Selene's Blog

Stories of Hope Shine in the Dark

When I understood that the biggest issue for the workshop participants was dealing with despair and hopelessness, their own and their clients’ who are known as “beneficiaries” in the world of non-governmental organizations, I decided to start each day with a story of hope.

The first one came from a story about the “Warriors for Peace,” 2 American Iraq war veterans who travel on their bikes telling their stories.

Following the 3-day introduction, I conducted a one day training that started out in complete chaos. My ride got me there 30 minutes late. I found 12 people sitting behind tables waiting, pen and tablet ready for my instruction. I didn’t expect them and they didn’t want to be there. Taking a deep breath I started with a story of courage that I remember from The Impossible Will Take a Little Time, a book that’s brought me much comfort and inspiration. That story was for me and it helped. I ended up stumbling through a pretty fair training considering the circumstances.”

Many of the folks do get what I’m teaching and this brings me much joy. One said “If we all did this, everything would be resolved.”

I headed off the usual complaints about “this won’t work in our culture” that I’ve heard many places by saying that I come from a very, very violent culture. Heads nodded in assent. And yet, I choose to learn and practice Nonviolent Communication and it works in my life. They understand. We have choice.

My hope and courage, and health, require daily intention and nourishment. My routine which unfortunately starts soon after the first call to prayer, 5am,  includes ginger and lemon tea to help with the colds I’m getting from working at a children’s center, black tea from Ceylon, a quiet time, a time to dance wildly. Some moments to stretch and often to cry. I walk about 5 blocks to work and am there 8:30-5:30. Now that I understand I’m safe on the streets even when it’s dark and I can’t communicate with anyone , I go for a walk after work and buy myself food to prepare.

Food. . . I haven’t enjoyed anything especially tasty except for some sweet concoctions made with pistachios and other mysterious delights. Part of the problem could be that I’ve been making most of my own meals. Same old taste-free stuff I make at home, beets, broccoli, rice, carrots. I use way more tahini now. It’s yummy. And I’ve been eating very good yoghurt too. The hummus is smooth and delicious.

Hope comes from seeing how many people make a huge effort to help the families of Iraqi refugees. There are many projects focused on Iraqi refugees. In the program I’m involved with, there must be a psychological component to qualify refugees to participate. Not too hard to find. . . Individuals, adult and children, can receive personal counseling. In addition, children come for after-school activities aimed at helping in socializing and normalizing the participants’ lives.

I get to work with the folks in that program. We plan curriculum together in the morning, and I watch it being put into action in the afternoon. Then we debrief the next morning. I love working in a team. I so enjoy collaboration, belonging, creativity and fun!

To me, especially not knowing the particular stories. Most of the children seem like any other children. Alive and eager, or moody and withdrawn. Somehow appealing just because they’re children.

Right now I hear the neighborhood boys outside playing in the street. A chorus of a children’s game song sounds almost famliar. Maybe we’re not all strangers to each other after all.

I’ve upped my language learning. Yesterday I actually understood something someone said to me in Arabic, and I knew how to respond! Amazing. I’m definitely at a single word level. Don’t know that I’ll graduate to “says simple phrases” level. I can make most of the sounds. Vowels are easy. I get a lot of the consonants including a few versions of “h.” Gag and non-gag.

So even during these short, dark days, I can find some light. Life is persistent. Humor and curiosity seem key.

From the training in Amman. Needs cards.

I attended the birthday party of my friend, Dolly, with whom I went to grammar school. Fun to reconnect after no contact for 45 years and re-establish a friendship with a woman I love and admire. Life’s sweet gifts.

The invitation was for 8pm. Smug about my understanding of local customs, I arrived at 9. I waited around for another half hour for the hostess to emerge from her bath and for the additional 18 guests to show up.
Dinner of “Asado,” barbecued beef, with bread, wine and salads started at 10:45. Abundance of entertaining conversation on the part of Dolly’s theater, writers etc long-time friends.

I sat next to beautiful Nora, the massage therapist. I’ve enjoyed 3 of her looong, sooooothing and very affordable massages. She uses cherry pit oil. I left the massages relaxed and smelling like a lollipop.

Exercising in the park

Different park

Families enjoy a sunny Saturday

Joy on the merrygoround

Buenos Aires is a home for me. I plan to return both to work and to further the rich friendships I’m enjoying. Feeling some sadness about leaving tomorrow mixed with excited anticipation of the next chapter. Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.

Big disappointment and big rebound. The 3-day mediation training I had expected to offer was cancelled due to lack of sign-ups and excess of misunderstandings. I recovered with much support. Friends here and far away. Massage. Dependable practices. And, that natural impulse to heal.

Ronnie’s brilliant last-minute organizing of 2 one-day trainings helped a lot. In addition to the pleasure of leading them, I received much recognition, validation, affirmation and encouragement.

Here are a few pictures from the trainings.

Deep listening and heartfelt sharings

Mate keeps us going

Manuel, Community Mediator, brought his mother and his girlfriend

Ronnie expresses

Wherever I'm perched, I love doing this

I’ve made deep, strong connections and plans to continue working with several people here and elsewhere!

