Letting Go

Tomorrow I begin a different kind of journey to Viet Nam. In the past I've gone alone and settled into a daily routine of working in the orphanage, exploring Ho Chi Minh City and getting to know the neighborhood where I live. Now I'm looking forward to joining a group of eight others through CORE Viet Nam, a non profit founded by my friend, veteran and Chiropractor John Fisher.

CORE stands for Community Reconciliation and offers American veterans and civilians opportunities to learn ways of reconciliation and peace from a country that has endured decades of war. The friendliness of the Vietnamese people and the Buddhist principles of simplicity, forgiveness and "letting go" permeates the culture and opens the way for healing.

Our team is comprised of veterans, body workers and civilians. While in Viet Nam we'll be hosting clinics in several locations including an orphanage and a home for the elderly as we make our way from Hanoi (in the north) to Ho Chi Minh City (in the south). We'll also be presenting scholarships for children to attend school, purchasing ceiling fans and medicine for a home for the elderly, and gifting a cow to a farmer who struggles to feed his family.

The other important aspect of this journey will be to accompany veterans to the places they need to go for reconciliation and healing. I'm amazed at the courage of these vets and feel honored to support their healing process.  When one human heart heals we all become more whole.

My greatest joy in preparing has been your extraordinarily generous response to the request for donations for the Surgery Project. You far exceeded our expectations by giving a total of over $16,000 ....enough for 12 reconstructive surgeries for children! This will help ease the burden of 12 extended families whose children will now be able to lead more independent and productive lives. 

Your gifts also send a message to the people of Viet Nam that there are Americans who truly care and want to help relieve suffering caused by the war our government engaged in almost 50 years ago. You've shown that out of war can come gestures of generosity and peace. So thank you from the depths of my being for caring. And a special bow of gratitude to a dear friend whose huge heart and generosity put us over the top! You know who you are!

So today as I'm getting ready I feel myself letting go. Letting go of lists of things at home that need my attention, letting go of my concerns about traveling so far from family and friends, and letting go of expectations about what this journey will bring. I'm learning that when I'm able to "let go" it's easier to recognize and celebrate the mysterious and unexpected miracles along the way, and there will be many!

I'm grateful to each of you, to John Fisher, Lindsley Field, my fellow travelers, my very supportive family and to the people of Viet Nam especially the children.

Much love, and more to come,
Paula

Thoughts on War and Healing

It doesn’t take long to recognize the tragic cost of war on the lives of our nation’s soldiers, veterans and their families. High numbers of divorce, addiction, homelessness and sky rocketing suicide rates are strong indicators that those who serve our country continue to carry the burden long after leaving military service.

But how does war affect those of us who don’t serve, or don't have a loved one who's served. The cultural myth is that it doesn’t. Carefully calculated military regulations and censoring keeps it off our radar screens to the extent that it’s easy to imagine that many of us might go days or even weeks without a single conscious thought that our country is currently at war.

It’s easy for those of us who don’t serve to become oblivious to the agony of those who do. There’s no blame or shame in that statement, it’s just the natural way we protect ourselves from the intolerable truth.  The extreme horror and tragedy of war and what it does to people are unfathomable and literally heartbreaking, so we stay at a safe distance.

But does this self protection actually benefit us as a whole?

The growing divide between those who serve and those who don’t often leaves veterans feeling misunderstood, isolated and desperate. Evidence of this is that life becomes so intolerable that approximately 22 die by suicide each day, equating to about 1 every 65 minutes. Three times as many veterans who served during the Viet Nam war have died by suicide, than while in combat.

Many civilians, who truly want to understand and help don’t really know how or where to begin. No one teaches us and there’s no map for that anymore, so out of confusion and fear, we turn away and disconnect.

If one portion of our human family feels isolated and alone, and another part feels disconnected and helpless than we're divided and none of us are living whole and fulfilling lives. That’s a consequence of war, fragmentation and separation…. from ourselves, from our families and from our communities. Like a roadside bomb, war blows lives and relationships apart.

The myth buster here is that wars funded by our tax dollars and the sacrifice of our young people really belong to all of us, a collective karma. And what belongs to us, effects us, whether or not we realize or acknowledge it.  I imagine that if more of us allowed ourselves to know  the facts about what war does to people and to our planet, we'd see ourselves as a broken hearted nation and we'd do everything within our power to find peaceable solutions to conflict.

If we can allow ourselves to know and grieve the realites of war together, we can move toward becoming  a strong and united force for peace. But, that will require a commitment to personal introspection and to deep listening. It will mean a willingness to be vulnerable to the truth. It will mean sharing a burden which rightfully belongs to all of us. 

And it will mean healing.

