A letter to my son

Dear Brendan,

It was early morning just a week ago when I received the call that you were on the way.  Less than one hour later, at 8:58am to be precise, you made a miraculous entrance into the world.  December 3, 2010 will be a day that will live in my memory forever.  Your daddy and I rushed to leave Houston as soon as possible so that we could be with you.  The drive from Houston to Dallas, which normally takes four hours, took almost seven.  We had not eaten anything since 5:00am that day and had to make one stop to gain some sustenance.  Those thirty minutes seemed like an eternity.  The food did not taste good to us.  I guess we just wanted to get on the road and get to the hospital in a flash.

When we arrived at the Texas Presbyterian Hospital in Plano, we went straight away to Morgan’s, your birth mom’s room where we found her in the company of your maternal grandmother, Kristi, and some of her friends.  Shortly after the nurse brought you in and placed you in my arms.  I just could not contain my emotions. Neither could daddy.  Daddy has always been the calm one in stressful situations, while I have been the emotional one.  Daddy let all his emotions show that day.  Our joy was so immense, we could not contain ourselves.  After three years of trying to adopt a little one, we had almost lost hope and when your mom contacted us, a spark of hope was re-kindled.  Through the five months that we worked with our Adoption Counselor, Amber, we went through a never-ending rollercoaster of insecurity, stress and anxiety.  Somehow, we never lost hope.  Amber kept us going despite the many difficult circumstances we faced.  Someday,  I will tell you about this-- when you are old enough to comprehend.  However, I do want you to know that what your mom did was the most selfless act anyone could do.  Because she loved you and wanted to give you a better life than she could, she entrusted us to be your parents.  You have our pledge and our commitment that we will love you until the end of our days and will do anything to protect you against anything or anyone, guide, educate you and give you the best life anyone can have.

Earlier on the afternoon of your birth, daddy and I made a stop at Grandma and Grandpa Smith’s house on our way to the Dallas area.  Though Abuelito and Abuelita in Puerto Rico already knew of your arrival since three weeks prior, we had waited to tell daddy’s parents until the very end.  We did so to protect them emotionally should the adoption would not have proceeded as planned.

The nurses and staff at the hospital were amazing.  We were treated with such dignity and love that the staff became like family.  Denise, whom delivered you to us, guided us through those first hours with you with such care and dedication as I have never seen in another health care professional.  Kristina checked up on you constantly on Saturday night when you slept with us in our room at the hospital for the first time.  However, it was Christie Ramos, who spent two days with us three as a family, who guided us through the first steps of parenting.  Your birth was so special to the staff and they cared for you with such love, that on Sunday, when we were set to leave the hospital, Christie almost cried.  You have no idea how many individuals have cared about and loved you even before your birth.

In one of my most sympathetic correspondences before your arrival, author Jill Conner Browne, to whom I had reached out for advice in a moment of despair, sent me this message, which I will treasure forever:

“God is in control & His Plan is unfolding as it should--& His Timing is perfect. You have done all you can & should do so now wait on the Lord & expect miracles! Keep me posted. Xxooj”

She was right.

Two days before your birth, I was rather distraught because I could not reach your birth mom.  I cried a long time and called daddy to tell him that I thought everything was lost.  Daddy went for a walk by himself afterwards.  He did not share this with me until we returned home from the hospital, but he had seen a rainbow on a sunny day with no sight of rain.  He took a picture.  It is a cherished treasure for us.  I believe God was telling us not to lose hope.    Another interesting item surrounding your birth is that all the numbers on your birth day, 12, 03, 2010, if added separately, add to 3, which is a magical number.  Adding those three, you get 9, a number that numerologically speaking, is t he number of fulfillment and completion.  You were the completion of the first phase of a long awaited dream.  Daddy and I also gave you three names:  Brendan Avery Lane.   We wanted a name with Celtic undertones and what is where the first two originated.  In addition, we wanted to honor the memory of daddy’s deceased brother Lane, your uncle, and that is why your third name is Lane.  The housekeeper who cleaned our room at the hospital was Maria Santos.  It may seem silly, but that meant a lot to us.  Abuelita and Papi are devotees of the Blessed Mother of Jesus (or Mother Goddess as I like to call her).  Somehow we felt that the Virgin Mary and a legion of Saints were there watching over and caring for you.   On our way home from the hospital, I sat with you in the back seat of daddy’s car.  As I prayed, I looked up and to my astonishment; there were no clouds in the sky, except two.  The formed a cross.  God was there with us guiding us home.  Because of your birth, my faith in God and Mother Nature is now stronger.

When we were at the hospital, I made contact with an old friend, Maddie, who was very close to me when I lived in San Francisco.  By those coincidences of life, she was living in Russia when your cousin Misha was adopted by your Aunt and Uncle, Cuchi and OJ.  She helped them with accommodations at the hotel she was then working at.  She had been there for the arrival of my first nephew and now I wanted her to be with me when my son was born.  She rushed to the hospital carrying so many gifts for you!  From that moment, she called you her nephew. Though not by blood, she is your rightful aunt as she is like a sister to me.  Some weeks prior to your birth, I had written to her to let her know of your impending arrival.  She wrote a very wise note:

“Words cannot express the joy in my heart and soul. It has been said that adoption is more like a marriage than a birth: two (or more) individuals, each with their own unique mix of needs, patterns, and genetic history, coming together with love, hope, and commitment for a joint future. You become a family not because you share the same genes, but because you share love for each other.”

