Consciousness of the Earth

If we think of ourselves as coming out of the earth, rather than having been
thrown in here from somewhere else,
we see that we are the earth; we are the consciousness of the earth.
These are the eyes of the earth.
And this is the voice of the earth.
--Joseph Campbell

The Appearance of God

God changes appearances every second.
Blessed is the [person] who can recognize him in all his disguises.
One moment he is a glass of fresh water; the next, your son bouncing on your knees,
or an enchanting woman, or perhaps merely a morning walk.
--Nikos Kazantzakis

Finding God

If you don't find God in the next person you meet, it is a waste of time looking for him further.
--Mohandas K. Gandhi

Yes.

"Yes," she says as she places her hand in mine and slightly bends her knee. Shyness lowers her eyes even as brave curiousity pulls her toward me. Greeting finished, she turns and runs away, pulling up her cloth to shield the rain, tugging along a smaller child, or sucking the sweetness of a mango. Glancing back, I catch her eye, am gifted with her smile.
.
"Yes," she said so softly. I wonder if Earth herself is blessing me. Who am I that she should bestow such favour?

Some things might be better said in verse.

Regarding That Which I Struggle To Explain
.
If I tell you they are poor,
I fear you will pity them,
and not see
the beauty and the wisdom
they have to offer.
.
If I only show you what is good and pretty,
I fear you will not realise
just how devastating
and unromantic
poverty truly is.
.
If I mention my struggles and frustrations,
will you think them overwhelming and constant
or me a hero
for simply trying
to love my neighbours?
.
If I say I don't want to leave,
will you fear that it is coming I dislike,
when in truth
my heart aches as deeply for you
as it soon will for them?
.
If I call every person equal and alike,
am I perpetuating injustice
and condoning conformity,
who only wants to promote
respect and mutual learning?
.
If I express disappointment in my country,
while lusting after its ideals,
will you condemn
the criticism
that weeps for all that might be?
.
Sometimes laughter mixes with tears.
Sorrow and joy wander together
the paths of life and of my heart.
Good and bad are petty categories,
lines blurred by reality.
.
So far away, each day you breathe,
and also you must feel at times
tired and excited and annoyed and confident,
loved and frazzled and flamboyant and angry--
or perhaps an inexplicable mix.
.
It's like that for me,
too.

How Long Will It Take?

Between Masaka, Uganda, and Phnom Penh, Cambodia, mail usually takes at least a month.
.
I think it's the same cost as to the US, but I usually send longer (and thus, thicker) letters to Christa, so Geoffrey makes me pay extra postage. He's gotten used to the fact that I have friends all over the world, and he's the one responsible for making sure that y'all always get fun and interesting Ugandan stamps.
.
This week, I thought Christa might like a letter with Rwandan stamps.
.
But, boy oh boy, did I ever confuse the clerk at the Iposita in Kigale city center. 28 grammes meant I had to pay extra, but I was surprised at how much extra. Since I can only say about three words in French (okay, maybe five on a good day), and the clerk didn't know much English, she proved it by showing me the rate chart. But then, the real confusion began. Cambodia? Where is that? I think she thought it was a state in the US... because she wanted me to write "America" below the address. I tried to explain that it was actually near India--so then, she thought I should add "India" to the address. I finally agreed to write "Southeast Asia," but I'm still not sure if she realised that Cambodia is actually a country.
.
Then, using the rate chart that was still sitting on the counter, I pointed out (or tried to, at least) that a 28 gramme letter to Asia should actually be 25 francs cheaper than one to North America. She let me pay the lower price, but ten stamps later (Emily took a photo as proof), it had enough postage to reach the US. I gave up.
.
I wonder how long it will take an orange envelope with ten stamps to meander its way from the "foreign letters" box in downtown Kigali to the MCC office in Phnom Penh? And how many countries will it visit first?
.
Personally, I wouldn't be surprised if it makes a pit stop in Canada.

In case you confuse the "K"s...

...you know you're in Kigali (and not Kampala) when...

1. you see large sections of green grass and colourful flowers between buildings and in round-abouts.
2. you notice city workers watering and caring for such greenery.
3. you learn that walking on the grass is illegal.
4. you learn that jay-walking is also illegal.
5. you notice that these laws are actually being followed and enforced.
6. you find zebra crossings at most intersections downtown.
7. you see more city workers hard at work repainting the zebra stripes.
8. you also spot pedestrian signal lights at some of these intersections.
9. you notice that all vehicles actually stop for pedestrians crossing the road.
10. you get asked for money in three different languages (English, French, and Kinyarwanda) by children wearing shoes, sweaters, and braids.
11. you are almost always walking up or down a large hill.
12. you walk on sidewalks.
13. you can easily distinguish boda drivers by their green vests.
14. you note that bodas will only take one passenger each.
15. you discover that bodas actually carry helmets for their passengers.
16. you see a female boda driver.
17. you notice that vehicles are driving on the right side of the road.
18. you notice that vehicles mostly stay in their own lanes.
    
19. you regularly see traffic lights.
20. you realise that drivers actually stop at, and seem to understand the purpose of, traffic lights.
21. you realise that drivers also seem to know how to properly use round-abouts.
22. you only notice the power go out one evening out of five... and the hostel has a working generator.
    
23. you pay "American prices" for common items.
24. you consistently have difficulty locating an internet cafe.
25. you find wonderful coffee and delicious ice cream at Bourbon Cafe.

untitled.

my eyes are dry, my heart full
of pictures and stories.
my mind cannot quite
comprehend
the utterness
of this desolation.
.
genocide
seems too small a word
to encompass
such great tragedy.
too simple a phrase
to summarise
bloody pangas,
mass graves,
and nameless victims.
.
eight years old,
i never suspected the world capable
of such profound ignoring.
pretending away reality
should be left to children's minds.
.
still no mention in the history books
of my teenage education--
but then,
we also overlooked
armenia,
bosnia-herzegovina,
south african apartheid,
palestinian suffering,
amin's reign of terror,
and our own historic culpability.
.
past and present
seem difficult to reconcile.
even as we honour their memories,
they challenge us
to see
how history repeats itself,
like an old play
rewritten
with modern staging.
.
when will peace prevail
on this fragile earth?