(This is a really long piece, chronicling ideas and events over the past five weeks of my life. Please read it in parts if it seems too long.)
May 23, 2011
I’m writing this on top of the mountain. This knoll is called Cerro de Luz, or hill of light, near San Juan Pueblo. It is the highest point in the Tepozteco Mountains, about 7,000 feet. This is probably the last hike I will take with my friend Laura as I am leaving in a few days for the US. Of course, I plan to return, regularly, but one never knows.
The wind moves across us as we rest on heavy log benches placed, miraculously, at this high point. It’s a one hour hike from the pueblo below. It’s also possible take a bus from town, then hike down, or, actually, walk up and down, up and down. We have finally arrived at the peak, snacked, rested, taken photos, and read a poem by Rumi. I calculate that Laura and I have taken about one hundred hikes since I arrived in Tepoztlan over a year ago. I am feeling quite sad to think about separation from my friend and hiking buddy. Today I acknowledge all the learning and growing we have done together; we have formed a close friendship.
On the way up, we discussed ones sense of self, or ego. It seems that a healthy sense of self is required to function well in society, to take care of ones needs; but childhood disturbances and conflicts can alter natural growth and development, leaving an ego conflicted and defensive. We can develop what Joko Beck calls a Core Belief that we are inadequate. On our walk, Laura and I concurred that this is part of what the Buddha called Dukha or suffering and that we all experience it, the First Noble Truth.
The dialogs between Laura and me are the main reason that we decided to write a book, entitled either Having Sex with God or Making Love with God; it’s a toss up. So much has become clear to me through these discussions. Laura and I are so different; she, wordy and academic. I am older, more grounded, and less analytical. All the thought and exploration that she and I have placed in our magical, crystal ball of walks has taken on color and energy, leading me to regard my own responses, revelations, and denials with greater enthusiasm. Not since my college years have I been so engaged in the intricacies and meaning of my own life and experiences, nor have I had sufficient time to engage in such.
Beetles and Peaks
From this peak, there is a very clear view of both San Juan Pueblo and Tepoztlan. Through my binoculars, I can actually see my house and the horrible construction project going on next door. The valleys are filled with mist today, and I can’t see the closest city, Cuernavaca. We’re at 7000 feet here, 1000 feet above Tepoztlan. We sit amongst conifers and madrones which are occupied by thousands of small black beetles with orange grid patterns on their shiny backs. They are crammed together like so many black beans, totally immobile. They were here in December when last I came. I don’t know when I will come again. I will have to ask for a report on the Grid-backed Black Beetle on the Cerro de Luz. Do they ever leave? What do they eat?
Soon I will be gone, heading back to Texas, friends, and family. What degree of shock should I anticipate upon my return to the US of A? What will be the biggest one? Beauty or the lack thereof will permeate the experience. It will color all of the changes and each change will be viewed in reference to the beauty of the mountains and town of Tepoztlan; but there will be many more. What will strike me as I walk through the paths of my US life?
Packaging
Packaging will be a big one. No, really! You know the replacement batteries you buy at places like BestBuy that are so thoroughly and mysteriously wrapped that it necessitates a pair of really strong scissors (or a machete) to open them? This is such an inconvenience, I’m surprised that there is not a fellow with cutting tools waiting outside each electronics store to open packages, charging $1 to $3, depending, to extract the purchase. In Mexico he would be there.
Here, in Tepoztlan, Morelos packaging is pretty organic and most of what one buys is edible. Your average pedestrian is carrying a bag, either a colorful market bag, or a sedate worker’s daypack, or a backpack in which to place purchases, which are often eatable. Fruit comes pre-packaged in its peel. One buys the fruit then simply peels off the packaging. Obviously bananas, oranges, tangerines can be un-packaged instantly. Guayabas, papayas, mameys, mangos, and chirimoyas are best un-packaged at home over the sink or kitchen counter. Often you can simply eat nature’s tricky packaging, originally designed to keep out critters and germs, not humans. Vegetables follow the same general concept. For me and other foreigners here, we have the added task of soaking the produce in disinfectant drops in most cases.
If one eats in the public market, you actually eat the “plate” or the “bowl” which is shaped from masa. The entire world is familiar with the clever tortilla, but there are also sopes and huaraches. These are like bowls in that the masa has been pinched up at the side to contain the ingredients which might include grilled mushrooms, seasoned shredded chicken, squash blossoms, cheese, salchicha, huazontle, chapulines, and so forth. The latter three are, respectively, a type of sausage, a nutty legume type vegetable, and roasted grasshoppers. When one orders a sope or huarache at a stand in the market, one selects from the six or seven bowls, placed on a counter. The cook then shapes the masa into a tortilla, sope, or huarache and cooks it on a really hot, huge, circular griddle. (You may, if you have worn Mexican sandals, think that a huarache is a shoe. It is that and also a shoe shaped taco.) The fillings are cooked or heated to a high temperature and added to the edible plate or bowl. You receive your order on a piece of paper with a napkin. You eat. The only waste is the paper and the napkin. You must eat the whole thing as there is nothing upon which to put anything left. Too bad you can’t eat the napkin.
