Tribute to the Romero Troupe and a Few Righteous Babes

"What does it mean to be American in a Nation of immigrants? In "Speak American?" we'll put a human face on this highly explosive subject, exploring the history, mythology, and fear that suffocates real dialogue. We will marry a fictional tale about the frustrations of native-born Americans with a series of real-life monologues written and directed by immigrants themselves."

Last night I attended a play that the theater group, the Romero Troupe and Dignity through Dialogue and Education presented. The Romero Troupe states their cause via their tag line: "Social Justice Through Organic Theater". Jim Walsh, a history professor at CU Denver, is the group founder and also acts in his own productions. And, DDE's mission statement is as follows:

"To gather and disseminate accurate information and to foster open dialogue on issues related to immigration"

"To be a conduit for the empowered immigrant voice"

My friend's Megan and Macy are involved with the group and I have witnessed both of them make huge sacrifices the past couple of months in preparation for this production. Macy was a student of Walsh's while attending CU and has been a supporter of his cause throughout. Megan, who is also a close friend to Macy, appreciated the opportunity to speak to people on important issues through theater and joined the group.

The dialogue touched my heart and addresses a very pressing and relevant issue. The actors were able to pin point common opinion and beliefs regarding immigrant rights, as well as portray the potential plight of an immigrant. Unfortunately, I was unable to stay for the group questioning that was presented by the audience after the play ended, but I am sure the Romero Troupe did a fantastic job with their educated answers.

Macy and Megan, I would just like to say that I am proud to know the two of you. You make the majority of us want to be better people. For those you have yet to effect... I say, keep on keepin' it real. One day, we will allow our tiny minds to expand and we will want to be educated on the real issue rather than give into the 'popular belief'. Some of our peers, sadly enough, would rather not hear the truth. I for one, will continue to make an effort to become more involved and whatever I can do to aid in your progress, I will.

You deserved more than just a round of applause last night.

I love you both!

Please visit the following websites for upcoming events and more info:

www.romerotroupe.org

www.dignityde.org

Excerpt from the Velveteen Rabbit

A conversation between The Skin Horse and the Rabbit.
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"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
********************************************
*sighs, smiles*

Time Flies

My day flew by today. Working seems to be all I do, lately. Not that this is a bad thing, seeing as how I love what I do. Perfecting what I do for the sake of our members and allowing myself to be educated in all things non-profit are the two things that most move me to excel.

My hours are leveling out a bit. The earlier I am able to get in, the earlier I am able to leave... usually. The hours are still long, though and are spent mostly staring at a computer screen flipping back and forth between a few programs and data bases while answering phone calls and membership requests.

The little old ladies that call in our my favorite. They must have been mighty forces back in the day. To be their age and to fight for a (then) unfavorable cause shows just how gutsy they truly are. A few have even cried when the reason behind why they're calling turns out to be because their social security checks aren't large enough to support their monthly contributions to their favored organization. So sad. I stay on the phone with them as long as they need me to.


My least favorite are the men and women that call in to change the name on the membership to theirs because their spouse/partner/brother/mother passed away. They don't want to give up on something that obviously meant so much to the person that they lost; they want to keep their loved ones legacy alive. It's so meaningful, really. And, it shows how important our place in this world is.

I've never felt so useful in my life.

Silly Wishes

Our stars do play a part in a much larger role, you know. They shine bright against the dark painted night and cling to their unseen strings; hanging, seemingly suspended, in the night sky. Beautifully arranged and playfully popping to our satisfied delight. When you look at them, they look back. When you smile at them, they smile back. They won't grant wishes, but they do encourage strength. Simply because, 'a better way' comes more easily to those who seek it.

Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda

I spoke with a friend today. She seemed positive and jovial; this is good considering her circumstance and the weight of the world that lies on her shoulders. Her energy was high and her spirit seemed to smile and I was happy for her. I was truly happy for her.

When we got off the phone, I sat for a while and thought about her situation. She has never been the type to complain and she always looks at the bright side of things. She is strong, so strong to be handling her situation this way. But, I know her well enough to know that deep, deep down she is hurting and unsure of herself. I immediately found myself lost in a sea of emotion. To not be there with her, for her, sends a sharp, stabbing pain right through my heart and I suddenly would very much like a cigarette.

