Change Afoot We walk through life with the illusion that the logic of what’s come before defines the future. As I embrace this, the path before me shifts, sand displaced by strong winds. Suddenly, my future feels amorphous. But, with this affirmation, relief washes over me like soft, warm rain. I realize, I have trained these ankles, knees, hips and core to ensure safe landing. I leap into the unknown with assurance that firm ground will appear on the other side.

Shattered mirror

There is a part of you that is sick. You’re reminded of it
when you visit your mother. It’s the critical voice
that never shuts up. The belief that
your way is the only logical choice. The controlling
suggestion that shapes our mutual experience. Ideas, mine-

about how to help
things breathe into joyful living (isn't it better
for everyone?). If I erred,

Please tell me it rolls
of my back more organically
than my mother’s. She’s not that bad
really. She’s
having a hard time.

My dad is seeing somebody new, can’t help himself
from oozing with happiness, that blossomed
in a place that was rotting, albeit
with candied hurt. And what

of my relationship? Flashing between bliss
and boredom, between fire and ice. I tell her she doesn’t
inspire me. She calls me mean. I can’t blame her. Our momentum
has its own motor, so we grasp at each other like we might lose
our very lives if we let go. I carry my mom in me

too (that sharp acid feeling in my mouth). I'm not
going to change if I replace one smart, thin mint
for another. Patience slips
through my partner's fingers and we feel at home

in one another’s arms.

A poem, at least

What is a poem? Emotion leaks onto the page, a metaphor. Extended massive orgasm. You lean into the idea rather than recoil. Revelation. Inspiration is something I long for. Obviously, I want such fun and games. You implore me to demand my full sexual expression. Should it be such a request? I cook to nourish. I dance to feel. What do you do with your time? How to you sew the seeds of progress or beautify on this planet? So you used to live in a place far away and help people… That is incredible. I wish that you would do something Today, something real. Make an imprint on this earth like a stamp, A step that cannot be erased, undone. Show me how you invest in the moment, Create something that didn’t exist the hour before. Wet my panties. Make me ache. Live through art.

prayer for world peace -dr. jane goodall

We pray to the great Spiritual Power in which
we live and move and have our being.
We pray that we may at all times
keep our minds open to new ideas and shun dogma;
that we may grow in our understanding of the nature of all living beings
and our connectedness with the natural world;
that we may become ever more filled with
generosity of spirit and true compassion and love for all life;
that we may strive to heal the hurts that we have inflicted on nature
and control our greed for material things, knowing that
our actions are harming our natural world and the future of our children;
that we may value each and every human being
for who he is, for who she is,
reaching to the spirit that is within,
knowing the power of each individual to change the world.

We pray for social justice,
for the alleviation of the crippling poverty
that condemns millions of people around the world
to lives of misery - hungry, sick, and utterly without hope.
We pray for the children who are starving,
who are condemned to homelessness, slave labor, and prostitution,
and especially for those forced to fight, to kill and torture
even members of their own family.
We pray for the victims of violence and war,
for those wounded in body and for those wounded in mind.
We pray for the multitudes of refugees, forced from their homes to alien places
through war or through the utter destruction of their environment.

We pray for suffering animals everywhere,
for an end to the pain caused by scientific experimentation,
intensive farming, fur farming, shooting, trapping,
training for entertainment, abusive pet owners,
and all other forms of exploitation
such as overloading and overworking pack animals,
bull fighting, badger baiting, dog and cock fighting and so many more.

We pray for an end to cruelty,
whether to humans or other animals,
for an end to bullying, and torture in all its forms.
We pray that we may learn the peace that comes with forgiving
and the strength we gain in loving;
that we may learn to take nothing for granted in this life;
that we may learn to see and understand with our hearts;
that we may learn to rejoice in our being.

We pray for these things with humility;
We pray because of the hope that is within us,
and because of a faith in the ultimate triumph of the human spirit;
We pray because of our love for Creation, and because of our trust in God.
We pray, above all, for peace throughout the world.

