Going South

Leaving Houston going south, one notices a flattening of the terrain and less of the piney forest that you find over the greater part of northeastern Texas. Small, clean towns and shops line the state highway. Occasionally the stench of cow manure wafts through the air. I once saw a multitude of birds swarming and swooping over a field beside the highway. The road follows a fairly straight course south and west passing through towns such as Victoria, Kingsville, and side skirting the city of Corpus Christi. South of Victoria one enters a country of unwaveringly flat plains populated by short, prickly trees, mesquite, sage, and all the attendant animals befitting such a place. It was here that I always wanted to speed away because the distances lengthen and everything blends into one revolving, South Texan dreamscape. I would often risk a ticket and push ninety miles an hour in my Mercury Mystique. I was never caught. The beauty of the place is astonishing but I wouldn’t want to live there.                                                                     Kingsville is a rough looking town bearing the namesake of a cattle baron whose family owns the largest ranch in the United States if my facts are straight. Past Kingsville you pass Corpus Christi, literally “Body of Christ” in the Latin. One constant of long distance driving is the way radio music evolves as the miles click by. Corpus always had some upbeat rap or rock playing in contrast to the country and ranchero that own the lonely stretches of highway. As one approaches the southern reaches of Texas and the border area, the road widens and signs of urban life increase proportionately with your progress toward Mexico. Signs and businesses advertise their wares in English and Spanish. Spanish is an official language in every way other than the law. Palm trees and earth tones dominate the scenery. Border Patrol SUVs cruise the streets, officers prowl the sidewalks with Czech Shepherds eyeing small groups of itinerant workers carefully. One morning after returning from Mexico I saw a group of these workers drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes in a parking lot in Brownsville. They were only a couple of blocks north of the Rio Grande, but they behaved in a quiet, unassuming manner conscious of their location. The same men, placed on a street corner in Matamoros a few blocks south, would likely act more confidently. An invisible yet immediately palpable line divides Mexico and the Untied States, sorry, the United States not only geographically, but psychologically, emotionally, spiritually.                             When I first crossed into Mexico by land I was driving a car. The car was a 1996 Mercury Mystique, insured for Mexico by Sanborns compliments of my father. I drove over the Rio Grande on a heavily fenced bridge and was waved into the inspection area. I took a right turn into a large parking lot with buses, semi-trailers, and other assorted vehicles lying about with a peripatetic air to them. Passing through immigration is usually a straightforward affair provided your documents are in perfect order. One learns to be absolutely certain that your tourist visa is just as it should be for the important reason that an immigration official one hour down the road will check to make sure that you are legal. If something is wrong, your baggage is unloaded of the bus and you face a sketchy local bus trip back to the border, forfeiting your bus ticket in the process. It never happened to me but I have seen it happen to other poor souls. True to the movies, a few greased palms will usually clear up the situation. 

The wind

The wind takes us somewhere we have never been. It takes us there because we have an idea of where we have been. Wind flies across the Earth. It flies where I have been, where I am, and where I will go. The wind is everlasting.
Rain is falling right now. The rain can dissipate the wind. The wind can blow the rain sideways into my face. The mind behind my face can percieve the rain hitting my face and realize that something is happening. What is happening can be construed as an interaction between the mind and the soul.

stream of consciousness

I went so far, and it took me further, and I came to the edge.
It went further in the seed that took me there.
The mother of the seed felt right, it took me, I took it to the bottom of what I know.

2:58am takes me to a moment when I was listening to the sound of rainbirds callin in me ear. She took me there. I don’t know where I am, imagine the feeling behind the feeling. Gimme a couple of friends to talk about my life of sin.
I can go back to the plain presenting itself before me. Its not even the killing going on, that shall be adressed in due time. We reap what we sow.

Acapulco surfing

We were in Acapulco on holiday and first we went to Playa Revolcadero, is that it, anyway, Playa Tumbadizos. First day the beach lived up to its name. On the second day my parents were kind enough to indulge us with a surfing beach, Playa Hermosa, I think . Just north of Bonfil. Playa Hermosa, bearing the name of the beach we grew up snorkelling in Guanacaste, Costa Rica, was incredibly nice.
A couple of palapas selling overpriced huachinango, ceviche, and camaron catered to hungry tourists. To the side a pretty competent DJ slid electronic rythm out upon the breeze. My bro and I paddled out toward some inviting peaks. Not too far out they broke in a uniform line. We bailed a few times getting used to the drop, which was fast and somewhat challenging.
Subsequently, feel the speed after a few strokes, push forward, look to the right as it crests. Moment of time slows and it happens now… or never. Therefore, jump to my feet and concentrate on keeping the board under my feet. Slide down, lose speed, track back toward the lip and smack with as much momentum as I can muster. Yeah, I know, I’m no Gerlach. But I have fun, and I think he would feel it if he read this.

Algo oceanico, something oceanic.

