Traveling
Wisdom
“I
must tell you that I am not one of the Divine who march into the
desert and return gravid with wisdom. I've traveled many cook-fires
and spread angel bait round every sleeping place. But more often than
getting wisdom, I've gotten indelicate episodes of Giardiasis, E.
coli, and amebic dysentery. Such is the fate of a middle class mystic
with delicate intestines.”
Clarissa
Pinkola Estes (Women Who Run With the Wolves)
Some
years ago, I traveled with a group of women to several places in
Central America to see ancient Mayan ruins and to visit a modern day
Mayan village where some friends of our organizer lived and managed a
weaving cooperative. It was a long trip, about twelve days, most of
it in a rickety bus on unpaved roads. By the third day, I was tired of eating the same food every meal. I ran out of money quickly because
as soon as we walked out our door, wherever we were, there were
beggars, usually children, wanting to haggle for their goods. I loved
their tapestries, but my budget didn't allow for an all out spending
spree. There was a mother-teenaged daughter duo traveling with us who
fought every single day for the entire trip. By mid-trip my patience
with everyone had vanished. I was snippy with the begging children
and my fellow travelers alike.
I
learned many things from that trip that have unfolded over time and
with distance. First, I am not cut out to be a world traveler. Good
thing to know. Second; I had no idea just how fortunate I am to live
in a country where there is infrastructure—like plumbing,
electricity and paved roads. Third; I am astonishingly ignorant of
other cultures and customs. I live in a bubble here in the USA, where
I can go anywhere I want to and stay in safe and comfortable
surroundings. For a while after the trip, I remained amazed at the
fact that I could turn on a tap and get clean drinking water.
I
also learned how it feels to be a stranger in a strange land. I could
not speak the language, and that fact alone made me feel isolated and
vulnerable. There were 'bandits' operating on the roads, stopping
buses of tourists and robbing them at gunpoint. Our bus driver has
been robbed three times. I felt at risk, insecure. I learned the
limits of my bravery, as well as my compassion—short, very short.
I
realized the extent to which I lack generosity. We visited many small
Catholic parish churches where poor Mayan people came with the first
fruits of their labor, and heaped them on the altar, lit candles and
prayed. They gave greatly, largely, with what little they had. We
happened to be there during the season of Lent, and every day they paraded of the icons of the church through the dirt streets of
whatever village we were in, with hymn singing and marching men,
women and children. They practiced their religion in a physical way;
joyfully, and with exuberant hearts. They exercised gratitude.
Spiritually,
I am still learning from that trip. I am glad I went, even though it
was difficult. The Mayan people are made of iron-strong stuff—they
are tough and determined in the face of hardship. They pull together,
and support one another. We could learn a lot from them.
In
the spirit,
Jane
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