To the Risen Moon

(March 2007)

“All night my hands weep in gratitude
for little things. That feet are not shoes.
That blackbirds are eating the raspberries. That parsley
does not taste like bread. //
From now on I want to live
Only by grace. In other words, not to deserve things.”
-Blackbirds, Susan Mitchell

We stare at the noisy sky to remind us
that we are small and to feel connected.
We float in heavy silence,
even as we eavesdrop on the lake
lapping at the dock posts.

I like it when you interrupt.
As if you were Navajo,
you tell me with your hands
how the stars spilled
from their ripped satchel,
like paint splattering on the widest canvas.

We watch the dotted sky
until our toes turn numb and
we peel our backs from the hard planks.
Stunned, we inhale honeyed moons
dripping from black sky into black water.

Instead of leaving, we resettle.
We are glued to the oily globes
as they begin to rust
like the twin banks at dusk, suddenly resplendent
against the monotone landscape.

Our eyes rest there
until two egrets skate over the lake,
their bodies like darts
propelled by steady, flapping wings.
My right side knows your left
and your skin breathes into mine.

We are no longer miniature but expansive,
as if we could grasp the large fruit
that hangs above its syrupy reflection.
I decided from now on, I want to live
only by grace. In other words,
not to deserve things.

As our chilled feet retrace the shoreline,
My hands weep in gratitude for little things.
That docks are neither land nor water;
That the Navajo survive in words if not flesh;
That paint captures what and when language fails.
That the red-oiled fruit
hangs briefly in silhouetted trees.
That the cold in my fingers
evaporates with the company of your hand.

All night, I dreamed grace
and cradled without deserving.
My hands cupped the glistening harvest moon
until its flowing juices glazed my fingers
and the egrets landed to drink of the lake in my palm.

Late on the evening of my masters graduation:

I am so grateful for all of the support I've had to get to where I am in now. My family traveled from Missouri, New Hampshire and New York to join me in Washington DC this weekend. They perceived the incredible community of international service of which I've had the fortune to become part over the past two years. They expressed their pride for the path on which I've set myself and I was deeply moved.

This evening my dear friend Rose hosted my family and a couple others for food and drinks following the commencement ceremony. She asked our (grand)parents to share the wisdom they hold with those of us graduating. A remarkable dialogue followed. My grandmother--a regal woman whose intelligence and grace I can only aspire--told a story to illustrate the importance of connecting one on one with "family, friends and strangers". She had crossed the path of a couple of women in hijab and smiled at them twice; the third time, one of the women stopped her. "I like you," she said, "you are a kind woman with a good heart." My grandmother, who knows no one Muslim, felt connected across difference. Such moments of connection are rare but constitute beauty in our lives.

It was a momentous weekend and I often found myself reflecting on the personal growth I've made over the past two (four... twenty five) years of professional progress. Last year, I attended the International Development Program's graduation reception on crutches following a serious hip surgery; this year, I was able to present a modern dance solo "On Listening." Four years ago, I graduated with my Bachelors devastatingly depressed and paralyzed with fear over my ability to make it; now, I graduate with a masters confident that I have the skills to contribute something to make our world a better place.

For now, then, a toast to: those who teach us from their experience with the past; to knowing how to find beauty and peace in the moment; to hope for the future!

In transit from Mozambique to the United States

I like to think this final entry is belated because I took every opportunity that presented itself to get to know Mozambique. My internship work was concentrated in the first three weeks of July. I returned from the field to my nightly routine: processing initial observations and identifying questions to resolve the following day; cooking and eating dinner; buying bread and bajia (fried bean cakes) for my morning snack; and watching the news with my host family while performing my physical therapy exercises. My work took on more importance than I imagined not only in terms of the amount of time that it has (and will continue to) consumed, but also because the more versed I became in the local culture, the more people opened themselves to me and the more I was able to give in return.

