praying mantis

There’s a praying mantis sitting on my lamp. It looks like she’s washing her face, she has the movements of a feline. Such odd creatures so angular yet they have the poise of a sphinx and somehow cat-like faces: I think if a cat became a plant it would be a praying mantis. I’ve had the privilege of several landing on me and their pincer feet gripped and tickled as they’ve moved across my skin. There’s a moth by the lamp, suddenly she has lost her shape and become two leaves on a twig. The moth is too intrigued by the light, and she has become herself again. She’ll have to move closer if she wants to eat tonight. So much complex beauty in the world.

differences

We have a child in the school who’s the first in his family to ever attend school. He’s a Bribri Indian, a beautiful child: gentle, quick, shy but curious. He’s 8 and in first grade. He has great motor skills, both large and small, good eye hand co-ordination, great balance, is ambidextrous. He’s happy, does his work, is proud of what he does. Yet after 8 months in school can’t count, has no letter recognition, only this week can he copy his name. His copied letters are often upside down and backwards. Clearly, in a western sense he has learning differences. He’s the first in his family to ever attend school, all his family are illiterate, or preliterate might be more appropriate. Are Erling’s challenges natural or are they part of his hereditary experience? In other children whom I’ve worked with who share his challenges, there is often a balance or motor issue: they’ve missed something in their early motor development. This is not his case.
His parents have sent him to school, he’s on a full scholarship, clearly they want his life to be different from theirs.
I’m one of 3 teachers working individually with Erling. We met with his parents this week and told them that if there’s no change in his level by the end of the school year (December), he’ll have to repeat first grade. I don’t know that this is the answer. In a western sense we can’t serve him, he needs more help than we are able or trained to give, and there’s no way his parents can provide this extra support for him. Now his self esteem is great, he sees no differences between himself and the others, but to turn 9 in first grade: what effect will that have? Perhaps none. His parents reacted with simple grace, they accepted what we said in a way I’ve never seen before: no shame, no blame, no denial, just okay, this is life. There’s another Bribri boy in the third grade who’s also struggling, he’ll also repeat, I don’t know his family background.
For me this brings up bigger questions on education. In its current form education came out of the industrial revolution. A large scale, factory operation to turn out people who can perform basic operations as they’re told. Read, write, do math, listen to instruction, nowadays also work as a team, problem solve. But children today are different. The world is different, I think we need a different education. The root of the word means to raise. Modern schools produce.

incoming . . .

There’s a storm coming in. all afternoon I’ve watched the clouds move in slowly from the ocean. Now the wind has picked up, the sky suddenly darkens and the monkeys begin to howl their protests. Ah, strong, strong wind, cold too, slamming doors, lifting papers and towels, hurling leaves everywhere. I hear the crack of branches above the wind and the zubb of electricity somewhere. Time to switch to battery. Rain. Soft, gentle, forgiving. The smell is moist, cool, dark like the forest floor. The dogs are out, soon, soon they’ll appear: hoss doesn’t like the rain. The sky is a uniform grey . Bigger drops now and noisier, the wind is blowing them onto the deck wetting my almost dry laundry. Rain so hard it’s blocking the trees from view. A short legged, stubby tailed lizard sails down the wall away from the water. Time for a cup of tea and a good book.

hey noni noni!!

