I am the captain of my soul, and the only gatekeeper of my abilities

I will not be paralyzed, I will not allow my dreams to be suffocated by fear

When it does arise, I will simply expose it and watch it disappear

My mind will not be a copy, it will not have a strict diet

It will be eclectic, and distortions of reality within a television set will not fry it

I will walk slowly, and enjoy every step

Recognizing the impermanence of money, that relationships and helping others is where true love is kept

My life will be beautiful because of these truths, and I hope it so

So I can say with satisfaction and gratitude, 'I was my captain'

When it's my turn to go.

Murals for Soacha in Bogotá, Colombia

My summers through high school and most of college were spent working construction and learning every foul word and expression Mexican spanish has to offer. Stripping forms, finishing concrete, and jackhammering equals long days and hard work, but I wasn't really prepared for the work I had committed to a month earlier when I spontaneously decided to head to Mexico and build a house with Habitat for Humanity. I was bound for a small settlement called Chinameca in the state of Morelos with a group of volunteers with the idea of finishing a house in a week. A took a week off of work, but I was going to be compensated with something worth far more than a dollar amount. On the last day of the build, having been one of the few Spanish speakers on the project, I sat holding a middle aged single mother of four as she sobbed uncontrollably in appreciation for the work we had all done to provide her family with their own home. Not just the twenty-some volunteers, but the local masons, the pueblito's "don", as well as various other member's of the community who had come together to make a dream into reality in just seven days. This was quite a change from what I was used to, instead of a middle aged woman up in arms with frustration over a crack in the finish of her three car garage, I was now comforting a middle aged woman whose glossy eyes and ear to ear grin were the product of a 900 sq. foot house made of block whose construction lasted just over a week. To this day, the recollection of this moment clouds my eyes. The feeling was like a drug, and I've been addicted ever since. Two houses later, I find myself here in Bogota, Colombia.

Extensive fumbling through the Internet landed me with an organization looking for volunteers with construction experience to come and help renovate an elementary school in the Colombian neighborhood of Soacha, one of Bogota's poorest districts. The deal was sealed when I scrolled down further to discover they were also in need of artists to paint murals on the walls of the school.

Arriving in Bogota on a rainy Monday night I first met the organizations founder, Al. A British born vagabond like myself, the 26 year old had founded the NGO just six months earlier. This was a newly discovered piece of information that quickly initiated my interrogation-like Q&A with Al. That night I met the family who I was to be staying with for the next month. The mother, a sweet woman of about five feet, was the first to greet me. Though small in stature, her virtue is quite the opposite. I later found out that she founded both the primary and secondary school in Soacha (those which we would be working on). Her sons, Johnny and Arnold, also do a lot of work with the school and its programs. Being similar in age, they have become very close friends of mine and our conversations have formulated many ideas of developing a home building program in Soacha. Though I am not so sure I am ready to put on the breaks yet and develop a foundation yet as I still have one last stop before slowing down, they will be a favorable contacts for the organization when it does become a reality. Everyday I walk through Soacha, I take note of the construction going on and I notice the lack of equipment, resources, and overall manpower. What may take two masons two months to build, a group of volunteers could do with there backs and volunteer fees in less than two weeks. Another noted application to the houses is the paint. Though very few of these houses are painted (most are left with exposed brick and concrete), the small street that I pass everyday that boasts its brightly colored exterior creates a different psych for those who stroll through. The colors generate a sense of beauty as opposed to a sense of ignobility and underdevelopment. It would take less than $100 to paint a home in Soacha, an amount that would barely suffice a couple of mixed drinks at a Vegas nightclub, yet it has the ability to forever change the mentality of the home's inhabitants creating a sense of hope, self-worth, and motivation.

Having past the halfway mark on my time here in Bogota, I feel satisfied with the work I am doing. The mornings are spent picking a ditch in an area that will eventually become a playground area for the adjacent elementary school, and when the rain rolls in (usually between noon and 1pm everyday) I head inside to work on the murals. The two hour trek to and from the site everyday becomes worthwhile when you are hugged by some of the student's, some of which I haven't even met. The children are often just as appreciative as the adults. During some of the home builds, kids were amongst the hardest workers.

