elderberry patch: A Pilgrimage for Desconocido/a's and the Named.

At Pima Friends Meeting, last 1st Day, meeting-for-worship began as it often does, with a long period of silence. Then someone, an elderly man who looked in decent shape for his age, as many elderly Quaker men tend to, stood and spoke. He said three quotes came to him, but in the days following, I could only remember two. They brought tears to my eyes.

Bible, Matthew 25:40:

And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

From "The Walrus" by John Lennon and Paul McCartney:

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.

Crosses representing those who have been found dead in the desert prior to fiscal year 2012-2013

I wish I could have photographed the entire scene, crosses from the past enclosed in a circle of stones, with the new crosses for this past fiscal year laying outside the stones. There were people of several races, from several countries, standing all around, almost crowded, to fit everyone into the circle encompassing them. I wish I could have included the White Dove of the Desert church behind us, beautiful against the backdrop of Sonoran mountains, visible from miles away. I wish I could have somehow captured in this picture how I felt, standing there after walking for 8 miles in direct sunlight, nauseated; red-skinned, not from burns but from the heat my body was trying to rid itself of; blurry vision and light-headed; thighs burning in an odd way I had never felt with heat, head beginning to throb; feeling I might pass out at any moment but telling those around me I was "fine," wishing it could be over so I could go someplace cool, and yet wanting to experience every moment at the same time. I knew in a way I had never known before, that my 5 hours was nothing in comparison to the days in the desert most of the people that these crosses represented, had suffered. Some of them were shot, but many of them had died of exposure. I cried, quietly. I noticed many of the other walkers also cried. They were overheated and tired too.

This second picture was taken the day after the walk. I went back, because I had not gotten to see much of this historical Spanish mission church.

The reason was, right after the post-walk service had ended, Joel's girlfriend had taken us back to St. Johns Church where our walk had begun, in his big, wonderfully air-conditioned, white Humane Borders extendicab pick-up. I had been glad for that, as you will see.

After the walk, I squeezed into the back seat of the truck next to a nun named Judy, and on the other side of her was another friend of Joel's. Since Judy was Catholic, I told her about the Rosary I was carrying for my friend, Robin. I told her that I had felt moved by several places, but had not really felt compelled to leave the Rosary in any particular place. At that point she offered to take it to her mission in Douglas, or maybe even to Nogales, to give it to someone who would cherish it. I showed it to her then. She remarked how beautiful it was, and ran her fingers along the red beads, inspecting it with care. I told her about Amy, the person who had made it for me. Then a specific person came to her who might like to have it. It was a man who was widowed from an American citizen. In his arrest and deportation fiasco, all of his papers had been taken and then lost by our judicial and penal systems. The mission was attempting to help him obtain them or have new copies sent; and meanwhile he had no place to go, was suffering from grief, and was parted from his step-family which he had grown very close to. He, like thousands of others, was waiting, waiting, in Nogales. Judy asked me what I should tell him about Robin, so I told about her job, her volunteer work, her concern for immigrants, and about how we had been roommates at a Quaker boarding school our sophomore year in high school.

That afternoon, I drove back to the hotel, still feeling very light-headed. When I showered, I found that the skin on my inner thighs had mottled to my knees. This lasted several hours after the shower. I felt chilled at times even though the room was warm, and my skin remained red, but was not sensitive to touch like a sunburn would be. The nausea intensified, and my head began to throb uncontrollably. I looked up heat exposure on the internet, and wondered if I should go to the ER, but I concluded that since I had removed myself from the heat, and since I was well-hydrated, that there was little more to do than to cool down and rest. My oldest son, Lee, had come with me from Phoenix. He had stayed in the hotel, partly because he had not walked 8 miles in a long time; but mainly because he is an atheist, and he had felt he would be uncomfortable at a deeply religious service. At that point I was glad he had stayed behind so that he would not be suffering like I was. Lee is a computer programmer and a project leader at his company, so always has a lot of work he can do even on his days off. He had been happy to stay in the cool hotel for a few hours while I had been gone. I was glad he was there when I was feeling so poorly. He went for a walk and bought me some ibuprofen, and gave me the rest of his gatorade. I was surprised to find that the gatorade tasted good, and helped as much as the ibuprofen; and that I was sick of water. After laying in bed in misery for several hours, holding my head between both hands, I finally fell asleep.

