New perspective

I tend not to talk or write about what I'm going to post for fear of "rocking the boat" with those people I know.  I also believe that spirituality and religion are very personal, and just like sex and politics its sometimes better to keep ones opinions to oneself.  But, today I took a step forward in my spiritual growth and future and I feel that I need to "come out" with what I believe and have no shame in it.

We should be able to believe what we do, have it out there and not fear being judged. 

I'll start out with how I started the journey, and for that I need to go way back to mom.  As most Puerto Ricans, my mom was born and raised Catholic and as any good Catholic when I was born she baptized me in the Catholic church with a Godfather and a Godmother.  My Godfather is my eldest (full blooded) uncle and my Godmother was chosen by my dad and I only met her once in my life -- at my baptism.  Technically I was supposed to have been raised Catholic, right?

We moved to the Bronx, NY when I was three.  My mom at the time didn't go to any church.  I don't know the details of how things went, but eventually she reunited with her older half-brother, who attended an Evangelical Lutheran Church in Brooklyn.  I know that mom was having major problems with dad and his drinking so my assumption is that this was a way for her to find a spiritual family in a very difficult time of her life.

Eventually we moved to Brooklyn.  I'm sure that the affiliation with the church helped.  We moved about five blocks down the street from the church to Park Slope, border of Sunset Park.  This was the place where I grew up and learned about God, community and church.  It was a Spanish speaking church with many immigrant families.  I learned how to read Spanish by reading the Bible and maintained my language by being a part of the church and participating in activities.

Over time this became our second family.  It was a very large congregation and it was our life.  Everyone we knew and interacted with outside of school or work were the members of the church.  A good part of who I am today is because of this upbringing, which I'm thankful for.

But, even at a young age, I began to question.  I saw how people would say one thing but do another -- condemning rich people but scheming ways to make more money.  Also, how can people condemn others for believing just as fiercely in their own beliefs as they did in theirs just because they believed in something different? 

My biggest moment was after I was told about the need to accept Jesus Christ as your saviour in order to not be condemned to an eternity in hell.  I started thinking, well what about those people that were never told about Jesus but lived a life full of goodness (in my young mind I thought of native tribes in the Amazon)?  How could a God be so cruel to condemn people that are as innocent as children?  And what about the inverse, someone who spent their life full of doing evil deeds and selfish behavior and maybe even murder.  Then, in the last minute of their life, just because they accept Jesus the slate is clean?  So, you're telling me that someone like Hitler, had he accepted Jesus in the last few minutes of his life would have been saved?  It just didn't make sense to me, and the dogmatic ideas I was surrounded by never satisfied those and many, many other questions.  There were too manythings I couldn't wrap my thoughts around.

Being the good kid that I was, I went with the flow and when we went to the Pentecostal Church I went with it too.  I had no choice.  It got to a point I felt like I was being brainwashed and I also began to question the Pentecostal Church's chauvinistic perspective.  I couldn't understand how a strong willed woman like my mom was submitting to such beliefs.  Here, all my life she'd been telling me that I could be and do whatever I wanted but now we were attending a church that said that a woman must submit to a man.  My 14 year old feminist self just couldn't handle it.

I don't know where it would have gone from there.  My mom passed away when I was 14 and I moved to Puerto Rico.  I was ANGRY at God.  First for taking my mom away and then for having to move to PR and leave everything I had ever known behind.  From that point in my life I decided that religion was not for me.  I knew in my heart there was something else, but what it was could not be defined in a religion. 

These feelings were affirmed even more so later when two people at two different points in my life did very un-christ like things.  Both are people that were among the closest people in my life at two different points.  These were people that were supposed to be a part of my upbringing (and supposedly loved me) and touted themselves as devout Christians.  To me, if that's what Christian was, I wanted no part of it*

I went on in life with a belief that yes, there's something out there, but no, I will not pretend to have the answer.  The main reason I couldn't shrug off God or Spiritual existence completely was an experience I had in High School (no not the ever famous Ouija Board experience that's legend in our town now), but something that happened my senior year right after I found out my brother had been in a terrible car accident in Saudi Arabia -- he was in the Marines.