I’ve also succumbed to god knows what and have started eating noni. This is something I swore I would never do only 3 months ago. I started because there’s a noni tree growing right on the beach and I felt that any fruit that falls on such a beautiful spot must be good for me. HAHAHA. Also I can’t help harvesting wild fruit, and since then I’ve found another tree growing right on my road. Noni must be the most disgusting fruit known to man. I know there’s the durian which I remember David Attenborough gagging at on tv when I was a kid, but then I never saw him with a noni. In some places it’s called a vomit fruit – and with good reason. It stinks horribly. Truly disgusting and retch making. Not only does it smell foul, it feels awful – squishy like a dead rat and bits flake off in your hand. Wet sticky scabby bits. It looks a bit like a potato full of eyes and it’s the slightly harder, paper thin brown eyes that flake off. When it’s ripe it turns white which only adds to the nastiness as it’s sort of a congealed white with the darks seeds showing through from the center and the brown scabs dotted like measles over the skin. I could barely pick the first one up off the sand it was soft and smelly.
In Pachamama people swear on noni, believing it’s the best thing for helping one’s digestion and general health. I know noni juice is the latest health craze in the States. I don’t know how they make the juice, but in Pachamama they allow the fruit to rot – preferably by putting it in a ziplock bag in the sun. It smells through the bag, a mix of feet and vomit, I’m not kidding, and then they strain it and they drink what putrid ooze they make. Totally unable to commit such atrocities – and it’s only possible to commit them because nothing, not even ants (which eat dog vomit) will eat the rotting fruit, - I decided it best to attempt to eat it raw and only ripe. So steeling myself I cut a slice, doused it in salt, pepper and lime juice and chewed it very quickly at the back of my mouth. I got it down, but this is hardly a way to eat. The next day I tried it in a papaya and banana smoothie and it was quite nasty but edible. And I have to say that now I’m used to it I don’t taste it at all, in fact I might even miss it if I left it out the smoothie. After a couple of days I stopped retching every time I opened the fridge and now I can be standing with my nose almost in it before I realize what it is.
And why? Why am I doing this? I did some research and noni has so much vitamin C it’s almost off the scales, it also has almost as much fiber in one serving as one needs per day. It has other beneficial chemicals and compounds too, too numerous and boring to mention here. The seeds one can roast and eat, I haven’t got that far yet, but I will. When I tire of pumpkin seeds I’ll try the noni. It’s amazing what one can do.

addition to tropical living

Ever since moving to Costa Rica I have experienced strange happenings to my skin. This is the hottest and most humid place I’ve lived, it makes sense there would be some strange new development. My right hand, at the base of my fingers and between my thumb and fingers looks burned, like it was dipped in scalding water. There’s no pain, no itching, not really any dryness either, but it looks damaged. I asked about it and the common opinion is that I reacted to something and the sun brought it out in my skin. One sweats a lot here and toxins are released through the skin, it doesn’t always do well with the toxins. This is what has happened. Having lived wheat, dairy and meat free (mas o menos) for the last 9 months, and eating non processed food I think I should be pretty low in toxins. Now all of my food is prepared at home from the basic ingredients, no dairy or wheat (except for the occasional croissant and latte at the internet café): the most processed foodstuff I have is canned sardines. But I have a lifetime of poor eating behind me. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could sweat it all out? I’m drinking about 3 pints of water a day, I think I need to up this to help flush out all the toxins.

cacao!!

I picked my first two cacao pods today. It’s the autumn equinox, not that it makes such a difference here, the sun rises and sets more or less at 5:30 each day. The pods are from the cacao tree closest to the house. They are not quite ready, still turning yellow, but I’m guessing they will ripen like the bananas. I wanted to try them early because the squirrels get to them first otherwise. I’ll leave some for the squirrels of course. They are so beautiful, excited!
After the banana blight this whole area was turned over to cacao and once again a monoculture existed – and once again a blight wiped out the plantations. Ah nature . . .. Much of the land here was once cacao plantation, judging by the number of trees on this hillside this was a plantation.
The cacao was revered by the native Indians as a food of the gods. It was used ceremoniously, as medicine and as money. Is this where the expression ‘money grows on trees’ comes from? In the Mayan culture a porter earned 100 cacao beans a day: the price of a hare; an avocado cost one bean; a fish wrapped in a corn husk cost 3. It was taken or exchanged during both religious and civic ceremonies, for example at a wedding the bride and groom exchanged 5 beans.
The trees look a little like apple trees, fairly short and gnarled. The pods grow from the stems and trunk and are shaped like a rugby ball but ridged and knobbly, they vary in colour from a minty green to a deep dark maroon. Inside the beans hang from a sinewy tough central stem – a bit like the middle of a tangerine but much stronger. The beans are covered with thick white ooze which tastes sweet but makes the whole thing look like the innards of some alien. The beans are almond shaped and sized, but smooth, they’re a creamy coffee colour, inside they are the most royal bright purple. The whole pod from inside out is an experience of colour and texture, shelling the beans has to be a fairly ritualistic practice moving through hard to soft to hard, ridged to slippery to smooth surfaces. The beans taste bitter but they come with a kick: 5 roughly equal an espresso shot. And they are rich. I’ve heard of people eating 30 and getting high, seeing the cacao god himself!
It’s said that cacao is a superfood: very rich in antioxidants, potassium, magnesium, dopamine, seratonin, anandamide, tryptophan and phenylethylamines are amongst the 300 chemical compounds present in cacao. With the seratonin, anandamide, dopamine and phenylethylamine it’s no wonder chocolate lifts one’s mood and why so many people reach for a slab when all else seems to fail. Of course the most healthy way to absorb all this goodness is through the fresh or dried bean, but that’s not so practical. They say that the addition of dairy products blocks the absorption of much of the benefits, so the darker the chocolate - and the least processed - the better for you.
It’s almost a week later and the pods are ripe: the beans are delicious, but 3 is enough at one time. What a gift to have such a fruit in the garden!
Interesting website, also google raw chocolate :

