There is a place.
Beyond leafy canopy's of woods
wild and ancient;
where the sun creeps through in the beams,
shedding,
for a time,
sacred light upon patch of
heaven.
There is a place.
Where the cliff meets the sea
and waves pound against the rock-face
with all the force of thunder,
and the sound of it too,
mingling with voice of shrieking gulls to create
a deafening symphony
that at once renders the worries of the world
quite
small.
There is a place.
Under vast night skies,
dark as the void and brilliant as glittering diamonds.
Inviting and foreboding; calm and terrifying;
Where one can't help but feel
as small as an ant
and
bigger than the gods.
There is a place.
In the depths of my soul
that contains all the wonders of the Universe,
where Mystery calls softly for me to come home
to Love,
to Myself.
There is a place.
Surely it is here I must seek to reside, all of my days.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Food For Thought #2
JVC sent out this article in order to help us start reflecting and thinking on the process/difficulty of developing genuine community. Really good read, give it a look and share your thoughts!
http://www.jesuitvolunteers.org/file/cms/2013/6/21/Stages_of_Community_Making.pdf
http://www.jesuitvolunteers.org/file/cms/2013/6/21/Stages_of_Community_Making.pdf
Monday, June 24, 2013
"They Were Pretty Cute..."
It was a typical day of work. I was sweaty and gross, covered in awful smelling dishwater. I had a great meal (chicken sandwich with pesto, brie, grilled chicken, and sliced apple) courtesy of my fantastic chef crew. And, of course, I was on the lookout for more reflection material.
It came in the form of one of the male bartenders. He came back to the kitchen laughing and smiling, talking about some incident that had happened up towards the front of the restaurant (the rest of us in the back rely on our brother and sister workers in the front of the restaurant to relay any interesting information about the customers, since we have virtually no direct interaction with them). He was telling us about these two women up towards the front of the bar who were absolutely irrevalent, very, very drunk, and making some sort of funny scene.
The scene, what these women were doing, is irrelevant to this reflection. What struck me was something that the bartender said. As he launched into his description of the events, he said that there were two ladies in the front - pausing - and saying that "they were pretty cute."
The reflection here is basically on what we deem is important information to relay to others about others, and how these judgement calls might give insight into our assumptions or ideologies.
It does not surprise me that the first (and only) piece of information that the bartender chose to share about the two women was that they were cute. Often I found that when both guys and girls attempt to convey some valuable information about a female they are trying to describe, it has to do with her looks and physical attractiveness. Why? I couldn't really say.
Some of it probably has to do with the fact that beauty is often something celebrated in women. It is also something used to keep women in subjugated positions, denying them other qualities and merely giving credit to their looks and physical appearance.
I do not think that the bartender was wrong in describing the women as cute. I do not think it was some misogynistic attempt to insinuate that the only worth these women had were based on their looks. What I am interested in, however, is why we choose to say certain things about certain people.
I am not trying to go crazy here and over-analyze everything that anyone ever says, but I think this is a valuable exercise for a person like myself, who is looking to uncover my hidden assumptions and ideologies. It is important to ask questions about why I choose to describe people or events certain ways, why I choose to interpret things people say in certain ways.
Are there any other instances you may have encountered that may point to personal or social assumptions regarding certain types of people?
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Paradox #1
So, I have finally managed to break one of my frustrating habits, that of not using or opening up new notebooks for ideas (blank white pages are intimidating, and again, sometimes that potential is more appealing than actually doing it). Now I have an idea book! Which is great, because now I can write out all of the thoughts and ideas I want to flesh out on here that I usually would have forgotten!
This topic has to do with an important paradox that I am still trying to wrap my head around, or at least learn how to live with. I am talking about the paradox of self-growth.
When talking with a friend the other day about a recurring issue that I had been struggling with, he told me: "You're only human... there's a difference between fighting yourself and growing."
Now, this isn't the first time I had heard this, both from others and from myself. As humans, and I believe especially as people raised in American culture, we are not taught how to deal with ourselves - that is to say, how to deal with our whole selves. And we are complicated.
Full of boundless compassion and seething anger; deep sadness and soaring joy; pitiful weakness and glorious strength; a desire for closeness and an aversion to being vulnerable; insatiable curiosity and a fear of the unknown. We are complicated. In fact, I would go as far as to say that we are a paradox. It is something that truly amazes me, how such diversity and difference can simultaneously exist in a single entity.
Too many times, when feeling angry or alone, I have tried to say "this isn't the real me." But how could it not be? I has taken me a long time to even begin to try and accept who I am - all of who I am - light and dark, good and bad. I am the same person in all of my various moods or experiences. I am still Michael, and all of those things make up the totality of who I am.