One of my favorite types of “packaging” is the large corn shuck upon which corn pie is served when purchased at a local stand. This particular “pie” is more like a firm corn pudding, fairly sweet, and made from a finely ground local corn, with egg and sugar added; it’s similar to quiche, but sweet. The consumer can walk down the street, eating off the corn leaf.
Of course, there is ample packaging of regular “western” products in Mexico. One does find more and more plastic here. It’s still easier to buy soft drinks, beer, and water in returnable bottles; but, increasingly, one sees plastic. In the market, one buys produce in little bags although people frequently use their own bags. Fortunately, in Tepoz, there is a recycling system. On trash day, one separates glass, plastic and cardboard. Pickup is free. Domestic waste is small as there is so little packaging! My domestic trash is mostly items that can’t go into the compost or recycle, which isn’t much. Since it’s not practical to put toilet paper in the toilet, it too goes into the domestic trash, in tight little bags. When I return to the States, it will take me a few days to get used to putting toilet paper in the, well, toilet. (I will also have to adjust to brushing my teeth with water from the tap and to rinsing produce in the sink.)
One thing that I definitely will not miss in the USA is the large quantity of trash found almost everywhere. Governmental bodies do not provide many trash receptacles. If you generate trash you either carry it with you to your house or you throw it on the ground. It has been difficult for me to accept this. Recently I visited a lovely town called Valle del Bravo and was incredibly relieved to find little trash on the streets. The town is really lovely. It is also a “Magic Pueblo” like Tepoztlan.
Pedestrians
Another thing that I will really miss is seeing people walking everywhere, even though Tepoztecos (locals) walk much too slowly for me, forcing me to turn the act of walking into a form of meditation. The narrow, bumpy sidewalks are filled with women carrying bags or market products, or with a child or two in hand. Then there are teenagers who slouch forward with their baggie (boys) or really tight (girls) pants. School kids travel in coveys, with matching plumage (uniforms). No one rushes, even early in the day when they are presumably heading for work or to catch a bus; and you virtually never see an empty street here; everyone’s on the move.
If I am behind a total bottleneck of pedestrians (mom, two kids, and grandmother, all carrying bags), I will bump through. Bumping is totally acceptable. No need to say “Excuse me,” although it’s fine to do so. Some of my “regulars” will greet me on the street; some don’t. No rules about this. One of my favorite neighbors runs a small craft shop; she’s seventy-eight and has never missed a day of work. One evening as I was rushing home in a huge rain storm; I had an inadequate umbrella so I popped into her shop. She said, “Isn’t it a shame we can’t just take all our clothes off and run around in this? The temperature is perfect!” Seventy-eight, going on twelve.
I have been walking up to thirty miles a week; this includes the miles (kilometers) I walk to school twice a day and the miles logged when I hike up and down the mountain. In my lovely Marfa hometown, I frequently rode my bike which is almost impossible here. The cobblestones are the size of watermelons. There are almost no bicyclists.
Public transport
There are countless public buses and Combis here, the latter being a type of van that picks you up and drops you off along a specific route, with an every-man-for-himself pace. Combis are simple and fairly cheap although not cheap enough for some of the people with whom I share the benches provided for passengers in the Combis, some of whom are really poor and dirty, as is their clothing. Obviously, one can get really “up-front and personal” in a Comb. The most frightening sight is usually the condition of people’s feet. Not everyone has running water here; it can be difficult to stay clean. One can learn a great deal by sharing a tight space with people, sometimes more than you want to know.
It has been easy to get along without a car here. With patience, you can get anywhere. Sometimes it’s necessary to change transports. Generally, things run according to schedule here although the subtilties in schedules can really mess up ones plans. (Some buses don’t run at all on weekends, for example, and a person can wait a really long time for a bus that won’t run that day.)
West Texas Transports
In the US, I live in the Big Bend region of west Texas. My transportation experience there has been compounded by the vast distance between my little town of Marfa, and the cities of Houston and Austin, where most of my favorite beings reside. If there were an interesting workshop in Austin, I had to drive seven hours to get there…and back. If I wanted to go to, say, Oregon, I had little choice. I would have to drive the three hours to El Paso, leave my truck in storage, fly out, fly back, then drive three more hours, usually after dark. So the question of public transport has arisen in my mind regularly. (Later, July 10. I have been told that there is now a public transport that carries people to El Paso at specific times if one signs up for it. This is thanks to a stalwart Marfa citizen who has fought for this. I’m pleased and grateful to Bob.)
