After two weeks (four visits) at my praxis site in Mariona, I realized that it is far past time to share this beautiful place with all you fabulous people back home.
I was thrilled to be placed in my first choice site for praxis-the two days a week that I will be spending in a Salvadoran community as one of my classes this semester. Mariona is an urban area about 6 miles north of San Salvador. It is home to the largest male prison in the country, as well as about 150,000 people living in 18 small communities.
Myself and two other girls (Arianna and Betsy) are there every Monday and Wednesday from about 8:30-3:30. We are hosted by Oti, a middle aged Salvadoran woman who runs the Meditation Center for the women of the community. The center is an open space for meditation, yoga, and massage—there is no charge, since women in this community struggle to make ends meet as it is. It is Oti’s life work, her gift to the people around her. It is her effort to alleviate some of the struggles of daily life for the people here who (like Oti) have experienced the brokenness of war and the constant struggle of poverty, among other difficulties.
Our first two visits were spent getting to know the few families and individuals who we will be closest with this semester, and this week we started our afternoon English classes that we will be giving the kids (more on that soon) but what I really wanted to write about was yesterday morning. First we dabbled a bit in yoga and a brief meditation. Then the three of us and Aida (Lolo’s wife) learned massage from Oti. Taking time to both give and receive that kind of attention to each other under her guidance was itself a really beautiful experience-but what happened next is something I will never forget.
Aida said that since Oti had shared this with us, she too deserved a massage. I fully agreed, but something deep down in me felt a little awkward about the four of us non-experts attempting to massage my most recent idol. We split up, and I found myself taking my place at Oti’s feet-and here something changed. It reminded me of Holy Thursday at my church when we read the passage about Jesus’ washing his disciples feet, and then do this as a community.
As I held her feet in my hands, I starting thinking about what that act really signifies.
We usually think of feet as smelly, something useful-but not particularly beautiful, not something worthy of much thought or attention. But in a way, they really are. Our feet carry us, our weight (literal and figurative) rests on our feet…they move us. I thought about Jesus tending to the feet of his closest friends, and what that was really saying.
To me it recognized shared suffering:
“your burden is my burden, I take that weight in my hands”
It recognized beauty: “to me, no part of you is ugly or unworthy”
It said: “I will care for the parts of you that even you yourself have forgotten or neglected”
It was suddenly the most beautiful way to care for another person. A part of me wanted to start running around the world to touch everyone’s feet (yes, I recognize how absurd that sounds)
But at the time it just seemed right. Like maybe so much of the brokenness we feel is hidden there, and maybe healing could start their too.
As we finished, Oti stood up, embracing each of us and thanking us. Thanking me.
I am continually at a loss for words in this place where people thank ME after sharing everything they have with me. She had exemplified for me what my own faith has tried to get across to me for twenty one years: “so you should do as I have done for you.”
It wasn’t just words, or nice ideas…it was tangible.
It was in my fingers, I could feel it in my Toes.
And she had thanked me. How could I respond to that? I thought…
I’m still thinking…
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment