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Three or maybe four years ago, a new word entered into my vocabulary – liminal. I was introduced to this word surprisingly by the Icelandic alternative band (and one of my favorites) Sigur Ros. The band is known for their exploration of different musical styles and formats, with heavy influence of their Icelandic culture. My love of this band is largely stems from their fearless motivation to push the boundaries of their listeners. Critics hailed their breakthrough second album, Agaetis Byrjun, which translates to “a good beginning”, as a masterpiece and the new sound of the next century when it was released in 2000. Sung mostly in Icelandic and “Hopelandic”, which the band created gibberish lyrics by using vocal tones and sound, the album was a breakthrough in the U.S. introducing the band to new listeners. I have followed Sigur Row since I first heard them at the recommendation of the salesclerk at my favorite record store in Bloomington, Indiana, when I was a graduate student. Upon my first listen, I couldn’t quite pin down what I was listening to on my stereo while working on my dissertation. It was a mix of classical sounding strings, hard hitting guitars, lyrics in a language that didn’t sound like a language, and something that sounded like a soundtrack to a dream. Fast forward to 2018, Sigur Ros continued to innovate the music genre of “alternative rock” with a series of playlists and CDs simply titled Liminal. At the time I first heard this new venture of the band, I felt like my love of them came full circle. Being unfamiliar with the title of their new work, I looked up the definition and immediately felt a connection to not only the music, but why the music of the band deeply resonated with me. Liminal, I found out, describes living between two worlds. It can also represent transitions between transitions or even a beginning – “a good beginning”!

https://www.npr.org/sections/allsongs/2018/05/08/609363090/slip-into-sigur-r-s-beautiful-liminal-mixtape

Discovering the meaning of the word liminal from this band set me on path to learn more on how liminality can be applied to other spaces beyond the music of my favorite band. Sigur Ros used the word to title their project to create soundscapes that they would later use to create live events they dubbed “sound baths”. They wanted their music to do more than just be listen to with ears. They wanted this music to allow listeners to drift, to lose themselves from reality and to possibly enter another reality where you experience liminality. A transition into another space or a beginning to start anew. While I never had a chance to experience one of these sound baths, the Museum of Fine Arts Houston in 2019 hosted an Icelandic artist’s vision of what this “sound bath” could be with “The Visitors”.

https://www.mfah.org/exhibitions/ragnar-kjartansson-visitors

I visited this exhibit twice, once to be introduced to it and the second to fully experience it. Meant to be viewed as an immersive experience, the museum encouraged visitors to lay on the floor, sit on cushions, or walk freely as the video projections of musicians played a song specific for the installation. The blending of music and visuals was interesting, providing both stimulation and calmness. My second visit to the installation involved sitting on the floor and being “bathed” by the sensory experience of sight, sounds, and textures. At the end, I truly felt like I entered a liminal space where the environment outside the exhibit was not even considered or thought about. I was truly in my own space, making my own interpretations, and creating my own reality even if was just for 15 minutes or so. True art can make individuals experience beyond what they are observing and hearing. Taking someone to new spaces is truly a feat that reflects the effort an artist makes to challenge normative views of what art should do to the observer and listener. I believe it takes an artist who understands the complexity of liminality to be able to achieve this level. Sigur Ros’ liminality exists by quite literally making music that cannot fit easily into standard music categories (they fully embraced this by naming their third album ( ) or untitled). Mexican film director Alejandro G. Inarritu explores the idea of living in liminal space with his extraordinary film, BARDO: False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths (2022).

First, a little context for this blog entry. I read extensively the reviews of this new movie prior to watching. The reviews have been mixed, some calling the movie brilliant and innovative, others saying that it is excessive and bloated with little sense or thin-layered plot. Yes, at 2.5 hours running time, it does drift a bit long (I started my watching at 10:30pm recently and committed myself to view it until 1am!), it does remind us of technical wizardry of the director (some standout scenes I’ll mention later) who often is criticized for being narcissistic on this skill, and does go off into some bloated script writing and dialogue. However, challenging viewers to something different needs some risks and while critics have been harsh, I found it interesting that those who “get it” understand the movie’s idea of liminal space – living between – and the absurdity that living in this environment creates for the main character Silverio Game, brilliantly portrayed by Mexican actor Daniel Giménez Cacho. [SPOILER ALERT: Several scenes and moments in the movie will be described below. If you do not want to know this information, watch the film and then return. THX]

Silverio is a journalist who now makes documentaries on a variety of issues impacting Mexican citizens. Silverio in the film is being recognized for his widely seen works from both his Mexican and United States colleagues. He lives in Los Angeles and considers it home, even though some believe he is not truly a resident of the states. In Mexico, the same dilemma occurs, where his friends and family often remark on how “gringos” favor him and if that makes him less Mexican. Even within his own family, the issue of liminality is discussed where his young son challenges his father on how truly connected he is to the Mexican subjects of his “docufiction” films. In a scene that switches between Spanish and English, Silverio’s son asks him in English if he thinks Mexico is a “poor” country, while Silverio angrily commands him in Spanish to speak Spanish while they are in Mexico. This scene captures the confusion and frustration of being from one space but not being truly from that space or welcomed in another space due to others asking if you truly are connected to it. While the films are on two different realms, I found this scene to be reminiscent of the famous “not Mexican enough” scene in the movie “Selena”:

Both films, surprisingly, capture the absurdity of living liminal. In Selena, the musician spends most of her short-lived stardom navigating ways to communicate and entertain her growing number of fans in the U.S. and Mexico, where often her naiveté on living in liminal space allowed her to charm her way into becoming an icon. In BARDO, Silverio is facing an identity crisis upon receiving accolades for his work. The crisis leads to a strong feeling of imposter syndrome, which eventually leads the the many surrealistic, absurd scenes that make up most of the movie. BARDO is not necessarily a plot-driven film. Rather it is a film that uses imagery and metaphor to “tell” the story. The telling of the story is the surreal nature of life as though it is a dream. A mass transit train ride turns into a flooded car, a U.S. Customs checkpoint at an airport becomes a synchronized march, people lose their ability to speak at command, and so on. All of this occurs without any lead up or warning. They just happen.

I can see how after three or four scenes of this nature, viewers would be frustrated with the “WTF?” flow of the movie. However, I found it important in depicting Silverio’s struggle with living in liminal space. What doesn’t make sense, makes sense. What makes sense, isn’t understood in the real world, but in the dream-like world Silverio lives in, it provides clarity and answers.

While I have a list of favorite scenes in the movie, a few stick out for their messages and creativeness. For creativeness, Inarritu stages a dance party of probably 200 or so people in it. It is a celebration for Silverio thrown by the Mexican government. The music is largely Mexican regional tunes sung by a live band. Silverio is dancing with his daughter who can immediately change the genre of music by simply clapping her hands in the air. That alone and how the director is able to get all the people to dance at the changes is remarkable enough. But then, in a fantastic moment when the music changes, the scene goes quiet with everyone still dancing. Then, a vocal only recording of David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” plays. The scene shows that it is only Silverio who hears the song while everyone is still dancing to the previous tune. The imagery of one lone joyful dancer dancing to his own tune was pure film magic. I’m sure that scene alone will be studied by film makers on the technical savviness to capture this large scale moment. In it. Silverio is removed from his reality and is in his “in between” space where critiques of his Mexican identity by his friends are for a few minutes removed by the song of an musical artist who also faced the challenge of being categorized (and dancing to his own beat throughout his career). The lyric “swaying to a crowd in an empty space” takes on a literal meaning of liminality. I highly recommend searching on YouTube the vocal only track: https://youtu.be/JutlzsegKRA

The most significant scenes occur in the capital city of Mexico City. One scene has Silverio explore the busy streets of downtown Mexico City, which he earlier called “this ugly beautiful city.” As he is strolling the streets, he observes the shops, the traffic, and the busy taqueria. When he orders a taco de lengua (tongue), a young woman collapses on a sidewalk. Curious, Silverio approaches the woman and asks her if she is okay. She sternly tells him she is and to go away. Frustrated, he asks why she is on the sidewalk while others pass her. She tells him that she is “missing” and not dead. A bystander casually approaches and tells Silverio that the “missing” all say the same thing and to just avoid her. Soon after, he sees others collapsing on the sidewalk violently, as though they are shot. Silverio walks as others collapse in front of him and soon, the entire street is covered in bodies. From what I read, this scene metaphorically tells the stories of the missing that Mexican government avoids talking about, telling the public to carry on and not worry. Hundreds of bodies on the ground lets Silverio know that as a Mexican citizen, as a journalist and filmmaker, he will not forget their stories. Which leads to the most surreal and strange scene in the movie where Silverio converses with Spaniard conquistador Hernan Cortes atop the bodies of indigenous people in the formation of a pyramid. Silverio converses with Cortes on the impacts of colonization in Mexico and its continuation in modern Mexico. Cortes during this dialogue claims that he modernized Mexico and without colonization, the people would still be working with the “ideas of deities”. The gloom and darkness of the scene highlights how Mexico really has not come to grips with its history. The impact of the scene ends abruptly when we realize that the whole conversation is part of a movie that is being made about this history and the director yells “cut” when he hears Silverio’s comments and says “there he goes again”. The bodies turns out to be indigenous extras in the film who rise and vocally yell their agreement with Silverio.

These scenes provide the surrealism that exist in Silverio’s liminal worlds of Mexico and the United States. He drifts from one moment to another as if he is dreaming. Sometimes, the dream is a dream, yet he tells himself that he is awake. Others also tell him that he is dreaming and that soon he will wake up and be in reality. Yet, he never wakes. the movie continues from one scene to another, where unlikely things occur without explanation. They just occur. Silverio’s challenge is to figure out what is his reality and what is not. Is he from Mexico or is home now the United States? Does the United States truly see him as one of their own? If not, where is home for him and his family? In the film, director Inarritu shows Silverio’s home as in his dreams and visions, for there he is truly welcomed since we do not welcome what he sees in our own reality. Liminal can be a transition and the movie does in the end explore this part of the liminal definition. However, Silverio is also beginning to understand that a good beginning may be happening that allows him to finally make sense of his identity. His life has been a “docufiction” that has been the work others have awarded him with in the U.S. and Mexico. Life if not real. What is not real can be life.

Liminal spaces is something I see my own life to follow. As a Mexican American scholar in higher education, I find myself navigating many worlds. I am someone who earns a living my thinking and writing, yet I am also the child of parents who worked with their hands and numerous double-shifts and hourly positions. I am a Mexican American who does not hyphenate this descriptor anymore because there is no break in between, they both exist at the same time. I am a tenured faculty member who quite literally everyday is reminded that I am a unicorn in a field that pretends to be making strides in humanizing and diversifying the field. I work at an institution that is a “Hispanic-serving institution”, yet I still find myself walking into one surreal moment into another on my campus that reminds me that “serving” still needs much work in the campus culture and by colleagues. Yet, much like Silverio, I dance to my own tune. I make my own path, realizing that mistakes likely will be made. I am human. While others are synchronized to whatever beat they hear, I often drift off by hearing the music that I create or that I select to guide me through whatever mess I find myself in. Silverio in BARDO represents the meaning of the movie’s title, which is a Buddhist idea of living between life and death and possibly rebirth. While we choose to live life in reality, Silverio in the movie lives life on the other plane – the plane of dreams. For in dreams, remarkable and frightening things happen. Hopefully, once we are awake, we can start “a good beginning” by learning from the unreal and the surreal.

