Revolutionary Love

ZOELAB 365 DAY 40

Revolutionary Love

(from 2007)

I want to protect our honeymoon of the future. This is because I am a fighter. A revolutionary within. A revolutionary, fighting for love. Fighting for our deepest need for fantasy and drama and love of the highest order. Devotion and longing of the dream unfulfilled. The dream you know in your spine before I say the word: dream. You dreamt in the womb—it was your womb—soft darkness with eternal space for the energetic dreamer. You were dreaming of your honeymoon—a trip in celebration of your departure and your return. A trip that is touched by your love, that is shielded by your love.

It is not the honeymoon of the bride or groom, it is the honeymoon of your constant longing, your devotion to your longing, from the spell that has overtaken your daily speech and figurative lies. It is a honeymoon of what your spine knows to be true. A truth that has never been spoken. It is a honeymoon of the dream unfulfilled, a dream of your most intimate and innate potential. Inside your belly I can see you are collecting songs, because you are a lucky poet. A cat. Even a lioness.

Your claws are fierce because you are a fighter, a dreamer, an artist of the trapeze, of the high wire. You are a boxer, bloody fisted, reeling. Alive with what is staring you in the face. You can’t afford to lie, to turn your head away, to murder your power. You were born into the boxing ring, and with the most tender and most fierce sensibility, you fight.

I'm a rock-n-roll thing

ZOELAB 365 DAY 39

I think some of us are born with a rock ‘n’ roll gene. I discovered it in myself as a child. It first bloomed for me at eight years old, when I discovered the Beatles. I would lie on the floor and listen to all my parents’ Beatles records over and over. I memorized every song, and eventually bought every album I could. At 13 I wrote my term paper about their lyrics. At 15, I started learning electric guitar. It blossomed for me again in a new way when I first heard the Velvet Underground. When I was 16, I flew to Nairobi, Kenya to visit my brother who was there visiting his Kenyan girlfriend. He picked me up from the airport and had The Velvet Underground album playing in the tape deck. I had never heard anything like it. It opened up a whole aesthetic world for me that I could never have imagined. It was my introduction to art rock, and the first seed of being a future songwriter was planted. The Velvet Underground continues to be one of my greatest inspirations in all areas of art. I named my second film after a song of theirs, and the title of my first full length screenplay also came from a VU song.

I am excited that Emilio also has also been given the rock-n-roll gene. It bloomed in him quite early, before he was even two years old. He discovered the drums through a 10 year old boy.

We are very close to a family from Michigan who has six boys. The two youngest ones (Georgie, 4, and Vinnie, 6) are Emilio’s best friends. The older four boys and their father have a band that plays a mix of blues, rock, jazz and funk. The dad, Ben, plays guitar, Benjy(who will be 18 next month) plays bass, Obë (now 16) plays keyboards, Ricky (now 14) plays congas, and Marty (now 12) plays drums. Their debut in Baja as a musical group was when they performed at our wedding a year and a half ago. We hadn’t even heard them play ahead of time, but we had a feeling they were going to be good. They turned out to be a great band, and got the dancing started at our wedding. We invited them to come back the next Sunday, and we had hosted a jam session with leftovers from the wedding. We continued to host a casual afternoon party with food and music every Sunday for the rest of the season. Every week different musical people showed up with instruments to plug in and large bowls of food. There were times the Sunday jam sessions became so big, we had no idea who was going to show up. Lucas told me that our Sunday jam sessions gave him warm memories of his own childhood, as his father is a professional musician, and he spent much of his childhood among large groups of people hanging out and playing music.

Our friends, who are now called The Groovetrotters have since become professional musicians playing all over Baja. They are plotting their way into global success, with plans for a tour in Europe. They are working on a logo, and have asked me to go take a photo of them tomorrow to use for it. We are also in the process of helping them make a music video.

Rock-N-Roll & Emilio

When Emilio was two, we began finding child drums at segundas. Lucas strapped them around a bucket, and Emilio had a drum set. Emilio played them with great skill and energy.

One time we spontaneously made a song together. No drums in this one. But we made this when Emilio was a the height of his interest in drums.

More Stories

Emilio: “I’m a rock-n-roll thing. I’m a rock-n-roll guy.”

When I’m introducing a new song to him, he asks: “Who’s the drummer?”

During one long car trip, I spent the entire time searching for songs on my ipod based on his specific request to hear “rock and roll drums.”

While we were listening to a Ratatat song (electronic music):

Emilio: “I have a question for you. What kinds of drums are those?”

Me: “They’re electronic.”

Emilio: “Oh, are they rock n roll drums?”

Me: “No not really.” “I want to hear Joan Jett. I want to hear rock n roll drums.” So then I played him I love rock-n-roll. And he was happy. It brings back a memory. I was about eight when that song was popular. I remember my best friend Nicole and I jumping up and down on a bed in a bungalow in Woodstock, NY that her family had rented for the summer, singing I LOVE ROCK AND ROLL as loud as we could.

Rock-n-roll is about rebellion, enthusiasm, and not giving a shit what people think. For me it also has to be a little raw. It makes sense that a toddler would love it. Maybe Emilio will join Garafön when he is older and then Lucas won’t have to play both keyboards and drums, each with one hand.

Fall is Around the Corner

ZOELAB DAY 38

I’ve got nothing.

This is the first time since starting this blog that I really don’t have anything.

I don’t want to connect, I don’t want to share, I don’t want to think. I don’t feel inspired. I don’t have anything to say.

What can I do, but admit the truth. {magically, admitting the truth releases it from my grasp.}

This reminds me of the lyrics to a song. I have never titled it, but I think I will now name it “your song.” Several years ago Lucas wrote a very beautiful song on the guitar, and then he taught it to me. It’s very fun to play--all two string chords. Then I wrote lyrics for it. It was very difficult for me. It was the first and only time (so far) I have written lyrics to someone else’s song.

Your Song

I keep playing but the words don’t come.

I sit here and pray for inspiration.

I don’t have anything to say.

Can you still feel the vibrations of my brain?

Then you came along,

with your song,

and it feels so sweet,

yet incomplete.

I’m gonna overheat.

You are California grown,

and like an avocado,

you turn brown when left around.
I once lived in Ohio.

And then, you came along

With your song.

And it feels so sweet,

yet incomplete.

I’m gonna overheat.

++         ++        ++        ++        ++        ++        ++        ++        ++        ++        ++       

I noticed that on the days I spend most of the time being a mommy, I am less able to be linear here.

I also noticed that I seem to be inadvertently designing record covers lately. Doesn’t today’s look like a record cover?

I asked Emilio today, if could he have any pet in the world, what kind of pet would he have. And he said: “a mouse.” I found that funny, because we already have a pair of mice living with us. And they are very tiny and very cute, with very large black eyes. I got a photo of one tonight checking out our tangle of computer cables.

I just can’t stand the thought of killing them, and yet, they bring the potential for disease into our home. And they keep shredding up our toilet paper to use for nests. I bought some glue traps, but I couldn’t bring myself to set them up yet. I witnessed Lucas kill mice before. Once he shot one point blank in the forehead with an air rifle. Another time, he killed one with a fly swatter. Yes, they are that defenseless.