The real down side to driving back and forth to the El Paso airport is the huge nothingness of the Chihuahuan Desert and traveling on a totally isolated road in complete darkness. Seriously, there is almost NOTHING between Marfa and Van Horn, Texas (except Valentine which is only the blink of an eye). One night, I saw an elk! There was an enormous dark shadow on the road ahead; it moved off to the side where I could barely see a large white structure glowing in the dark several feet above the ground. I just kept going, I drank more coffee.
Travel by bus is virtually impossible in the USA. It’s inadequate, overpriced, and underutilized. From Marfa, if I can get a friend to carry me to Fort Stockton (two hours) I can take a bus to San Marcos, where another friend could pick me up. Trying to go directly from Marfa to Austin or Houston is a challenge beyond me. Thus bus travel is not an option. I will really miss the public transportation system and am even considering replacing my trusty though aging truck. I will also enjoy getting back on a bike.
Possessions
Back in Marfa, my house, kitchen, and surroundings will be radically different. It will require a real act of faith to begin to unload the life that I so carefully packed away in my Marfa garage last year before I left. Even thought I had several yard sales at that time and gave many things away before my departure for Mexico, I still left most of a garage bay full of books, pots, pans, memorabilia, pottery equipment, tools, paint cans, clothes and more clothes, artwork, and God knows what. Oh! And my cat, Deditos, who has also been occupying the garage in my absence, through the kindness and care of my renters. The last time I visited with Deditos, he was so pissed at me that he actually swatted at me, once he recognized me. Then I left him again. He may never forgive me.
My current residence in Tepoz is on a reasonably quiet street in this outrageously noisy town. It is a really cute, small two-story duplex with orange walls and a winding staircase. I rented it with two beds, three small tables, and three chairs. I have bummed, borrowed, or stolen most items essential to cooking, eating, and bathing: four forks, spoons, knives, plates, mugs, a few towels and so forth. When I look around me and ponder the approximately $100 I have invested in my furnishings, and; then, I ponder unloading my belongings back home, I feel this tremendous lethargy. As Thoreau said, “I make myself rich by making my needs few.” Thirteen boxes of books! Will I read them again?
It has been incredibly liberating to leave the busyness of my US life. I have no mail box in Tepoztlan. I pay only my apartment rent and buy bottles of propane when I’m out. I buy minutes for my cell phone when it’s out. It is so simple. No packaging. You buy it; you eat it. I’m totally serious about this. How much time do we spend tending to items in our cluttered lives that sounded great when you signed on but that has become burdens? How do you get rid of junk mail? Can anyone get by without a calendar and a filing system and a lawyer and an accountant and a physical therapist, and on and on?
So why return to the US and how to find beauty? I will return with beauty, to create beauty, to see the beauty in all my surroundings, even the currently devastated Big Bend region of Texas that has been hit by huge wildfires. I long to see the beauty in the faces of my friends and family, to catch up on their stories which are beautiful, or sad, or brave, or disappointing; but, important. Is it possible for me to transport the beauty which I have absorbed here in the past year back to my old haunts. Can I be pregnant with such joy that everyone gets it, at least a bit of it, and that I might keep it? Time will tell.
The Return, June 1
I have been in the USA for three days. It has been odd. Of course, seeing my friends and family has been meaningful. Stepping back into their lives, changes, and recent events has demanded my attention. I have not done my usual yoga and meditation for these days. I have not written anything until this moment. I have not had the kind of soul-searching dialogs that Laura and I slip into. However, I did touch base with my younger son and was happy to share some good, encouraging observations between us. Spending time with my “boys” was one of my major reasons to return at this point.
Jacob
My older son performed at an Austin club last night, attracting a large and unusual assortment of friends and relatives, many of whom I had not seen for many years. That experience alone was significant in the time travel I accomplished in three hours. I saw many members of the family of my ex-husband, father of my sons, most of whom I had not seen for over twenty year; it was like a fast-forward type police projection, you know the ones they construct for lost children. “This is what this person might look like today.” It was alternately touching, confusing, and uncomfortable. Some had aged well. I knew that several had had serious illnesses. I was genuinely glad to see most of them. I consider this evidence of a major benefit of growing older, accepting others. Also, there was the common thread, our love for my son, Jacob, who was performing; that was touching.
In Tepoztlan, I was constantly meeting and getting to know new people. In Texas, I am re-visiting places and faces. There is a greater quality of confusion in spending time with my old acquaintances. Once I have caught up with what they are doing, which is usually what they were doing when I last spoke with them, I feel that I have moved on, literally and figuratively. In some instances this means that I can’t relate to or even like what they are currently doing with their lives. Ironically, my failure to connect is based on my failure to connect to much of anything in the workaday world. My desire to learn a “greater truth,” to live at a higher level of personal reflection, makes the activities and pursuits of others seem almost crass. I have fought this conclusion, telling myself that people are entitled to the pursuit of happiness even when it seems without great benefit, except in the form of “happiness.”