Now, I do not think this is some fatalistic view. I don't believe we should just throw up our hands and resign ourselves to be the things we don't like about ourselves, or the things we don't want to be. There is still definitely room for us to grow and improve on these things. But we can't grow unless we accept all who we are, good and bad.
How does that make any sense? I have no idea, and a lot of the times I don't think it does!! But I have found it to be true in my own life In order to change, I have had to accept myself as I am first. Maybe it had something to do with fully encountering myself and all that entails. Maybe it allows for a freedom from the image of my ideal self and instead allows me to deal with myself as I concretely am.
There was a lot of wisdom in my friends words. As a culture, we are too violent. Even if we do not physically attack or harm others, that is is only a certain type of violence. We are too violent with ourselves. We seek to aggressively cut out the parts of us that we don't like, violently rejecting parts of ourselves, leaving us with gaps and holes that cause us more pain. As a culture we are sold quick fixes to things we do not like, things we do not want. We push away people and experiences that cause us pain or discomfort, removing them from our vision and lives, essentially insulating ourselves. We are sold images, fantastical ideals to pine for and dream about, but these only serve to distract us from the reality of who we are, making us unable to engage with and shape that reality.
I have learned I need to be gentle with myself. To accept, not to fight myself, and to grow in the process of trying to accept that. How can I expect to grow in a holistic and positive way if I hack myself to pieces to reject along the way?
Maybe I am wrong on this, but in my own experience, this is a bit of wisdom that I have certainly come to appreciate.
There is a Cherokee tale that I very much appreciate that would serve well here:
The Wolf You Feed
An elder Native American was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said to them, "A fight is going on inside me.. it is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith."
"This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too", he added.
The Grandchildren thought about it for a minute and then one child asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"
The old Cherokee simply replied... "The one you feed."
This topic has to do with an important paradox that I am still trying to wrap my head around, or at least learn how to live with. I am talking about the paradox of self-growth.
When talking with a friend the other day about a recurring issue that I had been struggling with, he told me: "You're only human... there's a difference between fighting yourself and growing."
Now, this isn't the first time I had heard this, both from others and from myself. As humans, and I believe especially as people raised in American culture, we are not taught how to deal with ourselves - that is to say, how to deal with our whole selves. And we are complicated.
Full of boundless compassion and seething anger; deep sadness and soaring joy; pitiful weakness and glorious strength; a desire for closeness and an aversion to being vulnerable; insatiable curiosity and a fear of the unknown. We are complicated. In fact, I would go as far as to say that we are a paradox. It is something that truly amazes me, how such diversity and difference can simultaneously exist in a single entity.
Too many times, when feeling angry or alone, I have tried to say "this isn't the real me." But how could it not be? I has taken me a long time to even begin to try and accept who I am - all of who I am - light and dark, good and bad. I am the same person in all of my various moods or experiences. I am still Michael, and all of those things make up the totality of who I am.
Now, I do not think this is some fatalistic view. I don't believe we should just throw up our hands and resign ourselves to be the things we don't like about ourselves, or the things we don't want to be. There is still definitely room for us to grow and improve on these things. But we can't grow unless we accept all who we are, good and bad.
How does that make any sense? I have no idea, and a lot of the times I don't think it does!! But I have found it to be true in my own life In order to change, I have had to accept myself as I am first. Maybe it had something to do with fully encountering myself and all that entails. Maybe it allows for a freedom from the image of my ideal self and instead allows me to deal with myself as I concretely am.
There was a lot of wisdom in my friends words. As a culture, we are too violent. Even if we do not physically attack or harm others, that is is only a certain type of violence. We are too violent with ourselves. We seek to aggressively cut out the parts of us that we don't like, violently rejecting parts of ourselves, leaving us with gaps and holes that cause us more pain. As a culture we are sold quick fixes to things we do not like, things we do not want. We push away people and experiences that cause us pain or discomfort, removing them from our vision and lives, essentially insulating ourselves. We are sold images, fantastical ideals to pine for and dream about, but these only serve to distract us from the reality of who we are, making us unable to engage with and shape that reality.
I have learned I need to be gentle with myself. To accept, not to fight myself, and to grow in the process of trying to accept that. How can I expect to grow in a holistic and positive way if I hack myself to pieces to reject along the way?
Maybe I am wrong on this, but in my own experience, this is a bit of wisdom that I have certainly come to appreciate.
There is a Cherokee tale that I very much appreciate that would serve well here:
The Wolf You Feed
An elder Native American was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said to them, "A fight is going on inside me.. it is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith."
"This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too", he added.
The Grandchildren thought about it for a minute and then one child asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"
The old Cherokee simply replied... "The one you feed."
