As the last post was rather long, I´ve sliced the end bit of it like it were a ripe, creamy Zapote, and retrofitted it into the start of this next chapter.
So for you trustworthy readers, this might be old news, but now with the addition of some juicey imagery.
However, on a different note, who of you have ever had the pleasure to put you teeth (well, you don´t really need them, as it´s so soft, but never mind...) into the deliciouss, bodily fruit that is sometimes called Zapote, or also Mamey?
It is about the sweetest fruit you can imagine. A rare splice with the texture of salmon, mango and peach, and similarly coloured, the taste somewhat resembling condensed cotton candy, honey and watermelon, but way creamier, and feauturing a huge shiney seed in it´s midst, that is used to grind into porridge flour.
It often is the start of a glorious day, here, on the magic lake of Atitlan.
Anyway, to return to the story....
I left the crater on a Saturday, and headed for the capital. There I took a crazy seatless bus west, and made it almost to the Honduran border, to the town of Chiquimula to be exact. In the closed market district I found a derelict hotel and when making for the main street for a bite found almost every other shop to be a metal barred farmacy beaming into the night.
Next morning, after doing my practice near the football field cum garbage dump, closely observed by squadrons of vultures, animal and human alike.
Than hit the border of neighboring Honduras, and in the early morning touched base in the charming town of Copan Ruïnas. Where, upon reaching a safe hideaway, opened a little magic box.
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| Rize, oh Ancient Sun, and create this day Anew! |
Got ready for another magic adventure, and dropped out.
Then, there was a burst of energy, and I made my way over to the ancient city. I did not directly go over to the impressive heaps of stone, but first made a detour through the forest. Oh what Forest! How alive do I feel in this jungle, so vibrant so green, so alive. Upon a great grandmother tree I came, Ceibal sacred world tree to the Maya, many hundreds of years old like a great elephant leg and a enormous skirt of wood big like a whole house, standing there clad in a coat of life, bromeliads and ferns and mosses dangling from it's ginormous branches, who, what a creature! How I enjoyed the smell of this forest, the forest floor so reminding me of that earthy smell that European Forests apparently share. At last I came to the central great Plaza where Aras dwell in trees as one approaches. Their crazy loud calling deafening ones ears, screaming, oh so funny they are. Copan ruins do not future any great pyramids but instead there are many smaller structures, with lively inscriptions, and representations of human faces so queer and different and wonderful. How enchanting to imagine how all these statues and stones have just stood here all those long years in the jungle, being overgrown, until cleared one more in recent times. Once this city was home to some 60,000, now it is almost abandoned, but for nature, it is a new city all over again.
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| Hanging out with the Homies at Copan, Back in the Heydays. |
much Stone, entire Hills they moved. And then left everything, for time to devour.
I arrived across the gray waves in the quaint little town of Livingston. This is a home to the Garifuna people, a tribe of mixed native and African descent, I could feel their vibrant existence. After finding the most amazing, inspired, seaside, shell covered and wreck futuring organic Cafe called Cacahuatl, and meeting a bunch of friends. I stayed in the weird, half deserted concrete chunk of a hotel that to me seem to have absolutely no place in a town like this. But I guess it has? I made it to the rainbow gathering that was happening in the wild jungle nearby. A bunch of friendly folks welcomed me home, and for a night I stayed in their midst, with the mud, and the fire, and the Starlight.
That one too, of course, is amazing in its own right, but not as amazing as this stream of purity. With vines hanging low overhead, insects chirping all around, and the water a deep blue. So I bathed before once more heading back into that city, and wandering along the beach, so many coconuts I found.
So much respect I have for these people, so hardy, living in these mountains. When will they ever be allowed to have their own land back? When will we ever stop denying the rights of these natives and honor them as they deserve? These are the timekeepers, who after the collapse of the great Mayan civilization, kept counting the days, in great Cycles, to this very day.
