3am

it’s unbelievably dark outside. thick black. empty black. the only thing illuminating the space between myself and the world is the infinite spray of stars. cuddled in my womb I know that I need to rise. people, like ghosts, move about. voices spilling from the small dented wooden church. firecrackers pierce the silence. poppapoppoppopPOPcrackslampapop—BOOM! Noisey and colorful and alive.

i finally get it. got it. understand. how people can work their backs and blood and bones. bent and brutal but not broken. something from the earth, the land, the green breath of the jungle. something from the sun and rivers and space. it's all about G-O-D. it moves them. it sustains them. IT is poco a poco.

The roosters aren’t even cockadoodledooing yet. Tortillas haven’t been made. Machetes lie untouched. Kids and dogs and parents and balloons and streamers and candles fill the tiny dilapidated church. All wiggling and moving and singing and full of joy. .........It’s 3am.

-maria

...........a friend said

"Great to see you both so excited! The blogs were a great read.

Makes me wish i was there. There is something magical about the agrarian lifestyle, one is so connected to the earth. To the cycles of light and dark, the changing seasons, the living things. Is it the living things? I am surrounded by dead things: painted walls, carpet, curtains, electronics, not a living thing in sight except me. Kind of a lonely existence isn't it to be so separated from life? My feet barely touch the ground through my thick boots and socks as I move quickly from my home shell to my mobile one so I can get to the work shell. We work so hard to block the living world out. And then there's folks like your campesino's embracing life with every step. Aware of and celebrating the rhythms of life with every breath."

Christine! we miss you.

alive. .....And kicking

……..let me tell you. I can scream it. Everyone! I can breath. I can relax.........in Guatemala. in all it’s decaying splendor. it may be dirty and hungry and falling apart. but damn it…….it’s alive. and still kicking. ……………….and you know what. So am I.

after one week of Spanish in the city and one week of filming on the finca we are……....i don’t know what to say………...blessed? seriously. I don’t know what it is but the power is there. everything moved. everything found its path. the community is on fire. spiritually………that is. don’t get me wrong…….they are screwed up……but there is really something to learn from people that are buried this deep and still you can see that fire in the soul.

They are here. Alive. Brisk. Smiling. Pensive. Picking coffee. I no longer ask myself if they will succeed. For me there is no question…….success? ....failure? what does it mean. They aren’t subject to our laws of success and failure. They live by the the law of poco a poco. And there they work and rest and eat and have children. And when you are subject to the laws of poco a poco you know that even the impossible............is possible.

So where does that leave me? Us? All of us? That country? My union? Our heart? I don’t know……….but I defiantly prefer the laws of poco a poco...........and full moons and dragon flies and the number nine.

-mary

A Dawn and a Day

I'm enchanted by the mornings here. As the first semblence of light kisses the distant hilltops I can't help but to feel refreshed. Dawn creeps slowly, awakening the crow-like black birds whose song I've dearly missed. If any one sound can so graciously transport me back to Guate and Mexico it is these charming melodies.

Smoke rising from every delapitated house casts a blue haze on all that I gaze and ponder. It’s chilly this morning or, “there’s lot’s of cold,” as it is described here. These “lot’s of cold” mornings seem to be a portent for “lot’s of hot” come mid-day.

We picked coffee yesterday for the first time this year. It wasn’t long before I was reminded of how bloody hard the work is around here…and picking coffee is the easiest of it all. I was reminded how intense the sun can be—even with winter solstice just three weeks away.
Yet with all the ever-present obstacles to comfort, yesterday in the day in the life a campesino, was smiles and laughter, pride and euphoria, relief and a genuine sense of satisfaction. For yesterday, 29 of November, the life blood of La Florida came lumbering in on the backs of women, children, and men like it had never come before. This day amid the peak of their third coffee harvest, after hours of hot and humid work, brought a high…and unspoken elation that I had never witnessed in them. It was as if their long race of marathon, after marathon, after triathlon had finally come to an end…Yet today, as I’m all too aware, they’ve begun again to harvest the life blood in the hope that this day, like yesterday, will lift them…if only a little…from dirt floors, crumbling walls and rusty roof-tops.
--ryan

To Return

To return is to test oneself. To return is to face the mind's trickery. For our memories are forever changing with each passing day, with each passing experience, with each passing moment, with each passing encounter. To return is to be burdened with the baggage of one's past encounters...the expectations we both consciously and unconsciously cultivate in those that we meet and share time and experiences with. For those that we encounter on a personal level forever linger to both cradle and hinder us. To return is to confirm...to express to one's self, and to others, that magic has indeed transpired...and that this magic indeed needs revisiting.

--ryan