sense of liberation from an illusory difference

On my return from Latin America (via Ontario) to Vancouver, I found myself in the streets once again running into friends unexpectedly. Perhaps it was that, and the international couchsurfing that I've been doing that sponsored my latest epiphany. Like the Buddhas disciple, reformed, who upon presentation to the community as a reformed man was derided and shunned. (He was the murderer and maker of finger necklaces) it may take time before others realize anything has changed. Like Scrooge, (a name synonymous with miserliness) at the window shouting down on everyone the joy he felt. Are sympathies may not be appreciated. Peoples opinions arent quick to change. And in fact we might never influence the attitudes of their courts. The results of Scrooges window benedictions, might have been a "Fuck you Scrooge, you bastard!" middle finger raised high. I dont feel any sadness, that some locals arent happy, interested, amused, satisfied or pleased at my west coast return. Just a little amusement with this realization. Here is the quote from Thomas Merton, one of my favorite dead monks, that pretty much says it all... In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness. . . . This sense of liberation from an illusory difference was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud. . . . I have the immense joy of being a member of a race in which God became incarnate. . . . There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun. Thomas Merton

Playa del Carmen or Hell on Earth

Playa del Carmen or (Hell on earth)

I recently landed on planet Playa Del Carmen, Wow! what changes have taken place in the 12 years since I was here last...
I have been protected on this trip and within my bubble.
In so many ways, this is the opposite to a small, colonial indigenous, Guatemalan village, this is like hell on earth- or Shinjuku, or Kao Sahn Road, or Las Vegas.
All the glitter and emptiness of a western consumerist megalopolis.
I am a bit embarrassed, or ashamed, of the place.
Kind of like stumbling into a brothel; embarrassed with realizing why everyone is there, and not wanting to take part in it.
Especially after the wonder of living in close community in Colosio, during a land rush (and there arent too many of those around) where folks would rather the cheerful "pay me tomorrow" if you didnt have the change for your avocados, papayas and bananas. Than let you go away empty handed...
We all lived in small huts, everyone was excited for the future.

Now its an endless mall, advertising all the things you dont need and cant have.
I forget that there are enclaves like this, Acapulco, Mazatlan, "...insert tourism blighted city here"...
Who would choose to go to them, with nothing cultural or sustainable about them...?

Playa del Carmen could be called a success story, with the fastest growing city in North America and lowest unemployment. But what a vacuum of spiritual emptiness, so immediately evident after the sincerity of highland Chiapas and Guatemala. I must have had 5 church groups on my street...
Maybe I am only whining since I didnt stay all those years ago, and wandered on, away from the smell of money...

L

Pop corn cough...

A most unusual day...

Well after only a few hours sleep on a itchy, sandy, bed (it was a cheap hostel in the very colonial part of Santiago) we traversed the dark morning streets to the police station. I could hardly believe the conversation we had with the chief the night before.
The armour wearing, European descendent cop, told us without an argument, that he would assign 2 young cops to climb the volcano with us.
The cop-shop was on the main square and they had a cell full, of pot heads, awaiting their bribes I suppose.
Naturally I had some reservations about traveling with police. The Dutch mountain climber I was going with insisted. He read the consulate reports, and after all the bad reports of hikers on those volcanoes, (I admit I had heard a few myself) we thought it prudent to ask.

The police were there in the morning awaiting us, drove us in the comfy truck to the base on the far side, drove as far up the volcano as they could actually.

Good exercise, great views, no trouble. My legs were shaking on the way down. We peaked about 3500 meters, I dont know what "lake level" is at...
The only thing that I would have liked differently is having to listen to the constant, scatter-chatter of police radio squawk, got to be a bit much.
But... even cops get robbed up on those mountains.

While we climbed one of the nearby volcanoes was erupting in faraway popcorn coughs. We later saw the ash plume.

After our lovely hike up, descending the other side, riding the roof of a little logging truck, the police called in and had us picked up, with a ride back into town.

It will go down on the count of rides I have had in cop vehicles where I wasnt arrested, I think the tally is still far too unbalanced...

On my way to the boat launch, I bought a baby squirrel... yes, it was an impulse buy.
But the salesman really knew what he was doing.
Alas, the little bugger didnt last long, "Too cute for this world..." as some have said.

I always love the boat rides around the lake, but then when I got home (to the house sit) with our adventurous couch surfers http://WorldOnaBike.com , I chipped my tooth on some freaking rock left in the lentil soup!

Thats almost as bad as having the best sex in ones life, finishing with a champagne enema and then finding out it was "Babyduck"...

L

fashion victim...

Well I cant say that I have much of an excuse for not blogging so often.

I know of all the good reasons for writing. T'would be easy to blame Tribe.net in its many dysfunctions, but...

One thing that has been coming up again and again in my growth and reevaluation of things, is something so basic, so simple and perhaps so odd to me, is simply, clothes, my attachment to them and having to reassess my attitudes about them.

Here in Guatemala (although I was in Costa Rica, that is another story) clothes can be found in the market for sometimes 10 cents, I am not talking about handwoven colourful Guatemalan fabrics, but end of the road, North American capitalist systems cast away clothes.

Some American (and Canadian) church groups in their large-heartedness and large sizes, think to themselves, "Why wouldnt it be charitable to send these winter clothes and extra large shoes to the little brown tropical people in the south." "It would give me a chance to clear out my middle class North American closet".

So on it goes, in a grand container, perhaps from Vancouver's and Seattle's very ports.
What the generous and simple folks up north havent thought of, is the that those clothes will be sold to raise money for various endeavors, charitable or otherwise.
Clothing the country? Or undermining domestic economies...?

Where I come in is; visiting various local markets where the block loads of clothes are pushed out into large bargain booths, unsorted, piled and cheap.
Some for as little as 10 cents.
Great stuff, some designer and some new, some from consolidators, shoes too!
So much in sizes (and fashions)"the little folk" would never be able to wear.

Funny to see so many hobbit people wearing retro "Pioneer Gowns".

Ah' reevaluating...

When I was a boy, I dont feel like I was given many clothes. More that I had a favorite shirt, or only one pair of pants, and wore them until they ripped and fell off.

Certainly not many pairs of shoes.

This attitude extended into adulthood, with little extra cash for middle class prices (I had internalized my adolescent attitude of dislike of shopping, perhaps from fear of not looking like I knew what I was doing) and I hadnt discovered the joys of thrift stores. Although I would say, its not that joyful with shitty Value Village prices. At 10$ a shirt, I am still not going to buy many, but at 10 cents!?

So one can play "costumes" with many different outfits, and shopping (swimming and digging through great mounds of clothes) is half the fun.

Still this situation has left me a bit stunned, one can buy new clothes, cheaper than the cost of a washing service. It baffles me!

And the used shoe stores here are pretty amusing, all the extra large shoes come here to rest, or be bought by the odd foreigners. (I can be pretty odd).

And so I would wear clothes and shoes I never thought to wear before, try on the many guises and personalities of humanity- mix and match.
It is quite amazing to try on different shoes for different purposes, something I had never done before.

Slip into others clothes, try to walk a mile in their shoes.

Playing the fashion explorer... although it may sound like I have turned into a girly man, I am still seldom out of Basic functional clothes.
Also, tropical countries dont lend themselves to wearing a lot of clothes -less is more.

So now as a traveler, I need to learn how to get rid of things, since I can only carry so much.

L