Possibility Abides Here

This is something I wrote during my first week here in Guatemala. I refrained from posting it, because I thought I would add more to it.

Upon reflecting, I think I would like to post it here, unaltered, for posterity (as much as that can be accomplished via the internet).


circa Septermber 6, 2013

Greetings from Guatemala!

A week has now passed by, and I've settled into a new life.

Saya and I have found a spacious studio apartment for what would be felony theft in Los Angeles.

I'm taking Spanish lessons 2 hours a day, thanks to Saya, and I'm finding language learning to be difficult and easy in turn. I think: babies learn languages, so it can't be that hard. On the other hand, to master a language, well, some people never do. Then I think, what does it mean to master a language? If I can communicate my ideas effectively, isn't that enough?

Guatemala seems to have a lot to offer us, but we haven't left Antigua, yet. Immediately after arriving in Guatemala City, we headed to Antigua, so there's a lot more for us to see here.

My intent (not speaking for Saya) is to experience a different mode of living. So the fact that I have found a way to live and be here in Antigua—I have already accomplished my goal.

Life is simpler, and it reminds me of the country living of my childhood.

We hand wash everything—dishes, clothes—and everything must be air dried, albeit sometimes slowly because of the high humidity. For now, I find it quint and charming, but who can say when that novelty will wear off?

We cook our own meals, and we apprise ourselves of the local farmers market.

Now, don't mistake the local farmer's market in Guatemala to be as the one you might find in the states. Better or worse aside, the differences are real, and the reality of the market here is an example of the type of old-world traditions modern-day America tries to recreate.

The market is maze-like, and a little bit unknowable, because you can't see it in its entirety from any single vantage.

The produce is managed and sold by predominantly women, mostly middle-aged. Children are ubiquitous, the helpers and bored attendants to the matrons.

The market—as an entity—having no need for pretense of “organic” or “all-natural”, will present bizarre displays of produce in order to jazz up the appeal of otherwise unappealing but essential crops.

We're talking brightly dyed peanuts and other legumes. Fluorescent magentas, yellows and blues. Beans really aren't that fun by themselves, after all, are they?

It's the little touches, and the feeling that nothing is prohibited that makes Guatemala shine with a certain twinkle.

In conversation with our language school's tour guide, Saya asked of the three-wheeled tuk-tuk taxis (essentially a motorized tricycle that has a bench seat over the rear axle), “Is it possible to fit 5 people [the size of our group] into a tuk-tuk?”, to which our guide, Hugo, responded, “It is prohibited, but it is possible.” Punctuating with a wink. And he added, “In Guatemala everything is possible, but it can be dangerous.”

I don't feel that same feeling of possibility in America. In America, everything is prohibited, and not possible. Our era of possibility, has it passed us by?

The allure of possibility is everywhere in Guatemala. It's a frightening, exciting feeling.

Through the Window

Flying into Guatemala, clouds are being launched into the sky from the depths of the grey-blue Atlantic. They are pulling the sea up their wide columns. Upon reaching the troposphere, the thick columns mushroom out.

The sun is low and fresh. A yellow sun and growing in strength, second by second. Though the sun's energy is strong and magnificent, it is not the object of my eye.

Where am I?

I stepped into this room from a place that I knew—of squares and right angles—but it has now taken me to a strange and alien jungle, one not of trees and green and smells of earth and life.

I have seen 2,000 year old Sequoias, massive trees that are tall but not lanky. Here I am faced by a forest of things much older (or are they much younger?), and much more impressive. This cloud forest, one without definite origins, one that must have crept in during the night. I can sense the power of these creatures. I know their strength comes from the most powerful and timeless forces on our earth: the sun and the sea. Their great energy is evident in their size and the mass of their vaporous but somehow solid bodies. They stand on common ground, blue and grey, not green and brown.

I catch glimpses of the water below and it forms a vast floor. I can see it is feeding these giants. It is as shadowed and nuanced as most things are from six feet away. We are 29,994 further out, and it still looks as rich and detailed as a forest floor—one filled with tracks and detritus of the fallen, upon which plants still alive may grow stronger.

In this forest of clouds, with their powerful blue trunks and grey mushroom tops, if I were not in an aluminum tube looking through a piece of clear plastic, I'm quite sure I'd hear a quiet song on the air, deep and ancient.

The light fills all the gaps loudly, not tip-toeing, but blazing through breaches of the canopy, and if it makes it to the forest floor it does not stay there. Instead, reflecting off the water, its glittering light sears my eyes. Blinded, I look away. It is magnificent.