QBLOG #8-Perceptions

QBLOG #8-PERCEPTIONS

I’ve been slowly expanding my boundaries here at Camp Liberty. There is a man made lake that I’ve begun to walk around after work with some colleagues. Last week I took a half day off and decided to walk the lake and see what there was to see during the day. It was amazingly different, beautiful. Along one side you can see one of Sadaam’s palaces. His hunting lodge I am told. There are several other “support” structures near this compound. Many of the structures have been bombed and are in various stages of repair and disrepair. While I was walking, several water trucks passed me and the men inside would give me a big smile and wave. I would wave back and get a big smile on my face. I was enjoying my walk and taking some pictures along the way. This is also the first time since I’ve been here that I have been in civilian clothes, basically sweat pants a long sleeve t-shirt, a fleece jacket and tennis shoes. I was coming toward the end of my walk when an incredible smell wafted past my nose. The DFAC. Not just any DFAC. This was the Pegasus DFAC and of the three that we have on Liberty, this, by far, has the best food. I made a decision to go there and have an early dinner. The smile on my face soon disappeared.

Since I was in civilian clothes, I was searched before entering. This happens to everyone, but something felt different. I move on to enter the door where everyone must wash their hands. As I am entering, the workers greet me with a smile and a nod of their head. Not unusual, as I usually greet them and they respond in kind. When I finally entered the DFAC and stood in line, I became very aware that something felt really wrong. I could not put my finger on it, but it was one of the most uncomfortable feelings I have ever felt. I looked around. There were some soldiers looking my way, but nothing looked different. But it felt really different. It was very uncomfortable. It wasn’t until I arrived at the serving line that I understood. The server’s were greeting me like they knew me. That is when it hit me. I’m one of THEM. I’m not AMERICAN. Instead, I am one of THEM. Out of my uniform, I look Middle Eastern. I suddenly understood what prejudice felt like. Maybe it was disdain, because I have felt prejudice before, and this was much stronger. It is not a look, not an action, but a very strong message just the same, “we don’t like you, we don’t trust you…”. No one told me this. They did not have to. I heard the message loud and clear. I was so uncomfortable that I quickly ate and left. Normally I would stay behind and write, but this would not happen today.

The first thought I had was, “you can’t judge a book by it’s cover”, but we do it all the time. It was just done to me. I wondered if I had sent this kind of message to these workers from other countries or those from Iraq, or anyone for that matter. I hoped not. It is amazing how wrong perception’s can be. It amazes me even more because we rarely take the opportunity to take action to verify our perceptions. And I thought about the war. I thought about the poor. I thought about so many things that my head began to spin.

I met this Danish man at the gym I belonged in Dallas a couple of summers ago. He was an lawyer who specialized in international law and was on business in the United States and in Dallas completing some of that business. He lived in Paris, but was raised in Denmark. This was at the beginning of the Iraq war and our discussion immediately turned to that. He understood things from a very unique perspective, because though he was raised and lived in Europe, he had lived in the US and continued to be exposed to our culture. The man was maybe 35, but quite wise. “You in America want to do the right thing, and you believe that war is the right thing. Yet, you have not experienced a war on your soil since the Civil War. You do not have the memory of war that we in Europe have, and so war is a viable option in the US. My grandmother lived through WWII. She was in Paris when the German tanks came rumbling in. She witnessed children and women and men being shot and crumbled under the tracks of tanks and other machines of war. She knew what war was and remembers it still. People lost their homes, their sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, and often times witnessed their deaths. America has only seen this on television. It appears like a game. There is no consequence other than maybe your gas prices will go up. But other than those you send to war, America has not suffered war.” The conversation lasted well over an hour and we were both prunes by the time we got out of the hot tub. It was those words above that remained in my memory. “America has not suffered war”. Perception: To become aware of directly through any of the senses...; How we perceive things can certainly influence how we make our decisions.