That is so true!

Three years ago, daddy and I left in Atlanta.  I had a large number of friends there as I had spent 10 years of my personal and professional career in Georgia.  One of my spiritual leaders, Deniz Zoeller, along with her family, had given me a plethora of gifts for you.  Some of them had been used by her children when they were little. Amongst those items there was a beautiful Winnie The Pooh yellow blanket.  I love Winnie The Pooh and the blanket was so special, that I promised Deniz that I would make sure you would leave the hospital wrapped in that blanket.  I kept that promise.  It meant a lot to me to do so.  I wanted her to know that although we had been apart for three years, her and her family were still part of me.

Upon our arrival in Houston late Sunday night, daddy’s parents were at our home to greet you.  The house was full of presents and a very special little cake.  It was your first birthday cake.  Your grandmother and grandfather even sang “Happy Birthday” for you. 

Next week, your Godparents arrive to visit and spend a week with you.  My sister Mayra and her husband Arturo are the most sincere and kind people I know, and they were in love with you even from the womb.  I often used to tell Mayra that I could see you in my mind’s eye.  I think she could too.  When I first met you at the hospital, you were the exact image of what I had seen so many times before.  You have brought so many individuals in our family closer, that we have indeed become a tighter clan.

Son, I want you to know that I love you with every fiber of my being.  There has been no greater joy in life and greater honor than to become your father.  I know daddy feels the same way.  You have my promise that I will follow my friend’s Travis advise every day of your life:

“Love him with All Your Heart, Enjoy him with All Your Mind and Protect him with All your Strength! May God Bless Him; Protect Him All the Days of His Life!”

With all my love,

Papi

Notes on a lost meditative poem

About a 10 days ago, my beloved Glen found a piece of paper and asked me if I remembered it.  It was a poem that I had written some years ago.  I do remember now writing it but cannot remember the circumstances in which I wrote it  As I have always argued, it was like someome else had written it and used my handwritting.  Purist may not call it a poem, but I don't know what else to call it...  I thought I'd share it.  It has no title, but here it is:




There is music in the silence
There lays the voice of God
You discover your spirit soars
to places it has never been before
It feels like you have already been there
It feels like coming home
That is what we all long for

Go to the garden in the midst of darkness
Look at the Moon and the starts
When everything seems still
Listen to the music of the stars
Let the light of night illuminate and fill you
You will hear of the voice of Jibril

Think of happy memories and close yor eyes
You'll see the faces of those who love you
For amongst them, there will be The Earth Mother
With beauty and radiance, ready to embrace you

We fall, we raise--life is a constanc cycle
Always return to the beginning
and complete a never-ending journey

Do not despair if you long to reach Heaven
Look at the beauty of creation
Or the smiling face of a grateful friend
Or the innocence of a child
Or the eyes of a beloved man
For there Heaven and happiness, dear one.

Do not depair if times are rough
And tears fill your face
There is always hope.
Remember this: "A new day has begun"

On the 4th of July, "Borinquen Querida"

Soon after I wrote my last blog entry, I knew what subject I wanted to tackle next. Little did I know that it would take me two months to sit down to write about it:  being a Latino in America. Having watched a portion of Soledad O’Brien’s four part series on CNN, I knew that I somehow wanted to tell my own story, then something unexpected happened. As I tried to put my thoughts together into a coherent order, I realized that I did not know for sure who I really was anymore. I suspect that many individuals, who, like me, have left their homeland to pursue a better future for themselves in a foreign land, feel the same way I do.

I was born in a US territory, but in a country very much attached to its Spanish roots, customs, religion and traditions. These traditions are derived from the Puerto Rican creoles, Spaniards, African slaves and Taino Indians who have inhabited the Island since its known history. Puerto Ricans are passionate about everything:  from religion and politics, to music, sports and even beauty pageants. Most islanders have the gift of gab and are very much prone to gossip. After all, the art of conversation had much to do with having an ample line of subjects to discuss, including not only serious subjects such as politics but also your neighbors and your family… and yes, the lives of total strangers most of us had no business talking about. Often confused with a having a bad temper, we know that we must stand by our convictions and want to ensure that everyone knows where we stand. Not that we are trying to prove that others are necessarily wrong and we are right mind you. We just want to prove a point.  It is just our way of displaying that we stand by what we preach. And we love music, especially the undolating tones of the Afro-Caribbean beat.

I was born into what is officially known as the “Estado Libre Associado de Puerto Rico”, what gets erroneously translated as the “Commonwealth of Puerto Rico”. Allow me to translate the territory’s official name: The Free Associated State of Puerto Rico. Is Puerto Rico really a state? Not really. It is by definition a colony of the United States. Is Puerto Rico free? Negative. It is a protectorate of the United States. Is that association by free choice? No. Puerto Rico became part of the United States as bounty of War.  So politically speaking, who are we?  On one hand, we are given the opportunity to repesent our country as an independant nation during the Olympics, and on the other the Puerto Rican flag or Coat of Arms cannot be displayed anywhere when a foreign dignatary arrvies in the Island as was the case on the ocassion of Pope John Paul II's visit to celebrate the Eucharist in the 1980's.