With love and hope!
Paula

Reminders of Love

The Earth has made almost one complete orbit around the sun since I’ve been with the children in room 1 at Peace Village. Not one of the 365 days has passed without me at some point, feeling as though I was transported through time and space back to that place.  Sometimes my virtual visit is no more than a brief 10 second glance, and other times I linger longer peering into cribs, marveling at imagined new accomplishments and growth spurts. Some days I allow myself the time to sit on the floor, feeling their soft skin, warm breath, and the weight of their little bodies as I become their jungle gym.

A friend recently asked how it could be that I find joy in the midst of these children when they are such graphic reminders of the atrocities of war. After babbling on about all the things I love about them and all the joy they bring, I heard myself say “They are SO much more than reminders of war, they’re also great reminders of love.”

As a result of that conversation I’ve been thinking about how these children embody such a wide spectrum of the human condition. Their physical distortions remind me of what humanity becomes responsible for when we allow fear to escalate into hatred and war. At the same time their spirits reveal all that we’re capable of when we live from a place of love and trust. Each precious little body, a sacred container of mysterious wholeness. They've been born into brokenness with an indestructible drive to survive and to love.

These kids manifest love and courage by simply being who they are, moment by moment. And by being who they are without cosmetics or cures, they shine a bright light exposing our undeniable collective human shadow.

Maybe I’m drawn to the children because they provide a mirror, allowing me to see myself more fully.  When I see and hold their broken bodies, I somehow sense my own brokenness by realizing the destruction I’m capable of when I speak and act from a place of over inflated ego and fear. And when I witness their amazing grace and fortitude, I realize my own courage and capacity to trust and love. I’m finding that the more I’m able to learn about myself, embracing the shadow as well as the light, the fuller life becomes and the more I have to offer.

I'm so grateful for these reminders of love that come 365 days later, from half a world away!

Blessings and Love to each person reading this post, and to the children of Peace Village on this first day of a new lunar year, Paula

Farewell To My Four Year Old Teacher

This morning I received an email from a friend in Viet Nam, Dr. Thuy Pham Thi,  pediatrician of Peace Village. She wrote to let me know that in early July a viral infection caused many of the children to become very ill. Several of them were taken to a special children's hospital in Saigon for intensive care. One little girl was not strong enough to fight the illness and she quietly transitioned from this realm.

Her name is Ngoc Houng and she was four.

This news leaves me very sad, but also with a deep desire to share what I remember about Houng.  I want to bring her out of Peace Village and into your heart, so you can know her and love her with me. I want her life to matter, because inside her broken little body lived a most amazing spirit!

Houng had an enlarged head due to hydrocephalus, webbed fingers and toes, and a weakened heart caused by ancestral exposure to Agent Orange. Her family was from an area of Viet Nam where large amounts of the toxin had been blanketed on the land and its people sometime between 1961 - 1971.  They were very poor and when she was born "different" they knew they would be unable to provide the care she'd need, so they left her at the orphanage as a newborn. Her trip to the hospital in early July was the first and final time she had ever been outside.

When I met Houng in 2012 she was just beginning to take her first steps using a walker, despite Drs. predictions that she was not capable of learning to walk.  When I returned in 2013, we enjoyed many strolls down the long corridor together. I would stand just behind her and she'd wrap both of her little webbed hands tightly around my fingers. With complete presence and focus we would set out together on our walking meditation. She set the pace, each step another silent success. Houng wasn't able to speak, yet her spirit communicated volumes about the joy she felt at her accomplishments.

Houng loved being out of her crib and often sat in the doorway of room 2 lining up the nurses shoes which were left just outside the door. Although she wasn't always confident enough to join in, she enjoyed watching the hallway action from the sidelines. It was easy to recognize that she was a child at peace.

I found myself very drawn to her, and she became a teacher for me. I was in awe of her gentle presence, quiet fortitude and fierce grace. She helped me to see that when we continue to move forward from our internal core source of strength, one step or one breath at a time, we can accomplish the unthinkable.

Very appropriately, the shirt she's wearing in the picture below says SUPERHERO!  I took it on my last day at Peace Village, just before saying goodbye.

So farewell, my four year old teacher, you will always be my superhero!

Warriors of Peace

It's been about 4 months since I tearfully bid farewell to the children of Peace Village, and not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of those bright spirits. Some times they are as much a part of me as my own breath and other times the veil thickens and I'm faced with the reality that details fade with time as naturally as the Earth turns. Still, these children who were robbed by a war which ended long before their conception remain my teachers each and every day.



This past weekend I met 14 new teachers during a Warrior Songs Creative Arts Retreat for veterans.  at a wonderful Quaker retreat center near Philadelphia called Pendle Hill. Men and women, representing many wars, and all branches of service risked stepping outside their well crafted bunkers of isolation and pain, several for the first time in years. Some arrived cautiously, not trusting and some came wearing extra armor to protect their broken hearts. Others arrived more sure footed and eager to take their next step in healing.



Together they created a beautiful, community of unconditional presence and love, strong enough to hold an ocean of memories. Rooted in truth and trust, the bond was tough enough to withstand reenactments of battles - both public and private, yet tender enough to hold tidal waves of tears, and at times even intoxicating laughter. Authentic and raw, stories were heard, held and honored, as a backdrop to friendships being born.