I was moved when, in one closing circle, a woman spoke of the hope and solace generated by participating in NVC practice with others who hold the same intentions of compassion and honoring everyone’s needs equally.

What gratitude to imagine I’ve helped contribute a drop of compassionate hope into the messy bucket of fear and distrust.

It’s almost cool today. Clouds tease wiling blue skies. Yesterday, after hours of dripping in humid heat, I was dripping in pouring rain. I’ve learned to choose wider sidewalked routes to avoid the exhaustion of a day of dodging pedestrians. Umbrellas turn even those broader sidewalks into a comical game with umbrellas rising, tilting and snagging while feet step over and around puddles.
Smells also guide me towards or away from certain streets. I love the flower vendors, their stalls packed with gardenias, rosebuds, carnations. I also enjoy the bakeries, about 2 per block. I detest the invisible and treacherous pools of dog urine. One corner is odoriferously complex (nothing to do with oxidized perfumes : ) There’s a large car mechanic business. It exudes chemical acidic smells. Immediately adjacent is a typical “parrilla” which is a barbecue restaurant with tables on the sidewalk. The odor is sizzling steak. In addition, water pools in the gutter of that corner and it smells like what it is, sewer.

My internal weather has been varied too. I’m reframing “anxiety” to “charged.” I haven’t been sleeping well and I spend hours in the night and early morning feeling energy in my body, “charged.” This corner where I’ve been staying, is very noisy, and this neighborhood, Palermo Viejo, is alive! at night. I’m sharing it all with many millions of people, cars, dogs. Also plants and birds. Sometimes my system longs for quiet little Ashland and the ease and comfort of the known.

My friend Ronnie and I had coffee with a retired man I met last year who lives in different cities for 2-6 months. The main draw is tango. He also enjoys the challenge of living in a place he doesn’t know and whose language he doesn’t speak. When I saw him in Dec 2008, he was on his way to Istanbul where there’s a hot tango scene and a mix of cultures. He’s back in Buenos Aires for 2 months before traveling to Bangkok for the next stint. He has lived, worked and done family in Oregon too.
“Do you get lonely?” I ask.
“Never. No, never lonely”
He acknowledges with a nod of the head the challenges he welcomes which come mostly from not being able to communicate in the language of the country.

I met a friend of Dolly’s who’s just back from 10 years of living on the road in Brazil. Homeless by choice in the remote areas of Brazil but homed now he’s in the city of his youth and of his family. He’s handy, mostly quiet and very self-contained. He likes being unencumbered.

I’m thankful for the tools I carry with me. I’ve used them to pull myself not so much out of the funks but of the fear that the tension/agitation/charge/tiredness will be a permanent state. I dance my NIA workout in the morning. I sit with reverent gratitude for the Buddhist teachings I’ve learned. I tap my latest tool, EFT, and I carry on.

Hearing back from friends also helps me find myself –a familiar self- again.

Again there’s a stop of all subways, for 24 hours or more. Buenos Aires has about 5 million daily commuters. Many, at least 1,500,000 use the subways. The impact is enormous.

My understanding is that it’s about a conflict between 2 unions. The strike is illegal and the government does nothing to intervene.
But I also hear the current government pays organizers to mount the protest and the protesters get their share. Then the government controls the street and has bought votes.
And someone else says it’s the former vice president who is responsible for the current demonstrations.

The protesters are called “piqueteros” because they picket.

While I’m impressed by the success in organizing such feats as blocking the widest avenue in the world, Avenida 9 de Julio, a major artery in downtown Buenos Aires, I’m also disheartened by the apparent uselessness of such efforts. There are so many road blockages and strikes most people don’t know or care about the who or the why of the demonstration. Nothing seems to ever get resolved. The consequences are also serious. Because a doctor and separately, an ambulance were stuck in the traffic snarl, someone on their way to the hospital died.

It reminds me of the fake wrestling matches on TV. I’ve never understood them. Why bother to do it, to televise it or to watch it?

My life is minimally impacted. I can move around pretty much on my own schedule and do so. I hoard change, like everyone else dependent on bus travel. One can only pay with coins and there’s a lack of coins in the city. I walk a lot.

Last Friday, banks were closed in honor of Cashiers’ Day. ATMs emptied by Sunday. Monday at 11am I stood behind 8 others in a line at an ATM machine. I was #5 in line when the machine ran out of cash. What the?? By Tuesday evening I had not yet found a machine with any substantial amount of cash.

That’s life here. Shoulders shrug, eyebrows raise, y bueno. Just the way it is.

My Intro went well. Close to 30 people, most from a school dedicated to oral deaf education. They work in a what was once a monastery for nuns, built in 1915 and beautifully restored. The school is part of Instituto Oral Modelo. Fantastic program for children, families and for those who want to teach oral deaf education.

I am restored having completed my first presentation in Spanish with ease and tremendous enjoyment. Ready for more!

When my attention wanders. . .

This room was a chapel at one time. Now it’s part of Institute Oral Modelo.