Life is really a series of endings and beginnings, it is only our perception which creates the title and the definition of where the boundaries are.
There is one more day for Curtis and I to traverse the streets of D.F. and feel the sun, as well as the dust.
Last night I thought of how my mind has reconfigured itself because of language barriers, and how I spend time learning words like a child, the mind as a sponge, to soak up the world. Let me stay in this.
The thought of returning to the tea party is frightening, I must admit, but one must face life with courage. The people I love have been dealing with the rain, and the politics. My heart goes out to you, and I hope soon to be sitting with you in yoga practice to soften the world.
I have been traveling with my purple soft mat, the very first yoga mat I ever owned, and tonight I shall go to Liliana's apartment and leave it with her. My heart, corazon, is in the places I have been, and the places I will return to. It is with the world of kindness which is so huge, so much larger than our fears will let it be, in the dark of the night wondering about survival.
I close this with a story about another traveler we met, named Buddy, a house painter/musician from Alaska. He was having dinner on the square in Patzcuaro, where beggers, singers, and women selling trinkets with babies on their backs make a continuous parade through your meal.
He had a big pile of change on the table, and a particularly haggard woman came along. He could not help himself, and gave her all the money at once. He and she were both crying he told us. I was not there, but I can see the scene in my mind, and I will carry it with me as comfort, like I carry those I love in the rucksack of my heart.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Beach Towns we Have Loved and Lost
Ocean towns used to be
places with cottages and gramas who gave a basket
for blackberries to make a dinner pie.
Children knew the sand for hours, forgeting time
television was somewhere else, too many rocks and sticks and shells to find
Even in places where the waves were always cold, the children and their families played
And slept 3 or 4 to a room, on floors, and never wished for more.
Here, another over loved beach reveals itself each day..
Red lights ring a palm tree painted white at the base to
deter insectos or rats and everywhere bacteria unseen
my arm announcing something with red flares.
The beggar women come along, approaching each table
of beer drinkers and gringos to sell
earthquake detectors, made in China, in some other sadness
Their children on their backs or tagging along, carrying their own basket of trinkets
The children are so tough here, so wise, so uncomplaining
The night warms as a firelit room in the north
the air soft, lights on the hills denote the mansions of the rich
whose faces one will not see on these streets.
Whose money buys the hill, the water, whose sewage still flows into the bay.
They looked to be redeemed, The Shawshank men, here in this
quiet fishing village, and that was then.
The sun still shines, the waves still break,
as they do where the cannon washed up so far
North of here, and my girl self was the prisoner of school,
who loved the beach like a mother.
places with cottages and gramas who gave a basket
for blackberries to make a dinner pie.
Children knew the sand for hours, forgeting time
television was somewhere else, too many rocks and sticks and shells to find
Even in places where the waves were always cold, the children and their families played
And slept 3 or 4 to a room, on floors, and never wished for more.
Here, another over loved beach reveals itself each day..
Red lights ring a palm tree painted white at the base to
deter insectos or rats and everywhere bacteria unseen
my arm announcing something with red flares.
The beggar women come along, approaching each table
of beer drinkers and gringos to sell
earthquake detectors, made in China, in some other sadness
Their children on their backs or tagging along, carrying their own basket of trinkets
The children are so tough here, so wise, so uncomplaining
The night warms as a firelit room in the north
the air soft, lights on the hills denote the mansions of the rich
whose faces one will not see on these streets.
Whose money buys the hill, the water, whose sewage still flows into the bay.
They looked to be redeemed, The Shawshank men, here in this
quiet fishing village, and that was then.
The sun still shines, the waves still break,
as they do where the cannon washed up so far
North of here, and my girl self was the prisoner of school,
who loved the beach like a mother.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Human Search for Meaning
In the town I am staying in this week, Patzcuaro, is a small bookstore,' Don Vasco Libros', which I visited after my dentist appointment. The books were all in Spanish, and yet I could see many familiar titles. I became excited when I saw 2 copies of Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning. This is the book I sold when I was a bookseller, if someone asked for my best recommendation to help a person going through grief or dark nights if the soul. I immediately wanted to compliment the proprietor on the impressive quality of books he carried. He also had Emotional Intelligence, books by Issabelle Allende and Octavio Paz. I saw very little that didn't appear to be of literary merit.
