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Work 4 Peace,Hold All Life Sacred,Eliminate Violence! I am on my mobile version of the door-to-door, going town-to-town holding readings/gatherings/discussions of my book "But What Can I Do?" This is my often neglected blog mostly about my travels since 9/11 as I engage in dialogue and actions. It is steaming with my opinions, insights, analyses toward that end of holding all life sacred, dismantling the empire and eliminating violence while creating the society we want ALL to thrive in

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The night intruder

 The sky is blacker than black, and the stars are more brilliant than ever. The moon is just her little sliver. There are so many stars, we can see that haze that looks like the milkyway in planetariums.

We walk staring up in awe and wonder until I trip. Robert and Lucinda, the 8 year old daughter, switch on their flashlights immediately. The light is distracting but does nothing to diminish the amazing beauty of the black night.

As we get close to my truck, Celia comments on the visitor it looks like I have. I am surprised. We see a little pickup truck parked at a 90 degree angle to my truck and a little fire going on the ground.

I go to my truck so I can show the rest of Celia’s family my casa but Celia with Roberto following has gone over to talk with the hombre.

He appears to be a puffy white version of a banker with glasses and without his suit ‘roughing’ it.

And swigging out of a large glass bottle of beer. I cannot tell if he’s offered Celia and Roberto any but he doesn’t offer me any.

From the little I can understand, he’s from Zacatecas and is camping here tonite. I can clearly understand that Celia is grilling him.

He addresses me in Spanish and broken english. He shines his flashlight on his face so we can see his puffy banker’s look. He asks me where my husband is. My sister, my brother.

This pickup truck door is open, of course, and music is playing. It is not the usual radio but a cd player. I try to calculate how long his battery will last tonite.

He keeps asking me if I’m traveling sola. I keep telling him. I should have told him my husband is asleep in my truck and to keep it down.

Celia must have grilled him about where he was going to sleep because he hauls himself up off the ground and takes us over to the back of his truck, where his camping gear is stowed. He points out his tent, sleeping bag, plastic bag of food.

I am on the verge of asking him if he intends to camp right here but I don’t. I feel conflicted. The whole fucking campground is empty except for my spot and he’s parking in it.

This happens in the states too. It is like ufb. Many times I have camped in a deserted camp ground only to have someone come later and take the space next to me.

I don’t know if that’s why he camped there or if he has other nefarious reasons. He almost seems nervous. He tells me his fiancé, who speaks perfect english, is studying in Canada to be a doctor.

Celia doesn’t want to leave me but I give her a hug, tell her everything is fine, and I try to tell her how much I loved meeting her family and going to her home.

I give joe hombre a chance to turn off the music and leave. He doesn’t. I am locked into the camper, windows covered, lights out, and he still leaves the music blaring.

I debate whether I should move, open the door, ask him if he intends to stay there all night. My tolerance for loud music after such a wonderful, calm night is minus 1000. I grab my keys, open the door and step out.

He seems surprised to see me. He is bending over his truck. I ask him if he intends to play loud music the whole nite. He apologizes and rushes over to turn off the stereo.

I tell him I will move. He insists I stay, I was here first. I thank him, for turning down the music and for moving. We bid each other goodnite and I return to my home, lock the door, and take my iron pipe out of my sleeve and return it to it’s home.

I don’t hear him move, but he’s not playing loud music. I think I hear him putting up his tent. I wonder why he is really here. I wonder if he wants anything that is hanging around the edges of my truck. I wonder if he means me any harm. I wonder I wonder I wonder.

I fall asleep after putting huge circles around my truck and myself.


It is almost dark and Celia invites me to come to her home. At least that is what I think she is saying to me.

I accompany her up the fine grey dirt road into the village and at the end, just before it spills into the plaza, a very tall girl is standing there with two other children and a man.

It is Celia’s family, waiting for her to come home from work. They are curious about me, but not surprised or hesitant. They welcome me and we walk a few feet towards the river.

There we enter one of the homes I was admiring yesterday morning when I first stumbled through this village. Her property goes all the way to the river and is surrounded by many trees and a high fence.

Celia opens the gate and welcomes me in. She has two patios: one is full of plants, some growing out of the ground, some in pots. And lots of clothes lines.

The other patio butts up against her doorways. It looks like she has three rooms too, each having a door onto the patio.

There are many bird cages hanging on the walls around the inner patio, that also has its share of plants and trees. Celia’s oldest daughter tells me her father rescues these birds when they fall out of trees or when they are found on the ground. He hand feeds them as babies and nurses them back to life.

Life in a cage, that is. Okay. I want to set them free but the children laugh at me. They will not survive in the wild. The birds sing and flutter around their little spaces.

The children bring out their books for me and read to me in Spanish. They do not have to return to school until the 10th of January. They both love school and are doing very well.

They find books for me. They know I am trying to learn Spanish so they give me a workbook about geography and another about history, books they say they don’t need anymore.

As the air cools, we move inside. It is spotless, with not a thing out of place. There are three beds in this room, two larger beds and one smaller. I think they all get to sleep together in this room.