www.naked-chocolate.com/

15 de stiembre

The 15^th September is Costa Rica’s Independence Day. It commemorates independence from Spain which came for Mexico and all Central America in 1821. Costa Rica was such a backwater colony that the news didn’t reach here until a month after the event. The story goes that a torch was lit and carried all the way down to the Panama border bringing the news of independence and the light of freedom to all. The local story is that light was controlled by the imperialists and with independence came the possibility of light for all. The 15^th is a popular fiesta with lots of bands, folkloric dancing and parades, and much flag waving and singing of national songs. The kids spent nearly all week preparing 2 dances from Guanacaste (and hence Nicaraguan in origin) and various patriotic songs. On Saturday we marched along to the local public school for a show of nationalism. The principal of the local school is a remarkable woman: big, bold, caribe-tica with a bright pink hat and high pink platforms. Her opening speech was all about independence and saying no to the United States (TLC referendum, 7^th October). Then lots of singing and dancing and then a second speech about the importance of maintaining the forests and how no more trees should be cut to make way for homes. I was so impressed at the power and conviction of her speech and that she was saying this at an assembly. The kids obviously adored her.

After I went into Puerto Viejo for shopping. The high school was parading with much drumming and baton twirling. All schools participate with each team creating their own variation, next month the best will compete in San Jose for big prizes. Last year I saw some groups in Puntarenes, but the Puerto kids were great. The music was a mix of national military style drumming, calypso and reggae, and the baton twirlers were really shaking their stuff. I never knew hips could move so fast, I have to say I was mesmerized. The band was very tight and also looked the part with cornrows, shades and very baggy tropical cream suits. I wish them well in the competition.

I finally feel like I’m living in the tropics. It’s hot and it’s humid, which it seems I like. I say this writing in the shade of the deck, there’s a breeze blowing in off the sea and I have lime water to sip.

The bananas I picked last week have ripened. A couple have been opened by black bees and there is a mini swarm in the corner feasting on soft, sweet creamy flesh. The bees don’t sting and seem to keep away the hordes of fruit flies I was expecting. Occasionally a small brown butterfly or two will join the swarm. There are 3 lizards living in a crack in the deck near the bananas. They watch the bees, taking their chance when they can. They fight over the butterflies. Molly sits on the chair closest to the bananas. She watches the lizards, she hasn’t caught them yet, she has better luck with the bigger ones who seem to live inside the house. Hoss lies near the bananas, he watches everything, but he only eats the bananas, though will snap at the bees who buzz him when he’s choosing his banana. He peels it and eats the fruit, leaving the peel tattered and torn on the deck. The ants who live everywhere clean up the banana peel. This all happens in one corner of the deck, take it and multiply it by every square metre and you’ll have some idea of the life here.

I often feel a tenant in the home of the insects. Ants and cucarachas seem the main occupants. I sweep ants out of my bed, I flick them off my laptop, I brush them outside on a daily, sometimes twice daily basis. My recorder wouldn’t sound until I removed the colony of ants which had taken up residence, in school, it’s the cucarachas which inhabit recorders and the coffee machine. If I get up at night I send cucarachas fleeing with my torch, their sleek impossibly shiny toffee brown bodies cascading over the side of tables, up walls, under fridges, below doors. I learned that cucarachas live in colonies which are democratic, and which work – I don’t know which surprises me more, a democracy which works or that there are whole colonies of these creatures where I live. Beetles of every hue and shape visit or live alongside the larger beasts: yellow, black, blue, red, orange, brown, green – every colour and colour combination, each with their 6 delicately poised claw feet and anthers of varying length and width. A chagas beetle is in an upturned glass on the table. I don’t want to kill it, but I don’t want to let it go nearby. Maybe tomorrow it’ll go for a bike ride with me. The chagas beetle bites, bad enough given it’s a good inch and a half long. But it can carry a parasite which can be passed in the bite. The parasite takes up residence in the heart and begins to grow, but so slowly that it can take 20 years before it causes a heart attack in the host. It’s the little things which are dangerous here. Right now there’s a little bug crossing my computer screen,

he’s in disguise and has built a junkpile on his bag that looks like seed fluff and dust, his legs don’t look long enough to reach his back, how did he do it?

I cut my finger yesterday opening a shutter, it got infected – easily done here – and I’ve doused it with tree tea and alcohol and bandaged it. Wounds take a long time to heal and even the smallest cut can be problematic. I have apple cider vinegar in my medicine chest and some spilt, could only have been last week. The spill was covered in a thick white furry growth of mould I think, which was being harvested by hordes of tiny ants. I won’t mention what happened to the dogs’ bones after they had finished with them. Suffice it to say that life is very very vibrant here.

colones

I need to find a way of making money. Shaun can support herself making chocolate. I must find a way to supplement my income. I can do many things, I have to find one that sells and then sell it. Food seems the obvious choice, everyone needs food and there’s a desire for unusual and healthy alternatives here. There’s a new coffeeshop opened up in town, very health conscious, maybe I can make something for them. My banana jam recipe needs some perfecting – at least my first attempt in the crockpot turned out very sweet and took forever. Forever is okay as long as the finished product is fine and I can make big enough quantities at a time.

Datura: angel or devil's trumpet?

Datura plants line part of my walk to school. Big beautiful sweet smelling pink, yellow and white blooms hanging like bells on ungainly knobbly stalks. Like something from prehistory alongside the giant ferns and alien waxy hanging bracts. Datura is toxic, a hallucinogenic but one which can be easily overdosed with big consequences. Datura grows really easily here, break off a piece and it’ll grow where it drops. I like the plant very much for its beauty and strange presence. Shaun has a huge one growing at the corner of her house, she says it’s there as a guard: the locals are scared of the plant. Over the years people have used it to kill and it holds bad energy in the collective memory. I’ve always wanted one.

Postscript: planted 4 on Sunday

not so comic comedy cops

Returning the hire car I gave a lift to a local cop. Not so local really, he was from the other side of the country. Costa Rica has the bizarre practice of stationing cops in regions other than their own. They live in the police station for 3 weeks at a time then return home for 2. This explains why there is always so much laundry hanging behind the station and why it’s common to see them brushing their teeth at an outside sink in the morning. It also explains why every single local can point out all the thieves, crackheads and dealers in the street but the cops don’t know. I can’t fathom why Costa Rica does this – surely in this very community orientated culture it makes sense for the cops to be part of the community, to know the people. Outside cops have less connection, less interest in the community and must be open to more bribes because of this. Earning the equivalent of $200 a month also encourages the taking of bribes. In Puerto Viejo they have one police car, it broke down and the community had to fundraise to have it fixed. People say it’s because the government has no interest in Limon province: I have heard that if you want a cop to come to your home you have to pay for their gas to reach you. They do have flak jackets and guns: they were wearing them for the high school parade on Independence Day, standing on street corners looking very official and macho. In general they are very high profile, but that seems to be about all they are.

There have been 4 rapes here recently: single tourists cycling alone at night, all the same m.o.. everyone in town knows who’s doing it: the son of Giri, the biggest local dealer. The rapist arrived back in town from an 8 year stint in prison for the same, 2 weeks before the first rape. Seemingly one has to have fingerprints to prove a crime here and getting fingerprints is a 2 month long process in san jose. With no victims pushing the cops there’s seems incredibly to be no hurry. Everyone knows who this guy is, I don’t understand why the locals aren’t doing something. I know that ticos watch rather than do – the machete fight in Las Juntas is proof of that – but why don’t the gringos here take action? Believing in the system?