Recent years have created a more optimistic view of the world for me. I believe we are beginning to see that we can no longer ignore each other, we can no longer turn a cold shoulder on those born in unfavorable conditions, that we can no longer live in ignorance of the developing issues that help to create much of the ugliness in the world. Want to put a dent in the flow of immigration over our southern border? Use the money to build houses to help them stay instead of a wall to keep them from having a chance. Change the situations in which cause them to leave. Give people a reason to stay, because that is ultimately what many of them wish to do, not leave their families and risk their lives chancing it to an unknown territory with a foreign language. The woman for who we built a house in El Salvador had her husband leave over a year ago. I find it hard to believe that it was an easy decision leaving his wife and children only to taunt death riding a train through gang infested territory, traverse corrupt police officers, and walk days through a desert with little food or water for a 'chance' at obtaining a job in the US and providing a better life for his family back home. The reality is, his family was living in a makeshift home of dirt floors and a ceiling made from sticks and jointed garbage bags. The decision to leave becomes one of necessity when faced with unlivable conditions.

More than just American, or Colombian, Central American, or Mexican we are human beings. Brothers and sisters of the same species. There are over forty-two thousand languages in the world, but only one set of feelings shared by all who carry the human genome. The unnecessary suffering is not going to be solved by any government, it will be solved by us. We already have the capacity and the resources, we just have to realize it. We just have to come to the realization that we have the power to change it. Together. Now. John Lennon said it quite well "Millions of mind guerrillas... Raising the spirit of peace and love, not war."

A Cosmic Connection

I get lost. My head starts to feel heavier and heavier as I struggle to maintain its position, but I can’t take my eyes off of the sky. It's majestic and tantalizing, and in an odd sense a bit comforting given its immensity. But I can’t take my eyes away. The sand is cold, and I could probably use a shirt, but the complexity of current thought removes any consideration of a cotton t-shirt. I was watching a show.

Not just the grand show performed by several hundred billion stars each and every night, but a steady and consistent lapping of the ocean, a natural hymn created by the wind and palm’s divine collaboration, what I was watching was an impressive show perfected after several billion years of practice. One of the greatest things about travel is it’s a forced meditation. Your mind is free to wonder and to explore. Of course meditation itself is achievable in any location under any circumstance, but its complexity and difficulty is often underestimated. It takes months and even years of practice to train your mind. But with travel, that commitment and responsibility so “duly” required of the many actors in your life is forced to dissipate, autopilot shuts off, and your mind exhales. That extroverted effort of responsibility and commitment become an introverted one, a responsibility and full commitment to thyself, a concentration inward.

My mind continued to wonder although I had adjusted my position and was now dependent on the support of my elbows. Fixated on the moon, I examined her pushing and pulling on the tide, essentially “playing” with what we consider the most powerful natural source on earth. My mind wandered further; if the moon has the divine ability and finesse to provide constistency to something as massive as the tides around every corner of the globe, then is it possible that the moon, or other arrangements of stars and planets, can influence the chemistry of our bodies and/or makeup of our minds? An American astrologist by the name of Marc Edmund Jones theorized about mental chemistry and divided people into one of four groups, dependent on two things; the speed of the moon at the day of birth (fast or slow) as well as the position of Mercury relative to the sun. My mind wanted to venture farther however, into the zodiacs all the way back to the beginnings of recorded astrology. It facinates me that through instense examination, pattern recognition, and recordings of notable events, et cetera these people, nearly 2,000 years ago were able to characterize individuals based on an astrological sequence of patterns. Furthermore, they personafied the constellations with familiar creatures possessing similar behavioral characteristics. The constellations were and still are indicators of consistent reoccurrence which allow for a certain set of (or lack thereof) traits to be attributed based on the presence of a certain astrological pattern. Even today we find our daily horoscopes in the local or national newspaper. Even though we may pride ourselves as totally unique individuals, beneath the exterior we find ourselves part of this celestial pattern masterminded by what may very well be incomprehensible to us apart from basic recognition. As the tide inches itself closer and closer to my barefeet, my mind shoots back to the relationship between this ocean and the moon. Staring into the illuminated portion of the pacific, I can’t help but think of how subtle this relationship is, but how many millions of people depend on it. How it has provided for, and essentially is, life.

