Part III ~ A Fable ~ {just for fun}
{If you’re just now joining the story, Part I is here. Part II is right here.
God looked around ~ well, in a manner of speaking to humans, that’s what we’d say. God was, of course, not actually like anything we can imagine. Neither black nor white, not male or female. Not like anything we can imagine.
But we’ll say that ~ “God looked around.” From the God chair, everything was revealed. The little pockets of humans conferring about where they wanted to go to spend eternity, worrying about making the wrong choice.
God smiled.
Poor humans. They were so sure there was a right choice and a wrong choice. It was almost cruel to trick them that way. Of course both the “entrances” led to the same place.
The “friends” they saw at the “bottom of the stairs” were their own projections, well, with maybe a little bit of help from God. Kind of like holograms.
Of course, the humans couldn’t remember what it was like up here. When you’ve wrenched yourself away from the celestial souls to become human, you forget where you’ve been. All the wisdom of the ages fades away so you can be born fresh and innocent. And if the humans had some vague memory, some sense of oneness with the universe, the world soon taught them not to trust that.
The Buddhists were as close to having it right as anyone. We are all one with the universe, and the sum of us all is ~ well, God, you could maybe call it that. It is a joyful presence. Not like the humans.
Divisions. That’s what people were all about. Classifying and dividing. And judging. Judging themselves and other people, and doing it all in the name of God.
God shook his head, or her head ~ well, figuratively speaking. Part of the process of coming home was giving up one’s ego. You could either do it voluntarily, chosing to let go of something you had thought was important, or it would be stripped away as you went down the stairs.
But once they got through the entrance, all of that would disappear. The outer trappings of personality would fade away, and only the essence of each soul would be left. Each soul, uniquely wonderful, taking its place in the vast union of souls, becoming one with the universe, at home again. Feeling the joy of finding that bliss once again.
God smiled. Yes, they were still down there, trying to figure out what they should do, weighing the pros and cons in human terms. Poor things. Fussing about fetuses and protesters and who knew what else. Things that just weren’t important any more.
Once they had rejoined with the other souls, the lessons they learned on earth would be absorbed by them all, taken in and processed.
The returning souls would stay in the oneness of celestial being for as long as they chose to. Someday, they might decide to return to the earth, or one of the other planets. Just like “God” had separated out to play the role of “greeter” to the returning souls.
God watched them struggling with themselves at the “Gates of Heaven”. What petty, self-righteous creatures they could be. So hard for them to let go of their own beliefs and come home. But this was their last chance to learn anything from this trip to heaven. No point in rushing them, they could take all the time they needed.
And God waited.
THE END
Part II ~ A Fable ~ {just for fun}
On the other side of heaven, God was manifesting for a couple of different people who had died recently. By an amazing coincidence, they had once known each through the abortion clinic too
Unlike Connie and Benjamin, these two souls had been on the other side of the abortion wars. They had volunteered as escorts, accompanying women past the chasers, preachers, and prayers who lined the sidewalk in front of the clinic, supporting the clients’ right to choose.
Abby and David watch as God appears to them just as they’d always imagined her. A little bit like the wind. A little bit like a pillar of fire. And a little bit like a black woman. Whoopi Goldberg maybe.
Abby nudges David, delighted. “Look,” she whispers, “She IS a black woman. How cool is that??”
David is shaking his head, “I can’t believe it! I didn’t even think there was a God! I’m amazed! I thought you were just a myth!”
God smiles, “Well, there’s a lot of myth to what people believe about me. But here I am, for real. Or at least as real as I can be to the newly decesased.” And she sighs to herself, thinking of the misconceptions people bring.
They go on to review David and Abby’s lives, and God gives them both lots of positive feedback. David gets some extra praise for having lived such a good life without the expectation of reward at the end. And Abby feels quite satisfied with her share of kudos.
“There’s just one more thing,” says God. “The abortion clinic. We need to talk about what you two did at the abortion clinic.”
“Oh, yeah,” says Abby, smiling. She’s pretty sure this was one of the best things she did. David is more cautious.
“What?” He says. “You’re not going to tell me we were wrong? You’re not anti-abortion, are you?”
“No,” God says, “you were ok on that part of it. And escorting the clients was a good thing. But. The way you viewed the protesters? Really. That was very disappointing to me.”
