Hexagram from the street

I pieced together a message from the I Ching by using the coins we found laying in the street. It took a while. We´ve been gathering fallen coins since Texas but I finally got the six required for a hexagram. I take this first one as the theme for the trip. #18 KU: mountain, wind. IMAGE: Worms breeding in a bowl. Work on what has been spoiled. The winds at the foot of a mountain penetrate everywhere.

THE JUDGMENT WORK ON WHAT HAS BEEN SPOILED Has supreme success. It furthers one to cross the great water. Before the starting point, three days. After the starting point, three days. One should weigh and consider well, both days before and after a turning point. And a truly lofty spirit attends to one's own affairs. THE IMAGE The wind blows low on the mountain: The image of DECAY. Thus the superior man stirs up the people And strengthens their spirit. When the wind blows slow on the mountain, it is thrown back and spoils the vegetation. This contains a challenge to improvement. What has been spoiled through man's fault can be made good again through man's work. IT is not immutable fate, as in the time of STANDSTILL, that has caused the state of corruption, but rather the abuse of human freedom. Work toward improving conditions promises well, because it accords the possibilities of the time. We must not recoil from work and danger-symbolized by crossing of the great water-but must take hold energetically. Success depends, however, on proper deliberation. This is expressed by the lines, "Before the starting point, three days. After the starting point, three days." We must first know the cause of corruption before we can do away with them; hence it is necessary to be cautious during the time before the start. Then we must see to it that the new way is safely entered upon, so that a relapse may be avoided; therefore we must pay attention to the time after the start. Decisiveness and energy must take the place of inertia andindifference that have led to decay, in order that the ending may be followed by a new beginning.

It´s not my job to "prove" the I Ching, God or anything else. It´s my job is to make sense out of nothing so in that spirit here´s my general take on the reading. Might as well start with the obvious. Wind in the mountain spoiling everything. We started out on this trip in the wake of Hurricane Katrina and Hurricane Stan and are currently in San Cristobol waiting out Hurricane Wilma which is at the moment grinding away over the Yucatan. It´s even cloudy and raining here as we are just at the edge of the storm. We are leaving tomorrow and heading east into the jungle region closer to the Yucatan and probably into more rain but our plans are up for a moment's change if the weather worsens. Naturally, the I Ching´s message is always many layered. Worms breeding in a bowl covers a lot of issues, social and personal but, as always time has run out here in the ol´ internet cafe and I still haven´t even gotten around to posting the photos from Oaxaca or checking my email but I´ve got to go. Hasta la vista until manyaña. ------------------- Photo credits: #1: The Gold Scales #2: Springs Greeting Cards

Shedding layers

We have been gone over two weeks and I´m just now beginning to feel like the US is just another country, somewhere else and not how-IT-is. Certainly, since we left, I have felt "out" of the country but that´s a different thing. The US was still the center I was relating to. It finally occurred to me this evening when we were eating falafel tortas in a tiny, vegeterian restaurant here in San Cristobol that I have relocated myself outside that circle. It´s a great relief. Even the madness generating from Bush and his good old boy network has retreated into the background. I know it´s going on and that it does effect the whole world in a very negative way but for now I´m actually away from it.

I took hundreds of photos at the wild life refuge today and will try to post a few soon. It was very cool there. In a way it´s my version of church but it was also very sad. No matter how nice, life in a cage is a torture plus so many of the species represented are near extinction because of the ongoing human encrochment. I don´t know how that can be relieved in any meaningful way.

As for us, we´ve found the cheapest lodging yet, $8 a night at a campground about a mile out of town. It was a hidden paradise this afternoon. We´ll see how it goes tonight. Barking dogs and blaring music from the neighborhood may drive us out but íf not, we tucked in for a few days. We shall see.

Visiting monkeys, waiting out Wilma

We just spent the last two days in Oaxaca. I got some pretty good photos there but won´t be able to post any until we get to San Cristobal, located in the mountains of Chiapas. We are currently in Tuxtla Gutierrez, the capital of Chiapas. It was an 8 hour drive from Oaxaca so at this point we´ve driven about 4000 miles but are not "there" yet, there being the Yucatan. At the moment, Hurricane Wilma is in the Yucatan, so we are staying in Chiapas until it blows over. There is also a tropical depression on Mexico´s Pacific side so tomorrow we´ll cool our heels visitng Tuxtla Gutierrez´s spectacular wild life reserve. It is said that this area is home to the greatest number of species in North America. Besides the obvious benefit of establishing a wildlife safe zone, the reserve was established to introduce people to the other species living in the region and to  promote the importance of preserving the ecosystem for the good of all. This is just the kind of place we like to support anyway but what better time? Plus we will get to see North America´s very own native monkeys. Can´t wait!

