Which makes me a little sad. I miss his company and I miss sharing incredulous looks when folks at the Forest begin to discuss the health benefits of fasting on urine. Over dinner.
Only in the Yoga Forest.
The scorpions and spiders also miss Tammo. Since he's been here, these abhorrent arachnids have experienced occasional salvation from my merciless shoe. The nimble scorpion waiting for me on the door of my tent would have very much appreciated it if Tammo had not gone off to Mexico.
I would have very much appreciated the scorpion not being on the door of my tent.
Morose music from the myriad of churches down in San Marcos fills the night. As do crickets, about a zillion dogs barking at the same time (dogs in San Marcos have a lot to say), and the occasional lizard scurrying across the damp roof of the Submarine.
Today was the first real rain of the season. I woke up at 1:00 this morning to the novel sound of heavy, steady raindrops splattering against the tent's canvas.
And I stayed awake. Listening to the pitter-patter, splish-splash until 5:30, when my eerily consistent intestines sent me racing up the stairs to use the composting loo. After which I sat in the common area, watched the sunrise, and mulling over how and why everything at the Forest seems to have gone horribly awry for me.
There were a couple months here... part of November and December, some of January... wherein I felt really, truly happy. And things didn't get to me so much. I could sit down with a table full of people discussing the possibilities of using menstrual blood as face cream, and not feel isolated. Just a little grossed out. But in a funny way.
And now... all these discussions in which I feel like I really can't partake -- except as the consistent "what-the-FUCK?" er, make me feel like I'm not supposed to be here. Like this isn't my tribe, per se.
Which is a very hippie thing to say.
I think I felt happy during those months because I felt like I had a role. I was the Forest massage therapist, and that probably helped my sense of belonging. Even though I didn't resonate with most of the hippie philosophies floating around, I could still talk massage.
But then James came. People stopped wanting Thai massages and started wanting the Rolfing that James offered. Which is fair. He was/is a phenomenal therapist. But it didn't do much for my confidence to see how quickly what I had to offer was dismissed. That, plus a few belittling remarks James rolled off his sleeve served to leave me feeling like what I had to offer was worthless.
People gradually stopped buying my postcards. So the incredible high I felt from being a working artist faded away to a pretty crap low.
Teaching yoga became frustrating as I seemed to NEVER feel well. Always something wrong with my body. Giardia, post-antibiotics fatigue, a sinus-infection, giardia again, more post-antibiotics fatigue, another sinus infection/nose piercing infection.
Teaching yoga became discouraging as the amount of people who've rolled up their mats and left my class grew to a number I needed two hands to count.
People in San Marcos want Hatha. Kundalini. Sivananda. Yin.
Power Vinyasa doesn't seem to have a place in this town.
And now Luna is here. Offering her intuitive massage and metaphysical counseling. And business is booming. Which is wonderful for her, and I'm glad she's having so much success.
But it just shows me, really shows me, that what I have to offer doesn't seem to be wanted here.
...
It actually seems somewhat miraculous that I even had my two months of "fitting" in the Forest.
I'll be incredibly grateful for those two months and take the others as a lesson. Of what I won't be doing again anytime soon. Of what just isn't a good fit for me, as I am right now.
What I won't do again (until I accidentally find myself doing it. And then read this blog again and do some serious face-palming):
-- I don't want to live for an extended period of time without having access to a kitchen. Cooking is far too important to this lady. Also, having coffee the way I like it in the morning is important (this may seem trivial, but you try living for five months without having coffee the way you like it in the morning).
-- I'd rather not call a tent "home" again. A month is okay, sure. But five months of shaking out sheets for scorpions, having no electricity, and peeing in the dirt has gotten to me.
-- I'll try not to live in a community wherein I don't have a comfortable space that's mine. Sure, the Submarine is technically mine and Tammo's, but our beloved little tent turns into a veritable sauna during the day, which makes it rather inadequate as a space for "chilling".