In other words, I have become a spiritual seeker. It seems to be my priority to the extent that my previous drives for happiness, accomplishments at work, social recognition seem almost alien. I recognize them, they seem familiar, but they are no longer driving forces, at least not at this moment.
Sky Farm
June 1, 2011
Here at my family farm in central Texas, I got up early, grabbed my binoculars and headed out to the island to look for birds. Nothing noteworthy. Then I climbed up to the fifth floor of the house, the crow’s nest to study the sun’s position upon the horizon. (My sister and I had had a small argument about the sun’s points of arrival and departure each day and the position of the house. Basically, we need a compass, GPS, something clever.) Actually what I am looking for is “God.” I need to tap into some sense of oneness or awe or engagement with my surroundings, above and beyond today’s list of activities.
Our first farm job today will be to go grab the really old hay out of an abandoned barn, the hay will be more mulch for the garden. As we are in a serious drought here, mulch is critical to keeping anything in the vegetable world alive. My sister Jody is on the porch reading, drinking coffee; my son Jordan is waking up in the next room; these are two of the people I love most; this is definitely a moment with God. But what of the awe, the bliss that I sense in Tepoztlan, in the mountains, hiking, contemplating? If I do not feel it here in east central Texas, is it a lack of beauty, or is there actually some inherent magic in Tepoz, not available in the rolling farmland of Texas?
Magic Currents
Where does magic come from? Is it like electricity in which a circuit must be completed for a current to occur? And must the circuit be completed by the conduit, in this case me? In other words, am I responsible for sensing the magic (read “bliss,” “awareness,” “boddhichitta,”) in each moment? Certainly, as I look out the window, scanning the small lake and large ruffle of trees, I could see a mighty presence, I could tune into it, powerfully. As I gaze at my son’s face across the table and remember that he never talks in the early morning, should I feel awe at the sheer magnitude of his humanity? Yes, yes, and yes.
No doubt it is easier to become absorbed into the moment, to become mindful, in some situations than others, but, basically, an enlightened being would never depart a state of attunement and would see beauty and joy and ugliness and pain in all things, with steady intensity. Is this my goal, to experience joy with each step? In order to do this must I seek other “joy seekers,” must I dwell within a Sangha or like-minded souls? (Sort of like driving a spiritual Jaguar: low, smooth, quiet.)
Joy Juice
If the three jewels are Buddha, dharma, sangha, must I have all three to maintain the joy that I have been enjoying in Tepoztlan over the past year? Perhaps. My conversations with my co-writer Laura, on an almost daily basis, have launched me into my writing discipline which compels me to examine and adjust my ideas. It is frightening to think that I might slip right back into my historically workaholic approach to life as I attempt to structure my life and certain financial exigencies. Once my mind slips into its “list” mode, thoughts move fast and shallow. The question is whether I can be in the list mode and still connect to the “love” mode¸ which keeps me in touch with some sense of AWE and ALL with special little attention boosters charging my heart.
I have no ambition these days other than my search for “God” and joy and a better sense of how my search works. Can I develop better tools for my search by sitting at the feet of a teacher? Can I find teachers in my everyday life if I simply pay attention? Or must I be with other joy-seekers on a similar path to really benefit? I am about to head back to West Texas, the land of ranchers and rattlesnakes. Is God a rattlesnake? What will my spiritual binoculars be there? My introspective ultrasound?
My practice now, to be on the/my path, to build and recognize basic goodness in life will continue to be fueled by my meditation. It seems to be the spiritual food that feeds my heart and soul. What are the other factors? Will I find them?
June 13, 2011
This essay is about the transition from my state of being in Tepoztlan to, apparently, my state of doing in the US. I have been doing a lot here over the past few days and being, much less. If one takes off to Mexico for a period of fifteen months, apparently one should expect to work ones butt off upon the return. That is what I have been doing: cleaning up two rent houses, doing a years’ worth of banking, bookkeeping and bill paying, beginning to finalize last years’ taxes related to the above stuff. I spent about three hours going over my mail yesterday and that was just to weed things out.
It’s no wonder that I can’t find the magic here; I am in work mode. To stay blissed out while I organize cash tickets and make entries in a ledger is asking a lot. “Oh, how marvelous, another bottom line.” BUT, if when I take a break from the tally, I seek a bit of bliss, notice what’s around me, I might just get through it easier and with a certain calm if not bliss. I’m optomistic. I will be working really hard for at least two weeks. As of tomorrow I can slow down a bit but many chores await me. Everything that I put off while in Tepoz is at my front door, wagging its tail and barking. “Down boy!”
Actually, I feel pretty good, being back in “production,” earning my keep. It was odd in Tepoz to be working for others and way below my level of expertise. I have returned to do something that I’m good at, for now.