These veterans of war and the children of Peace Village may not seem to have much in common. But for me they do. They are stuck yet determined, vulnerable yet strong, tender yet fierce, tired yet resilient. They are warriors of peace whose bones know what war does. They are courageous. They are my teachers.

Reflections From Home

Our cultural perspectives become so much a part of who we are that trying to detect or separate from them is like attempting to dissect water. It's as if we've been raised wearing a pair of prescribed lenses, specific to our surroundings which brings all of life into focus. Although we usually have no idea we're even wearing these lenses, we use them to size up and navigate our way through almost every situation we encounter.

So entering the Vietnamese culture felt a bit like arriving on a planet where the lens prescription was very different then the one I'd grown accustomed to. I saw things being done that seemed confusing and at first didn't make sense. I caught myself flirting with the natural tendency to judge, assuming that I knew the more practical, healthy or efficient way to proceed. When in reality, the Vietnamese people have evolved and adapted in beautiful ways, efficient and well suited to their particular needs, customs and circumstances.

Speaking very little Vietnamese created a sense of isolation during my time at Peace Village. Opportunities to ask questions, receive in depth information or explain myself were rare and involved the investment of much time and energy.

Understanding very little of what was being said around me provided fertile ground to exercise introspection and self reflection, and to discover that there are many ways to listen. I developed a deeper trust in my own intuition and learned to read cues that came in the moment by moment unfolding of events around me. And when fear showed up and an inner voice whispered "I shouldn't be here" I answered "Of course I should be here because this is exactly where I am."

While at Peace Village, I often needed to remind myself to remove my Western world lenses and let go of the familiar. But I also became aware of several changes on administrative and staff levels that occurred during the past year which have a significant impact on the children in ways that continue to weigh on my heart.

So I'm home now, but very mindful that my journey continues, as I sort out the degree to which my cultural perspective may be blurring my vision, and wrestle with what my role will be in using my voice and experience to advocate on the children's behalf.

While I have great respect for cultural differences, there are some things that remain universal...and in my own heart and mind the care and treatment of children is one that knows no boundaries.

I'd also like to mention that I'm deeply grateful for the amazing generosity of those who continue to give to the children's surgery project, which will continue throughout the year. Thank you so much!

Letter to the Children of Peace Village

Even though they share almost everything, it doesn't take long to spot the very unique personalities of each child living in Peace Village. Who they are as individuals sparkles through the predominate feature of conformity like rays from the sun outshine the clouds. If it were possible, I'd write a letter to each child sharing who I've come to know them to be. But in the letter below, I share my general reflections on them as a whole.

This will be my final post from Viet Nam. I want to express my deep appreciation for your support throughout this journey. Your presence along the way has helped deepen my experience over and over again! Thank you for reading the posts, responding with emails and comments and especially for caring about the children.
With Love, from Viet Nam! Paula

To the children of Peace Village,

Your creativity never ceases to surprise me as you entertain yourselves and each other having races and making up games with no toys or props. You've taught me a pair of socks easily becomes a ball, and how to make a human caterpillar. While some of you are the planners and instigators, and others of you the bystanders and cheerleaders, collectively you have extraordinarily developed imaginations. Your communal laughter literally sounds like an orchestra!

I also recognize the glaze of disappointment wash over you as unfair outcomes unfold. You seem to have a fine tuned awareness of the difference between the things you can and cannot change, knowing intimately the gift of "letting go" and moving on. You are a resilient bunch!

It's heartwarming seeing some of you take on parental responsibilities of checking in and caring for younger ones. I love watching Hip, in the role of father, lining many of you up on plastic chairs in the hallway several times a day, yelling the names of the no shows, until he's sure everyone is accounted for. You are clearly a family!

When there are disagreements and when wrestling matches get out of hand and someone gets hurt, you are quick to forgive, forget and move on. You seem to have figured out that carrying a grudge only makes your own load heavier.

Your fierce determination to overcome obstacles and break through barriers of physical limitations is beyond comprehension. You walk when they said you'd never stand on your own, scream at the top of your lungs when life needs to be screamed about, and untie intricate knots with your toes to set yourselves free! You restore my hope in the natural life force that lies at the core of each of us.

And to those of you who spend day in and day out unable to move and totally reliant on the care of others, I wish there was a way to let you know that I recognize and honor you first and foremost as a human being. But I also see your suffering. Looking into your eyes, I feel heartbroken and helpless, like the greatest burden of war has somehow landed squarely on your shoulders. I feel small, humbled and in awe of your endurance. You live moment by moment, breath by breath. I bow to you.

And to all of you.....Even though I catch myself from time to time dreaming about who you might have been had dioxin not radically disrupted your life trajectory, mostly I simply marvel at who you are.

I love each and every one of you.....