Wednesday, November 01, 2006
At least to pray is left, is left O Jesus! in the air I know not which thy chamber is- I’m knocking everywhere Thou stirrest earthquake in the South And maelstrom in the sea Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth Hast thou no arm for [him]? Dickinson conversation went late last night. i think we were all glad for it, though. sometims conversation just flows so fluidly, and its gets the the places you wanted it to get to without having to rush it. Cesar came overlast night. He lost his mom 3 weeks ago and i haven't really talked to him about it, but last night, around 11, he started to tell of the day that it happened...it was a tragic story. janna's tears flowed before his did, but his did come. The story wasn't over until 12. Before that, we had been listening to the three guys, Pedro, Galo and Cesar, talk about different ways they have seen people die (electrocuted, shot, hit by a truck)...it was mind blowing, for me at least, and i just wish there weren't so much hurt in the world. I mean, i've never seen anyone die, not even in a hospital bed...I've never been used as a human shield during a jail shoot-out, or had to sell everything to bribe a doctor to save my mom, or get arrested for searching for my sister past neighbourhood curfew. I've never had a dead man's blood on my clothes or seen a machete go through a high tension wire. So why do some get picked to suffer more? Bastión is a rough place to grow up. God forbid I ever idealize that fact, or make it sound like paradise. And may I never forget the gift.