THE FOLLOWING IS THE WORK OF REX LEE JIM...
Here are writings that came of the writing workshops that I
co-taught with colleagues through the Andover Bread Loaf Peace Literacy Network
program, August 13-19, 2017 in El Salvador.
We worked in partnership with ConTexto.
As facilitators we write with workshop participants. Here are my writings as close to the ones
that came out of the workshops (with minor edits). Some of these will be revised later when I
find the time.
A. Writing Out of Silence Writings (Sit in
silence with eyes closed for 7 minutes.
Then write a poem, a paragraph, etc. out of what you hear and feel.)
1. The Question of a
Fifth Grade Girl in Borja
I celebrate the question of
a fifth grade girl, in Borja
So what happens to the other 60?
upon learning that only 20/80=10/40=5/20=1/4, one of 4
graduating students
go on to college, and dare we even ask of
the 20 how many actually graduate?
fraction learning is no longer memorizing
it becomes
exploring minds, discovering minds, challenging minds
childlike thinking that
delight in simple answers yet
like still water, it begins to carve deeply
the destiny of a nation,
fraction means nation building
and
I feel questions
lying dormant in
the satisfaction of my guts
begin to surge through me,
wanting to explode
as I’m sure is the sleeping volcano across
the road, and
with such danger lying in such beauty
I challenge myself with ?s that could
transform seething lava
into heated water;
create black lava into hearths, homes;
transmute my dangling arms
into embracing arms,
embracing smiling children
and
I learn that when you dive into the depth of the earth
and swim in lava,
you can surface anywhere on earth
and be at home,
that when you live at the core of humanity
you are at home with any heart, anywhere
in the world
2. I heard joints
moving – cracking they normally say.
“Don’t crack your knuckles,” my brother used to say. “Why?” I would ask. “Because your joints will become big and
you’re going to look like the Thing from the Fantastic Four,” he would
respond. The Thing was an interesting
character. A scientific explosion turned
four scientists into aliens of a certain kind.
When I was younger I thought of becoming a member of the Fantastic
Four. I dreamed of the kinds of powers I
might want to exercise. Now I think
about how scientific experiments have created more problems; I think about
climate change, about nuclear threats, about GMO and the many health issues
like cancer and diabetes, about cloning.
Now I think about power and ego, about Donald Trump and the power trip
he’s on, reigniting White supremacy and racism and bigotry. I don’t think I want to be a super hero anymore,
especially one created by scientific miscalculations. Now I just want to be a decent human being
who appreciates all people, enjoying the different languages and cultures,
intentionally communicating across differences to create a better world. I do need to crack my knuckles.
3. Donde estoy?
I can’t say for sure where I am. I seem to be in transition at all times, with
a wandering mind. I keep focusing on the
insistent and consistent voice of the AC.
It distracts me more so than the loud voice of the teacher next
door. The AC forces my mind to wander
all over the place, away from here to places familiar and comfortable, to
places of convenience and pleasure, to people who comfort me. The voice of the AC keeps me asking what I
need to do to keep myself comfortable and satisfied. Yes, immediate gratification of personal gain
and pleasure, of convenience and of, “I want things my way right now!”
When I focus on the AC, I distract myself from the things
that I need to do, that I must do. I
know I must sit and listen, sit and hear my own heart beat, sit and hear my own
blood flow through my veins, sit and hear myself breathe in and then breathe
out. But no, there are too many
distractions! I hear chairs moving,
girls giggling, faint sounds of vehicles moving in the distance. I hear teachers’ voices trying to rise above
the sounds of students, or is the noise of the teacher’s voice attempting to
suppress the voices of our children!
Yes, there are many distracting noises.
Then again, perhaps I need to hear those sounds, those voices in order
to get to my own voice, my truth.
A wandering mind is not easy to reign in. I am thinking of specific family members and
their relationships with one another through unique phrases they use, and
distinct things they do when they are together. I also am becoming aware of my tired body, feeling
the aches, what’s uncomfortable. And
questions begin to invade my mind. What
should I drink? What should I eat? What part of my body do I need to
stretch? And then there is the urge to
sneeze, but couldn’t. No, I don’t want
to break the silence with a sneeze!
Where am I? My mind
is wandering all over the place, but perhaps that’s a good place where an
indolent mind needs to be; wandering, a mind that may be getting too
comfortable with stagnation, with the status quo, with comfort and convenience. Yes, I am in the process of changing my
mind. This is where I’m at right
now! This is where I need to be!
4. Water Flowing (in
English)
Surrounded by
mountains,
mountains of ancient songs
and prayers, mountains of hope
and aspirations, I hear the faint
sound of a small quivering creek
mumbling through
the small school of Amun Shea
in Perquin, El Salvador.
