Moonstone Magic

On Sundays, the happening place is the Farmer’s Market at Baja Bean in Pescadero— a small village about ten kilometers south of Todos Santos.   You can get locally roasted coffee that puts Starbucks to shame and a tasty brunch while listening to live music.  Local venders from all over South Baja sell produce, homemade jams and salsas, clothing and jewelry.  Last week, I spotted an exquisite moonstone ring in an elegant silver and copper setting, but I figured I didn’t need another ring and besides, it was too expensive. But all week, I couldn’t stop thinking about the ring.  There was just something about it that called to me.   When I mentioned the ring to Frank, he very generously offered to buy it for me as a belated birthday present.  So we went back this past Sunday and bought the ring. All the way home, as I admired the opaque qualities of the stone—the way it changes colors with the light, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my beautiful ring is more than a shiny bauble.  So I went online to research the significance of moonstone.   Apparently, since ancient times, moonstone has been revered for its connection to the magic of the moon.  It calms and teaches the natural rhythms of Earth.  Hmm, how interesting that the ring came into my possession on the very day when the moon is full.   I went on to read that moonstone is symbolic of an inward journey towards long forgotten pieces of the soul  which need to be brought to light. It's even more interesting that  I just happen to be in the business of helping people to recover their souls, in other words to remind them of the inner resources that will sustain them in the face of heartbreak, loss, and life-threatening illness.  Yet one of the drawbacks of being a chaplain (or anyone in the caregiving profession) is that, in caring for other people, it's really easy to lose pieces of yourself.  Sometimes, I get so caught up on a treadmill of working long shifts and recovering from long shifts, I neglect friends, family, and those simple pleasures that feed my spirit and sustain me.   

Normally,  Frank and I are active people, but down here we have been quite content to spend hours sitting by the sea. I’m not a naturally calm person, but there’s something about the ocean that soothes my often restless spirit.  I don’t think I will ever tire of witnessing its many moods and the stunning diversity of life that it supports.  Every day, we’ve seen the humpback whales as they drift south to Central America.   Sometimes, they slip stealthily past, like submarines on patrol, with only the tell tale spouts to indicate their presence.  Other times, they like to show off by breeching and slapping their gigantic flutes (tails) emphatically, or lazily waving to us like the Queen of England, if you can imagine her Majesty having sixteen foot flippers.  It’s an awe inspiring sight which never fails to delight and uplift us.   We’ve witnessed a couple of baby turtle releases and have signed on to “babysit” turtle hatchlings as they incubate in a greenhouse near our house.

It’s easy to feel connected to the Earth’s natural rhythms with the Pacific Ocean ebbing and flowing at my feet, so generously sharing its abundance.  It’s somewhat more of a challenge being attuned to these rhythms in the rush to meet all of my daily responsibilities at home.  But I have my spiritual practices and the Rocky Mountains to keep me centered and most of all,  I’m fortunate enough to have the kind of work which immerses me in the ebb and flow of life.  Odd as it seems, the hospital where I work is not that different from the ocean because it is so like a unique ecosystem containing the whole glorious mystery of creation.  One minute, a soul exits the planet and in the next,  a lullaby over the loudspeaker announces the arrival of another soul.   I can place all of the human judgments I want on the events that happen in a hospital (and some of them are unspeakably tragic and inexplicable) but in the end, I have to believe that there is an order and symmetry to all of it—just as there is so much more happening beneath the surface of the ocean than what my eye can see. 

I came down here hoping to gain some clarity and perspective on what my next steps should be because I always need to be working towards a goal (or so I tell myself).    I don't believe in coincidence.  Is it possible the moonstone ring came into my life to assure me that I'm right where I need to be, doing what I'm meant to be doing?   I just need to lighten up, restore some balance in my life, and be a little less goal oriented. 

 

 

More "tails" from Todos Santos

Our time in Todos Santos continues to flow seamlessly.  That niggling guilt  I initially experienced for being unproductive has come and gone.   Frank and I have succumbed to our natural rhythms, eating when we’re hungry, allowing the soothing surf to lull us to sleep when we’re tired, and getting up with the sun each morning (with the help of a strong cup of locally roasted java).   The only numbers we go by down here are how many shrimp tacos we snarf down for lunch or how many whales we spot in a day (more about that marvelous spectacle later).     

