Who to Turn to?

Chicano Park - San Diego, CA 2012

I ran around Lake Merritt twice today with my parents.  On our way home we again saw the homeless man, stationed at the freeway exit, like most days.  We often wondered about him because he once looked healthy and full.  Was he new to the streets?  Was he getting help?  Nowadays he doesn’t look so healthy.  So we wonder what has happened since we first saw him, what has changed?  But today my father answered these questions with a simple statement of: “He uses dope.  I saw him with his pipe the other day.”  This reminded me of a story from the run.

We ran into San Diego, CA on an evening in late August.  The reception was beyond beautiful with the many colors of Chicano Parks’ murals, people, dancers and runners.  Following the ceremony, the danzantes offered their prayers and energia.  I was so happy to be able to share that with them.  A little later after we all ate and were settling down.  We got the word that Abuelo Gustavo had left on his journey.  The following moments were a blur as runners, dancers and community members alike formed a tight circle around the staffs while Gabi, Sharah and I sang The Peace Song by Arthur Dick.  We lite a candle and listened as we gave our blessings and tears to his spirit.  Although a sad moment, it was truly one of the most beautiful I have seen.  This was how we needed to deal with sadness, anger and pain - holding each other, singing together, by sharing as one. 

Sometime in the middle of this prayer my body pulled me out and reminded me once again of my physical needs.  I asked my tía Juanita if she can accompany me to the bathroom.  The bathroom, as some may know, has two stalls with metal toilets and a metal sink (little to no paper- especially at that time of night).  The first stall was littered with stuff I simply was afraid to be near because it was quite gross.  The second stall was in use.  We waited outside to escape the stench until the bathroom was unoccupied. 

Abuelo Gustavo

With some time two women emerged, sweaty, stumbling and in a hurry to get away.  In those few seconds it took me to eat up their presence, I realized what the belt buckle noise I heard in the bathroom really was.  They were shooting up.  Naturally I continued to the bathroom because duty calls.  But once I reached that back stall I stopped.  Only moments before two women sat and stood cramped into this space, shooting poison directly into their blood in order to forget whatever fearful feelings they held within themselves.  Many of you who are reading may not know my personal story, but my biological mother was a heroin addict.  I saw her on it and I saw her withdrawal from it when she couldn’t get her hands on the next fix.  So as you can imagine, it was hard for me to be there in that place and time.  Without thinking I turned around, not feeling my bladder, not feeling anything but heat as it reached my face with newfound tears. 

That night I thanked Abuelo Gustavo for his work to unite people and to create healthy relationships with others and ourselves.  I thank him for the circle that was created that night on his behalf.  And I hope that one day that homeless man down the street, those two women and my mom will not have to turn to drugs, but have a circle of family and friends who they can cry and sing with.

Santa Paula, CA

Los Angeles, CA -- I carry the Santa Paula staff

In late August, the Coastal California runners ran to Malibu.  It was there that I spoke with a man named Raymundo who had created a staff to add to the bundle.   It was a staff of short stature with a snout at the top.  Raymundo carved both eagle and condor onto its side and placed four local feathers onto it.  Around its middle laid beaded white and blue waves.  A beautiful staff - as all of them are.  He told me it was the Santa Paula staff and it represented the small community that ran along side Southern Californias 126.  In this town, youth struggle with gang violence and affiliation, among other things.  The people and land struggle for health and peace.  Their struggle is not unique, but for reasons unknown to me, the staff touched me and I accepted the responsibility to care for it and bring it back.  

Last week, the reason for why I accepted this responsibility became clear.  I joined my father, Richard Santana, on his trip to Santa Paula where he spoke to Isbell Middle School faculty (reminding them of why they chose to become teachers and encouraging them to out love students) and with the students (warning of the things they will face and empowering their identities).  It brought a great joy to carry the staff on this campus and see the faces and lives I for months prayed for.  Before the student presentations, my father and I waited in the front office watching as students and staff members a like shuffled to get ready for the day.  Amongst this bustle Raymundo walked in to receive the staff back.  As that moment unfolded, I saw as my father got up to greet his old counselor and friend with an embrace.  They have known each other since the 70s when my father was a student and Raymundo a counselor.  One teaching and the other learning justice, respect and culture through art.  I had no idea.  It was an astonishing moment where I realized things do really happen for a reason and life really does work in circles.

Back Home

Good day,

It has been many months, days and hours since my stories of the run have passed unwritten.  Now that I am home, safely tucked into my bed and living on the internet looking for work – I will start to record the lessons I learned, stories I heard, things I saw and food I tasted. 

So let me begin with my end, with the moment that proved to me that my work as a core runner on the Peace and Dignity Journeys 2012 was done.  In the picture displayed you see four children in a clear blue lake gathered in a tight circle.  What these children are doing is combining water from this whole continent, from this entire world, in this lake.  As runners, from the beginning, in Chickaloon, AK and Tierra del Fuego, Argentina, we collected and prayed over waters from streams, lakes, rivers, oceans, reservoirs and springs.  Along with the collection of these waters, we collected stories, histories, memories and friendships- some of which I will retell at a later time.  But in this moment, like many of our creation stories, the children are present and are doing the work.  It is simply a beautiful sight to see.