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
A Mystery to Myself
This blog has already been extremely fruitful for my own reflection and self-awareness, as it puts positive pressure on me to carry out with more rigorous and in depth self-examination and continual discovery of who I am and what I believe. Part of the reason I have chosen to participate in JVC, to ship myself halfway across the country to live simply, is so that I might more fully begin to uncover the fullness of who I am as a person, the talents and weaknesses that I possess, to stand boldly in front of my fears and to learn what it means for me to truly live.
While I wait for the moment when I will ship to South Dakota to arrive, I have begun to reflect and try and make myself more aware of some of these fears, of some of my talents. I noticed something today that I have known for some time, but that I have never had the resolve to drag out into the light and really examine.
For days now, I have been hesitant to start reading another book. Part of it is that I am tired from work, sure. But I know that a bigger part is some absolutely bizarre and irrational fear or neuroses that I have. So far, I have already read four books this summer, immensely enjoying all of them and quite happy that I took the time to read them. Now, next up on my list are books that I love and want to re-read, or, are those that I have desired to read for quite some time. The list includes The Alchemist, The Power of Myth, Into the Wild, On the Road, The Celestine Prophesy, and Passion for Peace. I have been extremely excited to read all of these, some because I love them from previous readings and need to refresh my knowledge, others because they have come highly recommended and are about subjects that really get me going.
The thing is, now that I have the time and space to start them, I have been completely resistant. I have not been able to just bring myself to read them, making excuse after excuse as to why I need to wait, or why now is not the right moment.
This is not just something that applies to books. With new clothing I will often wait days, even weeks before wearing them, afraid to use them (which is bizarre, because that is exactly why I got them in the first place).
Maybe it is an issue of attachment. Perhaps I am more attached to these things, or my ideas of them, than I even am able to realize. I think sometimes it is easier to live this uncommitted half-life, always about to do something rather than actually doing it. This way, there is always potential, always something to think on or look toward, without ever having to put in the work or effort to do something. This is certainly something I hope to begin working on now, continuing to do so on my journey to the Rosebud.
Are there any bizarre habits you have that you feel you might like to let go of? Maybe we can work on ourselves together, serving as encouragement and support along the way. I sure know I could use some of that!
While I wait for the moment when I will ship to South Dakota to arrive, I have begun to reflect and try and make myself more aware of some of these fears, of some of my talents. I noticed something today that I have known for some time, but that I have never had the resolve to drag out into the light and really examine.
For days now, I have been hesitant to start reading another book. Part of it is that I am tired from work, sure. But I know that a bigger part is some absolutely bizarre and irrational fear or neuroses that I have. So far, I have already read four books this summer, immensely enjoying all of them and quite happy that I took the time to read them. Now, next up on my list are books that I love and want to re-read, or, are those that I have desired to read for quite some time. The list includes The Alchemist, The Power of Myth, Into the Wild, On the Road, The Celestine Prophesy, and Passion for Peace. I have been extremely excited to read all of these, some because I love them from previous readings and need to refresh my knowledge, others because they have come highly recommended and are about subjects that really get me going.
The thing is, now that I have the time and space to start them, I have been completely resistant. I have not been able to just bring myself to read them, making excuse after excuse as to why I need to wait, or why now is not the right moment.
This is not just something that applies to books. With new clothing I will often wait days, even weeks before wearing them, afraid to use them (which is bizarre, because that is exactly why I got them in the first place).
Maybe it is an issue of attachment. Perhaps I am more attached to these things, or my ideas of them, than I even am able to realize. I think sometimes it is easier to live this uncommitted half-life, always about to do something rather than actually doing it. This way, there is always potential, always something to think on or look toward, without ever having to put in the work or effort to do something. This is certainly something I hope to begin working on now, continuing to do so on my journey to the Rosebud.
Are there any bizarre habits you have that you feel you might like to let go of? Maybe we can work on ourselves together, serving as encouragement and support along the way. I sure know I could use some of that!
Saturday, June 15, 2013
A Splendid Day?
Well! This is an exciting post, for it is the first one where I have been directly challenged by one of you, to do my thinking and challenge some assumption I have.
As you may have gathered in previous posts, my summer job before heading out to JVC is washing dishes at a fancy restaurant on Long Island. Not exactly a glamorous job, nor even a very desirable one by many people who I know. I scrape leftover, half eaten food off plates before repeatedly loading and re-loading the dishmachine, stacking and re-stacking plates and kitchen utensils, checking and re-checking racks. Empty a garbage can, check back a minute later, empty another one. Square plates, rectangular plates, little square plates, bowls, other bowls... etc. etc.