June 23
I have become OCD (obsessive-compulsive). I am spending so much time scraping-and-painting that I just want it to be over. Ironically and perhaps perversely, I can only think of renting the place once I get it well-fixed. In order to move in my personal belongings: sofa, rugs, cooking supplies, I should first clean out the garage which is filthy. I will have to borrow Laura’s shop vac to clean out the dust and cat hairs. Furthermore it’s pretty much one step forward, one step back. Yesterday someone tried to repair the stove’s oven elements but had to look for a part. I had broken the lower element while cleaning up the half inch of food residue left by the previous renters. It will no doubt cost $75 to get it going again.
Now I’m in the Paisano Hotel, using the wireless. I used to work here, briefly, in the gift shop. I was not very comfy here, not sure why. (That’s probably because I was selling things that I wouldn’t buy although I sold a lot of them to people passing through.)
So this morning I am frankly depressed. I have this tremendous feeling of not “fitting in” which has accompanied my entire life. Most people consider this a really cool, interesting town; it is. However, I have little use for most of what goes on here and vice versa. Odd. What about my vow upon leaving Tepoz to be happy wherever I am and to maintain the level of joy and tranquility I before? I’d better just do that. In my previous life I would have taken the time to reflect upon this. Now, I have the chance to go to a yoga class. I’ll go. Ponder later.
Later on
The class was good; Ashtanga, not my favorite, but still yoga. Now I’m drinking tea and watching the house across the street where a woman is washing the windows. The young family from Houston that bought the house a couple of years ago (supposedly for over $600,000) is seldom there. I saw them three times while I was living here before taking off for Mexico for a year. The window washer is slim, wearing a huge straw hat and working vigorously. She has on a rather stylish shirt (blouse?) and gloves. In a moment I’ll go introduce myself just out of curiousity. I’d venture that she’s a refugee from some city, highly educated and in the window washing business to bring in some money in this odd town where sixty year old native Mexican-Americans and PhD’s wash windows to bring in some money.
I noticed another friend, a refugee from the dry cliffs of Nevada and the Colorado River Gorge, doing yard work; later, I saw him at the desk of a local hotel. A couple of years ago, my son and I painted the newly remodeled interior of the bank president’s house. He could not find “dependable help,” and I know how to paint, and I am dependable. (It was pretty cool, actually, working with my son for a month.) How is the woman washing windows, as I type, different from the scores of people I observed In Tepoz doing manual labor? How are my son and I different? Maybe not much. To what extent are we all just getting by, trying to avoid discomfort and pay the bills, feed the family and dogs?
What am I doing, “doing” being the operable word? Getting by? No, I’ve never been content to just get by and I’ve seldom been content. It’s not that I have a bad attitude; I don’t. I just have to keeping moving and searching. Is this anxiety-based behavior, based on some long-seated sense of fear that I won’t get by, even when I’m getting by? Hmmmm.
Wrong
I talked with the PhD. Actually her name is Rosa and , as far as I know, she’s not a PhD. She’s from Mexico and speaks little English. Her “stylish” blouse was a faded cowboy shirt (which in Marfa might be considered “stylish”). So much for my judgments about folks. That’s what I get for judging. Nonetheless, I hold to my observation that a lot of over-educated people are doing under-educated jobs to get by in this wunderland.
To Do or Not to Do, That Is the Question
I have finally gotten around to the long-postponed task of cleaning out the garage/studio/storage space/cat hotel. It is the worst mess in the rental house clean-up scenario, and I saved it to last, even though many necessary belongings, such as towels, are stored in there. It sometimes takes courage and a shop vac to dig into ones past.
Fortunately, I found the box of towels and bathroom accutrements. In my bathroom in Tepoz I had so little: two towels, a straw mat on the floor, and a limited selection of vanity and personal hygiene products. As I unloaded my Marfa box labeled “bathroom,” I wondered why I need six large towel, four small ones and several face cloths. There’s only one of me. Then I started unloading the odds-and-ends: assorted vitamins including one for post-menopause (Don’t need that one anymore. I need one for post-post-menopause.) Then there were all kinds of things for my face: creams, scrubbers, and things to color my face and the hairs around my eyes. Then I found my trusty rabbit; its batteries are still good. There were various liquids for stomach ailments which I really needed in Mexico but don’t remember using here and many, many respiratory aids such as decongestants, inhalers and even the old hand-made neti pot. HOW DID I EVER GET BY WITHOUT THESE THINGS? Especially the rabbit and the neti pot.
Now I shall return to the den of cat hair dust and memories to see what else I can unearth. I’d really like to find my every day dishes. I desperately need a bowl as my stove is still broken, and I have to eat a lot of items from the microwave. Items prepared in a microwave frequently end up in bowls, in my recent experience. This not having access to many personal items has been rather like being in Tepoztlan; you just work around it. A mug makes a pretty good bowl for most purposes; and I do have a couple of mugs that showed up early in the excavation. Back to the shop to vac!