When I was in elementary school, we were taught that Puerto Rico was of paramount importance to the United States as it was in military, economic and cultural terms located on a very strategic geographical point. We were the gateway between the old world and the new, between Europe and Africa and the rest of America. In times of war, Puerto Rico was and would be, the place where all operations in defense of the United States would emanate from. Today we know that such a presumption was terribly naive. We were never taught of the horrific scientific experiments that were conducted with Puerto Rican women, of the Marine’s many secret (and not to secret) war games in our land, just to name two. But our association with the United States had many positive aspects as well. American citizenship was chief amongst those benefits. For this, we were the envy of the entire continent. However, there were many others who would have died to see the Island a free country rather than to consider the possibility of annexation to a county that was not Catholic, did not speak our language, and could not understand nor cared to learn about our culture. Truth be told, I do not think that Puerto Rico could have survived without the aid of the United States. Were Puerto Rico to become independent tomorrow, I do not see how it could sustain itself. To explain the intricate details of this very complex political association, would take a long time and it is not my intent to dictate a lecture on such matters.

As you may already know, I came to the United States when I was 18 years old to attend college. Having been raised in a melting pot, little did I know that other people were not as color-blind as I was. I not only looked different, despite being a “white” Puerto Rican, but I sounded “funny” and spoke in the very proper “Queen’s English”, although at the time, I did not know what any of those things meant. Scared as I was to be in a foreign land, there were things that were very familiar to me as I was well acquainted with many aspects of American culture, as is the rest of the world, I suppose. America dominated the world in fashion, pop-culture and politics. Who I was, or rather, where I had come from, became a major issue the moment I landed in this country although hitherto had been of no importance.

I attended college on a full academic scholarship. Not only because I was a good student, but because I was a “minority”. In college, someone whom I considered a very dear, close American friend at the time, told me on my sophomore year, that it was because of people like me, that other deserving American students could not attend the college of their choice, namely the University of Massachusetts. To Jonathan, I had “stolen” their rightful place. In his mind, I was a case of Affirmative Action turned Reverse Discrimination. At the age of 20, and lacking the wisdom and maturity required to debate such a point, I became very defensive…and angry. I had never seen myself in such light. Why was my background such a big deal? My parents had raised me to treat everyone the same, so I could not understand where all this obsession with skin color and ethnical background was coming from nor the reason for it.

I had studied hard and had earned my rightful place, or at least that is what I thought. What Jonathan was trying to say I now believe is that we, some selected foreign students, got special treatment, and I believe today that we did. The way my entry score into college had been determined, I later learned, was by adding the high math score I had gotten in my SATs, to the high score I had received in the TOEFL, (the test of English as a second language) and ignoring the language portion of the SAT. By doing so, my score was as high as or higher than many who had only taken the SAT and had not been given any special consideration because they did not speak another language as their first. In my heart, I believe that University is a place where the learning needs to be not only academic, but cultural and diverse. By admitting students from other cultures, the Universities have the special responsibility to create a diverse environment that encourages learning and the development of a more open and tolerant society. Jonathan may have been right in some aspects, but what some of my American fellow students received in return is something that you do not get in a Puerto Rican institution of higher learning: to be truly exposed to the World at large and its people. Today, I do not naively think that I got admitted for such a lofty and honorable reason.  I realize it all translated into quotas and funding.

Since college, I have had the opportunity to work all over the United States and have been exposed to many cultures within our country. I do not mean cultures in the sense of other countries, but idiosyncrasies of peoples of different states. Minnesotans have their own culture, as do Californians, New Englanders, Texans and Southerners. It is amazing to me how one region of the country can be so different from another and how there is, although in a rather subdued fashion, a type of prejudice between residents of different states towards one another. As I have lived and coexisted with peoples of all backgrounds, I have taken in some of their cultural identities as well—and I love it. I can relate to all these individuals and not feel out of place when in their presence, for I have done what every human being should do to: to understand, learn and absorb your neighbors culture.

Turning 36 was a pivotal moment for me. That marked the year, where I had lived the same amount of time in Puerto Rico and the US. As my mother used to say to me in my late twenties and early thirties, that would be the time when I would begin feeling that I did not know where I belonged for despite having been born in a small, Spanish-speaking, Catholic Caribbean Island, I would become more and more assimilated to the culture of the United States. She was right. I know and feel proud of where I came from albeit with some sense of loss and distance. That part of my life is always latent in my thoughts.

What the future holds, I do not know.   I fear losing my language, so I speak Spanish whenever I can. Sometimes it scares me that I cannot remember how to say something, but my parents are always there to remind me. What will happen when they are gone? What will happen to my link to the Island? I fear losing my music. I have few Spanish records. Music being what it is, I can honestly say that I cannot relate to the modern Hispanic musical sensibilities. Perhaps, I am beginning to feel like my father, whom I used to make fun of for listening to music that I as I child considered old-fashion. To my astonishment, today I consider those then-awful tunes, “classics”. I fear losing touch with our literature. I love Spanish literature. A bit at a time, I have begun to purchase classics of Spanish and Latin American literature…in Spanish. I want to read them all again. It will be may way to re-connect.

I still visit Puerto Rico frequently and does my heart a lot of good. There is nothing like being in the land where you first drew breath.   So, am I American by virtue of my citizenship and Puerto Rico's affiliation with the US or am I Puerto Rican or Latino?  I guess I am all those things, but my heart still longs for the island with the blue sea, where the mountains touch the ocean and the sun radiates with refulgent splendor.  Today is the 4th of July: the celebration of American independence. As I count my blessings for all that this great county has given me, I feel that a part of me is getting lost in the distance and as I move farther along the path of life, the Island I see in the rear view mirror keeps getting smaller and smaller. I don’t ever want to lose sight of whom I am and where I came from. I will carry on and in my soul I always know where I once one belonged. Somehow I still do.  Rest assured.

