Day by Day 3 - God's Expansive World

Monday, Feb. 16, 2009

This morning I woke up to roosters crowing outside my window, not to mention birds I'd never heard before (though I couldn't see them). I took a shower in the lush shower room and went to the restaurant where a cook would make anything you asked for from his spread. It was, as I've said, a mini-Eden we were in.

Today would prove to be one of the most enjoyable days, though I always have to be wary with that, because I am so prone to hanging on to that feeling of happiness. We boarded the bus and for the next 2 hours we heard the bus brakes squeaking as the driver wound carefully around tight mountain roads that were never designed for tourist buses. It was always a bit unnerving to look out the window and see steep drops off the cliffs.

As with many of the bus rides, our guides used the time to teach us about where we were going. Today we learned about land ownership in Mexico. In Mexico, there is something called an "ejido" (pronounced ee-HEE-do), which was a division of land given to groups of families prior to 1930. Fifty to a hundred families were given a piece of an ejido, and sometimes a family would sell their section of it. Each family had to choose which member of the family would farm the ejido. The who who farms their 5+ acres is called an "Ejitotario". 

The reason this was significant to our day's trip was that El Rosario, the most famous of the butterfly sanctuaries, is owned as an ejido. Even though El Rosario is protected by a modern logging ban to conserve the sanctuaries, Ejitotarios often want to reserve their more ancient right to cut the trees, even if the land is presently protected by the ban.  It is a battle that goes on every year, with police guarding the areas with guns, only to be bribed by ejitatarios with money. As we walked up the many stairs to the sanctuaries, we could see the heartbreaking evidence of clear cutting and trees that were now stumps.

The day became quite expansive as we entered the sanctuaries. The climb at over 9000 feet above sea level was, as I've said, daunting, and I paused quite often. Erik explained that everyone would feel this way, no matter what shape you were in since it takes over 2 weeks for your body to produce enough red blood cells at this elevation. So that made us feel a bit better with all our huffing and puffing. 

I have written already about the "moment" when I stood looking out over a clear cutted area which was dotted with the first monarchs, and I worried if I would "feel" anything. Despite this worry, my heart was feeling full of gratitude, and I had the strong reply in my mind, that "it wasn't about me". I felt that this was all so beautiful and miraculous that my presence was not even needed. The miracle of the monarch and its migration and seemingly impossible survival went on in the world without me even being there. As I've sat with different memories over the weeks, this one remains as one of the sharpest.

As I continued on the trek up, walking with some of the others, we were always passed by people on their way down who were smiling and telling us the trek was worth it. And then we arrived, and saw the rust colored branches, heavy with monarch clusters. It was different than I had imagined it, which was probably due to the tourist aspect. The area where the clusters were was roped off so we were "looking in". (The colony the next day would prove to be quite different, with us being right in the midst of everything.)

There was a hushed tone to everyone in the sanctuary, as people naturally felt the spiritual nature of the place. The monarchs flying in the warming sun sounded like a wind around us, though no wind was stirring. I saw 4 Mexican men carrying a stretcher with a woman tied on to it, another moment I shared in my e-mails. They were very careful and quietly respectful of her as they untied her and gently helped her sit in a spot to witness the butterflies. I was very moved to see her. I could only imagine the lot she'd had to bear in life, and the planning and dedication and perhaps miracles that even got her here. She was definitely not defined by her illness and she was a great witness to me. I asked Marcos to ask her in Spanish if she would mind if I took her picture. "Tell her that I am touched by her courage to come here." Marcos quietly relayed my message and she beamed a smile at me that meant yes. Seeing her was in a way exactly parallel to seeing the miracle of the monarchs' survival and beauty.

People wandered around and spoke quietly and just witnessed the monarchs for about an hour, and then the time dictated that we start to head down. I was actually "on assignment" to buy some souvenirs to bring to the workshop this summer in Wpg., so I began to hurry down, but before I knew it, I got thoroughly lost in the woods. Don't ask me how that happened. I knew that the path was to my left where in the distance I heard voices, so I kept stumbling through the woods, without a path, and after about 10 minutes found my way back. I never felt worried.

The trek through the souvenir stands was a bit panicky for me, since time was running out and I had "money to spend". I didn't like that feeling (since I generally don't like shopping) but I was doing it for a larger cause so I stuck to my task. It turned out that as the days went by, I started to enjoy buying souvenirs more and more. 