“The way I viewed them?” cries Abby. “What did you want me to do? They were awful! How else could I have seen them?”
God shakes her head, “They were people, just like you. They were trying to do the right thing as they saw it.”
“Listen, I tried,” said David. “But really, they were always spouting that mumbo-jumbo about… oh.” His voice trails off.
“About God?” says God, a bit sternly.
“Well, yeah, I mean, it just seemed ridiculous. All that about evolution and dead babies and I didn’t know you were real.”
“Besides,” says Abby, “They were awful! I mean, I tried too! But they were horrible! And such hypocrites, acting like they were such good Christians. Out there shaming women, judging them.”
“So you figured it was ok for you to walk around in a rage, judging them?”
“Well, I couldn’t help it!” Abby says, at the same time David says, “Hey, I tried not to! I did the best I could do, really, I think I did the best anyone could do!”
God shakes her head. “Well, if you”re going to enter the Gates of Heaven, you’ll have to figure out how to get along with them. I won’t have you bickering and sniping at each other up here.
“Up here?” says Abby, “You mean those protesters are going to be in heaven with us?”
“Well, of course they are,” says God. “Some of them anyhow.”
David and Abby look at each other in dismay.
“Omigod,” says Abby. “This is going to be awful.”
“I know,” says David. “An eternity with the protesters. I don’t know if I can do that.” He shakes his head.
God shrugs. “Well,” she says, “You don’t have to. There’s always a choice. You can go this way instead.” She gestures, and a stairway opens at their feet.
Abby and David peer down the stairs. At the bottom they can see a couple of old friends, waving their arms and saying something. Unfortunately, neither David nor Abby can hear the words or even interpret the facial expressions.
“Maybe she’s not God,” says Abby. “Maybe this is a trick.”
“I know,” says David. “And really, spending eternity having to get along with the protesters? I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I hear you,” says Abby. She turns to God and asks, “Are the protesters different in heaven? Are they still arrogant and nasty or have they repented?”
God frowns. “You don’t need to worry about whether they’ve repented or not. You need to change how you think about them. If you don’t want to go to heaven with the protesters, you have a choice. The decision is yours.”
David and Abby look at each other.
God shakes her head. Humans. “Take your time,” she says. “I’ll come back later. I think I’ll go visit dog heaven for a while.” At least dogs didn’t have these self-absorbed notions of what heaven should be ~ in dog heaven, even God could just throw some sticks and have a good time.
{to be continued…}
A Fable {just for fun…}
Once upon a time, not in the past at all, but a number of years in the future, two people die on the same day. That’s not unusual, of course, but these two people had once known each other and had shared a particular interest.
One of them is a very old woman named Connie. The other is a man who had been young when they knew each other, although not so young anymore. His name is Benjamin.
So they both die of natural causes, on the same day, and since they are both fine, upstanding Christians, they find themselves both standing at the entrance to the pearly gates, side by side. They exchange a glance and then ~
“Connie!” says Benjamin, at almost the same time that Connie says, “Benjamin!”
They hug, and chat a minute, congratulate themselves on being there – right at the Pearly Gate. Just as they’re beginning to wonder how long they’re going to have to wait, the Gate opens and out comes God.
They know it’s God because He looks just like they’d always imagined. A little bit like the wind, a little bit like a burning flame, and a little bit like an old man with a beard.
So God greets them, and they’re trembling and all excited about being in God’s presence. But God quickly puts them at ease, and they find themselves reviewing their lives and feeling pretty good about it. God has lots of positive feedback, and they’re smiling and soaking up the praise.
Then God says, “But I’ve got one problem with the things you did on earth, one thing we’ve got to really talk about.” They’re nodding, listening intently.
“It’s about the abortion clinic,” God says. “You both used to go down there and protest abortion. Connie, you would stand by the door and hand out literatue, trying to persuade women to come back out. Benjamin, you actually called yourself a sidewalk counselor, right?”
Benjamin and Connie are both nodding and smiling now, wondering if they’re going to get some kind of special recognition for their work there.
But God says, “What were you thinking? What made you think it was a good idea to try to interfere at that point with the decision those women had made?”
Taken aback, Connie says, “Well, it was a baby. They were killing babies down there!”
Benjamin says, “And I loved them! I wanted to help them, to show them Christian love!”