La brisa se mueve a mi alrededor, acariciandome con calor seductivo. El cielo transita lentamente encima de nubes color azufre. Yo me siento sobre la arena, hundiendo mis pies debajo de la suavezura blanca.
Enfrente de mi caen cascadas de agua azul. Para abajo, pa’rriba, renovandose sin fin en cada rincon de la Tierra. El rio se entrega al mar con resistencia. Una espuma mueve en ritmo con la agua picada.
Me levanto y camino sobre la arena caliente hasta llegar al punto donde la tierra se precipita debajo del mar. Mis dedos estan bajo el agua… donde deben de estar.

The breeze moves about, touching me with seductive heat. The sky slowly travels over the ashen clouds. I sit on the sand sinking my feet into the white softness. Blue waterfalls crash in front of me. Downwards, Upwards, endlessly renovating themselves in every corner of the Earth. The river submits itself to the ocean with resistance.
Some foam moves in rhythm with the choppy water. I stand up and walk across the hot sand until my toes reach the point where Earth precipitates itself beneath the ocean. My toes are underwater, where they should be.

Northwestern Costa Rica

Costa Rica is an oddly shaped country. The northwestern quadrant shapes itself into a small peninsula tracking south and east on the global spectrum. The peninsula begins to shape itself at an equidistant point between the Nicaraguan border and the southernmost tip of itself. Palo Verde National Park is the Tempisque River Delta, a lowlying morass of mangrove, tropical dry forest, and rolling hills. It just happens to be a birdwatchers paradise. Just north and west of Palo Verde, which means green tree in Spanish, is the Lomas de Barbudal National Park. This is hilly country host to a variety of more typical “Guanacasteco” flora and fauna. Lomas de Barbudal can be reached by an exit off of the highway between Canas and Bagaces. The highway between Canas and Bagaces is my favorite stretch of road in the world. I remember the trip from San Jose to Liberia passing by Canas and entering a land of endless cattle plains. Volcanoes to my right, pastures to my left. The ever present barbed wire fence whistled by as my hand surfed the up and down currents of air gliding past the window of our Land Cruiser or Toyota Hilux. Back in those days we did not have air conditioning and the windows were always down. My brother and I were spoiled to the exhilarating feel of warm air blasting against our faces, whipping hair back and drying our eyes. My parents caught hell from us when they tried to impose “luxurious” air conditioning on our U.S. road trips. Hahaha.
The special part of driving Canas to Bagaces was at dusk and evening. Red, yellow, orange, and amber tones softly rioted across the Pacific sky. Clouds were counterpoints of dark silver. Ocassionaly we could see the top of Arenal barely poking over the Tilaran range, those were extremely clear evenings. I can’t describe it, it can only be seen.
Bagaces to Liberia is also beautiful, but not the same. The road passes through tighter cattle fields, if you can imagine such a thing. One field on your right coming from Bagaces to Liberia has a stunning array of Guanacaste trees, great picture opportunity. Hope they haven’t cut them down now, they are Costa Rica’s national tree. It was always a pleasure passing Hotel Las Espuelas. La Coca Cola, and the Liberia Bridge with gas stations ahead. That meant we were home. Dixie, our miniature schnauzer, jumped at the gate as we pulled in. The best Dixie moment was when we came home from a rough year in Memphis, Tennessee. I was a kid then and we had all missed Dixie something terrible. Celimo, our guard, was sitting on a porch chair and he smiled when we arrived. So did I !!!!

Women of the Sea hanging squid out to dry

These women have lived in one town for their whole lives and make their living with squid. The lines on their face and hands are a sight to behold. Incredible!

Some rocks in my hand

A bracing dip in the morning

A chronological list of places I have lived.

Born: Lufkin, Texas- Huntington, TX-Tyler, TX-Lufkin,TX-Rockville, VA- San Fransisco de Dos Rios, San Jose, Costa Rica- Liberia, Guanacaste, Costa Rica- Memphis, TN, USA- Liberia, CR- Little Rock, Arkansas, USA-La Pitahaya, Cartago, CR- El Bosque, Cartago, CR- Danza del Sol, Tres Rios, CR- Jackson, Mississippi, USA- Keystone, Colorado, USA- Jackson, MS, USA- Charleston, South Carolina. USA- Boca del Rio, Veracuz, Mexico- Charleston, SC, USA-
Tulsa, Oklahoma, USA- Puerto Cortes, Honduras- Morelia, Michoacan, Mexico-
Punta de Mita, Nayarit, Mexico- Morelia, Michoacan, Mexico- Gumi, Gyeongsangbukdo, South Korea.
And here I stand, twenty seven years old… western age, twenty eight years old Korean age. I been a few places but not enough. That’s why I came here. I made it across the ocean!!! wiihhooooo. If you don’t feel the way I do, may the Lord let you know what it is to step foot in a place where everything is completely unrecognizable to YOU!