The relationship between the moon and the ocean is a majestic one. We see the tide change two times a day, everyday, every year. However, the formation of our personality traits is quite another, more complex story. Taking into account the effects of such a subtle relationship between moon and ocean, one can only begin to wonder what kind of patterns are integrated in each one of the zodiacs. We do know that these cosmic relationships are cyclical. And thanks to the work of the ancient Chinese, Egyptian, and Roman astrologers (as well as contributions from several other early cultures) we know that these patterns repeat themselves twelve times annually. But what is the biological reason for such reoccurances? If the moon pushes and pulls on the ocean twice daily, then the relationship between planets, stars, et cetera must be doing their fair share of pushing and pulling as well. Could it be that as a miniscule lifeform taking shape within the whomb of your mother this pushing and pulling is even having a slight effect on the placement and development of your cells, tissues, etc? Interlinking of the brain’s neurons begins at around six months of whomb confinement and at around seven months, the rudimentary brain waves indicating consciousness can be detected. During this developmental process, is it possible the relationship between certain planets, stars, or cosmos can influence the final resting place for cells, nuerons, organs, et cetera within something as tiny as a fetus? Perhaps.
Another part worth noting is the connection between something as colossal as the cosmos and something as minute as the cultivation and multipulcation of cell makeup. Eventually, we continually multiply (grow) until adulthood. An angelic relationship between the cosmos and ourselves? Perhaps there is an omnipresence of the cosmos that walks around in each and every one of us. A subtle reminder of our connection with that which lies above and beyond our understanding. A connection not only with these constellations, the moon and the stars but with each other, with the ocean, with the sand that finds its way to every crevice of my body, with those trees behind me, with my friends back at the hostel and my family back home, with everything. But what is this connection, and why? Could this connection be the answer to the many questions of our existence? An answer that is literally staring right back at me from the depths of the sky?

Working with Immigrants in Arriaga, Chiapas

Where to begin, where to begin?

Well, I guess I´ll begin with the fact that I have always wanted to visit Mexico´s southern most state, Chiapas. The Zapatista movement takes place here, and has long been the epicenter for indigenous rights here in Mexico, as 1 in 4 of the population here is indigenous of some kind. Mayan making up the majority I believe. In the interest in saving time, you can read about the Zapatista movement here...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ezln
Anyways, I´ve longed to come to this state for some time. So when we left from Salina Cruz (where we had stayed the night since the haul from San Jose del Pacifico began to take a toll on our energy)and entered Chiapas I felt a thrill of excitement, a recognition that a dream of mine had become reality. We were on our way to Arriaga. A small town of around 40,000 about four hours a way from the Guatemalan border. What brought me here was a desire to volunteer. Here in Arriaga, cargo trains pass though from Guatemala to the north. It is the route of immigrants from all over central and south america. No matter where you come from, or where you are going, if you go ¨al norte¨ you will pass through Arriaga.

While in Guadalajara, one of my student´s father approached me after class. He asked if I could translate a document for him, in which I gladly did. I found that this research report pertained to human rights for immigrants passing through Mexico. I had studied this topic in depth, and had even wrote a thesis on it while in college. So when I met with Lalo again, I asked him how I could get in touch with someone in order to do some sort of volunteer work. Lalo, who is a professor at the University of Gaudalajara, gave me some great contacts. One of which was an immigrant shelter in a small town in southern Chiapas called ¨Arriaga.¨ From there on I planned to make my way to Arriaga to see if I could be a volunteer.

When we arrived to Arriaga (with heat to what I imagine to be a Georgia summer) we made our way to Casa Migrante. The experience there was a little weird. The padre was not there and we were welcomed, sort of, but two guys who seemed to be in charge. A couple of strange individuals I must say. They left us for a couple of hours and told us to wait for the Padre. Well, we then met a local guy named Santiago. He sensed our impatience and sympathized by taking us around Arriaga in his car, then to dinner. He offered us his house to sleep in. Which, as travelers on a budget, is a hard bargain to pass up. We were not contacted by the shelter, as they told us they already had a volunteer and wouldn´t need us. Though I find it strange that a ´volunteer´ be turned away. But, whatever. Just being there was a surreal experience, seeing 300 immigrants from all over Latin America sleeping under the train and finding any sort of shade to pass the time until the train departed.

We decided to be proactive and continue following our desire to help, and actually turned the experience into something unforgettable, one that probably would have been better than cleaning toilets and washing dishes at the casa migrante.