I am slowly falling in love with Todos Santos for its unique colonial charm and unpretentious authenticity.  Even though tourism is a big part of the economy, the town has nothing to prove and is more like the ‘anti-Cabo’.    No Senor Frog or Cabo Wabo here.  Rather than the frenetic activity and crass commercialism of a tourist town, there is a more a relaxed warmth.  People take the time to visit.   At La Esquina, a popular eatery which has become our favorite hang out, the local ex-pats are friendly and quite chatty.  There is Dave, a soon to be refugee from Los Angeles, who is planning his escape from traffic jams and a frenetic pace he finds intolerable.  He is having a house built so that he can live down here for seven months out of the year.    “Everything you need is right here,” he tells us, “I don’t need excitement, I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.”    Dave points out that most of the ex-pats who flock to Todos Santos are on the south side of sixty, either retired or semi-retired-- in search of a more conscious and simpler way of life.   If you look around the restaurant, you do see a lot of grey hair—I’m betting most of the grizzled customers could probably tell you what they were doing when President Kennedy was shot. 

Anita from Vancouver British Columbia and her Mexicano husband are also building a home off the grid which is completely dependent on solar power.  A day without sunshine means a half day without power.  “I hate cloudy days” she grumbles.  But the unpredictable weather is a price Anita is quite willing to pay in exchange for the sense of community she finds here.   She plans to apply for permanent resident status as soon as the immigration laws allow.     When asked if she won’t miss her family and friends from home, it turns out that one of her daughters lives in Cancun and two of her brothers live in the Los Cabos area.    “My whole family will be here for Christmas,” she says happily. 

Abel, one of the local entrepreneurs who originally hails from Jalisco, Mexico,  tells me that he came here five years ago expecting Todos Santos to be a real city—instead he found a laid back little pueblo where there are no drugs (maybe some pot here and there) and little crime.   “You don’t have to lock your doors at night” he assures me in Spanish.

Todos Santos seems to attract individuals in search of serenity, simplicity, and a sense of community with maybe a little surfing thrown in.  We’ve heard many people mention the innate spirituality of the place where yoga, meditation, healers, and Tai Chi classes abound.  On Sundays, you have a choice of guided meditation or Catholic Mass at the Mision de Santa Rosa de las Palmas.

Personally, I’ve been drawing my spiritual sustenance from the ocean.  To be in the presence of this vast body of water is to be touched with a sense of the sacred.   For our Sunday “service”, Frank and I are drawn to a beach near town where we are treated to our first heart stopping sight of  humpback whales joyously leaping and cavorting in a stunning display of acrobatics.   Sea world could not have come up with a more magical show than the performance we are privileged to witness on this beautiful afternoon.   When one of the huge creatures explodes nose first out of the water as if shot from a canon, we hold our breath the second before its massive form arches and comes crashing down with a belly flop of epic proportion.   At one point, three of the whales gracefully vault out of the water, one by one, in what looks like a beautifully choreographed ballet.  It is an unforgettable experience which brings a sense of awe to my heart and tears to my eyes. 

Just before sunset, as if to remind me of the infinite abundance of the Universe, I spot a turtle drifting in the  clear turquoise waves and miracle of miracles-- yet another humpback emphatically slapping the water with its enormous flute.  Can it get any better?  Stay tuned for more “tails” from el Pueblo Magico. 

Just Another Shitty Day in Paradise….

       Frank and I are already ten days into our month long stay in Baja, Mexico.  It’s taken me this long just to empty out the mental garbage which has accumulated from busily hurrying through a  daily routine regimented by numbers:   how many shifts I work, how many patients I visit, how many minutes I spend with each one, how many meetings I attend, how many times I work out in a week, how many calories I burn.  So far, the days down here have been filled with a whole lot of nothing.   It's been a bit unsettling and I've had to overcome a niggling guilt for spending long unproductive hours napping and reading airplane novels.  


