in the corner of my mind

somehow late night talks with my brother and afternoons at mom and dad's have made me miss being in that small house in the white birch forest in Alaska. There are problems everywhere, but my memories of that place were cancer free and full of togetherness. I had dreams of starry nights and kisses under the full moon. Dreams of my dad walking me down the aisle of a beautiful flower covered forest wedding and handing me over to a man who always kisses me goodnight. In my memory, tiny fairies fluttered through those tall birch trees and the sun beams pushed through their tops to bring light to the paths my brother and I explored. Life was happy and free and careless laughter tickled our tongues. At night, the constellations came down to touch us and the aurora Borealis danced over them as if to celebrate their existence.

Now, nights are blurry and sleepless. Mornings are blunt and greeted with resistance. Cancer is a reality and the topic of so many conversations. Kisses are partnered with doubt and fears of being wasted. My brother is too far away to join me in my adventures and phone calls are steeped in reality and sadness. Numbness has replaced laughter and rain seems to have replaced the sun. A forest wedding with fairies floating around me is forgotten.

still......I have hope that, in Alaska, deep in a white birch forest, fairies continue to play.

Why I do what I do.

I just got home from watching the movie, The Soloist. It is not normal for me to come home from a movie and want to write about it, but this one really made me think about life and about the work I am doing with BuildaBridge.

In the movie, based on a true story, a reporter named Steve Lopez from the Los Angelos Times befriends a homeless man named Nathanial Ayers. When he meets Ayers, Lopez discovers that he is playing a violin with only three strings. As he finds out more about Ayers, he realizes that he was once a musician and student at Julliard and, because of mental illness, eventually ended up on the street. After reading the stories in the paper, a woman sends a cello for Ayers to play....this is his original instrument.

In the moment Ayers first lays the bow to the cello and begins to play, he is transformed, Lopez is transformed, and those of us in the theatre are transformed. You can see something that is intangible, but recognizable to all humankind. It is that moment where music brings humanity to the presence of the divine. It is the thin place; the place that is sacred and higher than our everyday experience.

I have witnessed this in the face of a boy in the slums as he performs on stage and in all of those who watch him.
I have seen it in the body of a ballerina as she dances across the stage and in the tears of those who are watching her.
I have seen it in the eyes of a suicidal teenager as his brush glides slowly across a canvas and in the hand pressed lightly over the heart of the mother who sees his work.
I have seen in the the hands of the potter as he molds the clay.
I experience it every time I close my eyes and hear Vivaldi's Four Seasons or admire Frida Kahlo's work.
I feel it when I sing a song, perform on stage, or paint a picture.

Art, in any form, is a vehicle for people to express themselves, and to express pain, suffering, sadness, love, joy, and peace. These are all things that are hard to define, but easily understood through art. The story of humans is complex, diverse, and fascinating and it is our creative nature which most clearly explains this story in its truest and richest form. No matter what your religious belief is, you are a spiritual being. Music, Theatre, Visual Art, sculpting, poetry, or whatever other creative expression, are the ways in which you can tap into this spiritual self and feel whole...unbroken...complete. This is where the healing process begins. This is where the healing process is. This is where the healing process ends.

May you find your thin space and discover the means in which to get there and may you embrace it.

My day in a Guatemalean Prison

There I was, nearly passed out from a contact high. I was surrounded by 215 notoriously violent gang members in a Guatemalan prison. The smoke from their thick joints billowed up and filled the room creating a haze that blocked my vision and made me dizzy. Ten years ago, I never would have imagined that I would be in a Guatemalan Prison, high from marijuana, and nervously speaking to a tattoo covered gang member named Snake (not his real name), with no guard in sight. How had I gotten myself in this situation?


Driving up the winding, dusty road to the prison, we passed armored tanks and police officers carrying automatic weapons. The military guarding the prison were ready and waiting to fire when the call was given. At the entrance to the prison, I left my camera, jewelry, phone, and passport; my only forms of freedom. The Guard stamped my arm and warned me not to wash the stamp off because it was the only identification that would get me out of the prison. I was taken away from my escorts and into a room where a woman yelled at me in Spanish as she ran her hands up my thighs and under my breasts in search of contraband. Had it been anyone else, I would have felt like I was being sexually assaulted. Considering the fact that I saw numerous “illegal” items once I was in the prison and the fact that this prison guard was extremely thorough in her search, I can only imagine where people have to stick things to get them past the guards.