In the very early 90’s I invited my mother to Dallas for a visit. My friend Jim Frederick had also invited his mother to visit. We wanted our mom’s to meet and get to know us and our world a little bit better. Jim and I had “come out” to our parents and felt that our mother's were more open to bonding than were our father's. We planned the visit around a Turtle Creek Chorale concert. The Turtle Creek Chorale is a gay men’s chorale group, to which Jim belonged. Approximately 80% of the performances were filled with gay men and women. During intermission, we went to the lobby for a beverage. We gathered with friends of ours. Part of the conversation was about who was going to church on Sunday and meeting for brunch afterward. Everyone was dressed in evening attire, ties, coats etc. Suddenly, my mom said she had to excuse herself. She looked a bit pale and almost sick. I walked with her to a more open but private space. I asked what was wrong. At first she said that it was just a bit hot. After a few minutes she revealed that she was having a difficult time with what she was experiencing. These great guys, good looking, well dressed, talking about going to church…well, that was not how she was brought up to think about gay people. To her, gay people were like street wino's. Drunk, dirty, individuals living on the streets and wanting sex with children. I was her son and I wasn’t like that. Now she saw that these guys were not like that. They were also someone’s son. Perception: To achieve understanding of; What can we do to change our perceptions?

This past December, before leaving for Iraq, I was able to spend Christmas with my family in Santa Fe, NM. Christmas day we spent at my sister Margaret’s home. My sister-in-law Dina and her two girls, my nieces, began a conversation about the elections and the different perceptions people had regarding the two candidates and some of their issues and mandates. We were initially on opposite sides of issues. Dina started to relate our conversation to a TV series called 'Wife Swap'. She stated that during the first show she made decisions based on the initial interview people had, on who was the “better” wife. At the end of the show, she realized that no one was better, they just had different approaches. She said after our political conversation she now saw things in a different light, as did I. Perception: Insight, intuition, or knowledge gained by perceiving; Will we listen long enough to understand a view that is not our own?

I was living in San Antonio, TX when I met Tom Stehlik at a retreat for those questioning a calling to religious life. Tom and I became quick friends and spent that year together in discernment for what our calling might be. I was invited to spend an Easter with Tom and his family. I would meet a priest at this gathering that was a friend of Tom’s family. This priest happened to be a bit overweight. In a later conversation with Tom, he said that a lot of people would look down on this priest and either give looks of disgust or would make jokes about his weight. Tom said, “Some people look at him and see his physical problem but do not see the wonderful spirit he has. You know, some problems are just more visible than others.” Each of us has our own challenges, be they physical, mental or emotional. None of us is exempt. Some aches are just more visible than others. Perception: becoming aware of something via the senses. Will you look beyond the physical and see the spirit of someone’s heart?

I wrote this poem outside of the Dallas Contemporary Art Museum. The sky was filled with these wonderful clouds. Grey and white with sun shining through them as they raced across the sky. They were beautiful. They inspired this poem.

Sky’s of Blue
Sky’s of grey,
White and Dark clouds are heading my way.

Some look soft,
And subtle…
And friendly…

Other’s are Mean!
And Vicious!
And Scary!

Each one touching..
An emotion within me…
Learned long ago, yet unaware of it’s power in my memory.

Dark means bad…
And mean…
And frightening!

Making me see FEAR
In something…
Though it is really nothing!

White is good…
And greater…
And Kinder.

Making me see good..
In my mind..
But in reality, I am only blind.

They are what they are,
This white and darkness…
Each neither good nor bad…only providing the comfort that my memory had.

Sky of Blue!
Sky of Grey!
Goodness and Badness are heading my way!

I now must choose
What each truly means…
And put behind the prejudice that my memory continues to bring.

Learn from my experience…
Of now and ahead,
And change my attitude of my learning back when…

Sky’s of Blue,
Sky’s of Grey…
All of these different clouds are teaching me new ways!


25 June 04, Dallas Contemporary
Choose Love, not Fear!

Blessings and Peace…. Robert

QBLOG#7, Adhan

Subject: Q-BLOG #7, Adhan

Several times a day, in the not so far distance, I can hear the adhan being broadcast throughout the camp. Adhan is the Muslim call for prayer. My understanding is, as part of the call to prayer, the shahada is uttered. It is a beautiful sound and the words are almost sung, “La ilah illa Allah wa Muhammad rasul Allah” which translates to, “There is no God but the one God and Muhammad is His prophet.” The times I usually hear this, are just before sunrise, around noon and then again when the sun has travelled its full course for the day. There are two other times that adhan takes place; mid-afternoon and just before mid-night. Nothing, it seems, gets in the way of the adhan.