God sadly shakes his head. “What made you think that abortion was wrong? A fetus is not a baby. They didn’t have souls yet. I put the souls in much later.”
Connie gasps, “Well, that’s not true! Of course they were babies! Poor little babies!! What are you saying? This is a test, right? You can’t mean that!!”
Again, God shakes his head. “No, Connie. That’s not right. Those fetuses were not part of my plan. I didn’t intend for them to be born.”
There was a pause while Connie and Benjamin try to absorb the shock. Then God says, “A couple of times, you did some real harm.
“One time, there was a young woman who was going to become a doctor. She would have saved many lives, and her work would have helped find the cure for Parkinson’s disease twenty years ago. Connie, you told that woman not to worry, to go ahead and have the baby and that she would have help. And you did help her through the pregnancy, but once the baby was born you all lost interest.
“Another time, Benjamin, you told a young woman that you’d help, that you’d make sure the baby was taken care of. But once the child was born, the “help” was over. That baby grew up to be a serial killer. In and out of foster homes. No attachment. No role model. Benjamin, you sure weren’t there when he needed you.”
Connie and Benjamin look at each other and then back at God. “This can’t be right,” says Benjamin. “You were in charge, that’s not my fault. I made sure she didn’t kill that baby, that’s all I could do.”
“That’s right,” says Connie. “Killing babies is murder, that’s all there is to it. We did the right thing.”
“Well, no,” says God, “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You did a lot of good things in your life, but going down there and shaming those women, lying to them, all that? That wasn’t one of the good things you did. You need to understand that before you can enter the Gates of Heaven.”
Connie and Benjamin exchange looks again. “Wait a minute,” Benjamin says. “How do we know you’re God? How do we know this isn’t a trick?”
“Well,” God smiles, bemused, “You know, here I am, there’s the pearly gates, I’m reviewing your lives. Who else could it be?”
“How do we know that’s heaven?” Connie says. “How do we know that you’re really God? God wouldn’t say it was ok to kill those little pre-born babies. I just can’t believe that.”
God frowns a little, shakes his head. “Not babies yet. But that’s beside the point. The biggest problem was that you decided you knew what I wanted. What my plan for everyone was. And then you tried to cast shame on people. To bully them into doing what you thought was right. That’s not ok.”
But Connie and Benjamin are backing away from him. “You’re not God,” says Benjamin. “I can tell! You can’t be God.” He looks around, “Where is God? Where’s the real God?”
Connie begins looking all around too, as if she thinks God is hiding and likely to jump out and yell, “Surprise!”
God chuckles a little. “Well,” he says, “I can leave the choice up to you. You can accept the idea that you didn’t really have it right down there at the clinic, and you come to heaven with me. Or you can stick to your way of thinking, and go here instead.”
As he speaks, he waves a hand. Suddenly, a stairway opens up at their feet. The stairway leads down. At the bottom of it, they see a couple of people waving their arms at them.
“Look!” says Connie, “That’s my old friend Tom down there! You remember him from the clinic, don’t you?”
“Sure,” says Benjamin, “I sure do! And see, that’s Sarah down there too, you remember her, right?”
“That’s hell,” says God. “It’s completely your choice at this point. To enter the Pearly Gates, all you have to do is recognize that you were doing your will, not mine, what you thought was right, not what I wanted, down there at the clinic. Otherwise, you’re welcome to join your friends Tom and Sarah in hell.
Benjamin and Connie stare down the stairway. They can see Sara and Tom pretty well, and see that they’re waving and yelling something, but they can’t hear the words, or even interpret the looks on their faces.
“You think about it,” says God. “I’ve got some newcomers to deal with over here on the other side of heaven.” And he disappears, leaving Connie and Benjamin standing right outside the gates.
{To be continued…}
Jen’s Love Bomb
Yesterday, i went to a parade ~ not your typical parade. We were celebrating the dedication of a special bike rack, in memory of Jen Futrell.
Bardstown Road was closed to cars for the afternoon for CycLouvia. We strolled, or rode bikes or skateboards, from Mid City Mall to Highland Avenue, the site of the accident that killed Jen.
Her mother tells the story.
Four years ago, on September 30, a beautiful autumn afternoon, Jen left work and was riding her bicycle down Bardstown Road.