Not having a space for me, a space I know I can always go to and be alone, has been thoroughly exhausting and overwhelming while living this community life. Especially as an introvert. Holy bananas. Do my introvert batteries need some serious recharge time.
-- I don't think I should try to feel at home in a place wherein I disagree so much with the prevailing philosophies. At first, I'd hoped the vast difference in lifestyle and philosophies wouldn't bother me -- that it would only challenge me to question my own worldview. Which it did, and that's all well and good. But five months of feeling like the outsider, the one who "doesn't quite get it", has been very isolating.
-- l won't live in an area that capitalizes so heavily on spiritual tourism again. It's too demoralizing and gross.
You will never visit the touristic cities in India, Bourget. Ever.
-- I keep saying this, but now I mean it (I keep saying that too): I'm done with work exchanges. Especially work exchanges wherein the bulk of the work is comprised of things I actively dislike.
If I am going to clean up after thirty people, I'd like to get paid for that.
In other news, this is the week of Semana Santa. And Guatemala goes bonkers for Semana Santa. Today is Good Friday, and epic, dirge-like music has been wafting up from town all day.
All. Day.
I feel like this music could be used in Ben Hur. I expect to see Charleton Heston's rugged face appearing over the stairs at any moment.
I had the morning and afternoon off, so I joined a Yoga Forest guest for a quick excursion to San Juan. Where we chanced upon a religious parade.
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| SO. SERIOUS. |
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| Here comes Jesus. |
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| It seems like similar to Day of the Dead in Mexico, for Semana Santa, Guatemalans design elaborate carpets out of colored sand, rice, flowers, etc. |
I led the Forest guest to several different Women's Cooperatives in search of the one I'd visited with Kayla and Anna months ago. And didn't end up finding it (surprise), but happened upon a few other shops every bit as good.
That's one nice thing about being in a country where everyone sells pretty much the same thing.
We browsed the cooperatives together, but when the guest decided to take a tour of how the fabric was made, I opted to head back into San Juan and have some much needed alone time in a cafe. But as I wandered through the city, I noticed (it was hard not to) the resounding sound of pounding drums emanating from the main church. Drums and something else... something that made me think of what it would sound like to stick my head inside a beehive.
I should probably go in there, was my first thought. Which tells you something about my life.
The church was filled with ardent Guatemalans and speckled with a few, surprised and bewildered tourists.
Are they... are they nailing Jesus to the cross?
They were. They were indeed nailing Jesus to the cross. While steadily pounding the foreboding drum, waving what resembled wooden flags (these were responsible for the head-in-a-beehive noises), lighting incense, and bearing flowers.
THIS IS SO INTENSE, I continued to photograph the event, trying to stay out of the way and to keep the look of shock/terror out of my face.
WHO does this? Nails Jesus to a cross as a ceremony?
With so much care. With so much gentleness. With so much precision. The Guatemalan men pounded nails into Jesus' hands (the cross already had its bloodstains) and decorated the arms of the cross with flowers.
While the Guatemalan women remained seated. As they do in church.
Ugh.
I am literally the only woman standing right now, I looked around at the men surrounding me. With flowers and instruments and incense.
Fucking religion.
I probably stayed in the church for half an hour. Mesmerized and slightly sketched out. Then I strolled down the hill, back to the dock, and headed to San Pedro.
Where I blissfully splurged on a cappuccino and an entire pan de chocolate. Sans remorse.
Also. Never again make a home in a country which lacks cheap, delicious cheese and pastries. You're too much of a hedonist to live off of beans and lentils for months at a time.
You're lucky, Bourget. You have the freedom to choose which path you want to take. What kind of community you want to surround yourself with. So use what you learned here and actually implement what you've learned. Don't just think about it, write about it, sleep on it. Don't just know what works for you, what doesn't work for you, and then disregard it.
Which is an unfortunate habit you seem to have. You've got a shit-ton of self-awareness, Bourget. But you don't take as much action on this awareness as maybe you could.
Work on that.
Sincerely,
~Someone who has to live with you
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