BARDO: A False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths obviously earned my “two thumbs up” rating. Just be warned, it is NOT a straightforward movie where a story follows sequentially. And it is LOOOONG. Despite this, if you allow yourself to at least watch the scenes I describe, you can create your own interpretation. Take a “visual bath” and just enjoy the cinematography and the metaphorical messages of each scene.

I will end with returning back to Sigur Ros. One of my favorite songs from the band is about a nosebleed, believe it or not. The music, while titled after the most mundane and boring life event, makes this into 2-minutes of joyful bliss. One world sees reality, the other sees beauty. The true essence of liminality. https://youtu.be/jTOwu3aMa0M

Onward.

“Existence. What does it matter?” The first words spoken in the beautiful, yet sorrowful, film “Control” invites the viewer into the trouble and gifted soul of Ian Curtis, the iconic singer of the legendary post-punk band, Joy Division. In his short 23 years of life on the physical earth, Mr. Curtis’ introspective and reflective poetry continues to speak to a generation of fans whose devotion to a band is still as strong today as it was when their influential album, Unknown Pleasures, was released in 1978. Existence is a central focus of Anton Corbijn’s “Control.”

Existence for fans. Existence for friends and bandmates. Existence for your art. Most importantly, existence for self. While the film takes a familiar route in the cinema biographies of trouble rock stars, “Control” takes a somewhat different approach in that the music and lyrics of the band’s catalogue provide chapter markers in Mr. Curtis’ short life. For fans familiar with the band’s lyrics, the film reconstructs and reimagines them to reflect pivotal moments in the life of Ian Curtis. The film also allows the songs to become the genuine voice of Curtis, who often used his band to reflect his deep observations of a world seeking connection and community. In these lyrics, one notes the significant tension of living a life with solitude compare to living a life in isolation.

The film offers a peek into the bonds, friendship, and challenges of Mr. Curtis and his bandmates through the eyes of his wife, Deborah Curtis, whose book “Touching from a Distance”, provides the source of the movie. The relationship between the Curtis’ give the film the anchor for how existence is addressed and responded to in the film. Married young at 18, the film represents their relationship as one filled with optimism and promise. In this first section of “Control”, Ian Curtis is portrayed as a creative and gifted poet, who recites his writings spontaneously with the surprise of Deborah and his friends. Curtis is seen often in deep reflection and thought, as though he is the only person living in his world. Solitude gives Ian his inspiration for his introspective lyrics. Solitude is seen when at an early scene we see Ian walking through the courtyard of his shabby, definitely middle-class, Macclesfield, England, oblivious to the kids kicking a soccer ball in his direction. As the kids sarcastically thank him for helping retrieve their ball, Curtis continues into his parent’s flat and proceeds to his bedroom where he immediately plays a David Bowie album. Lying alone, Ian seems contempt being alone with just his thoughts and music. Solitude is often equated to loneliness and being withdrawn from the world. In fact, solitude, as explained in the book, Radical Hospitality https://www.amazon.com/Radical-Hospitality-Benedicts-Way-Love/dp/1557258910(Homan & Pratt, 2002), is just one of the three key components of monastic community living. Solitude, as the authors describe, actually leads to stronger community bonding and togethernes. How can that be? As the film notes, Ian’s solitude allows him the time to remove himself from school, family doldrums, and even romance, to focus and shine at his craft – lyric writing and poetry. It is in these moments that you see a side of Ian Curtis that often is forgotten by his fans – a happy, somewhat joyful, and romantic individual. “Let yourself go” is spoken by Ian Curtis before him and Deborah venture out to hear live music glammed up in a wardrobe often work by fans of Bowie and other 70’s glam rockers. Deborah Curtis gifted us a peek into a free-souled Ian Curtis who immersed himself in the music that inspired his poetry. Solitude frequently includes rejoicing and celebrations of life and new discoveries. The film portrays Ian Curtis as one who sees opportunities through music. Music provides a conduit to observe the world in his moments of solitude. Music also allows his solitude to be an act of rebellion, true to the post-punk movement about to occur in music during this time in the film. One of my favorite scenes of Curtis’ solitude involves him walking alone through the middle-class streets of Macclesfield. The music in the background provide a hint of future Joy Division sounds where a bass riff (made iconic by Joy Division/New Order bassist Peter Hook) signals Ian’s transformation to a rock lead man. The scene shows him walking from the front, just him looking around looking like a well dressed lad in a black trenchcoat enjoying an daytime stroll. After a few moments of watching him walk, the perspective goes from behind. Then, we noticed that his trench coat on his solitary walk is his punk rebellion item – written in big white letters is the word “HATE”. Classic punk! I saw this scene as a divider in the movie where solitude starts to get challenged by isolation. While “Hate” provides a punk message to the world, the world starts to return the message to Ian that “hate” is an evil force when your solitude transforms itself to start removing you from your community and art.

So this is permanence. Of all the lyrics Ian Curtis wrote for Joy Division, devoted fans know that this lyric marks a pivotal moment in the band’s history. In the song where this lyric is found, Twenty Four Hours, the pain and heartache of Ian Curtis forecasted his future suicide. The song, which describes the lost of love and the pain it creates, represents the isolation that now looms over Ian Curtis’ life, one which he feels he has no control over and one that makes him feel that the world is against him. The film also touches on how Curtis also feels his epilepsy diagnosis was another force that was slowly removing him from society. All these forces are represented in “Control” and the black and white cinematography adds to this isolation, where the color white is marked predominantly in the first half of the film with sunlight and bright club lights (solitude) and the second half filled with black found in smoky music nighttime music clubs and drab cloudy skies (isolation). Ian Curtis’ life is often equated to this isolation. The fact that one of Joy Division’s memorable songs in their repertoire is the song, “Isolation” reiterates the fact that Joy Division is often remembered for songs that validate feelings of “no one sees pain” by fans. The movie, however, represents isolation as the counter to solitude. Ian Curtis never thought he would become iconic at his young age. Solitude provided him the gift of poetry and lyric writing, isolation provided him the horrors of disconnect and chaos. As Joy Division reached popularity in England and abroad in the U.S., Curtis started to feel that his life was unraveling and true to the film’s title, beyond his control. Even the birth of a daughter to Deborah did not bring him the joy he thought he would receive.

https://youtu.be/VnM9X0IgUmg

It is in this part of the movie where Joy Division’s greatest hits start to become the worse nightmares for its lead singer. For example, in a key scene using the song “Isolation”, Ian is pouring out his soul in the recording studio through the song’s lyrics. Inside the mixing boards, his bandmates, manager, and studio technicians are oblivious to the pain being sung by the singer alone in the studio. The director literally uses “Isolation” as a figurative element of Ian’s own isolation. The fact that the single word “isolation” is repeated four times as the song’s chorus is truly heartbreaking to watch. As the film progresses, Ian Curtis’ epileptic seizures grow and his addiction to the medicines used to control it are apparent. Curtis also starts an affair with a female journalist who he meets on the tour road, using this individual to feel the void of love when he’s away. Ian Curtis’ existence has come to basically survive the isolation that is now consuming his life. As the film continues to conclude, fans know that as Joy Division’s popularity starts to peak, Ian Curtis took his life just as the band it about to start their U.S. tour, which would have likely expanded the band’s popularity. Curtis’ suicide is not shown, but the reaction on his wife is seen from a distance outside their home. She obviously is distraught when she finds him. The scene changes to his bandmates, who cannot believe that he took his life. From this film depiction, it isn’t necessarily because they lost an opportune moment for success, but it is truly because they lost a friend they knew was troubled and sad. In a letter to Deborah, Ian writes “no need to fight now.” These words were written in his first suicide attempt. The film lets the viewer know that through his wife’s eyes, a tiny glimmer of the solitude found in the early years of their relationship was still apparent in that Ian didn’t want to leave knowing that he did not still have a connection with his wife. The film does not show if Ian left another note, but Deborah is seen experiencing the true heartbreak of isolation. After finding his body, she runs out of their apartment. In that moment, she is screaming “can anybody help me? Please!” Isolation is heard and seen – no one is coming to her aid. Isolation does not have any fighting, but it brings into focus that existence tries to matter. Control is not an easy movie to watch. It reminds us that many gifted musicians are taken for granted. They are troubled when we believe they are enjoying success. The black and white visualization in this movie tells us that for Ian Curtis of Joy Division, solitude and isolation were dichotomous in the rise and success of Joy Division…and represented in the life of Ian Curtis.

Existence is permanence. While Ian Curtis took his life at the early age of 23, his existence continues through his fans and through his former bandmates in the band following Joy Division – New Order. To this day, New Order plays Joy Division songs to the joy of fans. For me, I had the opportunity to see New Order play live in 2015 in Austin, Texas. While I started my fandom first with New Order, I grew an appreciation to Joy Division as I started to learn more about the band’s history. Joy Division is a true inspiration to how I listen and know music. Ian Curtis’ life, as tragic and sad as it was, provides a reminder that we need to value solitude. Solitude is needed and his lyrics remind listeners that it is okay to feel sad and alone somedays. In that Austin concert, the iconic song “Atmosphere” was played. In the visuals behind the band, the video created by the director of “Control” Anton Corbijn was playing. Fans immediately knew the connection of the video to its creator since the video symbolically represents the passing of Ian Curtis. I see “Control” as Anton Corbijn’s gift to Ian Curtis and a continuation of him immortality through his songs and lyrics. In one scene, Ian asks his manager after taking a much needed pause before a seizure if his fans hated him for not going on stage. That one moment of delicateness and humility signifies Ian Curtis’ lasting impact on his fans. Fans know his hurt, his pain, and from this his art forever lives in their fandom and identification with the iconic images of Joy Division.

Since watching this film, I reflected on the lessons that watching a film biography can provide beyond the music. It seems that especially in our pandemic year that music and art has kept all of us from drifting from solitude to isolation. We have enjoyed opportunities to watch free virtual concerts from our favorite bands, we have jumped on opportunities to purchase exclusive viewing nights from symphonies and operas, and as our world continues to get vaccinated, we have become hopeful and excited that band tours and shows are being rescheduled for live events. In our pandemic solitude, we have reconnected to the importance of creative arts. In Benedictine thought, we have experienced the unexpected outcome of solitude which Benedictine monasteries value – time to remove self from the rushed life of modern society to enjoy things that bring you joy. Solitude is a gift and if one thing that these past months have provided is the increased discussion of the value of “alone time.” In my world of higher education, this has been framed as “self-care” but I shun calling solitude as “self-care.” That we have to use language to remind ourselves that caring of self is needed is awful, in my opinion. We need to strive to create a world that allows us to naturally experience solitude so that we can emerge refreshed and rejuvenated. Solitude is something to have in our daily work lives. Solitude also does not need to be silence. For example, I travel 90 miles each way to work at my office at Sam Houston State University. People often are surprised by my work commute. However, I frequently respond to this surprise by saying I enjoy my “me time” in my truck. I listen to my favorite morning show where I laugh. I listen to my favorite music that uplifts me. I listen to podcasts educating me on new ideas. I think during these times which often creates new ideas and tasks. Solitude is what you make it. When you do make it, you make it yours. You do not make solitude something that others create for you (e.g. “self-care”), you create something that gives you impact. For me, my 90 mile commute does exactly that. In that hour and a half drive, I am in control of what happens during that time (minus the laws of the road, mind you). Knowing that within that space, it is me that creates my solitude. It is this reason why even during the waves of the pandemic that I still ventured to my office.

