The intention for this week was to walk in the botanical garden- el Charco del Ingenio- every morning.
Monday, we arrived to very thick fog. Large spiders were out in abundance; perhaps we noticed them because the fog left a fine mist on the webs, so we couldn’t help but admire their beauty. These spiders had backs about the size of a dime, with alternating stripes of black and shimmery white, and long, delicate black legs. Once past the spiders, our walk took us over the reservoir, to the less cultivated side of the park. Here, an arson’s fire has left many large cactus, and mesquite and ‘pepper’ trees, blackened. The larger cacti have already sent out new growth; hand-sized, prickly, and bright green. The hillside is covered with knee-high grasses with soft, beigey-red tops. It’s quite beautiful, this landscape still so full of contrasting colors and textures from the rainy season. The fog soon burned off and we must have hiked/walked for about 4 hours before returning home.
The next day, we arrived to brilliantly sunny, clear skies. It was cold, too, so we stayed on the more developed side of the park, and walked to the greenhouse that holds more cacti, and a small man-made stream stocked with tiny fish native to the Rio Laja. Like other exquisite and essential places in our natural world, the Rio Laja is extremely stressed these days. More and more local groups are working to raise awareness about how essential this river is to the survival of many plant, bird, insect and fish species. Sitting still, on the sun-warmed rocks, invited us to continue a recent practice of asking ourselves- and each other- the question, “If I/you had to tell the truth right now, I/you would say…”. For me the truth is I am happy, even as some Big Stuff looms ahead. Hubby’s not there yet. He needs more time to simply be still, no lists, phones, or a wife needing another cappuccino. Leaving him on his rock, I meandered a bit more, pausing to soak in the strong sun from a number of benches. Birds escorted me from seat to seat, and what variety in their plumage, from sweet, mottled browns to wild tangerines, yellows and deep rose-red.
Grabbed a freshly squeezed ‘green’ juice- 13 pesos, or about a dollar- and arrived home, ready to write.
Then, Spanky crapped out, big time. Spanky is my laptop. I didn’t cry, I did laundry instead. Maybe the power of what I have to say was getting to be too much for my 4 year-old MacBook (<sigh> <grin>). Had a wonderful evening yoga class with my group. After yoga and ice cream and time with my guys, it was bedtime. That night, I had a long dream, about two sets of twin babies, newly born. Note to self: look up what ‘twins’ in dreams symbolize.
Wednesday, it was cold and windy at el Charco. There was a certain familiar quality to this wind, like I could smell in its nippiness the scents of New England and beyond. Any early fog had blown off, but a lot of big gray clouds were left in the sky. Autumn has come to the high plane! We crossed the reservoir once again, bundled up in sweaters and scarves, this time staying on a wide path, elbows linked, walking slowly and simply enjoying each others company. We passed the ruins of a hacienda, and a round, adobe building that is still used for ‘temazcal‘, or mesquite-fired sweat ceremonies. Once we had made a circuit, I headed home, as my legs were tired from the walking and hiking.
The day stayed busy, including a quick visit from a neighbor who traded fresh, organic eggs for a yoga class. By bedtime, I was feeling more and more like I was getting sick. And then the dreams came. In the first one, I dreamed I died; that I knew I was going to die, but I jumped anyways and the parachute on my back didn’t open. The colors were all reds and violets, and the jump was from one ‘world’ to another. In the next dream, I was dressed all in white and flying- while seated on a flat, round rock- looking for a place to ‘land’. I would like to remind whomever is in charge of my dream-life that I do not like heights, and I rarely dream about flying. Another note to self: add this to the dream imagery research.
Today I feel like crap, so hubby is walking and I am borrowing his laptop and blowing my nose a lot and feeling achy-all-over. Good thing the cat knows his job is to curl up against the sick and infirm. I wrote down the dreams, and the words associated with ‘analyzing’ them sound timely and reasonable: metamorphosis, evolution, transition, re-birth; having more than one option, or area of concern or interest; figuring out where to ‘land’ as I maneuver through my fears or through this new territory. After my recent bouts of intense self-doubt, the fruits of the walking and deliberate stillness appear to be inviting my inner world to speak up. I have a long practice of paying attention to my dreams; at times, even asking for a dream to help unravel a problem or point me in the right direction. The challenge is to move beyond analysis into action.