Point e Pierre, Trinidad
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that spectacular photo is by James B. Solomon, Trinidad photographer extraordinaire, was posted by him yesterday. I wrote then..."absolutely gorgeous pic/that pink to bright yellow orange, the lake, the spire flares. magnificently simply magnificent." I did not write it to him, but i felt somehow, in some ways this picture was so encapsulated of what Trinidad is: oil, sunset, color, water, greenery, structure and fire. and the mix of all firmaments to earth; and the mingling of the purest to the dirtiest--the smell and smear of oil...so when i look for a pic for this blog, I immediately went back to James' page and asked/took permission to post. I hope you see it. I hope James is honored by this blog content for the use of his pic. I see the two matched. I am grateful f
r that kind of rich life beauty everyday. that is trinidad despite everything and all else. beauty dwells therein
I wake up for the second time this July fourth morning with confirmation, the fullness of a previous thought into the birth of a revelation. It started out with my two most common first morning phrasing and words upon my waking in recent weeks: Thank You and God. Then when I put those thoughts into sentences it often relates to prayers and gratitude. But somehow today, I realized Trinidad has been my gift. My gift of healing, repair. A second womb so to speak in which to collect myself after the battering of the doctoral journey and the failure to move life beyond into employment and sustainability, for many reasons. 9-11 started a trend that ended with the recession of 2002.
Trinidad being my healing was an impactful thought. Trinidad being my womb. Trinidad being my savior. Trinidad being my love. The giver of my life. Again. For this is the place that gave form to me: through my parents and the place of my birth. And here I am again, in another process of formation. Yes, it was a significant moment, one still that I am trying to come to terms with, at least making it public, for I have bad mouthed Trinidad so much. Not that it wasnt worth it, valid, fair or legitimate, but because it is such a jarring one hundred and eighty degree revelation. But it is true. All those negatives exist outside my life and my self. Trinidad is a peculiar place.
Trinidad is a place where as I write today, I have the crisis and madness of the Redbullshit Flugtag to refer to yesterday that had the whole western peninsula backed up into Port of Spain into unmoveable gridlock. Where possible two people lost their lives, many were robbed, and lots of accidents. All for entertainment. All for the lack of thought, thinking and competence. All done by a Board of the Chaguaramas Development Authority and all the police and firepeople who had to be consulted for such an event. And yet, though the numbers of officials, still a disaster. Trinidad is that place. The utter and total external failure of this place at the hands of humans and their lack of structures and systems has nothing to do with the lovely beauty of the land, its rivers, oceans, forests and mountains. And it is that, them who have loved me. Brought in by my second mother, Marjorie Baptiste. It is to that Trinidad that I acknowledged my debt to life and wellness, my succor and revivification.
When I returned to Trinidad in 2003, I was broken, fragile, and close to a nervous breakdown before I packed up, sold all I owned in an estate sale, which was everything as I had been patching together a life for long term living. Purchasing worthy furniture and antiques that I had no intention to part with; it was 2002 and a recession was raging, no employment for me after completing my PhD in Development Economics. My Aunt told me to come home. And I did.
The cultural shock was nothing to laugh at; it was painful beyond belief as I grew up in a worship of the place of my birth, especially being away since I was seven years old and held on to the vision and experiences I had within my very loving family. The language escapes me but this is typical of people who leave their homes, they have a heightened endearment to the place they leave and never get the option to move with the space, and so the ideas become a delusion over time. So if and when one returns, one is in schism as I was. I had to come to terms with how much this place that I have always been identified to and with was not what I envisioned. Despite how much we hear of how wonderful the people, the output and creativity of this place, the life, living and observations I found did not live up to those stories. It is a slam
I have written about this at length, It is a manuscript called Ant Bites. So I wont recount that here. But this is to say despite all this bitter washing, disappointing baptism and rebaptism, I wake up today realizing Trinidad has been my healing. She has been my teacher of Human Nature, Human Character, and not necessarily of the best, unless we talk of my second mother, and Aunt, Marjorie, but mostly of the underbelly evil and darkness and it seems that is the character most prevalent and flowing, fueling in this small landspace>
Nevertheless, I feel my wakening, my observing the HCU Commission of Enquiry, full of interesting individual witnesses and victims, both women, both Hindu and both of amazing life stories have muddled my thoughts on my gratitude to Trinidad/ and the ways in which she has fostered me back to health. The way she has cuddled me into polishing my hard edges. For life, other people and myself cant be with unpolished edges. Something had to give, and it has been me. That something had to be produced and it is and was me...as better me. That something had to be made whole in this broken place and the universe, my guides and ancestors, as well as my spiritual pod decided it would be me.
Trinidad has been the womb of my wet by tears and messy by blood of disappointment, and sweat of outer/utter futility to be prepared for better and bigger than where I was trying to make manifest and be.
It is also interesting to see how variant pieces come together to make a whole: July 2011, half a life year of my plans and dreams, where i switched to wanting to be more planted, drop bucket, and vested as opposed to being a continual rolling stone, from here to there, contract to unemployment. I wrote a plan totally different from what I have lived and viewed for the total of my career, the last twenty one years. And then, two jobs that I applied to that fit this new bill, one before I even wrote this new vision, the other emerged at the same time as I wrote my application. And feeling like I am growing up. That is it. I feel like I am growing the fuck up. And I am grateful. And I realize I would not have been afforded that gift and grant without Trinidad
So this is my love letter to S/HeR while I continue to rip her other retard children to shred.
I do love you Trinidad. I do thank you. I am eternally grateful to you. I shall do anything and everything for you dearest Trinidad, for you have been holding my people for hundreds of years, and in honor to those Indios who were here before all of us, I shall be indebted to you forever. Thank you for my Life and my life's Strength Trinidad. I am your Mountains, I am your Rivers, I am your Oceans, Seas and Shores. I am your Forests, Bush, Dense and Entangled. I am you, I am Her. I am Me. A Dark Green Natural Trinidad, by head, heart and hands. See her and see ME,. The Carib Being Ever to Be. Not dead but Living Loudly and Boldly, with the abiding everlasting existence of this little space; its bounty, resilience and self protectiveness, in stark contradiction to all those who will destroy it, in their quest to vanity, and in empty self futile fulfillment. Pathetic inhabitants notwithstanding, the Love Stands.
Ode to Trinidad
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