I met up with Erik M. and some others in a tiny outdoor eatery and we all ordered a few quesadillas which the ladies made on an open fire. They were so great and we enjoyed our impromptu meal together. I shared with Erik my witnessing moment from earlier, and he said he appreciated hearing the story and shared one of his own with a similar theme which he had had a year earlier. It was a good conversation. 

There were other good conversations with people that day which I've since forgotten. My journal which were getting shorter every day, just says "good conversations, and good connections with people".

That evening after supper I began to blog for the students at school, and greatly enjoyed that. Writing from the perspective of the mascot was a very fun way to relate to the kids, one that I knew they'd enjoy at school with the help of the computer teacher. (When I got some replies the next day, it was even more fun.) I also wrote a few e-mails about the day to Watershed and to my sister Lorie. There were about 3 of us around the computers in the Internet room and we were enjoying writing to various people. One woman said, "I don't usually tear up when I write," and it captured how we all felt. My heart felt very full this day and I went to bed way too late. The "high" experience would come down soon enough the next morning when I would wake up sick. However, the thought was often with me of being a pilgrim not a vacationer, which always brought with it the reminder that, no matter the inner weather, it was "not about me". The day had brought with it a witness to the expansive reality of God's miracles.

Day by Day 2 - Accompanied

Sunday, Feb. 15, 2009

I woke up in my Mexican hotel room, forgetting at first where I was, as one does while traveling. What came back to me first was my memory of feeling lonely and depressed the night before. Then in that parallel way of a life accompanied by God, I remembered something besides the human angle of things - the quote the night before from the gals, and the prayers for God to be with me, and I joined the others downstairs for breakfast, more heartened and ready to greet the new. A spread in the hotel restaurant was waiting for us, and we began our day.

As would be the case of each day following, the Greyhound size bus was waiting for us outside. We filled our water bottles each day from a large jug (tap water might make us sick), and boarded the bus. I sat beside Kris Snavely, a blonde woman from South Dakota who became my "bus buddy" (a way of keeping attendance). We began our long journey to the state of Michoacan, the butterfly state which had the mountains where the monarchs overwintered. Leaving Mexico City was a steady climb uphill throughout the 3+ hour trip, and we passed out of the smog of the big city into beautiful mountainous terrain. Our first view of the monarchs was on the signs in the small mountain villages, where many shops had the name of "Monarca" in them. I enjoyed getting to know Kris, a Grade 7/8 teacher who made me appreciate a school system not created by Bush. She was laboring under some pretty crazy expectations.

The most enjoyable part of the morning for me was the official introductions of everyone on the trip. The bus microphone was passed from person to person, and each one told where they were from and what had brought them on this trip. I got a bit teary (I know, it's surprising) when I told my story of being supported by my church community and how despite the odds, you all supported my vocation by telling me, "You're going," when my administrator was cautious. There was some spontaneous clapping when I told everyone of your support. I also mentioned that this was a spiritual journey, for myself and for everyone in some way. A Canadian woman named Helen from Ontario later told me she was glad I had said that since no one else had mentioned the spiritual aspect of our trip. I really enjoyed hearing everyone's stories and the group I had felt disconnected to the evening before now seemed like a unique and human bunch of folks. I and the other 6 Canadians felt proud of being Canadian, and at least I reveled in telling people the stories of snow, and of our relatively short monarch season.

We stopped at a gas station for refreshments, then went on until we came to our destination, a small mountain town. We walked to the place that would be our lunch stop in a few hours, and agreed to meet back there after we all got a chance to tour around. The village was just beautiful, with Sunday outdoor markets in full swing. We had been told not to buy anything to eat from the street vendors, even though it looked so good, because it would likely make us sick. The highest point in the village was a huge Catholic church, made from the stones of the Aztec structures which the Spanish conquerers destroyed. There was mass going on every half hour, and many families dressed made their pilgrimage there for a short mass. We stepped inside briefly. A Saint named Carmen was the patron saint of this church, and the figures of Peter and Paul were carved on the side of the church. I was humored by a busker in the form of an old Mexican man, whose guitar was totally out of tune. But when I put 10 pesos in his hat, he sang his heart out for me.

