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  •  Praxis Week

    Thursday, Oct. 17, 2013
  •  Accompaniment

    Wednesday, Oct. 24, 2012

    Recently, my father came to visit me from the United States. We spent one morning in a Christian base
    community called El Pueblo de Dios en Camino (The people of God on the way). I wrote a little poem
    about the experience we had during a celebration of the word.

    Accompaniment

    El Pueblo de Dios en Camino. Celebration of the word.

    Stifling, hot, immovable air,

    provided by the Holy Mystery. Dispersed through the homily

    shared by all.

    Incomprehensible to my father.

    No holy sacrament, no body or blood of the Christ.

    Crisis. Salvation at stake?! Wait,

    back to translating.

    So much beauty lost in the process.

    Beauty, like language, cannot be caged.

    Only know, father, that they ask

    about your dying mother.

    They welcome you. Open arms. Common theme.

    Accompaniment enters my mind. Wait.

    What does it look like now? How can we accompany these people?

    Wrong question. What can we do

    to open our hearts to be accompanied?

    Two way street.

    To love others, one must first love herself.

    To accompany, one must be accompanied.

    I came to accompany, but was accompanied;

    my father the same, with his faith, his mother.

    To fully live, you must give yourself away to others,

    fully.

  •  Some Thoughts from the Philippines

    Thursday, Oct. 4, 2012

    "I have no grammatically correct sentences that can adequately portray the feelings, experiences or insights I’ve brought back with me from Calatagan. All I have is awe. Awe for the fishermen who go out to sea early in the morning, awe for the women who go out to the market to sell, awe for the children who constantly carry with them the hospitality and love of their parents and awe for the entire province for their trust and loyalty with one another. "

    -Amber Cavarlez, USF

    "There was something very peculiar about the energy of Calatagan that reminded me of my father, so I wrote this poem the last day I was there. After having lost my father five years ago, it was refreshing to know that his presence still remained in what I encountered in this very special and sacred place."

    I will remember the rain.

    I will remember the ways in which it poured down, washing away my tears

    and reminding me that my father is still here.

    There is something sacred about this place.

    My father's spirit dwells with me here.

    In the dancing of the tree branches in the wind,

    in the gentleness of the ocean waves in the shallow,

    in the drops of rain that fall-sometimes light,

    sometimes powerfully falling down, fleeting.

    In the love that is shared, through the spirit that is Angel.

    When I look out at this beauty I imagine myself

    seeing through his eyes.

    I will remember the rain.

    -Jules Peithman, UC Santa Cruz

  •  New Places with Familiar Feelings

    Friday, Jan. 31, 2014
  •  Gratitude

    Tuesday, Dec. 10, 2013