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I'm back in Jean Rabel.
             I'm back home.

With you,
Luisely

between 127th and 123rd

I pressed the brake, slowly transitioning to a halt as my eyes made their way to the sky.

Birds.
 Hundreds,

probably thousands, of birds,

all black,

enjoying themselves in the wind

or standing on the electrical wires between 127th Ave. and 123rd Ct. 

It’s still winter so masses flock to the South hovering over the streets of Miami.

I marveled at the uncountable amount of black birds standing so intimately with me. I observed as some decided, seemingly in synchrony, to unhook their claws and open their wings swaying in circular paths with the wind. The grace and elegance of these birds left me without thought, without breath (for a moment). Sadly, the light changed and I moved passed 123^rd Ct. to 122^nd Ave. where the only evidence of the phenomenon were five birds- a group of three perched on the wires and, a little further, a couple flying above me.

I knew that God spoke to me through those birds; my awe left me with no intellectual conclusion, so I simply prayed, “One day, let me understand what you wished to tell me with this.”

I took it as an utter manifestation of Love

and three days later saw it as a reminder…

The reason I visited Miami in the first place was to understand God’s will of how I should continue accompanying the people in Kay Pov and the women who are continuing the work there.

So many good intentioned voices recommended this or that and I found myself forgetting that I am like those black birds. Not only am I part of a bigger whole, not only will the wind guide me, but I must soar with two wings. One of the Catholic Church’s treasures is seeing that charity and justice must exist simultaneously, like the two wings on the birds. Not using one more than the other, not esteeming one more than the other, but using both in order to glide in the currents of wind God sends us.

Now I pray, “Let me be like the birds in their equilibrium, in their trust, in their solidarity.”

With you,
Luisely

our rabbis

Their skin is softer. Maybe because the elasticity of the skin left years earlier and the crevices add a squishy texture. Their eyes may be less clear and their teeth usually model their years of exposure and usage. I look at them and do not tire at marveling at their resplendency.


We walked down the side walk, our arms linked, at a slower pace respecting the results of her stroke. The ice cream she relishingly licked found its way down her small fingers, palms, and shirt. Throughout the stroll I walked in different restaurants for more napkins to keep up with her sticky delight. Her eyes widened and her tongue savored the flavor left in the foldings of her lips as we washed her hands in the water fountain. We made our way to a bench and sat there as I listened, amazed by her memory. I questioned and she sheepishly answered, "My memory is fine, but then there are moments that I become an idiot." Her eyes avoided mine as she admitted to her loss in short term memory. "It happens to us all at moments." She smiled. "What day is it today?" It was her third time asking the question.

I ran in late to mass, a mass remembering the death and life of a friend's father. I took my seat in the back and recognized the hunched back and the fine white hair. I spoke with members of the family and through the silhouettes I spotted the familiar man with the cane patiently waiting for the conversations to subside to make his way through. I walked towards him and hugged him. Three years had passed since I last saw him. He stood elegantly, as his nearly century old muscles unwillingly shook and his gaze stayed firmly in mine. He shared his stories and there we spoke in the empty chapel, laughing, and finding the beauty in the other.

They shoved one another in order to sit in the back first. One with the older of the pair losing the discussion and sitting regally beside me in the front, I was the chauffeur. First pick of the places to go was the bookstore. As we arrived a display with the latest e-book device and an employee selling it held it towards their aged and still curious eyes. "And what might that be?" one said to the other. The employee proudly explained the apparatus and her polite response was, "I prefer the paper, but thank you." They laughed, caring one for the other, buying gifts for the other behind the other's back. I laughed and indulged in the pleasure of their humor and presence.

They enrich us with stories, laughter, and wisdom. They help us remember to not take ourselves that seriously. They remind us of the past and what will come to us in the future, to better live in the present.

May we remember to walk slowly, forget ourselves in the gusto of an ice cream cone, look the other in the eye, share stories with one another, ask questions without shame, and speak honestly in the same manner. May we remember them, delight in their presence and give of ourselves to them.