Basically, I lift things up, I put them down. (something along these lines http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eOSeOieLh7s ). Which means my back is absolutely shot by the end of the day, especially after a 12 hour shift. I am drenched in dirt soapy dishwater through all my layers, and smell like ass, if not something more exotically awful.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am not ungrateful. I don't even dislike the job, as a matter of fact, I enjoy it! Good hard work is always something to be proud of, and I like having a mission and schedule for the day.
Here is where the challenge comes in. About halfway through my shift today, I got a text from a very good friend of mine wishing me a "splendid day," with a smiley face for added effect. I laughed to myself as I read it and replied with something to the effect of, "while dishwashing for minimum wage can not ever really be considered 'splendid,' I'm having the closest equivalent to that in dishwashing terms"- in other words, a wise ass remark (classic Mike). This friend replied that, while they may never have washed dishes, and cannot really speak with much authority, they have found in their own experiences that, "it is little things that make seemingly unpleasant things splendid."
Well. Shit. Classic inspirational and challenging text in the middle of my "look how hard I work and how much I know about life" rant. So, as I sit at home now, after a long day, with sore muscles and a tired mind, I have decided to reflect back on my day, looking for those little things.
First. I was given a breakfast sandwich by one of the chef's without having to ask. A bacon, egg, and cheese rocks - from a fancy restaurant, even more so. But really, what was so awesome about this was that I didn't even have to ask. The chef's thought of me, remembered that I work hard with them, and took care of me as a result. it was an affirmation of my own welcomeness and acceptance into this particular community, something that I am really grateful for. Easily one of the most difficult things about starting a new job is meeting the new people, breaking into what essentially amounts to an already established family. Regardless of how dysfunctional this family is, it is still hard to be an outsider.
Second. For about two hours during my shift today, I was assigned to wash the owners boat. Which, was fricken awesome. Working outside, shoes off, on the water and in the sun with a great breeze. C'MON! I was loving it. Sure I was soaking wet and tired, but it was just a slight change of pace from the back room of the restaurant that I was really grateful for the change of scenery, even if it meant scrubbing and re-scrubbing a boat I'll never use for two hours.
Third. A lady fell off the dock today into the water. Now, maybe this isn't that funny and is really a sick case of schadenfreude, but it was a great part of m day! Just seeing something funny and different made me laugh and enjoy how silly life can be, how silly we can be. (For the record, no one was hurt in the making of this silly little moment - except maybe an ego).
Fourth. When one of my fellow dishwashers (who only speaks Spanish) was heading over for the day, he came over and give me a good old hug. He calls me "Big Guy," pronounced "Beeg Eye," something I find amusing since nearly all of the Hispanics I have ever worked with (which is quite a few) call me that. He gave a hug and said "amigo!" with a big smile and a laugh. I can barely communicate with this man. Literally, I maybe understand about 10 of the words he speaks, getting by the rest of the time on hand gestures and intuition. But we take care of each other, making sure the other has water while we work, or gets their lunch order placed, or gets a cold beer at the end of the night. It was cool to hear that word, "amigo."
There are more moments. There always are. In the grand scheme of my day, those moments were tiny, small blips on the map. They are insignificant compared to the rest of my day, which is filled with much more activity and angst and roughness. But on the flip side, it is those little moments that make the whole thing worth it. not just work, but life. Those little moments that I normally miss, or let float by, it is those that do bring significant joy and meaning to my life. I know there are countless other little moments, even in this day that I have missed.
This isn't to say that washing dishes can't be considered a crappy job. This isn't to say that the world is actually chock-full of rainbows and sunshine, because that just isn't true. the world can be a tough place, a tiring place, even a hostile place. But we can choose (and that, I think, really is the key here), to see those other moments, those little blips, and to live for those. To continually seek them out and bring them to others.
I would like to thank my friend for bringing up this reflection for me. It has re-affirmed something that I truly believe, but often have difficulty living out.
As you may have gathered in previous posts, my summer job before heading out to JVC is washing dishes at a fancy restaurant on Long Island. Not exactly a glamorous job, nor even a very desirable one by many people who I know. I scrape leftover, half eaten food off plates before repeatedly loading and re-loading the dishmachine, stacking and re-stacking plates and kitchen utensils, checking and re-checking racks. Empty a garbage can, check back a minute later, empty another one. Square plates, rectangular plates, little square plates, bowls, other bowls... etc. etc.
Basically, I lift things up, I put them down. (something along these lines http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eOSeOieLh7s ). Which means my back is absolutely shot by the end of the day, especially after a 12 hour shift. I am drenched in dirt soapy dishwater through all my layers, and smell like ass, if not something more exotically awful.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am not ungrateful. I don't even dislike the job, as a matter of fact, I enjoy it! Good hard work is always something to be proud of, and I like having a mission and schedule for the day.