To See Oneself as Others
Last night was entertaining and intriguing. I went to the poetry reading at Marfa Book Co. Allison Hedge Coke is an amazing poet, writer, story teller, and person in general. She seems so genuine while totally phenomenal it’s almost confusing. How can this astonishing person still be just a “regular guy?” I bought her memoirs, hoping to learn how that is.
Many familiar Marfa faces were there. I went alone, of course; and I don’t like going places ALONE. (I guess I will never recover from being solitary, as if walking around with another person is the only norm.) While experiencing this vague sense of isolation, while being told that a seat was saved for someone else, while deciding where to simply plot down, I noticed that it was OK. Maybe I like the freedom to sit wherever I want. As it turned out I sat next to an artist who teaches in Burma most of the year and only comes here for a couple of months. We had a quite interesting conversation. If I had sat with first choice of acquaintances, I wouldn’t have spoken with Grace.
The reason that I feel a sense of isolation here is that I identify with the people around me sufficiently to view myself through their eyes which are, culturally speaking, my eyes. I too am educated, have a creative trade, and get excited about apparently important people and projects in the community. I also wish financial and social success and recognition for myself and my friends and family. These are things that I share closely with many of my Marfa peers. Therefore, when I am around them, I judge them and myself by theses common variables. Of course, they may be judging me too but it’s more likely that they are fixated on themselves or someone closer to celebrity with whom they can identify as I have been attempting to identify with them.
All of this leaves me confused because I just spent a year around people and a community with which I had much less in common. I did not judge myself through their eyes because we have different standards of excellence. As an over-sixty North American, I was practically invisible to them although my Spanish-speaking ability and my friendliness brought me much good cheer. There was no judgment between us. I couldn’t bounce my judgment off their judgment. It felt fabulous.
What is at the bottom of all this judgment? A sense of separateness. Ironically, although I identify more with my now locals, I feel more separate because of some separation anxiety, an emotional residue from childhood, that brings fear and self-doubt. A lingering low self-esteem tells me that I “will not be chosen,” cannot pass muster. After over ten years of Buddhist practice and meditation I have gained a great sense of humor about this human silliness. I know that my self-judgment is just a reaction to my anxiety and that, occasionally and under similar circumstances, I can feel on top to the world. In other words these judgments are meaningless, not based on any authentic human calibration of my worth and character.
After the wonderful poetry reading, I bummed a smoke off a young woman I like but don’t know well. We had a great conversation in which she demonstrated interest in my situation. (Are you planning to stay? How’s your house?) Her genuine humanity came through so strongly that I lost any sense of anxiety within moments.
We Are All Bozos on This Bus
Most people then went over to the open house for the poet at the Lannon House. Crista and Adam Bork always prepare the most amazing food imaginable. She is truly a food genius. Furthermore, as I have had few opportunities to eat well in the past month, it was a great gift to stand before the large table spread with a variety of interesting and delicious treats. I began to feel a greater and greater sense of inclusion. Suddenly there was a chair available to me next to people with whom I feel comfortable. It would have been virtually impossible to feel separate as we ate and chatted over common themes. How was that moment different from an hour earlier when I had felt inadequate and ALONE? Maybe I have it, or at least a part of it: I still have a vestigial desire to be in partnership with a man. Perhaps my “advancing” age colors this sense of inappropriateness, that women of my age should be “married.” But that too is a judgment. Indeed, most of my associates here ARE married or partnered up, but maybe that’s their “problem” with all the convoluted compromises and stumbling blocks concomitant with marriage. I have absolutely no one to determine what, who, how, where, when, why I am. That’s huge. I was married, twice, twenty-six years, total. I didn’t do that well. I’ll just embrace my solitary self; I get along much better with me than previously.
Don’t Kick Yourself, It Hurts
One of the lessons of a Buddhist practice is to observe the feelings that come up as a result of our conditioning, to watch our “knee-jerk” reactions. I had a lesson only hours ago. One of my sons called to say that he would not be coming to visit me next weekend as planned. I was extremely sad. Apparently his father, my Ex, is having surgery and will be hospitalized for a week. My son feels compelled to visit with his dad, rightfully so. My initial (unstated) emotion was something like, “Gee, you’re going to spend time with a man who did very little for you or me, abandoning me.” That was my gut reaction. Fortunately I didn’t sat this. Later, I was able to simply acknowledge the joy that I had felt about the prospect of spending time with my son and move on to feeling good that he is a good son. Of course, he should spend time with his dad. I’m still sad about this small loss, but it is one of millions of similar feelings that I have had in my life. It’s genuine, but it’s only the flip side of the joy I felt previously which was equally valid and, in a way, the same thing.
