Vulnerability

Confronted with pictures of classrooms, I realized that kids are vulnerable, impressionable, trusting, and often the happiest they will ever be. Soon they will grow up and learn, becoming smart and watchful for others trying to screw them over. No longer simple and naïve, which is the point, the goal. And as grown-ups they will spend most of their time trying to find the joy again in life. Something very important disappears from them, something that allows them to experience the childlike glee of living. What is it?

I begin to think that vulnerability is the key. It’s also a very dangerous state of being. To be vulnerable means someone can hurt you, but only because you open up your heart to feel; to actually feel the joy of living. But as a life-hardened adult, you wonder if the danger is worth it. Or you don’t even entertain the thought. Avoid pain – duh. And even if your brain does decide that it’s worth it, your heart may go on strike regardless. Becoming vulnerable again is possibly the hardest thing. It’s totally counter-intuitive for an adult, and yet utterly necessary to live fully.

So the question becomes, where is a safe place/situation to be vulnerable? Because wandering around completely vulnerable is plain stupid. There are humans out there after all. So where and when is it good? I only know of only a few places that vulnerability is advised and even called for, the primary one being within a relationship with God. Which sounds crazy, till you experience it. And once you do, it’s still hard to return. It is the hardest part of being a Christian. It is also the best part and the whole point of being a Christian. The definition of a Christian is one who follows Christ; one who lives in a close enough relationship to Christ to know His leading and be trusting enough to agree and follow it. The key to this is childlike vulnerability towards God.

Hence the worldly wisdom does not understand Christianity and considers it foolishness and stupid. Other religions differ from Christianity in that there is something to do or achieve. The adult says, aha, I can do this. Christianity says give up and just trust God to take care of you. Trust, and be vulnerable. And it’s the hardest thing to do. And it sounds stupid. But is it? Is it foolish to live with your heart truly alive and receiving the joy of a child? 

pics

new photos, and i got the slideshow working, but only for the older panama photos. click this link for new ones. https://picasaweb.google.com/103959679677428217376/Panama2

the ride home.

Our driver arrived before our luggage made it out of the room. For once, not my fault. I prefer to laugh inwardly when I see hotel management making frantic hand signals at lethargic workers. Shannon had chosen to sit by the bird feeder while waiting for our transport to the airport. A rather wise decision considering our hectic flight back. Our driver person pointed out the sloth in the parking lot. We could barely see him thru the foliage, but I think I got a good picture or two. I have always wanted to see a sloth, to see the animal whose innate nature we are not to imitate.

The same wheelchair attendant who had given us VIP treatment on the way into panama met us as the ticket counter. I looked straight at him and told him how happy I was to see him. We had an extra bag at this point, not including the mask carefully wrapped up and held by Shannon. The coffee and cinnabon eaten at the gate is probably the last of the vacation. I had thrown away my sneakers which had decided to rot instead of dry so I was in sandals. I did manage to buy rum at the duty free store. I like rum. On an amusing note, it later took a friend and I 30 mins to figure out how to get the rum out of the bottle. The key is turning it completely upside-down and shaking slightly. I have never had to work so hard for my drink.

In Houston, we had 1 hour to get on our next flight. This included getting our bags, going thru customs, dropping them off again, and going thru security. If you need a wheelchair, do not ever fly thru Houston. The airport has 4 dif wheelchair companies each with their own section of your travel and each not allowed to overstep onto another’s territory. Completely retarded way to run this sort of service. We just made the second flight. The one helpful attendant asked us what the hardest part of international traveling was, the food, the traffic, what? My response – US security, hands down.

My parents met us at the airport. So good to see them again, esp. after the return flight. Oh, and the airline had lost Shannon’s broken walker by the time we arrived in seattle. Oi. Home, finally, at 11:30 at night, we got home. And just in time for Christmas rush. Yay…

Aerial tram

One last tour. The resort offered this aerial tram tour thru the canopy of the jungle. It looked bright and sunny when we left the room for the tour. Nope, it started raining soon after. Thankfully, they had a tram-car-thing which could accommodate a wheelchair and had a rain roof. Yay. It’s a bit like a ski lift, but enclosed so you cant fall out. It takes you up the side of the hill thru the jungle. You can look down 100 ft and see the red clay below and all the different trees. Our guide taught us about the palm trees, and the balsa trees, and the paper trees. We saw several iguanas sitting on a tree branch, sunning themselves as if there were any sun.