banana business

Coming down from Limon one passes through acres and acres of banana plantations, crisscrossed with creeks running towards the Caribbean. Each massive hand of bananas is sheathed in blue plastic, the same blue plastic that is clearly visible littering the creeks. Nowadays the plantations are owned mostly by Chiquita and its subsidiaries, in the past it was the giant United Fruit which completely shaped this part of Costa Rica. Back from the coast, plantation workers still live and breath plantation, buying from plantation shops ensuring that they are nothing more than indentured servants. That’s not all they are. A huge amount of pesticides and insecticides are dumped on the crops making the workers part of a general experiment in toxic waste (read ). Birth defects, infertility and an average life expectancy in the 50s also come with the job as workers handle and inhale fertilizers and drink the water polluted by run off from the crops. Fertilizers are ‘necessary’ because of the monoculture: United Fruit pulled out due to a massive banana blight that hit in 1913, bananas have since come back as a crop but at a cost. Meanwhile tourists downstream pay top dollar in shishi restaurants for river shrimp fed by water from the same plantations.

The moral of the story: BUY ORGANIC BANANAS!

In the garden there are many, many bananas that grow totally free of any human intervention. They are the sweetest I’ve ever tasted, sun ripened and spotted in their skins. I have such a glut that tomorrow I begin jam making.

dogs' life

The most difficult practicality in moving was with the beasts. Without a car or a credit card it looked nigh on impossible to cross the country with 2 dogs and a cat. With a combination of truck, bus-taxi and hired car - with thanks to a friend - we managed. We even got to visit a new doctor in san jose on the way. Hoss has allergies, this in itself intrigues me, how can a dog have allergies? His skin is dry, flaky and irritated, he was gnawing on himself all the time suffering hair loss and just looking and feeling awful. The vet in nicoya gave me what I thought was anti-histamines but turned out to be steroids. They worked really well for the days that he took them, but the moment he stopped all symptoms returned. Obviously not working. So we went to Alicia Lopez, a Chinese medicine and Acupuncture vet. She said Hoss was a very typical “hot” dog. It was a step for me to let go of the allergy diagnosis. She looked at his tongue, took his pulse and said he had too much heat. I had to stop with the dog food and only allow him cold foods (in Chinese medicine). He had already stopped dog food a couple of weeks before, but he was basically eating whatever I was. Now he has his own diet. She tried to give him acupuncture, but even with a herbal sedative and 3 adults holding him he managed to jump clear off the table. So he has herbs instead. And delicious smelling shampoo which works wonders on his skin. He has stopped scratching almost entirely and the hair is growing back. He smells good and has energy again. He eats a lot of vegetables and legumes, sardines and has his herbs and vitamin C and the Bs. He gets flaxseed and spirulina. He likes the food and eats a lot more heartily than he ever did with his dry dog food. The cynic in me says he was allergic to Pachamama or Guanacaste trees or bamboo. But everyone believed he would be worse here because of the higher temperature and humidity, and he’s doing well.

Lady J is also doing well. She has also changed diet and is getting her vitamins and supplements (me too). She was always a beautifully placid and sweet dog, but here she has become much more loving and will lie at my feet whenever we are both at home. She used to stay outside through her choice in Guanacaste, but now she stays close and is very free in her affection, both with myself and with Hoss. I wonder if she herself feels freer knowing somehow that she will never be sent back? She has become a much more integral part of this family.

The dogs spend their day playing, eating, sleeping, exploring and marking territory. It seems a very wonderful existence.

Molly is pregnant, the gestation period is around 65 days, I don’t know when she conceived – she showed no signs of being in heat, nor were there any other cats around, that I saw or heard. Yet she is pregnant. I don’t know when she’s due. I would say fairly soon given the size of her nipples. I don’t think she’ll have a big litter, maybe 3 max? given her size. I hope they are healthy, I hear that the survival rate for a first litter isn’t great. She has adapted very nicely from living in a tree and has made herself completely at home with favourite chairs and viewing posts. She has a box in my closet that I hope she will use when the time comes, it’s really the safest place away from prying canine noses. I’m at a loss with this birth business, I’m in awe, and clueless.

been a while . . .

