I felt shy. I wasn't even shy when the Dalai Lama held my face and kissed me. With Father Francis, my inner experience was moving faster than 'reality'. There was so much to say and at the same time, there was nothing to say. I was present.
"Have you been in jail?" I asked. Where did that come from?
"Si, pues."
I didn't have to ask. I already knew.
"Me, too."
"I know."
I started to laugh. "The first time was because my dog wasn't on a leash in Eugene, Oregon at 8:00 on a Sunday morning. Well, not because of the act itself, but because I thought it was so stupid that I didn't pay the ticket and ignored the summons regarding it. I was in contempt of court. I was in contempt of everything. This was 1970 and we were raging against the Vietnam War. (In SE Asia it is more aptly called The American War.) I ignored every summons they sent me which gave them the excuse to pick me up late at night and take me to jail. I stayed over night because we didn't have the $30 to get out. I was angry, insulting and defiant which was not cool because most of the police hated us because of our antiwar activities."
He laughed.
Maybe the hard stories would come later.
"Why are you in Nicaragua now?" As he asked, we both knew the answer.
"To meet you."
When I get really nervous, I talk too much or show off. I struggled against this. That little rap about jail was nervous twitter. I pictured my Buddhist teacher and started to breathe slowly. I didn't want to blow this off.
"My father was Roma, but he gave it up for farming. He said a fortune teller told him that it would be the survival of his lineage. We were practically the only ones to make it past Hitler. My mother yearned all the time to be on the road. A wise man told me that I would never have a real home but that I would always feel at home wherever I was. His name was Francis also. My middle name is Francis"
Oh shit, I am babbling in spite of myself. I will stop.
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