siempre saliendo
por puertas
que pretenden
ser puertas
supuestamente
abiertas

y alli
vamos

caminando
por caminos
que pretenden
llevarte al
lugar donde
solo los
desviados
llegan

y alli
vamos

con la verdad
que nos dice
algo de ese
mismo lugar
del mismo
desviado

y esos mismos
desviados
te predican el
mismo mensaje
de ese mismo
cristo salvador
y redentor

y que es
ese mismo

el mismo
cristo, el cristo
que pretendemos
ser la puerta donde
pasan aquellos que
siempre, si siempre
van saliendo

saliendo
por puertas que
pretenden ser
puertas supuestamente
muy abiertas

y ese mismo
cristo esta
tambien
y no
solo un poco
muy desviado

pero asi quedamos todos no
con puertas, simplemente
y supuestamente
abiertas

y el cristo sigue siendo
el camino para aquellos
desviados que
buscan nada
mas que
simplemente puertas

que solo supuestamente
estan abiertas
y nada mas

y asi con el cristo
quedamos todos.

como puertas
solo supuestamente
abiertas.

y nada mas.

-luna

i vividly remember meeting this american hero of mine at an east st. paul mexican restaurant.

fr. francisco and i were having breakfast when he walked in. we both stood up to greet, thank and shake the hand of senator paul wellstone. here was the man who taught me to be proud of wearing the label of liberal american. the label that stands for the ideal of freedom and justice for all.

thank you paul! we do miss you. i wish you were here today. cheering on and helping all of those folks working hard to get out the vote for barack.

in honor of you senator wellstone, we hope history will be made in a few weeks. we wish you were here to see it take place.

It’s easier to be a liberal today, to be a progressive, to be proud. But there was a time when it wasn’t. When liberalism in defense of peace was mocked, and moderation in service of imperialism was praised. In those days, it was hard to be a liberal. It must have been hard to be Paul Wellstone. He never showed it, though. He liked to quote Marcia Timmel. “I’m so small and the darkness is so great,” she said. “We must light a candle,” Wellstone would reply. He was ours. Would that he was here to enjoy the dawn.-ezra klein

el cristo peruano

Originally uploaded by luna lopez

taken with my new nikon with a little help from picnik… i’m going to try to stay away from editing these photos and just work with the camera settings, lighting, etc. stay tuned.

as a former coordinator (basically, i just opened up the place at 4am) of a day labor site, i got a special laugh out of this one. especially the “gotta speak java” part…

is so funny how blu blu isn’t about technology.

like me is not about technology. yet i am not blu blu.

and so rightly so.

but blu blu is so damn cool. and me, well, im just me. not damn. not cool. just me.

and this is blu blu.

and now, me voy a austin. with my newly christened “austin terrier” — “el bukzy”

y claro tambien con mi novia lina…and her cat frida…

but on other not so unrelated notes…

i think about many of the kids we “teach” and wonder how many will turn out to be some kind of a blu blu, if they’re lucky. and how many won’t. due to, of course, the system they were succumbed to for so many years.

tonight mayra is graduating from high school.

mayra was my student in fifth grade. a sign i’m getting somewhat old.

i hope mayra gets through the system and does good. does real good.

but i also hope that she ends up having a little bit of blu blu left in her after the process.

i guess that’s what make a good student. going through the system and doing real good, if you can, and then having some blu blu in you left after going through the process.

that’s not easy to do. and i guess, that’s the point.

a while back i created a simple website with my friend peter about the writer jean sulivan. i happened to look back on it the other day and found this piece i wrote in what seems too long ago. yet so appropriate for this moment.

abrupt ends and brief spaces

if sulivan would have been american, i presume he’d be a southerner. a bluesman, of sorts.

he visited america once, i think. but like his trip to india, however, it seemed to have had an abrupt end. it seemed also to have only been for a brief space of time. i may be wrong.

abrupt ends and brief spaces. like his words and sentences. like the life lived.i don’t know sulivan’s words well. i won’t ever presume to. but i know his words hurt and i know his words heal.

as i left the parking lot of work today, i lit a cigarrette and i listened to townes van zandt. the song reminded me of the same kind of abrupt ends and brief spaces sulivan wrote of so well.

We all got holes to fill
Them holes are all that’s real
Some fall on you like a storm
Sometimes you dig your own

But choice is yours to make
And time is yours to take
Some dive into the sea
Some toil upon the stone

To live is to fly
both low and high,

So shake the dust off of your wings
And the sleep out of your eyes
So shake the dust off of your wings
And the tears out of your eyes

and now as i leave houston i thought again of this song from the rear view mirror album. unlike 2005 this time’s for good and despite my love of houston it doesn’t feel too bad at all. not sure what i’ll find in austin if anything. not sure im looking for much these days anyway. just some good spaces to try to sit and breathe somewhat mindfully.

It’s goodbye to all my friends
It’s time to leave again
Here’s to all the poetry
And the pickin’ down the line

I’ll miss the system here
The bottom’s low and the trebble’s clear
But it don’t pay to think too much
On things you leave behind

Well, I may be gone, awe, I won’t be long
I’ll be bringing back the melody
And the rhythm that I find

We all got holes to fill
And them holes are all that’s real
Some fall on you like a storm
Sometimes you dig your own

The choice is yours to make
Time is yours to take
Some dive into the sea
Some toil upon the stone

Well, to live’s to fly awe low and high
So shake the dust off of your wings
And the sleep out of your eye
Awe, shake the dust off of your wings
And the tears out of your eye

it’s been a long time since i’ve picked up a copy of the sun. i didn’t renew the subscription a while back. not sure why. as i packed for my new life in austin, i perused some of my old copies. the first one now almost a decade old.

today, i stumbled upon the website, read a few pieces and then finished with safransky’s notebook. two quotes stood out.

“there is a crack in everything. that’s how the light gets in.” -leonard cohen

appropriate. as i ponder if it’s not such a bad time to ask, “where is god?’ in my life these days. or perhaps, “who is god?” in my life these days.

days that have too quickly turned to weeks and too quickly turned to months and too quickly turned to years and now too quickly turned to decades. but definitely beautiful decades.

i’m aware of the cracks but “where is the light?” in my life these days.

and then this one by sy safransky himself…

“the universe will let me know when i’ve worn out my welcome. until then, why don’t i make myself at home.”

how do i begin, after three decades, to make myself at home. to slow down. to let go. to stop trying to save the world and start saving my own soul. by the simple act of slowing down…but to do it slowly. how not to push, exert, demand, but just let go and make myself at home.

i see the cracks and they’re plenty. i just want to start slowing down enough to start seeing a bit of light. a bit of god. not a lot. just a bit. a bit would be plenty.

i love this app.

although i need to say, i’m not a big fan of twitter for some reason.

it’s probably not so much twitter itself, per se, but it’s users. it’s like marx and marxists. or christ and christians. twitter and twitterians.

regardless, there’s something simply special about this little app that speaks to the spirit of our time. it reminded me of the following talk on ted. more socio-cultural and spiritual than techie.