Cenotes!

Years ago, when Kevin and I traveled through Panama, we took turns reading Barbara Kingsolvers The Lacuna. We read about these clear, cold, aquamarine pools where human sacrifices were made and secret caverns are discovered. I started to read about these cenotes hidden throughout the Yucatan peninsula, known to those with roots to the land, and fantastical to tourists traveling through.

I love watering holes. One of my favorite scavenger hunts is for cold water hidden to refresh you on a hot day. I've lounged by the Blue Hole in the Catskills. Kevin and I got too late to one in the Pine Barrens (deforesting the surrounding environment changed the ecosystem causing the water to become polluted). I was enchanted by the idea of encountering cenotes in the Yucatan Peninsula.

As Kevin and I packed up our belongings at the Zona Hotelera campsite and headed into town, we asked about visiting some nearby cenotes. We began hitching rides on collectivos, or vans that function like buses. For change you could ride shoulder to shoulder with local commuters to a site off the highway. Some cenotes charge more for admission than others. The more expensive sites tend to have picnic areas and changing rooms. The less expensive (and in my mind, more worthwhile) sites had pretty much no development. You encounter the crystalline water, set your things down by some tree roots, and dive in.

I remembered The Lacuna as I swam through the stories of each cenote. In some, there were roped off areas to not disturb swimming turtles. In others, you swam under cave outcroppings populated by thousands of sleeping bats. You could swim deeply and find caves and tiny pockets of air. By one cenote, we were harassed by a family of ducks that had likely been domesticated by tourists unwisely sharing food. Cenotes were sites of sacrifice and test at Chichen Itza and other holy places. 

I told my Aunt about visiting the cenotes and she said, "I have nightmares about them!" In her nightmares, she's thrown into the dark depths. As people have been through the centuries.

They hold our dreams and our fears.

Hearing your own voice between the moon and sea

The last few months have been loud and dense and chaotic. There has been a lot of noise and fear. Again and again I tried to make room to hear my own voice, but it was really hard. I was traveling ahead of the Belize retreat in part to soften into a space appropriate for facilitating the retreat. I needed to make sure I was at peace to try to offer the same to the attendees.

Given the intensity I was wondering what it would take.

It took one day.

As I wrote, when I first woke in Tulum it felt sort of weird just because I was out of town proper. I just needed a minute to get a lay of the land. Once I felt like I had my bearings, I opened up to its beauty.

I spent a lot of time with the sea.

The water was clear and so many blues.

I'm often a really hesitant swimmer. While I love to swim, it can take me an unreasonably long time to enter the water. I let that shit go. I walked directly in and submerged. I felt a lot that was tangled in me float away.

There was a Full Moon on February 10. Astrologically, it had significance and due to my current love of all things Chani Nicholas, I was paying attention.

In the middle of the night on February 9, I woke up. I decided to exit our hot little tent to use the bathroom. As I walked out of the tent I saw I didn't need a flashlight due to the bright light of the growing moon. I walked into the moonlight, funneled through the palm leaves. I stood there looking at the moon for a long time. I stood there feeling the moon for a long time. I stayed with the moon in this quiet, soft place.

And then I went back to bed.

In the morning, thanks to our intel from the airbnb host, we went to get breakfast at one of the fancy beach front hotels. The hotel had these amazing cabana beach beds spread out along the sand. They had outlets and signs you could turn if you wanted to order something. Kevin was completely freaked out. We set up camp, ordered breakfast, and took out our books. Still a bit dazed by the moon, I stood up in the growing sunlight and walked directly into the water. And I understood something that I had been struggling with for some time: "what has this period of my life taught me? What was this struggle about?"

With sudden clarity, I knew.

I walked back from the water, laid in the shade alongside the person I loved, and let myself be warm and content and at peace.