It made me wonder how he chose books, and who his customers were. I did speak with him, and he was very friendly and seemed to appreciate my compliment.
Since all the books in the store were Spanish, it would seem that the large expat/gringo community here probably does not keep Don Vasco afloat. My inclination is that there is a fair population of highly educated Mexicans who live in the area.
I went to yoga again this morning with Enrique. He challenges me with strength poses. An important experience for this 54 year old body.
Later in the day our hosts took us to the puerte where the boats leave regularly for Janitcio, the island in Lake Patzcuaro. It is very famous for it's Day of the Dead celebrations, and for a huge statue of Morales, which dominates the top center of the Island. We climbed the stairs up and up through the vendors, and finally to the statue. For 6 pesos one can walk the stairs inside the statue to it's summit. The inside walls are entirely painted with murals. It is sort of like the Astor column, but 5 times bigger. The murals are more dramatic,and they actually feature lots of women in them, including a whole panel of the scene of Morales' birth. He went on to lead Mexico in kicking out the Spanish.
On our way back to the boats, we walked through the graveyard, filled with balloon, flowers real and fake, toys, rock designs, poems.. all in a charmingly chaotic jumble. This kind of cemetery seems like a fun place to go, and commune with the ancestors, have a picnic, sing and dance with the children on top of the past.
Our friendly dentist, Jose, gave us tamales for dinner, which his mother-in-law made. We ate them in the Zocolo, under this half moon. They were fabuloso.
I find meaning in homemade tamales, sweet memories of those no longer in the physical realm, and kind people.
It made me wonder how he chose books, and who his customers were. I did speak with him, and he was very friendly and seemed to appreciate my compliment.
Since all the books in the store were Spanish, it would seem that the large expat/gringo community here probably does not keep Don Vasco afloat. My inclination is that there is a fair population of highly educated Mexicans who live in the area.
I went to yoga again this morning with Enrique. He challenges me with strength poses. An important experience for this 54 year old body.
Later in the day our hosts took us to the puerte where the boats leave regularly for Janitcio, the island in Lake Patzcuaro. It is very famous for it's Day of the Dead celebrations, and for a huge statue of Morales, which dominates the top center of the Island. We climbed the stairs up and up through the vendors, and finally to the statue. For 6 pesos one can walk the stairs inside the statue to it's summit. The inside walls are entirely painted with murals. It is sort of like the Astor column, but 5 times bigger. The murals are more dramatic,and they actually feature lots of women in them, including a whole panel of the scene of Morales' birth. He went on to lead Mexico in kicking out the Spanish.
On our way back to the boats, we walked through the graveyard, filled with balloon, flowers real and fake, toys, rock designs, poems.. all in a charmingly chaotic jumble. This kind of cemetery seems like a fun place to go, and commune with the ancestors, have a picnic, sing and dance with the children on top of the past.
Our friendly dentist, Jose, gave us tamales for dinner, which his mother-in-law made. We ate them in the Zocolo, under this half moon. They were fabuloso.
I find meaning in homemade tamales, sweet memories of those no longer in the physical realm, and kind people.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
1-11-11
1-11-11
A day of one’s, possibly a day of firsts then?
I Write from Patzcuaro, in the state of Michoacan, Mexico. Patzcuaro is a pueblo magica, a magic village about 5 hours drive on the toll highway west from Mexico City. The elevation is is above 7000 feet still, and the air is clear and dry. My tortured sinuses are healing. My white blood cells have been working hard against what they call ‘el grippe’ here, a cold.
When we arrived at the home of friend’s of Curtis’s, the first news was of the horror in Tuscon, the very city where my new daughter-in-law attends law school. The irony that I was warned and suffered numerous furrowed brows when I told people that we were going to Mexico for a month sits heavy with me today.