I truly do value being alone in solitude in my house, but solitude needs the experience of challenge, curiosity, and change. In going to my office, for example, the music of Joy Division and New Order played prominently in these commutes. The lyrics of Ian Curtis and his bandmates provided a narrative that allowed me to understand what I was seeing in my surrounding world. It validated my sadness, but also my optimism. I reflected on the life of Ian Curtis and how his lyrics still can describe today’s world (e.g., I contributed Joy Division’s “Isolation” as part of a time capsule playlist for one of my classes regarding the pandemic).

Being in solitude with Joy Division helped me avoid being in isolation from myself. It is hard to explain, but solitude provides me a peek into what spirituality can fee like. While prayer is a different kind of solitude, being alone listening to music, being alone with nature, being alone in silence, being alone reading a book, being alone cooking dinner, being alone cutting the yard, and other solitary activities are just as impactful as being in audience at the Vatican on an Easter Sunday. You do it and create it. That is the empowering aspect of being alone. Your existence matters when you say it matters. Solitude often brings that to you and definitely within your spiritual community.

As one of my favorite t-shirts states, “Sometimes I need to be alone and listen to New Order” And that is perfectly fine with me.

Onward.

Palm Sunday is today, yet this year another Easter season is occurring in our continued healing world. While I usually attend Mass to observe this day of obligation, as with millions of other Catholics, attending Mass still faces a level of uncertainty due to the pandemic. While optimism is increasing that things will arrive at our “new” normal, where parishes will welcome again full attendance at services, at this current time we still have limited capacities with stated [x] % ‘s for live events. While online services are available from some parishes, we are still in some way distantly removed from our communities of worship. I am certain that soon, maybe within months, we will start to see more opportunities to gather with others and to be in spaces where these limitations will be eliminated or reduced. I cannot help to think that even with the lifting of our protocols that when we gather, we all will have a certain level of distance and separation among others. We have been living with “socially distant” contact with others outside our daily bubbles. I just recently told my scholar brother that when we return back to the meeting room where we usually meet monthly with our work colleagues, what will the dynamics in that space be when 12 or so bodies are enclosed with doors shut? The thought occurred when I worked from my campus office where I haven’t seen my colleagues all at once on one day in our office suites since the pandemic. My colleague and I agreed that a level of disconnect has been put into place with how we view our current workspace. Mixed emotions set in with regards to how we feel about working from home with working in an office. Since March 2020, everyone has experience some level of disconnection with others and things that comprise their world. For those of us living through this moment, we have experience the feeling of things normal for us to be discontinued.

Discontinued is a word that starts the story of Fern in Chloe Zhao’s poetic and beautiful film, Nomadland.

The film’s opening title card starts with information on the rural town of Empire, Nevada. We learn that the town’s major employer, U.S. Gypsum, had to shut down on January 31, 2011, as a result of the recession. The frame ends with the straight foward statement that after 88 years in the town, “the ZIP code 89405 was discontinued.” Thus, the livelihoods and careers of individuals in Empire, Nevada gradually started to be discontinued.

As we start the film, it appears that Fern, a strong yet stubborn woman beautifully portrayed by actress Frances McDormand, is one of the last holdouts of Empire (the irony of the town’s name was not lost on this viewer). We first see Fern loading up her van with belongings from a storage unit. While we don’t know her full story at the onset of the film, we can gather from Fern’s rough, rugged, and disheveled look that she already has encountered some difficulties. First, the brilliance of this movie is that it allows you to invest your time to learn more about Fern. The movie is not one who loves fast-paced editing and short, succinct scenes. The director Zhao is patient with her storytelling. Fern allows her story to emerge through her van and interactions with real-life Nomads she meets on the road.

To give details of the many stories contained in Nomadland would take away the wonderful and sometimes sad moments from new viewers. Those that have seen this film know that the movie is not necessarily about plot, it is about telling a rich insightful story through the many life moments encountered by Fern. I loved this film for how Fern represents many of the things we love about the United States….and for many of the things that the U.S. does to hurt and take advantage of its citizens. Fern obviously is a result of the hurt and damage that a rich, capitalistic society can do to its most vulnerable individuals. When corporations and companies close that have been deeply embedded in communities, once the factory dies, the community dies as well – both figuratively and literally. For Empire, Nevada, the city no longer lives, being the shell that once a thriving community with swimming pools, golf courses, and schools as Fern tells a fellow nomad. Fern is an interesting character in that as one of the last citizens of Empire, she is not ready to be “discontinued”, she wants to continue living and most importantly, to work. She has something to contribute, but she is at a moment in her life where, as a widow, she is unable to understand why her beloved country does not want her to continue contributing her gifts as someone who works in human resources, as a substitute teacher, and a tutor – all which are professions to serve others. In looking for work, a employment counselor recommends that she consider early retirement. Fern lets this person know that she is not ready to do this, explaining that the benefits alone are not enough. However, viewers know that this would cause more harm to Fern since she has to continue working in order to keep her own life’s purpose afloat.

This is where I come with my greatest appreciate of Nomadland. This film, I believe, is one that skillfully provides a story on individual spirituality and the complexity of making a journey to find your spiritual self. Fern, unknowingly, starts her spiritual quest by becoming a nomad. As her world has seemingly given up on her and has delivered to her unfair challenges, Fern wonders through South Dakota and the U.S. western landscapes seeking understanding of her purpose and signs for continuation in her life. Her nomad journey is frequented by the many stories of the nomads she encounters, many which I found out in reading more about the film’s development who are real nomads on the road. Of these real-life nomads are notably Linda May, who becomes Fern’s mentor teaching her nomad survival skills and one of her frequent friends on the road, Bob Wells, a leader of the nomads who holds a conference-like gathering of the nomads where they hear his lectures on the “tyranny of the dollar” and life workshops, and Swankie, who provides the spiritual guidance that Fern needs, whether she realizes it or not.

In Swankie, we find the brilliant connection that the film has with nature. Through this real-life nomad, we assume that she was a geologist or a deep lover of rocks and minerals. In Fern’s one-to-one conversations with Swankie without the other nomads, we learn that nature is the gift of the true nomad life. From her guiding mentorship and stories, we soon start to notice how water, sunsets, cacti, buffalo, moths, stars, planets, and trees are all connected to us and us connected to them. While the nomads largely are the result of the harsh outcomes of layoffs, plant closings, or family traumas, their lives are provided meaning through their communal living within and among nature. The moments in the film with Swankie are probably my favorite in that she truly becomes a life-changer for Fern.

Overall, this film comes highly recommend for viewing. I suggest to enter the film with some clarity of mind and to appreciate its slow-pace. Immerse yourself in the cinematography (which rightfully earned an Academy Award nomination) and reconnect with the landscapes that we haven’t seen since the pandemic. I was not prepared for the many spiritual lessons that Nomadland provided me. Especially the deep, rich connection to my continued study of Benedictine thought and philosophy. Benedictine monks live by the motto, prayer and work. In the film, work has two sides – one where Fern and her nomads sustain by working temporary jobs. Ironically, Fern works in one of the massive Amazon Fulfillment Centers, where work fulfillment – one of the creeds of Benedictine monastaries – is not provided or even welcomed. You complete your order, tape it up, and then move to the next order. However, Fern finds work fulfillment as a RV camp host and even as a fast food employee at Wall Drug – the worlds largest drug store. Hospitality is one of the gifts Benedictine monks bring to travelers and it was quite the surprise to find this within this movie. I will need to do more reading on if this was intentional. Regardless, Nomadland could be seen by this viewer as a Benedictine quest to find purpose in life through work and prayer. Prayer for Fern does not come from church, instead it comes from her observations with nature and landscapes. One of my favorite scenes of her connection with nature was when she playfully escapes a tour of the Badlands to run among the unique rock formations of this national park. Again, a Benedictine connection is shown in how surprise and play should be sought out in our spiritual quests and how nature is part of this quest (Steindl-Rast, 2017).

Themes of grief and loss are also apparent in Nomadland. Becoming discontinued usually is an outcome of losing loved ones. We find out that Fern has connections with others through deep grief and loss. She also is able to share in community grief and loss with her new friends and community. The phrase “being solid as a rock” during tough times of loss become literal in the film and rocks and how they symbolize eternal life and how rocks represent the afterlife are special moments in the film.

There are many other things I could write about this wonderful film. I will leave it to you, the reader, to challenge yourself to seek out this film and view it. As I suggested earlier, get into a space where you can appreciate the literal and figurative scenes of spirituality and human connection this wonderful film offers.

Once you complete the film, the feelings of discontinuation we have all experienced over the past year will make sense. In order for us to continue a life with purpose and meaning, we have to believe that our lives will continue despite encountering the difficulties life provides to us. The discontinuation, while hurtful and difficult, is soon replaced by no final goodbyes. As nomad leader Bob Wells says in the film, don’t think of these moments where you will never see others again, “just say see you down the road.”

See you down the road. Onward.

If one thing positive should come out of my personal experience with the pandemic of 2020, it would be my growing interest and commitment to do a future pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, Spain, and to walk what is known as El Camino de Santiago, or “The Way”: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camino_de_Santiago

An earlier blog post described this commitment to walk The Way hopefully in 2025 or sooner once the world has healed and when I know I am prepared to fulfill to make this journey. Starting in 2021, I will embark on both a scholarly and personal journey to find answers on what it means to have a “calling.”

In the scholarly frame, I want to develop a multi-year study asking individuals who work in higher education student affairs how they define their own “calling” to work in this profession. This part of the journey will involve both understanding and critiquing how our callings are impacted by our college and university work cultures. From the most recent entry-level to the seasoned senior-level professionals, I aim to interview various individuals about their work and how they define their meaning through work. As a higher education researcher, I am excited that I can add this interest in my scholarship repertoire. In the personal frame, doing this scholarship allows me to take a spiritual journey on how define myself as “becoming” – someone who has achieved a good number of stated goals, but yet has not fully reached the peak of what I know I can become – a certain sense of self-actualization.

In combining both the scholarly and personal frames in this research to dissect and evaluate what a “calling” means, I hope to fully shape my worldview that allows me to describe how my own callings are connected to how my colleagues in higher education understand their callings to do “good work” in higher education. Using the ancient ideas of St. Benedict, the Benedictine motto of ora et labora – prayer and work – and the writings of Benedictine monk, Br. David Steindl-Rast, in addition to organizational theory and higher education organization behavior literature, I aim to create a new framework of higher education culture where care, meditation, collaboration, and play are combined to remind ourselves that it is humanness that drives education and learning.

During 2020, as my interest in this new line of scholarship grew and my interest in learning more about El Camino de Santiago during the pandemic, so too did my interest in viewing one of the few Hollywood films that uses spirituality and the Camino as main focal points. Emilio Estevez’ film, The Way, was immediately one I wanted to view to build my curiosity further in possibly adding walking The Way as a culmination of my scholarly and personal journey.