We stayed with Salvador for three or four days. During the day, despite the heat, Tama and I made several trips to the market where for around 50 (about $4 USD) pesos we would buy 15 or so small waters or juice, as well as two or three kilos of bananas. We spent our afternoons walking the traintracks of Arriaga handing out the supplies and talking with the immigrants. Now, I often comment on our incredible an experience was yada yada yada. But seriously, this is one that will forever be lodged in my memory as one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life. We talked with people from El Salvador, Nicaragua, Honduras, Cuba, Guatemala, etc. about what they had been through, their experiences, and what their hopes were for the future. We talked with people who were making their first trip, with people who were making there 14th and 15th trip. People who had been robbed, beaten up, people who had walked for 11 days shirtless to get to the traintracks. The first day, we met a group of guys from all over who were traveling together for protection. They told us about the scariest leg of their journey, which was from Tapachula (the border town to Guatemala) to just south of Arriaga. This area is heavily occupied by Mara Salvatrucha and Zeta gang members who board the train with intentions to rob rape and hurt people. They were a genuine group, buenas personas looking for a better life for themselves and their family. One 14 year old boy, making his second or third trip, told us about a teenage girl who had fallen off the train a few years earlier. She had fallen between the cargos and the train had cut her in half. The journey had taken her life, as well as the life of her unborn baby. His eyes held the terror and sorrow he felt at that particular moment.

In summary, working with these immigrants was a gift. A gift that I will never forget. Likewise for them, since many of them had wondered what the hell a gringo and a norteña was doing in Arriaga helping immigrants. I wonder if they will tell our story, as I am telling theirs.

It filled my heart was happiness to be with these people, to assist them, to listen to them. It got my mind brainstorming of all the possibilities of charity and or other opportunities I could establish for a permanent assistance to these people. I will never forget their faces, nor their appreciation of what we were doing. It was truly a dream come true for me. Watching over 300 immigrants from all across the continent sitting atop a cargo train with hopes of a better future is surely a sight I´ll never forget. Waving at us as they get ready to leave is more of a motivation than anything. Now, I need to figure out how to make my assitance more powerful and more permanent.

(the pictures are not so good as we had only taken photos the last day, in which most immigrants had left on the departing train, my apologies.)

San Jose del Pacifico, Oaxaca

I spent my birthday on top of the world. Well, maybe not on top of the world but at the highest point of the Sierra in southern Oaxaca. It was a nice change of temperature from the beach towns we had been in the two or so weeks previously, and it was a sweet reminder of home to be in the woods again surrounded by pine trees and giant rock formations. San Jose del Pacifico is a small town of around 500 people I would guess. It serves as a stopping point for many people who make the trip from Oaxaca City to Pachutla, on the other side of the Sierra. The day we got there we rented a cabin for 100 pesos (around $8 USD) and star gazed until our eyes and our minds could stretch no further. The next day, Tama and I spent the morning and afternoon hiking the surrounding mountains. It was absolutely incredible. First, we ascended into the forest along the trail, unaware of what or where we were trying to reach. After about three hours we were immersed into the clouds and came upon a flat aread of about 300 sq yards on top of this mountain. It was an Alice in Wonderland feeling. The only souls for miles, we walked through one of the most impressive displays of nature I had ever seen. The forest was majestic, and with the addition of the clouds, it really added to the experience. We spent a few hours exploring this mini valley and soaking up the experience. I commented to Tama while on top of the mountain that although I would love to see my friends and family, a birthday on top of this mountain, in the middle of the Oaxacan Sierra, sure beats a night out at the bar.

The planned two day visit in San Jose del Pacifico turned into five days of reading, hiking, and star gazing. At 100 pesos a night, its hard to leave a comfortable cabin with a patio and a view of the Sierra. San Jose del Pacifico is an awesome place, a majestic mountain town with nice people and great scenery. Every evening the clouds rolled in a passed directly in fron of us, and we spent some sunsets sipping hot chocolate (Oaxaca is famouse for chocolate) and eating tlayudas.