Oh yeah, and fall is just around the corner. The nights have cooled down. I am wearing pants for the first time in months. The air is crisper, the sunlight is even crisper. Emilio started playing outside again. But still, the bugs remain.

Emilio said to us today: “Hello, how are you? How was your summer?”

Dreams Becoming Plans

ZOELAB DAY 37

These are the projects that I want to get going this year. Most of them have lived in my mind as dreams for many years.

Dream #1

La Maestra

To build my organization Art For Life by continuing to provide cultivating creativity workshops, private coaching, and arts education. Upcoming workshop ideas include: introduction to expressive arts, creative journal workshop, writing workshop. Eventual goal is to create a holistic arts center, with a performance/gallery space, café, studio rental, and classrooms. Teachers teach holistic minded arts classes in a variety of media, using a fusion of expressive arts methods and a multicultural, mindful approach to the fine arts. Invite guest lecturers from the arts, create opportunities for people who have little exposure to the arts. Also, to build a retreat center in Elias Calles for creativity workshops as well as month-long artist residencies.

Dream #2

The Comedienne

To make a situation comedy for the web based on improvisation. The central character: a therapist version of “inspector gadget” a narcissistic and emotionally clumsy unlicensed therapist who practices out of her vintage motor home in Mexico who inadvertently helps her patients, while spending the counseling time fantasizing about her dreams of stardom.

Dream #3

The rocker

Garafön recording project. Independently produce a full length albums of songs with quirky art rock band. Lucas on drums & keyboards, Zoë on guitar & vocals. And maybe even play a few songs in public. Have been invited to participate in “all originals” show this December.

Dream #4

The Fashionista

Seis Doce/612. Launch small scale knits only clothing line. Debuting at fashion show this winter, and then continuing to sell knit tops, dresses and skirts, at local farmer’s markets.

Dream #5

The Homebody

Our home and garden. Continue construction on our house.  Plant herb and vegetable garden. Finish bathroom. Set up solar system. Finish bedroom building. Start landscaping--create walled courtyard around two main buildings. Make studio/guest house building.

+     +    +     + +     + +     + +     + +     + +     +

These projects will not be finished in a year. But my hope is by putting them out there, I am making another step towards manifestation. I will work on each dream, step by step. I will continue to set small goals for myself as the months pass.

Plans for this month:

#1    Start planning the workshops that I will offer in the high season.

#2   Last week I had the revelation that this show can be improv based, using local non actors, rather than using a script, like a more traditional sitcom, which takes the pressure off of my writing the pilot, and brings in my love for improv. Improv (when it’s good) is the funniest and deepest stuff I’ve ever seen.

#3   Get back into practicing guitar and singing regularly. Which has already been happening. (We need to find a drum set for Lucas to practice on.)

#4    Start sewing. (I have already set up and organized my sewing space, and have all the tools (except the labels) I need to get started.)

#5    Paint the bathroom with primer. (Which we already have.)

The Slow Making of a Dream Part Two: First Phase of Building

After Campo Elias Calles, and after Emilio was born, we needed a new place to live. It was winter 2010, Emilio was 5 months old. Our friends, who live in La Huerta (a mostly gringo area next to a surfer’s beach, surrounded by farmlands) took us in. They let us live in a small casita on their property, and in exchange for rent, we did chores (childcare, haircuts, house projects, shopping, etc.) By the spring of 2011 we were ready to start the first stage of building. With out shopping around at all, we hired the first worker we met, a guy named Transmission (who had done a little work for our friends’ on their property) to build a fence around our property, which is about 1.5 acres. It doesn’t seem like much now. But then, having that fence meant everything. It meant that even though we didn’t yet have legal ownership, we had possession of the land. Our land had a boundary.

The North East corner of our lot.

Then we had him built a 13,000 liter pila (giant cement water tank). Next, which was really his specialty, he built a beautiful one-sided palapa (made out of pine polls, palo de arco sticks, rope and palm fronds (found in elias calles). No nails or screws are used. The palm fronds are woven in between the long palo de arco sticks.

He also built a small cement bodega (lockable storage space) that would be used to lock up tools during the building process, but would later become our bathroom. One of the walls of the cement bodega would be one of the walls of our eventual house that would be built under the palapa roof. Jutting out from the low side of the palapa, on the North side of the building, is a media sombre pergola (a shade roof made out of palo de arco sticks woven together), and a floor of adoquin (cement pavers) below. That was to be our patio.

This work was done in a few months. We were so happy and so grateful, but the work was far from perfect. The pila leaked (and still does). The bodega door was put on backwards (and it still is). We found out we were overcharged. But still, we were happy, especially with the quality of the palapa which was beautiful (and still is, even though it leaks and has termites eating it.) It wasn't until it was done and Lucas and I came to spend a little time in the space that would become our house that I knew it was real. It had all seemed like a pipe dream until that very moment. I cried and hugged Lucas and everything changed. I knew then, that we really were going to have a house. And I knew, even if I couldn’t see his vision, which was constantly shifting, that I had to believe in Lucas. That he was going to create a beautiful and unique house for us.

Self Portraits (not selfies because I used a tripod)

ZOELAB DAY 35

To continue on the theme of self, I am sharing some self portraits I took yesterday. The goal at first was to create a new profile photo for facebook (while Lucas was away, he has just returned this evening.) But really, to be really honest, the idea started because I was having  a particularly good hair day, and I wanted to capture the way my hair looked. (A good hair day can sometimes be an equivalent for happiness.) But, because I couldn’t create one I liked for the context of facebook, and I just couldn’t capture my hair. I started to become interested in creating an image for the sake of an image, and in capturing a certain kind of light. I began to let go of my vanity of how I looked in the photo, and then alternately, my fear of being (and appearing) narcissistic, and I started to feel like a character in a spontaneous film. The more I saw myself as someone other than me, the more fun I had with it. I began to objectify myself for the purpose of creating an image. This reminds me of Cindy Sherman’s early work from the 1980’s. I was very influenced by her untitled film stills series and wrote a scholarly manifesto about creating identity as a means of empowerment in the postmodern age, which compared Cindy Sherman with Madonna. In college I also made a lot of self portraits, as girls in college are often want to do. In one series, I created a character who was an androgynous movie star. The photos captured myself in moments in between--expressing an ambiguity of gender, as well as story. Creating those self portraits in college was my way of getting back into acting, which I pursued soon after I graduated.

The self portraits that I took yesterday, tell a different story, from a different film. I am not sure what yet, they are experiments. By taking them and sharing them, I am releasing my fear of being exposed in this kind of way.

The Self

ZOELAB DAY 34

One day about six years ago I had a sudden realization about what true self is. I have found the common advice to “just be yourself” was vague and hard to follow. What is “your true self”? How can you know what it is? That has been a difficult one for me because I am a person in constant flux, emotionally, mentally, geographically, even physically. This fluctuating sense of self  partly creates the need to make art. After embarking on a path of spiritual growth during graduate school, I began to discover that my true self is whoever I am in the moment. The truth is temporary. And subjective. And subject to constant change. The true self is a stream that is both within us and that we ride on top of. True self is contacted when we are present, spontaneous, integrated. We become familiar with our true self when we slow down and pay attention. When we are mindful. 

