Looking for Cows and Finding Angels

The lane in front of my gates

It has been almost a month since I sat to write, though I have ideas fill my head everyday. No space in my new casita yet feels like an “office”. My dining table could serve, but no nearby outlets without fumbling with a long extension cord to create an office corner, and it is my least favorite room to be in now, serving as path to the tiny kitchen. With a bag of dog food on a chair, my large box of horse tack with no place to go, a hutch ( available from my landlady with a few other furnishings) holding my dishes, my fridge and microwave. In Tzintzuntzan I worked on the patio everyday. Here, I do not (yet) have a feasible outdoor space with shade, or  comfortable outdoor furniture. But the main excuse, is I was busy packing up, moving, arranging things, shopping for what I deemed necessities, and all that went with coming to this little yellow house in the rancho of Las Cuevas. Settling in here has taken some time and remains a work in progress, but I really love much about it. Closer to Patzcuaro than before, and certainly much quieter than festive Tzintzuntzan. This area has an open, lovely landscape and feels good to the spirit. 

But no more excuses, there are stories to share. Each day, usually late afternoon I turn right out of my gates with the pups and head up the road that turns from stone and gravel, to dirt and rock,  and finally to dust. It passes by lines of stone fences with barbed wire or metal gates. Many nopal cactus, some trees, cows, volcanic rock covers the ground, all filling the landscape, and a beautiful view to the mountains if I turn, is always there. I have seen the man on the mule a few times, coming and going, but by late afternoon, all is quiet, except for the consistent late afternoon wind. I have found a few easy crossings into pasture land and explored off the road to find draws full of long shadows and channels that will fill with water come rainy season, even a pond. One day I walked until I was at the top, and finally came to one house set back behind fences and a healthy avocado orchard. From there you could see the mountain with the tower atop, over behind Tzintzuntzan. Seeing the tree covered friend, that I walked many times in my first three months in Mexico, in a different light, from a different angle made me smile. A sense of place orientation connected to feeling is always meaningful for me. That was about two miles up the road, and I had to turn and head back as the sun was growing lower in the sky. I would love to take a horse, and keep going, but until that day, I will have to start early morning and continue on to return, before the hot part of the day.

Heading back from a walk

Three days ago, I started out later than usual with the pups, of course, and an old beater of a red truck passed by. I waved, and said “Buenas Tardes”. They passed, then another four hundred yards I saw where it had pulled over near a gate, thinking folks are checking on their livestock, or maybe harvesting some nopal from their land, and kept on going. After a bit, up ahead, I saw the woman, perhaps some older than me, in her skirt and shawl walking towards us, looking down at the ground. When we met, she began to explain, and though I could not understand the details, from a few words and observing, I understood she was “buscando una vaca” searching for a cow.  We tracked together for a few yards, and then I recalled, maybe eight hours earlier, seeing a cow come trotting by my gate. I was out in my outer yard and saw what looked like a black and white holstein go by. Seeing cows in or around roads is not unusual here. Then I saw a young man on a motorcycle go by in the same direction. I didn’t know if they were together, but took it all in. I did my best to share this with the woman. She responded that “Si!” their cow was blanca y negra, like the one I saw. We walked and talked all the way back to her truck. She loved my dogs, and shared the information I had with her husband. They loaded up their dogs in the bed of the truck and headed back toward the rancho, where I had last seen the cow heading. We smiled and waved.

This is a simple story, but I felt there had been a meaningful exchange (for me), and I felt a step more into being a small part of this community. I recognise the folks on my lane, we acknowledge each other. The young man across the street has some English. We talked about his wife, and son, his horses, cow… and I shared a little about me. He offered to help me in any way he could. I thanked him, and added, I would be pleased to help his family with the animals, if they ever needed to be away, or in other ways. Since then I have met Martha Jonathan, and a cousin. Soon I will walk to the small tienda in town. It is where everyone meets at different times of the day. I have driven past many times, smiled, waved, greeted, but haven’t gone down the hill on foot yet. There are some dog “enforcers” sleeping or overseeing their territory that has kept me from walking my two down.  I have seen them go high alert when other dogs in the back of trucks go by. But I want and need to “go to el rancho”, and buy a limonada or cervaza, jitomate or huevos.  I need to see what is in the store, and also see and be seen on foot, rather just in my car heading out and in.