Finding Tulum

Our first morning in Tulum we woke up in our hot tents, unzipped our doorway, and wandered out to the street that runs through Zona Hotelera in Tulum. We passed lots of long, lithe white people wearing expensive clothes. We saw lots of signs in English advertising things I like ("yoga! smoothies! cleanses! beautiful clothes!") but didn't necessarily expect to find written in English in a seaside Mexican town. I mean, I'd heard Tulum had a long history of Americans traveling to do yoga but I didn't think it had been annexed by Malibu...

I was getting a little salty. This is not unusual for me early in travel. I have a weird habit of feeling unclear and not super comfortable arriving in a new place. Then, something opens and I fall in love.

Kevin and I decided to go into town to see if we could actually see residential neighborhoods and schools and churches and evidence that we hadn't landed in some weird outlier. The taxi sped us up the highway to town proper. He spoke Spanish (amazing!). We saw actual people living actual lives. Things got dirtier and more real. He said people lived this far (a car or bike ride) from the beach because they actually know this environment. It's safer to give the sea some space.

As we thanked the taxi and exited, we found a little garden restaurant. We settled in to begin hunting for a place to stay in town. Tulum was beginning to reveal itself.

We got our game plan together. Our belongings were safely stored at our airbnb in Zona Hotelera so we were unencumbered to walk around town and see if there was a hotel we could reserve for the upcoming few nights. We probably walked in and out of 8 places but it was actually fun. In each setting we saw other possibilities of passing our time. We talked to people and got suggestions and ideas. Ultimately, we found two places on the outskirts of town that were affordable, could accommodate us, and felt good. We booked them and decided that our time in town would be base camp for exploring the wider Yucatan peninsula.

We call the art of figuring it out as you go "Guerilla Vacationing"

I started to feel like I had a sense of where I was. Tulum has three zones: Pueblo (the town), Zona Hotelera (the fancy), and Zona Arqueologia (pretty great, we'll get to that). Zona Hotelera is the concentration of resorts on a gorgeous strip of soft beach. Again, if you have a weekend free and want to be hot and happy, go! This is where we landed in our little camp site.

Pueblo is where people actually live. There are neighborhoods and permaculture farms and Indigenous community projects and hipster coffee shops and poverty and wealth and international schools and dirt and it kind of feels like a truck stop because of the highway running through. I love it. It's really weird and it's really wonderful. You drive or bike in any direction and there's a cenote. You can bike to public access spots at the beach. There are Mayan ruins and the streets are named for astrology and esotericism.

Zona Arqueologia is the quieter, less developed, more publicly accessible part of the beach leading up to the Mayan ruins. It's lovely but it is a drive or bike ride from town.

I'm starting to learn the value of secrets and privacy. Tulum felt like a place that knows that lesson. The cards you hold. What you reveal.

Getting Away. First stop: Mexico

Kevin and I believe in maximizing plane tickets. They're usually the most expensive piece of travel, so we milk them. Whenever we can, we add travel time around yoga retreats. Working for ourselves affords us some flexibility-- just not security!

Usually, I'd take the time after the retreat but this year we scheduled the retreat over President's Day to try to make the most of attendees' vacation days. This meant we were traveling rather late in February and if we added on travel time, we'd get into March, which is the beginning of landscaping season. It wasn't going to work so we opted to travel a bit before the retreat.

I was hesitant because it's normal for retreat attendees to have questions right before they fly out. I want to be accessible to them. I communicated with everyone well in advance of travel, booked my tickets, and headed out about 10 days before the retreat.

And it was all fine.

And it also wasn't. I had deposited a check of a chunk of my annual earnings into my business account. I waited a few days for it to clear before transferring it into my personal checking so I would have access to those funds, if I needed them, while abroad.

The teller had transferred my earnings into another account.

The night before I traveled out I stood in line at the bank trying to track down where they had put my money. Thankfully, they sorted it out and correctly deposited my money as I landed in Mexico.

It's always something.

