Relaja la Raja -- Puerto Escondido, Mexico

I'm starting this post from Cafe Amoki. Soft music plays in the background, roosters crow and blackbirds screech. It's before ten, so the day is still fairly cool and a soft breeze blows through the palms.

Paradise. So much paradise happening right here. Even with roosters. 

Seven guests/volunteers from The Sanctuary are gathered around two of Amoki's plastic tables.

I'm being tremendously antisocial. Writing my blog and occasionally chiming in with a, "wait, you're leaving today? nooooo...."

The main reason I came to The Sanctuary was because I wanted to create a community. But everyone I connect with seems to take off immediately. I'm not used to being on this side of the relationship -- the one who stays. I don't think I like being the one who stays. 

I might have been the saddest lady in the world when Minerva left me.

Thanks for sharing Christmas morning rainbows.

I'm repacking Ellie and leaving the Sanctuary tomorrow. I was scheduled to stay and volunteer until May 15th, but the rigid structure of the facility doesn't quite jive with my hairy hippie self. I'm someone who needs more room in her life. I need to feel free to enter the kitchen whenever I'm hungry and I'm put off by the idea that my hunger is the result of some emotional problem.

umm... have you BEEN to my yoga classes? Girl needs calories. Girl cannot survive on spinach smoothies alone. 

I don't function well with a curfew and I don't want to feel pressured into participating in The Sanctuary's healing activities. Because many of the healing activities are simply not healing for me. Which is okay. We all heal differently because we've all had different experiences, developed different coping mechanisms and were born with very different bodies. I think that people who believe that they possess the perfect panacea for the world are full of ego and bologna.

Unless they're vegan. Then they're full of ego and tofu.

The Sanctuary is a place for sick people to come get better (although I'm not sure anyone here is actually qualified to treat sick people...).

I'm not a sick person. Sure, I struggle with psoriasis and joint pain here and there, but I know how to keep it under control. Sure, I struggle with feeling overwhelmed and  anxious from time to time, but who doesn't? So although I do understand that many of the rules are put into place for a reason and with healing intentions, they are not having the desired effect on me. They make me feel belittled, out of control and like I'm not allowed to know and act on what's best for me.

Example.

I'm someone who functions best late at night and super early in the morning. Much of my work is done online. The internet here is shut off at 10:30 pm and doesn't come back on again until 6:30 am. For some, this might prove helpful and healing, but for me, it just rankles my nerves.

I'm not permitted to operate in the way that's best for me. And it's not even taken into consideration -- no compromise. 

I need to be in a place where there is space for compromise. So perhaps making a rule about lights off in the dorms, but internet available in the main room. But here? 

No compromise. No space. The rules are the rules are the rules. 

This is where the modem is kept. A timer is plugged into the cord and shuts off the power at 10:30. One of the other volunteers had to plan for a morning meditation class, so she unplugged the timer. This is The Sanctuary's solution. To put tape on the cupboard to keep us from opening it. There was no discussion -- just tape. This is when I felt so belittled that I no longer cared at all about my commitment to volunteer at this facility for five months. Screw that. Chafa. Muy, muy chafa. 

Which is kind of just filling me with resentment. I would understand if the place just didn't have internet -- I would go off and find an internet cafe and realize that the whole world isn't plugged in. Like Albania. But internet IS available here and the only reason we can't access it is because they don't believe it's good for us. 

Ach. Dislike. SO much disliking. 

The Sanctuary's rules are posted on the website, but the website is massive and fairly inaccessible. Whenever I tried to sift through all the little blog posts, my brain was so occupied not exploding that I didn't really focus on the bits of vital information.

Such as not being allowed in the kitchen after 8:00 pm. Such as the small portion sizes.

At The Sanctuary, we probably consume about 1200 calories a day -- if we're lucky. In order to get enough nutrition, we have to harass the tamale lady or purchase tlayudas at Amoki.

I work four hours a day, six days a week. I should be able to have my room and board covered. I should not have to leave the house and use my own money to buy extra food.

Nor should anyone else.

But even if you're aware of rules, you never know exactly how you're going to fit into a facility with such structure until you live by the facility's rules... and it didn't take me long to realize that the Sanctuary's rules are some I can't live by. Well... I could, but I'm not in the mood to try. I don't see the purpose in tolerating things I know aren't good for me at this point of my life.

I had a perfectly gorgeous life back in GJ (and I was in the process of developing a perfectly gorgeous life in Europe). A splendid place to live, dinner parties, an acro yoga community... if I'm leaving that gorgeous life, I want to be leaving it for something that is also a) spectacular or b) something that will help me learn and grow in a gentle way. I'm so done with violent learning curves. 

Maybe a program like this would be beneficial during a stage of life wherein I'm moving more slowly, meditatively, contemplatively... but now...

Girl's got passion. Girl wants to move. Girl wants to leave space for spontaneity.

And sometimes girl just wants to work on her blog at midnight and eat a fucking piece of cheese.

Nope. This isn't the place for me. And I'm not doing a good job making it the kind of place Pete wants it to be. It would be better for everyone if I packed up Ellie and moseyed on out. 