Cactus and sky

My lecciones de Español begin next week, with my goal to concentrate on get better at speaking and listening/understanding over the next year(s). Communication with my landlady, my neighbours, and participating in all the ins and outs of daily life in Mexico will be so much richer and fuller once I have better skills and confidence. What I do now is use the words I know, adding in my own brand of charades to try and “be heard”, but I want to understand the responses, as much as I want to speak. This leads me to angels. I have been to Mexico three times total, every time I have had angels.

In Mexico City, Tepoztlan, Morelia, and Patzcuaro, I some known, some unknown angels, wete present for me when there could be a “situation”, one that might evolve into a high level of anxiety, at least. The first time I came here in 2016, I was lost, in Mexico City, no Spanish, I had just closed my eyes in the bus terminal, and was taking a few deep breaths to empty my head and formulate a plan. I am sure I said a few words affirming, “ this can be sorted out.” Clearly I could not find a bus to where I needed to go, as I was aware of having taken a bus to the wrong terminal, and unable to communicate. When I opened my eyes, a young man was standing in front of me. He spoke English, looked on his phone at bus terminals, schedules etc…took my suitcase, put me in a taxi, got me across the city to where I needed to be. Once there I saw the sign, bought my ticket, waited 30 minutes and caught a bus to Patzcuaro, a five hour trip, where someone was waiting to take me to a cozy bed. In Morelia, in 2018, I left my wallet at of the ticket counter at a movie theatre, the night I went with a group see “The Shape of Water”. I didn’t even know it until the next morning. A friend and I went to Morelia the next day, and there it was, behind the desk, everything as it was, an unknown angel, watching over a distracted American woman.

There are several other stories to share. Being taken care of, like when I “partied” apparently too hard and fast with kind folks celebrating a Birthday. I passed out. When I came to, I was on the ground with people holding up my arms and legs and talking to me. Then they sat me up and eventually got me to my room, coming later to check on me. And I was fine, albeit embarrassed in the morning. Angels. Recently, I had taken a lamp I bought in town back for a chain repair, and to place a downpayment on some custom shelves being built for me. The woman I had been dealing with was not there, as it was late afternoon. But Jesus was. Alone at the store, a workman, he repaired my lamp, took my downpayment gave me a receipt. His English was about the level of my Spanish, but we “talked” awhile, then I left. I had just gotten home, when my phone rang, a Mexican number unknown to me. I answered. It was Jesus. Finally I figured out what he was telling me. I had left me wallet at the store in town, and he was calling to let me know. It was almost 7:00. I asked how much longer he would be there, and he said he would wait for me. So back in the car I went, 20 minutes and there it was. I told him he had saved my life, “Me salvaste la vida”. I was carrying more pesos than usual, but it was my visa temporal, credit cards, driver’s license, et al the would be the huge hassle to lose. I offered him a reward, he refused, I smiled and bowed with prayer hands and told him, he was an angel (my angel). And he was. 

Today, carpintero Mario came to my house with his wife, sister-in-law and ninety four year old madre. He came to measure for cabinets in my kitchen and hall,  much needed, and exciting to have done, but their presence here was the true gift to me. We shared ideas and feelings over an hour, discussing connections between people, healing, energy, and family. He told me about his wife’s shoulder. I scanned it, and said, I would love to work with her on the table once I have my healing space and tools in place, (very soon, I hope). But, for today I gave her a brief treatment standing in the yard. Guidance said to offer a chevron amethyst, so I dug around and found one, offered a little information of how to use it in self healing. It did not go unnoticed, that over the last week, I have been wondering, how will I offer Reiki and other expressions of energy healing here in Mexico. It is my Lifework, with a capital “L”, and has been hard to put aside for so long, (between the pandemic and the move). Although I use Reiki in my daily spiritual practice, assist folks/situations with distance work, and send conscious healing to the planet (and myself), working with clients one on one is what I long for, again. Seekers of deep relaxation, those that want relief from issues/patterns, physical or emotional, are everywhere in this world. I felt a door to possibility open in this small interaction in my “new” life. My introverted self finds it hard to go talk about myself /the work/practice in public, especially with folks that do not know me well. Sales is not my strong suit. I think of it always as serving, not selling. My webpage, where this blog shows up, and my Facebook WisdomWays page are out there, but haven’t stirred up a huge amount of interest, yet. So, I will see if this angel, Valentina’s, reminder, opens a door that may have gone unnoticed. 