July 1, 2011
I woke up thinking for all the things to do. It is daunting. Finish painting and scrubbing back bath. Prune trees with electric chain saw (if I can figure out how to do it). Water the house and shrubs. Take brush to the dump and pick up free mulch if there is any. Begin to paint back bedroom. Then I thought, “What does this list have to do with having a “precious human birth” in the words of the great Tibetan teacher Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche? What is the benefit of waking up and hitting the list? Do I really have to do any of this stuff? If I just sell the house, I can probably get enough to live on for ten years!!! So why caulk the bathroom sink?
During this very day, what will I do that has any value to anyone? That brings greater clarity, peace, justice, a better life for all of us and our mother Earth? I’m not sure that caulking will do it. Still perhaps I will have a conversation, or read or do something that will impact my future and that of others. We’ll see how it goes today. Long term questions…I almost can’t think about my plans for my future. All I can do is to keep working, follow the list.
Taxes in Texas
Now, I have to do my taxes for 2010. When I re-approach my tasks, daily, I ask, “To what end?”, then I resume the task assuming that all will become clear eventually. I have spent the past two days organizing and entering data for my 2010 tax return, the one that I have extended until next month. That process was a real heads-up as I was forced to realize how disorganized I am, how little attention I place on the numbers from my rental properties which are my “business,”and, incidentally, the way I earn a living now. For years, I have just glided along, hoping that my renters pay on time and destroy as little as possible. This year I have had problems with families in two of my houses. I am paying the price literally and figuratively. If I had been here and not in Mexico, I might have been more aware, but maybe not, since it has been my practice to assume the best in the past. At any rate, I am now working my butt off to get back on track and, according to the figures I looked at yesterday, I am paying a pretty good price.
Ironically, it just makes me want to return to Mexico where life is simple and turn my properties over to my rental manager. She does a decent job and is honest. The good news is that the two damaged houses will be top-notch soon. Hopefully, they will stay that way.
Multi-tasking and Weight Reduction
Many people have asked me how I manage to stay so thin. I attribute it to my Marie-Blazek-Work-Your-Butt-Off Weight Reduction Plan. Yesterday was an incredibly intense day. When I awoke this morning at 4am, I still felt the residue of yesterday’s labors: I was still checking the list. I couldn’t return to sleep so I got out of bed. Daily, I have the same morning routine; I drink coffee, eat toast; meditate briefly; and do a bit of yoga. Frequently I simply sit staring out the window as I wake up slowly to the day. Here, in Marfa, this is an intense joy as I have a beautiful view of the courthouse and surrounding crepe myrtle trees, all of which are sporting bright blossoms now. This morning I stared at the darkness, missing my dreams.
In Tepoz, I had a similar schedule, the difference being that I would return to bed with my coffee and stare out at the mountains and tall tree outside my large windows at the foot of my bed. There I would generally dress and walk to work to teach a couple of classes. Here I get up and continue the repairs to my house.
Multi-tasking Marathon
Yesterday was a marathon of multi-tasking. I began my work day by continuing to paint the trim in the small back bedroom. It was fairly tedious; but, fortunately, I had a book on tape to entertain me. I was awaiting a call from an air conditioner repair service that was to look at my AC in Alpine at my “big” house. I had another call in to get an estimate on replacing the mechanics of central air in the Marfa house; it is quite old. I also had a call in to the tenant at my small house in Alpine. The washer there was on the blink, and I had found a better one; he was to help me move it. There was also the issue of his front door lock which his wife can’t seem to use easily for some odd reason. Oh, and the evaporative cooler switch was bad.
With all of this on my agenda, I waited for the call from the AC people, finally just going, driving the 25 miles to Alpine with a few tools, a bit of paint to touch up the bathroom trim in the big house bathroom, a ramp to move the washer from one place to another, a file folder and tape and scissors to create a temporary fix on a closet door at the big house, and so forth. Of course, I had made a list of such things over a couple of days. Driving 25 miles to run an errand is common out here in this under-populated region, but I am inclined to use my time as efficiently as possible when working so I multi-task to a ridiculous degree.
Arriving in Alpine, I went by the hardware store to buy caulk and other supplies. (I describe myself as the “queen of caulk.”) Then I went by my friend Greg’s house to borrow his super-duper hand truck which makes moving big things a breeze, with its straps and extra parallel wheels. We visited briefly, talked about his upcoming cruise trip from Vancouver to Alaska.Meanwhile, I was still waiting for a call from the AC people.
Manana Means Not Today
As regards repair people, contractors, and other relatively skilled workers, this area resembles Mexico. Around here people say, “Manana means not today.” In other words, I’ll do it eventually if something better doesn’t come up first. It is difficult to ascertain when the pre-determined service will actually occur or if it will occur. It is common for workers to simply not show up, or to call saying that they couldn’t arrive at the specified time but that they would be there asap. That is one reason why I have tried to learn to do as many things as possible for myself.