I’m at the DFAC and I’ve just finished my meal. I’m eating alone tonight because I wanted some time to sit here and write. I am in the back part of the facility where few people gather. As I am looking around at troops coming and going. I see a soldier walking towards the area I am sitting. He is alone. He is focused on a place that is two tables away from me. His back is to the throngs of soldiers I am looking at. He places his tray down, removes the rifle hanging from his shoulders, places it on the floor and sits down facing me. His pistol is visible from the holster just underneath his left arm. He looks tired and hungry. He is plain looking, thin face, dark tousled hair that has seen lots of dirt today. He keeps his black fleece jacket on; the holster pressing down the fleece around his shoulders and back. His hands are washed, but the grime of war remains on them and on his face. I picture him as a gunner positioned on the top of a Humvee or Striker vehicle. Finally, he sits down, adjusts his chair and bows his head. It remains in that position for quite some time. This is not your typical, “bless us oh lord of these thy gifts...” prayer. This is “let me tell you about my day” kind of prayer. You can almost feel the wall of silence he created in the space around him, like a shield of glass suddenly enveloping him and shutting all the noise around him out. Slowly his head rises. You can almost see the shield of silence coming down around him. He looks at the plate before him, and dives into the food. His hunger did not distract him from his adhan.

I have always loved music, and enjoy many different types of music. I was introduced to Vincenzo through my friends Alberto and Troy. Vincenzo is a classical pianist. He is much more than this, as each of us are much more than our jobs or the gifts we were born with. Alberto, Troy and I were visiting Amsterdam and Vincenzo and his partner Roel had invited us to stay at their flat in the city. In appreciation, we wanted to take them to dinner. Vincenzo would not hear of it. After all, we were already at his studio, which was outside of the city, and there were no ‘good’ places to eat. He proceeded to cook dinner. We enjoyed the meal and had a wonderful conversation. I had not yet heard Vincenzo play and I desperately wanted to. But Vincenzo had just finished rehearsing and he did not want the evening to be about him playing. Instead, he wanted us to continue our conversation. We did finally convince him to at least let us hear a tape from one of his rehearsals. It was not a very good tape he stated, but he would let us hear it. We gathered around the hand held tape player and listened to Vincenzo’s home made recording. The sound was a bit scratchy, but there was this spirit in his music that touched me. If this was just a rehearsal tape, I thought, what is he like live? I felt this incredible power over come me. This prayer of music filled my heart and my soul and the only way I could express my joy was through my tears. Since that time, I have had the opportunity to attend a few of Vincenzo's live performances and am moved to joy every time I hear his music. The synergy and spirit of his music created a connection between us that I call prayer. It is our adhan.

The first time I experienced the true power of the Divine with another person, was with my first love. His name is Scott and he is deaf. The only reason I mention his being deaf is, because it is through his deafness that I was to experience the positive power of silence. Scott does speak and reads lips, but it is through his signing that I best understood Scott’s feelings and passion for life. We were in Washington DC where Scott was attending Galludet University. It was the evening after a very busy day and I would be returning to Dallas in a day or so. Scott took me to a chair and sat me down. He told me how much he loved me and wanted to express this love, our love, in a way that would involve God, because God was such a big part of our lives. We invited God into everything we did. Scott asked me to close my eyes. I sat there in my underwear, almost giggling because I never knew what to expect from Scott. He returned and I could feel him kneel beside me. I heard water splash. Scott took my feet and proceeded to wash them. This was, he signed to me, how he wanted our relationship to be, one of service to each other and to God. This was our adhan.


Ironing is not my idea of fun. It might be my brother’s idea of fun, but not mine. Here at Camp Liberty, I did not have much of a choice if I wanted my uniform pressed. There I was standing in my room, ironing my uniform. I was not really thinking about ironing. I wasn’t really thinking. I was just doing. Suddenly I felt myself go into a trans like state, and found myself in prayer. Not, “Oh God, please help me” or “Lord, I want to thank you” prayer, but, conversation. Yes, conversation…two way. It hit me like a brick! Suddenly these images of my mother hanging clothes outside (she still does), my father working with wood, the women in Turkey creating carpets on a loom, popped into my thoughts. Maybe, I thought, the reason they performed these tasks is because this is a form of meditation, or prayer! Before I knew it, I was ironing my sheets, my underwear and my tee shirts! I understood for the first time, the power a simple task can have in creating a space for meditation, a conversation with the Divine. It is another form of adhan!

