3SmartGirlz, LLC

Not so sure

Walking the beach, Grand Isle, LA

3 Smart Girlz is deeply committed to participating in Gulf Coast recovery efforts, and we are incredibly grateful for our partners in our new Chaplains Love the Gulf project. We recently coordinated a trip in so that the people and environmental region of the Gulf receive the benefit of compassionate presence of a contingent of chaplaincy students. This is the first of posts on the trip to Grand Isle, LA.

The open space of not knowing is one of the three tenets of the Zen Peacemakers lineage. Those who seek to practice this tenet are encouraged to enter into situations, even very difficult and especially familiar ones, with an openness to what arises. We’re asked to let go of fixed ideas and preconceptions in order to pave the way to see things as they are instead of how we think they are; how we wish for them to be.

Much like the distinction between being silent and being mute, there is a difference between not knowing and not caring. Not knowing in this context demands deep involvement. It means holding out for all the limitless possibilities while not clinging to a particular outcome. We are asked to engage wholly with what is right in front of us; just as it’s presented, whether we prefer it or not. Time and time again we make the choice to look with our own eyes and feel with our hearts, letting the judgments, the evaluations, the ideas, the dreams and the dramas take a back seat to being with each unfolding moment.

A number of us, largely Buddhist chaplaincy students, went to the Gulf coast this past week. We chose Grand Isle, LA as our destination because this little island with only fifteen hundred full time residents has been hard hit by the oil spill. We know that people and animals are struggling there, so we go. We go not knowing for certain that that is enough; if our presence is useful or desired. We go without deliverables or action items. We simply go and set a place at the table with an open invitation.

Not knowing doesn’t allow for the certainty of having helped. We give all that up in favor of being willing to give what is asked for in the moment, whether it is appreciation for perfectly made grits or for working twelve hour shifts, seven days a week to clean oil from boom and sand. We give up the certainty of helping in order to celebrate the opening of shrimping season or the first day that a raft has been sold all summer.

The result of over two million gallons of oil into the Gulf is far from clear and in many ways, this disaster is just beginning. For others, the threat is looming around an ill defined corner. This is a story without a predictable outcome. A story that asks us to go toward it willingly in spite of no assurances; to stand with the inhabitants of the Gulf coast when the reports are missing from the headlines and when we’d like to move on to the next thing.

We can’t sure of much here except that lives have been turned upside down all along the Gulf coast. They are struggling in ways that we’ll never know if we fail to return over and over again.

More love

3 Smart Girlz is deeply committed to participating in Gulf Coast recovery efforts, and we are incredibly grateful for our partners in our new Chaplains Love the Gulf project.  We are currently coordinating a trip in August so that the people and environmental region of the Gulf receive the benefit of compassionate presence of a contingent of chaplaincy students.  Penny took a scouting trip this month for 3SG to begin that work, and now we are even more enthusiastic about the potential for bearing witness and for truly benefiting all those affected.

This past weekend I set out for Grand Isle, LA to begin our project, to research some details and to see for myself how my beloved Gulf coast and the people of Louisiana are faring since oil has taken over their lives in this most despicable way.  Lives have been turned upside down, every which way and even those who are making good money like the three fellows I met from Texas who work twelve hours per day, in twenty minute intervals, in hazmat suits in the sweltering Louisiana sun to wash the oil off of boom, would much prefer to be at home with their families.

The fellow that I spoke to on Dauphin Island, AL, a supervisor for BP, said seeing the oil in the form of tar balls on that island is breaking his heart. He hoped it would move on somewhere else, pausing as he seemed to realize that if that were the case, someone else’s heart would be breaking, right along with his. Later that evening my waitress said that business was slower than usual and that there were no tourists at all on the island “since the oil”, but because there were so many workers there instead, she was still making fairly good money. When the workers leave, as she’s heard they soon will, it’s going to be different story entirely.