As I smoke, I realize how much we have been through together. She has loved me, supported me, wiped away my tears for most of my life. I have listened, reassured and enfolded her in my arms regularly. But, to not be there for her at that moment, when I knew how strong she was trying to be for me...To know that, if I were there, all she probably would require of me would be a hug... That I was unable to do that for her when she obviously needed it most broke my heart into a million tiny pieces.

The mundane unimportance of our daily routine creates a stagnant pool of disillusionment that requires little thought and less action.

There would be absolutely nothing wrong with showing a little love to someone in need, even if that means breaking protocol in order to see it through. If you think about it, consciously making someone happy is much easier and has the ability to happen more frequently than unknowingly letting that someone down.

The key thought here is that communication of your feelings and your thoughts are key to showing someone you care.  Sometimes the words just don't seem to fit, but there will always be that something that you could do instead.

No Need for Wings...

I have discovered an unparalleled appreciation for life and my position has been altered slightly. These eyes of mine, that formerly exposed the doubt I felt, have allowed the fog to lift. There's no need to explain the peace I have acquired. Just look at me... Look with me... You'll get it.
It's not about being blinded by the light, but existing within and securing the brilliance.

Secret Garden

"When she shut her eyes, her mind grew alert. Her senses opened. All around her, she felt how quickly things formed and were consumed. How there was so much blind feeling. It was going on beyond the wall of her sight, out of her control. Unheard, unnoticed, the blood dropped into her hands and feet, so that she was anchored. Which she was glad for, because the light was so feeble and the blackness so strong that she felt as though she could drift away like a boat of skin, never to return, leaving only her crumpled dress." -The Master Butcher's Singing Club

This crazy blog has been written and re-written 3 times now. Talk about writer's block! It has taken on several different forms. The first was an attempt to express a recent feeling I had encountered regarding the freedom of speech and it's effects. The second attempt was early this morning when I thought I should reiterate a dream that kept me (briefly) from falling back into peaceful slumber. However, neither seemed appropriate to my true feelings as of late. Nor did they contain a message and elaborating on a message, whether small or large, is usually my goal with these blog things.

We are all thinking and moving too quickly for our own good. Aspects of our lives that should be enjoyed are sped through and are taken advantage of. If there were anything I could do to figure out how to stop time, if only for seconds at a time, this would be the legacy I leave to all of you. But, this should really, truly be unnecessary because as we all know, time is irrelevant. Or is it?

As children, the days of Summer were endless. Remember that? We would get so bored with not having anything to do that we would sit around just to sit around. And we would run or ride our bikes as fast as we could wherever we went just to see if time really could "fly". 

I learned at an early age to take the longest detours, because for some reason, they made the days "fly" by. A couple of local kids had created dirt bike trails in the woods behind my house. One summer, when I was maybe 11, this place became my haunt.

If I close my eyes and take a deep breath, it becomes rather easy to return to those woods. The smell is overwhelming, but is also eerily calming... Pine trees and the acidic freshness of recently disturbed earth. There was a small clearing about half way in that was my favorite place, especially when it would rain. The drops were buffered by overhanging branches and a large juniper bush that I was, somehow, small enough to hide just beneath. 

A fog would sometimes rise right after the rain and it would cast a spell on my surroundings. Everything would blur and I would imagine myself in an enchanted forest that harbored singing frogs and talking birds. All things, bugs included, were my friends. And, oh the sky! When was the last time you laid on your back, looking to the clouds? These were the best days of my adolescence. My mother would wonder why I often came home with muddy clothes, smelling like a boy. But, I would never tell her.  This secret place of mine has been hidden inside of me, until now.

It is my intention to remind all of you (and maybe frequently) to take an extra long breath. Close your eyes and try to place the smells that surround you. Imagine yourself as a child in your favorite hiding place. Creating and immersing yourself in that wonderful gift we all have called "insight". This will be your moment to stop time and "remove the excess".

And, finally it is done, (she says taking a deep sigh, enjoying when things are amusingly able to complete themselves). An actual success, if I might say so. Don't hesitate to ask me if you need to be reminded of the simple things in life.