There are two woven chairs and a couple of cupboards line the corner away from the beds where the clothes must be. Celia tells me she washes everything by hand.

No wonder her eyes are so sad. I wonder how old she is – I am asking the children but get distracted before I can ask her or Roberto their ages.

Another womon, Roberto’s sister from Arkansas, drops in with her daughter. I find out that most of Roberto’s family has stayed here but this sister only comes for vacations and summers. She’s the mom of one of the young boys I spoke with earlier today.

The children talk and talk, and the parents join in. The little boy has disappeared, I don’t know where he is but none of us are watching him.

I finally yawn my way through a polite thank you, what a pleasant evening, and I will let you go to sleep. They insist on walking me home. They all want to come, but Carina, the oldest daughter, has to stay behind. I think the boy has fallen asleep somewhere.


I go the river with a large pot to get water to wash dishes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my new young would-be gangstah friend Flurenzio slip out of character and rush to intercept me. When I straighten up and turn towards him, he immediately stops running and slips, hands into pockets, into his casual jaunt over to me.

“Are you using that to cook with?” he asks in his monotone. I look at him and then the bucket of water, and say well, I was going to wash dishes.

He points to the right side of the bathrooms and tells me there’s a faucet there with good water. I shouldn’t use this water, it’s not safe.

I look at the water and sadly say it appears so clean and crystal clear. He says it’s not, it can hurt me, but the water from the faucet is good.

I smile inside as I dump the water and thank him for letting me know.

Where to live???

I’m in heaven. I don’t want to leave here. As I soak in the hot water in the early morning, I try to imagine life here – for me.

Could I live without internet? Could I live with only a handful of people to communicate with? Could I live without working with people to change our world?

I could certainly get a lot of writing done. I could certainly ignore what my country is doing to the world and within my country.

Where do I want to be? Today I hike up the mountain as high as I can. Sabino has told me of another spring, which I find. I have to climb over stone fences, thru barbed-wire sometimes, skirt around cows and bulls that look as wary of me as I feel about them.

The rough path becomes a tiny horse trail up up up. As it gets higher, it is harder to follow as much of it crosses over rock terrain. I marvel at the ability of a horse to climb this narrow trail lined with huge cactus that are missing their long spikes from about my shoulder height down.

When I can no longer follow the path, I turn back and halfway down I turn towards Sabino’s baby home. After hiking another half hour or so, slipping through gates and climbing a few more fences, I see it and fall in love.

I cannot get close enough to see the front of the house but it sits on a little hill, surrounded by huge trees, and overlooking the river. Here the river is wider and most likely a little deeper. I can hear it flowing.

Birds of every color, size, shape are flying around or calling to each other. The house appears to be maybe 2 or three long, low rooms at the most. It is so tiny but then the outdoors makes it a mansion.

There’s the outdoor kitchen, the laundry lines, the garden area. There’s an old flatten spring from an antique bed leaning against the barbed-wire fence that surrounds the little house. The fence is to keep the cows out.

It is the only structure on the property. It is the only structure for miles around. It appears to be adobe or cement. I can only see the top and the side, and a little of the back of the house – the three large windows which make me think there could be 3 rooms.

My heart yearns for humans to fill this space. I think I will tell Sabino about solar energy, although he probably already knows.

And Maria probably needs more humans than him around her, after raising 11 children.

Coming out... again

I seem to come out to the oddest people at the oddest times.

Sabino keeps talking with me as I soak in the hot water. Jose is apparently working for him, as he comes over, stands on the hill above us, and asks Sabino some questions.

When he leaves, Sabino turns to me with a big grin on his face. I should marry Jose he says. I laugh and he looks affronted.

Jose is nice-looking, a hard worker, single and is looking for a wife. Why me, I groan inwardly, shaking my head no.

There are other men in the pueblo, he continues to my groans.

I tell Sabino I’m looking for a wife too. His eyes open almost a wide as his mouth drops. I tell him, yes I’m a lesbian.

He says to me, you want a lady? I say, no, I want a womon.

He assures me he knows of such things, as he has lived in the u.s. He proceeds to tell me about a womon in Las Vegas whom everyone thought was ugly but she had the most beautiful wife. I tell him that he might not have been able to see her beauty but her wife certainly did.

We discuss why I love womyn – probably for similar reasons, and many more, that he loves womyn.

We talk about the ways in which men treat womyn. He says the womyn here understand the needs of men, especially while they are in the u.s. I ask him about the needs of womyn while they (men) are in the u.s. He says esperan, which I think means they wait or could mean they hope. Hmmmm

He likes speaking english with me and laughing at my halting Spanish. He says he will be my teacher for Spanish and I can help him with his english, although now that he’s retired, he doesn’t need english so much anymore.

Before he leaves, I tell him I want to meet his wife, which he heartily agrees to. Tomorrow morning, after my run, we say. After he leaves, I chuckle about the timing of my request and wonder if he’s concerned. Hahaha!