Kevin and I decided to start our travels in Mexico mainly because Belize is kind of pricey! The retreat was an outlier-- Ak'bol purposefully keeps their prices low so the retreat was actually really wonderful and accessible. When I looked into travel around Belize I was a bit surprised by the rates. We knew our money would go further in Mexico so we booked!

Tulum had been on my radar for some time. I knew that Tulum was also a bit pricier than other parts of Mexico but it is super close to the Belizean border, which made good sense. On February 7 Kevin and I flew into Cancun. I had arranged a shuttle to pick us up at the airport. (I'm big on airport pick-ups and traveling with some currency for your arrival destination. Make things easy for yourself while you get your bearings!)

Our shuttle driver dropped off guests at big resorts in Cancun as well as more reasonable hotels in Playa del Carmen. As is our way, Kevin was snoozing while I was hungrily watching the highway. I don't mind overland travel overseas... I love to see life lived a multitude of ways.

We drove into Tulum and towards the beach. I'd found an airbnb close to the beach where I figured we could spend two nights getting our bearings. Other reviewers had warned that shuttle and taxi drivers often couldn't find this airbnb. The owner assured me they would.

The driver couldn't find it. We drove up and down the road along the beach where all you can see is the entrance to hotel after resort after hotel. It was sort of freaking me out. It felt ritzy and inaccessible and not really like Mexico... more how I would imagine Miami Beach or Los Angeles. I had other ideas in mind if Tulum was too weird-- maybe heading over to Isla Mujeres or Isla Holbox-- I stopped the driver a few times to ask directions before we found our spot.

Our airbnb was "jungle camping" or renting a tent with a bed, near bathrooms and showers. Again, all location. In addition to giving me proximity to the beach I've often found the budget places offer you guidance to be independent. The owner gave us lots of tips of finding access on a beach that is overwhelmed by resorts. In the Zona Hotelera most hotels and resorts either deny access to the beach or charge those who aren't guests at their hotel. Our jungle camping friends pointed out where we could enter and where we could get discounts at nearby reserves. A resort can be OK if you don't have much time and need to get away. If you want to travel and explore, you need people who can orient you.

Kevin and I entered the beach access we'd been directed to and started to feel the tension and travel melt. The beaches at Tulum are some of the most beautiful I've seen. The sand is powdery soft. The water is waves of turquoise meeting deeper blue.

We started to trust that all our plans were enough. Everything was OK. For now, we paused and settled in.

Just Be: Yogawood Retreat to Belize

Years ago I followed the story of Julia Butterfly Hill, as she made her way into a 200 foot tall Redwood tree to protest deforestation and then after when she made her way down, toured to speak, and then ultimately settled on a tropical island in Belize. I slowly gathered that she became friends with an expat couple who'd founded an ecoretreat on Ambergris Caye. Sometimes they did programming together. A few of my friends had lead retreats there.

I love stories like this.

And I love to step inside the story.

Ak'bol had been on my radar from that time. I sort of kept it in mind for the right moment. After we concluded the epic adventure of the Vietnam retreat, it seemed like something hot, relaxing, and not too far was the counterbalance (yoga retreats can be like yoga poses). I booked Ak'bol over President's Day weekend and invited students to join.

And then 2016 happened.

As the election hit fever pitch, everyone I knew navigated big tumult in their personal and professional lives, and then trump was elected, I kept exchanging furtive messages with those joining the retreat. The content all pretty much amounted to: "I need this so badly and yet I feel guilty."

Me too.

I'm doing my best to watch that. To know that I can be conscious in my decisions, that I can care for myself in the ways that I deem appropriate, and that I don't have to apologize for it. We all deserve the space to get perspective. We all deserve time to relax. We function in our lives better when we do it from a place of intention and awareness.

You don't have to go to Belize to create those circumstances, but I have to say, it's not a bad way to do it.

So, a group of burnt, travel weary people amassed on the beach of Ambergris Caye, Belize. Our first evening together we shared dinner and our intentions. I shared that I'm looking for that liminal space where I can hold onto my own peace but not disengage. I'm looking to stay in it and not lose myself. There were many nods. We gather our people.