As the weeks developed, practice became ever more intense. The village having less of a grip on me than ever before. How different this year from the last. Almost an entirely different place it seems. Every morning in the darkness Peace and I would set out through the empty streets San Marcos, or san barcos as it might be called for all those dogs who seem so utterly nocturnal, so generously sharing their song with us throughout the nights. So we would get to the temple, glowing yellow light shining down upon us, and many chimes tickling our ears. So in silence we would practice, slowly moving through the charged dawn air. The lake and volcanoes ever-changing, in every shade if gray, indigo, lilac and orange. Sometimes we would be visited by a hummingbird as small as the 2 last digits of my pinky finger. Other days a sparrow would be singing on the corner of the tenple full of joy for the new day to come. What a beautiful and intense thing it is this Thai Chi. How much there is to learn in something that externally seems so simple?! Every movement a piece of art, a treasure slowely gained by daily attentive practice. And then again after class we would walk home passing the goat guy along milk fresh from the udder. We would get back to our small pink house and cuddle in the sunshine, or make breakfas and live a beautiful life of sharing space together. What an intense thing as well relationships can be. Almost always are I guess? But so rewarding, so challenging, so enriching, so much opportunity to grow, and look at myself, discard the old, and develop the new. She is such a sweet being, I am convinced of it, I want to sing the song of her gloryall day, and yet sometimes my ego stands in the way. What a mirror. What an amazing opportunity to be together with such a woman of power.
I filled my room with papayas and other sweet wellodorous tropical fruits, and got ready for my final week in this magical town, in which I was to learn Chinese abdominal massage, from my former Thai massage teacher Zendrik. Several of my dear friends were also leaving, and I felt the draw strengthening aswel. It was the season, where one sells or pawns off as many of ones possesions as one gone one can do without, fills ones bag with as much cacao as one can carry, and heads into the many colored faces of the compass.
Everyday for a week, I rubbed peoples bellies in oil, and they returned the favor. It was a wonderfully painful experience, if such can exist. It is a curious skill to have, and I am thankful to carry it with me in my hands and heart.
Slowly I started packing my belongings, and condensing what was needed and what to be left behind. Oh it seems like the days are always beautiful in San Marcos, even when there is fire on the mountain, or the church wakes up the entire town at 5 in the morning, with cheerful fanfare tunes intended to gather the faithful, aswell as the stray? They make sure you can hear it whoever you are, that much is certain. Practice became ever more powerful, some days, especially in the afternoon, I would be feeling I was juggling glowing balls of hot lights from hand to hand. Every tiny movement an ammelgation of hundreds of moments of awareness, and letting go.
And so it ended, sweet as it had begun, the fore last week, our master filled us with inspiration by the show of his great understanding and possession of the technique. An inspiration that I will carry with me on my journeys to come. I came back to the lake to establish a daily practice of Tai Chi, and I feel like I can gladly say I have.
Now I am once again northbound, and then west, yes ever west, over that great ocean, where Asia awaits but without waiting.
Being, without being, that is the key.
Than, many eons later, coming back to that save haven, utterly exhausted but greatly enriched, you may be sure that I slept well that night.
But in the dawn of the morning I practiced my Tai Chi, as the sun rose and turned the clouds to Cotton Candy pink. Now onwards to the coast, a beautiful bus ride through a long wide Valley carried me Puerto Barrios. A forlorn town built by the United Fruit Company as a harbor for bananas mostly, back in the days of the banana republics. It started raining, which was a refreshing surprise, as I had not seen rain for over two months, which is strange for a Dutchman. The usual Harbor charm appealed to me, and I walked the muddy tropical streets, bathing in it's muggy air. I did not linger long. But took a boat along the shore of that sea seems like the end of the world. In reality though, it was only small Bay of the Caribbean, but emerges the question, what is reality?
Why are jungle Rivers so amazing, of course all rivers are amazing, maybe apart from that black open sewer I always remember in Kathmandu, bubbling, full of filth, and a decaying cadaver of a herbivore on it's banks.
Oh what a joy, joy to drink their iridescent fluid life. The waves or metal gray covered by Pelicans. I got to jump small rivers, and explore more of this amazing jungle that makes me feel so alive. This is where I breathe, this is where my whole being takes air, emotional air. I love it so much, this climate, however muggy, I love it. I don't care if my shirt sticks wet with sweat to my back, if pearls bead on my forehead, if I'm being chased by various insects, I love it.