Children are the best teachers on how to be your true self. Children are constantly changing and growing. They are bursting with spontaneous energy. And their spontaneity is infectious. A healthy child is naturally integrated with mind, body, and spirit. They cannot help but be their true self at all moments because they are living in the present moment. As their guides and teachers in how to survive and thrive in this world, we sometimes need to teach them how to control this irrepressible true selfness. Not destroy it, or ignore it, but to recognize their present truth, and then to look outward to see what else is going on. Part of growing up is realizing we share the world with others and learn how to manage our true nature in balance with others.

Carl Jung’s theory of The Self, the ego, and the individuation process has greatly influenced my  personal growth and my work. The true self as seen as the whole self. Jung called it The Self archetype, often symbolized by a mandala (a circle or spiral with a center) to show completeness, as well as no beginning or end. “The Self is the ordering and unifying center of the total psyche (conscious and unconscious) just as the ego is the center of the conscious personality.” (Edinger, Ego and Archetype). Jung believed that we all born with original wholeness (where the ego (which only exists as a potentiality) and The Self are one, and the individuation process is the process of our ego’s separation from The Self. Simultaneously, we become conscious of our ego (our conscious personality) as it comes into being and separates. As our ego develops, we begin to reject certain parts of ourselves that doesn’t feel acceptable, these parts are our subpersonalities, that become our shadow. Our original wholeness becomes fractured, or at least it seems that this is so. As we continue to develop, however, we begin to long for our original wholeness, and these split off parts of ourselves. We reintegrate them by bring them back into the light by accepting them. The process of reintegration is the process of embracing our shadows and integrating our polarities. Archetypes are symbols or subpersonalities that emerge out of the collective unconscious that help this process. Jung is viewed as the grandfather of expressive arts therapy, as he experimented with art making, active imagination, sand play, as tools to aid in the process of individuation. Through out life, we cycle in and out of ego-self separation and reunion. It is a dance that gradually brings us closer to integration. When we are integrated, we live in consciousness of the ego and its needs, but from the perspective of The Self (the totality) and  we feel empowered to choose which parts of we want to embody or connect with. These parts of self, or archetypes, can be seen as signs, or symbols that have mutable meanings depending on the person, and the culture that the person exists in. We all have polarities within us, and in the collective culture, and yet we often see ourselves as only one half of a polarity. This is painful partially because we are ignoring significant parts of our truths and our experience, and partially because it is an isolation from our spirituality, or Self. What appeals to me about Jungian theory is its innate multiplicity, it creates more space for all the varied and in-between experiences of being human, across culture, gender and time. In a certain way, I believe Jung was a postmodernist. I continue to use archetypes in my own process of individuation. These are characters that continue to appear in my life, naming them, drawing them helps give me a more playful, curious approach to the sometimes painful experience of development. This has been a rudimentary explanation of a very complex, and beautiful theory. I will write more about Jung and his theories in the future, especially as I continue to gain more knowledge of his work.

This daily web check in gives me consistency while there is so little consistency in my experience of my self. To have this space to check in every day (in whatever way that feels most relevant and true to the moment) is one constant, while all other aspects of life are so variable. I see the site and the whole year (the 365 days) as the integration of all my selves and polarities. By allowing myself to freely flow, but keeping daily track of this flow, I am allowing an integration process of all aspects of self, while still finding a center point (represented by this site.) I have chose the spider web as the mandala, the symbol for The Self. This will become the organizing web map page. And, of course, the spider is a perfect symbol of creativity, wisdom, and the complexities of life.

the spider web is a spiral: the spider is simultaneously at the center and the circumference

A List of Every Job That I've Held (that I can remember) in Chronological Order

ZOELAB DAY 33

1980's

1990's

2000's

2010's

1. babysitter

2. portrait model for my mom

3. after school teacher

4. assistant teacher of english as a foreign language to chinese 1st graders

5. postcard order filler at postcard factory

6. film projectionist for college film program

7. teacher of english as a second language to immigrants

8. teacher of english composition to teenaged immigrants at a junior college

9. waitress at middle eastern restaurant

10. intern for light projection artist

11. intern/production assistant for soft porn film production

12. intern for a filmmaking magazine and film producer tutor of english as a foreign language to a chinese twelve year old boy

13. art assistant to children’s text book design company

14. freelance haircutter

15. assistant to independent film publicist

16. assistant director’s liaison and assistant press liaison for film festival

17. assistant publicist for film distribution company

18. freelance production assistant for industrial films

19. waitress at mexican restaurant

20. assistant to small family publishing house

21. designer and creator of children’s art and poetry book for community garden

22. production assistant at my uncle’s corporate event production company

23. actress in various plays, student films, television shows, improv troupes, independent films

24. receptionist for a film director’s production office

25. freelance script reader for acquisitions department of film company

26. door to door advertising salesperson for a city map & guide

27. private assistant/caretaker for cancer patient who wanted help with organizing personal letters

28. cocktail waitress at korean restaurant and lounge

29. sales associate for women’s clothing boutique

30. story writer for pornographic magazine

31. director’s liaison for film festival

32. director’s liaison and press liaison for independent film festival

33. publications coordinator and designer for children’s social services agency

34. volunteer tutor to ten year old boy in reading and math

35. art program coordinator and teacher of art, music, drama, and writing for summer youth program

36. freelance nanny

37. freelance fit model

38. teacher of creative writing and filmmaking to children at summer program

39. teacher of acting for the camera and acting improvisation to children at a drama program

40. led music, drama, movement group at a community center for seniors

41. trainee psychotherapist and expressive arts therapist to teens and adults at an LGBT center

42. intern psychotherapist and expressive arts therapist to children, families and individuals at a counseling center

43. teacher of improv to adults

44. filmmaking teacher to ten year old and twelve year old sisters

45. sales assistant to photographer

46. teacher of creativity workshops and creativity coach

47. web designer

48. wedding planner for hotel

key:

bold = job held or repeated for one year or longer

a note to my readers (if you’re out there):

try doing this exercise for yourself, it’s fun and brings up odd memories. also, it is interesting to look back to see a pattern in your life path/career path. if you try it, i’d love to hear about your experience.

Non-Linear Journal Entry: Androgynous Mind

Sometimes you just gotta take the guitar out of the case.

C F

When you go,

C G

I will be sad.

C F
You did go.

C G

But I’m not sad.

(i’m interested in indicating a scene/time change in songs. as songs from musicals sometimes do.)

September was a particularly heady month. Essay style writing. Drawing. Those are both, as we would say in the expressive arts world, dryer types of expression. They are more mental, more linear. more left brain. Than say, working with clay, which is literally, wet. It is a more emotional and physical art form than drawing and essay writing. Not to say essay writing or drawing is not emotional for other people. I love writing essays and drawing, but I feel a little off balance when I am not also doing more physically and emotionally expressive art forms (like acting or music). I think I focused on drawing and writing essays last month because they are safer forms of expression for me. It makes sense that I started with the blog with that. But September represents only one month,  only one season, one aspect of life, only some part of me.