The driver of the car wasn’t drinking, wasn’t speeding. He was passing a TARC bus on the right hand side, and just didn’t see Jenn on her bike. He just wasn’t paying attention.
Jen was in a coma for four days, and died. She was 29 years old.
I teared up while her Mom was talking ~ of course, how could I not? I didn’t know Jen myself, but my daughter did, and I know so many other people who did, and part of my sadness is that I never got to know her.
Her friends put up a ghost bike.
But a couple of years ago, Tom Owens, alderperson and historian, asked if the family would trade the ghost bike for a memorial bike rack. Yesterday, we came together to dedicate that bike rack.
It was a nice crowd.
The bike rack/sculpture is a love bomb. Jen had a habit of painting the love bomb in places that she thought needed healing. Abandoned houses, other desolate urban areas that seemed to need ~ well, to need love.
The artist hadn’t finished it ~ it still needed to be painted. In honor of Jen’s love of community, we were invited to help paint it.
And the finished product:
It was a simple dedication ceremony. Jen’s mother and sister spoke, and some friends. It sprinkled some rain, not enough to get wet, just a few drops, as if the skies had teared up too.
Unfortunately, there are still some issues with the city around getting the Love Bomb bike rack permanantly installed. Hopefully they will be able to ease through that, and folks driving down Bardstown Road, or looking for a place to park their bike, will enjoy this reminder of Jen’s life.
Nothing Is Simple
I saw him on my way to work. I was stopped at the stop sign where Old Bardstown Road merges with Bardstown Road, right past Hikes Lane. You know where I’m talking about?
Anyhow. He was down on one knee on the sidewalk, bent over, one hand over his ear. He had a buzz haircut. I couldn’t see his face.
I was sitting in traffic, waiting, so I watched to see if he’d get back up. Instead, he swayed a little, it looked like he was rocking back and forth.
Not an old guy, at least he didn’t look old. I couldn’t really tell.
I almost drove on. I thought about it. I started to.
But I really couldn’t.
So I pulled over, out of the line of traffic, put on my flashers. Got out of the car. Walked slowly toward him.
Slowly, because you never know, he could be ~ I don’t know, he could be drunk. On drugs. Not that I haven’t been around people who were drunk or doing drugs before, but you know, he could be dangerous, right?
So I get not-too-close to him, and I call over to him, “Excuse me.”
He doesn’t look up, he just keeps sort of swaying a little bit, crouched down on one knee, holding onto his head.
“Excuse me,” a little bit louder.
And again, just a bit louder, “Hey. Are you ok??” Stepping a bit closer, but not too close.
He shakes his head then, shaking it like he’s trying to clear it. I think he says, “Yeah.” But clearly, he isn’t ok.
“You don’t look like you’re ok,” I say. “Is there someone I can call for you?”
“No.” That is firm. And he starts to stand up, but he sways, even as he’s saying, “I’m ok,” he sways and goes down again.
Shit.
I start to move forward, but then I don’t, I’m already kind of close, close enough, and he’s back in his crouch, and I’m not a nurse or a doctor and I don’t know what’s wrong with him.
Yeah, he could be drunk. He looks like he’s wearing – well, blue pants like uniform pants, and a white polo shirt. Backpack on his back, but he looks too old for high school. I don’t know. College maybe? It’s a small backpack. Not a travelers bag.
I don’t know what to do. I’m standing there, and I just don’t know what to do.
Maybe I should trust him, he says he’s ok, maybe anything I do will just make it worse. What if he’s had a seizure or something? Sometimes, when people have seizures often, they really don’t want you to call an ambulance, cause they just go to the ER, where the doctors tell them that they had a seizure, and they already know that. Then the person gets a big bill, for something that they really didn’t need.
But then I don’t even know if that’s right, maybe you’re always supposed to go to the hospital for a seizure. Not that I know it was a seizure, it could be something completely different.
I feel like I’m trapped in a bad novel ~ it’s his novel, he’s the main character, I’m just the woman who appears in this scene, and whatever I do is going to be ignorant and not helpful.
If I don’t call an ambulance, he really needs one, if I do call an ambulance, he doesn’t need it and gets a big bill.
About this time, which really is only a minute, maybe two, I hear a voice behind me. A man has stopped. He’s wearing a shirt advertising some kind of Recovery facility, and for a second I have this bizarre thought that the guy on the sidewalk has escaped from the facility, and they’ve sent someone to bring him back.