As I walked down the hill to the cell block, I imagined open courtyards surrounded by guards who would watch me carefully. I think I was even naïve enough to believe that the courtyard would have trees and birds and sunshine. However, when we got to our building, we were led through a dark narrow hallway through a locked gate. Once through the gate,
the guard locked us in and left the building. Inside, 215 men closed in on us with shouts and laughter. I'm not sure what they were laughing about, but I was the only woman. They were smoking hand rolled joints and were covered from the tops of their heads to their toes in tattoos as they closed in on us. The room was drowning in smoke stacks and small windows near the ceiling were covered in banners, keeping fresh air out. The graffti covering the walls depicted happy and sad clown faces, naked women in sexual positions, and gang symbols. There were no birds or sunshine. There was a sign of hope; however, that I will tell you about in a minute.

A shirtless man with a fresh bullet wound was seated beside me talking to a doctor who was giving him medicine. Snake explained that the man was shot by police last week when the inmates broke out in a riot against the guards when one of them was not allowed to smoke his joint during a Bible study.


“We are fine unless the police give us a problem. When they don’t let us do what we want, that is a declaration of war. If they declare war on us, we have to fight. When I got here three years ago, we were locked in our cells and weren’t even allowed to have a mattress. Then, more of us came and we demanded more freedom. Now, as long as they leave us alone, we leave them alone.” This was Snake’s explanation of all the marijuana, cell phones, and other things we saw in the prison (the things the women no doubt bring as gifts on their visits...along with their very personal gifts of affection).

My escorts in the prison were two men: Ricardo, who is a chaplain in the prison, and Dr. Corbitt, President and Co-founder of BuildaBridge, who has been there before. I trust both men and trust that they would not allow anything bad to happen to me, so I wasn’t initially fearful to walk into the prison. While I stood in the middle of the room, my thoughts changed. I suddenly became acutely aware that regardless of my comfort with these two men, the inmates could at any time take me and rape or murder me if they wanted to. I have been a staff member at a psyche hospital during a riot against staff and there is a calm that is sensed by everyone in the room right before the violence begins. This is the only other time in my life that I have had this feeling. The difference in the prison is that it would take the guards several minutes to help us...if they could...and a lot can happen in a few seconds.

Somehow, even with these thoughts running through my mind, I felt some kind of peace in that space. I looked in the eyes of these men and thought about them as children...some of them were 15. When we are born, our eyes are the only part of our body that never change. They are the same size the day we are born and the day we die. The eyes I looked into that day were the same eyes that Snake’s mother looked into 37 years ago when he was born. Now, he is a member of a gang known for decapitating their enemies, heavy drug activity, killing people when they cross into the gang’s territory, and raping women.

Why did I put myself in harms way to go into this prison?

I believe no one is completely evil. I believe there is innate goodness in each of us. But above all, I feel called to bring a message of hope and healing to the most vulnerable people in the toughest parts of our world through the power of the arts: the mission of BuildaBridge.


Last year, BuildaBridge Artist on Call member, Leah Samuelson, worked with these prisoners to paint a mural of the Prodigal Son. Despite the fact that graffti covers the walls of the prison, this mural has been left unaltered. This is a sign of hope. As a result of the chaplain’s work
and our art!making over the past three years, this is one of the prisons with the least violence. Later this year, BuildaBridge International is sending a muralist to work with these prisoners to paint a mural of the Lord’s Supper on the wall, at the prisoner’s request.

I have seen the power of the arts to bring about transformation in the toughest places in the world. I also know that even going into the prison and acknowledging that I care enough to spend time with Snake and others like him, is important to them and critical to their reformation.

How I spent my Thanksgiving

November 27, 2008, Thanksgiving

“I had to repeat 8th grade and found out that I will not be able to afford high school so I have not been confident. Then I came to drama class and now I know I can have confidence.” This is what Idris, one of my students said to me today. We had a normal day with amazing kids. We continue to practice for tomorrow and I am excited to see how the kids do. I have seen such an improvement in their attitudes and confidence since the beginning of the week.
One girl, Sofi, told me that he mother used to sell drugs and was put in prison for 6 years. Now her mother is out of prison, but is very sick and cannot work.