With you,
Luisely

BRAKE!

Late last night I decided to take the back roads home, while allowing the heater to thaw out my toes. Thoughts swam through my mind as I slowly swerved through the paved curves. Interrupting my monologue of to-do lists and hopeful thinking, a red light from the dashboard appeared. As my eyes adjusted, I realized the little words read BRAKE! I hesitated at believing the sign since I didn’t sense the car dragging nor did I smell the brakes burning. I checked the emergency brake and it laid there in its expected position. I jiggled the brake a bit, pushed the button at the end of the stick and the light continued to shine, differentiating itself from its blue and green counterparts. Then I got it. The little guy lit especially for me. It, or Jamaima (the car I gladly drove in), or better said, the Beauty of Beauties wanted me to brake, to stop all the shenanigans diving in and around my mind and simply be. Be in the deep blue of the sky, the long sheer clouds smeared through it cradling the chubby moon, and the silhouettes of the pine trees framing my passage. I smiled and decided to listen and be. I stopped Jamaima, temporarily relieving the headlights of their duties, and allowing my eyes to rejoice in my surroundings. I looked up at the moon and felt her manifestation in me. I allowed my eyes to wander through the vastness of the moonlit sky and my soul to be humbled, and at ease, with its place in the vastness. Then I turned my head towards my left and saw more splendor. A lake lay embraced by pines, mirroring its tree frame in its unruffled waters. The lake reflected the moon, the silhouettes and the clouds above. I allowed the chill of the night to fill my lungs and listened to the unseen flow of the lake. It lay placid and seemingly motionless. All the life, and with it, death, it carries within, and all the peace that it transmits for simply being.


The cold began to chill my nose so I cuddled back into Jamaima, turned her on and rode the rest of the way home with the little red light still shining for me. I am perfectly aware that it may simply be another glitch in the car bought from a junk yard, and I am tremendously grateful for that glitch and the other glitches in life that remind us to brake and truly be. To sense, to smell, to see, to listen, to stop and be. "For the kin_dom of God is at hand." Mark 1:15

With you,
Luisely

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday...

Elections were on Sunday, confusion was on Monday, I spoke with Yvka today, results are due December 5^th.

Around 50 of the over 1,000 election posts pulsed with tension, Jean Rabel being one of them. The cholera, the corruption, the lack of infrastructure intensified by the earthquake all lead to leaning on some leaning on pure faith for betterment.

Part of Kay Pov’s roof flew away with Thomas, but they are eating each day and Yvka and the other ladies continue tending to them. Dr. Geralda took samples to test all of them for Cholera and Malaria last Wednesday. I fell into Mami’s arms after hearing that our loved ones in Kay Pov eat daily, I sobbed and sobbed humbled to be used as an instrument and without words to express my gratitude for being used.

On Sunday I went to mass. As I listened to the readings I imagined the different groups in Akadyen and Kolet acting out the gospel. The merging of the two worlds, the air conditioned vast church with fluffy kneelers contrasting with the four incomplete and crumbling walls and dirt floor with chickens occasionally joining us, seemed more eloquent than I could possibly imagine. I lifted my head and saw a lady who has been following the blog (like you) and keeping me and all those in Haiti in her prayers. She was in Haiti with me the way Yvka, Fabio, Rose, and Sylvani are with me here. Feeling my heart at rest I allowed the tears to flow. I felt Papi’s hand rub my back and sat back to lean into his chest and while I lay there soothing myself by the beat of his heart and the waves of his breathing I felt myself in the arms of Walter months back. I am grateful. My soul feels a deep peace and deep happiness, not in a pompous or grandiose way, but in a humble and silent way. I am at home, not because of my physical location, but because of my soul. I feel myself in the arms of Home, of Love, no matter where my feet stand. What a gift. What a humbling gift.

I handed over the elections with faith, delighted in hearing Yvka’s laughter again, and am surrendered to the present.

