmy I was introduced to Damien Rice though I have still listened to very little of his work. His largely mellow tunes also (surprise, surprise) explore themes of love and relationships. On his most recent album My Favourite Faded Fantasy (2014), the narrator of “Colour Me In” states his desire to “repress it [love]” and that “love let me down.” But guess what? He couldn’t escape it. To live without love is a foolish, unwinnable game. It’s what colors us in.

So read this poem, and then watch Rice’s performance. What are the connections you make? [p.s. it’s a good practice, connecting art forms and messages across mediums, genres, and times]

love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky

Everyday Adventure

{I feel like every post lately starts with an apology. Here’s my last apology but hopefully not my last post for awhile. The reality is that I was a little over-ambitious when I began my blog, not factoring in my schedule (besides being a first-year teacher I’m finishing another degree online). Once my schedule clears up a bit, my posts will become more regular again. Thanks all!}

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…the girl 😉
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Chicago with my brother and my Salvadorian brother over Christmas break.
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sunset at Costa del Sol…it’s good to be back in El Salvador

 

 

La vida es bella.

Every day we wake up to a new sunrise and a new wind, a wind gathered among the airs and the comings and goings of an entire globe, accumulating and retracting and gathering and forming and transforming–touching our small little environments along its journey. And we are invited into the tears and smiles and burdens and triumphs and tragedies of that traveling breath–the wind is a speechless whisper, ever observant, ever moving–that passes over this beautiful, ugly little planet, a mere pinprick in the sea of stars and galaxies and universes.

Estoy feliz.

I am learning about contentment. For years I have been learning this lesson, and I will be its student until I die. St. Paul wrote to the Philippians that he had learned the secret of being content. That is a great, slippery secret. I have bounced around a lot. The temptation for adventurers and wanderers and travelers is to brag of their experiences… I know that temptation. The truth is, every new opportunity comes with tears. Every new opportunity brings with it the chance to be selfish and to make it all about ME. And every new opportunity punches me in the face, reminding me just how fragile I am and what the priorities of life are. Love God and love people–Jesus summarized in a few words what takes a lifetime to learn and fail and learn some more. I am learning to adapt. I am learning about contentment.

La vida es bella.

 

 

 

Poetry Wednesday: “She Walks in Beauty”

She walks in beauty like the night  - Lord Byron  in a Starfield  Lose Yourself in These Images of Pretty Celestial Happenings - The Cut:
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Though his love life was notorious, even infamous, Lord Byron’s ability to speak of the aesthetics of love is nothing less than profound. Thus, this week’s poem is a good ol’ fashioned love poem.George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron by Richard Westall (2).jpg

Lord Byron (1788-1824) was an English poet and a leading writer in the Romantic movement. Though in life he may have seemed to be a young, amorous, spoiled aristocrat, his handling of language particularly in the form of poetry will forever cement him as one of the best writers in English. In a Telegraph article, “The 1o best love poems,” Felicity Capon states that “She Walks in Beauty” is “[a]rguably the most romantic poem in English literature.”  Try not to think too intently on the context of the poem’s writing though–it is said that Byron wrote it after seeing his cousin outside of a ball. Yikes! However, without further ado and for which ever lovely lady is in your life, let Lord Byron’s words transfix and transform you.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!