“Oh, Mexico is so dangerous. “ they said.
The ‘news’ highlights certain things in certain ways. Here, I have less fear that a deranged person with a fancy gun will open fire at random, out of shear anger. Forgive me, but America has a disproportionate number of angry people living within range of affluence. That combination seems at this point to be more volatile than a mafia and a whole bunch of poor people who share a similar cultural view, and spend most days just working very hard to survive.
This morning I attended Enrique’s yoga class, in the Hatha tradition. I was the only gringo, and so I was able to listen to what instructions in good Spanish sound like. It was a wonderful class, and I spoke afterwards with ‘Kike’ as he goes by. He is the same age as my Arlyn, another young yogi. I bow to you, hijo mio. What beautiful young people we have in the world.
As I lay in savasana tears came. Without a word, Enrique gave me a tissue. We spoke later of the phenomenon particluar to savasana, which we have both experienced ourselves, and witnessed as teachers. This gentle completion to the practice often brings us to our most tender core. It felt wonderful to have a release, after the past weeks of intensive language study, sinus challenges, and great efforts at social correctness in unfamiliar surroundings. My experience here is teaching me how to treat those who are visitors, especially from other cultures. Listen, smile, laugh, and find the things you have in common… oh, and talk about your beloved children, parents and families, almost everyone is softened by the opportunity to speak of their own familiars.
It is the luck of birth which allows me to be here, and still have a home and a life 2000 miles away as well. In my practice I feel gratitude for such luck, ‘suerte’. I renew myself to my practice, to my friends, to my loved ones, and to knowing strangers with intention.
A day of one’s, possibly a day of firsts then?
I Write from Patzcuaro, in the state of Michoacan, Mexico. Patzcuaro is a pueblo magica, a magic village about 5 hours drive on the toll highway west from Mexico City. The elevation is is above 7000 feet still, and the air is clear and dry. My tortured sinuses are healing. My white blood cells have been working hard against what they call ‘el grippe’ here, a cold.
When we arrived at the home of friend’s of Curtis’s, the first news was of the horror in Tuscon, the very city where my new daughter-in-law attends law school. The irony that I was warned and suffered numerous furrowed brows when I told people that we were going to Mexico for a month sits heavy with me today.
“Oh, Mexico is so dangerous. “ they said.
The ‘news’ highlights certain things in certain ways. Here, I have less fear that a deranged person with a fancy gun will open fire at random, out of shear anger. Forgive me, but America has a disproportionate number of angry people living within range of affluence. That combination seems at this point to be more volatile than a mafia and a whole bunch of poor people who share a similar cultural view, and spend most days just working very hard to survive.
This morning I attended Enrique’s yoga class, in the Hatha tradition. I was the only gringo, and so I was able to listen to what instructions in good Spanish sound like. It was a wonderful class, and I spoke afterwards with ‘Kike’ as he goes by. He is the same age as my Arlyn, another young yogi. I bow to you, hijo mio. What beautiful young people we have in the world.
As I lay in savasana tears came. Without a word, Enrique gave me a tissue. We spoke later of the phenomenon particluar to savasana, which we have both experienced ourselves, and witnessed as teachers. This gentle completion to the practice often brings us to our most tender core. It felt wonderful to have a release, after the past weeks of intensive language study, sinus challenges, and great efforts at social correctness in unfamiliar surroundings. My experience here is teaching me how to treat those who are visitors, especially from other cultures. Listen, smile, laugh, and find the things you have in common… oh, and talk about your beloved children, parents and families, almost everyone is softened by the opportunity to speak of their own familiars.
It is the luck of birth which allows me to be here, and still have a home and a life 2000 miles away as well. In my practice I feel gratitude for such luck, ‘suerte’. I renew myself to my practice, to my friends, to my loved ones, and to knowing strangers with intention.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Rosca, Pina and Ideals
1-7-11
Today is my Grandfather’s birthday, marked every year now by his only daughter, my mom. ‘Pop‘, we called him. He liked the warm air where I am now. Here is a bow to you, Mama, and to our Pop, Ludwig Stanley Baier, an incredible man.