With you,

Luisely

written on November 30, 2010

after despair

I fell asleep on the grass, read a book about writing, found a recipe while I was at it, and yet I failed to write to you. So here is my attempt to no longer procrastinate my letter to you. A letter that will attempt to transmit what I’ve lived since my arrival to the States.

Four months ago, I dreamed with Christy’s baby. In the dream, I visited Christy and began speaking to the baby in her womb introducing myself as Tia Luisely. Christy’s voice stimulated the baby to dance in her womb. The baby’s foot poked out and subtly a light from inside the womb made the womb translucent.  The movements became clear to me. Christy pointed out the baby’s organs, and I marveled at the majesty of it all. I could see all the baby’s movements, the fragile fingers, the closed eyes (the way they should be at 5 months). The baby moved and I saw that the chin mirrored that of his uncles’, his eye shape was that of his fathers, and his nose resembled Christy’s. I looked up to Christy in the dream and told her the baby she carried was a boy.

Christy was 39 weeks pregnant when she and her husband picked me up from the executive private airport in Boca on the 3^rd. I hugged her and kissed her belly feeling myself grasp onto the life she held within. For the week that followed I accompanied her to see the midwife, watched movies on natural birthing *, read articles and chapters in books about how to best accompany her and “what to expect,” along with assisting with household chores and errands. We went on walks, took naps, studied Dunstan’s Baby Language and prepared the home’s last details for the baby’s arrival.

On the night of the 13^th, Christy decided to kidnap her husband and go out for the night. At 3:30am, the couple stood next to my bed while Christy whispered, “I’m in labor.” -She woke me from a dream where I saw the baby fresh out of the womb in a hospital, and studied his eyes, his cheeks, his hair, and toes. – We decided to try to rest as much as possible before the contractions intensified.

A few hours later, I prepared breakfast for her and packed the car with everything prepared for the occasion.  We went to her parents’ house where her sisters gathered along with her mother. We walked up and down the street breathing through contractions as she leaned on her husband. The contractions escalated, and I drove us to the birthing center where the midwife and her assistants were waiting.

Christy radiated with elegance while breathing through each contraction, concentrating and enduring. We walked up stairs two by two; she rocked back and forth on the rocking chair and swayed side to side leaning on us. As she hung her arms around my neck and swayed with me my legs trembled holding her up. I could feel her belly on mine, the baby’s movements and her womb contracting. We breathed together and swayed together. Life was coming forth. Christy clung to her mother who tried to carry her weight, as I held her mother up massaging her back one of Christy’s sisters rubbed mine, a moment of Divine Grace. A cycle of women breathing and accompanying another, one woman held the other in attempts to bear the weight of the one that bore the weight no one could bear for her.

Christy and the baby went on for 27 hours, breathing through each contraction with the support of all of us and without the assistance of medications. The midwife leaned over to both Christy and her husband and said, “You are suffering and tired, the baby’s head is pushing on your pelvic bone and not through your canal. We can continue here if you’d like, or we can go to the hospital now.” In minutes we were out of the birthing center and in the hospital. In the hospital, tests were run. Christy’s platelets were remarkably low and her liver inflamed. Soon the nurses prepared Christy for an emergency C-section where she would go under general anesthesia, the complete opposite of what she planned.

On November 15^th at 7:59am Ian Diego Paredes felt the cold hospital air, stretched his arms and legs without boundaries, and a few hours later felt his mother’s warm body from outside and filled his belly with her warm milk.

The experience humbled me and beckoned me to delve within to find the wisdom ancestors passed down to me through intuition. Ian means “God is gracious.”

For the week that followed, I tended to and accompanied Christy and the baby in the hospital and then in her home as her body healed and Ian’s discovered more of Earth and her beauties. The bond between Ian and Christy, Christy’s yearning love for her husband, my understanding of the baby and my body’s natural response to the baby bewilders me.