Yesterday, the AC man did arrive, did thoroughly check the old AC system; he proclaimed it good, and charged me a reasonable fee. Victory!!! As I will soon have three new residents in the house, I am covering my assets. A new central system will cost over $6000; I don’t have that right now.
While he worked, I re-balanced a ceiling fan there that produced a nice reggae rhythm. It was unlikely that the new tenants would want reggae, maybe country-western. I also caulked the trim at the base of the tub; I didn’t have a good scraper with me so I had to use a screwdriver to clean it up. That worked out OK. The “big” house is quite good now, needs only a bit more paint on the tub trim. I’ll do that soon.
I left the big house and met Raul, the tenant from the small house, at the place where we were to pick up the new-used washer, a Kenmore that promises to perform for several more decades. We loaded and unloaded the washer. I examined the broken switch on the evaporative cooler. Yep! Broke! Raul helped me dismantle the switch box; I went back to the hardware store, and Eureka! They had the switch. I also bought a couple things that I had forgotten earlier for the Marfa house.
We were able to replace the switch, but it has a short in it, explaining why it had burned out. Today, I will go back, replace the fiber bats that are a part of the evaporative system (that the tenants had neglected and allowed to congeal with wet salts). I will see if I can find the source of the short on the actual fan motor. I will be “out of my league” as I don’t do electrical very well, but it’s always worth a try before calling a pricey electrical guy. Electricians can be very vain about their work.
I commiserated a bit with Raul’s wife Angela who is not doing too well. She is from Mexico originally and is depressed; she misses her family. That is easy to understand as she probably has little social life in Alpine. I asked her if she were walking daily, alluding to the benefits to ones moods. She said that the doctor had not encouraged it. Wow! She really is a long way from Mexico where anti-depressants are seldom used. Most people there are working too hard and too surrounded by friends and family to be depressed for very long.
Then I had Raul sign a pet agreement for the new (unannounced) dog that they have taken in. He owes a $200 deposit plus an additional $20 per month for “Mickey” who is a small poodle-mix who, unfortunately will probably not be walked in the park by Angela, ever.
Finally, I left the small house and returned the hand truck to Greg’s house. My friend, his wife, Kathy, had arrived by then. I was offered a glass of wine; we chatted; and I headed back to Marfa, after calling my friend Louise to confirm dinner plans.
Day Is Done
In Marfa, I met several friends at the Paisano Hotel restaurant, Jetts. The weather is ideal for eating in the Paisano courtyard; and we sat near the fountain, near the six flags (of Texas). Dinner was OK; overpriced, but tasty. The conversation was about the same. While there, I saw a few other friends that I used to work with at the local school. It was wonderful to greet them; they are part of a great “oldies” band, the Moondogs, that performs in a couple of days at a local venue. I promised to attend. Hope I can find someone to accompany me.
Finally, my friends dropped by to view my progress on the house face-lift; we shared a glass of wine before they left for home. I was too tired to shower and just washed my face and feet before passing out. I think my fatigue followed me all night to this morning at 4am when it poked my brain, telling me to get up and get to it. I tried to manipulate it by meditating a bit, concentrating on my breath; but my kitty wanted in; and the neighbor’s dog was having her own issues with sleep. I just gave up and got up.
Life Just Won’t Go Away
Like in Tepoz, sometimes life just won’t get out of the way. However if I were in Tepoz now, I might just walk up the mountain this morning rather than go back to work. I will go over to another small town, at 26 miles, for a yoga class with a friend, then I will head back over to Alpine to complete the clean-up of the cooler at the little house. Then back home and back to work on my own house.
Why all this work? I actually succeeded in completing most of my tax preparation for 2010 this week. It was almost mind-boggling. I had to de-construct and re-construct data in several forms and from several sources. It was like plastic surgery. How do you make a nose out of an inner thigh? I did it.
Land ”lady”
Now I must reflect upon the significance of all this landlady foolhardiness? For, I ask myself, why didn’t I simply marry a rich man who would “take care of me,” or a poor man for that matter? How is it that I am working so hard, actually losing weight, having little fun, and still asking this question? Aren’t I supposed to be semi-retired by now? Answers: I am losing weight because food is not of tremendous importance to me now. I never married a rich man because I never hung out with such and probably wouldn’t have felt that I deserved to live in affluence. I’m not having much fun because Marfa simply doesn’t seem to do that for me. I’m not sure why. It is a great tiny town with really cool people who live separate lives, for the most part.
Today, I will try to simply enjoy the hell out of my day. Yoga will be fun. Tomorrow I’ll put my dancing shoes on and hear my friends perform. I have much joy in my life even with a paint brush in my hand! Writing and reflecting upon the transition from one place I love to another place that I love, noticing the person I become at each moment is priceless.
I hope it has been of interest to you and, perhaps, helpful
Tepoz Tales 