But why the end for me?  We still had two days left of closing ceremony at this moment, so why not then when it was ‘officially’ over?  It was the end for me because I got to see Xalli, my family, my cousin, my fellow danzante of only 13 years old, participate and handle the water - the water that represented the world.  She, my Tía Juanita, my Tío Jaime and my other cousin Gavi, were all able to attend the closing ceremony.  Words can’t explain, how much my heart filled and how much my soul smiled at their presence – no matter the time I spent on dictionary.com and thesaurus.com searching for the right words.  Seeing her there solidified my reasons for running and made all the sickness that passed through me, and all the pain and discomfort my body felt, worth it.  Life made a complete circle for me and I knew that thereafter laid a new one.  The work for PDJ 2012 was then done.  

Now to prepare for 2016 ;D

Moccasins

We were asked to Aztec dance at the 2012 International Indigenous Leadership Gathering in British Colombia.  In response and in preparation, I made my first pair of moccasins.  With very rough and limited guidance from a fellow runner, I cut out the pieces I needed from the leather gifted to me by our host.  I slowly sewed the pieces together- pushing and pulling the needle through the thick leather.   And eventually, the leather took shape.  By the end of the day, I had a very simple pair of moccasins to protect my feet the following day. 

Since then, I visited a woman from the Lil’Wat First Nation in Mt. Curry who happened to be a moccasin maker.  In the light of a candle during a power outage, she taught me how to touch up a pair of moccasins.  She gave me pieces of rabbit to cut and sew around the ankle portion and beads to hold the tie strings together.  Along with patterns and ideas for other styles of moccasins, Jackie taught me how to make medicine pouches.  She is a fantastic woman and I thank her for helping me make my first pair of moccasins. 

Now I need to learn how to bead!

The Daily Life of a Runner

The life of a runner is complex and simple.  We follow the same formula every day to go about life and ceremony.  However easy it may seem to do the same activities over and over again, it is difficult.  Our ability to get ready, drive, and perform our tasks changes daily depending on how much sleep we get, where we sleep, how much we’ve ran the previous evening or how much we are required to run that day, or our individuals emotions.

The typical running day looks like this:  We wake up at the designated time for that particular day, get dressed, brushed and physically ready for the day and at the same time pack our belongings.  One solid rule we have is “bags before breakfast.”  This means that all of our bags and belongings must be packed into the vans before we sit to eat breakfast.  If this doesn’t happen, it takes longer to begin the rest of the day.  After breakfast, we begin ceremony by unbundling the staffs and conducting the formula to begin circle.  The rest of the day is pure running, eating, and praying until we reach our destination.  Once there, we have the closing ceremony.  After, we feast!  Feasting and eating in general is done with the communities.  This time allows us to relax and visit with new family.  Very seldom do days end early, so the fastest thing we do is get ready for bed. 

Each day brings a new opportunity to do the same thing better- to pack faster, to pray harder, to smile more, to ask communities different questions, to eat less or more, too drink more water, to look at the earth with more caring intent.  The day of the runner is undoubtfully different, complex, and routine.

Healing

The studio was small, but was filled with many windows covered in colorful curtains making the room glow.  At first glance one would notice the small couches and comfy looking chairs scattered throughout the room­.  After a day of running, this small room was more than welcoming and clearly a reminder of home.  However, a closer look would show a variety of game boards, music and even a small library containing local indigenous histories and wild life -a place of learning.

We laid out the bundles and invited community members to close the circle with us.  One gentleman in particular made it into the group late.  He wore a baseball cap and slouched against one of the pillars around the room.  At this time in the circle we usually ask community members to share their stories or thoughts.  Because he was one of the few community members, he spoke up.  He didn’t say much, but before he left the circle he said a few words that mattered.  He was a victim of residential schools.  It was hard for him to talk about; however it was obvious he was trying to heal.

It turns out that that room we were staying in was a meeting place for residential survivors.  For so long these individuals held in the injustices that were committed against them.  Now they seek healing and support from each other. 

In 2005, a case was filed against the Canadian Government in regards to the abuses conducted at residential schools.  Here is the link to the case:

http://scc.lexum.org/en/2005/2005scc58/2005scc58.html

Prayer

It is sometimes hard to understand the many different ways people pray.  People use different items in different places during different times.  Prayer takes many forms and there’s no wrong or better way to do it.

Here on the run, I am in constant prayer.  I pray while running, sitting in the car, while I eat and when I’m joking with my fellow runners.  No one knows that I’m doing this.  I watch and I take small images of my surroundings and keep them in my heart.  My head isn’t bent forward nor are my hands held in prayer, but I’m thinking good thoughts for the people and land I see­- hoping good always finds its’ way to them. 

Our group consists of members from all over the US, Canada and Mexico.  Although our prayers manifest themselves in distinct ways, we all share a common prayer and belief in this run (and what it stands for).  Yes, we sing different songs, use different feathers, speak different languages, but we do not judge the other for the difference.  Instead we acknowledge the beauty and appreciate one another’s background and history.