My friend Billy Miller is an artist (http://www.whimdesigns.com/). One form of his art is to manipulate digital photographs into something of meaning for him. I’ve attached one of his latest pieces. He titles it “Navajo Solitude”. I call it Prayer Shadow. I name it that because the original digital was a picture of a shadow of Jim Frederick closing the curtains while he was nursing Billy back to health from a badly sprained ankle. The final design reminds me of my native Santa Fe and of a Navajo design found in much of the art in the Southwest. The connection between the shadow of a friend taking care of another friend, the spirit of the Navajo design and the care of interpreting this into art and sharing it with others, there is no greater form of adhan.

Our jobs and our work today do not allow us time for silence. We toil to confusion, going in every direction, leaving little if any opportunity for our soul to seep through and converse with us, allowing us to connect with the Divine. The modern world is filled with every convenience to make our lives, they say, simpler, easier…faster. We are running so fast to nowhere. Time is money and we’ve spent it. We’ve traded our silent time for convenience and lost ourselves along the way. We have little time for our children, spouses, extended family or friends. We have little time for ourselves. Can you hear your internal adhan? How will you answer it? By the bowing of your head before a meal? Or the washing of the feet of your spouse or friend? Maybe listening to a piece of music that provides bliss? Maybe by hanging or ironing your own clothes instead of taking them to the cleaners? Carving a piece of wood or creating a carpet on a loom? A piece of art or a good book? What ever you choose, choose to find a time to answer your adhan.

I close with this poem I wrote on a weekend vacation to Fire Island with my friend Tim Palmer.

Waves crashing in all around me
Slamming against the shores of my destiny
Powerful waves made from the silent sea
Forces unseen pulling me back…pushing me forward.

Storms above me…surround me.
Stillness in my soul.
Steady my shores with dikes and dunes
Calm the storms with whispers to my heart.

Silence the head of waves and storm,
Let stillness in my life be calmness in my soul.
Hear my prayer oh God!
It is not in my work, not in my deeds…not even when I am on bent knee…

It is in my silence, which is so rare,
That my soul must speak.
T.V. and talk shows, and work and play,
Money and fame to make my name

These seem to be the only things
For which I pray when I am awake…
And there in the silence of the night,
My other prayer is phrased,

The words are just right…
To ask for forgiveness, and strength and peace…
It is all I really want,
And probably more than I need.

The prayer is whispered…
At the end of the night, the beginning of sleep..
The words are spoken
Into the Light….

“Calm me and take me…
Mold me and make me…into the man that I am meant to be…
Not a President, an actor, or even a King…
Make me only…into the perfect me…you created me to be.”

Robert Quintana, 24 Sep 03, Fire Island, NY

May you find silence in your day, and peace along the way…

Robert

QBLOG #6 DREAM! SING! DANCE!

11 Feb 05, Friday evening.

It’s been an interesting and hectic week. I’m feeling good about being here, because I feel as if I am contributing something. I received a much awaited package today…my music. It’s sort of my soul connection. I’m listening to one of my Buddha Bar CD’s. It’s filled with this amazing music, a combination of modern and middle eastern sounds blended into songs that call your soul. Close your eyes and imagine you are out in the middle of a desert. There is a huge fire with men and women and children dancing around it. Drums are beating. There is the sound of a string instrument creating these high pitched exotic sounds. Wind instruments join in and begin to whisper their music to the drums. The drums beat rising and falling in syncopation with the dance as if all of this were interconnected, the fire, the dancers, the music... and then a women’s voice enter’s, singing in a tongue that is foreign to my ears, but familiar to my soul. I want to get up and ‘connect’ with this vision in my head and this feeling in my heart and body, reaching up to the heavens, almost unconsciously, naturally.

It is the music of this land that I am now in. Desert nights filled with diamonds hanging in the sky, twinkling, speaking. Dancing around a fire with these ancient souls, your feet know the rhythm, your head is intoxicated with the crisp cool air and the beautiful voices echoing from a place you cannot see. The music run’s through your veins, moving through your body like blood. Like blood. Something every human being has in common, blood.