Here is where the challenge comes in. About halfway through my shift today, I got a text from a very good friend of mine wishing me a "splendid day," with a smiley face for added effect. I laughed to myself as I read it and replied with something to the effect of, "while dishwashing for minimum wage can not ever really be considered 'splendid,' I'm having the closest equivalent to that in dishwashing terms"- in other words, a wise ass remark (classic Mike). This friend replied that, while they may never have washed dishes, and cannot really speak with much authority, they have found in their own experiences that, "it is little things that make seemingly unpleasant things splendid."
Well. Shit. Classic inspirational and challenging text in the middle of my "look how hard I work and how much I know about life" rant. So, as I sit at home now, after a long day, with sore muscles and a tired mind, I have decided to reflect back on my day, looking for those little things.
First. I was given a breakfast sandwich by one of the chef's without having to ask. A bacon, egg, and cheese rocks - from a fancy restaurant, even more so. But really, what was so awesome about this was that I didn't even have to ask. The chef's thought of me, remembered that I work hard with them, and took care of me as a result. it was an affirmation of my own welcomeness and acceptance into this particular community, something that I am really grateful for. Easily one of the most difficult things about starting a new job is meeting the new people, breaking into what essentially amounts to an already established family. Regardless of how dysfunctional this family is, it is still hard to be an outsider.
Second. For about two hours during my shift today, I was assigned to wash the owners boat. Which, was fricken awesome. Working outside, shoes off, on the water and in the sun with a great breeze. C'MON! I was loving it. Sure I was soaking wet and tired, but it was just a slight change of pace from the back room of the restaurant that I was really grateful for the change of scenery, even if it meant scrubbing and re-scrubbing a boat I'll never use for two hours.
Third. A lady fell off the dock today into the water. Now, maybe this isn't that funny and is really a sick case of schadenfreude, but it was a great part of m day! Just seeing something funny and different made me laugh and enjoy how silly life can be, how silly we can be. (For the record, no one was hurt in the making of this silly little moment - except maybe an ego).
Fourth. When one of my fellow dishwashers (who only speaks Spanish) was heading over for the day, he came over and give me a good old hug. He calls me "Big Guy," pronounced "Beeg Eye," something I find amusing since nearly all of the Hispanics I have ever worked with (which is quite a few) call me that. He gave a hug and said "amigo!" with a big smile and a laugh. I can barely communicate with this man. Literally, I maybe understand about 10 of the words he speaks, getting by the rest of the time on hand gestures and intuition. But we take care of each other, making sure the other has water while we work, or gets their lunch order placed, or gets a cold beer at the end of the night. It was cool to hear that word, "amigo."
There are more moments. There always are. In the grand scheme of my day, those moments were tiny, small blips on the map. They are insignificant compared to the rest of my day, which is filled with much more activity and angst and roughness. But on the flip side, it is those little moments that make the whole thing worth it. not just work, but life. Those little moments that I normally miss, or let float by, it is those that do bring significant joy and meaning to my life. I know there are countless other little moments, even in this day that I have missed.
This isn't to say that washing dishes can't be considered a crappy job. This isn't to say that the world is actually chock-full of rainbows and sunshine, because that just isn't true. the world can be a tough place, a tiring place, even a hostile place. But we can choose (and that, I think, really is the key here), to see those other moments, those little blips, and to live for those. To continually seek them out and bring them to others.
I would like to thank my friend for bringing up this reflection for me. It has re-affirmed something that I truly believe, but often have difficulty living out.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Grace
Grace.
Growing up Catholic, this is certainly a word I heard a fair amount. Whether it was being thrown around in various religious-ed classes, preached about during one lofty homily or another, or peppering the covers of various devotional pamphlet's, it was a word that I learned to associate with religion, with God.
It is also a word whose essence I feel that I have never quite fully grasped. It remains a hazy idea, a vague sentiment, leaving me unsure whether I had ever had an experience of grace (though I am sure that I have, I was definitely more than a little ignorant of it at the time).
As of today, however, I feel that I have a much clearer idea of what grace is.
I am not a huge fan of fundraising. As a matter of fact, it is something quite disliked in my household. Asking for money can be a really embarrassing thing, and asking for money for one's self to participate in what has increasingly seemed to be a fairly selfish endeavor, compounds those feelings tenfold.
Despite reading up on plenty of literature supporting the practice of fundraising, lauding it's potential as creating larger community and involvement among donors, I was still plenty skeptical. But, nevertheless, I knew I had to do it, and after a week of hoping my completed page would magically generate the funds, I finally posted out my need to the larger Facebook community. Basically, my status was a clear declaration of need, a genuine request for help.
