Before El Slavador

My writing class professor asked if I ever write about El Salvador.  And I don't.  So I did.

One week can change your life.  My life was forever changed in one week's time.  And then imagine what the four months did....

Before El Salvador...
Before El Salvador, I had never left the country.
... I had a very limited and one-sided world view.
... I thought one of the most pressing moral and ethical issues of our day was abortion.
... I had never seriously thought about what it means to be a woman in the world.
... I had never seen a woman priest; I never thought women could be priests.
... I had never heard about liberation theology; I had never read The Struggle Is One
... I didn't know how to Be Peace, and see the interconnectedness of all life
... I didn't know if my Spanish was any good, if I could really communicate in another language.
... I had never met Isabel, the bravest woman I know.
... I had never heard first hand accounts of what it's like to fight a war, live through a war, on your own soil, in your own neighborhood.
... I thought I knew what it meant to love.  I was wrong.
... I had never tasted a delicious pupusa
... I never heard of refugee camps from the personal account of a woman who lived in one, gave birth in one.
... I never understood the profound courage of a woman standing up for herself and her family in a machista society where she could have been killed.
... I didn't know how to make tortillas; although my sad attempt today cannot live up to my Salvadoran sisters and mothers
... I had a feeling there was something more out there.  After El Salvador I knew there was.
... I had never stood on sacred ground where others had sacrificed their lives for their beliefs in something good, a better ways of being together and loving one another.
... I had never had to contemplate the profound horror of hundreds of innocent children slaughtered in a single place and a mother listening to the cries and pleas of her own children as it happened.
... I undervalued the power of women when we get together and share our stories
... I didn't know Oti, Lolo, Elizabeth, Karen, Oscar, and so many others...
... I only thought I knew what a broken heart was
... the world made some sense
... I thought I was old for my age
... I thought I knew a lot and was well informed
... I loved buying shoes and had a closet full of them
... I had rarely, if ever, shown my own brokenness, fear, sadness
... I was a different person

My host family in Ellacuria, El Salvador with Isabel, the bravest woman I know (Spring 2006)

Casa Spring 2007

Remember

The Sacred Valley gets its name from the river that runs through it called the Sacred River. The Incas said the river was a mirror of the heavens. Water was also holy and respected. It could bring life and take life and all the land and peoples were connected to the Sacred River, as well as the mountains, the sun, and the moon. Today, driving or hiking through the Sacred Valley, the Sacred River runs brown, no longer reflecting the heavens but rather the dirt of erosion and pollution.

This culture and people that had so much respect for the earth and recognized their connection to it, was conquered, raped, and massacred right along with the earth for which they cared. This is the European history from which I come. This is the Catholic history from which I come. The Spanish Church and Pope with gold in their eyes and greed in their hearts eagerly approved and consecrated as a holy mission from God the genocide of an entire people; people who were able to use the rich natural resources around them for all they needed, who were able to create accurate calendars and markers of time and seasons, who built palaces and temples with minimal resources, and who celebrated and honored the divine presence in the world around them. But they were barbarians, heathens, devil worshipers ... at least according to the Church. Why? Because they recognized and revered the power of nature instead of claiming false power to control and dominate in the name of God Almighty. One of my tour guides at Machu Picchu said, "Men think they are the owners (dueños) of the earth, but they aren't the owners of anything. We are here for but a short time; from the earth we come and to the earth we will return. The Incas recognized this; the Spanish did not." From womb to tomb mother earth births us into life and receives us back in death.

And I found myself wondering where is God in all of this? God isn't in the giant churches and cathedrals built on top of ancient Incan temples and buildings. God isn't the giant White Jesus statue high on a hill with arms outstretched looming down at the city below, offering constant reminder to the symbol of Catholicism used to dominate and destroy. But God is present here and always has been. She is in the mountains, the soil, the trees, the crashing river, the rocks. Sophia still speaks to those who listen; ancient wisdom of unity, reverence, and care. She whispered to me in silent meditation on top of WaynaPicchu sweet melodies of love, joy, and deep sorrow. Remember we are One.