Descansos

It is Halloween, and I am thinking about traditions of honoring the dead. This mostly children's holiday of candy consumption coincides with the Day of the Dead, a living tradition in Mexican- influenced cultures (like New Mexico). It is a time of remembering friends and family who have died and to bring them into the daily life of the living - in food, in altars, in song, stories etc. I did not grow up with any tradition of honoring my ancestors. Many of us do not even know the names nor the stories of our grandparents beyond a generation or two, let alone carry any sense of honoring them. Yet we are connected and related to those who came before us (in "untold" ways)...

So, I have been noticing those roadside memorials - crosses along the highways, that bear witness to someone who was last alive in this place. There are many, many of them here in New Mexico, and I don't think its because the numbers killed on the highways are statistically higher than other places. These "descansos" resting places, are more than mere reminders to drive safely, I think. They are created and maintained as ongoing memorials to a person's life. They create a living tradition of honoring, not only the dead, but life and the land itself.

I've been taking pictures of them as I explore the landscape, slowing down and stopping along the road, paying attention, noticing. Something happens when you do something differently. Driving in this way becomes more of a pilgrimage, more about the journey than the destination, and the mind/heart begins to tell stories. First it was the memorials themselves. The descansos are full of color and stand out in the mottled brown black blurry and vague landscape, and the traditional cross makes visible (to anyone who cares to see) what is a very intimate personal life crossroad. They tell us that at this moment and this place (the truest meaning of crossroads?) everything changed. Nothing will be the same again. Let us not forget.

My eye (and my heart) became enlivened at these crossroads. Perhaps the descansos themselves began to speak when I slowed down long enough to listen. And they speak about love and connectedness and human suffering and gratitude, and inevitably, the feeling of "I am alive in THIS PLACE and in THIS MOMENT." What is sacred - grows, what is noticed and remembered, becomes sacred. The descansos speaks about all life, and in doing so, names it sacred. This Person, this Place, this Time. That ancient peak, this meandering valley, those juniper and pinon, this adobe farm, that broken heart even this road that undulates through it all, is part of life, creating a wholeness out of the pieces and parts, and so makes them sacred.

These traditions create something that, I believe, is vital to human cultures. Without them, our societies deteriorate. Creating these traditions (and traditions are always beginning - again and again) sustains cultures. I have a feeling that a tradition of collecting and eating candy does not create sustainable culture in and of itself. Nor does simply attending a funeral necessarily honor the person who has died (or life itself, for that matter!).

I think that creating traditions that bind us together - family and stranger, public and private - must be a vital purpose of life.

Land of Enchantment

A rattlesnake I encountered from a distance. Imagine the sound this animal is making...sssllllttttttttggggggssss

Words are not flowing these days. There is no water flowing within my view, it is a time of drought. Here are some pictures to let you know where I am and what I am doing and feeling and thinking...

Pyramid Rock, outside of Gallup, New Mexico. Lev was here for a week in between Morocco and Egypt and look where we found ourselves! But there was no River Nile.


Magnolia is parked under a tree next to my friend Sherry's house in Santa Fe.

I love New Mexico. I don't know the origins of their state license plate motto "the Land of Enchantment," but I agree. The landscape is paying attention, alert to every nuance and remembering everything. I am hungry to walk across these open expanses, climb to that high place, crawl into that cave, explore that green mesa over there; touch, feel, move, breathe in, sing, wonder, wander...


This is Ophelia who Sherry has been fostering since she was born. She was with us for a week. I miss her open dreaming heart. Her name for me is "Rubeer."




Sherry and I roasted a whole bushel of these chillis. She freezes them with the skins on and then we peel them and eat them. Edible New Mexico sun, with salt on a tortilla with cheese, hmmmm...





The postal worker said that he was sure Obama would win New Mexico. He said that "people were sick of everything." Beginning to dream now, of returning to a more grounded-in-place life, of living and working among people, a non-intentional community of souls, loving, alive, dreaming, singing, celebrating Earth, coming home.

Wednesday night in Fes

It's Wednesday night in Fes, the ancient capital of Morocco, now a bustling provincial city with a huge, indescribable Medina (old city) that even Fouzia, our Moroccan tour operator gets lost in. I am trying to sort out the swirling images and sensations of the last few days since Marrakesh, at least enough so I can tell you about them. Words mostly failing me, I'll attach a few photos (worth many words, as Danny reminded me) to whet your appetite for the next time we meet.