The more I listen, the more
the small river begin to gorge
through my veins, through my blood, and
my heart begins to throb and
blood
begins to flow through
Navajo children sweating from
the sun crossing Navajo country,
Navajo children in the parking lot of
the Flowing Water casino,
their tears flowing with
hunger
thirst
longing
flowing
The small water flowing
through Amun Shea in Perquin, El Salvador
flows through memory,
flows through life,
flows through the world,
through you,
through me
The river of Amun Shea
take me home
Agua Cayendo (rough Spanish translation)
Rodeado de montañas,
montañas de canciones ancianas
y oraciones, montañas de esperanza
y aspiraciones, escucho el sonido suave
de un riíto
cerca de la pequeña escuela de Amun Shea
en Perquin, El Salvador.
Entre más escucho, el río empieza a corer
por mis venas, pormi sangre,
y mi corazón empieza a palpitar y sangre fluye
desde los niños Navajo sudando del sol
cruzando las tierras del Navajo,
los niños Navajo en el parqueo de Flowing Water casino.
Su llanto caye de
hambre
sed
anhelos
Cae
El ríito pequeña fluye
por Amun Shea en Perquin, El Salvador
fluye en la memoria
fluye en la vida
fluye en el mundo
fluye en ti
fluye en mi.
Riíto de Amun Shea
llevame a
casa
B. I Release You Writings (based on Joy
Harjo’s “I release you” poem, write a poem releasing a negative emotion, idea,
etc.)
1. Good bye, Haragan
I release you my beloved haragan
you shall no longer share my bed
I release you as I run into dawn,
into a new world
of opportunities,
seizing the day before
the sun shakes his golden mane.
I release you o spirit of sloth
I can no longer hang around in a
tree when a monkey can back flip through
several trees with one swing,
from this day on I prefer to rumble down
cliffs like great waterfalls,
cascading through air in joy.
I let go of you, especially your fancy name
procrastination,
prooocraaaaastinaaaaation!
aah, you took my love from me
who now takes comfort in the
warmth of another’s embrace.
2. Walk Away
skinwalkers
I let you walk into
the darkness and let
you roam as you please
in the far reaches of my mind.
your cough in the night outside my hogan
now becomes phlegm
that I spit you onto the dark dirt
and cover you with dirt with my left foot,
with one sweep.
Yes, then I walk all over you,
one spit at a time, one step at a time.
I know many dark stories of you,
but they no longer instill fear in my mind,
for my imagination is fully in my control, and
I let you go one alphabet at a time, one word at a time,
one anecdote at a time until all the stories about you
walk away!
I am free to choose what roams in my mind,
who wanders in my mind.
I choose,
And now I choose to let you go.
I choose,
I choose freedom, freedom of fear,
freedom from skinwalkers.
C. Oda de Celebracion a la Vida Writings
(based on Pablo Neruda’s “Ode to My Socks” poem, write an ode to
celebrate/embrace life.)
1. Stuffed Horse
I gently caress the little stuffed horse,
the stuffed tail, the stuffed mane, all black and shiny.
I looked into its glassy eyes, not so classy nor sassy.
I try to make him stand, but he wobbles and falls down.
I glance a shiny streak on its mane, a silver lining of
syrup, and
I look over, smile and attempt to brush my daughter’s
hair of Aunt Jemima’s grip.
She continues sleeping, no, not Aunt Jemima.
My daughter. She
sleeps on contentedly.
although I try to wake her with kisses.
Thank you, stuffed horse,
whatever your name may be, for
I’m sure you have a name,
a lovely one at that,
for keeping my daughter company
while I keep the company of politicians.
2. Sleeping
grandson’s breathing
breathing, the tiny chest of my grandson
goes up and down,
going deep, deep for air
relaxed, all stretched out
I listen to his breathing as he sleeps
resting from playing all morning
playing in the sun, in muddy puddles
I watch my grandson sleeping
he’s sleeping on my lap
and I don’t want to put him down
I feel his body against mine
warm, comfortable, trusting
I tussle his hair, caress the
contours of his nose, his cheeks
the breathing of a sleeping child
speaks to my compassion
to my life with love, with life
in and out, in and out
and I listen to the breeze outside
make its way through leaves of
cottonwood tree
the zephyr breezing
east
D. Weaving Our Stories (How do we weave our personal
story into our national or global story?)
A few family members, friends and I travelled in southern
Mexico one summer. One day as we walked
by a government building, we saw the front fenced off. There was a cardboard tent with two feet
sticking out. One of our friends went
over to find out what was happening.
Upon returning, she told us that over the weekend, in a community in the
mountains, there was a politician campaigning to be reelected. One of the community members asked the
politician what he would do for the community if elected, if the community
supported him. The police took the inquisitor
to jail for disturbing a peaceful gathering.