Of Mothers, Heroes and Role Models

My mother turned 74 last Friday. Without much fanfare, I called her as I always to do to wish her health, love and prosperity in the coming year. Birthdays have become much more to me than just a rite of passage. It is a matter of survival, for you see, my mother has fought many illnesses, and survived cancer. Such is the impact that the illness had on me, that it has brought many things into perspective as the years have passed. My view of the world is different from most people of my generation, for I dare to think and not conform.


It is no secret that my partner and I have been trying to become parents for some time. I have always wanted to be a parent, but it took Glen until he has 42 to realize that he wanted the same. One of our main concerns has always been what role models our child may have. Many of the heroes I grew up with and the role models I had are no longer living. Thus, one day I decided to ponder what role models I would want my niece, nephews and my own child to have in their lives. They are still very young, and being molded by their parents and the world. People think that heroes and role models need to be individuals outside of our own circle: celebrities, sport figures and the like. Not so for me. I came to the realization that I have had heroes and role models very near me in this life and those are the examples I would like my child to follow. Yes, there are celebrities mentioned here, but what is important is how they influenced me and not their celebrity.

1. My father. Such a quiet man. Very patient, very kind. The first memory I have of an act of selfless kindness came from him. I can transport myself to that moment and still feel the sun in my face and feel everything that surrounded me. As my dad and I walked along the sidewalk in the city where I grew up, an old, and very frail blind man was trying to cross the street. Every time he tried, the light would change from red to green and the poor man had no one to help him. My dad walked me to the nearest store, it was called “La Favorita”, (we bought all our shoes there) and told one of the attendants if they could watch me for a moment. He then proceeded to walk towards the blind man. As I could not hear the conversation through the glass window, I can only surmise that dad asked the blind man if he could assist him. There was my father, who just a minute ago had been in a massive rush to go meet my mother and sisters, stopping everything to help someone in need. I remember it taking a long time, but cross the street they did, with my father holding the blind man’s hand until they were safely on the other side. My father came back to collect me and I recall looking at him thinking that something between us had changed, but at the tender age of 4, I could not decipher what it was. My dad’s name is Edwin, which means “good friend”. If there is someone in this world who lives up to his or her name, he does, for no one has met a more gentle soul. People of all ages especially children always want to be around him.  So do I.

2. My mother. What a strong woman; what a strong character! Though there are things that all children resent about their parents, there are experiences that I am very grateful to my mother for. She is after all, a survivor. Cancer is a subject that we have covered and spoken about so much in my family, that it goes without saying that if there is one thing I admire about her, is her fighting spirit. There is never an obstacle too high for her. She will keep on fighting. Back when she was a teenager, she finished high school at 16 and college at 20. This was on an era when women did not aspire to be more than home-makers, nuns or teachers. As one of the only 3 women in her college graduating class, my mother was a pioneer. She was one of 13 children in a household which lived through the Great Depression. Somehow, her memories of her childhood are always happy ones. The first time I thought of my mother as a heroine was not when she got cancer, but when I was 7 years old. A terrible hurricane, Eloise, had hit the Island, and the rains, slides and floods left many people homeless. We lived on a hill, but the nearest neighborhood to us, was at the bottom of that hill and flooded badly. I don’t know how or why my parents made such a decision, but they asked my oldest sister to watch over me and my other sister and they got in the car. Before they left, they told us to please not be scared, that they were just going to see what they could to do help. Help they did. After a couple of hours they brought home another family with them. Apparently the shelters had gotten full and that family did not have a place to stay. My mother frantically prepared a bathroom and a bedroom for the four of them. She cooked them a hot meal in the small gas range we had for emergencies.  She made them change into some old clothes we had stashed away. That family stayed with us for two days until they were allowed to return to their home once the waters resided, and other family members could come to collect them. Neither my mother nor my father ever brought this up to anyone. Theirs was an act of selfless generosity. During the aftermath of that hurricane, my mother, who also worked for the school meal program, went to the nearest school to help prepare meals for those in need. I remember staying at that school for a long afternoon while my mother cooked not only for others, but for her children as well. Her need to help others has always been second nature. My mother is the one who has always been near her siblings as they have lived the last days on this earth and has seen that those days are lived in harmony and with dignity. 

3. My sisters. There is much I can say about them. They were my heroines, but mostly my role models. Being the youngest, I always have had the advantage of learning from their life experiences. Following them in school was always a challenge as I was constantly being compared with these two straight-A students who were good at everything, from making friends to playing sports. There was much I had to live up to. I still do. I am grateful to them for leading the way. It took a lot of courage for them to leave home to come to the US to study and work as young adults--leaving everything that was familiar and safe behind. It took great courage for one of them to attempt to get pregnant against the advice from doctors and for the other one to go to Russia to adopt her two children.  Somehow, I cannot imagine life without my niece and my two nephews.