A Marine Captain and Sargent came over to our house (I was living with my Uncle and Aunt) in the middle of the night.  They came escorted by town police since back then where my family lives really wasn't on a map and there was no such thing as GPS.  They told me that my brother was in a head on collision with another car in Saudi Arabia, and that was all they knew since we were at war (Desert Storm), and information was slow to get.  My heart dropped.  My brother was all I had for family.  God could not be so cruel to take him away as well.  They told me that they'd keep us informed and that as soon as they knew anything they'd pass it on. 

I thought of my brother half a world away, hurt and unconscious.  I went to bed and wondered how I'd sleep.  Then a peace came over me.  It was a warm feeling that started in my chest and then spread all over.  There were no words but I could sense that I was being told, "he will be OK, trust me."  And I did.  It was almost like it was my mom's embrace and telling me she knew he'd be OK.  I've had other moments in my life like this, though not as intense as that one.

All that week, everyone was worried and giving me looks of pity (much like they did when my mom passed -- how I hated those looks!), but I knew he would be OK and I told everyone that he was fine.

I've spent my life wandering and wondering.  Knowing that I was never going to return to a church.  Sorry, can't do it.  I read books on Pagan religions and Wicca, not quite me.  Then Buddhism which came pretty close to what I believed in but that was just reading and literature.  I still needed that spiritual connection and now with having Wil, looking for a place where he can have that sense of community and belonging that I had as a child.  There just didn't seem to be anything.  We're members of a Jeep club and though some members would say its a spiritual experience for them and there's a definite sense of community, that's not quite what I'm looking for.

Then last fall through a posting on a baby board that I'm a part of someone mentioned Unitarian Universalists.  When I don't know what something is and it gets my interest I quickly go on-line.  I came across their web site: http://www.uua.org/  I also looked them up on Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unitarian_Universalism and after that picked up a recommend book A Chosen Faith.  Here it was, a group of people that believed what I believed and had a committed group of people within the community to build fellowship, education and community service.

I was even more excited to find out there is a fellowship 5 minutes from our house in Plainfield.  I visited last October and took Wil -- he wasn't quite ready for it.  I waited and waited to go back.  Life seems to always get in the way (vacations and errands).  I finally went back today on my own.  After the very enlightening service they had a "New Member Orientation". They only have these 3 times a year.  My timing was perfect -- or maybe things were aligned just right.  I sat at the session which was almost 3 hours long but felt like 15 minutes and got to know an amazing group of people and hear their stories which were very similar to mine (and some very different). 

I joined today and have committed myself to take this next step in my life to further my spiritual journey alongside my son (and hopefully hubby).

I share this in the hope that if anyone is like me-- still on their spiritual journey and not knowing their truth yet -- its OK to continue the search.  Its OK to admit that we don't have the answers and we don't know.  The journey can be amazing if we keep our minds open. 

-JMB



*Part of today's service made me realize I need to work through this.  The Rev. read the book "Zen Shorts" and there was a story about two monks which needed to cross a river.  The story was adapted for the children's book from an actual Buddhist story.  This is the actual story:

Two Buddhist Monks were on a journey, one was a senior monk, the other a junior monk. During their journey they approached a raging river and on the river bank stood a young lady. She was clearly concerned about how she would get to the other side of the river without drowning.
The junior monk walked straight past her without giving it a thought and he crossed the river. The senior monk picked up the woman and carried her across the river. He placed her down, they parted ways with woman and on they went with the journey.

As the journey went on, the senior monk could see some concern on the junior monk's mind, he asked what was wrong. The junior monk replied, "how could you carry her like that? You know we can't touch women, it's against our way of life". The senior monk answered, "I left the woman at the rivers edge a long way back, why are you still carrying her?"

The Holidays and Gratitude

I haven't posted in a while, with the craziness of work and the holidays it's taken its toll on me.  There's a lot going on for us -- not just the upcoming holidays.  We're getting geared up for our annual pilgrimage to Puerto Rico in a few weeks;  we have some work changes; and we're trying to get the house ready to sell in the spring.

I'm also not a big fan of Christmas.  I HATE shopping and the crowds and the pressure of finding the right gift for people.  The materialism of the season really gets to me.  I prefer Thanksgiving.  You get to spend time with family and don't have to deal with the gift giving frenzy.  But now Thanksgiving has been over shadowed by Christmas.  I love this cartoon, it says it all:

I enjoy being with family and friends.  And being thankful. 