First, before describing this movie, I have to confess that I have not cried tears of pure joy as much as I did while watching this film. One scene and one moment struck me as one of the most emotional things I ever viewed on film. When I reached that moment in the film, it was unexpected and surprising. Having these two emotions reminded me of Benedictine monk Br. David Steindl-Rast’s writings on gratefulness and how being grateful for life in general revolves around the central concept of surprise. Throughout Emilio Estevez’ film, there are many moments of surprise that faces Martin Sheen’s character, Dr. Thomas Avery. Another confession I have to disclose is that I consider Martin Sheen to be one of the most compelling actors on TV and film. His ability to show his emotions on his face are seen throughout this film. In seeing his emotions throughout the film, you are able to witness the many instances his film character experiences gratefulness while he walks The Way.

I do not want to use this blog entry to give away details on what those grateful moments are, but I will share some thoughts I wrote as I viewed the film and the many messages it provides, especially to those who consider walking The Way. Director Emilio Estevez obviously shows respect to the many pilgrims who walk for religious reasons and also recognizes those who walk for sheer adventure. Estevez uses the Jack Hitt book Off The Road as inspiration for the scenes and encounters Dr. Avery experiences in his own pilgrimage, which occurs due to the tragic death of his son on his first day of doing his own walk. Providing this point in the film’s plot is not a spoiler, in fact it occurs in the first 15 minutes or so of the film. What develops is how Sheen’s character still learns from his son even after his passing. We also learn about the bond that exist between the two. While presented as a relationship filled with conflict, one starts to notice that the father/son connection was always strong and loving. In fact, Dr. Avery decides at the last moment to complete the walk his son started to honor him and to understand why he traveled halfway across the world to walk 790km (almost 500 miles) starting in France and ending at Santiago de Compostela.

Throughout the film, Dr. Avery encounters fellow peregrinos – pilgrims – walking The Way. Each has a reason for walking and we learn throughout reasons why they are taking on their journey. At first, Dr. Avery is cold and distant to these fellow walkers, but he soon understands that El Camino demands community and fellowship with fellow peregrinos who join you throughout the journey.

Dr. Avery’s first goal on his journey is to remember his son by spreading his ashes on various key markers on The Way. However, the goal of The Way slowly is understood in each person and stop he makes on his way to Santiago de Compostela. Upon his first steps, he receives sage advice from a helpful and caring French police captain who comforts Dr. Avery in preparing his son’s ashes. “You walk the Camino only for yourself” he advises as Dr. Avery tells him he will complete the walk his son started. A bit stubborn at start, Dr. Avery hears this advice as just another voice that he hears during the chaos that is surrounding him immediately after his son’s death. However, this phrase soon becomes an important theme as the film slowly follows each lesson Dr. Avery receives that always connects to this advice.

To provide company, Dr. Avery connects, sometimes reluctantly, to other walkers from different parts of the world. There is Jost from Amsterdam, Sarah from Canada, and James from Ireland. Each connect with Dr. Avery at different parts of his journey and soon they become companions that grow close to each other and soon disclose their own reasons for walking The Way.

To go into detail the stories, the encounters, and emotions these four experience together will take away the surprises in viewing the film. However, I will say that one pure joyous aspect of watching it to witness the beauty and symbolic rituals that peregrinos experience in their journey on the Camino Frances part of The Way. One of the most important lessons received from this film is the power and importance of storytelling. The Way/El Camino is quite literally marked by the stories of millions of walkers who have journeyed this route to Santiago de Compostela. The stories are usually accompanied by countless bottles of Spanish wine and the relationship between storytelling and wine is quite apparent in the film. Not because alcohol breaks down a person’s inhibitions, but for me, wine and stories symbolize the organic connections of humankind. In storytelling, we learn from voices from generations and elders on how to live a purposeful life.

In The Way, stories are share by each of the main characters on what they hope to achieve when completing their walk. However, when hearing stories from others, the peregrinos understand that their reasons for walking The Way are quite connected to other stories in ways not imagined. Add that their stories are connected with people from around the world, what might appear as a fantastical random occurrence is actually a significant part of walking The Way. “You don’t choose a life, you live it” is one of the last words Dr. Avery remembers his son telling him as he drove him to the airport to fly to Spain. In hearing each characters stories and the stories based in the actual locations on The Way, Dr. Avery soon understands what his son meant. While deciding to do the walk as a last act of remembrance of his son, his walk is actually allowing himself to engage in the process of becoming. Each mile/km and each person met allows Dr. Avery to spiritually develop in understanding his purpose as a father and as a person becoming spiritual. Estevez uses stories and fellowship as frames to develop the plot of the film. Each story adds a level of understanding of the many characters encountered on The Way. In fact, each scene is almost like a short vignette that threads these four characters own stories. Usually, wine serves as the needle that threads their stories together. Wine is key to Spanish culture and is an key part of the Spanish meal. Wine, for this viewer, symbolizes our connection to the earth, where the many vineyards in Spain are in fact part of the journey to Santiago de Compestela. In one short scene, the four are walking through a vineyard, each walking in their own separate row. The vines they pass are symbolic of their stories – filled with potential, yet also filled with weariness brought on by living in a tough world. Together, they form a family and in several scenes, they bond over bottles of wine. While subtle throughout the film, I enjoyed how Estevez reflected Spanish culture and the importance of a communal meal because it is then where wine is shared and lessons through stories are passed along with the meal.

“Religion has nothing to do with this” exclaims Sarah, the walker from Canada who joins Dr. Avery. While Estevez does show his deep Catholic faith in some scenes, he allows this story to reflect what it means to have a spiritual journey. The religiosity that surrounds walking El Camino de Santiago is not lost on the film. In fact, the most emotional scenes are saved for when their journey ends at the Cathedral de Santiago de Compostela. Seen as the potential ending point of the spiritual journey, we soon find out at this moment of the film the real intentions of each of the peregrinos. Again, I do not want to spoil any surprises at this part of the film but I will say that one of the characters decides at the last moment to perform an act of sheer beauty and heartache. When it occurred, tears formed in my eyes and I felt a human connection to this character’s struggle and goal. As stated earlier, it was a surprise and it reminded me of Br. Steindl-Rast’s idea that surprise should bring about unexpected emotion and joy. After that scene, more surprises and joy occur within the Cathedral and it further amplifies reasons why each of these characters took it upon themselves to devote at least a month of their lives to walk El Camino.

The films ends nicely with a final act done by Dr. Avery. However, it is done rather simply and without typical Hollywood flourish, which I appreciated. Doing so would have diluted the spiritual development of Sheen’s character and I appreciate that Estevez decided to end the film with a hint on what Dr. Avery learned after walking 500 miles in Spain. On the road, peregrinos often tell each other upon meeting and departing, “Buen Camino!” Dr. Avery comes to understand that this phrase does not only apply to The Way, it applies figuratively and literally to how to live life afterwards.

I am so glad to have finally viewed this film. It has been on my “to see” list since the start of the pandemic of 2020. In viewing it, I was reminded of the impact simple human connection can have on the lives of others. Simple human connection does not require grandiose offerings. The Way shows in its scenes that connection is a look at the sky, a hand on a shoulder, a passing of bread, a genuine “I am sorry”, a table filled with laughter (something I truly miss at this writing), listening to the gravel under your feet, and a respectful kneel. This film has impacted me in ways that I wish more films could do. It reminded me that spirituality is beautiful and needed at this time. It provided me lessons on how to realize when spiritual lessons are occurring in front of you. It also reminded me that nature plays an important part of our spiritual development. You can read books, learn from classes, and hear important speakers, but allowing yourself to be surrounded by the diversity of nature provides moments that remind you that you are just one small part of the many connections that form our universe. My colleague and scholar-brother Dr. Paul Eaton introduced me to the concept of rhizomatic thinking, where what appears as chaos actually is structure where all things are connected and randomness actually is purpose where meaning to life’s many questions can be found. What sets Dr. Avery on his journey on The Way/El Camino was the chaos of emotion surrounding his son’s passing. This chaos led him to his “random” encounters with individuals walking The Way and to experience the beauty found on the Camino Frances. The Creator, as my own father told me, has a map for you to follow. A plan. The challenge is, as he told me in his many pieces of advice told as stories, that you have to trust The Creator and let go. Once you let go, the map is laid out in front of you.

I hope to walk the Camino Frances portion of The Way in 2025. Between now and then, I will embrace what I do not know. The “chaos” that is the world – that is life. Until 2025, I will understand the connections – the rhizomes – that come with spirituality. As the film The Way described, you walk El Camino for yourself. My “chaos” is mine alone. Viewing the film The Way helps me understand that navigating my own spirituality comes with the help and support of my fellow peregrinos – at this time, my friends, family, and especially those that I have yet to meet. I look forward to meeting you in 2025 on El Camino de Santiago.

Buen Camino! Onward!

If you haven’t figured it out yet, I loved loved loved this movie! Definitely one of the few “Ric’s Flicks” to earn 4 out of 4 stars. Remember, this film is meant to enjoy scene by scene and its pace is deliberately casual to allow the story to form and take shape.

“The Way” Directed by Emilio Estevez

P.S. – I already started a playlist for my El Camino 2025 walk! You can follow it on Spotify. Since the initial development of my spirituality project started in 2020, the playlist will curate songs for each year until I make my own journey. The playlist, I envision, will be listened at the time of my walk to motivate and to provide key memories of my journey to 2025. The first few songs on the playlist were featured in the film “The Way.” I welcome any contributions of songs you would listen to on a 500-mile walk!

Each holiday break, I create a list of movies to view. I do my best to catch up on movies that usually are found at your local art-cinema theater beyond the 30-screen mega movieplexes found throughout the suburbs. In a typical year, I do not mind traveling 30-miles into the city metro to catch a few arthouse hits. However, this is 2020.

The pandemic continues to rage throughout the nation. While at this writing, the first doses of COVID19 vaccines have left to be distributed nationwide, realistic and optimistic timeframes calculate that vaccinations are still months away for the general populace. Still, there is a significant level of doubt and distrust from a large portion of the U.S. in receiving the doses. Time will tell how well the vaccines work and how much, if at all, our “normal” sense of life will return. For me, normality during this time of the year includes my usual list of movies to view. Adapting to our times, most of this year’s movies will use the various streaming services that I now have as a result of keeping entertainment within the confines of my home. One of the curious selections on my list includes the film, “Hunt for the Wilderpeople” directed by Taika Waititi.

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While not the first on my list, I watched this film this past week after a fruitless search to watch something of interest on TV. That evening, I decided to work on my list of holiday 2020 movies to watch. After writing selections, I thought about directors that I want to learn more about via their film repertoires. One director that has caught my curiosity is Taika Waititi. This director gained the attention of U.S. audiences as the director of the quirky and often hilarious installment of The Avengers series, Thor: Ragnarok. I love this movie and thought its style and script, which often is a self-parody of action flicks, was unique and refreshing in the action hero genre. His success with Thor: Ragnarok allowed this director an opportunity to create a film that made it to my “Best of the Best” film list – JoJo Rabbit. This film beautifully tells the story of a young boy enamored by Nazism, but in the end, learns to value humanity, hope, and love. Told with visually arresting cinematography, ironic dialogue, and scenes with gut wrenching sadness, JoJo Rabbit took me on one of the most unique rides in film watching. The ending…..OMG, masterful! Taika Waititi’s boldness in creating JoJo Rabbit made me curious to see where his storytelling developed. “The Hunt for the Wilderpeople” was his second full-length feature.

Based on the book, “Wild Pork and Watercress”, the film tells the story of family, human connection, and our important relationship with nature. It also takes a few stabs at celebrity and the need to be the next tabloid or social media superstar. However, Taiki Waititi knows that it would be far too simple to create a storyline connecting all of these issues in a straightforward fashion. Much like his subsequent films, he takes time to allow his characters to develop a relationship with each other and most importantly, with the viewing audience. Each character has distinct personalities and quirks that are often missed in other films. This is one of the main reasons I have become a fan of this brilliant director. This feature reminded me of this love of his work.

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The movie starts with the introduction of Ricky Baker, a pudgy delinquent who has been given up by his mother and is sent to the edges of the New Zealand bush to live with his foster aunt and her husband, Hec, brilliantly acted by veteran actor Sam Neill. Ricky as we find out within the first few minutes is actually a victim of foster system. Hec, while being quite an outback loner (we first see him walking up a hill with a freshly killed wild boar on his back), is devoted to his wife and the beautiful land surrounding his remote farm. Without giving too much of the storyline, Ricky and Hec are partnered up after both reveal and experience tragedy in their stories. Deciding that all they have left are each other, Ricky and Hec run from child welfare officers into the New Zealand bush so that Ricky can escape the child foster system. Hec supports him and soon the two begin their journey of becoming family.

One of the things I loved about this film is that Taika Waititi loves his homeland, New Zealand. His pride is shown from the first frame up until the last. One might even think that this film is in a way both a tourist brochure and a love letter to New Zealand. Ricky and Hec’s outlaw journey takes place largely in the New Zealand wilderness and outback. Hence, the movie’s title, “Wilderpeople.” The term is created by Ricky after seeing a picture of wildebeests in a nature book. Learning about their migrations and searches for food and new life, Ricky equates his journey with his foster uncle as the same, thus calling themselves “wilderpeople.” Like the wildebeests who traverse the African plains, Ricky and Hec, along with their dogs (one hilariously named “Tupac”, since Ricky sees himself as a gangsta) move across the New Zealand bush over the course of several months living off the land and encountering its human and animal inhabitants along the way.

Taika Waititi is cognizant of the diversity of New Zealand. Several main characters are from Maori backgrounds, yet are not portrayed as stereotypical “natives.” They are officers, they are musicians, hunters, and ordinary people living daily life within this lush environment. They are bad characters. They are good characters. Everyone has equal footing on how the story is told about the eventual “hunt” to mainly save Ricky from the supposed harsh environment of the New Zealand bush. It is this part of the story that struck me as critical.

From watching this film, I gained an appreciation of the beauty and ruggedness of this country. Taika Waititi filmed many scenes in some of the most rugged parts of New Zealand. It is how Ricky and Hec develop their eventual family bond. Hec knows the land. Ricky soon is quite fascinated by his foster uncle’s survival skills and respect of the environment. In one scene, this is quickly mentioned and for me, a rather witty and funny moment that might have passed the casual viewer. In their first days in the bush, Ricky has an argument with Hec and complains about when and what they are going to eat for dinner. Ricky also complains to Hec that he has to go poop. In this brief exchange, Hec reminds Ricky, who is used to flushing toilets and tissue, how to do his business in the jungle. One knows that they are far away from any civilization, yet Hec sternly reminds Ricky that once he done, “cover and leave no trace.” Ricky obviously responds that why it should matter being so out in the remote wilderness? This short scene tells about the love Hec has for the New Zealand wilderness, which soon becomes how he connects to Ricky and how his love of nature builds into a relationship with his foster son. This relationship soon grows to become love, much like his love of New Zealand nature. Throughout the course of the film, we soon also see Ricky developing a deep respect of the New Zealand bush, where he learns to hunt, care for Hec, and despite wanting to escape this rough environment (in the film, he encounters several people who could help him leave Hec), he always returns back to the jungle bush. Nature becomes Ricky’s family.

As with any family, we have arguments and think about leaving, but we know that is easier said than done. Family bonds are strong and despite how crazy they drive us, we know that family is where love and support occurs and where it is strengthened. Ricky realizes this and his foster family upbringing at a young age is marked by the lack of these important family bonds, New Zealand and its diverse environment – lush hills, jungle bush, mountainous valleys, and arid plains – becomes what he has always missed in his young life, a strong bond that is aided by someone who knows this environment – his now foster father, Hec.

The final scenes do not escape the wackiness and quirkiness of Taika Waititi’s humor, but it ends with learning more about Hec and his eventual love for Ricky. Their final scene shows that Hec continues to use nature as a way to bond with Ricky. However, Ricky also knows that he has a new bond with someone beyond Hec. That bond is New Zealand itself. A masterful piece of storytelling!

I was surprised by how much I liked this film and will likely watch it again to get more details of the story and the book it is based on. Taika Waititi wrote the script for this movie and also JoJo Rabbit mentioned earlier. It is obvious that this director knows how to adapt a novel into a script full of human emotion. While he does know how to crack a hilarious joke, do not be surprised to also find yourself on the verge of tears when watching his movies. I look forward to his next movies, including directing the next Thor installment. Even in that movie, Thor was seen as somewhat human with deep emotion. That in itself is the mark of a great director! I loved this movie! New Zealand is now a place I truly want to visit.

The Hunt for the Wilderpeople can be viewed on Netflix. Dr. Ric gives it 3.5 out of 4 stars!

It is on.

The past four months have brought me to a personal and spiritual challenge. There are days where I feel a deep sense of peace, where reflection and a pause to life’s hectic schedule has been provided to me. Then there are days where frustration, confusion, and a deep sense of powerlessness overtake me. Days where there are too many questions to ask and not enough answers are provided. Moments where I observe the world and individuals whose actions make me ask, “where did we go wrong?” Where did a sense of helping others get lost in selfish foolishness. Mixed messages that individuals who claim they are righteous and living a life of faithfulness are instead evidence by deep felt sense of anger and resentment where personal wants are greater than community needs. The past four months have provided me a test. A test that I have spent days and hours reflecting on and trying to understand what is next in my life. Where should I go and how can I know that when this ends, I have changed to become a better, more enlightened person?

This past week, I turned 52 years old. I am in the initial years of the second half of my life. I feel that at 52 years, I have a keen sense of where I came from and what my life in its earliest years has provided to me. I have grown a great deal and matured into what I feel into a person who is deeply reflective, tremendously loyal, and eternally curious. I guess you can say, I really do like who I have become at 52 years. There is more to develop.

This brief post on my blog is a commitment. A commitment to do something that during these four months I have done a great deal of contemplating and questioning. I will commit to lead myself to a spiritual quest. A project that will be part of my new scholar identity. A study that will hopefully address an issue that is an area of concern in my professional life. An opportunity for others, especially those close to me, to join me and to support what I truly believe will be a life-changing adventure that celebrate the healing of our world and mark the next phase of my career and life. This commitment has been in me for more than 10 years and now is the time to act on it and to develop a framework to complete it.

I plan to walk The Camino de Santiago by 2024-2025. During this four to five year period, I will prepare myself for this journey. I will grow my spiritual identity by studying further Benedictine teachings and reading more on what it means to live a spiritual life. I will develop research and frameworks based on these studies to apply in higher education leadership and higher education student affairs administration, addressing what it means to have a “calling” to work in an educational and service-related profession. I will use what I learn from my scholarly work to understand the identity of being a “pilgrim” – someone who embarks on a quest. For me, the intersections of my personal, spiritual, and scholar self will culminate into my quest to walk The Camino.

At this time, I do not know which route I will walk, but I do know that I want to walk. Today, I do know for certain that I want to walk with the goal to receive a Compostela, a certificate signifying that you walk the last 100km of The Way to the Catedral de Santiago de Compostela. Knowing that my journey will include such a feat of endurance, sacrifice, and wonder will culminate this journey.

As you can see in the image above, I have started my initial education on walking The Way. Starting with the basics, such as travelogues and advice and tips books, I will increase my learning on The Way by reading memoirs and eventually history accounts on The Way. As part of my understanding of the pilgrimage, I hope to develop what I am calling a “mini-sabbatical” for summer 2021. As the world hopefully heals, I am planning to spend reflective and meditative time at St. Meinrad’s Archabbey in southern Indiana. I have already inquired on a retreat discussing St. Benedict’s The Rule and hope to spend a week, possibly two, writing and studying spiritual texts. Ideally, I would love to develop a research study possibly conversing with any of the monks regarding spirituality through work, which is the motto of Benedictine monks – ora et labora.

Lastly, I have joined a private Facebook group where pilgrims who have walked The Way, who plan to return to walk again, and those who plan to walk soon, converse and share advice and tips. There is also a group where pilgrims meet in-person to create community and to provide guides and support (spiritual and personal). At this time, these groups cannot meet but I do hope to join the Houston chapter of this group soon.

This is my commitment. I will walk The Way within the next four to five years. I hope to fulfill this commitment and to make this an experience that marks my maturing life. I foresee this to be a pivotal journey, one that cannot be rushed. Thus, my four to five year plan is akin to what I see as another “degree” – an education that cannot be gained from any university or college. I will learn through my own readings, my deep critical thinking, and most importantly, messages that I will receive in various forms – nature, human observations, friendships, selfless acts, and most importantly, callings. Where these come from and when they will occur, I cannot predict. I can only know that when they arrive, I should appreciate them and accept them as ingredients for this journey – my project.

I see this also as an open invitation. The Way is not meant to be a journey of solitude. In fact, one of the things I look forward to when I act on this commitment is the opportunity to meet other pilgrims and walkers from around the world. The Way is a communal experience.

Join me. Physically or spiritually. The next four to five years will be a good experience. The world will be in a much better place knowing that we all are reaching towards this spiritual quest once it has (hopefully) healed.

Onward.

I am from…a family full of stories. Stories that I remember as a child. Stories that I continue to hear as an adult. I am from a family of hard-working dreamers. A family that worked the cotton fields in Central Texas. A family that found work on the migrant farm routes. These experiences created stories of joy and hardship. I am from a family that has fought racism in its ugliest forms as children. I am from a family that experienced discrimination that blocked them from educational opportunities as young adults. Inequities that placed barriers as they worked hard to make a better living for their families and loved ones. I am a product of these stories. They were told to me, my siblings, and my cousins because our ancestors fought hard despite what they faced. We continue to survive and succeed while those that gave us hardships fell victim to their own hate and vitriol. They likely never experienced the level of love and support that my immediate and extended family has provided. I am eternally grateful that I am able to continue the legacy of storytelling to my students and my colleagues.

This I believe…I believe in hope. I am an eternal optimist. Much of this comes from my personal belief that good exists in a world that many question that exists. Ever since I was a kid, adults noticed that I was inquisitive. Often mistaken of being extremely shy, I knew even at a young age that I would rather listen and learn to others to try to understand their perspectives rather than trying to have my verbal thoughts be outwardly projected. Even to this day, I often do this. I do this because I naturally fit into the role of mediator, comforter, and rational-thinker. In a group, I am usually the one that does not (rarely) get angry. I tend to remain reserved and when asked to speak, try my best to guide the discussion into a space of hope and opportunity. This is quite difficult and stressful, but I do believe in hope in situations where hope seems to be either forgotten or impossible. Hope in the dark.