To say that I was/am/will be amazed by people's generosity is an understatement. People who I have not had a close relationship with weighed in with messages of love and support. Recent college graduates, some of whom I had not spoken to in quite some time dipped into their funds to provide precious support. Family, friends of family, friends of friends, all voicing well-wishes and admiring support for this upcoming year.
The dollar amount is not important whatsoever. It is more important to me than anyone would even take the time to stop and read my page, take interest in my desires, help me follow my own passion. People searching for their own passions, on their own journey's, taking the opportunity to affirm me in mine.
It is humbling. Deeply humbling. I can be skeptical if not outright cynical sometimes about the state of our world, about the intentions and selfishness of people, about the greed and corruption of our society. I am almost at a lost for words here in trying to sum up what such outpourings of generosity mean to me.
Maybe even more important than financial support has been the well wishes. The encouragement. The admiration. At a time where I have seriously begun to doubt whether or not this is the right decision; whether or not this is just the selfish endeavors of another privileged college grad; whether I am going to be able to survive this next year; the encouragement of so many people has been like tomato soup and grilled-cheese on a cold winter day - much needed.
It has been grace. Maybe fundraising is the Universes way of letting you know you should keep on. All the support and love is the worlds way of saying it will be worth it.
Thank you again to all of the people who are helping make this possible for me, financially, emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually :) I only hope I can repay the kindness you have all shown me.
http://jesuitvolunteers.myetap.org/fundraiser/smts13/individual.do?participationRef=37.0.868475673
Growing up Catholic, this is certainly a word I heard a fair amount. Whether it was being thrown around in various religious-ed classes, preached about during one lofty homily or another, or peppering the covers of various devotional pamphlet's, it was a word that I learned to associate with religion, with God.
It is also a word whose essence I feel that I have never quite fully grasped. It remains a hazy idea, a vague sentiment, leaving me unsure whether I had ever had an experience of grace (though I am sure that I have, I was definitely more than a little ignorant of it at the time).
As of today, however, I feel that I have a much clearer idea of what grace is.
I am not a huge fan of fundraising. As a matter of fact, it is something quite disliked in my household. Asking for money can be a really embarrassing thing, and asking for money for one's self to participate in what has increasingly seemed to be a fairly selfish endeavor, compounds those feelings tenfold.
Despite reading up on plenty of literature supporting the practice of fundraising, lauding it's potential as creating larger community and involvement among donors, I was still plenty skeptical. But, nevertheless, I knew I had to do it, and after a week of hoping my completed page would magically generate the funds, I finally posted out my need to the larger Facebook community. Basically, my status was a clear declaration of need, a genuine request for help.
To say that I was/am/will be amazed by people's generosity is an understatement. People who I have not had a close relationship with weighed in with messages of love and support. Recent college graduates, some of whom I had not spoken to in quite some time dipped into their funds to provide precious support. Family, friends of family, friends of friends, all voicing well-wishes and admiring support for this upcoming year.
The dollar amount is not important whatsoever. It is more important to me than anyone would even take the time to stop and read my page, take interest in my desires, help me follow my own passion. People searching for their own passions, on their own journey's, taking the opportunity to affirm me in mine.
It is humbling. Deeply humbling. I can be skeptical if not outright cynical sometimes about the state of our world, about the intentions and selfishness of people, about the greed and corruption of our society. I am almost at a lost for words here in trying to sum up what such outpourings of generosity mean to me.
Maybe even more important than financial support has been the well wishes. The encouragement. The admiration. At a time where I have seriously begun to doubt whether or not this is the right decision; whether or not this is just the selfish endeavors of another privileged college grad; whether I am going to be able to survive this next year; the encouragement of so many people has been like tomato soup and grilled-cheese on a cold winter day - much needed.
It has been grace. Maybe fundraising is the Universes way of letting you know you should keep on. All the support and love is the worlds way of saying it will be worth it.
Thank you again to all of the people who are helping make this possible for me, financially, emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually :) I only hope I can repay the kindness you have all shown me.
http://jesuitvolunteers.myetap.org/fundraiser/smts13/individual.do?participationRef=37.0.868475673
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Food For Thought
This was posted as a comment to my last post by a very good friend of mine. Definitely challenging, especially given the nature of the work I am going to do next year. While I would like to hope I have not approached this situation in a patronizing way, constant self-evaluation ins't the worst thing in the world...
http://www.swaraj.org/illich_hell.htm
http://www.swaraj.org/illich_hell.htm
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Observations
So, I just started a job as a dishwasher at a fancy restaurant on the water. Honestly, I love it! The fast paced work, constant need for awareness, exciting environment, and delicious smelling food is a situation I find myself enjoying. Sure I am working for near minimum wage. Sure I am cleaning dishes and other crap, working at the jobs most other people would never want, nevertheless, I find myself enjoying it.