It’s been so long since I wrote a blog entry, I can’t remember the last time. Much has happened in that space, I’ve gone through an emotional education, let’s hope I remember what I’ve learned. I’ve played every female role: mother, sister, understanding friend, lover, caretaker, rescuer, healer. I’ve seen what I don’t want to be and I’ve seen what I never knew existed, and I’m coming out with gratitude for the experience and an understanding that it had to be done. And so it was and with it came a release: I no longer needed to be in Pachamama. This has puzzled me and it took over a month of daily to and froing before I came to peace with the decision. It was intended though as very quickly I came into a new opportunity. So I have moved yet again, to the Caribbean, almost at the end of the road a tiny place and I am teaching at a little school filled with charming and beautiful children

patience

It seems an age since I last posted: the rainy season has hit with a vengeance and days have been dark with rain, heavy with damp and sadly without electricity or internet access. The rain wipes out the satellite, often before it knocks over trees which wipe out the power. So I've been sheltering in the treehouse wondering if the mushrooms in the corners are edible. Seriously, I've been trying to find edible mushroom sites on the net without any luck for this region - I can however tell you what to pick in Queensland. So the rain is here. Ah, looks like Monteverde. The forest has awoken and proves to be a very mighty beast indeed. May is here with all his strength and her exuberance. I can't admit to enjoying so much rain, but I love the growth and can feel its energy in my body. Everywhere green pokes through things, sprout and sprout some more, buildings are pushed aside by pink, green, brown, white, purple tendrils reaching for space of their own, liebsraum.
There are respites: last Sunday Guy and I had a wonderful day riding down to the river, swimming, brewing coffee in a shower and riding further to the beach before tying up the horses at a restaurant to eat. Felt so good to be in the forest dashing along trails almost covered over by new growth, drips falling down shirts from fresh bright growth overhead. The river is full and the swimming is good, even if the water is a little muddy from so much run off.
Last week I harvested bananas and mangoes, the week before pineapple and oranges, this morning starfruit and guayaba - smoothies galore, delicious. We pick mangoes most mornings in kindergarten and eat them straight from the tree - now that is education. We found tadpoles in muddy puddles in the garden and are watching them develop - they grow fast, I don't remember them growing so fast when I was a kid. Wonder.
And why the title? The rain teaches me patience, watching the howlers sit soaking in the trees teaches me patience and my friends teach me patience, a lesson it seems I need to relearn daily.

after rain

We got caught between two storms late yesterday afternoon. Both came in off the ocean, one from the north, the other from the south. The northern one was huge, thick, black, the other lighter, greyer, more rounded in the shape of the clouds. The heavy one was full of sheet lightning, the lighter had forks which reached into the ocean. The darker one drenched us thoroughly, the rain striping the sky like tv interference, I don't think I've ever seen so many raindrops so clearly. I love storms, they always pass, a good thing for me to remember. Intense as it was it blew over in about 1/2 an hour and left time for an incredible just washed sunset in all the shades of yellow and grey that are beyond imagination. Suddenly the sky was filled with black insects who remained hovering between the drips from the trees for a few minutes before disappearing. But the wonder, the beauty of the evening came later on my walk home. The moon is about 3/4 full shedding a beautiful subdued glow all around. I leave my torch at home these days. I'm hesitant to write more as I know I can't do justice to the beauty. There were thousands of fireflies. I was walking through the woods, the moonlight filtering through the trees lighting the topside of leaves and branches. Below in the darkness there were lights everywhere, tinkling, flashing, darting, streaming, flickering - so incredibly magical. Thousands of little lights in the clear and stillness of the moonlight. The world was sparkling. I thought of fairies of course and laughed aloud. So beautiful, I wish I could have taken a picture. The treehouse loomed dark above the brilliance of the fireflies. I sat on the steps and tried to breathe in as much of the beauty as I could. The first of May approaches.