I gave little in comparison to what I received: hardly a field day went by when I didn't come home carting a heavy sack of cassava, sweet potatoes, corn, oranges, tangerines or a hard-shelled fruit with large seeds called masala. This capulana-wearing mulungo's arrival—greeting, thanking and inquiring parents, committee members and focus groups about their wellbeing in their mother tongue—almost invariably brought pleasantly-suprised laughter. In all eight communities, interviews began with a brief introduction to our “conversation” designed to put the interviewee(s) at ease; I took on the local customs of removing my shoes and profuse and repeated thanks-giving. In return, time-strapped farmers and merchants (21 parents and 14 preschool committee management members as well as 8 focus groups and 6 community development associates) provided me hours of genuinely-open responses about sometimes-difficult topics. The days that I felt both most useful and least hopeful were when my parenting focus groups turned into genuine community discussions troubleshooting serious roadblocks to preschool functioning. I not only gained an understanding of daily life and the trajectory of cultural change in rural Mozambique but also a wealth of first-hand data upon which to build my masters thesis regarding the barriers to participation and sustainability in voluntary community development projects.

My work with Save the Children became personally meaningful because of the time I invested and the friendship I developed with my driver/translator. But most powerfully my commitment to study strategies for improving parental participation has given hope to the preschool's volunteers teachers who are still waiting to receive from them a monthly “incentive” in money or kind. The more communities I visited, the more individuals it became clear will seriously consider my recommendations for how to move forward. It seems—and I hope—I can really make a difference.

But my personal journey didn't end there. After I stopped using my crutch and then cane, it was clear that surgery had marked me: I had not been fully myself. Walking without an aid gave me the freedom to remember and reclaim the free-spirited traveler in practice. I wish I could say that often danced on Xai-Xai's coast, but at least I danced to live bands at the Casa de Cultura, made friends with local artists/dancers/artisans and traveled regularly by public transport. My family laughed when I said that I traveled north because although I spent a full day by bus heading in that direction, I never made it past the southern provinces. The chapa rides were invariably perfumed by body odor and physically uncomfortable—standing at worst and four to a bench made for three at best. But traveling with my partner, also a seasoned traveler, was nonetheless a painless, pleasant adventure! From Vilankulo we chartered a two-day “ocean safari” to celebrate my birthday in Bazaruto Archapelago's serene, snorkeling paradise. In Tofo, we swam with the world's largest fishes, a rare pleasure afforded by the fact that 30 percent of the world's 1000 whale sharks frequent Mozambique's coastline. In Quissico, we hiked through palm trees down a populated hillside to expansive blue lagoons. In Xai-Xai, we ate cove matapa in the market and drank smooth, dark beer on the beach.

And when I arrived back home, there was my host family: relieved and proud that their “youngest daughter” had the linguistic and cultural skills to safely navigate the homeland back to their open arms. The morning we said goodbye, I learned that Madalena and Meque “always had their hearts in their hands” when I traveled. I explained that the ease I felt to converse, come and go with them and their extended family was central to my positive experience in Mozambique. Indeed, through our mutually heart-felt exchange it became clear that in one another's company we cultivated a true family. I was deeply touched by their genuine offer that anytime my family or someone of my confidence travels to Mozambique—with or without me—they have a family to receive them.

In my last entry, I wrote but decided not to publish the following: “ As my catalog of experiences expands and my telephone book fills up, I feel more and more comfortable in Mozambique. Rather than being perceived as strange, I feel increasingly valued for my differences. Dona Madalena has made me promise to call from the States; there’s no adequate translation for saudade, but suffice it to say that she hopes I’ll miss her as she claims she’ll miss me.” In early July, I didn't fully believe that either of us would in fact feel that way; but just hundreds of miles away, I'm feeling the pull to return to the families I'm leaving behind. In two and a half months, despite the cultural norm of rarely bringing people into one's house, I have several homes to which I can return.