Lunch in the small restaurant was delicious, and was my first taste of authentic Mexican food. The restaurant was extremely beautiful inside, and used to be part of the silver mine. I sat beside Arlene and Dawn, who were friends. Arlene was a retired emergency room physician and Dawn was the woman who would break her arm a few days later. Arlene told the story of her 4 year old grandson whom she retired to care for, who has a very rare disease which has made his development very delayed. At 4, he was just learning how to walk. I admired her resilience in the face of this difficult lot in life, and her obvious love for the boy.

After lunch (and our first experience trying to pay in pesos), we drove to the silver mine, where we learned of the mine which was shut down in the '50's and where many many young men had met a young death from lung disease. Not coincidentally, there was a museum of crucifixes there, each one testifying to the suffering this town had bore for many years.

After much teaching from Erik and Marcos, we headed back down the narrow mountain roads. We stopped once so Marcos could show us a typical Mexican cactus which had been used long ago to make the glue for the pyramid stones. On our way to the hotel, Erik told us not to expect the quality of hotel we had seen in Mexico City. We later saw that he had been joking, since this was the lavish resort. The best feature in my opinion was the Internet room where I could finally write to everyone and phone Lyle as well. It was great to talk to people. 

Later after supper, Erik invited anyone who wanted to to come out into the field for a mini-star gazing lesson. This is the one I e-mailed about back then. What stood out for me was Erik's lesson on the star Venus, and how at certain times it is a morning star and other times is an evening star. The ancient culture took that to mean the two faces of the gods, one was the god of choice and the other the god of fate. The god of choice gives wisdom and the god of fate is the trickster god. These are the two realities I had before me at the beginning of the day - human fate in all our weakness and the choice to trust in God. These two realities are always with us, inextricably bound. Thank God we are not left to our own devices.

Day by Day 1 - Claiming God's Hold on me

During this morning's meeting, I had the thought of how I could begin to sit with my experience more deeply, and that is to re-live the trip, day by day. I had the image of sifting through each day's experiences like a miner for the boon.  Today's post will be the Friday/Saturday experience of the trip (Feb. 13/14) Thank you all by the way for teasing me about my worries about finding the boon :-)

It felt like a dream to actually leave school early on Friday, say good-bye to the kids and bring my plans into action, but leave I did. I packed what I thought was too much stuff (and later I saw that compared to others, I had actually brought very little), and was ready when Lyle and Joel were ready to take me to the airport. I hadn't done anything like this (flying on my own), since going to Egypt/Israel so long ago in my early 20's. We had supper together, I gave my winter jacket to Lyle and we said our good-bye's (and said good-bye to Cal who called on the cell) and then I was on my own, heading towards the waiting area.

I met who I thought was a guardian in the waiting room, a couple from Winnipeg. When I told them I was a teacher on some PD to Mexico to see the monarchs, the husband began ribbing me quite a bit. "Oh, this is where our tax dollars are going hey?!"  He also teased me that I didn't bring the right ID, and that I'd probably get bumped off the flight . I laughed along with him, but he didn't know the double edge of his jokes - that I already thought I was breaking the rules by going, the rules of proper procedure and "what a teacher should do" (especially according to my boss). It reminded me that I was going as a pilgrimage, called by God, not as a vacation with permission granted from humans. In many ways, before, during and after the trip, I have been challenged to claim my "true reasons", which is to say, claim God's hold on me rather than humans.

I felt privileged to meet Verda's co-worker while waiting in the TO airport for my

luggage, who told me about her brother in TO who was diagnosed with cancer. Terry was visiting her brother Tracey, and bringing a break to her mom who was worried about losing a second child (Terry's first brother had died suddenly only a few years ago). I felt like I could bring a bit of Watershed to her as I asked about her brother and told her I'd be praying for Tracey (who has since died, Verda said the other day). This felt like a meeting of the heart. She too was not on a vacation, but also a pilgrimage.

On Saturday morning, despite a bad sleep in the hotel, I made it to the airport and met my first traveling companions also bound for Mexico. All 7 of us were on the same flight. Linda's prayer from the little book of quotes from the gals had said, "Jesus be in my feet, in my hands, in my eyes, in all that I experience today," and it suitably framed the experiences ahead of me for the new day. I boarded the plane, and was greeted by a sniffer dog who must have smelled my newly acquired pesos. I thought perhaps he was another guardian, who asked the same question, "Are you sure you haven't broken the rules by coming?" The police told me, "It's all ok." Again, I was reminded to see the trip as the expansive prayer"God in all that I experience" rather than the fear based thought of "All that I've done wrong". 

