For What We Must Answer

The sacred cows of India have been imported here for meat. Does anyone but me find this odd and awful?

Bananas: Why I Hate Chiquita

I feel as if I'm living in "Hitlerville." The trains run at night. I hear their clanking and their whistles. The trucks run night and day and especially throughout the night. I can hear the containers being loaded and unloaded at the dock. The whistles blow from the dock as if we are really a company town; the "Company" moved out of here a few years ago and left folks TOTALLY without work. When I was here in 01, I hated the "Company" because of atrocious working conditions; sucky benefits; horrendous hours; chemicals and pesticides with exposure to the "disposables"--mostly First Peoples who do the very basic work. All this moving of bananas from the community just north of us (where the company has moved its headquarters, complete with luxurious houses and a GOLF COURSE--membership is more exclusive than any country club!) has a really evil feel--perhaps it's that so much of this happens at night, under cover of darkness. One night we happened to be outside and there was this really creepy black train that looked and smelled evil. I've not seen it since and no one talks about it. No one knows what it carries. Workers process bananas without gloves or masks. If one attempts to talk with the workers, the supervisor will send you away--with a guard carrying a serious machine gun--pointed at you--locked and loaded, too!! The supervisors will not talk to you either. No one will identify the chemicals and pesticides that have poisoned our water, air, soil. Crop dusters fly the deadly agents overhead. Our community has a great number of folks with schizophrenia-like behavior and illnesses. Bananas are not indigenous to here. They were brought by another "Company" back in the late 1800's. And the history is a complex one for the folks here. My first look at a banana plantation brought tears to my eyes and I saw red...as far as you can see, there are banana plants/trees wearing blue plastic bags around the bananas--they look not unlike huge, used, blue, condoms dripping from the trees like some fiendish decoration. These bananas destroyed acres and hectares upon acres and hectares of rainforest and jungle. Union is not a nice word here. Remember when you eat a non-organic banana, that it is fertilised by the blood of workers, trying to make a better life for themselves by asking for a union, killed and disappeared into the fields, as a sign to others. Disposable people working 12 to 16 hours a day for several dollars a day, with no health care, and no concern for safety. I'm from the US South and I know a plantation when I see one; I know the evils of plantation life and they are here. The "Company" IS a plantation; its worst fruit is the weird dependency and helplessness of a company, of "Massa" doing "good" for the slave, the poor black man, the poorer brown man. When our first power bill came, it was to "The Company"--Chiquita. I screamed! This is the "Company" who cuts off the power and water to at least two villages and towns--sometimes four hours a day; sometimes for DAYS. One pays as if the power was on all the time. People don't need potable water; children don't need lights for school and study because we gotta get those bananas loaded on those ships to send to Europe...for that's where our bananas go.... As we search for donations for alternative sources of energy; as we all save for a generator for the parish; as we search for ideas for the creation of cottage industries; as we try to educate our children--the power runs for bananas. The "machine shop" and the "power plant" are about half a block from our home. It is as montrous as the Black Train. It looks like The Borg. One rarely sees a human being and usually those humans are uniformed and armed with those ever-present machine guns. The gates are locked and bolted and no one is allowed in, even to see. There is a section of the plant that strikes terror somewhere deep within me. I know I have a vivid imagination; I also know I am an empath and I feel and hear within my body the screams of workers tortured in this place. Really, it looks more terrifying than any image of a concentration camp I've ever seen. It is dark; everything is rusting metal; there is constant rumbling, clanging, echoes, and reverberations--and no people. Cats don't go there; neither do dogs; and only vultures perch on the top of the building. It's perfect for the horror movie that is real life here. Today we had a community meeting to talk about the situation of power, water, work, etc. We were met by uniformed and suited government officials; we were met by militia types, guards, and police all puffed up with their angry dangerous macho'd fingers slipping with sweat on their triggers. I say the meetings have to go underground, into the churches, into homes like in the US during the Civil Rights years. Who will speak for these people? Who will help? Who will put the word out? Who will start the boycott? Because I'm ready to begin daily prayer vigils outside every Chiquita building and production site I can find--and there are many. The Padre says nothing to my suggestion but I know he is worried and concerned and that he is praying and planning. We need Jesuits, Franciscans, Pace e Bene, Greenpeace, and anybody else who can stop this violence. People here want to work. They want decent lives for their children--education, health care, clean air/water/soil, food. This is not the US of endless consumption. This is beyond any Union activity I've ever been involved--The evils of the Marriott look almost decent in comparison. Perhaps it is so ominous and overwhelming because one sees the land here; one sees the water; the soil; breathes the air. One sees the deforestation for even more bananas, growing for The Company and growing a mold that requires more and more toxins. Tyson, the nuclear weapons industries, and the military are equivalent evils. I dream of the Black Train; I have nightmares where I hear the voices from the field crying out. I hear children crying from hunger. I see this community in black and white and gray. It IS a concentration camp.