I’ve been trying to communicate with one of the foreign workers in the dining facility. We’ve greeted each other and smile at each other. His name is Mahendra Paudel. He is from Nepal. From a village, he says, named Annapurna in the Himilayas. It is also the name of one of the 8 tallest mountains in the world. He is a handsome man and is very forgiving and generous in nature. Extremely polite. I’ve introduced myself as Robert, but he continues to address me as ‘sir’.

I’m thinking about Mahendra and all of the third country nationals (TCN’s) working here, as well as the local Iraqi’s. What drives a person, whose country is not involved in this war, to come here and work? Is work so scarce, life so bad that they would choose to leave their lives, and come work in Iraq for Americans? Or, the local Iraqi’s, who literally risk theirs and their families lives by working for Americans. This is not being dramatic. This is life here. Prior to elections, there were flyers warning the Iraqi’s and TCN’s that they and/or their families would be killed if they were caught working for the Americans. We know of one instance where this happened. I know that each person has a different reason for taking this risk. Just as I am sure my reason’s for being here are different from other civilian American’s reason(s) for being here.

I spent one of my best vacations on the Turkish Mediterranean about four years ago with two friends, Alberto Bassani and Troy Murphy. It was an incredible two weeks! We stayed in the city of Alanya, the region of Antalya, whose history dates back to 333 B.C. but was inhabited over 50 thousand years ago and where there are still standing examples of it’s powerful history and importance in the ancient world. The Turkish people we met were incredibly warm and friendly. They were so willing and wanting to share their world and let you know their part of history in it. The desk clerk at our hotel invited us to tour his city with him on his day off. He took us to museum’s, churches, mosques, the famous Red Tower dating back to 1225. We walked down the ancient wall surrounding parts of the city. In every place we stopped our new friend was greeted warmly with a kiss on each cheek, from young and old alike. We were treated with respect and introduced with a slight bow of the head as acknowledgement. In many ways this was such a humbling experience, standing in buildings and on ground that was inhabited before any semblance of civilization showed itself in what we now call the Western world.

We stopped for lunch in a very modern part of the city, each restaurant vying for our lunch business. When we stopped at an outdoor café for a drink, we were surrounded by several young Turkish men. We were a strange trio for this region, a northern Italian, black American and me,a hispanic American who they insisted that I was Turkish and not American. Russians and Germans are the main tourists here. When they discovered that there were two American’s they asked why more Americans did not come to them, to visit and enjoy their wonderful beaches and history. I responded that the riots and terrorism in parts of their country were shown on the American news stations and that this kept many people from wanting to come to Turkey at all, or that most Americans choose Istanbul or Izmir for vacations. In response to the riots and terrorism, one young man responded that, “We are also afraid of these areas and do not go there. So we are the same. We have the same blood you and I, Turkish and American. We want the same things…better lives for our children and families, to live in peace, to love! We are the same! It is our governments that make us different, but that is politics and not life. We are the same.”

We are the same. Each of us born with this life giving blood, this music of old in our soul waiting to be released by our dance. We are ready to Love. Yet, we are taught not to love. We are taught to be afraid. We are taught that releasing the song in our soul may not be acceptable and soon all the sameness that we are born with turns into these differences that we have learned to place our focus.

Why would a man with kindness in his heart, great friends, leave his home, his family and his beautiful “village” of Annapurna, Piacenza, Memphis, Boulder, Pampa, Santa Fe or any other “village”? Maybe he is looking for the place where he can play his soul’s music and reach to the diamonds in the sky as he dances to the rhythm of the songs of old as others join him around the fire that transforms their differences into one Body…one blood of mankind.

Maybe.

Won’t you join in this life dance? Share the Love that you were born with? Put the fear you learned aside and join your hands together, letting the music be the blood line that connects you to the sameness we all share.

I end with this poem I wrote in 2003. I hope you enjoy it.

Dream, dream, the little dreams
that give your life that extra thing!

See beyond the dirty grind...
That life seems to bring and find.

Fly above, the earth and sky!
And see the life of all that breathes.

SCREAM, SCREAM, the little screams,
that hide in that little place of anxiety.

Get it out! Shout it out!
And start your sanity, and do not doubt.

Sing, sing the song of life,
to plants and animals of every stripe

Trees and shrubs and grass and grain,
mammals and fish, and human beings.