The true self is not one self, but the self that unfolds daily, continuously. Each of our true selves really exists in the moment. That is the truest self there is the one that is now. We are constantly changing creatures, but we don’t always realize it. We limit ourselves when he recognize only certain parts of ourselves.  But who we are changes each moment. In this sense there is never an “always.” And there is also never a “never.” No behavior is consistent. 

I am being heady again, so that I can explain something I really don’t feel like explaining. I want to go back to being in a non-linear place. A place of relief for me sometimes.

We get the cultural message that it’s not okay to just be. We feel that in order to be valuable we need to be doing. doing = value    being = coping out  It’s all about culture vs. nature, culture vs. nature, I am always seeing things from this perspective.

But… it is when we are being, and aware of being we become who we already are.

Wavering between: 

not wanting to decide a focus until it happens naturally. Let the focus emerge organically.

and:

My intention is to focus this month on sewing and working on my label seis doce. 612. So that I can be part of the winter fashion show in todos santos and start selling knit tops and dresses at the farmer’s markets when they open. I am starting by going to my sewing place tomorrow while a family friend/babysitter takes care of Emilio. Let’s see where that takes me.

Being an artist is an exercise in being myself. Which is dropping into the constant stream of selves flowing out of me. And having the courage and stubbornness to have them be heard.

Lists

ZOELAB DAY 31

Sometimes I am too tired to write anything but a list.

Latest Firsts

making granola

pooping in the potty

mopping entire floor

imaginary friend

falling asleep in bed for nap

...

Projects I want to do this year

write, act, direct an improv-based web sitcom pilot 

get back into playing music/recording project with garafone

art for life planning

create fashion line for winter fashion show/launch seis-doce

plant vegetable and herb garden

tile and paint bathroom and kitchen

...

Emilio spoken phrases

paris-y

i feel a little bit sad and a little stressed out because i broke my camera

you look like a bird flying

can you teach me yoga?

...

art forms 

I am thinking of focusing on

for the month of october

sewing

music

video

...

themes to organize posts around

home

inspiration

mexico

happiness

art & creativity

projects

culture vs. nature

...

Emilio’s   Favorite rock songs by  ladyrockers

i love rock n roll by joan jett

(he sings: put another dime in the juice box baby)

the movies ruined my love life 

by social service

(he says: the movies ruined my bug’s life)

cherry bomb by the runaways

(he calls them the runways)

huffer by the breeders

...

Attention

ZOELAB DAY 30

Well we have reached the end of September. The first month of this project. I’ve never been so aware of a month ending. It brings out the desire for some sort of ritual or at least acknowledgment. Today I spent the entire day at home, alone with Emilio. I was so happy not to have to drive anywhere. We were out of diapers and I wasn’t sure we’d make it through the day and night with no diaper, but I still refused to drive somewhere and buy some. Emilio ended up pooping while standing in the shower. And then by some miracle, I found one last diaper right before bedtime.  

I have noticed that Emilio is more needing of my attention recently. I have discussed this with Lucas and we both agree it’s because I have been less generous with my full attention because I have been more focused on myself, or things I want to accomplish than usual. I wanted to deny this at first, but as I thought about it, I became more aware of how something inside sometimes resists giving him attention. I attribute this to my inner child feeling envious of the attention I am giving him. Little Zoë doesn’t want me to give attention to someone else because she feels neglected too. The effect of course, is that he needs my attention even more, and he is less willing to cooperate because he is frustrated by not getting what he needs from me. His resistance, in turn, frustrates me and causes me to give him less attention. Also his resistance to cooperation, and his “acting out” is another method of trying to get my attention, in this case negative attention. It may not be the attention he wanted, but it’s better than none. We become stuck in, according to couples and family counseling theory, “a negative interaction cycle.” The last few days Emilio and I have been spending a lot of alone time together. I have taken it is an opportunity to improve the quality of my attention. Instead of just giving up on my own tasks and needs, or having split attention between us, I have been making sure to give Emilio my full attention at the times when he really needs it. Giving my full attention is not just putting my attention on him passively, but it means engaging him and acknowledging where he is. If he’s rowdy, then I join in his rowdiness, but still on my terms. If he’s feeling gentle, I have him sit in my lap and talk softly to him. After all, “attention is the most basic form of love.” (John Tarrant) And I can see the effect on him immediately. After I give him some quality attention, he becomes more relaxed in a matter of minutes. He then is happy to play by himself in the next moment. Through out the day, I take turns between playing with him or attending to his needs, and attending to my own needs. That way everyone feels cared for. 

Looking back on this month, I see how much my experience of life has changed because of where I have put my attention. This September I have focused my attention on happiness, photography, drawing, writing, parenting, organizing, Elias Calles, friendship, family, the past. I had said that I would pick one form of art per month to focus on. I had picked drawing because I already felt that I was doing more drawing than usual. Soon after that decision, I decreased the amount of drawing I did. Not sure what that means, and I am not sure if I can keep up the intention of focus, but I will continue to try. I will state my next area of focus in the next post. I still have a lot of work to do on this site in terms of organization--including a project page, a theme page, and a newly designed web map based on a drawing I made. I hope to get more of that done in October. Looking back over this first month, what stands out most is how much as happened on an internal level while very little has happened on external level. It’s been hot and humid. I’ve been lonely and existentially bored. However, my inner world has been rich with ideas, personal insights, images, and creative solutions to problems. I think my hypothesis that awareness is a key component to happiness (which I wrote about in an earlier post) is proving to be true. Although awareness does not always bring an immediate sense of joy, it does offer an opportunity to work with or play with difficult feelings and situations. This project is bringing increased awareness on a daily level, which leads me to be more engaged and curious about life. My life is shaped by where I put my attention.

Los Amigos

ZOELAB DAY 29

Tonight I went to the wedding of Marcos y Rocío. I had found about it a week earlier from Marcos when he told me he was getting married. I had no idea he wasn’t married to Rocío, the woman with whom he has two kids. But apparently, they weren’t. Yet. He invited Lucas, me, Emily--Lucas’ sister, and Ruth, Lucas and Emily’s mom. They were all going to be away, so I told him that I would go with Emilio. Marcos seemed surprised, yet pleased that I said yes. 

I know Marcos because Emily, who has also become his friend, had hired him a few years ago as a gardner. We also hired him to make and serve tacos at our wedding in January 2011. We had made up a little fake taco stand with a Tacos sign, for him to stand behind while he grilled the meat and served tacos. Then Lucas hired him as the head builder when they built our house. Starting last fall, they worked together for five months, for the latest phase of our Elias Calles building project (which I will write about soon as a chapter in the Slow Making of a Dream.) Marcos is a man of many trades, and is well known and in Todos Santos. He is sought after for his diligence, intelligence and easy smile. He almost always is able to find work. Even in summer. During the time that Lucas was so busy building, we decided to hire Rocío, mother of a now 4 year old girl and 2 year old boy, to take Emilio once a week so I could have a day off from parenting. Most days, Rocío hangs out at her mother’s house with her children, while her extended family--parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, shuffle in and out of the house through out the day. When we first introduced Emilio to the idea of being taken care of by Rocío and family, we referred to them as “the friends.” Emilio still calls them that. In the beginning, Emilio would cry when I left him at The Friends house, but after a month of weekly visits, he had become so happy to go there that he didn’t even notice when I left, and when I would pick him up, he glowed talked with great excitement.