Children at the Table

Last night, we had a great number of youth, children, and babies at St George's. Kenny, stricken with kidney stones--I guess he is that pissed off--would not address my request to invite youth to come celebrate. So I the vicar's wife--meek and mild, ever cooking, even cleaning, ever dutiful in caring for my spouse the priest (NOT!!!), got a little girl about five or six and invited her to the Table when the women tell me I am to go "help" KRK and be the deacon or something (tra la)....So I put my arms around hers and she did ALL the gestures with KRK and she helped me with the chalice. She returned to her seat and began to weep. I got dirty looks from Padre, but when I talked to her mom and her auntee and her sisters, she was crying because of the "Holy Things" she'd been doing...she got it and was overwhelmed! Her mother comes from a long line of Anglicans/Episcopalians and she, in tears, said, "I've never seen anyone do that." I told her of our experiences in two parishes where children were often or ALWAYS present at the Eucharistic Prayers. So I plan to continue this... LO! and behold, I discovered when she and I and her mother were going to extinguish candles, that she is the neice of one of my most favorite parishioners, one of those mighty Smiths who can perform miracles with two Panamanian women! Then I cried! It was one of those moments that make church for me. Her wee little brother, recently baptised, took wine on his mom's finger--which sent the rest of the parishioners into intinction (eye roll); he was outside during the Eucharistic prayer having a yelling spell. His mom could not believe I meant his voice--at whatever volume--was welcome. Otherwise I'd had HIM at the table, too! making gestures and crossing himself! So thank you Lou Lou and Miss L for all your love of children at the Table. And thank you faux-priest, Madre Caroline, for your work in children's services! Godly Play starts Lent I

The Littlest Mono

Here at the rectory, we have prayers going 24 hours a day...our neighbors littlest mono (monkey) is ill. He has a bite that got infected. Our housekeeper Santa Elvia, KRK, the gatos, and I are keeping vigil and we go out and check on the wee one at least ten times a day. The littlest mono is on antibiotics and his human companions are devoted and his companion/amigo mono is also worried and misses him terribly when they are not together in their casa. I've moved the St Francis statue near the monos and that's where it will stay. I SHOULD go out and take pictures of the cappucinos, shouldn't I? Their human R did not go to church last night because he was providing mono care. I say he was DOING church so he didn't need to go. All our hearts would be broken is something happened to our mono primos. Please, God of Creation and Lover of all Creatures--especially gatos, dolphins, and monos, heal your wee one and return her to play and playfulness and wholeness. Bless the care of their human companions. Thank you, Francis and Jesus and Mary and Brigid.

Why I am an Episcopalian

I'm an Episcopalian because I'm a sensual being and because I like sex and because I think God is sexy. Well, it USED to be that many Episcos felt this way before we all got soo tight-assed and conservative and tedious. Who do you think has been our priests since forevah? Straight men? Oh, sure, SOME, but the C/church would NEVER have lasted this long without our Gay and Lesbian siblings. I've always believed that convents, monasteries, nunneries, and the like were ESPECIALLY created as places for same-gender folk to experience love--in whatever way they saw fit to act as God called. Sure, I believe there are people called to celibacy, but it's a calling for Christ's sake! And who really knows what Jesus did with HIS genitals? I mean REALLY! IF the Myers-Briggs folk say that Jesus would have been an XXXX, then doesn't that somehow follow that Jesus would have been bi? I know I was not raised on Thomasine logic so there are many steps of therefores left out in that bold statement, but come on! who cares? I mean really? I do think, as Annie Dillard says, "God does not, I regret to report, give a hoot." But all that talk of the Body of Christ over and over and all the incense and music and chant and the back and forth dialogue--not to mention the delightful thoughts of sex and sexiness that MUST go through other people's heads besides mine when I'm in church--the Kiss of Peace, the hand-holdings, the intimacies of touch of healing/unction, ashes on Ash Wednesday, candles, smells of beeswax and years of tears, sweat, smelling salts, fragrance, incense, wood rot, and termites (as my mother used to describe the cathedral in MS)--the sweet sweet wine on the tongue, the yeastiness of bread mixed with honey or even the fish food of wafers melting. And of course the Beauty of Episcopal/Anglican churches and the Beauty of all sorts of people and the Beauty of the outdoors when we welcome it in from non-stained glass or open doors and windows as we do here 9 degrees N in Paradise. And all our liturgy stuff IS sexy, when it is well-done--and delicious when it's Louis Weil-Lizette Larson Miller well done, that's just too too much yummy! HOWEVER I MUST say that THE sexiest church I've ever experienced happend here about 3 months ago when every Latin American bishop and his/her cat came for some big doo-dah meeting. It was pouring rain and the cathedral was pouring rain onto costly hot vestments. So the ooh ooh sticky part was already there. But THEN the dancers--ALL the kinds of Panamanian dances--came and there were lots of gorgeous young bodies shimmying and that was lovely--I'm not so turned on by youthful bodies--it's the older ones that get me goin. But anyway, all that undulation of hips of whatever age and gender was wonderful. But that was mere foreplay. And then. OH GOD, Sweet Heavenly Jesus! The African Dance Troupe leader danced the Gospel book barefooted--someone told me it was conga. THEN and THEN she and the bishop (who is truly a beautiful human being) did this back and forth ting that made me slide off my pew I was so aroused!! FINALLY the bishop took the gospel book--I was about to have to leave and go find the Hitachi wand--and THEN danced it to read, which helped to calm me down some. And I was sitting next to the bishop's wife, who is the TRUE hottie in the family as far as I'm concerned...she's one of those women you just find you want to fall intoo--and I'm a straight woman. No, I don't lust for the lovely Anita; it's not a genital ting, but she is just luscious. Well, I couldn't help myself. I leaned over and said, "What time does that plane leave in the morning?" and she told me 6 and I suggested that she mess with the time so Obispo Hunko would miss his plane! Lordy Jesus, Help Me! If we could do that EVERY Sunday, we'd turn Rome on its ear! The only thing missing were out and out gay men! I mean they are THERE but do they know that I know? Do THEY even know? Do they know I'd be thrilled to have gay men in the rectory and talk with gay men and hear their stories! Oh, I DO miss them sooo here 9 Degreees North in Paradise. May the day come quickly when we celebrate ALL of our gender ways of lovin and bein as God made us! Menopausal hot flashes, heat, humidity, dance, music, good wine, good bread--all that--was more than I could possibly bear. I wanted to grab my beloved and just throw him on the floor! But that might have been too much!!! We ARE the frozen chosen, after all!!! But there's nothing like good church to get me in the mood! I'm all for daily eucharist here. Papi, Esposo would be fucked several times a day I believe if we had daily Eucharist. I've always been one for the sweat and the funk. But my dream sweat and funk has never been in HEAT. It's always in COLD where we sweat and get all funky! I'm having to learn to BEGIN in the funk. We installed three bidets in the 3 bathrooms because I always feel soo well smelly. And I was raised in MS and have never been bothered by the odor of my body before but this is too much! Don't drink enough water and it's awful. Drink TOO much water and it's not good either. Weird. That my body's odors all ripe ALL THE TIME are not pleasant, even to me. Soo it's good to know that there is ALWAYS more to learn about sex....NOW if we can just figure out how to hang the leather sling swing chair so that the damned rectory doesn't fall in on top of us! And the bed--a queen size--is being made and will be ready upon our return to Cedar Creek. And we get a new mattress. I am soo excited!!! Misquito netting and a new bed. My Oh My! And the new Susie Bright!! Okay, I'm dying NOW. Where IS that man? Screw that sermon!!!

Hibernation

Does every group of humans need something like "Winter" (the "Cold" wet, icy rainy snowing Winter)? I pondered this while in NYC and Staten Island. I've been so busy hibernating this week I've not made the opportunity to ask a bilungual person. Maybe it's the doldrums; maybe it's the mold. It is raining BUCKETS again and maybe I am reminded of my First Great Gringa Fit upon discovering the bottom floor of the rectory was flooded in 8 inches of water--in the middle of the night, no more flashlight power and I had to leave rescuing books and belongings until daylight. Here we are with rain again and no thing has been done to change the status of the downstairs. What if nothing changes it? STOP, I canNOT think about that! 20 Canadians are coming to Almirante to help rebuild the church and to "do" a Vacation Bible School for the Youth. I am so moved by their loving generosity and their excitement. Next week is Diocesan Convention and again, I feel time slipping through my fingers. So I guess I'm doing nothing because there is SO much to do, that I don't know where to begin. I find I'm now very anxious to learn Spansih, to learn Spanish well enough to read Latin American literature NOT in translation! Maybe it was the NY experience--the joy of being with so many excited youth. And I'm so jaded and cynical...and our experience was sad, it seemed so fruitless. I'm all for bonding but hell, I've got a new language to learn and Godly Play stories to be translated and story boxes to be made! Am I glad to be home. YES, YES, YES, and YES. Back to hibernation? Do folks here "hibernate" in the really rainy season when every day is the rainy season. I just know that this cough (oh, consumptive one) is drivin me nuts so I'm hibernating in one very cold room with trashy books and big blankets. Not very articulate today; not very creative-feeling either. It MUST be the rain with mildew and mold growing in the corner-- leaking roof! We began a new ministry today: healing service at 6PM with Eucharist. KV seems very excited. Perhaps I'll do something tomorrow like email the Canadians and post a letter to the editor in the local island expat "rag."

Waking Up In The City That Never Sleeps....

Well, here we are in NYC and its environs for 2 week training in learning how to be missionaries. I've really just wanted to sleep, rest, and be in a very quiet place and walk in the woods and heal...but we have a real task master of a leader, so we are sitting in endless meetings that are sometimes actually good but mostly tedious. HOWEVER, hours in a real bathtub with endless real hot water that comes from the faucet and a large hard bed with a window that opens to COLD and hours for fucking were truly grand...and I'd like about three more days of this. I find I miss our Tropical Home and our people. I especially miss the kitties. I miss the music of the patois and I can't stop myself from trying to think in Spanish and I find myself speaking in Spanish! (Och!) This morning we were at Trinity Wall Street with glorious music for MLKJR day...not nearly enough about racism and what we, as Episcos, are going to do to make a difference. I have such angst about such wealthy churches--TWS, however does good work with their mucho money but I'm always conflicted about wealth and churches. Wandering Trinity this morning I kept thinking of our dear friend and mentor, RWC. There was a carved, life-size image of some bishop or other. So what? I thought--just some other old dead white man--and then I saw "the kiss"--red lipstick of lip prints that had kissed this bishop she must have loved....and I hoped (God Forbid) that IF and when RWC+ EVER dies, I myself want a RWC image that I can go visit, talk to, kiss. ....Funny, what things go through my head during and in churches......

Monos, Mangoes, Mee-sees, Mission, & Me!

