Zen Master Eihei Dogen writes in Fukanzazengi (Recommending Zazen to All People): Why leave behind the seat that exists in your home and go aimlessly off to the dusty realms of other lands? … Please, honoured followers of Zen, long accustomed to groping for the elephant, do not be suspicious of the true dragon.
Mindlessly cruising Expedia I spy a cheap flight to Huatulco, in Oaxaca, Mexico. The dragon flicks its fiery tongue and I hit ‘pay now’. My credit card info rushes to auto-fill and WHAM! It is done. But chronic waffler that I am, I continue to vacillate. I try to talk a few friends into joining me for the trip and no one bites. I get cold feet and spend an hour on hold with Aeromexico trying to cancel my flight, only to be told that the ticket is unrefundable. And so like it or not, I am committed to eight nights in a funky guesthouse in Puerto Angel — a humble Mexican fishing village — plus one night’s layover in Mexico City on return. The die is cast and I am destined for the dusty realms.
Like Dogen, I have a deep suspicion of travel for travel’s sake. All this elephant-groping, burning jet fuel and hoarding airmiles, questing for Instagram pics and the perfect taco and an enviable tan line (or in my case, a peeling nose and an intensification of freckles) … really, why indeed?
I toss and turn, afflicted by the persistent core fear I identified many years ago. The fear is: what if I have nothing to do? What if the minutes tick by interminably, what if I have no one to talk to, what if I get sick, what if I am lonely, what if … god forbid … I am BORED? In reality, I don’t think I’ve ever actually been bored as an adult — and yet still the boogeyman of boredom rises up, stimulating a manic quest for engagement and entertainment. You would think my years of mindfulness practice might have soothed this demon — after all, if I have nothing to do I can always meditate, right? