Silent Spanish.

"I listen to the space between the words others speak. I live in the silence where knowing dwells. I make room for life by creating stillness." - author unknown (but I found it in a little book of meditations that is always buried in the bottom of J's backpack.)

Hmm, how to create stillness when we move every few weeks - if not every day in a van that's not exactly a smooth and quiet ride. That'll be the challenge of the day.

43 days here before another RI tour. I've been here, I don't know how many days, but in total over a year. And here's a secret - I'm not fluent in Spanish (although I am an expert at Spanglish ; ) Some people pop on over to a country and the language seems to seep into their body while they sleep, in a matter of months words flowing eloquently out of their mouth, not a misunderstanding to be found. That's definitely NOT my story.

 I tried to take a Spanish class here, but I gave up after the third time my teacher left in the middle of class to go buy a Coca-Cola across the street, leaving me to "practice" with the only other person in the room - a dude from England who had such a think accent I couldn't even understand his English, let alone Spanish. And the first time she picked up her phone to chat with her friend in the middle of class, I thought positively and tried to justify it as "authentic-learning material". But then when I wasn't learning squat and my money was a-flowing out the door I decided to cut my losses and try the more lossey-goosey way of learning...hit the town and learn from the locals.

Turns out locals have really bad Spanish (well really bad Spanish for learning Spanish.) I mean, they all understand each other, but my scatterbrained mind just wasn't getting it. I did however learn all the swear words in all of maybe a week. Proof that repetition is the best way to learn. But all the other Spanish that isn't a swear word- when you don't know enough to sort out the jargon from the Spanish and decipher the tense from the verb endings with no hint of a pronoun, it's hard, like really hard.

Ok, so I needed a little order. I wanted verb charts and study sheets and vocabulary lists. I wanted to get homework, turn it in and then get it back covered in red ink. That's how I learn - showing my mistakes to the world. I learn a lot from my mess-ups, which makes me realize that old teacher saying of "there's no such thing as a mistake" is right in my case anyway.

So I went to the library. I checked out their Spanish books and started trying. And then after a few days of hardcore studying, I would get sidetracked by life, forget the routine and then have to return the library books anyway. So now I'm on about the millionth cycle of this and hoping maybe this time I can just stick with it. My not-orderly, but ever desperately wanting to be orderly mind made a calendar with a chart - what I will learn each day until coming back to RI where I'll probably forget everything in the three weeks I'm there before returning to Spain again. Here's to hoping I have my great-grandma's genes and I too live to be 104. I think I'll need it.

I should say last August I had a little glory moment where somehow my Spanish muse came, sneaked into my brain when I wasn't looking and somehow managed to eloquently debate, argue, and persuade (in Spanish) with the Immigration Officials to give me my gosh-darn residence permit that they were 3 months late in giving me. I was so proud. And so shocked. I had no idea there was such a repertoire of Spanish hiding somewhere inside. And then again,  I spoke really good Spanish (I thought anyway) when living in a little village full of French people who had beautiful accents and mixed in their "oui's" with a little Galego Spanish and then some Castellano Spanish too. Somehow that combination really worked for me. The second best is the Frenchy-Spanish over here in Catalonia. Somehow I understand them too. Now if only my Spanish muse would return and then I could have a really lovely conversation in say- Castilla La Mancha.

Sometime last year in my anguish over learning another language I made a little list of things that help a second language learner (or third or fourth or fifth language.) Maybe you want to know them. Maybe there is someone in your life that has a different song singing inside and they are just scrambling to keep up with the other tempo that surrounds them. So here are my tips:

1.) speak slow - I mean not so slow that it's demeaning, just not at an unmindful runaway pace.
2.) speak clearly - As in, again, be mindful because lazy, slurry, sleepy speech sounds like gobble-dee-gook. The only reason other native speakers can understand it at all is because they already know all the words in the word bank and can use process of elimination and context to figure it out - imagine trying to do a word scramble in a language you don't know and without a word bank. Exactly- it's not possible.
3.) Don't speak entirely in slang, euphamisms, and figures of speech. They mean nothing to the language learner and it's super frustrating because maybe we understand the literal meaning of the word, but it has zero context. A slang phrase here and there is fine, but just like with food, "everything in moderation."
4.) Use subject pronouns. Please. Especially if the language in question has a million different verb endings. Maybe it's easy for the native speaker to figure it out based on the ending, but for the learner; using the pronouns makes it possible to learn the connections between the endings and the subject!
5.) When I make a mistake, don't tell me what I did wrong by repeating the mistake - it pisses me off and I don't learn squat. Instead repeat back to me the correct way of saying what it was I was trying so hard to express.
6.) Be patient, really listen and help naturally fill in the words I'm stuck on so that the conversation can flow. I learn more this way and the whole experience is a tons more enjoyable for both parties.
7.) Smile - as in control your facial muscles in a positive way. I'm trying here. I get you might be confused, but so am I and a distorted/judgemental face does nothing to calm the stiuation and create the environment condusive to a lovely interchange. A question face is fine - just as long as it's a friendly one.
8.)Use the same questions, words and phrases repeatedly. There's a reason why the swear words are what I'm fluent in right now! If only we repeated verbs and adjectives and adverbs as repeatedly and I'd be a regular Miguel de Cervantes (he wrote Don Quixote).
9.) When having a conversation treat it just like a really good novel - help set the stage so to speak. Give context. It helps if you speak slow in the beginning of a conversation (or each time you change a topic within a conversation) so that I kind of get the big picture. And well the three R's are helpful here too - Reduce, Reuse, Recycle! Oh an if there are others in the conversation too be aware that speaking with more than one person is super duper hard - so be a good role model and set a good example. If chatty Cathy is talking a million miles a minute, ask her questions to clarify which will slow her down and help me to catch up.
10.) When you use big or new words, pair them with their more simple synonyms so I can learn. I don't necessarily need the word translated - because I am smart after all, if you use other words within the language that are simpler to describe I bet I'll get it and learn so much more in the process.
11.) And lastly - always speak the language with me. Don't fall back on my native language - I won't learn anything that way. 

Well that's my two cents. My two cents for an adult perspective. If the language learner is a child I'd suggest smile more, sing more, laugh (in a good way) more, tell more stories and give them space and time to play and figure it out. Or then again, maybe that's exactly what us adults need too. I'm remembering a little boy that knew Spanish and was learning English in our school. To witness his process was amazing. I think of him often now and try to do what he did. He watched a lot. He was quiet at first, absorbing everything. He said "Ms. Sam, can you button my pants?" about 3 times before I had any idea of what he was talking about and then another two weeks worth of school before what he was asking really sounded in English what he was trying to say. He didn't give up. He opened his mouth  and let escape whatever came out. He repeated himself unfalteringly, never seeming bothered by the fact that I was slow at understanding him. He taught patience, humbleness, courage, and drive. And I'll never forget that smile and twinkle in his eyes the very first time I understood the first time. Those twinkling eyes showed everything - we clicked, we communicated, we got each other. He said it and I understood it. It was the "YES! Whatever came out of my mouth this lady finally understood! Alright!" moment. I don't know who was prouder, him or me. I was grateful in that moment for the open-ended assessment system we used in the classroom because this was a milestone that definitely couldn't be documented in a simple flow-chart multiple choice system. This was way more than that. And one of these days I'll feel that understood in Spanish. Hopefully sooner rather than later because I don't know if I have the perseverance that is naturally built into a 4 year old.

A poem or two

I've missed a few days of quotes. Yesterday I pulled out an old travel journal and found many quotes to share. So here's to make up for what I missed:

"Things are resting, sleeping, stirring.
The cold fire called Spring inside me" - Graham Brown

Dreaming the Real by Linda France
"I'm lying down looking at the colour
of sky falling through trees, dreaming
the real, tasting what it feels like to love it
Why did it take me so long to let go, simply
exhale, so the day could breathe itself in
and open without me standing in the way?
How could I forget the grace of my own body,
strong as this blue, tender as the white
of the wild blossom, warm as midday light
Let me practice a patience bold enough
to hold every weather, trusting the elements,
the beauty of rain, all its shades of gray
I want whatever's real to be enough. At least
it's a place to begin, and to master the art
of loving it; feel it love me back
under my skin."

Monte Jalama
"The wings of the Spanish Magpie
      open.
         So begins
            our morning prayer.
Under the bright sun swells
infinitely slow the mountain song.
Ancient god, half forgotten,
herdsman of the rain,
every stream here
      every bush and every tree
            whisper your name.
I give my feet into the cool
     running water.
I give my gaze into the glitter
     of dancing fish
          and dragonflies.
Their mirrored choreography.
The smell of lavender.
Voices of distant children.
Even the clouds
       don't move on their own."
Bhikkhu Abhinando


". . . I love to wait
for the shadows on the leaves,
to light candles
and listen to the owls screech
across the valley,
when the sun is just out of reach
and the world is a breath
of purple haze.
On a plank wood floor,
barefoot,
night in the doorway,
on the threshold of silence."
- Ayya Medhanandi

Lunch at the Monastery

We left an hour early. With a quarter tank of gas we started up the road to the monastery. One minute up the road and the views were already breathtaking. The monastery is located in the middle of a National Park covered in steep mountains that drop right into the Mediterranean Sea. We had no idea how steep, twisting and narrow the road would be and we certainly thought a quarter of a tank of gas would be more than sufficient. However, ten minutes in and the gas gauge had plummeted, the orange light dangerously blinking low. Do we continue the 7 miles through the National Park in the mountains to get to the monastery, or do we turn back and fill up the tank?

While Jota is trying to get a GPS signal on his telephone, I'm rationally using my third grade math word problem skills to figure it out:  if 10 minutes took a 1/4 tank of gas, and we still have thirty minutes to go, how long will it really take us before the van runs out of gas and I either have a heart attack from trying to push the van while in neutral up a slope that seems Himalayan in quality or we all roll off the side of the road into the rocky crevasses below. And then I try to have an optimistic outlook and start equating how long it will take to hitchhike to the bottom, fill up one of our empty water jugs with diesel and then thumb a ride back. At any rate, it was clear we were going to be arrive with Spanish punctuality - atleast a half hour late.

It would be interesting to mention here the van's new nickname. We called her Jada maybe like the first week. But there is nothing Jada about her. Upon her first check-up with our good mechanic in Barcelona he craned his neck up from underneath the hood of the van and told us frankly that we, "had bought a potato." Or in Spanish - La Patata. A couple days later as we were driving on the highway, cars zooming past while we slowly (but steadily) puckered along, Jota and I at the same time blurted out - "she's totally a POTATO!" And the name has stuck ever since. We're thinking of plastering her name in paint on the side. In the meantime I've decorated her for Christmas...

Anyway, back to the side of the road in the mountains. We did the smart thing and turned around. Funny enough, Potato's gas guage registered as having a quarter of a tank again once we got all the way to the bottom. Jota did not find this amusing, at all. We filled her up anyway and started back. Amazingly enough we were only 20 minutes late and the director was another 20 minutes late more than us, so prefect.

The monastery is an old palace. Someone with a lot of money built it with the dream of making an agricultural park. I can barely imagine how they got all the supplies up there to even build. Now it's a Buddhist Monastery. There is a beautiful stuppa with prayer wheels encircling it and paths through the trees and fields. We ate in a big dining area, a large wooden Buddha sitting in the middle. It must be the only Buddhist Monastery that serves meat. Boy was I surprised. We met with the director and threw some ideas out there. He was very receptive. Looks like maybe we'll get a chance to help create a garden to feed the monastery.

 Apricot trees

 View over the park right to the sea

 View from where we parked the van for the night

The rosemary is in bloom and the mountains are humming with honeybees - literally

 Drops of honey from my breakfast - dessert for the bees I guess

Which reminds me of my best breakfast= toast with honey and tahini (toasted tahini)

Monastery Memories

It was over a year ago. I was in Thailand, a small city in the North. I went to the temple, my favorite in Chiang Mai, sat down in front of the golden statue and had a chat with my buddha. Something I had done almost everyday that I was in Thailand. It was so enjoyable, so easy. The temples were always beautiful as if they radiated the love and care that all the neighbors shower upon it everyday. The fresh flowers, the wafting incense, that smiling calm buddha just sitting, waiting, watching. And I would sit as the rowdy school groups would come in, the quiet old women, the dedicated adults, the families, the young professionals, basically the whole neighborhood; they would all bow- 3 times. To the buddha, to the dharma, to the sangha. Or in other words, to the teacher, the lesson, the community. People would come and then go as if it was just one of the many breaths in their day, something so common and natural yet reverent too. I don't know all their reasons for coming, I never asked anyone actually. But watching, it looked as though they came to remember something.

That April day was not an ordinary day at the temple though. There were more flowers, more candles, more people, more feeling. I had watched as they all lined up to take a turn at blessing the Buddha by pouring a cup of water on him. It was the Thai New Year - full of new beginnings and a time to wash away all that is unneeded in our lives. I soaked the Buddha, spun the prayer wheel and scribbled a blessing on the gigantic ribbon that later would be encircled around the temple. And then I did what so many others went to do - I went out and bought a water pistol, and with my passport wrapped in plastic, I went into town. Imagine a city-wide water fight where everyone is playing the game. Water guns, balloons, super soakers, and even giant barrels brimming with water. Anything that walked, ran, biked, scooted, drove, or  skipped past was soaked. There seemed to be more water in the streets than in the canals that moated the city. And so I played the game for a long while. I got thoroughly drenched and when I had my fill I retreated back to the guesthouse, got into dry clothes, packed by pack and hit the road. No sooner had I turned the corner from the guesthouse and I was nearly soaked again. I looked down the street and saw all the neighbors - hoses, water guns and trash barrels ready and waiting for me. Hmm, definitely would have to find another way of getting to the bus stop, I thought. This was the first time I took a tuk-tuk; something between a 4-wheeler/golf cart/ and taxi cab. We zoomed past the crowds and I managed to only get a little damp before arriving at the bus stop.