We received our 1st power bill on Friday and I threw my THIRD gringa fit. The goddamnedl banana company OWNS the power here! I have ALWAYS asked why the fuck in a place where the sun shines every single last day there us not solar power. Sure the wealthy folks on Bocas Island and in Boquete have solar and many of the Peace Corps folks (God bless em) bring solar to the First People's communities. When I first came here in 02 I raised hell about the banana companies because of no labor unions; I wanted Mike Casey of Local 2 San Francisco and John Dear and any other hell-raising priest. I loved Obispo Julio for coming to Bocas to spend nights working alongside the banana workers, or so the story goes and I insist upon believing it. Hell, the banana companies would just up and leave for some other banana republic if someone just mentioned organisation or union. The working conditions for the workers were deplorable; there were non benefits (or so I was told--I realise I do not have the whole picture but I DO see the magnificent jungle destroyed for banana plants. God only knows--well God maybe does not know, but the Devil sure as hell knows (whatever God and the Devil are--I'm being metaphorical and not literal). And I think it's noisy NOW; then the trains and trucks ran constantly. It was awful, NOW I raise hell because the banana companies have practically abandoned Almirante--except for the port where the GIANT ships carry bananas all over the world--and from here to Europe--Italy, Germany, Holland, etc. There is no economy here except maybe for the lottery game and the illegal and immoral killing of the endangered turtles...but desperate people live desperate lives. The people here WANT to work; many have had to leave for Panama City and we all know the history of the rural folks having to leave the countryside for the horrors of being poor in the cities. I mean it was a biggie with Jesus! " Bananas are not even indigenous to Panama--well, those tiny litte bananas ("baby banana toes" my mother called them) and plantains were here, or so I have been told.) I have been writing grants and begging foundations for solar power; would be great if we and the RC's got off the Chaquita grid. I don't eat bananas here anymore unless I can find an organic one..just try and do that! And I remember that the DIO of S Ohio, who used to be partnered with Panama, is BIG with United Fruit, which sets my Irish off again.... W was here, the idiot and totally disturbed life in Panama City and I still don't know for what. God, the man must have no sensitivity to social or political cues. SHESESH! But he's gone and I really don't miss the US. I miss people--I miss friends. I was aware BEFORE and remain aware that it will be hard to fiind a woman friend here of such a fabulous friend as Michelle and Leslie. Those kinds of friends are rare period anywhere, so I hope they come visit. And I hope I can get to the W Coast to see them. Hope to be able to get to take every voice network training AND EFM training while in the US....We shall see. It would do me good to find some silence and 3 days of uninterrupted quiet before I totally lose my mind. I am more than a bit serious. I play Guthrie, Peter-Paul-Mary union and organising music a lot even though the music is English. On a more pleasant note, our backyard neighbor, a man gorgeous enough to be a Jesuit, has two cappucino monos (monkeys). I worried much about the monos and went out every day to talk with them. One of my first new Spanish words was "primos" or "cousins." The 1st time I saw these tiny monos, they were hanging upside down so I turned upside down--hung my head upside down to be face to face (l'enface) and as an equal. Over the course of days, they no longer were afraid of me and we chattered. They even have their very own "perro" (dog) who is delightful, too, and is a fierce guardian of his companions. Some days later I met the human companion of the monos, who says he does not speak English (Oh, Lordy, I'd give anything if my Spanish were that "bad"--I'd tink I could actually speak Spanish. Neighbor, to remain nameless so I'll name him "Rico" has priest written all over him. I ASSUMED he might be a local RC priest or something. THEN I met his delightful and gorgeous wife, Gloria (not her true name) and realised there went my Jesuit fantasies! (Sigh)....Lo! and behold I found out just two days ago that he is very interested in the ordination process as an Anglican and has been attending services even though they are in English these days (more about the local parish later)....So I'm off on-line discovering Anglican-Episco sources for him to read and study. KRK is inviting him to read or swing the thurible or something when he is ready. On the night of the "Great Flood" I was worried about the monos. They were chattering in what I imagined was fear (or was that projection? It was a BIG honkin' storm!) and almost immediately before I could grab the golf umbrella in attempt to DO SOMETHING, I heard Rico outside comforting them, moving them to a safer, warmer place and I knew I was looking forward to St Francis Feast Day next year! I've been able to feed the monos. The teeniest, more curious of the two is intrigued with my yellow nail polish--I think she first thought I was wearing bananas. She nibbled--never bit--and realised no bananas and didn't seem too pissed with me, especialy since Rico came out to offer me food for them, so all was well....several weeks later, I was invited to touch and pet my cousins. Oh, how soft! Their sweet little faces. We chattered for a while and THEN she put her little face through the fence and KISSED me and I kissed her back. She had never done this before! I was so honoured--still am. Only later did folks, especially KRK, fuss at me about Ebola and monkey bites, etc etc which I still find ridiculous. Tiny cappucino (I am sorry I can't spell their names so I call one Thomas and the other Merton) INITIATED the kiss--and then she kissed me again later on that week. I've been inside most of the week trying to unpack and sort as we are going to NYC to learn how to be missionaries! (More about the ridiculousness of the C/church later)...Hope there's snow; I will roll in it. O to be cold and to wear a sweater and real shoes and have theatre and ballet and off off Broadway and MUSEUMS and out, flaming gay men to dance with and talk with and hug on and hang out with! Discovered that mangoes can be eaten GREEN! One puts salt with sometimes a bit of black pepper on them; then throws iin this fabulous pepper sauce called "Chongo" (some people add vinegar but I'm not big into vinegar unless I'm cleaning the house and even then the smell is not my favorite)...The mangoes are starting to slowlly ripen so I am beginning to anticipate mango season and finding mango seeds and growing our own trees. We have water coconuts, akees (spelling), and a banana plant in the yard--plus this gorgeous orchid and some other stuff like hibiscus. The Kuna word for cat=gato is mee-see. I've not learned the Ngobe word for gato yet but I hope our housekeeper will teach more. More about the salvation and ministry of Saint Elvia later (her name is Elvia Santos, but to me, she is Sra. Saint Elvia and she is a life-saver and one of two people who have kept me here when life and situations were fucked and sucked. The Church here is as nutty as the Church anywhere. No surprise. Just new ways of being nutty but still some of the same nuttiness, too.