For me, education is….power. Plain and simple. When one has knowledge, one finds their voice. One can dissect and analyze arguments to potentially find flawed thinking and fallacies. Education provides freedom and empowerment to individuals who often are told you cannot reach your aspirations. I am one of those individuals. Starting in junior high, I received many messages that told me I would never *ever* reach the levels of education I now have. I worked so hard to break down my own self-doubts. Being able to achieve a PhD was a monumental task, but I did it. Since achieving it, I have power to share knowledge that has be avoided in our classrooms. Learning is meant to be difficult and challenging, not to be easy and free of discomfort. Your mind needs moments where confusion and dissonance opens the door for new ideas. For many years, as a Chicano student, I felt this dissonance in lessons I received from those I called “teachers”. Often, I asked myself, “this narrative in the lesson is not what I have experienced or what my family experienced.” As an educator, I now have power not in an authoritative sense but in a transformative sense. Education can transform – individuals, communities, and quite obviously, society at large.

I know…that I am spiritual. Now more than ever. Spiritual in a sense that I am understanding the inner-workings of who I am and allowing myself study on why others do what they do and how that impacts their actions and beliefs. Spirituality is not always connected to organized structures of religion. Spirituality, to me, is asking yourself “what brings me joy?” During our quarantine, one positive outcome of it has been that it allowed my busy rushed scheduled to slow down. In slowing down, I needed to ask myself how did we come to the place we are currently at in our history. I continue to read on the works of St.Benedict, Benedictine philosophies of knowledge, patience, work, and deep reflection – ora et labora.

Throughout my education, I found myself…surrounded by fantastic friends. Friends that have become my family. A few have become my brothers and sisters in the truest sense. I find it amazing that in addition to the knowledge you gain from education, you likely will be able to build strong relationships with individuals who could be from completely different backgrounds from you. Yet, through the love of learning you connect in advocating for issues, voicing those who have been denied voice, or exploring new ideas that are unique and challenging. I have found amazing people that I am privileged to call my friends. They have been a key part of my own success in reaching my educational and career aspirations.

I feel most alive when...I am with my students. When I work with undergraduates, I am alive by learning from their fresh views on the world. I love learning about things in popular culture that excite them (especially music!) and the latest digital technology that keeps me on my toes with regards to strategizing on how to engage the next generation of learners. I especially come to life when I mentor young scholars of color. Students who often have been told that they do not belong in certain learning spaces and fields of study. I guess that is why in my administrative career I felt most alive in working with students in academic difficulty (i.e., those on academic probation). They need someone who believed in them so that they could believe in themselves. I feel most alive also when I’m with my graduate students. Our next generation of higher education leaders provide me hope. Hope that I know soon they are going to transform higher education structures and traditional ways of knowing. They are going to challenge and disrupt how education is run today. The disruption has positive outcomes, I believe, in making campuses welcoming spaces, not exclusive ones.

As a higher education leader, I want to…thrive. I want my scholarship to motivate and create change. I want my scholarly activity to collaborate with others who need the world of research and publications to include their voices, especially from practitioners. I am a pedagogical dissenter (Rendon, 2014), I use my teaching spaces to explore and “play” to allow new forms of knowledge creation and expression. I thrive when I try out something and students “get” where I am coming from in terms of how I see learning. I thrive when I work with individuals who value the benefit of letting knowledge “seep” into their understanding of ideas. In our fast food culture, dissertations and research can be more about “how long”, “how many”, “how selective”, or worse…”how quickly can I get it done?” I thrive when I see students and colleagues resist that urge. Knowledge is best when slowly simmered and served with patience, respect, understanding, and a sense of community-building.

I wrote my above testimonio (Espino et al., 2012) in free-hand style. No preliminary notes. No planning. Just thoughts straight from my head to the keyboard. From start to finish, it took me roughly 30 minutes. After typing my response to the last prompt in bold, I was a bit amazed on the introspective thoughts that come deep inside. This story – mi testimonio – allows a look inside on who I am. I provides an idea of what motivates me to do my work and what I hope to accomplish within higher education and beyond. It is my lifeblood.

Students in the class I am currently teaching at Sam Houston State University, HEDL 7332 Organization and Administration of Higher Education, had as their first assignment to write their own personal testimonio – their story. Using the same prompts that you see above in bold, I gave them very few directions other than provide responses to the prompts. I gave them no word count, no specific guidelines on what their responses should include, or directives that it needed to include any specific course content. The only requirement was that they had provide me their testimonio as a handwritten document (mailed to my residence).

Removing oneself from digital technology for this exercise, I figured, added the “humanness” to the creation of the testimonio. Using a pen and pencil as a mediator between the mind and the task allowed for a deeper connection on story creation and the eventual reader of the testimonio – me. In reading the testimonios of my students, I learned amazing feats that have been accomplished not only in their adult lives, but also as young adults and even as children. Stories of overcoming inequities, discrimination, and racism were often presented as childhood memories. As adults, they shared epiphanies of self-discoveries, identity development, and the importance of raising the next generation of engaged citizens (including their children). While my own testimonio provided in this blog entry does use digital technology, it still connects my mind to the task and eventually, I hope, to the reader. Allowing myself the opportunity to just let my mind speak to the prompts allowed thoughts that often shape who I am an opportunity to emerge to the surface to highlight who I truly am in the role as educator and higher education leader. In doing this exercise, I want my students to first learn and understand who they are within higher education organizations before they learn about the organizational behavior found in those spaces. Who they are, what motivates them, and their “reason for being” is important to know. I want to create a “human centered” approach to my teaching of the subject. Human relationships and understanding how organizations respond my students needs, wants, and motivations is what they are reading currently – understanding how organizations see the HUMAN (resource) side of administration and professional service (Bolman & Deal, 2016). However, I want students to understand when we include “human”, it is much more than seeing us as “resources” to make the organization successful. Humanness means that you allow opportunities for individuals to find value in the work they do and to create opportunities that their work has meaning for them and others.

I used the work of Dr. Laura Rendon in my teachings and scholarship. In my current research on applying Benedictine spirituality in higher education administration and organizational issues, I have also expanded my readings to include how cultural practices shapes this spirituality and how higher education member’s define “spirituality” in their work. Dr. Rendon explains her ideas in the book Sentipensante (Sensing/Thinking) Pedagogy:

I find her book insightful and for me personally, validating (a term which she also uses in her scholarship). I reminds me that I am not an “oddball” in this career as a college professor. Teaching is meant to break boundaries and to welcome innovation. Teaching also is meant to allow students to understand themselves. They are not meant to be passive recipients of knowledge…they are meant to respond emotionally, to receive encouragement, and hopefully to experience a sense of a spiritual journey to find their place in our field and in the larger world at large. A daunting task, but one that begins with first writing your story – your testimonio – where you uncover and unearth your lifeblood in creating change on this (physical) Earth. As Benedictine monks will say, the most important lessons likely will come from the most simple, sometimes mundane, tasks. When they do occur, find joy and love.

Onward.

References:

Bolman, L. G., & Deal, T. E. (2017). Reframing organizations: Artistry, choice, and leadership. John Wiley & Sons.

Espino, M. M., Vega, I. I., Rendón, L. I., Ranero, J. J., & Muñiz, M. M. (2012). The process of reflexión in bridging testimonios across lived experience. Equity & Excellence in Education, 45(3), 444-459.

Rendón, L. I. (2012). Sentipensante (sensing/thinking) pedagogy: Educating for wholeness, social justice and liberation. Stylus Publishing, LLC.

What if angels walked among us? Every day. Standing close to us, listening to our thoughts. Placing their hands on our shoulders to comfort us and to hear our deepest thoughts. What if they were in the places we visit? Where we study. When we walk in the park. When we are in our in saddest moments, contemplating life and our reason for being. What if angels understood our pain, especially now, when we are surrounded by uncertainty, worry, and isolation. What would they say? Could they understand what we are experiencing? What if they worried about us, carefully placing themselves in harm’s way to protect us? Are they able to do that? Do they wish to return back to the physical Earth to make it a better place or to intervene when someone is doing hateful actions? Our world is hurting right now. Do they know? If so, do they feel like they can make things better? Are angels among us? As we continue on this new journey placed in front of us, I believe many of us have stopped and asked ourselves, “Am I okay?” Some of us might ask “What have we done to make nature turn against us?” Others might plainly reflect, “This was coming.” Do the angels among us hear these thoughts? We are at a crossroads and I feel we need guidance. As summer approaches, what usually is a time to enjoy the ease of life has now been replaced by uneasiness. As each week concludes, I like to think that indeed, angels are among us. Everyday. Listening to us. Deeply contemplating how they can help.

These thoughts developed after listening to the podcast, This Movie Changed Me, which is a part of the OnBeing series of podcasts. The episode that inspired this post is the episode featuring film composer Gustavo Santaolalla discussing Wings of Desire.

https://onbeing.org/programs/wings-of-desire-gustavo-santaolalla/

Released in 1987 by German director Wim Wenders, Wings of Desire caught my attention as a college student who loved foreign cinema (my wife and friends often call these movies “Ric Flicks”). I first viewed the movie for the gorgeous black-and-white cinematography. I viewed the film again when I was studying for my doctorate in Indiana. I recall at that time that I potential blizzard was in the forecast. I decided to visit the local video rental store that specialized in independent movie releases and little seen foreign films. It was my favorite store in Bloomington to visit on a Friday afternoon. This particular Friday, I wanted to make sure I was stocked up on video rentals in case of the blizzard keeping me indoors. I saw the video cover for Wings of Desire and I immediately picked it up since I remembered that it was such a complex, deep movie and I wanted to view it again through my graduate student lens. I paid for the rental and planned to watch it during my blizzard weekend.

https://youtu.be/hAzzR2Uklok

During this part of my adulthood, I was also in the midst of a spiritual awakening/crisis. At that time, I was heavily involved with my local parish and served as a Eucharist minister (as they were called back then) and volunteered for many functions, including group leader for a spiritual retreat. I was also in the throes of a spiritual crisis in that along with my deepening spirituality, this also opened doors for many questions to ask of my faith. I often had deep conversations with my friends in the parish about teachings and directives provided by my Church. My parish, fortunately, was quite progressive for those times, so my questions on faith were welcomed so that I could further understand this important part of myself. When I viewed Wings of Desire again, my introspective self viewed the movie as a message. In my time of awakening and doubt, were angels helping me? That is the essence of the movie. It is what makes it one of the most beautiful movies to watch.

In Wings of Desire, the film follows two angels as they watch life in divided East and West Berlin. Spending most days observing human below in the divided city, Damiel and Cassell, the two immortal angels of the film, listen to the thoughts of ordinary city folx with extraordinary worries and desires. In their daily dialogues with each other, Damiel and Cassell discuss their reasons for being in the city. They accept their role as providing a sense of reality for the individuals they select to listen to and to comfort. As angels, their hope is to make each person they contact to continue onward with their day. As angels, they know their power but they also know their limitations. They cannot intervene to make an accident not happen, only to comfort the individual after the fact. They cannot truly feel the pain of individuals, only to hear the pain and to provide solace. In a way, as angels, they see and hear us, but they are only observers. Angels can only watch as we walk the earth trying to make sense of our pain, our joy, and self-doubts. The angel Damiel decides, after interacting with a beautiful circus acrobat, that he wants to experience human desire and love. He decides to give up his immortality and literally falls to earth as a human. When he does, not only does he feels human love, but he now feels our uncertainties and worries. The whole movie is a wonderful reflection of what we are and what we want to be in the afterlife. However, it also brings attention to the thought that much like humans, angels have desires. Desires to help humanity and desires to be seen and valued, for their work and spirit is their reason for being and feeling valued is what they want – much like the mortal humans they observe from above.

