Two Mantras

I have clung to two sentences this week:

·         That is south.

·         This is normal.

My sense of direction, normally healthy, dies in Nicaragua. Without a vista, North, South, East, and West blur together.

South of Granada, visible only from street corners, is Mount Mombacho. It is a tourist compass. Want to get your bearings? Look for Mombacho. That is south.

Each morning when we exit our front door for the seven-block walk to Spanish class, I  think of the mountain behind me and say, “That is south.” We walk east, north, east, north, then finally east—and with each turn I tell myself, “That is south—and then point toward the other three compass points and name them.

Silently, of course. I don’t want Marlo to think I’m lost—or losing it.

Riding the bus to San Juan de Oriente--“That is south.”

Walking home from the bus stop--“That is south.”

Why does my internal gyroscope falter in Nicaragua? I think to it needs the vistas to which it is accustomed, not the narrow corridors and tree-lined roads of Granada.

…

Sweating on a January afternoon, I tell myself, “Here, this weather is normal.”

When seven-year-old Horacio explains Spanish vocabulary to me and helps correct my grammar, I reassure myself that I’m not stupid (tonta).  ”For him, Spanish is normal.”

He’s been learning it longer than I have—and with a younger brain.

Each morning and afternoon, the same ancient man is sitting on the same sidewalk, two doors from our house.

I ask Horacio if the man lives in that house. “No,” Horacio answers. “Es pobre. No tiene una casa. (He’s poor. He has no house.)”

I detach from my momentary pain with my new mantra. “This is normal,” I tell myself.

Reflecting tonight, I wonder.

Normal? Yes.

And also broken.

If I feel too much pain—I shall break along with him.

But with too much mantra--I shall go numb.

God grant me the grace to accept the things I cannot change, the power to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

And, in seeking direction for my journey, may my emotional gyroscope always be oriented toward grace.

...

PS: No photo today. Marlo and I discussed whether or not it would be respectful to take a photo of the homeless man. 

In the end, I didn't need to make a decision. When I was ready to take a photo, he was no longer on the sidewalk.