Fronteras / Borders

Hemos creado líneas imaginarias para decir "Yo soy de aquí" o "Yo soy de allá" y no nos damos cuenta que toda tierra es una extensión de sí misma.

We have created imaginary lines to say "I belong here" or "I'm from there" and we fail to realize that all land is an extension of itself.

Connection

"Come, greet me", I said.
and the ocean gently kissed my feet.

Tears at the Border

A border patrol agent walked away from the crowd. He then removed his sunglasses and wiped his tears away. He smile gently as he walked past me. I don't know if he recognized me as probably the only witness to that moment of vulnerability. I smiled back at him and with a bitter-sweet taste in my mouth said "Thanks".

The emergency door at the border fence with Mexico was opened on April 30th for roughly 20 minutes and a few selected families were allowed to reunite briefly with their loved ones on the other side of the border. Three minutes each family got, three infamous minutes that probably tasted like glory to them. Three minutes to embrace their beloveds, to meet new grandchildren, to feel their aging parents close once again. This is the 3rd year that this has happened as a way to commemorate Mexico's Day of the Child. However, separated families cannot place their hopes on an annual lottery that promises them three minutes of time together. Plus, this is not available to everyone. The families on the US side must have some form of legal status (work permit, DACA, etc) but be unable to leave the country. The Border Patrol runs a background check on the families that will meet. This requirement leaves out many families who can't even come near the border without risking deportation.

I had mixed feelings about the event. I was happy for the families who were given the opportunity to reunite. They were both hurting and rejoicing. Their humanity was at the center of the event. But I was also upset at the way in which their lives were placed at the center for the benefit of others. Those whose pictures will be used to show their willingness to show compassion and be humane: the politicians, the institutions, the Press.

The immigration issue is a complex one with great arguments on both sides. What bothers me the most is that most people think of it precisely in a polarized way: open borders vs closed borders, humane immigration reform vs enforced immigration laws. In the current political discourse we are told to choose sides and we have failed to imagine alternatives to our way of being that would allow us to value people more than regulations. As long as we continue to seek solutions within our current systems, the systems that have created the problem to begin with, we will find ourselves in the same conundrum over and over again.

Some have labeled Border Field Park or Friendship park as the saddest place in America. Yesterday, as we witnessed families gathered one by one, we could not stop the tears from flowing hence paying homage to that unofficial label.
I must add, there was some beauty in being able to see the sky on the other side through the opened door. It evoked a vision of lands, oceans and skies not divided by arbitrary borders.

Contemplación

Escuché al mar susurrándome "No te preocupes mi niña. Ven, descansa en mí. Ven, descansa en mí"

I heard the ocean whisper "Worry not my child. Come, rest in me. Come, rest in me."

Déjà vu

Ya lo he sentido antes:
un llamado, una añoranza, un grito silencioso
que me busca, me clama, me inunda el pecho;
un llamado de vuelta a casa.

I've felt this before:
a call, a longing, a silent scream
looking for me, calling me, filling up my chest;
calling me back home.

Vivir atenta

Yo llegué a una clase de "mindfulness" o atención plena, como muchos, en busca de ayuda para controlar mi ansiedad. El curso duró seis semanas solamente pero solo fue el principio de una travesía, de un viaje interior al crecimiento y la transformación.

Al principio colocaba calcomanías en diferentes lugares de la casa y del auto con el fin de que cada que las viera, me recordaran pausar un poco y respirar.

Hace ya un año, en una clase me pidieron que caminara por mi vecindario y que prestara atención a las muchas formas en las que la belleza se manifestaba en lo ordinario. Una caminata de belleza o "beauty walk". Y así fue, caminando alrededor de mi vecindario me percaté de los ladridos de los perros, de las familias sentadas en sus patios juntas, de arte callejero, de naturaleza terca que no se deja vencer ante la presencia del cemento, de padres e hijos jugando en el parque. Fue como ver mi vencindario, de cinco años, por primera vez. Sentí un renacido sentido de reverencia por el lugar que las personas llaman casa, reverencia por los espacios que habitamos.

Hoy en día ya no necesito calcomanías, momentos de atención plena me ocurren todo el tiempo: cuando manejo y me siento cautivada por el paisaje, cuando camino y una pequeñísima flor salvaje me hace voltear hacia ella, cuando voy de compras y el bebé de quienes esperan al frente de mí me sonríe, cuando la niña del auto de enfrente me saluda, cuando veo a seres humanos cuidándose, queriéndose y preocupándose unos por otros. Ocurren en todo momento. Estos momentos aparecen como una manifestación de mi alma, siento un pequeño golpe en el pecho y las pupilas dilatadas. Por segundos me siento completamente presente, con el corazón engrandecido, con un sentido de conexión con el Misterio de la vida, sintiéndome plena y en perfecta compañía con el mundo. Finita e infinita a la vez,


                       

Vivir atenta, cautivada por la belleza de este mundo, de mis relaciones interpersonales. Vivir atenta sin vivir enajenada; tratando de reconciliar la belleza de esta vida, de este universo con el sufrimiento que los seres humanos somos capaces de crear.

Vivir atenta, sintiendo a mi alma manifestarse, sintiendo más siempre y reconociendo que es este vivir atenta lo que ha enriquecido y engrandecido esta experiencia temporal de mi ser.

Borrowing Words

Let me borrow words from your mother tongue:

foreign, hard-to-pronounce, tongue-twisting words,

awkward-moment words when mispronounced

like sheet and beach.

But let me borrow them in writing

where my accent won’t change them

nor distract you from their meaning.

And you’ll read “Land” when I write Tierra

and think of northern sunsets and droughts

while I think of rainy Summers

and chocolate caliente with pan dulce.

I’ll share my rage and anger at injustice,

and we’ll exchange opinions and understand each other.

I’ll use them to write instructions and an occasional sermon,

and to greet you in the morning and become your friend.

I’ll borrow some words to speak of Mystery,

Of that beyond my understanding.

And I’ll call it Spirit or Life or even Dios,

to lift up a prayer for you, for me, for the world

Let me borrow your words for they’re not mine,

They stumble in my tongue and take longer to come.

Every now and then “How do you say...??, how do you say..?”

I pause and ask myself.

Oh words, how they elude me sometimes!

They leave quickly because they know, because they know

they don’t belong to me.

But I must not borrow your words to speak of love

For that sentiment exists in me only in my language,

And love can never fully be amor

And “I love you” falls always short of “Te amo”.