4. Jill Conner Browne. I really don’t know what possessed me to buy Jill’s first book, The Sweet Potato Queens Book of Love. Probably the cover. There was something haunting about a line of middle-aged women with green sequence mini dresses, big red hair, tiaras and romps and tits to go for miles. It was all very amusing. When I decided to finally buy the book, Glen and I were on our way from Atlanta to Louisiana to visit his parents and had made a stop in Alabama, at the Mobile’s Barnes and Noble. Tired of listening to music, we opted for the audio book. Boy, did we laugh! Since then I have read (actually listened) to all of Jill’s books. Depression is a debilitating condition and it was Jill’s humor that in more than one occasion stopped the tears that ran through my face during that very dark period of my life. I have met Jill precisely one, at a book signing, and highly doubt that she will ever remember me, but I will be always grateful to her for giving me life. She taught me that laughter is indeed the best medicine. More than anyone I know. I have written to her to express my gratitude for what she, unknowingly, did for me. She is a heroine to me and to countless others. True to form, the only book I have of hers on physical form, she signed as she promised on her first book. The same way she signs books to all the men who request her signature: “To the only man I ever really loved”. I do feel loved. And now when I listened to her and laugh, I do so full of joy.

5. Jennifer Patterson and Clarissa Dickson-Wright (aka The Two Fat Ladies). My mother is great cook. I learned my love of the kitchen from her. For many years, I lived on my own, and seldom cooked for anyone, lest for occasionally for friends and boyfriends. When my partner and I met, I found on him someone who loves to eat, and thus my romance with the kitchen was re-ignited. To me, Clarissa and Jennifer were the two aunts I never had. Not that I didn’t have Aunts, but none like I really would have liked. I had never felt such affinity with someone I watched on the telly. As soon as I watched them for the first time, I bonded with them accross the tube.  Never mind we were an ocean apart. It was Clarissa and Jennifer who inspired me to become the great cook (I am told) that I am today. I am not a Chef. My interest in is food merely scientific and anthropological. Whatever it is they did, it made me want to experiment with food, and try new things. I began to write my own recipes in great measure due to them. To this day, I continue to do so and hope someday to pass along those recipes to my beloved God-daughter, who shares my love of food. The fun Jennifer and Clarissa had while cooking, reminded me of how my own mother used to sing with great abandon in the kitchen. Somehow, they made me reconnect with that part of my childhood. Some years later, when I learned of Jennifer’s passing due to cancer, I felt such an emotional connection as I have never felt with someone I had never met. Her death had left a void my soul. I did write to Clarissa soon after at her office in Aberdeen, where she was the university’s Rector, though she never replied.  In that missive, I extended my condolences and told her how much the two of them had meant to me. Last year, I read Clarissa’s autobiography and my admiration for her grew. To have had been reared in privilege, to then lose it all to alcoholism and emerge from the depth of darkness as she did, is a remarkable story.

6. Patti LuPone. La LuPone made want to sing. When I was in elementary school, I was part of the choir. Same in high school. Little did I realize years later, when I auditioned for the Atlanta Gay Men’s Chorus, one of the best and most prestigious of such organizations in the nation, that I lacked technique, and that singing, like any other sport, necessitated my full attention, daily practice and exercise. I did eventually acquired that technique and what came out of my mouth is a voice that I had never heard before. Performing is something I always felt drawn to, but the three seasons that I sung with the AGMC were some of the most fulfilling and exciting of my life. Listening to recordings of Patti LuPone, put me in touch with my vocal range, as I am able to sign almost everything she does, though on my own style. Singing also gave exposure to many different people and afforded me opportunities I would have never had otherwise. For example, recognizing a at some moment of the pure genius of Mozart, whose Requiem I was able to perform with the AGMC as the background music to the Atlanta Ballet’s world premier ballet of the same name. Singing Mozart was almost a mystical experienced as I instinctively knew what notes would follow others when first introduced to one of his choral pieces.  I am saving the one CD released with my soloist voice in it as a treasure.

7. Hailey Eddy. Definitely the best boss I have ever had. Hailey was smart, funny, generous, caring, a good teacher and very, very patient. I was just 26 when I began to work with Hailey. I say work with and not for because she always made her subordinates know that she was part of a team, and that each of us had as much to contribute to the success of our enterprise as she did. We were all stakeholders to each other. Like the leader of a team paddling a canoe, she knew that everyone had to pull their own weight on the same measure, so that the vessel could remain afloat. She guided me through learning the ropes of leadership with kindness and patience. Where others had made me defensive, she gave me calmness, stability and pride in what I did. It was no surprise then that when I was afflicted with an illness that took me away from work for three weeks and for which I lost 15 pounds in three days, she was the one who did the most to keep me alive. She made me eat, painful as it was. She kept close watch over me. She gave me strength. She gave me advise. She bought my food and medicine. Tell me of a boss who would do that for anyone these days? Hailey did. Now that I am in the position to lead, the is only one person in the world after whom I want to model my behavior, my gold standard…Hailey Eddy.

8. Karen Armstrong. Karen Armstrong calls herself a “freelance monotheist.” I am proud to count myself amongst one of her numbers. Growing up in the Catholic Church meant that I was exposed to a set of dogma and theologies that defined god as demanding, ever-watchful, and vengeful deity, and one who must be feared. Years later, I realized that this “god” had died for me and I left the Christian church. It was not until I read Karen’s books, especially A History of God and The Spiral Staircase, that this part of my life began to acquire new meaning. I have often made reference to Karen on this blog. She taught me to look at the message and concept of the divine in a very different light. Like Karen, I am trying to not to leave any stone unturned, and have looked endlessly for where God resides. My suspicions were correct all along: God resides within oneself. There is no better teaching and way to find enlightenment than living with compassion—the thread that unites all the Abrahamic religions of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Every day now, when I set of to start my day, I remember the Golden Rule: “Don’t do onto others what you have not done onto you”.