after silence

It’s a beautiful morning, clear sun after a night of rains: fresh, cool, calm. All I have to do today is clean, get some fruit and some sun. My coffee is strong, my bites don’t itch so much. Outside in the tree a troupe of monkeys relax. What’s all the great shakes about being human? Hoss and Golden have been playing all morning, wrestling, eating, dozing. The two toads in the bathroom were exploring holes searching out morsels. The monkeys eat, play, sleep, the males howl at any noise bigger than them, shake their balls and then settle down on a branch for a nap. All of them living completely in the moment, no consciousness about what comes next, what to do, how to do it, what will happen if its not done right, repercussions, causes, effects, issues, wishes. Isn’t that peace? And peace at what cost: no self awareness, no possibility of developing consciousness? And who among the humans does that? We are all of us living in potential – and even that is not living. The creatures aren’t fully self realized – and so what of that? They work as perfect, efficient beings, capable of living their lives. It seems that we are the only species who find it all so hard. There are anomalies: the bird who constantly attacks his reflection in the mirror, the dog who’s afraid of heights – don’t they sound like human characteristics? The ideas that humans are the peak of evolution, that the totality of the animal kingdom exists within us, that in eons we have passed through every type of sentient existence: what purpose do such ideas serve? Do they make us more sensible, responsible, aware? Is evolution a race, is nature continually trying to better herself – again aren’t these human characteristics? The native and pagan religions of the world do they believe humans to be the pinnacle? I don’t know. I look at the big male monkey who’s head of his troupe. He’s right outside my open window. He’s sitting in a fork of a branch, his tail wrapped behind him, a hand on either fork and he’s watching. High, high above the ground he’s looking down over the hill to the pacific, just watching. A quad passes on the road and he follows it with his eyes, barking a little in response to its noise. So he reacts, he responds to situations without understanding. Humans have the capability to consider before reacting, how many of us do that and how often? Is that it? Is this the task, the challenge: to reach above instinct, beyond reaction to conscious response while still being in the moment? To at once distance oneself, observe, while participating fully in life?

We just finished a silent retreat yet last night was I think when I finally settled into it. So many thoughts, layers of perceptions, distractions, annoyances and fears. Sense of self still coming from the outside with few moments of exception, very few. Not a judgment, an observation. No concept of self equals no judgment – is that what the animals have, reaction stimulated by outside situation, not inner response? Where is instinct? Does that have the same place as mind, except we are making the shift more and more from instinct to mind?

The monkeys are so close I can see their tongues when they yawn and hear them sneeze.

life

Last night as I was peeing in my bathroom a 5 inch scorpion chased a beetle across the bathroom floor. It wasn't afraid of my torch, even though I shone it on the big black bugger, prepared to throw it if push came to shove. Behind it on the stone sat one of those huge fake scorpions, I'm not sure if it's a spider or an insect but somehow they are archetypically scary to look at. I pulled the mattress onto the deck and slept below the branches, bats swooped in and out of the house hopefully picking up mosquitoes. Giant grasshoppers cast shadows on the curtain. The tiny flowerets of the tree fell lightly on the sheet. This morning when I gingerly had my shower two lizards were fucking in the same spot as the fake scorpion. They were beautifully wrapped facing downwards, clinging to the stone, so graceful, intimate, intricate, perfectly still but beautifully connected. They stayed entwined for the duration of my stay in the bathroom, later I saw the male dashing about along the top of the bathroom wall opening his red frill below his snout. I wonder if he had used it to attract his mate, surely. I've just been to the garden and Hoss chased a 2 foot iguana from the compost pile. Luckily I had the chance to watch it very closely before he saw it. Incredibly beautiful, graceful, regal. With an arch to his brow that 30s movie stars would kill for. His face was a perfect mosaic of greens, washed out blues and creams, his brown eyes had a ring of gold set in them, more a hexagon shape actually. His five fingers were long and wonderfully taloned. He was a dragon, majestic, perfect, stll. When Hoss saw him he opened his mouth and hissed. Below him in the compost pile under a sign which read 'compost only', a golden eyed toad peeped. i wonder what I'll see on my way home.