I felt God's mercy when, despite a bad sleep, I felt very peaceful and felt this focus to read Burroughs and start my novel, for a good chunk of the 5 hour flight. (I had not had this reading focus for a while.) Towards the end, I looked out the window and saw with a start, the Mexican mountain chain below. Walking through the Mexican airport was much more calm and peaceful than I had imagined, and we soon found ourselves in a taxi headed towards the hotel. I was happy that, though we were a bit later than I expected, the Monarch  group had waited for us before heading out to the Anthropology Museum. I met Eric M., the host and guide of our trip. After stashing away my belongings in the hotel room, off we went, via another taxi. It was nice to be in a summer climate, though not unbearably hot. Comfortable t-shirt weather.

The tour of the museum, now led by Eric and Marcos our Mexican guide, was a suitable intro to how the days together would be - a lot of great teaching on Mexico's history and culture. It was more than I expected, and I (not a history/anthropology buff) found it interesting albeit somewhat overwhelming at times. I said later that it was like a really good documentary. I remembered some of the scenes from this very museum which Lyle and I had watched together from the Lonely Planet documentary. We learned about the Spanish conquest in the 1600's and about "Meso America", a term I had never heard before. I usually thought about Mexico as Spanish-speaking people, but of course there was a huge history before then, as there is of Canada before the Europeans, dating back to the Aztecs among many others. One of the scenes that stands out from the Museum was the huge Aztec calendar, which Eric explained we were all on, including the Creator at the center.

That night back at the Hotel, we gathered for our first meal together in the Hotel restaurant, and Eric gave us many intros and details about the trip. Introductions from each other would come in the morning on our long bus trip. At this point, I had this dull feeling in me of not wanting to be there. Too many new people (over 30) and I felt this sudden homesickness as the day felt overwhelming. Strangely, my phone card didn't work and the Internet room was locked for the day so I couldn't contact Lyle to let him know I got there safely. I chalked my homesickness up to just a full day, so I packed it in and it was a comfort to read over the next quote from the gals, which as each of them proved, was a great word to hear. Strangely, I can't find the little book at the moment, but I remember Bev's quote of a prayer for the new day, praying to bring God to all we meet. Again I was reminded of the focus being off my comforts or anything to do with "me", and that this trip was somehow a spiritual one, seeking the will of God. It was good to have the accompaniment of prayer, knowing that God was with me esp. in the prayers of you all, and that I could pray too. 

P.S. I just about forgot that before I went to bed, my new friends from Ontario, Barry and Helen (who I felt more of a connection with in the days to come), and I went for a walk down a main street close to the hotel. It was bustling with activity (Valentine's Day and Saturday night), with street vendors and many people selling their wares including mothers who had their cute, poor looking children come up to us and ask us if we wanted to buy things. There were also many couples, including many gay men and women openly affectionate, which I found curious considering what I thought was a more conservative culture. Barry and Helen were good to walk with, just some kind souls. Incidentally, they may be spending a night or two with us this summer as they travel to B.C.

Considering the Boon

It is hard to believe that a mere 2 weeks ago, I arrived back in Wpg., the Mexico trip over. It has been pretty intense to change gears so quickly, and immerse myself back into work and home, with all its demands and concerns, such as Paul's illness. I began to put Mexico reflections (ala Watershed style) on the back burner, wanting to wait until Spring Break, but the women's group were Guides for my return home when they suggested I make time before then. I realized I had been skimming the surface and perhaps avoiding looking at the deeper meanings of the trip. In a way, I think it was partly motivated by fear that "there won't be a boon" for me, which is crazy thinking (that would go against the whole kether of the trip!). So this entry will be an attempt to enter into deeper reflections. This week a line from T.S. Eliot came to mind from Journey of the Magi - "What did we come all this way to see?" This is my question.

As I left Wpg., I had my journal in hand and was doing quite a bit of writing, in the hotel in TO and on the plane to Mexico, and even on the first evening in Mexico City. 