It felt important that Emilio and I go to Marcos and Rocío’s wedding, especially because I would be the representative of the clan. Earlier today, I realized I had no idea where the wedding was. I would have to call for the address, but since there are no addresses where we live, I would have to get directions. I am inadequate with directions normally, and receiving directions in Spanish for me is the same as not having an address at all. I called Marcos and he tried to explain to me (in Spanish) where the wedding was, but I just couldn’t follow. He finally told me to meet him at his parents in law’s house, The Friends, and I could follow one of his family members in my car. He asked me if I wanted to bring a friend, and I hadn’t occurred to me that I could. I told him I did if I could find one. 

And then I thought of Marcela, another Mexican friend. I had met her and her partner, Sigfrido, three and a half years ago when we all volunteered at an organization of local women who make, share, and sell crafts. We spent that desperate summer of 2009 together. Each of us had no other friends. For the entire summer they lived off of mangos (July is mango season here, and mangos are free, delicious, and plentiful if you know where the trees are.) and tamarindo (they had been given a whole giant tree’s worth of tamarindo), which at they cooked, ate and tried to sell to ice cream shops to use for aguas de tamarindo. While we were camping on our land, they were living on their land, with a partially built house. We commiserated in our experiences of simple living. While we were in La Paz waiting for Emilio to be born, they care of Ping and our green house casita. They had moved away for a few years in hopes of finding work in another part of Mexico, and had returned at the beginning of this year with their one month old baby, Frida, who is now 9 months. Sigfrido has been working tirelessly and mostly alone on their house. I can see his ambition to finish their house for the sake of his daughter in his wild eyes. They are ready to build their septic system, and asked me for a number of a worker. I gave them Marcos’ number. He is now going to do a number of projects with them to help them finish their house. 

I texted Marcela (a few hours before the wedding) to ask if she wanted to come to the wedding with me and Emilio, she texted back “yes, but I have nothing to wear.” I picked her up at their land, and she had apparently found something nice to wear. This is the photo I took of them before we left.

We drove to The Friends’ house and one of Marcos’ daughters from a previous wife explained to Marcela how to get there. The wedding was supposed to start at 7:30 PM and end at 2 AM. It was 7:40 and everyone was still getting dressed at the house. We passed Marcos on the street and he yelled the directions out to us. We finally found it--there was a large colorful sign indicating that it is a space for party rental. The space was a large three tiered pavement courtyard. When we arrived, there were six tables set up on the lower level, with white table cloths, pink runners making a cross, and plastic office chairs with their labels still affixed. There were two men in pink shirts who were placing flowers on the tables, one of them seated us.. It was almost 8 PM and there were about five other guests besides us, seated at different tables. I wasn’t surprised, but being a wedding planner, I couldn’t help feel a little dread. I thought to myself, it is going to be a long time before we eat. This thought usually gives me a good dose of panic. Fortunately, I had fed both me and Emilio lentil soup before we left home, knowing how long it could be until dinner. We sat for about half an hour before any more guests arrived. We just watched as the two men and two preteen girls dressed in strapless knee length gowns set up the tables. There were no drinks or snacks in sight. Eventually other guests began to arrive, all carrying shiny or sparkly gift bags. I had brought no gift, but felt comfort in the idea that I could get them something later. I’d really have to give some thought as to what we could give them. Some guests sat at our table and an older woman asked Marcela if Emilio was her child. Marcela indicated that I was Emilio’s mother. The woman had known Emilio from The Friends’house. She is just one of the many people of Todos Santos who knows Emilio. When we walk down the street with Emilio in Todos Santos, usually someone (that we’ve never met) will shout out “Hola! Emilio!” to him. Among the guests, there were many children. It was already Emilio’s bedtime, and here we were watching children, the girls dressed in party dresses and the boys in ironed plaid shirts, just arriving. I could tell Emilio was exhausted, Marcela suggested she take him to a store for a snack and a drink. It was hot and we were all terribly thirsty. They came back with drinks and a bag of chips for Emilio. He sat backwards in his chair and ate every last chip, drank some of his juice and then later passed out in my lap. They finally began to serve the drinks: 3 liter bottles of soda, one per table, with plastic cups. Servers also carried plastic trays filled with cans of Tecate Light. Once the beer started coming, it was always available. Rocío and Marcos made their big entrance. They got some applause, but not as much as I thought they deserved. It was a very casual vibe, even though Rocío wore a strapless wedding gown, sparkly drop earrings, and an updo. Then they brought the snacks: crackers with a dip made of chopped up hot dogs in mayonnaise and tortilla chips with another kind of dip. It was nine, and after several rounds of appetizers, Marcela and I started to think there wouldn’t be any dinner. Then the ceremony happened. Marcos and Rocío, their kids, and their witnesses all sat at one of the tables while the minister, who spoke into a mic that was hooked up to a very powerful PA system, conducted the ceremony. After the vows, all the guests, about 60, all seated at the round tables, sat in silence while they signed endless documents for about twenty minutes. We couldn’t even see the couple’s faces, M and R were completely blocked by the family members standing around them. When they were done exchanging rings, also, which no one saw, they stood up and everyone gave them a toast. They opened one gift, which was frilly bright pink lingerie for Rocío and something in a wooden box for Marcos. Then the Banda started playing. The type of music that is popular here is called Banda, it has a basic polka beat, and It is fashionable to turn up the speakers until distortion, and in such a way that the bass drives all the instruments. M and R had their first dance, similar to a Texas Two Step, which was very sweet. They were soon joined by several guests and the wedding officially began to feel like a party. I wanted to get some pictures, so I put two chairs together so that I could put the sleeping Emilio down.

We sat and watched people dance for a few hours and I gave Marcos and Rocío my congratulations. Eventually, even though we hadn’t eaten, and there were at least three hours of celebration left, Marcela and I decided it was time to leave.

Here is a photo I took of Marcos and Rocío right before I left. They asked me take a photo with their camera as well. It was 11 PM. The dinner started to arrive just as we stood up to go. I drove Marcela back to her house on some of the most treacherously bumpy roads of Baja, which had been made worse by the recent rains. Some are under construction as they are in the process of becoming paved. I got home at midnight, exhausted.  I put the sleeping Emilio in the tent that we’ve been sleeping in on the patio. The moon was bright and almost full, and the night was unusually cool and beautiful. I sat on our stoop and fell asleep while looking at the moon.

Some Creatures

Sometimes it’s the creatures that make the stories. The moths have become a part of our daily life. Many of them are as large as bats. They are attracted to our lights at night, and loudly waver spellbound near our lamps until we turn them off. Then they flutter near the upper windows of our house, transfixed by the light of the moon, trying desperately to reach it while flinging their bodies against the glass. During the day, they stay flat on the walls--looking like intricate decals. I’ve been collecting the dead ones, one of which is in the above photo. Upon inspecting it up close, I discover their huge eyes and hairy legs. I am developing a fascination/repulsion with them.

Our friends’ horse Canela, had a surprise baby. They didn’t know she was pregnant, and then one morning they woke up to discover a miniature horse looking like a carbon copy of his mother.