As the week unfolded we met under the palms to watch sunrise and drink coffee. We wandered out to the pier, practiced pranayama, meditation, and asana. The mornings were more intense often followed by a swim in the turquoise waters. Looking out, you saw a break point that indicated the second largest reef in the world. 

After lunch, some took snorkel trips to Hol Chan, Shark Alley, and Mexico Rocks. Others went further afield to visit caves and Mayan temples in land. Some hailed a water taxi and sped south along the coastline to visit the town of San Pedro. Others channeled their inner lizards, laying in the hot sun or relaxing in the palm shade. Folks scheduled massages and swam in the pool.

In the evenings we gathered at sunset for Yin practice. I relaxed my control freak self and ceded most of the Yin practices to be taught by Kevin. As we shifted positions we watched the palm tree outlines claim the lowering sun. After Yin, we had evening meditation sits over the lapping water. By the time we concluded it was dark. Ak'bol has a light so you can enjoy watching the fish racing under the water.

We walked down the pier back to our private palapa for dinner. We talked about the constellations and yoga and our lives at home. We could see it a little more clearly from that distance. 

As we reclaimed ourselves we also claimed one another. As always happens, a tight community formed, one where people hunt for each other's lost go pros, loan out bug spray and hair ties, stage elaborate and beautiful photos, write one another epic odes, and make plans to do it again.

I used to see art as a solitary activity. One artist, one page, one pen. These experiences are teaching me other levels of art. Art as experience, co created by an assembly of thinking, feeling, engaged beings. I think this is what was intended by group yoga classes. For us to try to get it together and to do it together. 

Opt in or opt out

Right now, in every moment, all the time, I remind myself to "opt in or opt out."

Because nothing is happening to me.

Because I have choice. Always.

I remember that the choices that I think I want usually won't make me happy. The choices in front of me are choices. If I operate from fear my reality will be based in that anxiety. If I operate from power my reality will be based in that agency.

I always want there to be patterns because I want there to be order. Maybe there is. Maybe there isn't.

I've written a bit about the pieces of the presidential election that surprised me and the parts that did not surprise me. I didn't expect to hear so many people say, "I have given my power away again and again. The election of trump reminds me that I can't do that. I will not do that. I am responsible for myself."

And I think that's the mantra. That's it.

We are responsible for ourselves and we are accountable to one another.

We can be incredibly creative with the cards that we are dealt. We can withdraw our power from the usual systems. We can align our energy. We can make old structures obsolete. We can live.

Gathering some words from the old year

I'm feeling very much a part of a vigorous, quick-moving flow and I'm also trying to stand steady within the movement.

I cleaned up a lot in 2016. I'm still watching it all.

And I'm still working.

When I graduated high school I was invited to read a poem at the graduation ceremony. I chose "I am a work in progress" by jessica care moore. I still remember the last line, "i am not finished yet."

I won't be.

I'm going through a notebook. I found some poem scraps jotted down during the precious few days in the West Virginia cabin. Here they are.

living is hungry
it's best when it's a little uncomfortable
a little cold
gritty
relief is best sudden
and unexpected
(like breeze or rain)
no time to anticipate or
question
just blown about
wondering
open mouthed
wide eyed


"Home"

swept floors
wood smooth
open windows
with screens for breeze
running water-- hot and cold--
cats, a few, healthy & playful
orderly cupboards
folded quilts in a closet
bills paid
hooks for the keys
herbs grow
fruit trees too
small scale world
microclimates
known
still intriguing


clean dishrags flats on the line
a cardinal passes above
with her my grandmother
her rose glass her love of
cardinals her memory a bird
a storm is coming
phillips glass playing. it sounds
like water tumbling and
threatening
the cats are assembled 
throughout the room
maurice on the wood floor
george on the bed
an open novel on Frank
Lloyd Wright
a skipping song