On the 23^rd, I left, allowing the family to carry on as they will and should. While saying farewell to Ian, he opened his deep blue eyes and let them dive into mine allowing my soul to gaze into his and his to bless mine.

Living this sacred time with Christy’s family gave me the life and hope I needed after leaving Haiti. It was a reminder that there is life after pain, there is hope after despair, and that we are always given what we need, it is up to us to open our eyes and see.

With you,

Luisely

P.S.: I would like to invite anyone who accompanied me in Haiti, who continues accompanying me now in the Miami area to dinner on December 8^th at 6pm. It’s a simple get together to answer any questions and a form of thanksgiving our union. If you’d like you can bring a dish to share, anything your heart desires. We will be meeting at Andres Novela’s residence (thank you to him and his familyJ) his address is 5162 NW 114^th Ct. Doral, FL 33178. The complex is called Doral Landings West. If more than one of us shows up parking may not be that splendid, but it’s okay, we’ll find locations.

*I recommend watching The Business of Being Born.

the voyage

I left Jean Rabel with my beige back pack, my red sac, and a gift bag carrying passion fruit, coconut, fresh sweets made of coconut, lime, and banana and a fried rooster, all gifts from those I would leave. The Thursday before leaving Jean Rabel, I snuggled the rooster dubbed Monsieur Lion under my arm from MaWouj to Jean Rabel a journey that took us three hours by foot. We were walking back from our last performance together of Theater of the Oppressed. We woke at 4am to take advantage and walk before the sun rose. Some late risers altered the plan and we ended up leaving around 7am. As we walked up the rocky mountains, under the shade of the Eucalyptus, mango, and avocado trees, through the rivers, sliding in the mud, other pilgrims joined our troop. Children walking to school, women carrying merchandise to sell, others with their donkeys equipped with goods, and men walking with their machetes in their hands. Out of all of them, one had the same destination as us and balanced a large cooler on her head full beyond the brim with Sapi-bons, popular frozen bags full of flavored ice, the country’s popsicles. In one hand she carried a plastic container in a plastic bucket and the other was free.

We soon began carrying her burden and means of living. Yvka placed it on her head and with the weight of the cooler wrinkling her forehead she took one step at a time with elegance and laughter as I wiped her brow. We alternated carrying the load for two and a half hours uphill, songs were sung, people joined, dances were danced, people joined, and stories were shared, people joined. Upon arriving to MaWouj, we went separate ways remembering each others’ names in our prayers.

We broke bread together, split avocados and bananas. We performed in MaWouj and the audience responded with a powerful current of energy. The pews could hold no more weight on them. The spect-actors kept searching for solutions for hours until the sun beckoned us to continue our journey home. As we walked, the crimson, purple, and fuchsia clouds painted the sky and out of one emanated the thickest band of rainbow I’ve taken in. For a while we walked in silence honoring the presence of ever-present Holiness.

We all knew it would be our last voyage together (at least for now) and through their laughter, encouragement, tending to one another they continued showing me what our journeys are about. We are here to help others free themselves of their yoke, or share in the carrying of it. We are here to encourage the other. We are here to listen to the other. To laugh, sing, dance, and rejoice with and in the other. We are here to stand in awe of our Creator with the other.

We are here to bind ourselves with the other.

Mousier Lion and I have become very well acquainted since the walk- the coconuts, sweets, and passion fruit as well. I arrived to Port-de-Paix and then Port-au-Prince, took a tap-tap to Grassroots United, and as I helped the non-profit Rebuild prepare for the coming of Thomas was offered a seat on a private jet to Ft. Lauderdale.  The sky above the white clouds displayed a sunset similar in color and marvel as the one our Divine Artist painted for us as we finished our voyage on Thursday. The stars took place of the sun and the jet glided its way further from Haiti and my loved ones on the island. I arrived to South Florida with my beige back pack, my red sac, and a soul carrying all gifts from those I left. My voyage continues.

With you,
Luisely