Life in the eye of Pico de Orizaba

Pico de Orizaba is the third tallest mountain in North America and it is Xalapa´s patron mountain. I was lucky to get a photo of it from the open air, roof top laundry room at the Hotel Acapulco. Clouds usually cover the top just after sunrise. Mr. Lee tells me there is also a 3 day white water rafting trip people can take somewhere nearby. That would be an adventure.



I find Mexico exotic in any context. Yes, it´s part of America but, compared to the US, Mexico is as foreign as any place else on earth. Most importantly, Mexico is an escape from the standardized, soul-numbing, corporate environment that holds Americans hostage. There´s a lot to dislike about Mexico, including the suffering animals, trash, and pollution, but here my soul is bathed and restored in the muddy waters of humanity. Fetid waters. I know. This sounds really corny. You don´t know or miss it if you´ve never been in a place like this. Well, that´s inaccurate. Lots of people know they are missing "something". I always did. As soon as I was old enough to get away from my family I spend countless hours prowling downtown Seattle looking for "it". I spent most of my time exploring skidroad, the area in and around Farmer´s Market and the water front. I was looking for humanity. The collective. The world. At that time Farmer´s Market vaguely resembled The World of my imagination. I could get a cup of coffee at one of the sleasy restaurant bars tucked away in the market, look out over Puget Sound and watch the freighters and ferries come and go and write for hours without being hassled or hurried along because some yuppie wanted my table.

Mexico is still life size. It is a place to dream, wander, sit and watch, be invisible or passionate. There is plenty that needs to improve here or change completely but Mexico has heart, something the corporate world is so expert at stealing, copyrighting, and selling back to people, one sterile, expensive piece at a time. Mexico is also a place you can get your blood pressure read in the park or do your laundry at the communal wash tubs.



There is a seemingly endless number of wandering musicians and quaint stairways in Mexico but the streets are also places of open poverty and death. This morning, for example, I saw a man carrying a red plastic milk crate on his shoulder. It was full of something and on the top rode the large shinny head of a just slaughtered and skinned cow, her black eyes still looking wildly out at the world, her nose still moist and normal. The back of the cow´s severed neck was slick, pink flesh and red, open, drained veins. She was probably alive yesterday. A tiny, old woman wearing a flowered dress and wrapped in a black shawl sat nearby on the filthy sidewalk. As I passed, she lifted her open palm up to me and, in a pleading, childlike voice said, "Mujer pálida" (pale woman).

Life and death in the state of Veracruz

We´ve decided to stay in Xalapa for the weekend waiting to see the dentist in Oaxaca (pronounced: wahaka) on Tuesday. It´s cheaper and cleaner here. After that we head to the Yucatan to camp and explore the Mayan ruins. That should be interesting. A entirely new million acre archaeological site was recently discovered and it will be nice to get there before the tours busses put it on their route and Starbucks sets up coffee houses there. Plus, I´ve never see monkeys or Tucans in the wild. I´m really looking forward to it. Now on with the photos.



Xalapa has an excellent museum of archaeology so we spent the morning there yesterday. Among its feature pieces are the giant stone heads of the Olmecs, which are over 3000 years old. It´s speculation but some scholars have deduced that the Olmecs believe they decended from a human who mated with a jaguar. At any rate, they were pretty fierce guys. The museum contains some incredible ritual artifacts including burial bowls with the skeltons still in them and this headless sculpture holding a flat top block with a grim face carved on its front. It is thought that the still beating heart of the sacrificial victim was placed on the top of the block and offered to the gods.

Then there´s this lovely piece depicting a fertility priest wearing his offering, the skin of a sacrificed human. That´s why the figure has two sets of arms and feet. From the front, the priest is also sporting a giant erection. I guess I´ll have to post that photo as well. I just don´t happen to have it on the flash drive today.



Mexico is a strange blend of childish fantasy and grim reality. For example, when we were driving through the mountains, on our way to Xalapa, we turned into a gas station to ask for directions. We hadn´t seen a roadsign for a couple of hours. I noticed a half starved street dog standing on the sidewalk in the rain. One of Mexico´s great shames is the terrible condition of its many homeless domestic animals but don´t get me started on that. There was a car ahead of us also turning into the Pemex and a slick, wet, bloated dead dog lying right in the entrance. It looked nearly identical to the dog on the side of the road. The left front tire of the car drove directly over the dog´s head and its body bounced and shuddered from the impact. The gas station attendents hadn´t even bothered to move the body to the side of the road. It makes me crazy to see the neglect but I have to say we have seen almost no stray dogs in Victoria or Xalapa. It was so bad in Oaxaca last year, we dreaded returning to the country. For this reason alone, I´m glad we´re staying in Xalapa a few more days. It´s way easier on the emotions plus it has a terrific vegeterian resturant below a yoga studio that offers a fantastic three course lunch for 3 bucks. To us it has become the center of the city.

Veracruz mountain drive

We took the mountain road from the gulf coast to the Veracruz city of Xalapa, pronounced "Halapa", birthplace of the Halapena pepper. Sorry I probably misspelled Halapena but I don´t have time to look it up at the moment. We´re about ready to leave the internet cafe.


Bamboo along the highway. Oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico



It was a mistake, or at least we managed to find the longest way through them. It was beautiful just too long, a 12 hour drive, on winding roads, through fog, minor flooding and typical Mexican mazes that have no roadsigns leading to a seemingly endless succession of forks in the road that require flying blind. At these times we always rely on the wisdom of Yogi Berra who said, "When you come to a fork in the road, take it."




Hurricane Stanley recently passed this way and there was still a little flooding in the mountains. People didn´t seem too concerned though. They were just standing in front of their houses watching the water rush by. It ended well however, inspite of the confusion. We got into Zalapa and didn´t have too much trouble finding our favorite hotel, the good old Alcapulco.

Hotel and publishing notification

So, on with the photos. Here´s a few of the hotel in Victoria where we stayed last night. We´re leaving in the morning. Great place. I highly recommend it. It will probably be all down hill from here.





It was a relief being in such a nice, clean town, especially after the border crossing. The corrupt cops tried shaking us down for a bribe not ten minutes after we were in the country but dropped the charges when they realized we were willing to go to the police headquarters instead of panicking and trying to buy our way out of the phony charge.






I forgot to mention, a couple of poems I submitted recently have been accepted for publication. Poetry Harbor published in Kona accepted my poem "Pele" and ByLine Magazine will be publishing ¨Writing Instructions" at some point in the near future. Seems ByLine also pays ten or twenty dollars a poem, something like that. Who said poetry doesn´t pay?

Border crossing

After 2500 miles...Mexico

Marfa Texas - roadside art, Prada

Self portrait

Pancho Villa restrauant

Texas Cactus

Texas cactus -- taken as we pass by

Along the way

Texas gas station


Motel in Marfa TX. Besides the mysterious, unexplainable "Marfa Lights", motel Yo La Tengo is one of the more interesting places in this little-bit-famous wide-spot-in-the-road.


Cactus, up close but not personal



Across the street from Judge Roy Bean's office. (The hangin' judge)

Countdown

Snakessekans

Tomorrow I take Delicata over to Mike's house. She's staying with him while we're gone. At the moment I'm feeling pretty detached from my life here but I did put out a big spread in the bird park today.

Puj is ready to go. Swami is ready to go. He loves Mexico. I am not ready to go. I won't get to sleep until 2 and will be up at 6. No matter. We leave Monday. It's a long drive.


Hawk dining on a pigeon in Reno today.


All this reminds me of one of my favorite poems by Apollinaire

Come to the edge, he said.
"We are afraid", they said.
Come to the edge, he said.
"We are afraid", they said.
They came.
He pushed them.
They flew.

Publishing opportunity

1933

"Poetry is an act of peace. Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread." ~ Pablo Neruda from Confieso Que He Vivido: Memorias, 1974


The Making of Peace Poetry Broadside Series is a response from poets who are working towards peace and goodwill in the world and want to see an end to the war in Iraq.

This project will produce a series of finely designed broadsides to be displayed in independent bookstores, libraries, and museums across the US during National Poetry Month 2006. Each broadside will be 4.5 x 5.5 and printed on environmentally-friendly paper.