And then there was the short hike up to the look out tower. Our guide said it was only 3 meters high, then again, he spoke Spanish. I think he meant 30 meters. The view from the top was awesome. Faintly thru the rain we could see the canal, the resort, and the town nearby. And multiple hills of jungle. On the hike back I asked the guide what this cool spiky plant was. I almost grabbed it to show him which but decided that caution is better. That? oh, that’s the shdfkljd plant, all those spikes have poison in them which hurts and then you get welts all over and enough can kill you. …caution saves again. He also said that panama has 1000 dif palm trees and 127 dif kinds of snakes, 27 of which are poisonous. Hence, im ok with not having memorized all the dif snakes. See snake, kill snake. Very simple. 

Embarra

The next tour we took lasted all day, and it rained again. Always rain. Our driver picked us up again and drove into panama city and then out again. We stopped at one of the malls for snacks and received the shock of seeing Christmas trees. Since panama doesn’t have fir trees naturally, they ship them all from Canada. Im so thankful it was the same driver, because he had figured out that Shannon doesn’t like bumpy rides. It must have taken us longer to get there over that disintegrating road. He pointed out the huge concrete factory and explained this was the only road to it. I suggested they should repair the road with the concrete from the factory, and learned they did that once a year and it still turned out like this. Oi.

When we arrived at the river, we found several dugout canoes and barefoot Indian guys waiting to transport tourists to the village. In addition to being barefoot, they weren’t wearing much; a loincloth and some sort of short skirt made out of beads, which didn’t cover much. They took the three of us over a very high river to the village. There we saw an enormous thatch roof building and Indians playing welcome music. As always, we must have looked a strange sight; me helping Shannon walk up the slope to the building, and our driver carrying her bag and pillows. We were introduced immediately to the “chief”. I put that in quotes because im still not sure if they were joking – it is a 6mo baby…

The building was bigger than it looked from the outside with a clay floor, no walls, and a vaulted ceiling. Rows of bench seats were set up on one half, with tables of crafts surrounding the space. Soon after we arrived, a large group of tourists arrived. I managed to video the welcome music this time. The village spokesman came out and gave a series of lectures about the Embarra history and culture and present day, in Embarra and in Spanish. The larger group’s guide translated into English. (our driver/guide proudly mentioned that he had trained that guide). We learned about the basket dyeing and weaving, why the women now wore the ceremonial garb (beaded bra-things in addition to skirts) when tourists arrived. Something about a few drunk tourists, a dance, and a fight… Anyways, they fed us fish and plantanas in little cups made of banana leaves and hibiscus flowers. And then they danced for us. The women did a flower dance, and the monkey dance, both looked the same basically. And then they all danced to show us the dance, then they invited us to join in. That was kinda fun, and not much to it. Sadly, my camera remained in my pocket so no pictures of that. But a 10yo girl drew a temporary tattoo on my shoulder with berry juice. It took 3 weeks to fade.

Their basket weaving takes a lifetime of skill. Various colors, all naturally dyed, woven together to create intricate designs and symbols. No two are alike in size or color or shape. Just gorgeous. The women also sell lengths of the cloth they use for skirts, which is brightly colored designs made in Japan. I made sure that any pictures I took of the Indians, I showed them. Many cracked up to see a picture of themselves. One girl even asked me to retake her picture since her eyes closed. Another woman, probably about my age, sold me a basket, and asked me something in Spanish. I looked blankly at her and finally shook my head. And then, in perfect English, she asked me “where are you from?” I was kinda surprised at her fluent english, but did manage to answer “Seattle”.

The day ended with more rain as we rode in the boats back to the car and drove over bridges over threatening red rivers.