Yesterday, a friend, came out to help me hang the art I had shipped down from the States. He arrives on time, with a pallet of plants from his roof garden, avocados and eggs, all for me, as well as the tools needed for the job. We spent over four hours talking and laughing. Some in Espanol, some in English. Everyday is an opportunity to learn, and just be you, figuring out who and what that is, in an easy way… like putting on your favorite socks, or eating that special comfort food. Much simpler down here south of the border. Balance comes as we release the pressures and anxieties that seem to be a steady diet for most folks in the States. Even a rural retired life. I had my strategies there, most not much needed now. A little breathwork, a few affirmations, some stretching, brief self and other Reiki, and just moving into morning slowly, but consciously is all that I need to maintain peace most days. I am taking care of myself. I am matching up well with energy. Much of what may have been aggravating or even raised anger or frustration within me before seems small stuff. My senses recognise the movement within the circle of life around me and that ebb and flow of activity feels familiar. That truck, always there this time of day loaded down with grass, the man on the blue roan heading south, the older gentleman on the white horse with his perfect posture tips his hat, the dogs of the rancho and what they do, the whinnying of the pregnant mares up the road, the daily ringing of the church bells. Familiarity, no matter how small, provides something the soul needs. Just as the mystery, wildness and unknowns of travel or adventures (of all kinds) do. We all lean one direction or the other, and yet appreciate the excitement, or ease of the other. Balance.There are challenges living here, for sure, but now I feel more of, “It will be fine, I’ll figure it out.” Early to bed, early to rise. Sleeping deep without tension. My patience has lengthened. Answers seem so much less important. Searching for cows, and finding angels is enough. Really, it is bountiful.

Truck filled with grass and a dog

Wheelbarrows, Buckets, and Baskets

I completely enjoy the beauty of sunset, the letting go at end of the day, and experiencing fully that hour of power. I love giving myself over to the mystery so strongly felt under a starry night sky, witnessing the changing moon and her story. But I have always loved the early morning most of all, when it comes to time of day….any season of the year. The promise that lives on the wings of coming light, following the restoration of a night’s sleep, never ceases to awaken joy within me, and the optimism of possibility. 

Getting up and out early here in Mexico is a special treat for the senses, whether you are in a pueblo, rancho, or city. When I first wake, I listen. Yes birdsong is everywhere, and roosters crow, cows low, horses whinny, goats bleat, and pigs squeal. The gas trucks begin their traveling announcements around town. Having my coffee outside I consider my plans, check for new blooms in the garden and enjoy the growing expanse of blue. Heading out in my car, I often follow the same “last gasp” pickup, with old metal milk cans on board. I have watched the farmer stop and make deliveries along the way many mornings. Four leggeds graze out along the road and street sides. Artisans begin setting up and displaying their crafts for sale. Dogs sleep in the sun. To an American (even a rural one like me), much that you see feels like stepping back in time, centuries perhaps. Although there are, of course, trappings of modern life, much here remains traditional, done in the same way for the same purpose, for a very long time. Find the woman with her bucket, that grew the blue corn, ground it, and made the tortillas that morning. Notice the oxen pulling the cart beside the combi van, the SUV passing the burro carrying firewood, the man on his horse, or woman with her staff easily moving animals down the road while traffic waits and breathes in a new day’s air. There is often an interesting juxtaposition of old and new. 

Morning brings out locals pushing wheelbarrows, carrying five gallon buckets or large baskets filled with any and everything. You may even see wheelbarrows carrying young children from place to place, or filled overflowing with grasses, corn shocks, vegetables or fruits, just bought or to sell elsewhere. And from the magic down in those buckets and baskets you come to know the people and their goods. There are the tortilla women, the bakery helpers heading out from the panaderias, and those cooks setting up on corners with steaming tamales or other delights. Watch the daily set up of  stands for eating tacos, enchiladas, burritos Michoacan style, with their steaming pots and sizzling pans, served beneath the shade of trees or from a cart along the sidewalk. Mexico must be the capital of street food. Just smelling the air makes me hungry. And there will always be music. Yesterday I heard an older man singing opera, a young man interpreting Leonard Cohen in Espanol, and the bold baritone voice of a traditional Mexican singer/guitarist in my brief walk around town. Mondays at the Basilica, start early to join the long lines for Quiroga’s famous carnitas, brought over to Patzcuaro ( or just make a 30 minutes drive over for many vendor choices). The daily scene of trucks, full of watermelon, oranges, or mangos, sold by the kilo along the road, and the busy town markets paint a backdrop to all the sights and sounds, smells and tastes. Roasted ears of corn, caramelized whole sweet potatoes, fruit gazpachos (mi favorito) fresh jugos (juices) or agua frescas often flavoured with tamarind, hibiscus, or a blend of fruits, grains, seeds are waiting for you to walk by. By midday, many stands welcome you to try their cheladas or micheladas especial with your comida. And yes you can drink beer out on the street at all the stands. If you are hungry or thirsty in Mexico, you do not have to go far, whether living rural or urban, or traveling 

