Beautiful scarlet flash, ancestral blessings to cope with Guyana's ugliness

Beautiful Scarlet flash. 

Rain is drizzling. Holding the umbrella which is broken on part to protect the laptop rather than me. Pants ball up to avoid getting muddy splash.. easier to clean foot than to clean cloth at the work thing. Place grey.  Bright red, scarlet flash in front of me, I feel like I could touch it. Mind shifts focus and I look. Two scarlet ibis, briefly landing in the swampy empty lot. Brief.. short. Beautiful, in the wet grey, green.  Then Gone.

The evening before. Sun going down. Friend visit and we talking. 'Look .. scarlet ibis" and in the eastern sky a flock of them going to the sea walls. Always up in the sky.. flashes of red in blue or dark blue sky. We talk some more and my head swings to the west. Two more flying. 

I have not seen any in months. 

Sit in the minibus. Hoping that the scarlet ibis is a sign of good things to come. Glad for the last minute work. But feeling the sadness and despair and the stress as the work connects to the violation of human rights in Guyana. The people doing the work are stressed, in horror , fatigued.. and cheerful and good to work with., kind. Guyana's ugliness. The violence., the violation of rights, the lack of progress on any systems. The police burning another youth in jail. Never mind the police will be charged.. charge, fine, put in jail. We had this before, police burning youth.

Nothing about what next. To transform so that no youth ends up in jail and no police has no desire to burn any one. 

Ugly madness on facebook as one woman's attempt to imagine Guyana as a nice place is mocked, easier to mock her than to do anything to fix Guyana.

The beautiful scarlet flash.  And the woman who was visiting at the time we saw them in the sky.. we talk about wellness and living in the ugliness and keeping good vibes.

  "I am sorry I messaged you. Bye" 

 The message says 'hi' and I am not sure what to do. Common sense is to 'block' and not engage but that is not how I feel about the man behind the message. Thinking an opportunity to connect. Knowing though that it will end badly. Pleasantries exchanged. Connection there. Holding back. 

Wishing we could dialogue, have some open conversation, have some healing.. 

Then two or three messages in the pain and the despair, the sadness again. 

Last message the tone at the end of so many other conversations. 

Much like so many of  the other political interactions and so, the 'consultations' and so which do not happen. 

No finding of third space. Not hating but also not wanting to risk imagining that there could be some other place where the beautiful colours can be more permanent.

I feel foolish.. this is not how I want any exchange with anyone to end.. with this kind of regret. The disconnect connected to Guyana's madness, to the lack of healing available.

The flash of scarlet though as other messages come in, other conversations reflecting healthy and pleasant feelings. "I am glad" rather than "I am sorry".  Even when there are disagreements, there are resolutions.

Each interaction a blessing

Ancestral blessings

 I only see the man during genip season. He walks normally with the  bag on his head. Today he is pushing a huge bag of genip on the trolley. I had seen him in a video of drumming. I ask him and he said yes and we talk about the drumming, his family in Buxton, the church, the celebration 'of all the holidays'

He thought I had seen him drum at a recent event with a visiting Guru. A 'dada' from India . The man talk good. We went in and hear him... do the meditation and so .. and I think of the 5 women in the car on the road. Talking to them, they had also gone and did the meditation. One of them giving me tangerines.. 'this is prasadam' she said. 

'We heal people ' the man  said, talking of his grand mother and others. I ask about the drumming . 

"This is ancestral blessings " he explains. I know what he means, blessings to accept and not really question sometimes.

In the week of ugliness and the scarlet flashes,  a woman (also from Buxton) walks in the yard. She talks about the plants and the mosaic left by one of my ancestors. 

I imagined how he would be feel about the admiration of the mosaic. It is a joy to watch her as she puts her hand on the plants to explain, to show the bits and pieces. Random encounter this week, random source of joy.

She picks a root from the orchid. 'You could put it anywhere else, propagate" .  She takes it and puts the piece on another tree. I am a bit nervous it might not grow. I don't really touch the thing which the ancestor has left.

She is confident, as she spreads the blessings.

The man who was sorry he messaged me had taken a piece one time. I had never been able to ask him if it grew. We never got to those conversations. I always thought to offer him a piece again if it had died even if we don't speak to each other or heal.

The woman reminds me of the sharing and generosity. A few weeks ago, the soldier who  joined the minibus, realising there is no conductor and choosing to sit on the seat to sling the door for others.

 Countering the other ugliness, the greed , the division.

And while the scarlet flashed away, temporary. 

Thinking of working on holding as precious, more than the oil and gas, the generosity, the connection , the sharing.