21 May, 2019
To another’s sight
And the moon tells a lover’s story
My borrowed face
And my third-hand grace
Only reflect your glory
You’re still out of reach
Form a dream to rise to
The hours spent on this communication portal is both taxing of ones mental strength and physical stamina after boiling under the Honduran sun that is a few miles closer than what we are accustomed too in North Carolina… in that same breath it is not my intentions to be comprehended nor mutter around in a mundane form of communication, but to hone my literary skills… something I normally do not have time to do in my “normal life”.
This format allows me, the artist to conspire, conflict or be conjoined in the literary imaginations of the beholder. I find great solace in various genere of artistic expressions be it auditory, visual or literary. It is up to us the audience to soak in the performance, which is my hope to inspire, motivate or even confuse, but in the end I hope to teach the very essence of God is all of creation… we too, like Paul need the scales to be removed from our eyes to see the truth.
The teams reported adventures can become mundane and boring because our itinerary is typically limited to one project in one community during our 2 weeks while visiting here… so to only report our travel, our work progress and the dietary menu is… well mundane at best. In the early days, B-Rad and I were partners in crime and together we would these blogs, but he has chosen to step back and allow me to take the helm of the disaster piece… alas, the days gone past are just that, my rhetoric for the evening is complete… here is the news.
Today, began as any other, the birds of a different feather chirped, quacking with a primal scream to which it basically woke some of us from our slumber… the weak returned to their beds while others (me) marveled at the beauty of the landscape in the morning mist. As the sun arose, it brought forth the beauty of new day full of unknown adventures in the mountains. Our goal was to complete the concrete reinforcement beams along the top of the walls of the new structure in order that the roof framing can start tomorrow if Maynor has the metallic structural pieces ordered… and can be delivered to the job site in a timely fashion. Pastor Rey, Mater, B-Rad, Houdini and Marco assisted Juan Jose in forming the top of the building in preparation for an elusive Mook lift scheduled for later in the morning. Dimebag, Lama, Easy and Joselyn sorted out the dresses and shorts that were make by the women at Wilkesboro UMC. Huge shout out to them for their continued support in our endeavors!
The time came to sift and lift, turn before it burns and play everyone’s favorite pastime… who wants to get into the Mosh Pit of Mook? With DOOM blaring across the valley, we filled the wide gap with an extra chunky load… stabbing viciously with our steally knifes, pounding it repeatedly until a smooth creamy liquid rose to the top as a sign that we had done our job properly.
After lunch the team continued to play in the Mooking grounds, but to a different tune… not sonically, but a mixture of Mook… one more the consistency of a high liquid content… like the pulp at the bottom of a glass of orange juice. It will flow between the tight cracks as Juan Jose gave us a breif lesson in slinging… Honduran style. The 2:30 Cafe wagon was right on time… those mandatory union coffee breaks are such a buzz kill and disruption to the works progress… not for me to judge, it’s just not my cup of joe.
By 4:30 all of the Mook had been used up, the sun was beginning it’s journey to the other side, we packed up our weapons of mass construction to traverse down the mountain once again to the humble abode we call home for a few weeks every year. Lupie and Suyappa greeted us with pork chops, veggies and all of the trimmings to fill our tired empty little bellies. We assembled about 100 bags of rice and beans to be distributed in the community tomorrow .
While reflecting on the days adventures on the front porch and taking notice to the moon which was in its last phase of its cycle, I was drawn into Mr. Pearts lyrical drama on the same event, with the his lyrics in mind and a portion pasted to the beginning of this entry… my meditation was complete before I put fingers to the ipad. Buenos Noches form the Communication Portal from the of milk and honeydew controlled by the Overlords of the Federation. Until next time, Adious!
Marco Francisco Valle Valle