Last week I joined friends at a spa de aguas termales. After several hours of soaking in hot waters I felt lightheaded, so I decided to buy a little food. I walked under  what seemed to be an obvious menu sign, where a group of people had a table set up covered with food, all talking. I entered, and in my borderline basic Spanish asked them for something to eat. They all looked at me, and within a minute, I realised this family that had come to take the waters and picnic for the day. I smiled and apologised, stepping back. They laughed, and encouraged me to come back and fix a plate, Saying “Here, eat”, offering a beer, as well. That food stand sign also had said “weekends, only” and it was a weekday. So, I learned a new term in Espanol and tell the story, because my experience has been one of warmth and generosity in this culture of food and drink wherever I go. Greetings of “Buen dia or “Buenas dias” are usually spoken to those you meet, or pass, not just the people you know. There is an ease of moving through the day, like light filtering through leaves and finding your face. 

Mornings begin quiet, but become busy. In the coolness life stirs into activity. The sun heats up the air quickly.The landscape has a misty, smoky, slowness to it, but much is happening. Some seasons, fog hangs over the lake and in the valleys for awhile. Around me, people are leaving for work, or beginning the work that sustains them and their families. Without cars, or choosing to be economical, many folks depend on the pretty incredible combi van system to get them where they need to go. Locally, bicycles also get people form place to place. I am not talking about fancy bikes and gear, just two wheeled transportation. And some younger folks have motor scooters. Many days since my arrival in Tzintzuntzan, I have watched an older caballero on his blue roan heading along the road. I notice the nice headset on the horse and the rider’s light hand. He is likely not pleasure riding, but heading out to work somewhere.

Turbo type power tools and a machine oriented way of getting things done is not the norm. I see some tractors, often relics, but they run. Sure, there are fancy tools to be had, and contractors and bigger agricultural companies may need and have them, but the average person has hand tools and whatever materials that can be found around their community, or in nature that can be repurposed and reused. Hands seem to be the greatest tools around, with a knowledge of how to weave a basket or a fence, cut stone, build a wall, form a pot or bowl, gather nopal, pat out the perfect tortilla, make fabric and embroider… all work creating extraordinary beauty with (and from) the ordinary. Some of the fixes I see to “make it work” are unique, functional, and pretty amazing. People here have skills mostly lost generations ago in wealthier counties. It may be a simple life, but living simply is hard work. And it starts early. Wheelbarrows, baskets, and buckets need filling, so they can be emptied. Cycles repeat. The sun rises, the day opens wide, the sun sets, night falls. Wake up again. Stretch. Rise and begin, under the big dazzling Mexican sky. Siesta perhaps from two til four.

Morning Dream

In the silence, just before first light comes 

Through the moving curtain, touched by early air,

I dream a waking dream.

I am a girl, young again, standing 

Thigh deep in water, facing the sunrise.

A long shirt of thin white cloth, 

Covers me loosely.

I close my eyes and know water as it is.

Fish nibble my toes and brush my legs.

Smiling, I say words in a strange language. 

Sensing day break, through my eyelids,  

I look out to the brightening trees

On the mountain, and the birds come.

The rosy sky is filled with layers of singing.

Surrounded by feathers, wings encircle me.

I feel the energy of flight in my body.

Turning, I walk, each footstep makes a path.

A few large stones call me to sit among them.

I feel the warmth of morning against my legs,

A  gentle reminder of the heat to come. 

First listening to whispers, then laughter, 

The earth shares poems and tells stories

Without words, but her voice is clear.

I understand. I nod. I pray.

Blessings are given to an old woman who dreams.