People forget how fortunate they are.  We live in a country where no one goes hungry (a missed meal isn't starvation) and where we don't see the level of poverty that exists in other countries.  We also have a level of freedom unheard of in other places.  Which gives people the ability to whine and complain in public about how terrible things are currently.  People need some perspective.

Back to my point.  Its been a busy and a lot is going on.  Much of it is looking forward to the new year and some of the stress we're about to endure. 

I need to take my own advice and shift gears to the present. I need to focus on things like the funny moments I have with Wil.  Just now he came over and asked me to give him 5, he stuck his hand out and we slapped hands a few times.  The other day he asked for a hug and told me he loved me too after I had given him a kiss and told him that I loved him.  I need to reshift my focus back to the central ring in my life.

Summer Day Trip

I wrote this poem as an undergrad.  When I was a kid we used to make a yearly church trip to Sunken Meadow beach in Long Island.  We used to look forward to it all summer.

SUMMER DAY TRIP

Anticipation
for the next day to begin,
for the morning to break.
The hum of the floor fan,
with the swish of the cars outside
make the sheets offer to much warmth in this summer day,
but they are my protection.

Anticipation
so
I barely get any sleep.
I see the sky get clear
as the sun begins to rise
and mom wakes us up.
It's time to get ready, eat breakfast, pack up our things 
and begin our walk to church.

The warm air smells sweet
mixed with the smell of fried chicken
that I carry in the grocery bag.
My new jelly sandals squish on the pavement.
Brother complains about the weight of the thermos,
its ice clatters against the plastic.

There's the bus!
Large in the narrow street.
I don't remember the ride.
Lost sleep is found.
Bright sunshine warms us,
and the hymns are my lullaby.
The patter of the rain--barely audible.

Picnic is set half a mile from the beach,
and there is no rain here
like the weatherman said.

Late afternoon, after hours of playing
I sit on the wooden bench
and eat my fried chicken sandwich.

The baptism is now!
Someone calls.

They all rush to the shore
to see the purified.

People are cleansed
just like John baptized Jesus.

Afterwards we eat dinner
and celebrate.

The new souls.

We go home.

Late afternoon sunshine and
the sun is dipping behind buildings.
We walk home.
My jelly sandals squish with water.
Brother swings the empty thermos
while I carry nothing.

I get home and shower
and lie in front of the TV.

CHiPs is on.
Mom sits besides me
and strokes my freshly washed hair.
I feel the ocean in my chest--
rising and falling waves,
rising and falling.
The yellow sunshine fills the living room
but it's almost gone.
As Lavern and Shirley 
sing their song
I fall asleep.


--Joanna Milanes
December 28, 1996

EMBRACE THE MOON

This story is based on a dream.  Not sure what before bedtime meal caused it or maybe it was some cold medicine.  I was in grad school at the time I wrote it and had a lot on my mind regarding what the heck I was going to do with my life.



EMBRACE THE MOON
I sat on the sand and waited for him. It was dark early morning. The moon sat on the horizon and began its descent.

By the shore and secluded beach, they danced around the fires near the line of coconut trees that was behind me.

The moon was large as it dipped into the black ocean. It seemed that he would come. I left everything behind to wait: the bonfire dances, the warmth of the songs and grandmother's hum when she prepared the stew.

The moon beckoned me, and asked why I was so far. I told her I was waiting. "Swim to me and find him here," she said. I stood and walked into the cool water. The soft waves lapped against my ankles. The light foam rippled between my toes. I entered slowly. I didn't look back but could feel the heat of the rising bon fires against my bare back as I dropped my robe into the sand. The coolness of the water wasn't strong until it reached my belly. I gasped.

The darkness of the salt ocean embraced me. I dove in completely and found comfort in its coolness. I hesitated. "You won't find the truth on the shore," the moon said. "You'll find it here." And so I swam in backstrokes to her on the horizon. Her largness covered the ocean. The yellow light illuminated my floating nakedness. Her warmth in contrast to the cool water. Soon, I was so close that all that was left in the sky was the moon. "Hug me," she said. I stretched my arms around her swollen body. "Yes, is the answer," she whispered in my ear, though there was no one else around to hear us.