These are individuals who what guided my life and have molded who I am today. There are countless others, but I wanted to write about the most significant ones hitherto. At the end of the day, I realize that these individuals have been teachers, but like any good and wise teacher, they have only led me to the threshold of the temple. I am responsible to what I accomplish with the lessons, wisdom and blessings I that have been bestowed upon me. I imagine that in heaven, at the end of a long corridor, there must be a mirror. One day, I want to be able to look at myself in that mirror and say that the reflection who looks back at me is someone who has “paid it forward”, someone who has been a role model, and if I am lucky, someone's hero. That is the best legacy I can leave for my nice, nephews and maybe, if it is in the cards, my own child. Rest assured.

Ethics, Living with compassion, and according to the Law

Ethics, derived from the Greek, tà ēthiká, is defined as a system of moral principles that guides us to act in conformity to the rules of conduct established in our societies. Closely linked to the beliefs and values with which we were reared, behaving ethically requires continuous examination of ourselves, and how our deeds affect other living creatures. This is by no means an easy task. In a hectic and fast-paced society as ours, it demands that each human being commits him or herself to living with compassion. Many of us are looking for what gives meaning to our lives. The idea of God can be so foreign, that one can feel lost in the midst of daily life without a clear path to attain that what gives us peace and purpose—a path out of the darkness and suffering.  Behaving ethically is the preamble to such path.

Jesus, Muhammad, Socrates, and Buddha, encouraged men and women to transcend the world and its suffering and to discover an absolute value: to make humanity more conscious of itself so that each individual could awaken to full potential. Sidhatta Gotama, who became The Buddha, taught that it was by ethics that humanity would wake up to itself and its responsibilities, realize its full potential, and find release from the darkness. But this can be a lonely path. It takes discipline and commitment.

Despite one’s religious affiliations, the goal should always the same: the quest for enlightenment and betterment of the world. Despite our best efforts, men and women feel strongly about affiliating themselves to a prescribed religious creed. What many fail to realize is that by following other’s path, we remain in darkness and never really find the light of true knowledge. Humans feel the need to have a set of beliefs that will guide their quest. Often it is a church’s fundamentalist teachings that a person uses to blindly assimilate a set of otherwise impossible propositions. However, the Greek word for belief, which our society has adopted as its own, did not have anything to do with this. Belief was defined as commitment. The often misused statement of “I believe so that I can understand” first coined by Anselm of Canterbury, an Italian Benedictine monk of the 11th century, should not mean that we must literally believe in the teachings of a church, but that we commit ourselves to interpret these texts in a way that allow us to transcend ourselves, without imposing our views on others, and aids us in our quest to find what gives purpose and meaning to our lives, and therefore bring us closer to divinity.

The old French texts of the legend of the Holy Grail, always have a knight entering the forest at its darkest, and alone. There is no one there to guide him. As Percival, we must enter the forest alone and face our own set of challenges, which in turn reveal at the end of the quest, the Holy Grail, the enlightenment and liberation from pain.

Rabbi Hillel, renowned within Judaism as a sage and scholar, is known as the author of the expression of the ethic of reciprocity, or "Golden Rule": "That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn.” The Christ, who many modern scholars believe had studied the rabbinic teachings of Hillel and the Torah, also known as the Five Books of Moses or Pentateuch, had a similar teaching when he prescribed “Love thy neighbor as Thyself”. In the last ten years, I have discovered that not only the Abrahamic religions of Judaism, Christianity and Islam have these teachings, but also do other belief systems, such as the Wiccae, whose Rede dictates “Ain Harm None, Do What Ye Will”. This is one more reason I personally believe that the true path to divinity is acting ethically and with compassion, in every deed and every action of our daily lives.

These statements may seem easy enough to follow, but in close examination, both Hillel’s and the Wiccae have given us much to think about. It is much harder to commit oneself to meditate on those acts that cause us distress and unpleasantness and then try with all our soul not to afflict others with the same, than to simply create a delusion of love for one another. By the same token, if taken literally the Wiccan Rede can, on the surface, seem a pretty simple proposition. A deeper understanding of this teaching compels us not only to act ethically and with compassion for one another, but also with ourselves. An apparently simple act becomes much more than it may appear at face value. Taking an example of mundane daily life, throwing a piece of paper on the side of an abandoned road, may seem a petty incident to bring up. But this simple act has many consequences not apparent at first glance, such as the possible endangering of the environment, which in turn creates harmful conditions to others, including plant and animal life, not to mention human life. It is an extreme illustration, but a simple act as this one has much the same ripple effects of a pebble thrown into a pond. We never know the end result of an apparently harmless action. I could go on with many more paradigms on the subject. My point is: “Ethical beliefs are not sufficient as they must manifest in our actions as well”.

The traditions of Wicca and Buddhism teach the Law of Karma. As one of my spiritual teachers points out “Every time we think or do something, we create a cause, which in time will bear its corresponding effects. Through our actions this cyclical cause and effect generates the complex weaving or tapestry of life and relationships. While in Eastern thought, karma refers to our actions themselves, it has come in western usage to also mean the results or consequences of our actions. In its simplest form, past actions influence the present; present actions influence the future. But our understanding of karma is non-linear and complex. The present moment is shaped both by past and by present actions; present actions shape not only the future but also the present." All of us ultimately determine our own fate through our own actions. There is no point in blaming others. We must accept responsibility for our behavior and how it affects others.