storm

I’m lying on the deck watching the storms over the pacific. The air is cool, it stopped raining 30 minutes ago and the breeze shakes drops from the branches overhead. The storms are too far out for me to hear the thunder, but big enough to light up the sky so I didn’t need my torch on the way home. The moon isn’t up yet, and she’s waning, it’s nice and dark. My music is playing, I have chocolate within easy reach and my beautiful dog lying beside me. Life is good. In Monteverde I saw these storms almost nightly, they lit my way home along with the fireflies. I’ve missed the fireflies here, there’s nothing quite like that flitting sudden intense light appearing here there and everywhere on a dark road, suddenly up close, next 15 feet away. I wondered why I didn’t see them here, but they’ve appeared this week: they must need the humidity, which explains why they were a nightly event up the mountain. I wonder if I’ll see more insects now. Certainly the mosquitoes have woken up from whatever blessed sleep they had, and they’re hungry. Big, black painful they are, and fast. My legs probably speak volumes in Braille. I wonder how they feel about sucking blood for a living, they hurt, at least ticks while phenomenally ugly don’t hurt. I wonder if mozzers are cursed souls who must suck blood as penance and hate to do it, maybe that’s why they hurt so that their prey will notice and kill them, releasing them from their hell. It seems I have to personify everything today. Hmm, rain, I have to move inside, maybe a cup of tea is in order. I have the most delicious South African tea just now with a name I can’t seem to spell, you know the one, the red one. Excellent. This is the first time I’ve actually experienced rain in the treehouse, it has so far rained in the afternoon when I’m out. It’s not nearly so noisy as it is in a casita. Wonderful!

one of those days

It’s been one of those lovely days, perhaps even perfect? that come along once in a while and are so easy to forget when things aren’t quite so nice. This is the beginning of the rainy season, and it’s as close to spring as I’ve seen: the earth, so brown and dry just last week is carpeted with tiny plants full of vigour and determination. I walk gingerly, trying not to crush the hope of each seed: maybe one day I’ll be a tree. Not that anyone but the human species needs to compare and contrast itself with others. Plants are plants are plants in all their glory, their existence. My dear guanacaste tree has dropped thousands of seeds this season and perhaps hundreds are sprouting all around us, some even in the crux of branches, a half dozen jostle for space between the steps to the bathroom. Three days ago they were just stalks with that beautiful convex bright green seed shell hiding the end. This morning there’s no mistaking them: they have lost the mantle and are uncurling their second set of true leaves, competing for sunlight below their parent plant.

I love living in this tree. I’ve always lived close to nature, in the cob I was living in it, but it was earth, subsoil and while it held me like a mother and cocooned me like a den or a cave, it didn’t live and breath and grow and drink like this beautiful tree. I have such a love affair with this tree. I’m wondering all kinds of things – why does the seed fall so close to the tree, which will survive, should I transplant the ones too close to the roots, how long will the flowers last, where do monkeys give birth (there was a very pregnant mother outside the kindergarten this morning). These questions seem banal but my mind is teeming with as much new growth as the earth. There’s a small tree just beside me who is gradually putting out leaves, growing them from the tip down, they seem to be a tiny bit larger every time I look. This tree will block my ocean view when its leaves are fully grown, I’ve thought of chopping a branch back, but right now the new growth is so perfect I’m more likely to just enjoy the sound of the ocean instead. The tree is full of life: ants, caterpillars, gnats, spiders, butterflies, a dozen different birds, half a dozen types of lizards, howler monkeys, squirrels and bats. It’s a whole community, each living in its place. I lie on the deck and watch the hawks glide about the branches, down below I hear the snuffling of armadillos. I really need to begin a more detailed account of everything I see. What a lesson this tree is giving me, how lucky I am.

So, it was that kind of day. The kind where the coffee is just right at 6:30am sitting outside on the hammock chair looking at the ocean change colour as the sun hits it. Where the earth is pleased that rain fell in the night and is soft and brown and welcoming. Where just the person you want to see stops in at kindergarten just as we are finding the 12th mushroom in the lawn. Where the children are interested and responsive and happy and curious, where there’s spontaneous singing and openness and love and questions about the mother of mother earth. That kind of day. Every teacher’s dream day where it all flows smoothly and there’s an opening into each child. So delicious. A day where through the tropical downpour at lunch one feels a warm mist of rain as one eats really good curried garbanzos. Where one spots a flycatcher building her nest somewhere close by, filling it with the down from those huge furry seeds and bits of coconut matting. Where the rain stops just as it’s time to walk up the hill and the sun comes out and warm moist air rises around one’s ankles. Where the horses are playing in their paddock the white ones looking like unicorns and the bays like Pegasus so proudly they carry their heads, prancing and kicking and rearing with the wet rising in steam from their backs. Where the shower at the foot of the tree isn’t actually cold but refreshing. That kind of day.