     Our excuse for coming down to this part of the world (as if we need one) was the destination wedding of Frank’s nephew.  We spent our first few days on the East Cape by the Sea of Cortez lounging around the pool of our resort by day and participating in wedding festivities at night.  After a brief visit to Cabo Pulmo, where we snorkeled at the only live coral reef in this neck of the woods, we made our way over the mountains to Todos Santos on the west side where we’ve rented a spacious two level house for the month.  Our new home, "Casa Gallo" comes equipped with a raggedy looking though friendly white cat and has spacious well proportioned rooms all of which overlook the Pacific ocean.  From the first night when our designated greeter, a pleasant young man named Chewy, merrily welcomed us, Todos Santos has gradually yielded its many charms.  Ever since hippie artist types "discovered" it in the mid-sixties, the once forgotten town has become an intriguing  mixture of ex-pat art galleries, expensive shops and restaurants, juxtaposed to taco stands and super mercados.   Less than an hour drive from La Paz to the north and Los Cabos to the south, Todos Santos offers amenities which have attracted a colony of full time gringo residents from all parts north--we've seen tons of South Dakota license plates.  And who can blame them for wanting to live here?  We've already experienced the friendly warmth of a close knit community and its natural beauty is truly unique--the kind that slowly grows on you.  The semi arid desert landscape rolls towards rugged mountains shrouded by clouds to the east  and pristine beaches stretch for miles along the west coast.

       The area is known for a stunning diversity of birds, turtles, humpback and grey whales that migrate from Alaska and come up to the shore so close, you can see their eyeballs.  The fact that powerful waves and deadly currents make swimming dangerous can be forgiven because there is not a single high rise hotel, a vender hawking cheap jewelry, or a jet ski in sight. 

      It hasn’t taken us long to institute what has become a precious daily ritual.   Every afternoon about an hour before sunset, we haul books and beach chairs down to the beach.  My husband and I are simple people.  It doesn’t take much to entertain us.    We are quite content to quietly watch the pelicans play chicken with the waves as the departing sun paints the sky and sea with bold strokes of rich color.    Last night we both agreed that we will probably never get tired of watching a capricious and unpredictable body of water which promises endless possibilities in any given moment.     Like children anticipating Christmas morning, we crane our necks and strain our eyes searching the horizon for the sight of a dolphin playfully leaping, a whale breaching, or a turtle’s head poking up from the waves.  Even if we see none of these things, we delight in the waves hell bent on self-destruction as they swell and form perfect turquoise arches before slamming into the shore and disintegrating into a chaotic jumble of froth; we are addicted to the delicious sea spray and the gently cooling breezes; we luxuriate in the spaciousness of having the entire beach to ourselves; we are simply in jaw dropping awe of the magnificence of each night’s light show—no two sunsets are alike, each one competing with the last for best of show.   Already I have taken dozens of photos in a vain attempt to capture the grandeur of each one. 

 

The great turtle escape

But we are most excited about the turtles. The beaches near Todos Santos are home to three different endangered or vulnerable species of turtles—Olive Ridley, Leatherback and Black Turtle.  Once considered a delicacy in this culture, the eggs are now collected by various groups of local “tortugueros” devoted to protecting these species. From October through April, the tortugueros  patrol the beaches at night, searching for nests hidden in the sand by the mama turtle, and then carefully transport the eggs to a hatchery where they can incubate safely out of the reach of predators and poachers.  After 45 days, the hatchlings are ready to be released into the sea, facing odds that are not exactly in their favor—only one in a thousand (a conservative estimate at best) will survive to maturity. But without the efforts of the dedicated tortugueros, the survival rate would be even more dismal.  On our first Saturday night in Todos Santos, we decide to see for ourselves what all the hoopla is about. We find that it is an unexpectedly moving experience.   To witness these little guys purposefully scurrying to their almost certain doom is to feel the wonder of the incomprehensible mysteries of nature.  Even after all of the years I spent photographing countless wildlife releases for the Colorado Division of Wildlife, it’s hard to overcome my inclination to interfere (can I take them home and feed them?) and withhold human judgment (poor babies!).  To witness the whole kamikaze mission definitely requires a certain amount of faith that there’s an order and purpose to it all beyond our limited understanding.

Brave little guys heading out to sea
 

    Despite the fate awaiting the hapless creatures, I root for them anyway as they valiantly scuttle headlong towards waves that will swallow them up and Fed-ex them to their destiny.   There is always the possibility that one of these brave hatchlings will be the very one who gets to live and thrive and prosper for two hundred years.       

Stay tuned for more tales from Todos Santos--el Pueblo Magico!