Snapshot of a Day -- Puerto Escondido, Mexico

It's late.

It's 11:15 pm in Puerto Escondido.

I've been sweating all day.

And that hasn't changed.

I haven't experienced such incessant, intense heat since Sicily. And that was in September...

My eyes are bleary and my body sinks into the stiff mattress (helped along by my copious amount of sweat).

But the newness of my life won't let me sleep.

New food, new sleeping space, new climate, new companions. This is a larger adjustment than even I am used to making. And I make a lot of adjustments. Adjustments that are not small.

Each day starts off with meditation. The gong is struck three times to summon all of us from our slumber.

Some of us rise to the occasion. Others... well... visualize rising to the occasion. Or perhaps just gloat that they're going to be sleeping whilst you're going to be meditating. Or perhaps they're blissfully unaware and have become impervious to gongs.

I don't anticipate I'll ever become impervious to gongs. I also don't anticipate becoming impervious to all the goddamn roosters in this neck of the jungle. There's a particularly pathetic cock who lives right under my window (swear to god) that adores the sound of his own, scratchy, wobbling cock-a-doodle-doo at 4:30 in the morning. He sounds like half rooster, half donkey, half godzilla and half screaming rabbit.

I slept through the reverberating gong on my first day at The Sanctuary (I discovered that a sixteen hour bus ride the day before is the only thing that makes one impervious to gongs), but I did manage to stumble downstairs for the morning meditation the second day. A candle was lit in the center of the living room and Pete and the other volunteers gathered around, supported by cushions and blankets and blocks.

Then dried cow dung is lit on fire and the Agnihotra mantra fire ceremony commences. I don't know enough about the ceremony to comment on it, but here's a link to the article on The Sanctuary's website: Agnihotra

I'm the relaxed kind of lady who believes that there's a method of meditation for everyone -- be it rock climbing, singing praises to Jesus (or Shiva or Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster), painting, dancing, nude modeling or eating cheese.

(guess which ones of those are mine?)

I'm not accustomed to burning cow dung during meditation, but who am I to judge?

They burned "buffalo chips" in the Old West, right? So. Must be a decent source of fuel. But I'm the spoiled daughter of a carpenter. My dad was always bringing pine home -- for the brief, exciting crack, sizzle, POP. And oak. For the long, intense heat. I want to smell cedar in the air and think of my family gathered around the fireplace or the fire pit outside. I don't have any nostalgic memories related to cow dung. 

Which is... a good thing?

After the meditation, I giddily scurry upstairs to ring the gong. I feel like such a boss when I ring the gong. I want to have epic braided hair and some sort of leather scabbard around my waist. Preferably with sword. And at least half naked. To be properly attired for epic gong ringing.

My yoga classes are an hour long -- just long enough to do a few sun salutations, some openers and perhaps an arm balance.

God, I love teaching. This. This is where I feel most alive. This is where I feel most fulfilled. This is where life just makes sense. 

I chat with the students for a few minutes afterwards and then float downstairs for breakfast.

I always float after I teach yoga.

Breakfast is a green smoothie. My spoiled chalupa belly and tastebuds quailed (quailed, I say) in fear at the first one, but halfway through, quailing tastebuds readjusted as I remembered all the green smoothies of my youth.

This. This is nostalgic. I may have no cow dung in my repertoire of happy memories, but I have an abundance of green smoothies. Some memories of which are happier than others. 

The Sanctuary's green smoothies -- delicious or otherwise -- are mind-bogglingly nutritious. They are chocked full of cucumber, celery, turmeric, papaya, leafy things and many other edibles that contribute towards good health.

I like that I have a glass here. And I like that it has hearts.

After smoothies are downed and a few paragraphs from an inspirational book are read, we gather together in a circle in the living room to distribute the day's chores. Tasks such as cleaning windows, scrubbing shower curtains, preparing lunch and doing the washing up are volunteered for (some more reluctantly than others) as Noa reads off her to-do list. As I'm leading three workshops while I'm here, a lot of my volunteer hours involve preparing for the twenty hours of training I'm going to provide the students who participate in my retreats.

I've also volunteered to learn to play the harmonium. On youtube. I'll keep you posted on my progress.

I spend the morning sitting on my bunk and scouring youtube for inspiration, reading back over my meditation books, studying anatomy and preparing for the retreat.

Sometimes I help with lunch.

Working hours are usually completed by early afternoon, after which I have the opportunity to walk into town and snag a coffee.

... or a piece of cheese...

Minerva. One of my three roommates. I hate that she's leaving before the end of the year. I hate this a lot. 

Or I meet up with Pepe. Who (I hope) will be a regular in my life for the next few months. In part because I love talking with him. In part because his hostel has a spectacular view of the ocean. In part because he's willing to have adventures with me. In part because he makes the best coffee I've tasted in Mexico thus far. 

Yes. He's a good one. I got lucky there. 

And as the beach takes a grand total of five minutes to walk to, a goodly portion of the day is spent sitting on the sand or getting pummeled by ocean waves (I haven't quite grasped how to not always get slammed and spun about and slapped onto the sand by the breaking waves. I play the "I'm from Colorado, what do you want from me?" card quite frequently).

Cynthia. I'm not sure when she leaves, but I'm sure I'll miss her too. That's going to be one of the hardest aspects of this placement -- seeing so many other volunteers come and go. 

 Sunsets are watched.

Sometimes to a guided meditation.

Sometimes right after I lead a short acro yoga jam on the beach.

But even though I'm instructed to close my eyes during the meditation and focus on my breath...

... all I can see is the beauty of the sunset.

... and all I can feel is the power of the ocean.

... and I lose myself in the majesty of the moment. Golden, glittering sunlight mesmerizing me, entrancing me, making me feel smaller than the grains of sand clinging to my eyelashes (thanks to acro yoga. SO MUCH EYEBALL SAND) but making me feel an overpowering sense of gratitude that I am able to participate in such a moment.

(I also feel mildly grateful that the ocean is no longer turning me inside out with its waves. God, I need to learn how to swim)

And I don't close my eyes.

I hardly even let myself blink.

Sometimes I return for dinner.

Sometimes I splurge and eat tlayuda.

And my chalupa tastebuds are reborn.

And goodness gracious, are my tastebuds happy.

See? I told you that a tlayuda was like a Mexican pizza. 

Then I return to The Sanctuary. I punch the code into the gate, remove my chacos and enter the quiet space. Footsteps are heard shuffling about upstairs. Doors open and close softly. Whenever a facility offers morning meditation, doors do their best to open and close softly after 9:30. As a general rule.

Sometimes I sleep.

Sometimes I stay awake and sweat.

Like tonight.

Perhaps my insides are at war. Tlayuda versus green smoothie. May the best food group win.