From Livingston I took boat up river, the Rio Dulce, and came to a halt on one of it's branches where I stayed in a jungle retreat. Surrounded by that 24-7 wall of sound, of crickets, cicadas, all the thousands of little crawly creepers all around. Absorbing the life, the vegetation, taking it deep into my heart, and breathing out exultation.
Oh yeah people do still live out here in small, thatched huts crafted from the wilderness. So imagine their surprise, when suddenly out comes a tall, strange looking foreigner, just sitting down on the edge of their clearing, observing their normal life. So beautiful to me however, what to them is normal. A tiny hamlet by a stream, ducks in the clear water, sun on the palms overhead, nothing special, but so precious.
After more wandering through the jungle, my machete close at hand, feeling so safe. Like it's that which I've been missing, this sword that gives an edge to reality, and provides accuracy. It makes me feel so manly, but also more compassionate, perhaps because it makes me more aware of that my sense of right or wrong, if such exist, is of importance.
Back on the river the next day, heading over to Rio Dulce town, the town's bewildering harbor vibe. I was on my way home now, home being The Lake. But on my way there, I was determined to pass by the hot waterfall I had heard of from several people. Basically it was just stunning. In one stroke my favorite place in Guatemala by far. Hot water of perfect temperature, gushing into a big stream of gorgeous refreshing mountain quench. Steam rising up from the two rivers merging, and limestone rock stalactites and other formations embossing the scene. What a beauty, what a natural miracle, how lucky to have known such a place. I never fail to be intrigued by springs of any sort. But even more so by thermic ones. How magical, is this Earth, that such a blessing as this hot water, just bubbles up from the ground!
The rest of that whole blessed day feeling so clean, was spent rising up from the jungle of lower altitude, and reaching the Guatemalan state of Verapaz, the true peace, so named in the time when the native Mayans were being converted, suppressed and decimated. History? Not-so-distant. This again is the area wear during the gruesome civil war of Guatemala most of the atrocities were being committed.
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| Clouds on the mountain.... |
Through a great wide valley, of steep brown slopes, I came to their city of Chichicastenango. Sunday, lively market day, understandably popular with other foreigners, but pretty all the same. I actually enjoyed it there a lot, wading through the colorful masses and every street carpeted with styles and local crafts, textures, patterns, designs, so much Beauty. People were very friendly, and even though I has not come to buy anything specific, I walked away with with a collection of aboriginal heritage in the form of various woven fabrics, with a dazzling array of designs. I felt much contented, exchanging 35 Euros for all this richness, this treasure of this memory of a people.
Did I say that I do like that town? From the rooftop of my simple hotel, the white walls of the vaulted cathedral could be seen, that which is built upon a Mayan temple platform, the original stairs leading up to it still there. 18 steps for the 18 months of the Mayan year. I did not know this when I sat down upon those ancient stones, resting after all my purchases, when a couple of street kids laughingly approached me, so shy, but finnaly eager to accept my offer of tostadas or anything they wished to eat. What a precious moment, there on those stairs, overlooking the humming Market, now coming to a close.
This was also the end of my nine day journey. Ask the dusk gathered, I felt most peaceful, contented and enriched by all these new experiences. Next day it would be time to reunite with my Love, come back to that village of San Marcos with it's gravitational Force on my mind, and start practicing Tai Chi once more.
