Yucatan Diary Day 19 - by Ben White

BY BEN WHITE

Yucatan Diary Day 19
Merida, Yucatan

by Ben White

posted 01/27/05
The Maurice Ewing continues blasting, leaving a trail of dead fish. The fishermen say that there is nothing now to catch. Nada. Legal Denunciation filed with Semarnat by Rosario Sosa for a bunch of things, including having no agency ready to do necropsies to determine reason for death. I get ready for action.

Over thirty years ago on a bus from Ann Arbor to Charlottesville, I was reading the introduction to the Tibetan Book of the Dead by Lama Anagarika Govinda, a German who went to India on pilgrimage and became a holy man. He wrote something along the lines of: "If you believe in reincarnation and believe in evolution, then you can see that we hold within our genetic memory what it was like to be every creature that ever existed, right back to the stones."

Now, the part I am not sure about with reincarnation is whether we travel through different lives the same little soul package. It seems to me that is our operative illusion, that we are individuals, instead of just one of the pairs of eyes and hands used by the one great consciousness, that also looks through all those other eyes of vireos and lizards and scorpionfish and whale sharks. I see nothing in modern physics to argue that we are really individuals, any more than each separate arm of an anemone is an individual.

Putting that quibble aside, I really liked the image and it rung true to me: that sometimes when we are especially carried by the movement of a creature, say a cardinal swooping through the underbrush or a dolphin turning its head sideways from the bow wave, it is more than just admiring the creature, we are, I believe, remembering our cardinalness and our ancient dolphiness.

Just back from the market where I got a haircut for $2, plus a $1 tip, bought some more fabric for a dive flag, bought some kid´s scissors and a notebook to cut up all of the newspaper articles and keep track of everything. And I bought a plastic bag with both peeled oranges and slices of jicama, with the ubiquitous mixture of powdered red pepper and salt dumped on top (one scoop or two? Oh definitely dos, por favor) plus the lime, the juice upon which Mexico runs, poured over the whole shebang. MMMM. Probably gave money to eight or more beggars on my route. A big fat 10 peso for each, to their delight. To those traveling gringos that frown on such a practice; I think they can shove it and should go back home and sit on their money like Scrooge McDuck.

Now I have been places in India where it turned out to not be such a great idea due to the pure onslaught. But here I have never seen giving to one bringing in more. All kinds of twisted limbs, sad faces, wounds, blindness, little kids, people who can´t get off the ground. Yeah sure, its just a racket. In the evening they get up and dance home to their fancy digs. Hardly. This is real rock bottom, and yes, except for the grace of God it could be and might still be me one day. So I give to everyone who asks, if I have it. Makes me want to throw up on their white bwana suits to hear pompous wealthy travelers sniff at the miserable poor.

I saw an old man with deep creases in his face and hands, a deep dark brown, threadbare clothes, shoes with the back heel stomped down, and the most noble, handsome face. Tell me it is anything but happenstance that he has lived his life trying to eke a bare living out of the poor Yucatan soil, and now has spent upwards of sixty years doing his best, instead of living as a stockbroker in New York wearing fine suits and cologne. I remember clearly the moment when I lived in Spain when it dawned on me how lucky I was to have been born, well, middle class and white and American- at the top of the heap. Now, after working against the big cheat of globalization for a few years, I have come to believe it was precisely that contentment with my position that is the problem. Until we see the ones who make our clothes and pump our gas or care for our children as our equals, even if they are in Sri Lanka, there will be no peace, and should not be. The next revolution must be a global one.

Before you get my 20th diary entry, a lot could happen. If anything like jail or deportation stops me from filing, I will when I can. We are going to try to go after the Ewing again, with a boat licensed to take out tourists all loaded up with crew, a bunch of journalists and me. The thing I don´t want to happen is that we drive all over the place looking for the Ewing with the reporters thinking about how stupid they can make us look. So please visualize us taking off from shore and going right to the Ewing, bobbing there in the waves to the north. Some people say that the Mexican Navy is maintaining a ten mile perimeter around the Ewing and chasing away any vessels that get close with helicopters. If that is so, we will stop when told. We are going on the premise that ours is just another Mexican boat hired out to Gringos out for a day of sun and sea, with all t´s crossed and i´s dotted- legal. Other fishing folk say they have been able to get right by the boat, so we will see.

Like last time, when it comes down to actually making the move, getting in the water and hope they keep their blaster off, I start getting very nostalgic about this life that I am still fortunate to be living. The littlest of things: childs’ faces, shadows of palmettos thrown large against buildings, the full moon rising, the taste of the first sip of coffee in the day, good red wine, being kissed by someone who loves me, being able to walk down the block, being able to hear someone singing their heart out, being able to hear my mother´s voice, hugging my children, watching the shadow rise on the building as the sun sets, the almost overwhelming tumult of the market, watching an act of sweetness from one person to another--- all of these ordinary little shimmerings of life that don´t normally stand out that much until you think about never experiencing them again.

Now to all of you kind people worried about me, I ask you, please don’t be. I have zero death wish. I have planned this meticulously and believe that all can be done with no risk to anyone, including me. But, as a tree climber, my frame is a little different from landbound muggles. It is a learned skill, absolutely not to be confused with any sort of heroism, that enables a tree climber or rock climber to hang by his or her fingernails and do the job. So it has been also with cutting loose whales and dolphins at night. You just get to the place and concentrate on the job at hand. No big deal. Business as usual.

I find these crowded streets absolutely chockablock full of unsung heroes who will probably never be recognized as anything special. Just for starters, poor Catholic moms with a bunch of kids--How in the world do they pull it off? People with disabled kids, or disabled parents and kids. Guys like Louis who come into town every day to sell hammocks because that’s all there is and he (at almost exactly my age) explains that he is far too old for any company to want to hire him. To me heroes are people who are scared, have no idea how they will carry on for themselves and their family, and do it anyway, day after day, forever.

On the other hand, I came into this world with nothing and have been given everything: true love, healthy and brilliant children who I adore, relatively good health of my own, steady sustenance, parents who love me, a supportive brother and sister, persistent passions to carry me along, the gift (from my mom) of a love of nature strong enough to nourish me in loneliest of times, true friends, a hungry mind, and the resources to keep it curious. So, for this favored son at play in the fields of the lord, it is the bare minimum I can do to try to give back- to serve. Not my will but thine, o lord, be done in me. I have learned that it is true- it is the giver who is blessed.

Thanks for all who have hung in here with me. Its crunch time. Think good thoughts. Peace to all.

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace ..........St Francis

This campaign, and my salary, is being paid for by the Animal Welfare Institute. Tax exempt contributions will be happily accepted at Animal Welfare Institute, Box 3650, Washington, DC., 20027.

Love and revolution,
ben

editor@sanjuanislander.com

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