From Marrakech, we (Mohammed, Fouzia, Abd Lateef, Kate, Sarah and I) headed across the Tichka Pass through the High Atlas Mountains, stopping for a visit to Ait Ben Haddou (see photo), then on to Ouazarzate. That city is the "Hollywood of Morocco", the home of two big film studios where Europeans and Americans come to do desert epics. The film crews all stay at the same hotel, the Berbere Palace, whose lobby and grounds are littered with random relics of past movies: Egyptian statues from "Asterix and Obelix", Roman chariots from "Gladiator", the golden calf from "Moses". A German production company, working on a film called "Pope Joan", was staying there with us. Quite enough to make me even more disoriented about where the heck I am.

The next day, we took the "Route of 1000 Kasbahs" through a huge flat basin between mountain chains, traversing some fascinating market towns to Erfoud. Each one of the towns we crossed was teeming with café life, commerce of all imaginable sort, kids coming home from school, heavily-laden donkeys, crowds of bicycles, mopeds with at least two, often three people aboard. It's the beginning of the date harvest season in that part of the country and there were stands piled high with a dozen varieties. On the way, we stopped at the Todra river valley to walk briefly up into the spectacular gorge that the river has cut down through the sandstone.

In Erfoud, we transferred to 4x4s for a trip out to the edge of the desert in Merzouga. It's a big tourist operation, hotels and "deluxe tent" Berber encampments tucked up next to the Erg Chebbi dunes, but it's still fascinating to be out there, even under somewhat hokey circumstances. The young Land Cruiser drivers got stuck in the sand on the way, but we arrived finally, quite late, on foot at the tents. We were greeted by Berber musicians (getting overtime, I hope) then, after a short night's sleep, were awakened at 5 AM for the sunrise. On camels (but of course!), we headed out across the dark dunes to wait for the sun. Not alone, mind you, since there were little armies of tourists chattering away on many of the neighboring dunes, but it was a thrill to be up and out on the sand so early.

Several hotel inspections later, we met Abd Lateef, our driver, back in Erfoud to start the long drive to Fes. We cut back across the High Atlas (there was snow on the highest peaks) then on through the Middle Atlas mountains, covered with cedars and oaks and reputedly home to Barbary apes, soaring eagles and even a few surviving leopards. We made it to Fes by 8:30 at night. I was exhausted from the early wake up and the long drive. A relatively solid seven hours' sleep seemed like the best I've had since leaving the U.S., lo these many weeks ago.

It's been a strange, rich visit, glimpsing the faces of the real Morocco as we hopped among fancy hotels; being tantalized by smells and tastes that I don't yet understand; seeing far too much in too short a time. Tomorrow, it's the Roman ruins at Volubilis, then stopping in Meknes on the way back to Casablanca.

Enough for now. I'm getting tired just telling you about this week. More soon.

Lev (Andy)

Marrakech

Greetings from Marrakech! I have 15 minutes before we take off for the Atlas Mountains and Ouarzazate. Even with a much longer time, I might not be able to describe this vibrant, crazy city, tourist-mad and overwhelmed with fancy development but still somehow full of its own Moroccan, funky life.

I am on a lightning tour of this country, hopping from one place to the next, checking out luxury hotels in the company of Kate, the President of ATA, and Sarah, her friend who is also the National Geographic rep. The focus is to fill out the details of the tours that will begin next March, to run through the itinerary, looking at options and problems. It is not a good way to see Morocco: much too fast, very much too much time spent comparing the "Superior" rooms with "Deluxe" ones at 5-star hotels, far too much eating and sitting without a balance of walking around in these beautiful places.

We walked through the "souk" of Marrakech last night as the sun was setting and the life of the market was accelerating. This is a city that lives at night and the scene in the souk, centered around the huge square of Djemaa el Fna, was dazzling. It was filled with Moroccans, either locals or people from Casablanca and elsewhere taking advantage of the long weekend created by Eid al fitr, the end of Ramadan. There were European and American tourists, for sure, but they were not so prominent in the Moroccan crowd. The main roads of the Medina, the old city, were filled with tourist goods but also mountains of olives, spices, fruit and vegetables. There was a village of food stands in the middle of the square, brightly lit and shrouded in a cloud of cooking smoke. There were snake charmers and herbal healers, musicians and, as Salmi the guide said, certainly also pickpockets.

I am including a couple of photos, but I couldn't possibly do it justice, especially since I have to run. I'm well but tired from not enough sleep and an overbalance of artificial hotel air. More soon.
Lev/Andy