I found and caught a big spider (which I am pretty sure was not poisonous) and tried to put her on my latest spider web drawing for the website so that I could photograph it with a real spider. But I just couldn’t get her to go on the paper. So I let her be free outside.

I also want to share two poems by Mary Oliver that feel relevant right now. I was introduced to these by one my psychology professors in grad school who started class with a brief mediation, and a poem which she always read to us twice. Sometimes lines from each of them come into my head. I love Mary Oliver’s hauntingly exultant way of communing with nature.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

 

 

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

The Terrific Freedom and Terrible Loneliness of Expatriating

ZOELAB DAY 27

It’s harder to write these posts when I am feeling down. But writing these posts makes me feel more alive, more connected, and more able to work with whatever it is I am going through. Start from where you are. After all, as the poet, and songwriter Dave Berman (of the Silver Jews) says: “You can't change the feeling but you can change your feelings about the feeling in a second or two.” It is a time of great loneliness and longing for me. I have felt it before. It is very hard to live far away from my dear friends and family. Everyone who lives in the first world seems so very busy out of  necessity that the modern urban life calls for, and it seems people don’t have much space in their lives for communion, relaxation and hanging out. This seems like a luxury rather than a right. The friends and family I have here are all away right now--avoiding the bad weather and the boredom. And some more recent friends that I have made here, have decided not to return, for now. I chose to be here for most of this summer so that we could experience the true seasons of this place, and so that I could have a sense of continuity, and because we finally have a home, and I want to be home.

Moving to another country is a terrifying and exhilarating leap of faith. Even in moments like these, I don’t regret it. And I don’t want to leave. I have always been an adventurer and have strived to have as many experiences as I can, and haven’t generally let fear or the prospect of failure get in my way. In fact, as an artist/seeker/psychologist, I am as interested in failure as I am in success. I find it freeing to let go of the protective grip of the ego that wants to uphold an idealized and restricted view of ourselves, and accept that we all fail as humans. We all make messes. We all feel rejected sometimes. I think our view of a failure changes once you look at it from a further perspective. A failure in a moment becomes a learning experience or just one chapter of a great story. When we don’t get the response or result we want, we want to give up in shame. But it is so important to keep going. To show up. It takes humility, and courage to show up. That’s what this project is about for me. Showing up everyday, even if I don’t want to, even if I feel sad. Because in the showing up, I am continuing to make a commitment to something. I believe a commitment is an important and rare thing in this day and age, where everything seems exchangeable. The few commitments I’ve made in my life have turned out to be the best choices I have ever made because they have forced me to grow up. Everyday of showing up, is like more change in the bank, adding up slowly. I keep going because I have faith that the coins will add up to something rich and meaningful that will give back to me someday. I don’t know exactly what form it will become, but it will reveal itself in another chapter.

In our dream to make ourselves a house in Mexico, which took about five years, and is still in the making, there were some moments of great sorrow and disappointment. We didn’t have money or prospects, getting the paperwork for our title seemed impossible, our friends who also had land near us decided to move back to their homeland countries. In those moments we stopped believing it would happen. We had a dream not only of our own home, but of a community of people who want to live a peaceful, simple, independent, fun and artful life. We have several friends who own pieces of land near ours who have not yet come to build on their land. I do believe they will come. I haven’t given up on this dream.

Our town, Elias Calles, is a valley situated at the foothills of a beautiful mountain range. Our land is on the very last foot hill before the land becomes more or less flat. The view from our land is stunning. Looking West, you can see a nice piece of the Pacific ocean. There is a dip caused by the arroyo (dry river bed) that allows visibility of the ocean through there. Looking South, you see more of the thick tangle of desert plants, looking East, there are more rolling mountains, and looking North, my favorite view, is a valley of pure cactus forest, with rolling mountains behind. There are no houses to block the pristine view. The only sign of culture is the Telcel (cellphone) tower built jutting out of one of the mountains. This tower was not there when we were camping four years ago. So we had no cell service or internet then. Elias Calles is on the verge of getting electricity, when that happens the town will change greatly. There will be more than forty people living here. There will be lights on at night. There will be stores and restaurants and a gas station. Right now Elias Calles has: a one room school house that teaches kids from age 5-12 (the teacher is known to be the best in Baja, and provides programs in filmmaking, and traditional pottery making from local clay). A church. Two small stores with no electricity--the drinks are kept in coolers. A sometimes-open taqueria. A sometimes-open highway side flower stand. And a small handful of Mexican and Gringo families living here off solar power or a generator.

I realize that building happiness is a long, slow process and we have to be willing sometimes to endure difficulty for the sake of realizing who we were meant to be. I just received a comment from my mother that said: “It’s taking me a long time but I am realizing my daughter is a 21st Century hippie.” I prefer the term bohemian, but she’s right. The process of discovering this truth about myself has taken me a while as well. For all the times of loneliness, there are many more times of great happiness and gratitude. I am so grateful that we are able to spend so much time with our child in these invaluable early years before school. I appreciate that Emilio is receiving a wonderful natural education. He has a considerable amount of physical freedom. I am reminded, and now it feels like foreshadowing, of the subject of my 9th grade term paper--Jean Jacques Rousseau’s book on education called Emile, or On Education. In the book, Rousseau recommends that children receive a natural education that emphasizes the child’s experience of the physical world, and in particular, of the five senses. Written in 1762, it was a book of great controversy at first, that later became an inspiration for a new system of education in France (which lead, based on Rousseau’s recommendation, to a nationwide increase in breastfeeding).

In our life here, I feel grateful everyday for the opportunity to have time for hanging out, artmaking, being part of a community of people who look after each other. My whole adult life I have tried unsuccessfully to create communities. Living here is the first time I have really felt part of one. I love living in a place where you run into people you know everywhere you go. People rely on each other here. We take showers at each others’ houses when the electricity shuts down. We make trades for services and goods when we can’t pay with cash. One of my goals, which I have been working on lately by having weekly Spanish conversations with one of Mexican friends, is to improve my Spanish so I can be more connected to the Mexican community here. One of the blessings of living as an ex-patriot is the inexpressible feeling of cultural freedom. The feeling of not belonging can be lonely, but it can be extraordinarily freeing. As a parent, I feel free from the judgment of my own culture. We can make up rituals and rules as we go. We are free to live according to our natures, the unique expressions of the culture of family that we are creating. I am learning a new relationship to nature, which keeps me present. I am learning about and finding appreciation for things I never had to think about: water, electricity, privacy, ownership, wind, phases of the moon, plants, creatures. I continually feel their presence and lack of presence. I also appreciate the food. The fish here is very inexpensive, and some of the freshest and cleanest you can find in the world. Vegetables grow here like crazy. We have discovered both watermelons and cherry tomato plants on our land that have grown with out our planting them. And no one makes grilled meat like the Mexican taquerias.

I want to end with a good old fashioned want ad. The photo on top of the post is of a for sale sign for the lot on the North side of us, directly across the road. We are looking for a neighbor. We will be good neighbors to you, and trade fresh vegetables, eggs, and interesting books for something you have to offer. Any takers? Think about it, it could be a lot of fun.

                                  The view of our land from your land.