That same night the police killed him.
The person in the cardboard tent was his brother fasting, protesting
what the politician and the police had done, demanding justice. I thought about the incident for a bit and after
awhile had forgotten all about it.
A few years later my colleagues at Dine College and I took a
group of students to Peru. The students
decided to present on the Navajo Nation, and Andino Colegio in Cuzco offered us
a room to do the presentation. We were
hoping that at least five students would show up. When we arrived 30 minutes early, the room
already was packed, with people standing out in the streets. They were not students. These were indigenous leaders who walked two
to three days to listen to our presentation.
The students presented with a Q&A session. Towards the end, an elder rose and asked to
speak. I paraphrase here what he
said. “You are the most pampered Indians
I know. You tell us that you are
protected by your own laws, by your treaties with the United States, by the
laws of the states you’re in, and by the laws of the United States. You have access to free health care and
education and so on. You live in what
most consider the most powerful and wealthiest country in the world. Yet most of what I have heard is mostly
complaints from you. Some of us out here
get killed just for asking questions. We
work the land just to live. What I’d
like to know is what you are doing from your place of privilege and power to
speak for those of us who are not as fortunate.” Our students didn’t know what to say. And I sat in silence.
I have since tracked the halls of the United Nations, of the
Organization of American States, of the United States, the halls of governments
at all levels to fight for the rights of indigenous peoples, children, women,
giving voice to those who cannot speak for themselves. As well as helping others to reclaim their rhetorical
sovereignty! Now I travel for a
purpose! I walk with a purpose!
E. Reflection Writings
1. What did I feel
and think about collaboration with our cooperating teachers? I felt the energy of tension, of who wants to
be in control of the class. As much as
we all would like to believe in working together, there’s always a latent
desire to be in control, to be in charge.
Although we planned for our first class, our cooperating teacher changed
plans the last minute and we had to go with it.
Many changes were needed to for our lessons to be done effectively, but
that didn’t happen. For example we
planned to have four groups of students, and desks could’ve been arranges in
groups, but they as before. If they were
prearranged, we wouldn’t have wasted so much class time. On the other hand, as facilitators that come
in for a short time, in fact, for just one class period, we probably shouldn’t
expect too much.
I also strongly felt the tension of limitation and the
frustration that comes with it. Personally I was extremely frustrated by my
limited Spanish. I wasn’t able to communicate
with the students the way I wanted to.
There were times when students wanted to talk to me, but couldn’t. I also felt that we didn’t prepare enough in
terms of sitting down and talking through our approaches to teaching, the
principles and values that guide us. Some of us just wanted to take over and show
the teacher how to teach. In fact, we
often talked too much, when we should have focused on cooperative activities
and given the students a more active voice.
As always, there’s also the tension of time. We tried too much in such a short time. We needed more time working together with
students and teachers to create rapport and trust.
2. This week, what
did I learn? What does it mean? What do we do next?
As always, when we travel and think that we are helping
others, we learn once again that in order to change the world, we first need to
work on ourselves and change. I once
again have to face many personal obstacles and challenges.
One, I had to face the language barrier. I speak Spanish, but I am reluctant to speak
Spanish with native speakers. I come out
with all types of excuses not to do so.
Perhaps taking on the role of a “victim” is in some odd way drawing
attention, a certain kind of pampering, to myself. In so doing, I avoid
fear. Perhaps I am afraid the mistakes I
make might indicate the inadequate ways I articulate my truth. However, it is in this struggle that I find
meaning and hope for my work as a writer and educator. I ask myself how I might be asking others to speak
their truth, to craft language in some meaningful way to express who they are
when I myself am struggling with my language, my voice, my truth. Does such complete understanding of
self-truth exist? What is truth
anyway? In addition to all other emotions,
it is always a pleasure to begin exploring, discovering, and sharing with
others our truth.
Two, I continue to learn that people do want to express
hurts that have been suppressed for generations and the tremendous love they
have for wanting to be alive. To seize
life! To seize the day! And to be more effective as “un maestro” as
we have been called, I must learn to be even more vulnerable, to lay my life
even more bare, to show the essence of being a human being.
This self-discovery implies for me the importance of
understanding language, culture, heritage, history, stories, and
spirituality. To act globally for world
peace means to act locally through celebration of local beliefs and practices,
and when local change becomes local growth, local change then is another step
toward global peace. So then, how do we
begin to help the thinking child think with a purpose, rooted in spiritual
foundations and guided by family and community aspirations? How do we begin to teach young minds to exercise
critically, analytically, creatively, and with synthesis? The next step must be to write more and more
with them, to make ourselves more vulnerable and human as possible.
