On the subway, a life cloaked in black...

One of the things that I love most about living in NYC is the immense amount of diversity you are exposed to on a daily basis. In such a large city (and now with $4+ gas prices), more and more residents are forced down into the subway system where we are forced to mingle and confront the many faces of this city.

Like always, I sit on my train and keep myself busy - always a staunch observer of train etiquette, I ensure I have something to do, mind my own business, and hope others will do the same. However, today like many other days, I'm forced to check my judgments, prejudices, and ethics as I am startled out of my day dreaming.

A black figure looms directly next to me. At first I do not see it fully, but out of the corner of my eye I can tell this is no ordinary passenger. I see a thin black hand next to a black form and I panic. Shit, am I seeing spirits? Why is it black? Damn, I'm gonna need a limpiesa. Where are my guardians, don't they know of the dangers on the subway especially for a Iyawocita??? OK, calm down. Damn, it's a Dementor! No wait, that's from Harry Potter...my mind continues to race, my heart is pounding, and an overwhelming feeling of deep sadness or a void begins to fill my chest. I'm only 10 minutes into my 55 minute ride.

Wait, I'm strong and I can take anything. So, without thinking twice, I look directly at the figure and realize it's not a specter or figment of my over-active imagination, but rather a woman covered in a black burqua, from head to toe completely draped in black.

I'm not one to judge others and I try to educate myself before giving an opinion on things I don't fully understand. Of course I am aware of this custom among some Islamic factions and I'm well aware of the controversy that surrounds many Islamic (and really, most non-Western) cultures. I know that some women fully embrace this tradition and that it is also severely imposed on many others in some countries. The sight of her stirs so many feelings within me; she has no idea the impact she's had on me. Sitting next to her, watching her read the subway map, trying to find her stop, and then almost missing her step as she went up the stairs in the station deeply moved me almost to tears. I don't know if I was picking up on anything or if these feelings are a consequence of the stark difference between her all-black garb and my all-white attire, but I felt a deep sadness overcome me. I felt a deep isolation as I tried to picture what it would be like to see the world through a dark veil. Isolated or protected or imprisoned? I'm not sure which one it is and again, these are just my feelings and my own reactions to seeing her. I wanted to reach out and protect her although not sure from what. Maybe the world? Maybe herself?

You have to understand that as someone who has worn white for almost 1 year, seeing a woman draped completely in black leaves a strong impression. Probably similar to what others see in me when I'm dressed in my traditional, all-white clothing. Beyond the burqua, what struck me the most was not being able to see her eyes. If I smile at her, will she smile back? If she does, how would I know? I know that none of this matters and I realize this is more about me than it is about her. But I'm almost haunted by the sight of her, standing by the door facing me but not being able to see her eyes; just a dark figure in front of me. She is an unfathomable mystery compounded by humanity's belief in God and our interpretations of how to fully express that belief.

Religious beliefs and practices transcend all cultures and have been with us since the beginning of our history on this Earth. As a deeply spiritual person, note the use of spiritual versus religious even as an initiated priestess, I am very troubled by some religious practices. Without going into my "Ovarian Power" rhetoric, and without placing any judgment on any faith, I just pray with all my heart that humanity wakes up and is able to love and respect one another. I hope we wake up and see all the beauty around us, the miracle that is creation and nature, and the awesome responsibility we have to one another and this planet.

50 minutes later I arrive at my destination and I understand that it's not the burqua that bothers me or the black figure that troubles me. It's the overwhelming urge to know if she chooses to cloak herself in this way or if it's imposed on her as it is with so many other women across the world. Are you free to pursue your destiny? Is everyday a struggle to take steps towards fully living your life? Maybe she's better off shielding herself from all the negativity and destruction present in society and it is we who need to protect ourselves from the evils we impose on one another. Maybe we (meaning her and I) just protect ourselves a little differently.

All that, and I didn't even have my first cup of coffee...never a dull moment on the NYC subways.

Old School Moms

Today I thought long and hard about what is means to be a mother. Sifting through old family pictures full joy, smiles, birthday cakes, trips to the beach, playing, fun times, good food, and happy Mom's carrying happy babies.

Fast forward a decade or two and you have a bunch of 20-something and 30-something year olds running around like mad trying to establish themselves as adults and build foundations for their own families. We struggle with high rent costs, expensive fuel, low wages, high debt to income ratios, and managing our ever so important social lives. We get so consumed in our own shit, that we lose sight of what's important - of the families and especially the women who sacrificed so much to ensure we are able to make the choices we are able to make today. So, once we begin having our own children and providing for the next generations, will things be the same? Will we be the types of parents that will sacrifice everything for the sake of our children?

In this day where women are moving more and more away from those "traditional" maternal roles, I can't help but worry about the next generation as we are a very selfish bunch.

So now getting back to the happy pictures of happy babies, I realize that what you never see is the pictures of the pain, struggles, and sacrifices made so that those happy pictures could be taken. We think we have it rough, but the last generation lived through world wars, cold wars, depressions, immigration, settlement in a new and very different world of their own, racism and on and on -- all to create better opportunities for us, their children. None of this shows up in pictures. Neither do the sacrifices that in particular our mother's made on our behalf. You don't see the education they could not take advantage of, the long hours they put in to care for our every need, the cheating husbands they put up with because that's how we could eat, the jobs they gave up because no one could take better care of us, and on and on. The Mothers and the Grandmothers of the world stopping at nothing to care for the young.

I thank my Mother and pray to my Grandmothers (Ibae) everyday in recognition of all they did so that I could have a great life.

I do have a great life, thanks to them.