Last night our yoga practice grew to 5 in the kioske. We had an invigorating hour and then savasana even with mosquitos biting in the dark. Afterwards we cut the ‘rosca’ which Liliana brought, a wreath of cake which is the traditional way to celebrate the Feast of the 3 kings. We laughed while playing the game of looking for ‘el nino’ the little white plastic boy Jesus hidden in the bread. Tradition goes that whoever gets the baby must put on a party Feb 2, which I guess is connected with the beginning of Lent, and of course is our ‘Groundhog Day”. I name it ' El dia de marmota' as I explain it to our young friends who seem eager to know everything.
This rosca was soft and golden white, not too sweet, padrisimo - the slang word Liliana told me I can use instead of the usual superlatives. She showed us the bakery where it came from, and I plan to return there to try other goodies.
Curtis and I had walked to the San Juan market the day before to procure a pineapple, and so we shared this along with the rosca. The 5 of us talking in our English/Spanish/slang, ebullient exchanges, about what we did that day, how we appreciate truly ripe fruit, words, dreams, traditions - just the type of discourse I long for in a travel experience - a vision quest.
After the post yoga party, Diego showed us another route out of the park, which took us past the Cathedral and the remains of Tlatalolco, an Aztec stronghold which fell to Cortez in 1521. The site has been restored enough to see the style of construction, and to note clearly that the bricks which wall the church were taken directly from the temple ruins. History is written by the victors.
As we came back out to the street, Diego had us turn to look at the building behind us, part of the University at la Plaza de las Tres Culturas, the name for this whole area. There in 18 of the large windows walling the building were images of the 18 students gunned down by the military for protesting government policies back in 1968, in the square next to where we stood. My mouth fell open, tears came. I was amazed that the political powers would let this be such a huge, permanent public image facing a major thoroughfare. Our friends were born long after this occurred, but they showed a real reverence for this space, and a clear knowledge of the significance of these events. I shared what went on in the U.S. during the same years, Kent State and Vietnam. They listened, as always, with great attention and interest. Recalling the U.S. draft and the havoc which those years wreaked upon my generation, I feel sad. Instead of the war to end all war, we are now left with the concept of endless war.
That night in the park, and the images of the young faces on the windows will be etched in my mind’s eye forever I am certain. Martyrs for the cause of human rights live on, and yet their faces are so young. I hope my young friends will replace them as thinking individuals. They come from modest circumstances, but they are so fun and lively anyway. They are learning yoga so easily. I tell them it is such an honor for me to be their first teacher, and they give us Cool Mexican slang words so we can feel young too.
Today is my Grandfather’s birthday, marked every year now by his only daughter, my mom. ‘Pop‘, we called him. He liked the warm air where I am now. Here is a bow to you, Mama, and to our Pop, Ludwig Stanley Baier, an incredible man.
Last night our yoga practice grew to 5 in the kioske. We had an invigorating hour and then savasana even with mosquitos biting in the dark. Afterwards we cut the ‘rosca’ which Liliana brought, a wreath of cake which is the traditional way to celebrate the Feast of the 3 kings. We laughed while playing the game of looking for ‘el nino’ the little white plastic boy Jesus hidden in the bread. Tradition goes that whoever gets the baby must put on a party Feb 2, which I guess is connected with the beginning of Lent, and of course is our ‘Groundhog Day”. I name it ' El dia de marmota' as I explain it to our young friends who seem eager to know everything.
This rosca was soft and golden white, not too sweet, padrisimo - the slang word Liliana told me I can use instead of the usual superlatives. She showed us the bakery where it came from, and I plan to return there to try other goodies.
Curtis and I had walked to the San Juan market the day before to procure a pineapple, and so we shared this along with the rosca. The 5 of us talking in our English/Spanish/slang, ebullient exchanges, about what we did that day, how we appreciate truly ripe fruit, words, dreams, traditions - just the type of discourse I long for in a travel experience - a vision quest.