Too Far From Donegal

I've never lived this far from Ireland, the land I've called home for most of my life, even though I was nearly fifty before I visited Ireland. I now live surrounded by green and hills and rocks and even wells....some of the voices are musical...but it's not Ireland and I am soo far away and I am so homesick for Donegal and Skellig Michael, Guinness, and the "mizzly rain" and the angel breath smell of peat fires. Sometimes traveling back to the mainland on the evening water taxi, I detect the slightest hint of some kind of similarity...green, fog, water, even rain. But the tropics are just so fucking INTENSE and so OVER THE TOP in everything...I've found no peacefulness and a sense of solitude...quiet monasteries and churches, hills with only sheep for company, the poetry of my heroes. I need quiet and it is always soo fecking NOISY! Living in a house of two stories, I hear the constant day and night noises...people slamming things in work, horrible music (at least to my ears), LOUD voices, but the night noises are the worst--dogs tied or chained or hungry or whatever, howling and howling in sounds of agony; babies screaming as babies scream; babies and children screaming as some adult in their life, some adult responsible for them screams at them; and worst, the babies that scream because I can hear them being beaten. I also hear the women screaming...crying...begging...as THEY are beaten. I walk the night; I try to find these dogs, children, women--to confront their abusers, to identify the house/street/location and I can't....the sound from "up here" displaces the location. I have abraded areas inside my ears from shoving earplugs into them. I live and sleep with as much white sound as possible...air conditioner, fans, white noise...and the power goes out for hours and hours each day, leaving me with noise years of yoga has been unable to quiet and heat that takes every bit of energy I might have.....even the jungle is noisy....it used to be that the flocks of parakeets in the morning brought joy--not they only irritate me--can't they just be quiet for ONE morning? and the incessant whistle of the banana companies--of which I an so conflicted....only the gatos, the cats here are quiet, what few cats there are...there is something NOT RIGHT about a place that does not honor and love cats. I stop the little boys from chasing the gatos with sticks or throwing rocks at them. I try to teach them the sacredness of God's Creation and the joy of soft furr and glorious purr. I worry that our two will escape and someone will harm them. And, yes, Sr. Cromey Samuel Beckett, I feed the wild and feral cats, but the big black birds eat much of their food. And that's okay; we'll find a system for getting you and your gato comrades adequate food..........God gave us the cat so we can pet the tiger.... I am so grateful to walk outside into this den of endless NOISE and SOUND and see you sitting there, Tabby Cat, so peaceful, knowing you are safe...and somehow I've made the world a better place for providing a haven for gatos...