But no. That’s apparently not the case.
The man in the t-shirt stays at an even safer distance away than I am. He asks me “what’s wrong with him?” and I answer, except all I can really say is, “I don’t know.” But I say that he couldn’t stand on his own when he tried to, and he ~ the rescuer guy ~ says, “I’m calling an ambulance.”
I’m relieved, and tell him yes, I think we need to.
But while he’s on the phone with 911, the guy on the sidewalk makes it to his feet. He can barely stand, he kind of reminds me of Bambi, in the movie, when the little deer gets to his feet for the first time.
The guy starts walking away, and the man who’s talking to 911 says into the phone, “No, never mind, no, he’s walking away. Yes, he was on the ground, but he’s walking away now.”
He is, in his blue pants with the backpack on his back, he’s picking up speed as he goes, still a little unsteady. We watch him go for a minute.
Then I shrug, jump back in my car, turn off the flashers, and make my way back into the flow of traffic. I have places to go, people to see.
Such a brief, random connection. I wonder what he really needed. Did we make things worse in some way ~ would it have been better if we’d left him alone? Did he need more than he got?
I can make up a bunch of different endings for his story, probably none of them close to the truth. I wonder about him, and I’ll never know. But I can still see him, heading down the sidewalk, off to whatever happens next.
Cerro Hermoso, Ghost Town, Oaxaca
On the way to Puerto Escondido, which is a “tourist trap” according to my daughter and Conan, we stop to visit the Reformas’ and stay at a hotel right by the beach. Yes, the one where the crab climbs the wall in my room.
We spend an afternoon on the beach, Cerro Hermoso, {Beautiful Hill}, relaxing in the shade of a thatched roof, with ocean breeze, cold drinks and more food. Here we are.
{Yes, a flash on this picture would have been nice. But it sure shows how well shaded we were!}
Looking back, I realize that I’m a bit cranky by the time we get to the beach. The journey up had been challenging. Lunch at the Reforma’s was great, and completely outside my comfort zone. We hadn’t checked into our hotel yet ~ and the whole time I was there, I never knew what was going to happen next, and ~
Yeah. I might have been feeling a bit cranky.
As soon as we get to the beach, i race to the edge of the water and walk for a few minutes. That helps . One wave out runs me, and soaks me to the thighs – but it’s still too hot to stay out there for long.
Senor Reforma strings this hammock up for me and suggests I relax and watch the ocean. Oh, yes, thank you.
I ignore the conversation at the other end of the hut ~ which I don’t understand anyhow. I lose myself in the roar of the waves, the ocean smell, the gentle rock of the hammock…
Ahhhh…
When it gets cooler, Paulina and I go for a walk on the beach, climb the rock jetties at each end of the area, and pick up a couple of shells. She shows me some kind of little crabs, almost invisible in the sand, that run like mad when you step near them.
She talks a little bit, and I only catch a few words, but it doesn’t matter.
The sun is starting to go down ~ even though you can’t tell here.
That’s Arturo in the middle, Paulina on one side, Senor Reforma on the other. Huge, beautiful waves in the background.
This is me, Arturo, Lucia, Paulina, and Julia.
The waves are too big to swim in, and I didn’t bring a bathing suit anyhow. But the hotel has a lovely pool.
The next morning. I enjoy a cup of coffee, with milk, just the way I like it, in the hotel dining room.
Notice anything unusual about these pictures?
Yeah.
There’s no people.
We have the beach to ourselves. No one at the pool. There are other restaurants and stores, but they all look like this ~ chairs tilted against the table, empty, or actually closed. How strange… where are the people?
Eventually, I ask.
Senor Reforma and Arturo explain. They say, this used to be a thriving resort area. Surfers in the beach, and a recessed area where the water came in and created a swimming area with “soft” waves, gentle enough for children. Lots of tourists, stores, restaurants and two hotels.
In 2003, they say, the government started a project to “improve the beach.” I’m not clear on what they mean. But rock jetties were built on either side of the bay.
The area that had been safe for children, disappears. The water no longer fills it. Now, it’s just sand.
And the waves in the other part of the beach are too strong for swimming or surfing.
Arturo and Senor Refomra are angry with the government for not fixing it back.