Today

ZOELAB DAY 26

Lucas left yesterday, so it’s just Mio and me. The rain came in short great gusts. A little rain came through our roof and puddled on our tile floors. Mio and I made pancakes this morning (from scratch for the second time in my life). After we had mixed most of the batter, I realized we had no eggs. Emilio and I went to our nearest neighbor to see if he had any eggs, but he wasn’t home. Then we went to the minisuper 79 (which opened several months ago), a little store a block away from us, with no electricity. I knew they wouldn’t have eggs, but I asked anyway. The storekeeper shook his head and then I said “quiero solo uno.” He went behind the store, into his house and brought me one egg from his kitchen. We were so triumphant that we didn’t have to give up on the pancakes. I used a recipe (from a compilation of the best of cook’s illustrated) that tells you to separate the yolk from the white, stir the yolk into melted butter and  to whip the white into the milk mixture. The recipe also asks for buttermilk, but if you don’t have buttermilk, you can put 1 tbs of lemon juice in the milk to curdle it. I only had limón, but it worked! The pancakes came out light and fluffy, with a hint of citrus. The two of us ate enough pancakes for 4. 

Also, Mio pooped in the potty for the first time. I was so excited about it, I couldn’t keep my cool. But my excitement was embarrassing to him--he kept asking me not to be loud. He was secretly very proud though. He just wanted to play it cool. After he made it, he asked me: “is this a baby poop or a little boy poop?” I said “it is definitely a big boy poop.” And it really was.

Here is a series of photos I took today of Emilio in the circle of trees. I was inside the house, and had just stepped outside the kitchen door to catch sight of him sitting in his little green plastic adorondak chair in the middle of the circle of trees. I said I wanted to take a picture of him and went to get the camera. But just as I got the camera out, he jumped out of his chair.

Honoring the Child Inside

ZOELAB DAY 25

 

“And the only thing people regret is that they didn’t live boldly enough, that they didn’t invest enough heart, didn’t love enough. Nothing else really counts at all. ”

This is an excerpt from a beautiful letter that poet Ted Hughes wrote to his 24 year old son. It made me feel better about being human. (taken from a site that publishes interesting letters.) 

But in many other ways obviously you are still childish—how could you not be, you alone among mankind? It's something people don't discuss, because it's something most people are aware of only as a general crisis of sense of inadequacy, or helpless dependence, or pointless loneliness, or a sense of not having a strong enough ego to meet and master inner storms that come from an unexpected angle. But not many people realise that it is, in fact, the suffering of the child inside them. Everybody tries to protect this vulnerable two three four five six seven eight year old inside, and to acquire skills and aptitudes for dealing with the situations that threaten to overwhelm it. So everybody develops a whole armour of secondary self, the artificially constructed being that deals with the outer world, and the crush of circumstances. And when we meet people this is what we usually meet. And if this is the only part of them we meet we're likely to get a rough time, and to end up making 'no contact'. But when you develop a strong divining sense for the child behind that armour, and you make your dealings and negotiations only with that child, you find that everybody becomes, in a way, like your own child. It's an intangible thing. But they too sense when that is what you are appealing to, and they respond with an impulse of real life, you get a little flash of the essential person, which is the child. Usually, that child is a wretchedly isolated undeveloped little being. It's been protected by the efficient armour, it's never participated in life, it's never been exposed to living and to managing the person's affairs, it's never been given responsibility for taking the brunt. And it's never properly lived. That's how it is in almost everybody. And that little creature is sitting there, behind the armour, peering through the slits. And in its own self, it is still unprotected, incapable, inexperienced. Every single person is vulnerable to unexpected defeat in this inmost emotional self. At every moment, behind the most efficient seeming adult exterior, the whole world of the person's childhood is being carefully held like a glass of water bulging above the brim. And in fact, that child is the only real thing in them. It's their humanity, their real individuality, the one that can't understand why it was born and that knows it will have to die, in no matter how crowded a place, quite on its own. That's the carrier of all the living qualities. It's the centre of all the possible magic and revelation. What doesn't come out of that creature isn't worth having, or it's worth having only as a tool—for that creature to use and turn to account and make meaningful. So there it is. And the sense of itself, in that little being, at its core, is what it always was. But since that artificial secondary self took over the control of life around the age of eight, and relegated the real, vulnerable, supersensitive, suffering self back into its nursery, it has lacked training, this inner prisoner. And so, wherever life takes it by surprise, and suddenly the artificial self of adaptations proves inadequate, and fails to ward off the invasion of raw experience, that inner self is thrown into the front line—unprepared, with all its childhood terrors round its ears. And yet that's the moment it wants. That's where it comes alive—even if only to be overwhelmed and bewildered and hurt. And that's where it calls up its own resources—not artificial aids, picked up outside, but real inner resources, real biological ability to cope, and to turn to account, and to enjoy. That's the paradox: the only time most people feel alive is when they're suffering, when something overwhelms their ordinary, careful armour, and the naked child is flung out onto the world. That's why the things that are worst to undergo are best to remember. But when that child gets buried away under their adaptive and protective shells—he becomes one of the walking dead, a monster. So when you realise you've gone a few weeks and haven't felt that awful struggle of your childish self—struggling to lift itself out of its inadequacy and incompetence—you'll know you've gone some weeks without meeting new challenge, and without growing, and that you've gone some weeks towards losing touch with yourself. The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn't live boldly enough, that they didn't invest enough heart, didn't love enough. Nothing else really counts at all. It was a saying about noble figures in old Irish poems—he would give his hawk to any man that asked for it, yet he loved his hawk better than men nowadays love their bride of tomorrow. He would mourn a dog with more grief than men nowadays mourn their fathers.

 

And that's how we measure out our real respect for people—by the degree of feeling they can register, the voltage of life they can carry and tolerate—and enjoy. End of sermon. As Buddha says: live like a mighty river. And as the old Greeks said: live as though all your ancestors were living again through you.

me at three

The Slow Making of a Dream: El Campo Elias Calles, The End of Camp

ZOELAB DAY 24

After six months of camping, and seven months of pregnancy, we decided that we needed to find a house to live in for the end of my pregnancy and the beginning of parenthood. I had met a woman who had taken pity on us, and offered to let us live in a casita on her property in another town in exchange for basic caretaking. We moved in and soon made ourselves a little nest. (For a post about the summer of 2009 and Jimena see Day 1.) A few weeks after Emilio was born Hurricane Jimena hit Baja a few hundred miles north of where we were. The destruction wasn’t devastating in our area, though there was some destruction. After the hurricane, which was a few months after we had left camp, we decided to go back see what had happened to our land. We had half abandoned our camp--we had been in such a rush to make a home for ourselves indoors we hadn’t even bothered to pack away our tents. We had left them out in the open to disintegrate in the sun, and then be blown around by the storm. Everything was a mess.

It was hard to see our beloved camp so destroyed, but I found relief in knowing I had documented it in its glory days. We also knew part of its beauty was its transience. 

This is what the circle of trees looked like that day (to see the circle of trees in the spring, click:)

The next year, we also re-discovered the forgotten superhero nativity scene and fake christmas tree that our friends Jeremy and Charlotte had brought for the Christmas we had spent at camp (which was also our first night at camp.)  

The next year, we also re-discovered the forgotten superhero nativity scene and fake christmas tree that our friends Jeremy and Charlotte had brought for the Christmas we had spent at camp (which was also our first night at camp.) 

