• The Trip to Taiwan: Cross-cultural Communication
• Red Lanterns: The Chinese New Year
• Ah-Ma: Portrait of a Taiwanese Grandmother
• Hero in My Life
• A Childhood Memory
• Women: Yesterday and Today
• African-American Women
• I'm
• Jasmin
• The First Sit-In
• True Colors
• The American President
• Children Love to Play: Photos by Myles Pinkney
• Color Blind
• Juliet Learns A Lesson
• Cuando vine a Oregon: When I first... „ My Friend
• Pink City of the Desert: A Photo Essay
• A Dance in the Rain

On Faith & Fear, Religion & Spirituality:

• Dear Hanna: Religion Is a Matter of Heart & Soul
• Myths and Monsters
• A Monster Lives on My Street
• Dancing Devils in the Desert: A Chilean Celebration
• Goddesses & Guardians of Mexico
• Islam & Media
• Four Ts
• Religious Freedom and Tolerance
• Sabbath
• Being Jewish
• Inside Krishna's Temple
• Parents & Teachers: Spirituality in Action
• Spirituality, Self-Realization and Satguru

Regular Departments:

• From the Editor
• Your Letters
• What's On Your Mind?
• Skipping Stones Stew
• BookShelf: Multicultural and Nature Books
• N.E.W.S. and Taking Action
• International Pen Pals Wanted
• Back Cover: Madres, Mujers y Virgenes de Mexico

Welcome to our first issue for the year 2000!

While visiting Germany one summer, I went to a public park in Hamburg. There I saw two robots intermingling with people -- young and old. Everyone was having a blast talking and playing with these almost human machines. Out of curiosity, I went and said "hello" to one of the robots to begin a conversation. In response it said, "Hello, are you a guru or something?" My accent and my bearded Indian face must have identified me as a guru! But really, who is a true guru?

During the month of November, I attended a spiritual gathering in California. For one week people from many walks of life came to a rural religious center in San Ramon to have her darshan and satsang, to receive her blessings. Ammachi might look like an ordinary person, but she is not. She is a guru, or spiritual teacher, to countless people, from various cultural and religious backgrounds all over the world. On page 35, Ammachi talks about true spiritual teachers.

Soon after returning from this high-energy visit to Ammachi, I had a conversation with a 'born-again' Christian on Thanksgiving morning. I told him about an interfaith community service that I had attended at a Christian church the night before. I told him how meaningful it felt to be a part of a large gathering of Christians (Catholics, Methodists, Presbyterians, Unitarians, Christian Scientists, Quakers, and others) along with followers of Judaism, Buddhism, Islam, Bahai' and Hindu faiths, as well as of Native American spirituality. He challenged not only my Hindu faith but also the interfaith movement! For him, Jesus was the only way to salvation.

I simply could not go along with his notion that the supreme, universal power had given a spiritual monopoly to just one prophet, one religion, one faith. In a world of thousands of languages, and hundreds of nations, universal truth would need to be revealed independently, through many messengers and prophets, saints and sages, in different languages, over the ages.

I have felt touched by divine love and compassion in many different places of worship. While it is natural for people to feel more comfortable in their own religion or faith, there is no reason why one could not experience spirituality in other traditions.

A path of compassion, patience, love, devotion, and understanding will surely bring us much closer to everlasting happiness in life. A guru, saint, pastor, rabbi, minister -- any self-realized soul whom we trust -- could help us grow spiritually. Let us find spiritual values to guide all our thoughts and actions -- personal, economic, or social.

While I don't worry about "salvation" or "liberation after death," I do worry about whether I am happy in life. I am beginning to understand that my happiness will depend on how compassionate I have been in my conduct towards others, how peaceful my thoughts have been, and how much devotion and faith I have in the universal power -- whatever we call that power. So I am concerned about doing my work well, and trying my best. But I am learning not to worry about whether I'll achieve my goals. I am learning to accept any outcomes. For I am just beginning to understand that I am just a tiny part of the world.

by Arun Toke, Editor

[To Skipping Stones Homepage]