Along with the displayed broadsides, a limited edition of broadsides will be produced and distributed to the public during literary and non-literary events. The total number of broadsides printed in limited edition will represent the number of US soldiers that have been killed during the war in Iraq; each broadside will represent the life of a soldier. We are estimating there will be between 75 - 300 of each limited edition broadside printed depending on the number of poems selected and the number of US casualties at the time of printing.

Each poet chosen to be part of the broadside series will receive ten copies of his/her broadside along with a full set of the broadside series.

HOW and WHAT TO SUBMIT:

Submit 1-3 poems, unpublished or previously published poems with the theme of peace, hope, and/or humanity. Poems should be 30 lines or less. Please include cover letter, short bio, and SASE.

We are looking for well-crafted poems on any subject matter that are inspired or focused on the theme of peace, hope, humanity, and/or the idea of a world family. We are open to work that encompasses a specific response or offer a larger vision of our world. Poems do not have to be a direct response to the war, but can be.

Submissions should be postmarked by November 30, 2005.

All submissions should be original work and mailed to:
The Making of Peace: Poetry Broadside Series
c/o Kelli Russell Agodon
P.O. Box 1524
Kingston, WA 98346

Questions or comments about the project can be sent to: modpoet@excite.com

The wind and the wall

Some of the graffiti in Oaxaca is wonderful. This is a photo I took on our last trip south. I've got better versions of this collage but I just don't have the energy to hunt for them tonight.

The second line of the poem is the toast my brother made one wintery Seattle night over a candle lit spaghetti dinner we cooked. We sat down to eat with my three children and, raising his wine glass, he turned to my daughter and said, "Tell them about us". That was a long time ago. Funny how life twists and turns. These days my daughter doesn't speak to me and my oldest son and I have been estranged for years. I can't even begin to describe how painful this is.

I'm leaving for Mexico in just over a week. There's so much yet to do. And more than can never be undone. And so much more that will be left undone forever.

Mexico

I don't want to jinx the plans, but we're scheduled to leave for Mexico on October 1st for six weeks. I have to start planning and packing and that means first I come here and grumble. I dread packing for these trips. There's not a lot of room in the jeep to start with and I only get a small section for my necessities, all which must be stuffed into the tiny area behind the passenger seat. The rest of the available space is crammed with camping gear, tools and there's a small area for Don Jefe's things. He travels light and I travel heavy and never hear the end of it. Anyway, the trip is looming so I'm creaking into gear. This time we're headed for the Yucatan to poke around some newly discovered Mayan ruins. Of course it will be wonderful but I resist everything. Don Jefe considers it his personal mission to channel me in the new direction and that is when the fun begins.

French Quarter storm wraiths

I love the gusto of Apocalypse N.O.", Joshua Clark's blog chronicling life in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. At least until the beer and Pinot Grigio run out, he and a few other storm wraiths are having a rollicking good time hold-up in the French Quarter as he says, "partying at the end of the world".

I understand Clark's revulsion at the thought of being stuffed back into a tidy, air-conditioned world. I'm not thirty and I don't drink anymore, so some of the romance of their situation would be lost on me, but I still seek ways to touch the abyss. It's not only that I enjoy it, in some intangible but critical way it's indispensable to my life as a poet and a human being. For the same reason, I see that Clark and his friends are on a necessary journey. Check it out before they get evicted.

Tonopah, Queen of the Silver Camps

I just got back from a weekend conference in Tonopah (central Nevada). As usual, I spent most of my lunchbreak and late Saturday night photographing the place. In her day Tonopah was known as the Queen of the Silver Camps and it was here that the final chapter in the settlement of the American West was written. During the bonanza days, Tonopah had a population of 10,000 and sprawled over the hills. Now most of the place has fallen into the dust. Today Tonopah is a tribute to high hopes, hard times, bad winters and not so quiet desperation. Even the old, boarded up church on the hill had its time of reckoning and the moon herself lays low when she's in town as though even she dreads the undertow.




















In Tonopah, nothing and no one is taken for granted. In a place as lonely as this, the ghosts are not only tolerated, they are a welcome part of the town's citizenry.

There's a Bird Garden Buffet in Tonopahbut for some crazy reason it's not open to pigeons! Plonk would definitely not like Tonopah but it's is my kind of place, a wreck and a relic. Tonopah has good coffee, generally friendly neighbors and history. What more can one ask for?