All the traditions mentioned herein have developed a system of checks and balances that may seem overwhelming to the lay reader. These set of laws or commandments were established by each tradition for the welfare and security of everyone. Their observance means peace and happiness, not only of the individual undertaking to preserve them in purity, but also to all others with whom he has contact. The Buddhist Precepts are a set of rules, by which a code of moral conduct is given to the initiated in the same fashion that the over 600 laws of the Torah and the Quran’s Ahkam, bring God to the minutia of daily life. The Wiccae also have their own set of rules. Thus, like a ruler for drawing a straight line, these precepts prevent the initiated from sidestepping the right path and urges them on straight to the goal—to achieve a closeness with the divinity that lies inherently inside every human being. The simplest acts of cooking, making love, making donations to charity, feeding a bird, sheltering the homeless, picking up garbage of the floor, helping someone in need or even writing, become permeated with divine presence.

Hitherto, I have written of the laws and views of different traditions. We have seen that the principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, encouraging us to always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to forget our egotism, and to honor the sanctity of every living creature, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.

The Charter for Compassion (http://www.charterforcompassion.org/), established in November 2009, thus tells us that we “urgently need to make compassion a clear, luminous and dynamic force in our polarized world. Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensible to the creation of a just economy and a peaceful global community.” Rest assured.

Lent...and Renewal

As I was brought up in a Catholic household, and educated in a Catholic school, it only seems appropriate that I would share my thoughts on the traditions of Lent. Traditions mean different things to different people, as they should. It is through our own personal understanding of the “mysteries”, that we are able to make sense of the world around us. I have never been, nor will I be a fanatic, fundamentalist, dogmatic Christian. For that reason, I call myself a Pagan. It is my belief that our understanding of the world is proportionally related to our experiences in this life. Those experiences mold my understanding of the Creative Life Force, or that which most Christians call God or even Jesus. It is through the lessons of Jesus, Buddha, Mohammad or Mother Earth that we grow in our Enlightment.

The historical references of this essay were taken from an article published by the Catholic Church and with all due respect, I do make references to the quotes in that piece, not as an article of faith, but to guide my readers on my understanding of what this tradition means to me.

Most individuals in America are familiar with the festivities of Mardi – Gras or Fat Tuesday. Consequently, they also know that the following day is Ash Wednesday, a time for most Christians to gather at churches to receive a cross of ashes in their forehead by a priest.  The first question, should be, then, why the use of Ashes? The origin of the custom of using ashes in religious ritual is lost in the mists of pre-history, but we find references to the practice in the Old Testament. The prophet Jeremiah, for example, calls for repentance this way: "O daughter of my people, gird on sackcloth, roll in the ashes" (Jer 6:26)

The prophet Isaiah, on the other hand, critiques the use of sackcloth and ashes as inadequate to please God, but in the process he indicates that this practice was well-known in Israel: "Is this the manner of fasting I wish, of keeping a day of penance: that a man bow his head like a reed, and lie in sackcloth and ashes? Do you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord?" (Is 58:5).

The prophet Daniel pleaded for God to rescue Israel with sackcloth and ashes as a sign of Israel's repentance: "I turned to the Lord God, pleading in earnest prayer, with fasting, sackcloth and ashes" (Dn 9:3).

Perhaps the best known example of repentance in the Old Testament also involves sackcloth and ashes. When the prophet Jonah finally obeyed God's command and preached in Nineveh. The word of his message was carried to the king. "When the news reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, laid aside his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in the ashes" (Jon 3:6).

In the book of Judith, we find acts of repentance that specify that the ashes were put on people's heads: "And all the Israelite men, women and children who lived in Jerusalem prostrated themselves in front of the temple building, with ashes strewn on their heads, displaying their sackcloth covering before the Lord" (Jdt 4:11; see also 4:15 and 9:1).

Just prior to the New Testament period, the rebels fighting for Jewish independence, the Maccabees, prepared for battle using ashes: "That day they fasted and wore sackcloth; they sprinkled ashes on their heads and tore their clothes" (1 Mc 3:47; see also 4:39).

In the New Testament, Jesus refers to the use of sackcloth and ashes as signs of repentance: "Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the mighty deeds done in your midst had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would long ago have repented in sackcloth and ashes" (Mt 11:21, Lk 10:13).”

In the early church, those who had committed serious sins confessed them to the bishop and were assigned a penance that was to be carried out over a period of time. After completing their penance, they were reconciled by the bishop with a prayer of absolution offered in the midst of the community. These individuals were initially marked with ashes in their foreheads.

During the time they worked out their penances, the “penitents” often had special places in church and wore special garments to indicate their status. Like those who were preparing for Baptism, they were often dismissed from Sunday services after the Liturgy of the Word, what we commonly know as the reading of the Gospel.

This whole process was modeled on the conversion journey of those about to be baptized, because the Church saw falling into serious sin after Baptism as an indication that a person had not really been converted. Penance was a second attempt to foster that conversion. Early Church fathers even called Penance a "second Baptism."

Lent developed in the Church as the whole community prayed and fasted for the catechumens, those being prepared for Baptism. At the same time, those members of the community who were already baptized prepared to renew their baptismal promises at Easter, thus joining the catechumens in seeking to deepen their own conversion. It was natural, then, that the Order of Penitents also focused on Lent, with reconciliation often being celebrated on Holy Thursday so that the newly reconciled could share in the liturgies of the Resurrection.