Cuando Vine a Oregon por Primera Vez La primera vez que vine a Oregon, a la edad de 3 anos, no sabia hablar ingles, solo hablaba espanol. Mi tio Luis me enseno a preguntar Ącomo te llamas? a mis nuevos amigos, diciendo en ingles "What's your name?" Cada vez que hablaba con mi amguita yo le preguntaba "What's your name?" y ella siempre contestaba "Megan." Una y otra vez yo le preguntaba lo mismo, "What's your name?" y ella siempre contestaba, "Megan." Hasta que un dia vino a jugar conmigo y le pregunte otra vez, "What's your name?" ella me dijo "Megan" y se puso a llorar. Desde ese dia jugamos sin hablar. Ahora me doy cuenta de que ella ya estaba cansada de oir "What's your name?" y de contestar "Megan." Una tarde vino Megan a mi casa y le dijo a mi tio y a mi mama que en la manana se mudaria muy lejos de aqui y ya no la volveria a ver. Mi mama, mi papa, mi tio, mi hermano y yo nos acordamos mucho do ella, espero que ella tambien se acuerde de mi y quisiera que sepa que ahora se hablar mas ingles que cuando le preguntaba, "What's your name?' Me siento muy orgullosa de poder hablar espanol e ingles por que me puedo comunicar con mis amigos de Mexico y de otros paises que hablan espanol con la misma facilidad que con mis amigos de Estados Unidos que hablan ingles.

When I First Came to Oregon The first time I came to Oregon, I was three years old. I didn't know how to speak English -- only Spanish. My uncle, Luis, taught me how to ask friends' names by saying in English, "What's your name?" Each time I spoke to my new little friend, I asked her, "What's your name?" And she always answered, "Megan." Often I asked her the same question, and she always answered the same way, "Megan." One day when she came to play with me, I asked her once more, "What's your name?" She told me, "Megan," and started to cry. After that day, we played without speaking. Now I realize that she was tired of hearing me ask that question, "What's your name?" and of answering, "Megan!" One afternoon Megan came to my home and told my uncle and mother that the next morning, she would be going very far away and wouldn't return. My mother, father, uncle, brother and I remember her well, and I hope she remembers me, too. I'd like her to know that I can speak more English now than when I kept asking her, "What's your name?" I am very proud of being able to speak both Spanish and English, because I can communicate with my friends from Mexico and from other Spanish-speaking countries as easily as with my English-speaking friends from the United States.

by Christian Espinoza Alvarez, 5th grade, Mexican-American, Centenial Elem. School, Springfield, Oregon

[To Skipping Stones Homepage]

I have never given much thought to the color of my skin. It's just there, like a picture you see but never think about. In my school, in the city of Chicago, there are many different people from many diverse races. You see the differences, but don't really think about them, because although you may have a different skin color, you still dress alike and, for the most part, act alike. But...there are some exceptions.

Once in awhile, someone comes along with not only a different skin color, but a different personality. That was the case with Katherine Elizabeth.

Personally, I think her name was all wrong. You see, Katherine Elizabeth was black, and I have never heard of a black girl named Katherine Elizabeth. Maybe if she had shortened it to Kathy or Liz, she would have been okay, but she insisted that people call her Katherine Elizabeth.

That wasn't even the beginning of it. Katherine Elizabeth was smart -- very smart. She always made straight A's. Teachers were delighted with her. The kids weren't. In our school, it wasn't cool for a black student to be so smart. I don't know why; maybe we thought that if we were down, everybody should be down. It seems dumb now, but it was the rule everybody followed. When the teacher asked a question, I slumped down in my seat and wrote notes to my friends, while Katherine Elizabeth waved her hand in the air -- for every question. I think it was jealousy that got everyone started on Katherine Elizabeth.

We began by talking about her behind her back. Kids called her "oreo" and accused her of "acting white" -- and that was on their nicer days. Pretty soon, it was so bad that Katherine Elizabeth couldn't even go to the bathroom for fear that someone would beat her up. All because she was smart and not the "right" color.

I wish I could say that I stood up for Katherine Elizabeth and tried to befriend her, but I can't. After awhile, she left our school to go to a private school; at least, that's what I heard. But that's not the end of the story. That girl we teased and bullied grew up to be Katherine Elizabeth Dunway, the first African-American president of the United States. All because she had the strength and courage to be herself amongst the horrible stereotype that says if you're black, it's not cool to be smart. Right now, I am sitting in my room, watching her recite the Oath of Office. All I can think of right now is,

"You go, Katherine Elizabeth."

by Angela Michelle Banks, 13, African-American, Cincinnati, Ohio. Angela writes, "I was inspired to write this story when I saw how bad some people treat others who are 'different' from them. I also see that a lot of people are afraid of being themselves or reaching their full potential beacuse they don't want to be teased or made fun of. I wanted to celebrate someone who was brave enough to go against the crowd, who could stand up and be proud of herself and her culture. I hope that people will be able to have pride in their diversity and uniqueness."