Mr. Santaolalla, who composed the Oscar-winning soundtrack for Brokeback Mountain, beautifully dissects this movie and why it changed his life. In the podcast, he also asks “what if angels are all around us?” In his discussion of the movie, he highlights the deep spirituality addressed in the movie. He specifically analyzes on of the most mesmerizing scenes in the movie. The angels Damiel and Cassell visit a library and within the stacks and study carrels are other angels, listening and supporting humans studying and reading. In the scene, you can hear their whispers and questions as the angels walk from one space to another. Mr. Santaolalla loves this scene since it shows all the angels supporting, but not intervening, the humans in the library. Music and sound plays a pivotal role in this scene, expressing not only the deep reflection, but also the frustration that the angels can only observe the learning and knowledge seeking taking place. It is highlighted when the angel Damiel “picks up” a pencil, knowing that he cannot write down anything on paper. It is also good to note that adults cannot see the angels, only children (which I feel is another beautiful analogy used in the movie – the innocence of children noticing the spiritual power angels possess).

https://youtu.be/rnbIZ2o3gWM

In describing this scene, Santaolalla feels that both humans and angels are expressing thoughts akin to “why am I me and not you.” The angels cannot intervene, but they know that “this me that I am, will no longer be me” should they intervene. It is an existential crisis that mortals and immortals feel. As he continues discussing the movie, Santaolalla gives a wonderful quote regarding his life as a musician and how the movie made him reflect on the importance of music and storytelling. Both, he feels, create the deep faith and spirituality that the films addresses. The faith and belief is created because you use your heart in listening to music and stories, not necessarily always the brain. Hearing this, I thought, made sense. The film director creates the story with images and the film composer creates the music to bring in atmosphere to the viewing experience. Both work in harmony to create art – in the case of Wings of Desire, the art opens the door for imagination and curiosity. Much like a child. Hence, in Wings of Desire, it is only children who can see the angels among us. Their innocence inspires us to try to see the world in wonder.

I took time during my semester break to view Wings of Desire again. I thought about the first time I viewed it and how it made me really think about the messages behind the film. I was younger then and I do not think I really fully understood the meaning of the movie other than the cinematography. Now, I am at a pivotal point of my life. As of this writing, I am 52 years old. I feel that I have achieved my highest career aspiration – receiving tenure as a faculty member. I am also an individual who is rediscovering their spiritual self, with interest to understand monastic culture as a framework to create organizational change in higher education. Today, I am someone living through a global pandemic, hoping that a spiritual intervention can occur to bring our world peace and comfort. In the future, I will be considering if I am being called to do something higher than my faculty career – am I being called to re-evaluate my interest in serving something beyond my university? I have wondered quite recently if being a oblate is my true career goal. I am extremely happy that I received tenure, but is a higher being asking me that the road to professional happiness involves something beyond secular teaching and research? These are life moments that I am encountering. As I enter the second half of my life, I enter it much like a child of innocence. Two years into my second life, I find wonder and amazement still in the world. Hence, I wonder if angels are among us and will I have an opportunity to see them as I get further into this next phase? My spirituality, I feel, has recently reawaken and it has provided a degree of excitement. As I make plans to enter more libraries and quite possibly a monastery for further research, I hope the angels that walk among us surround me. Place their hands upon my shoulder. I also want to let these angels know that I understand you also are hurting. Seeing our world suffer is truly difficult to observe from above. I also walk among you to place my hand on your shoulder.

Together, we can create our stories to comfort, enlighten, and maybe inspire change.

Onward.

In this era of living socially distant, accepting the “stay at home” mandates, and realizing that facemasks are the newest fashion accessory, I’ve made it a personal goal to study, read, and observe reasons why society has reached this point. In my lifetime, as with most Gen X’ers, I have witnessed and felt the impact of several historic moments. I was born in the summer of 1968. Upon my entrance into this world, I was entering what Smithsonian Magazine calls, “The Year That Shattered America.”

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/timeline-seismic-180967503/

My birthdate, July 16th, places me quite literally in the middle of that year. A few months before my birth 15,000 Latina/o youth marched out of classes in Los Angeles demanding better education conditions. A little over a month after my birth, the Democratic National Convention convened in Chicago, IL., forever remembered for National Guardsmen clashing with the activism and protests of anti-Vietnam War individuals. The Summer Olympics that August provided one of the most powerful images of the Civil Rights Movement when Tommie Smith and John Carlos rose their gloved fists in the air to bring attention to issues surrounding the African American communities of the United States (which their actions stripped them of their medals). As a someone who falls into the Generation X label, life for individuals born around this time has largely been marked by a life somewhat out of balance.

Fast forward to crucial moments of my personal development. As one of few Mexican American families living in the working class suburbs of Dallas-Ft. Worth, the lasting effects of racism and discrimination marked a good portion of my youth. In elementary school, constant messages from my peers made it known is was “different” (usually the ideas from their parents, I assume). In junior high, I started to realize what it meant to be “not rich”, as the competition between junior highs in my area largely was discussed in the lens of socioeconomic status among the students. If you went to Euless Junior High, likely you were not one of the “preps” commonly found at Harwood Junior High or elsewhere. My school was not theirs. Then in high school, a historic national tragedy occurred: the Challenger Shuttle explosion. As with most of my peers, I was at school that day. In fact, I still vividly remember that moment. I was in chemistry lab and the room next to us, the honors chemistry class, was watching it live. As someone who at that time was fascinated by the space shuttle (I even had pictures of the shuttle and astronauts on my bedroom wall), I really wanted to watch that launch since that was the one with the Teacher in Space program. While doing my lab work, I recall the teacher next door coming into our lab and talking with our teacher. I sensed something was up when I heard the students next door talking and I heard someone say “No!”. A few minutes after, that is when our teacher informed us that Mr. Norris, the teacher next door, would talk to us. He came in our room and rather straighforward said the shuttle was in an accident and that the news was trying to gather all the information. He then told us students that it looked like the rockets blew up with the shuttle attached. My world was shattered.

Other events have occurred in my life, including 9/11 and Hurricanes Ike and Harvey. However, I focus on my birthdate and the shuttle explosion because I feel it frames what our youngest individuals might be experiencing, especially those in K-12 educational levels. Life is uncertain at this moment for them. Their routines have been disrupted for a “new normal.” Children under 10 years old likely have “COVID-19, “virus”, and “pandemic” now as part of their still developing vocabulary. In my reflections during this time, this particular week I have placed deep thought on the development and health of children, youth to young adults about to enter their college years. When I was sort of in their shoes, I remember feeling a bit lost and sometimes scared. Even in those dark days in my life experience, I try to balance those dark days with moments that allowed me to break through to still develop into the person that I am today. I see myself as an person who values empathic care, collaboration, and social justice. Notice that anxiety, fright, and uncertainty are not part of my profile. My strengths largely are a result of moments – those actions and little acts of courage and care – provided to me from individuals I know and frequently random individuals who pop up to do something just when I needed such action. In this COVID time of our life, we need to pay attention to when those small acts of courage occur and understand how they provide hope – for you, the community, and the world.

This past week, I had a Zoom class meeting with my wonderful doctoral student-scholars in my class HEDL 7374, The College Student. This class discusses student development theory and scholarship on the impact of the environment on different facets of individual development. In the Zoom meeting, my students and I conversed for two hours on how COVID19 is impacting our student learners – now and possibly in the future. It was a thought-provoking discussion. Students discussed the mental health issues we have yet to understand in a post-COVID world. In terms of learning and social interaction, we discussed how anxiety and uncertainty will likely be a characteristic associated with learning skills in the post-social distance classroom. These are heavy topics that worry my student-scholar educators. However, the conversation was not all gloom. Without my prompting, I was pleased to also hear how these educators also believe these students will carry with them a legacy of hope. Hopefulness that this next generation will be leaders who will adapt to rapid change. In fact, one student is already labeling the next generation as “The Adaptables”, almost akin to superheroes. Another student shared that these students will value hope, community engagement, and activism since today’s K-12 learners will likely remember those “moments” where their class, their neighborhood, and the nation united to share the experience together – “we’re all in this together” is a frequent motto they are hearing and will remember. This same student brilliantly summarized this feeling when she said the following qoute: People don’t remember days, they remember moments.

What a beautiful way to capture this hope! We still do not know how long our quarantine will last, despite actions to slowly lift our “stay at home” requests. When we get through this, what will we remember? I agree with my student. I hope I don’t remember the number of days I stayed close to home. I hope to remember neighbors finally waving to each other asking “how are you doing?” I hope to remember the workers at my local grocery store who reminded shoppers about social distancing inside the store with a tone of care and even lightheartedness and humor to calm any anxiety of customers. I hope to remember my virtual “happy hours” and reunions with friends near and afar. These are moments that lasted seconds, a few minutes, or a couple of hours. All share one common trait. You don’t remember the exact day or date during this crisis. You just remember that it happened. And that is all you need to make you feel hope.

Last week, my scholar-brother texted me encouraging me to listen to one of his favorite podcasts, OnBeing. In his text, he mentioned that the episode featured Benedictine monk, Brother David Steindl Rast. Brother David’s interview discussed how to include gratefulness in our daily lives. In my previous posts, I mentioned my new love and scholarly activity on studying the writings of St. Benedict and applications of The Rule, his guidelines for creating and cultivating monastic community. Seeing my friend’s text caught my attention immediately and I promised him I would listen. Br. David’s interview was titled, “How to Be Grateful in Every Moment (But Not For Everything).”

David Steindl-Rast — How to Be Grateful in Every Moment (But Not for Everything)

In true Benedictine style, the title reflects the thinking and direction of Benedictine culture. It is what draws me in my learning of this Order. I value the idea of using every day to find time for deep introspection and observing the gifts found in the ordinary. But Br. David reminds us to not go overboard – “but not for everything” – for life isn’t about finding an abundance of riches, it’s about being respectful of what is provided to you and that to reach for higher levels of gratefulness, you have to provide continued work to sustain the goodness in your life which has to include prayer (or deep meditation or thought). I listened with joy to this podcast and I encourage to take one hour of your COVID19 day to enjoy the wisdom and knowledge only monks can bring. Also, Br. David’s voice can calm any bad day you are having – it is a true monk voice. It is a lovely episode and it made me a fan of this podcast!

In researching more about Brother David Steindl Rast, I visited his website, Gratefulness.org. In my exploration, I came across this exercise he developed that allowed me to reflect on moments that help me create gratefulness in my life. The exercise Br. David asks us to practice for grateful living is called The ABCs of Grateful Living. Seeing how simple it was for my weekly reflection, I tried it out. Quite simply, he calls it “a game.” You use the alphabet and for each letter, you put the first word that comes to your mind that you are grateful for in your life. Here is my ABCs for Grateful Living;

A – Activism. I am always amazed at the courage of activists in our society. They truly are needed at this time and I am grateful for such role models.

B – Beer. I’m sorry, not sorry, for having this on my list. I love beer. If Br. David can have food items on his list, then so can I! I especially love a well made craft beer. Hefeweizens and wheat ales in particular. Maybe I can have a beer with Br. David. I will be so grateful for that!

C -Celebrations. Especially now when celebrating something is done virtually. Celebrations are events where you value your human connectedness. I am grateful that many celebrations will be occurring soon once this passes.

D – Dogs. Our pets now more that ever our important in our lives. They are more than companions. They comfort us. They are non-judgemental (most of the time). I’m biased, since I am a dog lover!