And although I do take responsibility for not sifting through the miasmic website more thoroughly, I don't take responsibility for the toxicity that permeates the grounds. Pete understands that a hearty percentage of his guests are unsatisfied with their experience at The Sanctuary, so he demands payment upfront. And if you leave early, your refund is a mere 30%.

I met several girls who were remarkably miserable at the Sanctuary, but couldn't leave because they knew they wouldn't be reimbursed and didn't have the funds to cover another place to stay.

My dorm was a roomful of women who were counting down the days until they could pack their bags and leave the Sanctuary in the dust.

And this is supposed to be a place of healing? 

To me, this seems like a place where volunteers are milked dry of energy, money and patience in the name of "healing".

Example.

Your first and final day at The Sanctuary are counted as "days off". I'm only permitted one day off a week. I took a sixteen hour bus ride from Puebla to Puerto Escondido, arrived after noon and was told that that afternoon was counted as my day off. Even though I was absolutely knackered and unable to do much of anything but nap for the remainder of the day.

What? 

And when they tell the organizers that their program is actually making them ill, the grand rebuttal is that the volunteers aren't being open enough. Or that their ego is getting in the way.

Or maybe... maybe your program has a few flaws that you might like to hammer out. 

So I'm moving into Casa Kei on Monday. I've experienced a few unpleasant volunteer situations in Europe, so my promise to myself on this trip was that I ever found myself in a situation which I didn't feel comfortable relating on my blog, it would be a sign to move on.

Girl's moving on.

I'll volunteer with Pepe, cleaning up around his hostel, greeting his guests and offering the occasional thai massage. I'll meet with some of the other volunteers for coffee at Amoki every now and again. I'll keep the acro jams up at the beach and I'll teach evening classes at a hostel down the road. I might bring yoga to a community library and teach to acro to kids every Saturday.

Which (because I can't speak Spanish) I will call, "superhero yoga".

Because when I tell kids to open up their arms and fly, I say, "Superman! BE SUPERMAN!"

Ach. Spanish. Needs to happen. 

Pepe has been helping with Spanish.

This was my lesson from yesterday:

Pues = so
Chafa = lame
Cruda = hungover (too many mojitos... crudas are definitely muy chafa)

Three very important verbs:

Ser = the permanent form of "be"

yo soy
tu eres
el/ella es
nosotros somos
ustedes son
ellos/ellas son

Yo soy Aimee. Yo soy una mujer. Yo soy enamorada con el queso.

Estar = impermanent form of "be"

yo estoy
tu estas
el/ella esta
nosotros estamos
ustedes están
ellos/ellas están

Yo estoy en Mexico. Yo estoy feliz. Yo estoy... umm... yo estoy... yo estoy...

I have SO much to learn. 

Hacer = to make/do

yo hago
to haces
el/ella hace
nosotros hacemos
ustedes hacen
ellos/ellas hacen

Hay = there is/there are

Hay muchos gallos en La Punta. MUCHOS GALLOS. Hacen un chingo de ruido.

(There are many roosters in La Punta. MANY ROOSTERS. They make a shitload of noise)

And special words for acro yoga (so I don't have to tell kids to be superman...):

Feet = pies
Hands = manos
Head = cabeza
Legs = piernas
Chest = pecho
Arms = brazos

Lift = levanta
Lower = baja
Open = abre
Close = cierra
Relax = relaja

Pepe is full of sayings. I love Pepe's sayings. After he taught me "relaja" (relax), he shared yet another saying from this part of Mexico.

Relaja la raja.

This is what you say to someone who's stressing out. Someone who's losing their bananas all over the place.

It literally translates into "relax the butt crack."

"Relaja la raja..."

Maybe that's what I don't like about this place. I feel like I can't relaja my raja. Even a little bit. Maybe that's why enemas are encouraged in this joint. To aid in relaxation of raja. 

Pepe took me for a swim in the ocean the other day. For those of you who know me (or have been reading my blog), you know that swimming is, ahem, not my forte. I climb rocks. I eat cheese. I do badass yoga arm balances.

I do not swim.

I do not sink, but I neither do I swim.

I especially do not swim in oceans.

But Pepe loves the ocean almost as much as he loves his hostel treehouse with an ocean view, so he wanted to introduce me to the waves.

And because a) I would very much like to be acquainted with the waves and b) I love experiencing the loves of other people, I went swimming with Pepe.

And I had a bit of a panic attack.

Pepe did his best to calm me down, but the current had swept me out much further than I'd thought. One moment my feet were on the sand and the next, solid footing was ages away. AGES.

And girl lost her bananas. And her breath. And control of her body.

Pepe waved down some surfers and asked if we could rest on their board.

I struggled to find my breath. Even though I knew I was safe with the board, I couldn't stop hyperventilating.

What's happening to me? Why... can't I... control this? 

Fear flooded my body and I coughed and sputtered saltwater.

I did not relaja my raja.

A lifeguard ended up taking me to shore on his board. Where I sat on the beach with Pepe and did my best to stop shaking.

This is a fear I want to explore... but gently. So gently. Slowly. Softly. I need to be able to let go and not fight the current. I need to learn to flow with the rhythm of the ocean. And I won't be able to hear the rhythm of the ocean if the irregular pounding of my frightened heart drowns out the sound. 

Girl might be wading for a while... while she learns to relaja her raja.