3 - the Plan

The Universe seems ludicrous, as do people’s efforts to console me.

People I know here, both Nicaraguan and the missionaries from the US, seem, in general (and I hate to generalize), much more convinced than most people I know back home that God has it all figured out for us.

If this accident is part of God’s Plan, I’m sure I don’t understand how the plan works, or why God picked me to play this part in it.


image by CHUCK, a friend and artist in Managua

2 - the plastic bag

I sat on the top bunk of the cell and looked out the window into the sunshine and trees. A plastic bag danced past, pushed along by the wind, until it crashed into the concrete fence.

Yes, of course I thought of the scene in the movie ‘American Beauty’
when the teenage kid shows his favorite piece of video,
and it’s a plastic bag being blown around in the wind,
and we all thought it was so profound,
and then the film won lots of awards,
and the plastic bag became a visual cliche.




But I must tell you, in this moment of sitting in jail,
not having eaten,
changed clothes,
washed,
been able to see (glasses smashed),
eaten more than a piece of bread, in several days,

AND having had the deaths of two young women rip through everything that ever made sense in my life,
this particular plastic bag was pretty fucking profound.

Day 1

I am painfully aware that these musings will look trite and banal next to premeditated contemporary art or carefully crafted poetry, but as they are pressing down on my soul, here they are.

How much does it matter that
you try to
be a good person,
follow the rules,
act responsibly,

that you live in peace with those around you?