Altered.

...and out from my fumbling fingers slips the unfilled jar I've been holding onto all my life. Crashing open, it releases all I've ever known onto the dirty floor, mixing with salt and blades of grass and yesterday's rice. I want more than anything to sweep it up with my shaking arms, but I know that I can never separate out the dirt or put it all back into my shattered jar. For as fire forever alters what's been burned, so changed are all my realities when faced with the idea of You.

Fields

She walks through Earth's whiskers along a clumsy path as if she's wandering. Almost drifting, she browses the trees, swaying conveniently with the wind. The tall rough grasses bow out of her way, and she thanks them with her light step.

Everyday I see her there. She maintains her route as if her footsteps create the refrain to her favorite song. As she stops to watch the far off road, the wind carries the song to her lover. And after a few moments, the gentle smile on her face reveals he's sent one back. Though I often try, I cannot hear what it is she hears.

(from January 1, 2009)

?

(A story from 2006. Not sure what to think of it now...what does it mean?)

Little did he know, he left the light on in the kitchen. He thought he had flicked it off this morning...but he didn't. I guess it was ok.

"Be sure to turn the light off in the kitchen," she had said. She was a reasonable woman with few requests. But she had a thing about turning off the kitchen light when they left the room. It was ok to leave the bedroom light on for the evening if they were watching tv in the den or even to leave the bathroom light on as a nightlight. But just turn the light off in the kitchen.

He came home to an empty house. She wouldn't know...so he thought. He turned off the light, his breathing pausing slightly. He didn't mean to forget this morning....it just happened. Just like the day happened.

"By the way," she said, "did you take out the trash today?"

"Yes," he said, with a glance her way.

"Ok," she sighed.

She had forgotten his dry cleaning. He reminded her about it this morning. I guess she just forgot. He didn't bring it up so neither did she.

They played a game of checkers while sipping wine. They always listened to Johnny Cash when they played checkers. Sometimes he let her win, and sometimes she let him win.

She knew about the light, and he knew about the dry cleaning.

They kissed goodnight.

In the morning, she flicked the kitchen light off before she left, and he left early to pick up his dry cleaning.

Little did they know.

Hidden Treasure

In between the green trees and dark mountains of Guatemala lie los pueblos de oro, no, rather, the sparkling diamonds of a beautiful life. What seems at a glance to be concrete and rusted tin and poverty and danger turns out to be the hidden jewels of a simple but rich life. Even largely unrealized to the inhabitants, these treasure chests carry a value more important than money and glamour and luxury. Though few come searching, the rare that mine these fields find a part of the very soul of the earth. And dwelling in eternity, as souls do, the treasure waits to be discovered and rediscovered by any who choose to hunt a different kind of diamond.

This was my journal entry written as we we're riding on the bus out of Xela. At the end of the trip, it struck me that more than one person told me to tell others about Guatemala. Tell them you had a good time, tell them it's beautiful, tell them it's not so dangerous, they'd say. While all those things are true, I found it so interesting that they wanted so badly for people to know the truth about Guatemala, versus the overload of negative ideas out there about the developing country.

Returning from Guatemala has been an exhausting process, but leaving this time was much different from leaving last year. At the end of my trip last year, I was excited to come home and see family and friends again, but something felt wrong about leaving Xela. The trip back this year opened up the wound a bit at first. However, it seemed to have healed in two weeks. Leaving this time felt right, like I had a chance to say goodbye properly knowing my home is not in Guatemala, though I'll always love it there.

¨The one you love is 70% water...¨

Rewind a week:

Friday: school dinner, guitar serenades and dancing in the closet sized King and Queen bar...accidentaly bought a beer with hot sauce in it. wasn´t a fan. they replaced it with a strawberry drink and the waiter said he´d drink the beer. welcome to guatemala.

Saturday: climbed mount Baul. picnic-ed together as a school and watched a big slide ease the cares of the world. climbed down -off the path- and picked up some bug bites. welcome to guatemala.

Sunday: sleep!

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday: sick-os. doctor visit, pharmacy, bed, rest. oh, and RAIN!!! welcome to guatemala.

Thursday: hot springs....rode through the clouds up to a place close to heaven. definitely was a fan. ahhh yes....guatemala.

It hasn´t been a cush vacation, but as always life in guatemala is good.

As for the last few days? not sure...probably more rain, hopefully no more sickness, and definitely more fun!

Crowded streets and Latin Beats

Even though I feel as in a fog as I´m recovering from a sudden onset of the Traveler´s sickness (look at me--I´m so PC!), my experiences so far in Xela have been just what I imagined.

It´s a great thing to return to a place you know. Coming to town, I knew how to get to our hostel, how to direct other travelers to their destinations, where would be the best place to find licuados, and how to find the other salsa club when the first one gets boring. I like knowing Xela, for the most part, and that she welcomes me with her scents and crowded sidewalks and familiar street corners and Xelapan and cars thumping Bachata...

It has been difficult to return and not expect everything to be the same as I left it. I walk into the cafe or the coffeehouse and I expect to see people from last year there. I look for the familiar faces on the street. And I miss the routine I had when here. That said, though, I also love that this is different. I´m with great friends now, we´re at a new school which so far has been great, we´re staying in a new place, so I get to see now a new face to Xela.

I am fully here, and what a great experience so far, despite the extremely premature sickness. However, when you travel or take an adventure with friends, there are the possibilities of a theme song arising. This is not something you can direct; it just falls into place. What, to our regret, seems to be coming up as that so far is that song by Doughtry ¨I´m coming home¨ or whatever...it´s so cheesy and I don´t want to remember this trip by that song, but there´s a sense of humor there. While I feel a little as íf I´m coming home to Xela, I also know that going home to Aberdeen will perhaps feel a little more like the place where I belong.

Sidenote: I just realized that what I thought were typed as apostrophes are actually tildes. I had a lesson on tildes today and my teacher --an elderly man named Nery-- drew a large version of a tilde for me. Not sure why...but I think that´s pretty cool.

Words inspire me.

I discovered today that I want so badly to inspire and be inspired. This inspired me tonight: (from a poem by Hafiz)

Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,

Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and

Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,

He would just drag you around the room

By your hair,

Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world

That bring you no joy.

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly

And wants to rip to shreds

All your erroneous notions of truth

That make you fight within yourself, dear one,

And with others,

Causing the world to weep

On too many fine days.