October 29th, 2008
A Mosaic
"She is a curious one, always with a question. For the most part she is confident, but she also has days of self-doubt. She longs, sometimes, for two opposites simultaneously - like the stability of a career, location or constant someone, yet the freedom of movement across continents. She loves languages and generating discussion between groups of people - especially across cultures and belief systems. She is a 'Jill' of many trades and probably a master of none. She's an avid outdoorsy type and interested in holistic healing - with food, massage and in building positive affirming relationships. She sometimes feels she objectifies past experiences. Most people seem to want an abbreviated version of a story and there is a tendency to regurgitate. Plus, she sometimes wonders to what extent people in Morrison County will understand. She loves to create and is hoping to further develop her drawing talents. Her number one goal within the next year is to finish writing her book; learning another language is number two. This is my self-portrait in its best sense. It is the essence of who I am as well as who I hope to become. I pray that I have the patience with myself and others to listen, growing compassion in my heart to love, and a joyful spirit of laughter for meaningful living."
October 30th, 2008
Freedom
"'I want to be free' she said. Then he said, 'What do you mean?' She responded with a whisper, 'to run with the wind, bike across a country, or swim across a sea; to follow a heart's spontaneous desire, or a lifelong dream; to communicate with worldly vernacular or through a common medium - like music; to let go of external expectations, and even stronger internal influence; to defy gravity - in its literal and figurative sense; to greet each morning with gratitude and each evening with even greater thankfulness; to readily forgive - others but more importantly oneself; to see beyond the paradigm; to be self-aware and see the bigger picture; to know that each one of us knows a certain something, and that something may be different from someone else, but, that someone else also holds an understanding, from which we could learn a lot. That is to be free...'"
30 October 2008
08 October 2008
A story sent to me by good friend, Robert Skinner
Gorilla Tracking in Bwindi Impenetrable Rainforest
I still cannot believe that I went to Africa without a pair of pants. I did go shopping before I left, but I was distracted by a camping espresso maker, and forgot all about the pants.
I tried buying some at the Owimo markets in Kampala. But it was not a success. As usual, I forgot to try them on before I bought them, and when I got back to the hostel I almost severed a testicle trying to pull them on. They made me look like a giraffe going through an awkward puberty. They were, in a word, ridiculous. The pants bothered me. How does one get rid of a pair of pants? I had no idea what the etiquette was for this sort of thing. It didn't seem right to throw them away, especially in a place like Africa, where so many people are in desperate need of pants. But they were ludicrous pants and no-one wanted them. I could think of nothing else to do with them, so in the middle of the night, I snuck outside in the cover of darkness, hung them on the clothesline and checked out of the hostel.
After 14 hours on a bus, I reached Bwindi impenetrable rainforest. I was here to track mountain gorillas. This would be, I thought, the highlightof my trip. Possibly even my life. But on the morning of the big day, the people at the hostel told me that there was no way, absolutely no way in hell, that I would be allowed to track wearing shorts.
Frantically, I ran back into my room and went hunting through my bag. There was only one alternative. I don't even remember packing them - I certainly had no use for them - but there they were, wrapped around my beloved espresso maker to protect it during transit. I would have to wear my thermal underwear.
I couldn't believe it. This one grand moment of my life. This intertwining of dreams and ambition. The event that would forever mark my passage through time. And I was going to do it in my underwear.
There was nothing for it. I struck out for the border of the national park. Villagers everywhere stopped what they were doing and stared. I'm not sure what the Rwukiga translation is for: "I think that man is wearing only his underwear"...but the tone is unmistakable.
At the national park the rangers looked me over. "Why is this Muzungu not wearing any pants?" I tried to look proud and defiant, but it is a hard thing to do when you are talking to grown men in your underwear. "These are state of the art trekking trousers" I said indignantly. They laughed a deep African chuckle. "Where are you from?" they asked. "Australia." "Aaah" they said, "We understand."
I still cannot believe that I went to Africa without a pair of pants. I did go shopping before I left, but I was distracted by a camping espresso maker, and forgot all about the pants.
I tried buying some at the Owimo markets in Kampala. But it was not a success. As usual, I forgot to try them on before I bought them, and when I got back to the hostel I almost severed a testicle trying to pull them on. They made me look like a giraffe going through an awkward puberty. They were, in a word, ridiculous. The pants bothered me. How does one get rid of a pair of pants? I had no idea what the etiquette was for this sort of thing. It didn't seem right to throw them away, especially in a place like Africa, where so many people are in desperate need of pants. But they were ludicrous pants and no-one wanted them. I could think of nothing else to do with them, so in the middle of the night, I snuck outside in the cover of darkness, hung them on the clothesline and checked out of the hostel.
After 14 hours on a bus, I reached Bwindi impenetrable rainforest. I was here to track mountain gorillas. This would be, I thought, the highlightof my trip. Possibly even my life. But on the morning of the big day, the people at the hostel told me that there was no way, absolutely no way in hell, that I would be allowed to track wearing shorts.
Frantically, I ran back into my room and went hunting through my bag. There was only one alternative. I don't even remember packing them - I certainly had no use for them - but there they were, wrapped around my beloved espresso maker to protect it during transit. I would have to wear my thermal underwear.
I couldn't believe it. This one grand moment of my life. This intertwining of dreams and ambition. The event that would forever mark my passage through time. And I was going to do it in my underwear.
There was nothing for it. I struck out for the border of the national park. Villagers everywhere stopped what they were doing and stared. I'm not sure what the Rwukiga translation is for: "I think that man is wearing only his underwear"...but the tone is unmistakable.
At the national park the rangers looked me over. "Why is this Muzungu not wearing any pants?" I tried to look proud and defiant, but it is a hard thing to do when you are talking to grown men in your underwear. "These are state of the art trekking trousers" I said indignantly. They laughed a deep African chuckle. "Where are you from?" they asked. "Australia." "Aaah" they said, "We understand."
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