It has, as I expected it to, provided plenty of opportunity for reflection and increased self-awareness. Most of the people I work with in the back, especially the dishwashers, speak only Spanish. I am one of only three or so white folk working in the back, the majority of the rest being Latino/Latina.
I had an interesting experience today, one which left me wondering, though not necessarily with a specific question.
As one of the only white people working in the back, I am also one of the few for whom English is my main language. Often, the workers speak Spanish to one another, ordering food, joking around, and filling each other in on.... whatever it is they fill each other in on! I don't speak Spanish (although I am trying my best to learn), so it is often easy to feel left out in the daily communication. It is also easy to wonder if I am being talked about, if I am messing up, if I am doing something wrong (since I am very new), and am unable to understand directions on how to fix it or improve.
Swing to another moment, when my boss (also white), comes in to the back to check in on me, see how things are going, and to ask whether or not I feel like I am doing OK. His first language is also English, so it is easy for us to laugh, to joke, and to communicate. At one point, he was explaining to me that he would like to get to a point where I can close so that the other man I washed dishes with would not have to work for so many hours in a day (for he was there since opening). As he was explaining, he said the man's name, and the man was able to recognize that he was being spoken about. Other than this basic recognition of himself as part of the topic of conversation between two men (one being his white boss, the other being his white co-worker), he was unaware what we were saying about him, or anything else for that matter. As we laughed and grinned, I could not help but wonder if he felt the same insecurity and doubt that I felt while watching my co-workers chum it up.
I am not sure what the significance of this is. I think I am starting to wonder what it will be like this upcoming year out in South Dakota, in a place I do not know, around a people I am not familiar with, in a cultural milieu quite different from my own. I guess I am starting to wonder how much you can ever really identify with someone else who has come from a completely different background or culture. Event two guys, working the same crap job cleaning dishes, are we ever really equals, even if we perform the same tasks? Beginning to unpack privilege is a difficult thing, but it is something I am trying to be as open about as possible.
Here's to continual self analysis :)
It has, as I expected it to, provided plenty of opportunity for reflection and increased self-awareness. Most of the people I work with in the back, especially the dishwashers, speak only Spanish. I am one of only three or so white folk working in the back, the majority of the rest being Latino/Latina.
I had an interesting experience today, one which left me wondering, though not necessarily with a specific question.
As one of the only white people working in the back, I am also one of the few for whom English is my main language. Often, the workers speak Spanish to one another, ordering food, joking around, and filling each other in on.... whatever it is they fill each other in on! I don't speak Spanish (although I am trying my best to learn), so it is often easy to feel left out in the daily communication. It is also easy to wonder if I am being talked about, if I am messing up, if I am doing something wrong (since I am very new), and am unable to understand directions on how to fix it or improve.
Swing to another moment, when my boss (also white), comes in to the back to check in on me, see how things are going, and to ask whether or not I feel like I am doing OK. His first language is also English, so it is easy for us to laugh, to joke, and to communicate. At one point, he was explaining to me that he would like to get to a point where I can close so that the other man I washed dishes with would not have to work for so many hours in a day (for he was there since opening). As he was explaining, he said the man's name, and the man was able to recognize that he was being spoken about. Other than this basic recognition of himself as part of the topic of conversation between two men (one being his white boss, the other being his white co-worker), he was unaware what we were saying about him, or anything else for that matter. As we laughed and grinned, I could not help but wonder if he felt the same insecurity and doubt that I felt while watching my co-workers chum it up.
I am not sure what the significance of this is. I think I am starting to wonder what it will be like this upcoming year out in South Dakota, in a place I do not know, around a people I am not familiar with, in a cultural milieu quite different from my own. I guess I am starting to wonder how much you can ever really identify with someone else who has come from a completely different background or culture. Event two guys, working the same crap job cleaning dishes, are we ever really equals, even if we perform the same tasks? Beginning to unpack privilege is a difficult thing, but it is something I am trying to be as open about as possible.
Here's to continual self analysis :)
Monday, June 10, 2013
Here On Loan
So, I am going to try and get the ball rolling on some good thinking here.
I had a thought the other day that I have been mulling over and trying to make sense of - really, trying to understand the weight of it.
We are here on loan.
We have one shot at this life. One chance to live through this one life that we have been given, for we certainly didn't make it happen ourselves. We were born into a certain situation, in a certain time, surrounded by certain people and immersed in a particular reality - all of which we had no say in (to our knowledge at least).
This life is unique. It will never happen again. Nothing we experience will ever happen again in exactly that way. Even the unique vantage point we bring to a situation or experience is uniquely had by us.