So is the author of this blog site, who has a video/slide show about it, and a description, in Spanish. I did an on-line translation of the written part, you can read that at the end of this post.***
There are pictures from 2004 on this site.
But it seems like the government must have had some benign cause in mind when they started the project. Dee and I try to piece together information from the internet. I learn this about Cerro Hermoso:
There are about 166 people, 82 men, 84 women. Seventy-seven are minors, six are over 60 years old.
Six of the residents speak an indigenous language as well as Spanish.
There are about 44 households, 28 of them have an indoor bathroom. One is connected to public water. Thirty-eight of the homes do not have floors. About 24 of them have one room only. 36 have access to electricity.
None of them have a computer, 7 have a washing machine, and a whopping 23 households have one or more televisions.
Twenty-two people 15 years or older never went to school; 57 didn’t finish school. Ten residents have some college education. The medium education level is 5 years of school.
This is on the way to the beach, next to the hotel.
In my internet roaming, I also find this:
In Cerro Hermoso, there is a bocana (river mouth) where the sea exchanges waters with the lagoon. Due to the presence of a seawall, a giant salt water pool is formed where you can enjoy a good swim without danger.
So that was the pool they were talking about, the one that isn’t there anymore. Here’s where the pool used to be:
Dee and I are speculating that maybe the government built the jetties to keep the sea water from going into the river? Dee says you wouldn’t want sea water in the river, and that makes sense, I think, but I don’t know.
If you know more about it, or decide to research it and find something that explains it, let me know. What I know is that the tourists are gone, leaving 166 residents, a hotel, restaurants and some stores in a Ghost Town Beach.
******************************************
*** {Here’s a poor translation of what the Professor says on the website:
In 2003, through deceit, they were built in the bays of Cerro Hermoso Tututepec Oaxaca, a few stone jetties, dial a project of Government that benificiaria to all the inhabitants of that place, but they were not built according to the project, or with the approval of all the inhabitants, but that aprovechandose of political power and alliance of some few corrupt place, did his misdeed… took maybe a year or a little more, but after this Bay is cerro, leaving instead of water only sand… that triztesa that to date the Government has not supported for open bar… and coming new elections and certainly began campaigning, deceptions and promises… Author: Prof. P.S.
Wild Things of Oaxaca
Conan was so funny ~ driving along, we’d see a dog on the road, or cows on the side of the road, and he would say, “Wild dog,” or “Wild cows.” Since the animal in question looked like it would stand in place for the rest of its life, it cracked me up. Like the “wild horse” grazing happily outside my bedroom window.
Here he ~ or she ~ is again.
At a rest stop, we see a dog that Conan is taken with ~ I know this because I have 5 pictures of this particular dog.
Although there were lots of dogs wandering around on their own, most of them appeared adequately fed. Often the cows looked skinnier than the dogs.
Here’s one of those dogs that lays in the road until Luis gets real close.
Here’s a wild donkey, strolling along.
A wild bicyclist
Notice he’s riding barefoot ~ and keep in mind what the roads are like! Going down would be fun, going up, maybe not so much.
Wild women weaving something with rushes – some kind of mats maybe?
Here’s a wild bus, coming around the corner toward us.
Here are some wild children.
And here.
Here’s a wild man.
Yes, that’s wild man, Conan, loving it. Yes, it’s a sheer drop on the other side of the wall.
Here’s my favorite though. We’re on the way back to Oaxaca City and we see an adorable little boy and his dog in the truck in front of us. Conan says, “Quick, give me the camera, I want to take a picture of them.”
I hand the camera up to him, but it’s too late. They’ve turned away and are no longer incredibly adorable. We ride in disappointed silence for a minute, then Conan sticks his head out the window.
“Hey! Muchito!” he says ~ literally “little muchness ~ “Hey~ turn back around, I want to take your picture with your dog.” {Only, you know, he said it in Spanish.}
Grinning, the little boy and his dog turned and posed, looking just like they had when we first saw them.
The Roads of Oaxaca
I know, we talked about the road to Juquila, and you were impressed with the curves and the reductors designed to slow you down. I thought that was a trip. Little did I know.
