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.