I swam back knowing the truth. The answer was already in myself. When I returned to shore I waited no longer, I put on my robe and headed to the warm bon fire. I danced new dances no one had ever dreamt of dancing before and taught the others this new joy. We still danced when the sky became purple and light rose through the mountains. He arrived on the shore.

I saw him in the distance as I still danced and wondered if the sun would call to him as the moon did I. Did they--the sun and moon-- meet briefly right after he came out of his slumber and as she was going to bed? But, the sun did not call him.
He turned to the bon-fires that were dying from the lack of fuel. When he saw me he walked over the shells that had been pushed near the end of the sand by the evening tide.

"Why were you not waiting?" He asked. I embraced the moon last night, but he did not need to know. I asked, "what joy is there in waiting?"
______________________________________________________________________
Copyright 1999, Joanna Milanes

Posting some fiction...

I've decided to dust off (really dust off) some fiction I used to have in my old web site.  These were written back when I was in college, so be gentle.

You'll see these over the next few posts.

Finding your "bees"

I've had this song from Blind Melon in my head all week.  I think it has more to do with the video associated with it.  If you've never seen it, it's the story of a tap dancing honey-bee dressed girl as she's trying to find people that appreciate her for herself. 

She's odd looking.  She has a freckled face and wears glasses.  Her bee outfit doesn't seem to fit quite right.

She gets laughed off a stage, gets strange looks in the street, and finally finds her "bees" in a park that's brightly colored green and blue in contrast to the rest of the video.

Its a great message.  We all have our bees that we can fit in with.  Its just a matter of time when we find them.  These are the people that accept us unconditionally.

An honest discussion - racial identity (Part I)

I read an article the other day from a writer who's half Puerto Rican and Half Irish, and recently there was an entire series in the NY Times regarding the increase of multi-racial people in this country.  Bi-racial would no longer fit the hodgepodge background that some people have. 

It made me think of my son William.  He'll be among the statistics.  What will he consider himself to be?  I think that's a good question to ask.  To disregard it as, "he's American that's all that matters" is a little naive and overly simplistic. 

I'm already a mix since to be Puerto Rican is to be not a race, but an ethnicity.  It means to have roots from Spain, Africa and the indigenous people of the islands, the Tainos.  Actually the correct term would be Borinque~no, since Taino means "friend".  The Spanish confused the native wordfor the tribes name. 

I can just imagine the first encounter:  Spanish Conquistador, "Quienes son?" (Who are you?).  Natives look at each other and figure they don't want to start on the wrong foot with these guys with metal armor and swords.  Better to let them know they're good guys and here to extend a helping hand.  "Taino" (friend), they said.  Little did the poor natives know.  Maybe it was lost in translation, maybe if the Spanish only knew that they were being called friends things would have turned out differently?  (yeah right)

I digress.

Growing up I never really fit in anywhere.  I really didn't fall under the "New Yoriquen" crowd since I didn't talk like the kids around me with the slang and I was many times told I wasn't dark enough.  Sometimes even told I "talked white".  Thanks for making proper English an exclusive thing of "white people".  I wasn't accepted by the black kids in my JHS for some of the same reasons and because black racism exists as well (yes I said it).  Oddly-- well maybe not so oddly -- the group that accepted me most readily were the white and Asian kids.

Over the years I've been asked if I'm pretty much every race or ethnicity in the book, except Asian or Caucasian.  I've been asked if I'm Greek, Italian, Jewish, Israeli, Arab, Turkish, Black (I can pass for light skinned when I'm really tanned), and of course Hispanic.  Notice the heavy Mediterranean confusion.  Wrong sea.

What will William's experience be like?  Well, he's medium skinned, has some of my olive tones, and will be ridiculously tall.  Physically, people would have a hard time pinning his ethnicity down like they did with me.  His dad is "white" but we'll be exposing him to both cultures - his dad is Czech.  Maybe it won't matter as much as he grows.  It seems that within his age group there will be many more mixed kids than there have ever been before.  We have quite a few friends that are in mixed marriages. 

I hope that "what are you?" won't matter as much as who you are. We always say that he can decide his own identity.  As parents its our job to expose him to different aspects of his background so he can decide who he is and how he wants to identify himself.