We had plans to go to Puerto Escondido, which is a resort beach town. That’s where Dee and I were planning to fly into, and stay, when we go to Mexico, hopefully in February, when I’ll be so sick of winter I won’t be able to stand it. So I wanted to go visit it and get some feel for what it’s like and where we might want to stay.
I had no idea what I was asking for.
After all, it’s just a two and a half hour bus ride. Ok, maybe three hours.
But Conan and Julia and Paulina start talking about maybe not being able to go because it’s been raining ~ well, privileged U.S. visitor that I am, I’m baffled. How could rain keep us from going? It’s been raining part of the day every day since I got to Juquila ~ how does anyone ever get to go to Puerto Escondido?
But I tolerate the uncertainty, fingers crossed, because what else can I do?
The day before we’re scheduled to leave, Conan advises us that yes, we are definitely going. He has bought tickets for the bus leaving at 9 a.m. We need to leave the house by 8:30.
Packing my backpack ~ we’ll be gone at least three days ~ is a challenge. Juquila has been colder than I expected, and damp. I’ve been living in my hoodie. I can no longer remember what it feels like to be hot. And Paulina says it’s been raining in Puerto Escondido too, so I’m sure it will be chilly.
I pack and unpack and pack again. I’m sure whatever I take will be wrong. With a shrug, I assure myself that if I need something different, I’ll just buy it. My backpack is overflowing, and it’s time to go.
We take a cab to the bus station, which is a tiny room packed with people waiting for the bus. Well, the truck. It’s not a bus at this point, it’s a truck. Like this
Women ride in the front ~ there is an extended cab ~ men ride on the benches in the back.
Soon after we start, i realize why they were concerned about the rain.
The first 45 minutes or so, the road is mud.
With a sheer drop off on the side. I keep taking pictures out of my window because I really want to be able to convey what it’s like.
Yes, it is a little scary sometimes.
But if the truck gets stuck, some of the men in the back jump out and push. I’m not in the truck that gets stuck, as you can see.
We also pass a bulldozer, and I make some comment about working on the roads. I think they’re getting ready to pave it, but Julia and Conan laugh at me. Gently, but they’re laughing. Here’s the bulldozer.
I know some of you are thinking, well, what about seat belts? You’re wearing seat belts, right?
Mwahahahahahahaha… Seat belts? There are no seat belts in this truck. Are you kidding?
Of course, at our top speed, we’re going maybe 20 kilometers an hour. Kilometers, not miles. And if we go off the side of the mountain, I’m pretty sure seat belts aren’t going to help anyhow.
I can hear some of you tsking from here. Before you get too comfortable with that, ask yourself if you’ve ever put your child on a school bus. Or know people who do.
Just saying.
The road is also incredibly beautiful.
I can’t actually get a picture that does it justice.
And after a while, we switch from the truck to a van, and the roads are paved again. Maybe a little curvy, maybe with a few pothole, but a huge improvement.
And before too long, we’re in Rio Grande.
Where Arturo is going to meet us with his truck, and we’ll be on the road again ~ headed to the Reforma’s house and their amazing hospitality.
The Virgin of Juquila
In 1633, the church in Juquila caught fire. The Virgin ~ represented by this statue ~ did NOT burn.
Clearly, it was a miracle.
People noticed that prayers made through her were answered. As the word spread of her miraculous powers, people began to make pilgrimages to her. And Juquila became a tourist town.
The church in Juquila is dedicated to her, of course. It’s a beautiful church (although I failed to get a picture of the outside of it.) Here is one of the chapels inside.
I didn’t take a close-up of the main altar, nor of the people approaching it on their knees. Here is the scene from a distance.
People approaching a shrine on their knees is not so common in the US, at least I don’t think I’ve seen it. It’s not unusual in Mexico and I vaguely remember it from my childhood visit. There is something immensely touching about it.
At the church, there is also a place where people “go under the cape” of Mary as part of the ritual. In preparation for that, they wash and tidy themselves carefully, and then ascend here.
I didn’t do that, and I didn’t take pictures of them preparing or lighting candles before this phase. It just seemed too invasive. They were there in a sincere belief that their illness would be cured, their desire for a child, for education, for other needs would be fulfilled. It seemed rude to take pictures as a spectator ~ and I didn’t see other “tourists” there.
In addition to the church, there is a shrine to the Virgin of Juquila, about a half hour’s drive outside of town. Conan’s friend ~ the one whose father does the beautiful woodworking ~ took us there.