The materials that make up our bodies have been circulating the universe for who knows how long. The basic atoms and elements that have come together to give us a physical manifestation are the same stuff that the rest of the universe is made of, just put together differently. When we die, whenever that may be (an it remains a mystery, for we are guaranteed nothing here), those elements and energies will return back to the universe, dispersed until they are called for their next assignment.
We have one life. One shot at that life. Hell, we have one shot at any given moment. Each moment will pass, and when it is gone we will never experience anything exactly like it again.
So, what are we to do? I am not exactly sure. I think taking this next step, journeying out to South Dakota, is part of my way of saying "I don't know - but I am willing to try and find out."
A new acquaintance (and one day hopefully an old friend), might lend some assistance.
I had a thought the other day that I have been mulling over and trying to make sense of - really, trying to understand the weight of it.
We are here on loan.
We have one shot at this life. One chance to live through this one life that we have been given, for we certainly didn't make it happen ourselves. We were born into a certain situation, in a certain time, surrounded by certain people and immersed in a particular reality - all of which we had no say in (to our knowledge at least).
This life is unique. It will never happen again. Nothing we experience will ever happen again in exactly that way. Even the unique vantage point we bring to a situation or experience is uniquely had by us.
The materials that make up our bodies have been circulating the universe for who knows how long. The basic atoms and elements that have come together to give us a physical manifestation are the same stuff that the rest of the universe is made of, just put together differently. When we die, whenever that may be (an it remains a mystery, for we are guaranteed nothing here), those elements and energies will return back to the universe, dispersed until they are called for their next assignment.
We have one life. One shot at that life. Hell, we have one shot at any given moment. Each moment will pass, and when it is gone we will never experience anything exactly like it again.
So, what are we to do? I am not exactly sure. I think taking this next step, journeying out to South Dakota, is part of my way of saying "I don't know - but I am willing to try and find out."
A new acquaintance (and one day hopefully an old friend), might lend some assistance.
The Summer Day
Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Just A Quick Hello
INTRO
My name is Michael Prate, and I am about to embark on an incredible journey. Over the course of the next year, I will serve as a Jesuit Volunteer in the community of St. Francis, South Dakota, located on the Rosebud Indian Reservation. I will be working with the St. Francis Mission, a Catholic, Jesuit run mission who minister to the local Lokota community. In my time there, I will be engaged in meeting a wide variety of needs, including but not limited to - teaching religious education, helping with music ministry in various parishes, working for KINI (the mission radio station), holding the phone for a crisis/suicide hotline, and youth ministry in a youth prison. In other words, everything and anything asked of me, I will do my best to show up willingly and lovingly offer whatever I can.
WHY JVC??
As I entered my senior year at Fordham University, the reality of graduating and moving on out into the world began to sink in - rapidly. I played with many ideas in my head (for those of you who don't know me, understand that "many" means every single possible alternative), including grad school, service work, and roaming the world a penniless vagabond in search of glory and adventure. In JVC, I found a way to bring all of these aspects together - continuing my education (though in a much more hands-in-the-dirt kind of way), using my talents to try and meet some of the vast needs of our world, and continuing to grow out my dreads and experience a culture and people entirely different from the ones whom I have met thus far.
On a more serious note, I have a deep love for life. I am often left speechless, shocked, amazed, and with the wind knocked out of me at the tremendous range of experiences life has to offer us. Unrivalled beauty, unshakeable love, crippling tragedy, unspeakable sadness - the spectrum of life is the spectrum of the possible, which as far as I can tell - is infinite. It is this tremendous love and desire for life and everything that is has to offer that has drawn me to JVC. Throughout my time at Fordham, I have come to appreciate the Jesuit tradition that has so successfully engaged my imagination and heart, pushing me unceasingly towards the magis, "the more." It is this same tradition that has awakened a deep compassion in me for the most marginalized and oppressed peoples of our world. It is those who suffer the most who have a hold on my heart, and I feel drawn to use my talents in service of meeting these people's needs. Jesus himself says that we will encounter him in our service to the neediest of this world. It is in these forgotten and abandoned places and people that I believe I will ultimately encounter God, supreme Life, in ways that I could never imagine. In this way, though I will certainly add much help to a community in need, is the people of the Rosebud who will be doing me a favor, allowing me to imagine a new life and a new world in a vision shaped by that Life.
LINKS
1) St. Francis Mission (check out my future place of employment!)
2) KINI FM (check out the radio station website... maybe you can listen next year... ya might even hear DJ Mikey Mike spinnin some sweet tunage)
3) MY BLOG!!! (stay tuned in for posts from now through the next year, which will include thoughts and reflection that come up through my time on the Rez. This will be a great way to keep up with all that I am experiencing and doing, as well as to walk with me in my process, reflecting and dialoguing on what I experience)
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