In Grand Isle, there are hundreds of people working to clean up this mess. And the National Guard. And humvees parked at brightly painted beach front houses. And backhoes and front end loaders just feet from the shoreline. Huge pieces of rough plywood, hand painted in tall black letters announce in no uncertain terms that the beach is closed. The local sheriff enforces this by parking himself next to the sign. To cross the plastic orange construction fencing is a felony. Electric blue kiddie pools filled with chemicals meant to decontaminate boots exposed to oil I’m told, sit unsecured in front of the same fence. Dark clouds of ’something’ float in the salt water and huge swaths of black stuff has seeped into the sand. All visible only from a distance or from the one pier open in the state park. Small bands of workers scoop up three shovel fulls of blackened sand into plastic bags and toss them aside to be picked up and stacked in the plastic bag mountains at the staging area where huge white tents shelter hundreds of folding metal chairs.

My innkeeper tells me that she hasn’t been to the beach “since the oil”. She can’t bear to look. She’s more worried about the dispersant that is being sprayed each night. She wants to live a long life. She has grandbabies. Doreen greeted me with a tired, wary smile in a marina motel laundry room. No, she didn’t have any rooms available at the moment, maybe later in the month. Business is okay since lodging is at a premium but other people are losing their jobs. The marina is silent. No boats coming in or going out except to handle boom. The port is closed. Tears fill her eyes when she says that she’s afraid of losing her job. “Thank you, baby” she says, as I hug her neck.

The man who is responsible for drilling the relief well, the one that will be used to plug the blown out well permanently, has a perfect record. He’s never missed a target, this mechanical engineer. He’s working with bore-hole uncertainty as he guides the drill. Bore-hole uncertainty means that one really doesn’t know for certain where the drill or the target is at any given time. Wherever one may think that the drill is, is a momentary knowing. It can be displaced by unmapped and unanticipated obstructions, at any second. Reading the signals right in front of one’s face, in real-time and being able to choose the most appropriate path in response to the conditions at hand, is what’s called for. If one goes into this effort thinking that one knows what all the variables are, sure of one’s self, one is very likely to fail to hit the target.

No one wants this. No one would have chosen to have crude oil wash up on the beaches or engulf sea turtles, pelicans, shrimp and people’s lives. But here we are with no clearly identified enemy or single cause for this catastrophe. Instead there is layer upon layer of complexity; interwoven need and desire. It’s impossible to sort out where one starts and another leaves off. What is blindingly apparent is that this is an opportunity to look deep into each other’s eyes and proclaim as loudly or as quietly as the situation calls for, that I will not give up. I will not leave you to fend for yourself. I will not turn away. I will look to see what is needed and I will give that very thing.

For those of us who love the Gulf, this is our chance to love it and all her near and far inhabitants, all the more.

3 Smart Girlz is coordinating the deployment of a group of students from Upaya’s chaplaincy program to Louisiana the week of August 19 – 26th. They will be with some of the people hardest hit by the Deepwater Horizon disaster, bearing witness, serving in compassionate ways and with their presence. If you would like to participate, please contact penny (at) 3smartgirlz.com. If you would like to make a contribution to help offset the expenses of this trip, we gratefully welcome your partnership! You may send a check to 3 Smart Girlz, LLC, 400 Capital Circle SE, Suite 18154, Tallahassee, Fl 32301 or use the Paypal button here. Partner contributions are used 100% directly on expenses incurred by the chaplains.

Love the Gulf

Many thanks to all who have sent encouragement and donations to help send chaplains to the Gulf to bear witness and offer hands on support in any way that we can. In particular, thanks to Maia Duerr at the Jizo Chronicles for writing about our plans. You can find Maia at the Jizo Chronicles where she brings us one step closer to those who are dedicated to the alleviation of suffering and to those who we serve. And thanks to Upaya Zen center for oh, so much. Read more about Upaya’s chaplaincy program here.

The first trip is now scheduled for July to Grand Isle, LA. A second trip is shaping up for August. As Alan Senauke said, “clearly, this is long-time work”. As this tragedy continues to unfold in the coming months and perhaps years, our intention is to become a steady and stable presence in one or more areas along the coastline.

There is so much that can and must be done, whether on site or from afar. Please. Reach down deep to find out what you can do for the multitudes of beings who are being struck by this disaster.

Love, love, love,

Penny