After the post yoga party, Diego showed us another route out of the park, which took us past the Cathedral and the remains of Tlatalolco, an Aztec stronghold which fell to Cortez in 1521. The site has been restored enough to see the style of construction, and to note clearly that the bricks which wall the church were taken directly from the temple ruins. History is written by the victors.
As we came back out to the street, Diego had us turn to look at the building behind us, part of the University at la Plaza de las Tres Culturas, the name for this whole area. There in 18 of the large windows walling the building were images of the 18 students gunned down by the military for protesting government policies back in 1968, in the square next to where we stood. My mouth fell open, tears came. I was amazed that the political powers would let this be such a huge, permanent public image facing a major thoroughfare. Our friends were born long after this occurred, but they showed a real reverence for this space, and a clear knowledge of the significance of these events. I shared what went on in the U.S. during the same years, Kent State and Vietnam. They listened, as always, with great attention and interest. Recalling the U.S. draft and the havoc which those years wreaked upon my generation, I feel sad. Instead of the war to end all war, we are now left with the concept of endless war.
That night in the park, and the images of the young faces on the windows will be etched in my mind’s eye forever I am certain. Martyrs for the cause of human rights live on, and yet their faces are so young. I hope my young friends will replace them as thinking individuals. They come from modest circumstances, but they are so fun and lively anyway. They are learning yoga so easily. I tell them it is such an honor for me to be their first teacher, and they give us Cool Mexican slang words so we can feel young too.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Tolerance in the World
Yesterday I visited the yoga place near our hotel. It is a Hare Krishna community, which offers many yoga classes, some for free, vegetarian cooking classes, and much else. We spoke to Swami, a young man who is Austrian, who wears the traditional orange robes and spoke English so I could ask lots of questions in a short amount of time.
I asked how things were for the Hare Krishna Community there, being a few blocks away from the Cathedral, Catholic Central really. He told us a story of coming into Mexico and reaching the customs desk where the officer asks the traveler what they are going to do, how long to stay. His officer was genuinely curious about his religion, and spent quite a bit of time chatting in a friendly way while 300 people stood in line behind, waiting their turn. In short, there is true tolerance, but more than that, there seems to be a general respect for anyone's spiritual path, anyone who lives an honest life, is an asset to the community, etc.
So, that is another wish for 2011, not just tolerance, but respect for spirituality, hard work and decent living
We can wish... deseo.
I asked how things were for the Hare Krishna Community there, being a few blocks away from the Cathedral, Catholic Central really. He told us a story of coming into Mexico and reaching the customs desk where the officer asks the traveler what they are going to do, how long to stay. His officer was genuinely curious about his religion, and spent quite a bit of time chatting in a friendly way while 300 people stood in line behind, waiting their turn. In short, there is true tolerance, but more than that, there seems to be a general respect for anyone's spiritual path, anyone who lives an honest life, is an asset to the community, etc.
So, that is another wish for 2011, not just tolerance, but respect for spirituality, hard work and decent living
We can wish... deseo.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Epiphany
All throughout my childhood, my beautiful, creative Mom would hold a special celebration dinner for the Feast of the three Kings. We had a cake with a porcelain baby Jesus hiding inside. Whoever got the piece with the baby got the wise men's gifts of gold (a chocolate gold foil coin) Frankensence (incense) and myhrr, (mouthwash).
I loved that holiday, so well placed after the let down of the big holidays, when we had to march back to school in the January cold and rain.. (unless we were lucky enough to have it snow).
Here in Mexico they celebrate with a 'rosca' a ring of sweet bread decorated with candied fruit. It reminds me a bit of German stollen. This is a big holiday, with gifts too. Los tres Reyes. I saw 3 men dressed as the kings posing for photo opps with families in front of Cathedral Metropolitano. One of them was very dark skinned, with middle Eastern features. They wear bright satin robes and look just like the miniature kings my Mom had for her mantle manger scene. I can't see the three Kings without thinking of their connection to 'epiphany'. I didn't learn the meaning of 'epiphany' outside of cake and gifts until we studied James Joyce in college.