By the Middle Ages, the emphasis was no longer baptismal. Instead, the main emphasis shifted to the passion and death of the Christ. Lent came to be seen as a time to acknowledge guilt for the sins that led to Christ's passion and death. Repentance was then seen as a way to avoid punishment for sin more than as a way to renew our baptismal commitment.

Later on, the focus on personal penance and the Sacrament of Penance continued in Lent, but the connection to Baptism was no longer obvious to most people. This is reflected in the formula that came to be associated with the distribution of ashes: "Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return." This text focuses on our mortality, as an incentive to take seriously the call to repentance, but there is little hint here of any baptismal meaning. This emphasis on mortality fit well with the medieval experience of life, when the threat of death was always at hand. Many people died very young, and the societal devastation of the plague made death even more prevalent.

When a Christian receives ashes on his/her forehead, s/he is to remember who s/he is: a creature of the earth ("Remember that you are dust"), a mortal being ("and to dust you will return”), a person on a journey of conversion ("Turn away from sin and be faithful to the gospel"). It is a statement of renewal.

Through the dark months of winter, natures withdraws into itself and we humans should do the same.  Our purpose should be to review and reorganize the potential of our lives.  Metaphysically speaking, one should have a plan of action for the days when the light returns and we can see clearly who we truly are. This should be a time for us to rest and regain our strength. We must open our hearts and ears to the world. This “conversion” should take place within ourselves...in search of enlightment and wisdom. Gone (or they should be gone) are the days when the established church dictates that we must repent, but I dare say that we must reflect and meditate on the selfish, inappropriate actions we have engaged in...and set goals...and move forth in the world, with a clear and renewed sense of self.  Life renews itself at Springtime. So should we.  We must rise from the ahes of our past endeavors and begin life anew.  As the symbol above, this is a process that continues for the rest of our lives:  it has no beginning and no end, for knowledge and wisdom are infinite and one should never stop learning.  To refuse such process, is to die.

I may not feel the need to go to a church and have ashes placed on my forehead to be reminded of what I must do and who I am. Although I may not do so, I honor my heritage and the traditions of the church I was once such an integral part of. We humans forget often the importance of ritual. It is through ritual that we discover who we really are.  You may be like me and not feel the need to display what you are about to do, but you must always find a way to renew yourself, for this is a proclamation of faith in itself. Faith in yourself.  Rest assured…

On the subject of Beauty Pageants

Someone once said that in Puerto Rico, there are three main sports: boxing, politics and pageants. Such a strange combination… I wonder what that says about our people. Passionate? Violent? Trivial? Every now and again, I will watch one of these events. I only watch until the semifinalists are announced. If Puerto Rico makes that cut, I will continue watching until the Puerto Rican candidate is eliminated. A few times, they have won and I have sat on my couch for two hours, sometimes just to see a train wreck in progress. Not the best use of anyone’s time. I must admit it is rather fun to get together with some of your friends and criticize the heck of out what is being fed to you on the set, over a few drinks and snacks.   As Jill Conner Browne says, every girl (and woman) should declare themselves the Queen of whatever they choose for it is the behaviour that makes them queens, not a tiara given to them by a set of strangers.

The reason I bring this up is because last night I watched a portion of the Miss America Pageant. For the first time in 50 years, a Puerto Rican contestant competed for the coveted crown… pardon me…the $50,000 top scholarship. It is amazing what these contestants, sorry, “scholarship seekers” put themselves through for fame and money. I do not deny that the experience of visiting another city or country, and being exposed to other cultures and new friends has its merits, but beyond that, I wonder why we continue to glorify physical beauty over brains. The Miss America organization at least tries to include some semblance of intelligence and talent in their choosing of a “queen”, but what about those other organizations that are out there just to exploit a young lady for her looks? I remember the days when being Miss Universe meant a lot more than having a killer body and great catwalk skills. Those were the Pre-Trump days of MU.  Back in the days, if you were Miss Universe, you travelled around the world as a representative of UNICEF, doing charity work, not posing for photographer after photographer. The modeling was a very small part of the job.

What got me last night, after much pondering is, why was there a contestant from the US Virgin Islands and one from Puerto Rico in Miss America. Are we to expect a contestant from Guam next year? That would be silly, or would it. This only proves one thing to me. All this is for the most powerful lord there is in our society today: MONEY. It is no secret that the Miss America organization has been loosing money as of late and in order to keep things going, they need more ratings, which translates into more money.

But I ask you, does the Miss America Organization think that most people are stupid? Can one of their board members seriously tell me that if Miss Puerto Rico or Miss Virgin Islands would have won last night there would not have been hell to pay with viewers? Let’s face it. Most Americans cannot tell you where Puerto Rico or the Virgin Islands are. How then, can one of these girls, I mean, ladies, could have represented the ideal of the “All-American-Girl”? Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands are territories..colonies to some…which are not part of the USA in earnest. They pay some taxes, but they are not states nor do they have voting representation in the US Congress.

I am glad these two ladies from Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands had a great experience, but I hope for their sake that they knew going into this, that their changes were cut in half from the get go. Can anyone seriously think that Rush Limbaugh, one the judges, and one of America’s best well known bigots would have allowed them to be Miss America? I am sure that to him, that would have been the equivalent to treason… Rest Assured…