As the weeks developed, practice became ever more intense. The village having less of a grip on me than ever before. How different this year from the last. Almost an entirely different place it seems. Every morning in the darkness Peace and I would set out through the empty streets San Marcos, or san barcos as it might be called for all those dogs who seem so utterly nocturnal, so generously sharing their song with us throughout the nights. So we would get to the temple, glowing yellow light shining down upon us, and many chimes tickling our ears. So in silence we would practice, slowly moving through the charged dawn air. The lake and volcanoes ever-changing, in every shade if gray, indigo, lilac and orange. Sometimes we would be visited by a hummingbird as small as the 2 last digits of my pinky finger. Other days a sparrow would be singing on the corner of the tenple full of joy for the new day to come. What a beautiful and intense thing it is this Thai Chi. How much there is to learn in something that externally seems so simple?! Every movement a piece of art, a treasure slowely gained by daily attentive practice. And then again after class we would walk home passing the goat guy along milk fresh from the udder. We would get back to our small pink house and cuddle in the sunshine, or make breakfas and live a beautiful life of sharing space together. What an intense thing as well relationships can be. Almost always are I guess? But so rewarding, so challenging, so enriching, so much opportunity to grow, and look at myself, discard the old, and develop the new. She is such a sweet being, I am convinced of it, I want to sing the song of her gloryall day, and yet sometimes my ego stands in the way. What a mirror. What an amazing opportunity to be together with such a woman of power.
While doing Tai Chi we also undertook to do a pranayama breathwork course at Las piramides with Jennica. That woman too is a Powerhouse. In only 4 days transferred to us a wealth of knowledge and wisdom, concerning Prana, the breath and its applications. We got high as a bunch of vultures, breathing deep and breathing shallow. And felt absolutely amazing. I keep passing out whenever I practice breathwork, which is very unusual for me, but I kind of like it. It's a new frontier to explore, and it feels so beneficial and with so many applications.
Time is a strange thing, and even though the days hardly get any longer here, they surely did pass. Peace and I treasured our every moment together, or we tried, whenever we didn't get too caught up in our own stories. And thus celebrating life we reached the moment that she had to leave. She going back to her life, and I remaining with mine.
The temple of Dao
She left with the first boat and I saw her go across the silver water. How whimsical is this togetherness so powerful and so feeble. There were no words in the silence, and in the darkness with my eyes closed I could not see. One day I remember before she went, we closed all the blinds one morning, and spend hours in the darkness, exploring each others minds by orojecting our emotions to the inside of eachothers heads and living by sensation as guidance alone. Then, when we broke the curtain, diamonds shot out in all directions, enchanting colors like never seen before, and indeed never seen are with those eyes, now anew, and unconditioned. The trees, so vibrantly green, were absolutely crushing it out there in the sky of sun and air.
Descending them, back into that village along the lakeshore, so similar, yet now so different that she was gone. I don't know if I still remember what life was before she ever decided to bless us both and come out here. I moved into a room at the always lively Pacha Mama Family hostal, always featuring an abundance of kids, free travelers, dogs, and those clever green parrots that had learned to imitate the bunch, especially the kids. 'wait, is that a baby crying up there in that tree?'I filled my room with papayas and other sweet wellodorous tropical fruits, and got ready for my final week in this magical town, in which I was to learn Chinese abdominal massage, from my former Thai massage teacher Zendrik. Several of my dear friends were also leaving, and I felt the draw strengthening aswel. It was the season, where one sells or pawns off as many of ones possesions as one gone one can do without, fills ones bag with as much cacao as one can carry, and heads into the many colored faces of the compass.
Everyday for a week, I rubbed peoples bellies in oil, and they returned the favor. It was a wonderfully painful experience, if such can exist. It is a curious skill to have, and I am thankful to carry it with me in my hands and heart.
Slowly I started packing my belongings, and condensing what was needed and what to be left behind. Oh it seems like the days are always beautiful in San Marcos, even when there is fire on the mountain, or the church wakes up the entire town at 5 in the morning, with cheerful fanfare tunes intended to gather the faithful, aswell as the stray? They make sure you can hear it whoever you are, that much is certain. Practice became ever more powerful, some days, especially in the afternoon, I would be feeling I was juggling glowing balls of hot lights from hand to hand. Every tiny movement an ammelgation of hundreds of moments of awareness, and letting go.
And so it ended, sweet as it had begun, the fore last week, our master filled us with inspiration by the show of his great understanding and possession of the technique. An inspiration that I will carry with me on my journeys to come. I came back to the lake to establish a daily practice of Tai Chi, and I feel like I can gladly say I have.
Now I am once again northbound, and then west, yes ever west, over that great ocean, where Asia awaits but without waiting.
Being, without being, that is the key.