Outside the shrine, I’m holding the flowers I bought from the most persistent of young saleswomen.
Here is the entrance to the little church
You take the flowers inside and leave them.
And I can’t resist taking a picture of the chicken between the pews.
But there are additional steps if you have a request for the Virgin of Juquila. You have to make a symbolic representation of your request in clay. So if you want a baby, you mold a baby in a cradle. A book, a house, a vehicle ~ whatever your particular need , you make a clay figure to represent it, and leave it there.
When you leave, you are supposed to act as if your request has already been granted. So if you want a baby, you leave singing a lullaby, a herd of goats, and you leave whistling for them to follow you. I guess you have to be creative to act out some of the requests, but you get the idea.
The scenery, of course, is gorgeous, and we are truly up in the clouds.
It’s really difficult to get a good picture of just scenery, it’s so vast. Here’s a panoramic view from my bedroom window.
And a closer shot of the horse I sometimes saw right outside my window.
In the town of Juquila, there are countless little stalls with souvenirs of the shrine and the church. I don’t have pictures of them, because it just seemed intrusive. But here’s a picture of some people selling containers for holy water outside the church.
I know lots of people who would laugh at this, scoff at the whole idea of making a pilgrimage to Juquila, maybe part of it on your knees, creating the clay image, and so on. I can’t laugh. I have such mixed feelings, I’m not sure how to express them.
I don’t believe that God, if there is a God, works like that ~ kind of like Santa Claus, right? But there is something powerful and sacred about the space where people believe so strongly, with deep sincerity, in something beyond themselves.
Laughing at it would feel so cynical, but it would be easier in a way. Instead, it makes my heart ache for them, the wants and needs they bring with such trust and devotion. I hope that they all get what they want, that all their dreams come true.
If You Go to the Fair
Leaving Juquila just for a minute, I went to the fair yesterday. Dee was talking about it being a culture shock for me, but I think it’s as close to Oaxacan culture as anything I can find around here.
I love the fair.
I haven’t missed a year in forever. So it’s not just the experience today, it’s years of memories, as we walk through the exhibits, the animals, the midway. And the shows.
Pig races. Armadillo races. High divers. I wonder what ever happened to them.
Traditions. The fair is all about tradition.
So I’m shocked when I ask for a schedule – they want me to download a code with my smart phone . Shocked and a little indignant. Really? Computer access to the fair schedule?
That just seems wrong.
I console myself with a corn dog, which I only eat at the fair, and that helps.
This year, it was just my sister , Julia, and me. We were traveling light ~ a big difference from the days when I took kids and toted stuff all day long. Not bad, just different.
Julia and I don’t even have to spend much time figuring out what to do. We already know the exhibits we’re going to, where we’re going to eat, and usutally what we’re going to eat. Creatures of habit.
I remember to bring my address labels so I can sign up for drawings in the South Wing easily ~ not the baskets of stuff, just the weekend getaways. I’ve never won one, so this might be the year.
This year, we love:
The Zuma Zuma acrobats. You can catch them on youtube, but I recommend the real life experience. They’re amazing.
The Handsome Little Devils – from the program:
” … Cirque-like show is an exhilerating fantastical adventure featuring classic Vaudeville comedy, high-skill circus acts and a plot rooted in American Melodrama with high-energy acts like The Human cannon, the Ladder of Love, Chainsaw Juggling, classic comedy routines and even swing dancing.”
It is delightful. They’re cute and funny and talented. Heads up – don’t talk on your cell phone during the performance. You’ll see why if you go.
The surprise delight is Mama Lou, American Strong Woman. She’s a “roving act” so we just happen to catch her. She’s charming and impressive in her strength. The program says:
“Inspiration and spirit are showcased with amazing stunts and jaw-dropping displays of strength. She combines tearing a phone book in half and crushing apples on her biceps with a positive message of self-empowerment.”
Her greatest feat (in my mind) is getting a gray-haired, male member of the audience to put on a unitard as her volunteer.
Yeah, really. A unitard. With sparkles. Granted, he put it on over his clothes, but still. How often do you see that?
It was awesome.
But if you go to the fair, here’s the most important thing to remember:
Temporary tattoos do not wash off the first day.
Trust me on this one.
A Story to Tell 