Dance, dance the dance you can’t,
move your arms, your hips, your head.

Move your body in all the ways,
that create the biggest kind of waves.
Step out of that little box,
that society has decided to keep locked,

Dream and Scream and Sing and Dance
your life is waiting, give it one more chance!

02 Aug 2003
Robert L. Quintana

Q-BLOG#5 - Innocence survives

I wonder every day what it must be like to be one of these soldiers. One of these young men or women who joined the military for different reasons. Some joined for the GI Bill in order to further their education. Some because their families are military and it is tradition. Maybe it was personal conviction or it was the only job they could get at the time. I am sure there are many other reasons. I think about how I would feel if I was told that I would be deployed and going into a war situation, as a soldier. I remember when I turned 18 and had to register for “Selective Service”. The thought of the possibility of going to war, of having to fight or kill another human being, was unnerving. There I went, though, to my local post office and registered. The Vietnam war was still very fresh in our minds.

I marvel at these young people all around me. Most are still maturing physically. You can see the difference though, in their faces. Those who have not had to encounter the ‘enemy’ and those who have, there is a difference. That type of encounter obviously matures you quickly. The innocence in their eyes is gone. The shiny glow of youth on their skin is replaced by a film of dirt and grime.

Innocence survives though, and remains deep within them. They hold it safe in a place inside that no one can touch. Sometimes not even they can touch it. Yet, innocence is there. It is amazing how the human body and the human spirit can rally to protect themselves. We can build these elaborate chambers within ourselves to hide, to protect us. Sometimes we forget that we’ve built them. We forget that we were ever innocent.

My dear friend Tim Palmer and I participated in a body and spirit awareness program a few years ago that was held in upstate New York. The program was called, “Body Electric/Body Erotic”. We were not able to complete the full course, but the weekend was a huge turning point for me, partly because I met Jay Hill. Jay taught me an important lesson that weekend about power and surrender. The other reason was because of the grace I encountered on the drive back to the City with Tim. Tim had wanted me to listen to this sermon, and the drive back was perfect for it. Halfway through the sermon we were both in tears. The basic premise is that when we are born, how we were greeted into the world impacts the way we perceive the world. Our childhood memories are then based on that perception. Understand, this is not a blaming tool or game. It is simply something to be aware in understanding our memories and how we may act or react as adults. We may begin hiding, protecting, our innocence – our spirit. As a child you don’t understand the circumstances, you only react to protect yourself if you feel you are being assaulted, physically or spiritually.

And so I see this sea of innocence, being protected, wanting to get out and enjoy life. To live life. But they can’t right now, or they don’t know how. They feel threatened.

After searching half a life time for everything the world told her would make her happy, my friend Tricia found her innocence. She named her Trixie. Trixie was the child she had hidden from the world and from herself. She had persued all the things she was taught and told would make her happy. But she was never really happy. After spending an evening with Tricia and her telling me about and letting me get to know Trixie, I was overcome with joy and sorrow. Joy, because Tricia had discovered her innocence, Trixie. Sorrow because I knew I had yet to discover my own and I knew he was buried very deep. In celebration of Trixie and Tricia, I wrote this poem.

Trish’s (Trixie’s) Poem

Light of my world,
lite in my soul...

Seeking growth,
through someone else....

Searching my heart
for right and wrong...

Getting my answers
from a world that I don’t belong.

Light of my world
Artificial in my soul...

Enclosed in a world of glass and steel.
Growing older,
But not any smarter...
Growing backward...
Not knowing myself...

Light of my world,
breaking through the lies

Finding my truth...
Deep inside...

Planting my seeds
In fertile soil...
Not artificial,
Or in someone else’s dirt or toil.

Light in my soul!
I’ve found by world!...

It has no walls, no glass, no steel, no top...
So my soul flies free
seeking out others that are similar to me.

Light in my soul!
Light in my world!

No darkness...

No fear...

Only God & me.

I close this blog with a thought of innocence. See your children or children around you. Watch them when they are left to play and see the joy in their faces and hear it in their laughs and screams! Then look deep inside…or maybe not so deep inside, and find that same joy in yourself. Find your Trixie or you Larry.

Remember, make your decisions from Love not fear.

Blessings!
Robert