Three years have passed since the summer of Hurricane Jimena, and now another hurricane--Miriam--is due to hit Baja this week. Lucas and his sister are heading out tomorrow to drive up the Baja with an empty trailer. Their plan is to get North before the hurricane hits. Lucas is going to get the last of our stuff from our storage space and drive it down. I’ll be excited to reunite with it. Among what I remember of our belongings, there are four vintage pachinko machines, my journals, and Lucas’ incredible collection of rare art books. This also means nine days of a certain kind of aloneness. I’ll use art and creativity and compassion to make the best of it.

The Story of Elias Calles to be continued....

The Slow Making of a Dream: El Campo Elias Calles, Part Two

ZOELAB DAY 23

“It was extraordinarily peaceful to be pregnant and surrounded by nothing but vast amounts of sky, desert, ocean and mountains.”

Our campsite continued to develop over the months we were there. Eventually Lucas made a mediation and yoga spot for me. Spring came, and the trees started to spring leaves. We found a beautiful arrangement of elephant and paper trees that naturally made a semicircle. Both kinds of trees are short, and they had no leaves because it was winter. The paper tree has peeling skin that is very fun to peel, but apparently once you peel it always stays smooth. We cleared around this circle of trees so that it would be more noticeable.

At the time I was avidly collecting rocks, shells and small animal bones that I had found in the area. I started arranging these around the circle of trees. Having been a city girl my whole life, it was a real shift for me to live in nature. I became very fond of it. It was extraordinarily peaceful to be pregnant and surrounded by nothing but vast amounts of sky, desert, ocean and mountains. The simplicity of life was comforting, even if I wasn’t always comfortable.

The Slow Making of a Dream: El Campo Elias Calles, Part One

ZOELAB DAY 22

I've been putting off telling this story even thought it's the story I most want to tell. It's a difficult story to tell because it's complicated, and we're still in the middle of it. And also because it occurred (with many breaks in between) over several years, and I documented it thoroughly (not knowing what I'd do with all the images.) I just spent an hour looking through 2,283 images (photos & videos) that I have taken so far of our land, and the surrounding area of Elias Clales.

I have another more recent impetus to tell this story because an artist friend, Tia Factor, who makes uniquely gorgeous paintings, is doing a project where she asks people to describe a place that they have been to, and often return to in their imagination. The place represents comfort in the person’s imagination, so the person returns to it over and over in his/her mind. Then, after doing some image research, Tia makes a painting of the place based on the person’s description. I had wanted to participate in this project, but I hadn’t been able to think of a place that I had returned to over and over in my mind. But then I realized I did. Elias Calles is that place, even though I live here now. For so many years it was an imagined place, imagined and experienced from so many different perspectives, a place that contained hopes and dreams, and then loss of those same hopes and dreams. And even though we still continue to live here, there is so much about it that is still in our imaginations. All of our plans yet to be realized. This is what I wrote as my description to Tia (plus a few more words) for her painting:

Elias Calles is a hard place to describe because it is not like anywhere else I have ever been. I don't really have a point of reference. I had first heard of it from Lucas about five years ago. He told me he found a piece of land he wanted to buy in Mexico with some money he inherited from his grandmother. We thought of it as an investment. A few years later, we decided that we wanted to build a house on our land, move to Mexico, get married, and have a baby. This was all before I had even seen our land. I had been to Baja only once in 2004, after we had left New York City and before we were to move to San Francisco. It was a different part of Baja, and I had had a difficult time. (Another story for another time). I am not sure exactly what made me want to do something so uncertain, other than I was done with the particular chapter of our life, and we both wanted the experience of living in a different country and having a child. It was an intuitive decision based on what felt right. The plan was that Lucas (who had been going down to Baja often for many years) was going to build us a rudimentary house out of earth bags the year before we moved. He got started that year, but he was never able to finish. We were going to live in our house, try to have a baby when we got there, and then build ourselves a life. Things went a little differently then we had planned. I was a few days aware of being pregnant as we drove the 1,500 miles to Southern Baja from Northern California in our fully packed 1985 Toyota Landcruiser with our dog, Ping. During our journey, the World economy collapsed, two of our tires exploded, (we were saved within five minutes of our first tire exploding by Los Angeles Verdes--a Government road side assistance group that drives up and down the highway helping people with car trouble) and the frame of our car cracked as we literally pulled into our destination.

The first time I saw Elias Calles was in early December, 2008, a few days after we moved to Mexico. When I first saw it, I have to say I was disappointed. It looked like a scary, poisonous forest from a Disney movie. All plants had large points sticking out of them, everything was brown, and dry. There was nothing cleared on the land.—it was a dense low forest of shrubbery and cactus. I could not see the beauty--at first. I just didn't get it. Lucas was going to build us a campsite (because the house wasn’t ready and we didn’t really have the money to build). We started clearing the land with the help of our French friends Charlotte and Jeremy, who had made a little campsite on their piece of land nearby. Charlotte saw how uncertain I was, and tried to reassure me by saying that you created your little spaces out of the land and it starts to become yours. Fortunately for us, our friends allowed us to stay in their house in a nearby town, for our first month here, which was my most nauseous month, while Lucas built our campsite.

Lucas began to build our campsite--we cleared two 12 by 12 areas with the help of our French friends and Lucas’ sister (who is co-owner of the land). He made a temporary floor out of adoquin (red colored cement hexagons). We put our sleeping tent on one. And the other became our kitchen. To create shade for the sleeping tent, Lucas created a tensile structure, using large pine poles and a tarp. To create a space for the kitchen, we put up a four post canvas tent and screen walls. We filled the kitchen with a small folding table covered with bright Mexican oil cloth, for eating, a wooden freestanding counter for cooking, a high intensity 2 burner metal camping stove, a vintage 1920's sink resting on two tables (this sink is now in our kitchen), with a drain that went into a bucket. We also had our water tank on top of our broken landcruiser (it could no longer be driven after we arrived.) which Lucas filled by climbing up a ladder, and pouring water jugs into it. The water pressure was great, due to the high flow, gravity water pressure system. Our water drained out into a bucket below the sink which we dumped on the trees around the campsite. We also had sleeping tent that was large enough to stand in, and fit a closet and queen size mattress. This was deluxe camping.

Our campsite developed over the months we were there. Lucas hooked up a solar panel, and we had enough electricity to charge our laptops and have LED Christmas lights on at night. Our kitchen was fully functional and we were able to create delicious meals. We had our families and friends come to visit us in our little desert oasis--some who had never camped before in their lives and fell in love with the experience.

To be continued in next post...

Photography as Spiritual Practice

Taking photographs can sometimes be a way to transcend judgment of certain experiences or sights. Judgment (whether it’s good or bad) about the objects and people around us can create a barrier to pure experience. By photographing something close up, the image becomes more about form than content. It helps me to find the beauty in something that might otherwise disgust me. Included here are photos from the last few days of domesticity.

Mixing blue food coloring into yellow play dough

Cleaning the burners on the stove

Bubbled over oatmeal on the stove

Dead spiders and moths and compostables in the sink

Wanting a shot of tequila, discovering a cockroach in my cup