So I'm settled onto the local bus that will take me North to the Monastery where I will spend the next few weeks. When we passed out of the city and onto the country roads the other passengers flung open the windows and doors to let in the fresh air. It was a hot day after all. But we were mistaken. Being out of the city did not mean we were safe from the water fight. Neighbors sabotaged the road and came running, barrels and buckets over head ready to throw as we drove past. Water gushed in every window opening. I had picked the wrong seat...right next to the side door. After 2 hours there wasn't a dry spot in the bus, it literally oozed with water, dripping and trickling everywhere. By the time the bus dropped me on off at the entrance to the monastery road I was thoroughly wet and worried about a possible busted laptop and not having any dry clothes to present myself with.

I sauntered up the road 2 km, reminding myself that I would be met by Buddhists and my disheveled appearance wouldn't matter. And sure enough the Abbott gave me the best hut to stay in and welcomed me to the monastery. I happily accepted the warm linen clothes - everyone wears white at the monastery. And began another adventure.

I could write a book about the 10 days I was at this monastery. So many things happened in such a short time, I will save those stories for another day. However, when thinking of a quote or poem to offer for a day of Advent I remembered a small book of poems I found nestled deep in the back of a dusty bookshelf in the monastery library. It was in English, which was the main reason I first grabbed it. But with each poem I read I was captivated. When I finally got to 'The Monastery' by Graham Brown I could think of nothing more to write in my journal about my experience at the monastery, for this poem somehow described it all. Yesterday as I found myself walking the grounds of another monastery, this one in Spain, the poem came flooding back and thought I would share it here.

The Monastery by Graham Brown

once I knew, nothing in life could save me
& the monastery will wake you up in the cold mornings
it will kick you & drive you with more efficiency
than any alarm-clock, it will bore you with its routine
then seek forgiveness with a bowlful of food
& the monastery will always be showing you
that you are nothing & restore a sense of wonder
at the falling of a leaf, the monastery will turn you
into a giggling child & a crying child & a wise old man
whose mission is telling the world that it has to let go
& the monastery will dredge up all the horrible
secrets from the corners of the mind of a long-dead boy
screaming the truth of misery to the birds & trees
& the monastery will show you acceptance
in a good friend, the poetry of restraint & the patience
of sitting with restlessness & you will hate it & hate it
because your love is stronger & the monastery will get in your blood
more exciting & depressing than alcohol & you know
the monastery will forget you if you leave
& remember you with gratitude when you return
& the monastery will give you the open silence
you will be unable to receive they say until years later
they say the monastery will give you the strongest of feelings
& you will want to run away & curl up & die
& be born again like the greenness of a beech & the monastery
will make you want to dance & sing & regret those times
when you could & you didn’t & the monastery will protect you
like an island & you will want to swim & like a kind parent
the monastery will remain where it is

Holy Moly a free spa

"I will tell you, I am in every flower, every rainbow, every star in the heavens and everything in and on every planet rotating around every star. I am the whisper of the wind, the warmth of your sun, the incredible individuality and the extraordinary perfection of every snowflake. I am the majesty in the soaring flight of eagles, and the innocence of the doe in the field; the courage of lions, the wisdom of the ancient ones. Every day is sanctified. Every minute is holy. This is now, this is the Holy Instant." - Neale Donald Walsch

Today was awesome. Woke up, threw open the van doors and welcomed in the hot sun and the sound of the waves crashing the shore. Sat and did my homework for a while and then found out that the local sports complex was free today. My aching back so welcomed the pool, the dry sauna, the steam sauna, the hydromassage pool and the jacuzzi's and you all know how I feel about hot showers. It certainly felt like a holy day to me. And I still can't believe it was free. Someday I'll will win the lottery and I'll build a free pool/spa/hot spring complex for Wakefield.

Tomorrow we pitch a gardening idea to the local Buddhist Monastery over lunch. More on that tomorrow!