I had wanted to go to the Dia de Los Muertos, (Day of the Dead, or All Souls Day) celebrations in downtown Tucson that evening. Part of my misery was in knowing that I was missing the "fun" part of being in town that weekend. But I felt a deep sense of gladness for doing what I had come to do. When I woke up around 3 a.m., my headache was nearly gone. A slight throb behind my left eye, and changes in my focus came and went mildly over the next few days, but eventually subsided. I fell back to sleep around 5, but woke up in time to go to Pima Friends Meeting that morning.

Lee and I had time to have breakfast at the hotel before Friends meeting-for-worship. In fact, we were so early, that I drove him back down to see the San Xavier church, and tried to follow the path we had walked, but already, I had forgotten which way parts of that went. This was when I took the above picture. I wanted to see the inside however, and we did not have enough time before meeting. Lee agreed that it would be nice to come back after meeting, and see it again before heading back to Phoenix.

So much was said during meeting, that spoke to why I was there. A hummingbird visited the flowers outside of the window during the silence, and I remembered Rick, who has been renting me a room back in Columbus, telling me a story about a hummingbird visiting him after someone had died, and again, I cried. A professor spoke about the loss of a teacher who had become a colleague; and a mother spoke about the struggle with her daughter's path in the healthcare system.

I am supposed to go back and stay in their guest house this week. I had the blessing of meeting the clerk of the meeting afterwards. We have been corresponding. She told me about the wonderful library they had. I am looking forward to having quiet time there.

After meeting, Lee had a hankering for Starbucks, and we were close to the University of Arizona campus. So while I took a picture of Pima Friends Meetinghouse, he looked up Starbucks on his phone.

He sipped on his iced green tea, and I sipped on my mocha frappuccino, as we drove back down to San Xavier. The church was having services all day, so we could not go into to see the wall frescoes. The museum was open though. They were selling candles to be lit. I asked what the different ones meant, and I bought one for "Intentions," for $3. I lit it, and said a Hail Mary again for Robin. I asked that the border wall be torn down, and that all people be seen as people; as human beings.

The circle of stones in front of the church was bare on this day, and would be for another year. There were dog foot print impressions dried into the concrete sidewalk. This is the first time in 49 years that I have participated in an event on Native American grounds. During the event, a dog wandered into the circle full of crosses representing people who were found dead in past years. It was shooed back out. Friendly dogs run loose on this reservation. There were many caged and loose dogs that barked at us during the walk. Most of them were pit bulls, rottweilers or Australian cattle dogs, or resembled one of those breeds.

We left this place for Phoenix. We drove up Route 10, which was where Rafael Cornelio Alvarado was found, with a gunshot wound to his head, by a construction crew. I carried his cross, and another, desconocido/a (gender unknown). We passed cotton fields that looked ready for harvest. Lee and I talked about relationships, and about atheism and Christianity. He questioned whether this Spanish Catholic mission had done the Native Americans good or harm throughout history. He called the stories in their museum, "propaganda." We debated whether the mission continued to do the Native Americans good or harm.

The past few days, I have been trying to form what to write in my post about this walk. Back in Phoenix, my second son, Tim, grilled me about my belief in God, and I finally asked him to stop. In this conversation, we have come to some agreement that compassion and humanitarian missions have no religious boundaries, but are important to all of us. I believe that San Xavier mission is doing good, currently, for the Native Americans, and is a place where we can all lay to rest the people who have suffered. I hope to come back here.

Another big part of this trip that I have been thinking about, was the beginning. Robin, Joel and Larry invited me to take part in these events. I questioned whether I should. I had just resigned from my nursing job. I was looking at travel nursing, and was at a crossroads, wondering what the past 16 years of being a nurse meant to me, and wondering what direction I should go next. Altruism, social justice, and service have taken on new meanings to me, as I increasingly care for drug addicts and listen to strong opinions from people who have little connection or understanding about human beings their opinions affect. People are losing their lives. I had gone in some desperation from life events to my friend, Anna, for a Zero Balancing treatment. She had talked to me during the treatment, and it was she who suggested a clearness committee. I am here. I am seeking, watching, listening, to the people who have immersed themselves in this "cause."

It is the greatest cause in our country of my lifetime, because it involves a subclass of human beings who are invisible to most of the people in my country, except for their negative attributes. It is here, now.