Poetry

Sometimes I'm so overtaken by emotion that I don't want to write about it, but I have to get it out. I have some short poems I've written...but I'll share this one now, because it reflects how I've felt the second I got off the airplane...I just didn't know why. I know now. As a Southerner, I know well the whole "If you don't like it, leave" mentality.

Believe me, I'm working on it.

Hate treads silently

Creeping along the ground and wafting through the air

Admiring strands of passerby quietly offer nourishment to ensure safe passage

It seeps in and covers the surface, eventually

Soiling your feet with its filth and stench

You wash your feet with water, but it comes from the angry, soaked ground

Your hands are dripping with the residue of its sickness

You try soap, but the towels and the air are infused with conformity, shame and malice

Eventually you understand

In this place, hate is the Way, the Truth and the Darkness

Vengeance is the answer

And revenge is the only thing that’s truly sweet.

I want to live in the Light.

Vengeance is NOT Mine...thank goodness...

When I share a certain and personal concern of mine with my mother, she often laughs and jokes about her aunt, a preacher’s wife, who reportedly pleaded in her daily prayers “Lord, and please don’t let me be mean today”.

That used to rub me the wrong way because I believed that once you’re aware of a behavioral issue, you can (and should!) change it. If you know you’re mean, just stop being mean for goodness sakes! What I know now that I didn’t know then is that she WAS changing it…and she knew that she couldn’t do it alone. I regularly beg God for the same…and one night when I realized it, I thought of my great-aunt and my Mother’s laughter.

Dear God, please help me be nice and kind and PLEASE don’t let me be mean to anybody!

My prayerful request is a little more expressive, a little more of a soulful cry for help, and it is never relegated only to my nightly prayers, but whispered with sincere reverence throughout the day.

Here I must confess that I have a terrible temper. I believe it’s genetic and I have it pure and true from both sides of my family. It is, for me, a huge accomplishment that I can keep my temper in check…even when I lose it, it’s still of a much lesser intensity than I actually feel…and I believe that’s progress. I don’t scream, throw things or destroy everything I can get my hands on…and I now believe that I don’t even believe in the death penalty anymore…oh, I’m one conflicted human being!

There are two main reasons I want to control my temper. Number 1, I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of unabated rage. I never want to hurt anybody – especially someone I love and care for. Secondly, I believe that not being in control of yourself represents the lowest and most base form of humanity…so I fear that my second reason stems more from a sense of classicism and ego than purity of heart; we don’t behave like that. We don’t do that. Educated people don’t act like that. Christian people don’t do that. Only rednecks act that way.(sounds pretty judgmental as I proofread and make final edits...) Take the high road… the voice in my head is clear. I am not permitted to behave in ways that may be consistent with the way I feel, especially as related to anger or anything of a “base” nature, regardless of my sense of self-righteous indignation, justifiable anger or witness of systematic abuses. I have to control myself. And most of the time, I do.

It’s a constant struggle and I always fight with myself (not fighting with others, just against myself with the same amount of vitriol…is that OK? Anyway – I digress) and what always happens is that I get even madder.

Why is it that some people can act in any way they please; spew hate, judgment, vengeance, etc., and they seem to not only be permitted that freedom, but they are often supported and encouraged? Why do I have to be better? Am I not human? May I not unleash the fury of my own anger and indignation without suffering the consequences as so many other people are allowed? (...you're not everybody else...)

All I can do is use my voice in the most controlled manner possible to share the way I feel. I can write. I can share. I can try to empower, love and uplift others. All I can do is to control what I can control…and the only thing that fits that criterion is me.

The most important thing? The thing that gives me hope, strength and peace?

“Dear Lord, please help me be good and nice and dear Lord PLEASE don’t let me be mean. I really want to be good. Please help me. I want to follow you. I ask this in Jesus name, Amen.”

Beautiful Disaster?

I've heard a lot about Disaster Tourism since I've been here in Indonesia. I'm aware of some of the reasons that it exists, but surely there are more; compensating for lost business, opportunistically capitalizing on something that will surely turn a profit, and increasing awareness of the damage to expedite assistance.

My first understanding of such took place near the city of Yogyakarta where I currently live. Mount Merapi, a powerful and active volcano that keeps watch over the city, had violently erupted in October of 2010; mere months prior to my arrival in January of 2011.

There remains a huge swath of deforested mountainside through which the hot lava and ash flooded the areas below. Rivers were choked with volcanic ash and houses, businesses, and everything else was covered with ash that took months to remove (if the structure was still there and such was even possible). The damage was severe and the effects of the eruption are still very visible. At the time of the eruption (and maybe even now), people who lived in the area charged people to come in for a closer look at the destruction. I never partook in that kind of outing for I could see enough.  The eruption of Merapi was a natural disaster and the business of Mother Nature...

Speaking of business, here's the "disaster tourism" site in Eastern Java near the city of Surabaya that I accidentally did visit. I don't regret it. A dear and much loved girl wanted us to take her with a friend to the "mud flats" so of course, we went.

I'm accustomed to taking pretty pictures (patting self on back). I realized I was doing this at this humongous mud plain...and then we started talking about it.

Taken from the elevated, gravel roadside of the site

Even though I had seen it from the actual road more than a year ago and had therefore known about it that long, I didn't know 3 things. One, that the accident happened 7 years ago (!) Two, that it's an industrial accident resulting from a failed attempt to move the mud by-product from drilling (I believe for oil, but not 100% sure). And finally, that the people most affected, those who actually lost their homes, businesses, and sense of place, have yet to receive any compensation from the company (!) The company maintains that their machinery malfunctioned due to an earthquake that happened about 5 hours away....who knows, but anyway. It's a serious disaster. Luckily the mud flowed slowly and all of the community members were able to move to safety, but houses, businesses and PLACE was covered by mud...currently higher than the rooftops of the houses underneath by more than 12 meters....

The road around the site was clumped with people from the community looking to capitalize on the disaster. For me, and in a serious way, this is a much more troubling situation than the volcano. We know what caused this problem and that it was not natural. We know how long it's been a problem. We know who has received compensation and who has not. We also know that the owner of the company is now running for president (!)

Anything more on my part would be an assumption, but assuming things is not as taboo here as it is in the US. Even so, I'm not there yet. But I can imagine.

I decided a long time ago that in many, if not most, countries that are either listed as developing or were once listed as such, there are two things that are striking. One is that most are former colonies and two, they are not poor countries. The distribution of wealth is just skewed. Big time. Believe me. When I was in Brazil in 1985, I saw wealth. I see it here, too. But what I saw and continue to see more is non-wealth. Injustice. Systematic oppression and institutionalized efforts to minimize empowerment, specifically towards students, employees, and those deemed to be of the "underclass".  I don't associate social justice with the former political systems of Eastern Europe. I associate it with democracy. Full access to opportunity. Accountability. And a governmental commitment to the general welfare.

This is one disaster tourism site that I shouldn't even have to mention. It shouldn't exist. But it does. And it has for seven years. The mud is still flowing. Steadily. Slowly. You can see the oil floating on top of the water in the fresh channels. You can feel the spongy, oil-saturated soil as you tread the settled mud. You can smell the oil in the air.

Can you imagine the water quality in the area? Do you know what happens when one mud producing area is plugged? Flammable gases pop up in random, unexpected areas. Can you imagine the possible health risks of all this "natural looking" industrial discharge? I can. And I'm sure the people who are still fighting for some kind of justice do a lot more than just imagine.

Had I stood here 7 years ago, I'd be level with the road. (and there'd probably be more activity on both sides of the street)

Chips freshly plucked from a drier spot serve as tiles for safe passage across the unstable ground