BootsnAll Travel Network



Archive for the 'Texas' Category

« Home

Meeting Paula again

Monday, October 16th, 2006

When I was in Portugal in July, in what seems now like a former life, I stumbled onto a not-yet-opened exhibit of photographs by a woman named Paula, with testimonies of women who, like herself, had been political prisoners in Argentina. I wrote about our meeting with great joy, because in the midst of my pilgrimage, meeting Paula was in some ways like walking through a mirror. Not that I mean to flatter myself. She she is younger than I by more than a decade, beautiful, brilliant, confident, successful in her art and in her life. None of that mirrors anything to do with me. But we hum to a similar frequency, and she shows me facets of myself I couldn’t see clearly till I met her and saw her work. Her pictures of walls, stairways, grills, barriers, stains, pipes, and rags explore a prisoner’s landscape. Her pictures are landscapes of trauma and violence, landscapes of survival, walls we build to protect ourselves, walls that, once constructed, are difficult to take down. I spent Sunday afternoon with Paula again, as she has come to Houston in connection with the next Fotofest, scheduled for March, 2008, by which time I will have gone on to whatever comes next in my life. [read on]

Prisoners and the shape of freedom.

Wednesday, September 27th, 2006

For three years now, John and I have been facilitating a writing workshop at a men’s prison, a medical unit in Richmond, TX. Actually, I took a semester off to work on “deep practice” with a Zen teacher and discovered that my spiritual practice in working with prisoners was “deeper” (if such can be measured and compared) than my work at the Zen center; I returned to the workshop and left the Zen center. So the truth is that John has been doing this in Richmond for three years, and I’ve been doing this particular workshop for two and a half. I have been voluntarily walking into prisons for a long time. I started as a creative writing workshop leader in 1972. Working with prisoners is a calling for me. Last night, John and I “auditioned” six applicants for the two places in the writing workshop vacated when two prisoners were released last semester. [read on]

Intelligence reports and a whiff of Africa.

Monday, September 25th, 2006

Glorious weather in south Texas, and wonderful news abroad in the world. At last our sneering President’s own intelligence (I hesitate to use both words in the same sentence) agencies have reported what the Buddha said: VIOLENCE BEGETS VIOLENCE. Violencia faz violencia. It was never enough for our media-numbed populace that thousands of Americans and hundreds of thousands of Iraqis were dying bloody deaths from high-tech killing machinery; but at last we have word from a “conservative” source that the war has made life less safe for Americans. If that can just get people’s attention, maybe the movement for peace, or at least for a change in government, can take hold. So I hope. And as I was beaming in the gentler heat and grinning at the news, I stumbled over a book about southern Africa that is so achingly well-written it takes my breath away: Scribbling the Cat, by Alexandra Fuller. [read on]

Beginning again.

Sunday, September 24th, 2006

OK. Now I see. All my blog-entries between August 17 and September 22 were lost in cyberspace when WordPress had a server crash. Blogs, like meditation, may begin with good intentions, drift away, wander, get lost, and begin again. I begin again today, with a new blog-look and a fresh intention. No more illusion that cyberspace is a safe place to store things. Great lesson for a Buddhist. Everything is impermanent. [read on]

Birth, death, and the inbetween

Sunday, September 24th, 2006

This week was Seth’s birthday! Happy birthday, Seth! He’s thirty-three. Wonderful number, wonderful age. He was an enormous fat Buddha of a baby, nearly ten pounds at birth, who came to light in New Orleans with an air of wisdom and wonder. He didn’t cry when he was born. I did LaMaze, so he wasn’t drugged, and the doctor didn’t slap him on the bottom because he was so large and well-developed at birth, he just took a big breath, opened his eyes wide, and was fully present before the cord was even cut. His mouth made a perfect O, and he gasped and waved his arms in the air as if to say, “Oh, wow! Lights! Colors! Action! Look at this!” [read on]