E -Excellence. Not like 100%, Grade “A”, type excellence. I’m talking about just being someone who excels at what they do knowing that they will be always learning.

F -Family and Friends. Of course, family and friends are my life. This letter requires a double-scoop of gratefulness!

G – Goodness. I know it sound close to gratefulness, but you can provide such without being a good person. And you can’t appreciate it if you yourself to not value goodness.

H – Help. Everyday I believe has an act of help. Either you help someone or you ask for help. What a wonderful act of gratefulness when you provide or ask for help.

I – Inquiry. The lifeblood of my work as a faculty member is inquiry. As an inquisitive persons, I am grateful that I have a career where I am ask to ask questions!

J – Justice. We need more justice for those who seek it. Justice is what makes us a civil society. I am grateful for those whose work everyday involves justice – lawyers, judges, and such.

K – Kids. While I do not have kids, I have often thought about kids in this time. I am grateful that what I see as an adult, kids see this as a new world, open to exploration and new journeys. Let’s hope that in the end, they will be our next movers and shakers.

L – Life. The first word that popped in my head. Let’s appreciate life more. Now especially.

M – Music. My music taste goes across all genres. I find peace in songs that are considered “goth”, but whose lyrics express desire for human connectedness. But I also love a good dance tune, especially EDM.

N – New Order. Okay, it’s the name of my favorite band. Their music excites me. Their music makes me dance. Their music brings back great memories. The music you love should provide these.

O – Officers. Anyone in leadership. Anyone who is asked to serve in such roles. Two of my family members are police officers. Knowing that officers can bring about certain perceptions, I know my brothers are in this work to truly serve and protect, not to harm. Officers are leaders. Anyone in leadership I am grateful for and admire.

P – Peace. Peace is a goal. An ultimate goal that we should be grateful to strive for each day.

Q -Questions. I also found questioning to be one of the most powerful human actions. Asking for more information, more knowledge, more facts is something we should value, not dismiss as “fake”.

R – Running. Running, while being a physical activity, brings me peace. Especially when done in the morning surrounded by nature.

S – Students. My calling was to teach. To teach, you need students. Students are in the classroom to learn. To learn, it is the most crucial act for someone’s development. I take that seriously and I am grateful for everyday I teach.

T – Timeouts. One thing I will leave this era with is the value of taking timeout of the day and week to reflect. Our society has been rushed for too long. We need to slow down and I am grateful, that while I wish it was under different circumstances, for having more timeouts.

U – Understanding. Letting someone know that you understand their story, their challenges, their needs. Let’s be grateful for those people who take time to hear us out.

V – Vaccine. I know that there are heroes working tirelessly creating a vaccine for COVID19. Once one is developed, we will be grateful for the names connected to the creation of such a lifesaving testament to serving humanity.

W – Weather. In another life, I think I was a meteorologist. In fact, it was my major during the first two years of my college years. In weather, you can still find some beauty in the strongest of storms. Weather, I feel, represents all of life’s cycles.

X – Xtraness. I made up this word. LOL. This letter is tough. I’ll see what Br. David’s response was. Anyway, let us be x-tra during this time. 🙂

Y – Young adults. College students in particular. They are my reason for being. I value and I am grateful that my career involves such an important population. I am glad that I can hopefully mold and impact young adults in their lives.

Z -Zen. Again, this “stay at home” routine has provided a good amount of Zen moments, just moments where I am allowed to ask myself, who am I and how can I make a difference. It could also just be watching the clouds go by. Something I should have noticed before.

The above list was created in 20 minutes. Not a great amount of time, but that is all it took. After this post is published, I’ll go back and fully read my list. It is just one moment of my day where I will be able to see where I am in my journey of gratefulness. The exercise will also allow me to use such philosophy to see my life as a fulfilling moment that gives me joy and appreciation of the simple things in life. My life, and everyone’s life, is a bit off balance right now.

Time to take 20 minutes to add gratefulness in our lives. Brother David does it when he’s waiting at the dentist office, why can’t we do it when we are in our homes and before we flip the Netflix on?

https://gratefulness.org/resource/the-abcs-of-grateful-living-gratitude-alphabet-practice/

For that, I am grateful. Onward.

Today is Saturday, April 11, 2020, and for exactly one month, I haven’t ventured past a 5 mile radius of my house. COVID19 is present in our lives and it is making very clear that it does not intend to leave anytime soon, despite what some might believe. This is our new normal, or as my wife likes to say, our “new dynamic.” It has been one month since I have seen my work office 90 miles north at the Sam Houston State University campus. It has been a month since I been in close physical presence with my faculty colleagues, many which I consider close friends. It has been a month since I have enjoyed taking a nice morning run with members of my running club, bragging about race results and paces. It has been a month since I entered a sanctuary of worship, being able to share in prayer wishes for peace among a community. One month. Another month seems very apparent and possibly more after that.

Despite the dire outlook of the above description, I have strangely found inner peace that can only come when one is sequestered in their home for a good amount of time. My “new dynamic” has now become a routine day during this time. I typically get up around 6:30am. Go downstairs, make a cup of coffee (really, a cup of cream with coffee), toast some protein waffles, turn on the computer, walk the dog, shower, get dressed, then work on my computer usually from 8:30am-4:00pm. Trying to keep a regular routine has helped me handle the uncertainty that this moment in time is bringing me. While COVID19 is obviously on my mind as well as everyone else, I often feel anxious on the social outcomes this might lead to in our society. What if the idea of social distancing continues well past the pandemic? There is already talk about eliminating handshakes, which for a Latino, is extremely difficult to process since our cultural expressions of welcome and love include physical human touch. My daily routine usually ends with reflection on if I am ready for this. However, my new dynamic has allowed me the behaviors which I practice to settle my anxieties – meditation and reflection.

In my new weekly routine, I have marked out days of the week where I allow myself to practice meditation and reflection. Typically, when I can, these occur in the early week (Tuesday) and before the weekend (Thursday). On these days during the evenings, I try to my best ability to find space to allow myself to read, listen to music, and to write notes or short statements on what I am reflecting on that day or week. One theme that I have notice in this month of “stay at home” is my deep appreciation for the friendships I have developed with a variety of people. Friendships that have stood the test of time, friendships that have been rooted since elementary school, friendships that just developed this past month, and friendships that include individuals who are more than friends to me – they are family. The theme of my weekly reflections have routinely included appreciation of those who I call friends. During these times, I feel like I am observing a world akin to the image above. We are surrounded by uncertainty and disturbances and we know that a storm may be approaching….yet, despite this gloom, there can be found beauty and a certain degree of peace. That peace for me comes from my weekly reflections on friendship and the act of opening your heart to extend friendship to one who was once a stranger and the act of hospitality, where you welcome others into your community, house, and for a fortunate few, your inner soul.

One book that I completed during this time is “How to Live: What the Rule of St. Benedict Teaches Us About Happiness, Meaning, and Community” by Judith Valente (2018). In my continued study of St. Benedict which started before the pandemic, I started framing our COVID19 era within the teachings of St. Benedict and The Rule. My regular readings of The Rule and books and essays using Benedictine teachings as ways to live a meaningful life has been important to me in deciphering everything that is occurring today. In her book, Valente uses The Rule to describe key moments in her journey to renew her spirit and reframe her busy life as an award-winning journalist into one where work and spirituality (which included prayer) coexist. Prayer and work – ora et labora – is the Benedictine motto Valente uses to frame her encounters with monks (brothers and sisters at various monasteries in the United States) and normal everyday folx who she uses as examples of the simple life that St. Benedict wished upon his fellow monks. Work that provides life, not life that provides work. Valente finds that her work as a career-rising journalist was not fulfilling as she wished, despite her achievements and awards. She desired her work to provide more than income and awards, she wanted her journalism work to provide meaning to the community. What she noticed and forgot during her early career was how her work provided meaning to her. Thus, embarked her journey in becoming an oblate (i.e., a layperson who commits spiritually to an monastery and its Order) to a small monastery in Kentucky. In her book, she uses this phase of her life journey to reflect on different chapters and teachings from St. Benedict’s The Rule. One important theme I found in reading “How to Live” is that a central answer to the book’s title is life is lived when you surround yourself with friends. Friends of all types and at all levels. Friends who you see or text everyday. Friends you have not seen in 20 or more years, but you know if you saw each other, it would be like yesterday since you last met. Friends who comfort you, even when you did not know you needed comfort. Friends who you know that after that first meeting, you become someone who “is a stranger but once” (Valente, 2018, p. 127)

When I read that quote during my meditative reading, I immediately fell in love with it. A stranger but once. Read it again. Stranger but once. The quote was written along the teaching of St. Benedict regarding one of their notable callings – hospitality. In this era of social distancing, I found it very hard to not express myself in one of the most impactful practices among Benedictine culture, to extend and provide hospitality and to seek out individuals who are strangers but once, who possibly become your ally and lifelong friend. Valente makes note on the origins of the word hospitality – which is derived from Latin hospes, meaning guest. Interestingly, hospes can also mean stranger. It shares its root with the word hostis, meaning enemy (Valente, 2018). So, in social interactions, individuals have the possibility to seen as guest or enemy. St. Benedict encourages us to live a life where we see individuals as those we would welcome in our house. When they enter your house, “these visitors would be welcomed with all the courtesy of love” (p. 123). While your house could literally mean your residence, your house could also include allowing individuals to enter your inner-self, to open the door to allow others to understand you and to connect with you to help you navigate your life’s journey.

During my time of deep reflection on the Benedictine way of hospitality and reflecting on the importance of seeing others as “guests” just once (who also can become lifelong friends), R&B singer Bill Withers passed away on March 30, 2020. Withers is well known for his song “Lean on Me”. Withers’ song likely has been sung by groups of friends at parties, weddings, reunions, and quite possibly a Zoom virtual happy hour. Upon news of his passing just over a week ago, I read the lyrics to this memorable song. While I do not know the extent of Mr. Withers’ spirituality, I found the lyrics remarkably similar to St. Benedict’s teaching of extending hospitality to guests and giving that opportunity to your guest to possibly be “a stranger just once.”

Lean on me, when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend
I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long
‘Til I’m gonna need
Somebody to lean on

What a beautiful account of friendship and hospitality. Telling someone “I’ll be your friend” is something we all need to hear during this new dynamic. “Lean on me, when you’re not strong” is exactly what it means to live a full life, one with meaning and purpose. Purpose and meaning is not necessarily measure by the work needed for something like tenure and promotion. Work with life is when you extend yourself to a colleague in need to let them know, “I am here for you.” When you do, both of you carry on. “And I’ll be your friend.” Is that what life is all about? Being a friend to someone. Sharing a bond that oftentimes last years, despite the highs and lows that often come from a deep friendship. “Somebody to lean on”. In my periods of anxiety, in my periods of intense sadness, and in my periods of uncertainty, I remind myself that friends keep me afloat. Do I recall when those friends were once strangers? Often, not. It does not matter. They have entered my house and my house is theirs.

Together, although we are socially distant and apart, if I call you my “friend”, know that you are always in my house. And I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you carry on. Now. Always.

Onward.

References:

Valente, J. (2018). How to live: What the rule of St. Benedict teaches us about happiness, meaning, and community. Hampton Roads Publishing.

Withers, B., & Billingsley, A. (1972). Lean on me. Festival Music.