Zipolite, Oaxaca

Zipolite is a well known beach community of hippies, nudest, and freedom seekers alike. Situated about an hour south of Puerto Escondido, I guess Zipolite has been a well known spot for ¨amor y paz¨ for quite some time. We got there later on in the evening and we´re kind of stumped on where to find a cheap place to stay. We walked down the beach a little ways until we met a young guy setting up his beach front reggae bar for the oncoming party. He invited us to stay in his hammocks he had about 30 meters of the beach. The stars were not as impressive as Chacagua, but the fire dancers on the beach equally invigorated the night. With flaming balls called Poi attached to chains, this woman spent the better part of two hours dancing and twirling these balls around, over, under, between, behind, and every which way around her body. This was the first time I had seen this although supposedly its rather popular. Pretty damn cool though. You can check out an example of this through this youtube link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IjdnMvBW_A

The next day we decided to pack up and move camp as a result of Tama getting bitten about 200 times by mosquitos. That and the fact that our bathroom was a scene even the devil himself would refuse. So we moved ourselves down the beach a little beat to a cheaper and more accomodating place, an 8 x 8 beachfront hut with a hammock out front. We spent the day reading, exploring the beach, and playing in the waves. Every once in a while we get a kick out of nude spectating. Though most of the nudes were old and rather unpleasant to look at, it was quite an experience since I had never really been to a nude beach myself. And no, I did not go nude, I gather that it takes years of being a Zipolite beach bum to reveal the jewels. Something I could not get use to. The experience was good though, and the food was cheap too, we never ate for more than 30 or 40 pesos. We left that night as Kyle, my friend who had been visiting, needed to catch a bus back to Mexico City where is outbound flight was to leave. The bad thing is, we lost track of our days, easy to do while on a hippie beach, and sent him back a day early.

Though more well known, easier to access, and more built up than Chicagua, Zipolite still has the draw and charm it has always possessed. Just be warned, you will see a lot of pot, old wrinkly nudes, and smelly life loving hippies.

Chacagua, Oaxaca

A true paradise, Chacagua is one of those untouched places that I will always long to return to. The tiresome journey to this place ironically is a blessing as it keeps its purity and desolation virgin. To give you an idea of how how one might find themselves in Chacagua, I will document here the ¨camino¨ to the beautiful beach community of Chacagua.

Backpack in hand (We had left our bags in our hostal´s supervision for ten pesos a day) we lathargically walked to the center of Puerto Escondido to take our mini camioneta to the town of Rio Grande, about an hour and a half away. Mind you, Chacagua was just an image in our minds and we were only going the route that had been detailed to us by locals. We arrived in Rio Grande, a bit confused on where to go next but we were immediately hailed by a truck with a canopy over the bed, the standard means of transportation for rural communities in Southern Mexico. ¨?Van a Zipotelito?¨ asked the driver. We complied and for twenty pesos we climbed in the back of the truck playing tunes from Kyle´s ukelele. The three of us, about five chickens, and countless other materials made our way to a small community on the edge of a lake about an hour later. We waited at the dock with a few others, entertaining ourselves with a family´s pet racoon and taking pictures of this laguna that seemed to go on for days.

After about an hour and many stomach growels later, we got into the boat with the chickens, groceries, and about ten other locals. We made our way across the laguna, keeping an eye out for crocodiles, in awe of the beauty this area possessed. Shortly after, we merged our way into a small channel of water housed by branches above. We encountered a small dock where another pick up truck was waiting for our arrival. The bugs started biting, mucho. We all rode in the back of the truck for another 30 to 40 minutes before we arrived in Chacagua. And to be quite honest, I had no idea we had arrived anywhere for it was just a few palapas and sand that stretched across the road and into the unknown. We all go off and were guided by a fellow rider to his cabañas that were situated nicely on the beach. The first gaze at the beach was the most memorable. Never had I ever seen a place so beautiful, so pure, and so majestic. The experience was surreal.

We spent the first night in our buddy´s cabaña before finding out that the restaurants on the beach, which provided great seafood and breakfast alike, allowed visitors to sleep in their hammocks for free as long as you ate at their restaurant. We of course went the cheaper option even though the cabañas were only 150 pesos a night (around 12 dollars).

We spent our time in Chacagua surfing, marveling at the star show the heavens put on nightly, and hanging out with our new best friend ¨Salchicha¨ who could be argued as the happiest dog in the world. Chacagua was great, just a small community of maybe 100-200 people who enjoyed the simple life. Cuban music and happiness filled the air and I had begun to wonder, not just because of the music but also of the complexion of the people (who seemed to resemble peoples of African descent), what were the origins of these people. Were they Cuban immigrants, native people from the area who´s direct heat had affected the skin and hair of these people, or perhaps they were descendents of slaves in Mexico. Whatever the cause, it was sure an interesting and beautiful place.

Chacagua is a place that I could bring a tent and a surf board and be happy for months.