I wish I could help these kids go to school. It doesn’t seem right that there are kids in America who take school for granted, and kids here who aren’t even given school as an option.

Today, Brenda told her story to the kids about how she was homeless and took care of her 6 siblings. It is amazing what people do to survive. She also said that we must not only plant the seed but provide the sun and the soil and the air to help it grow. I gave her money to buy Juliet and her family food. I hope to sponsor her or one of the other children.

Today, over 119 people were killed in Mumbai. There are also rebels in Bangkok. More people are still in hostage. I like watching Al Jazeera. I am not sure I would know this much about what was going on in the world if I was home. The news here cares about the whole world. I think that we are missing something by being so self-focused in the US. I love being an American. There is so much freedom and opportunity that comes from growing up in the US, and I have so much pride in our history. We have an incredible story to tell and a gift to share with the world because we are blessed. My problem is that we are so self-centered and self-focused that we are missing out on what may be a much greater opportunity than we could ever imagine.

welcome home

“Welcome Home”

This is what the priest said to me as I left the church tonight with ashes on my head and bitter wine on my tongue. I haven’t been to that church or any other in several weeks. More importantly, I can’t remember how many times people have said those words to me. Home has always been a strange concept for me…something I have struggled to understand. I have never lived anywhere more than six years. I am constantly moving. I am constantly leaving. I am not always coming back. A friend of mine said home is where ever his parents are. I suppose that is true for me as well, but it is hard to truly say that when my parents live in a house I have never lived in and a town I barely know.

Often I go to the various places where the people I love now live and I hope to find home. Chicago, Alaska, New York, Philadelphia, Florida, and Mississippi, all hold pieces of my home. All are easy to go to, but difficult to leave. Recently, I drove away from one of these places and my heart began to physically and literally hurt. That has never happened to me before and it scared me, but something about it was incredible and good.

In my house, my bedroom walls are bare. There are still boxes I haven’t opened. There is always a suitcase ready to leave or ready to be unpacked. Something about it is comforting, but I am not yet ready to call it home. It is only a part of the journey towards the place I really belong. I just haven’t been able to figure out where I am headed.

But tonight, when the Priest looked at me, held my hand and said, “welcome home,” everything about it felt right. Peace came over me and I thought perhaps, I have finally arrived.

Random

1. I hate doing these things online, but have gotten so many of this one that I couldn't help myself.
2. I was in four episodes of "Early Edition" a show starring Kyle Chandler who is now on Friday Night Lights and I sometimes wonder if he remembers me.
3. I spend hours each day wondering how I can raise money to end poverty. I usually get a headache.
4. There is something about me that I have only ever told one person and he was practically a stranger.
5. I am writing a book. I am almost done. No one has seen it.
6. I love Harrisburg, think it's an amazing city, and don't care what other people think about it.
7. I try to be liberal but would secretly love cooking, cleaning, and raising children.
8. My house may be a little cluttered, but I will always have a clean toilet and shower.
9. I was going to cook steak for someone on a Friday once and made steak every night that week to practice, so it would be perfect. By the time he came for dinner, I didn't even want to look at steak and had to force myself to eat it.
10. I think UGGS are the ugliest thing a girl could wear.
11. I bake pies when I am upset. It is cheaper than therapy. I baked 12 during December.
12. I miss someone a lot.
13. My idol is Tina Fey. I believe she is a genius.
14. I read an entire book in French when I was 13. I have no idea how to speak it now.
15. If I could do anything, I would be a comedian.
16. Sometimes I think getting a dog was a mistake.
17. Since I was a child my favorite colors have been pink and purple. I thought that would change, but they still are:-)
18. The sight of Calla Lillie's makes me cry.
19. I think my cousin, Steve, is incredible.
20. I had to learn to walk with a full cast on my leg.
21. Wesley Forest is my oasis from life.
22. The more parents I meet the more I realize mine really are the world's greatest:-)
23. I used to want 7 kids so I could have more than the Brady Bunch. Now, I think 3 or 4 would be good.
24. banana pancakes are my favorite.

25. I want to learn how to surf before I die.