My journal entries after that were basically point form, sketching what we literally did that day, not really reflections. I was immersed into another rhythm out there, which included tons of teaching from Marcos and Erik. Even bus rides were lesson time, with one of them on the microphone, teaching us about various things. I learned about the history of Mexico (both ancient and modern, Lorna that line is for you :-). I learned about the Spanish invasion in the 1800's and the takeover of Christianity as the main religion. I learned about the Perepucha people, a tribe that still survives today in the region where the monarchs overwinter. They were a tribe who did not surrender to the Aztecs many years ago. I learned some astronomy. I also learned more about the monarch butterfly. I saw the art of Diego Rivera, the church of Guadlumpe, and the Pyramid to the Sun. I learned more names of Aztec and Mayan gods than I could remember. There were also some good conversations on the bus and along our hikes. I got to know some of the 30 people in a more in depth way. And among all the lessons, I really enjoyed taking pictures of our school mascot and relating to the students in my blog.

This is just a very brief sketch, and much of it I'm sure will not survive in the long term memory department. It was all very fascinating, and at times I couldn't absorb much more. Retiring to my hotel room each night, I would read the quotes from the Watershed ladies, read a bit of Burroughs and pray for everyone and especially for Paul as I learned about his ills. In the back of my mind, I kept wondering about how this world intersected with Watershed.

I would say I certainly saw God's hand in the bounty of teachings. Erik and Marcos' love of learning was infectious, as was their care for us their students. There were many other ways I saw God teaching me, and maybe this is the starting point to considering the boon of the journey.

The first monarch colony we visited held two key teachings, or perhaps they're called ways I witnessed God. The first was when I wondered if I would have a "big" experience here, and I distinctly heard, "It's not about me." I didn't hear that in a yelling voice from God :-) but in a voice of wonder as I witnessed the first clusters of butterflies. I realized I didn't even have to be there. This was a miracle in nature that was much bigger. Like my own fragile journey on the wind of community's prayers and God's sustenance, these butterflies had survived so much on the journey and amid climate change, and were graceful proof of a miracle. This image struck me and will stay with me forever, that God works a huge miracle despite all our bumblings and fragility.

The other witness was the woman who was carried up on a stretcher to see the monarchs. Her journey up the mountain was also fragile, literally, and the fact that she would allow herself to enjoy the miracle showed the greater story at work in her life beyond her illness. She was a witness to me. As I was there for about an hour and a half, I felt like the forest was a church. Oddly, on the way down from the mountain, I got off the path and got lost for a half hour, but I never felt worried, certain that I'd find my way back.

The next 2 days were the ones I related last Sunday with Burroughs' theme of lament vs. murmuring. I woke up with a headache and while I enjoyed the trip to the second monarch colony, I felt a bit disconnected from myself and what I saw. I realized I was kind of cranky. I knew that it wasn't a "vacation" and that discomfort is part of our vocation, and prayed along these lines, but I couldn't seem to shake the sense of anger. It came to a head when Dawn broke her arm and I saw my selfishness when I gave up my jacket for her head, but did so reluctantly. I realized that day that I had basically failed to truly trust God in any circumstance, and I confessed it with chagrin. 

The next morning (Wednesday), I was led to a place of deeper prayer and asked for the grace to trust no matter what was happening. I didn't want to have another day like the previous one of basically betraying Christ. This second day still began with a headache, but I definitely sensed God's forgiveness and grace shine through despite this. I was very struck this day by the visit to the school. I was quite nervous and didn't really want to venture into this unknown, but our hosts were so gracious and generous. The children related to us with shy smiles and the openness that kids are so good at, and the meal and obvious kindness the adults gave us put all my nervousness aside. It was a festival.

I found I was all teared up at the farewell speeches, and I wasn't the only one. My "Gracias" to the "chicas es la cuisena" (ladies in the kitchen) were heartfelt. In a way, it helps not to be able to communicate with your language (being a non-Spanish speaker), because you stay with what is more essential, smiles from the heart for one. It was a day touched with something miraculous. Erik, our MTN teacher, quoted a poem in his speech from an ancient Aztec philosopher emperor which seemed to capture a "Yes" prayer:

"Is it true? We are here for only a little while?

Let us at least leave behind flowers.

Let us at least leave behind songs."

Translated into Watershed language, I would say the prayer became, "God, I desire that my life will leave behind flowers of faith not the weeds of unfaith, and the songs of trust in You and not the discord of my doubt. Like the miraculous migration of the monarchs, let your miracles be the strongest voice I pay heed to. My flesh is so weak and untrustable, but your Spirit is trustable." These kind people had definitely been a witness to this prayer for me.

Maybe this will be all for my musings for now. As I was writing them out, I had the thought, well if this is the boon, it seems quite generous already.