Boca del Cielo, August 16, 2008. Another altered state. Another connectedness, a conscious, alert and totally absorbed moment. Here are my writings:

I’ve definitely decided that I am mesmerized by the sea. And I like the reverberating sound of the sea. But to exist, to feel, to want to explore and to taste…I am a more temperate cool-weathered person. Mendocino, California. The highlands of Peru or Colombia. The Altos of Mexico, Chiapas and Guatemala. Where there are wispy clouds and mist every morning that abscond into the crevasses of mountains, and there isn’t the sticky feeling of sand and surf and sweat.

Early this morning, sun is barely awake and the mountains are still indigo, blushing. I am alone along the cool abandoned beach, cello and erhu soloist in my heart, and it makes a profundity, an experience that absorbs my entire attention. A feeling of weighted and intensity, an awareness of my existence in this world, this interconnected place. The sea breeze. The lapping of ocean waves. The majestic sunrise over the azure jagged mountains, the warm current of water with foam, it must be 20*C and last night’s moon encompassed the entire landscape with a soft glowing light, so that we could see the silhouette of the entire landscape.

“The point is not to live forever, it is to create something that will.” I had never known the wisdom of that phrase until this very moment: I am… I exist… we are. As much as we are mortal, we are timeless. The point is to forge that transcending connection and resonate. To open in others a sense of possibility, to engage into that corporeal-mind-spirit experience, to make people appreciate intense depth in profound simplicity. At that moment, with the sun and the humid sea enveloping me, taking me in its undulating rhythm.

I feel such greatness inside of my smallness, like a sharp clarity and focus on my role here, and how my life was going to serve its purpose. How remarkable… how exquisitely pleasurable and curiously natural…to discover, to realize, to be totally, completely aware of the enormity of the Pacific Ocean, these very marine waters that reach the shores of the South Pacific and Australasia will come back to me. How perfect, how wonderful this world is. We in this century are the inheritance of an entire human civilization, from the flint of fire to complex industrial machinery to a gamut of knowledge about science and arts. I felt a sense of touch, a powerful sense of eternity and tranquility.

Fernando, me and Marco on the shores during a full moon.

Marco | Me | Fernando.

San Cristobal de Las Casas with Claudia

Transition. Allowing, now that I’ve breathed slower, a deep, disastrous sense of grief to process over things I have witnessed. Grief: not an emotion I typically feel—or allow myself to feel—but now it overcomes me. Something has abandoned self-restraint and let the weight of human misery open channels of sad feelings which percolate my thoughts. Or, to let the tragedy of others to pervade and course through my body, to dedicate this time to allow myself to be tender, to tremble, to dwell in loss, to be sad at how callous we allow ourselves to be, how could this be. Even if “they” have been hardened and numbed and do not feel the misery of their situation, let me please, let me feel devastated, let me not put up the barriers to this special acute sense of loss. This moment of pensiveness is offered, in quiet humility, to triumph over my other emotions. To grieve. To culminate and synchronize pieces of human experience in the past months all in this very moment. To feel it all course through me like pages of a chapter in my life. Let tears that stay in heart stay behind my eyes.

The viene y va, the rhythm of the waves seem to recalibrate that response rhythm inside my own soul, compelling the circular rhythm of mind to align and synchronize with it. Impulse. I know this dimensional feeling, how infinitely universal and yet indescribable, I am connecting and it is so rare this feeling that when it happens you want it to remain with you. Each wave crashes the continental shelf, and I can close my eyes and imagine the vast distances it has travelled, as an energy, as a motion, a movement of a body of water, compelled by the pull of the moon lifting an entire ocean… of of this so that the crush of the movement culminates in a brilliant crest of foam that now wriggles between my toes and the water feels good beneath my feet.

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A trillion microspecks of golden glitter tumbling in the tumulteous crash of waves, the stretch of the Mexican Pacific coast, a belt that goes forever, compacted sand and shining flecks in the sunshine. The amount of sand on the shore remind me of a curious trivia I learned in class, there are more stars in the universe than sand on the beach. More orbs of explosive shining nuclear sources greater than the sun in this galaxy than grains of sand between my toes… and it dawns on me, with the several thousands of black and white specks on and over my legs, each one could count for a solar system… that’s how small all of this is. How miniscule our problems, how irrelevant are most of the things I was concerned with.

The water was kind and warm, glassine, swimming over my feet and playing around my ankles, then returning to the engulfing source in tempo, the vast ocean before me. And I knew very clear then, when the water touched me that the mercy of nature’s elements could change and its ferocity, its sheer undulating power belied the docile waves that lapped tenderly against my calves. The sea is like a certain woman, its power and internal strength subdued, its spirit and resolve has an azure depth thta one can only suppose by looking at the mysterious color of the surface, its complexity belied by simplicity, the duality of the sea fixates my attention, it is the home of infinite creatures and infinite tempests and torments and moods. The marine waters, glide, slide but also crush, it gives rise to all weather, to cyclones and typhoons, treachery and rage from the very same source that gives life.

If I were a man in the 15th century, I too would have liked to cross the ocean in exploration of its breadth, its depth, its genuine nature, to come to know the Pacific, mother of seas and unparalleled beauty, challenge and complexity in its soul. Greatness lying beyond these shores if one just dares. The ocean is aptly compared to a woman. Not any woman, but a timeless queen. Ah, enlightenment.

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Mexican Slang:¿Que onda?” what’s up? | “chambear” to work | “lamina” car | “piel” girlfriend

Spanish Words you can’t say:poya” the money pool in Mexican Spanish, penis in Spain Spanish | “tortillera” the tortilla woman in Mexican Spanish, lesbian in Spain Spanish | “cajeta” caramel in Mexican Spanish, the sexual part of a woman in Argentine Spanish | “coger” to f*** in Latin American Spanish, to get or retrieve in Spain Spanish

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