We need more epiphanies I believe, in this modern world. Epiphanies to bring us up into the light of compassionate love, generosity, intelligent use of resources... oh-kay.. I will step down from the soap box. I just wish the paradigm of a widening gap between rich and poor will change. Possibly with an epiphany... a sudden inspiration that "a rising tide floats all boats", if the other person, the stranger, has a better life, then mine will be so as well.
Last night I sang Om Ni Shavaya in the Kiosk where we practice yoga. The reverberating sound made me feel as though I actually could sing. My voice came easily. My little group sat with me, my small heaven. To all my friends, fellow yogis, or anyone reading this, I wish for you an epiphany to carry your heart into the new year lightly, gently, smiling.
I loved that holiday, so well placed after the let down of the big holidays, when we had to march back to school in the January cold and rain.. (unless we were lucky enough to have it snow).
Here in Mexico they celebrate with a 'rosca' a ring of sweet bread decorated with candied fruit. It reminds me a bit of German stollen. This is a big holiday, with gifts too. Los tres Reyes. I saw 3 men dressed as the kings posing for photo opps with families in front of Cathedral Metropolitano. One of them was very dark skinned, with middle Eastern features. They wear bright satin robes and look just like the miniature kings my Mom had for her mantle manger scene. I can't see the three Kings without thinking of their connection to 'epiphany'. I didn't learn the meaning of 'epiphany' outside of cake and gifts until we studied James Joyce in college.
We need more epiphanies I believe, in this modern world. Epiphanies to bring us up into the light of compassionate love, generosity, intelligent use of resources... oh-kay.. I will step down from the soap box. I just wish the paradigm of a widening gap between rich and poor will change. Possibly with an epiphany... a sudden inspiration that "a rising tide floats all boats", if the other person, the stranger, has a better life, then mine will be so as well.
Last night I sang Om Ni Shavaya in the Kiosk where we practice yoga. The reverberating sound made me feel as though I actually could sing. My voice came easily. My little group sat with me, my small heaven. To all my friends, fellow yogis, or anyone reading this, I wish for you an epiphany to carry your heart into the new year lightly, gently, smiling.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
People in the World
I wish everyone could travel more, to find that wonderful, intelligent, friendly people exist in great numbers all over.
The 2 young people who are practicing with me, a student of biology and his cousin , a sweet young woman studying international business, are delightful. We have practiced together twice now, and last night I tried an 'om' chant in the roman kiosk where we practice. The acoustics were so incredible, I had to ask Lilliana for a word, una pallabra, for extra extra cool- it is 'padrisimo'. The sound created was totally the best. Tonight I plan to try singing 'Om Ni Shavaya' It should be out of this world.
Today we are trying the nearest vegetarian restaurant for the first time. Vegetables don't list high on the regular menus here.
Postscript - I just finished "The Lacuna', by Barbara Kingsolver. It goes onto my recommended list right away. I want everyone to read it!
The 2 young people who are practicing with me, a student of biology and his cousin , a sweet young woman studying international business, are delightful. We have practiced together twice now, and last night I tried an 'om' chant in the roman kiosk where we practice. The acoustics were so incredible, I had to ask Lilliana for a word, una pallabra, for extra extra cool- it is 'padrisimo'. The sound created was totally the best. Tonight I plan to try singing 'Om Ni Shavaya' It should be out of this world.
Today we are trying the nearest vegetarian restaurant for the first time. Vegetables don't list high on the regular menus here.
Postscript - I just finished "The Lacuna', by Barbara Kingsolver. It goes onto my recommended list right away. I want everyone to read it!
Monday, January 3, 2011
Cosmic Yoga in D.F.
The New Year has begun, and if it continues this way, I will be one grateful yogi.
On Sunday I went to the nearby Yoga class offering at the Hare Krishna Center near our hotel. I found 3 young people waiting, and no teacher arrived because of the holiday. I spoke with the 2 young men, and one woman in my broken Espanol, and told them I was a teacher. Diego, one of the men, asked if I would teach them. My first response, maybe because I don't think very fast was "Si".
They all agreed to meet later in the evening at a space in a park which Diego said was open to the public.
At 7 in the evening Diego showed up at the hotel with his cousin Lilliana, and the 4 of us walked out to the Plaza de las Tres Culturalas The Plaza of the 3 cultures... what a fitting name, as I navigated between English, Spanish and Sanskrit, Sanskrito. I had spent a few hours looking up key words, and with the help of Curtis, was able to introduce the 2 adorable young people to their first yoga experience. The space was just a paladium in the center of the park, and the echo was very cool. It was dark and very magical.
In my American mind at first, when Diego asked me to do this, I had the little fears one is conditioned to have because of negative, slanted news reports of people who will try any scam to take advantage. How grateful I am that I have a little store of what some may call 'foolhardiness' rather than courage. I trusted my sense of who would be waiting outside a shop front for a free yoga class at 8 am on a Sunday Morning in the holiday week. Because I could trust, we have 2 new friends now, both of high quality.
As we 4 sat in the famous hot chocolate and churros place after yoga, speaking a jumbled combination of our 2 languages, I thought the world a wonderful place after all. They wanted to learn English from us as much as we wanted to stumble along in Spanish with them. And so, tonight, another lesson in the park at 6.
This does not even include the story of the morning tour in the bell towers of the cathedral, where we stood in the middle of the ringings for noon Sunday mass, incredible. Bell ringers now wear ear protection, and so will not become deaf like Quasi Moto..
There is so much life here in this colorful country, and so much, much, mucho mas than violence. Diego wants to learn yoga to meditate and feel more tranquil than he felt taking martial arts. Tonight I will ask him and Lilliana if I can take their photos, and all my yoga pals and readers can see the beautiful faces of youth.
On Sunday I went to the nearby Yoga class offering at the Hare Krishna Center near our hotel. I found 3 young people waiting, and no teacher arrived because of the holiday. I spoke with the 2 young men, and one woman in my broken Espanol, and told them I was a teacher. Diego, one of the men, asked if I would teach them. My first response, maybe because I don't think very fast was "Si".
They all agreed to meet later in the evening at a space in a park which Diego said was open to the public.
At 7 in the evening Diego showed up at the hotel with his cousin Lilliana, and the 4 of us walked out to the Plaza de las Tres Culturalas The Plaza of the 3 cultures... what a fitting name, as I navigated between English, Spanish and Sanskrit, Sanskrito. I had spent a few hours looking up key words, and with the help of Curtis, was able to introduce the 2 adorable young people to their first yoga experience. The space was just a paladium in the center of the park, and the echo was very cool. It was dark and very magical.
In my American mind at first, when Diego asked me to do this, I had the little fears one is conditioned to have because of negative, slanted news reports of people who will try any scam to take advantage. How grateful I am that I have a little store of what some may call 'foolhardiness' rather than courage. I trusted my sense of who would be waiting outside a shop front for a free yoga class at 8 am on a Sunday Morning in the holiday week. Because I could trust, we have 2 new friends now, both of high quality.
As we 4 sat in the famous hot chocolate and churros place after yoga, speaking a jumbled combination of our 2 languages, I thought the world a wonderful place after all. They wanted to learn English from us as much as we wanted to stumble along in Spanish with them. And so, tonight, another lesson in the park at 6.
This does not even include the story of the morning tour in the bell towers of the cathedral, where we stood in the middle of the ringings for noon Sunday mass, incredible. Bell ringers now wear ear protection, and so will not become deaf like Quasi Moto..
There is so much life here in this colorful country, and so much, much, mucho mas than violence. Diego wants to learn yoga to meditate and feel more tranquil than he felt taking martial arts. Tonight I will ask him and Lilliana if I can take their photos, and all my yoga pals and readers can see the beautiful faces of youth.
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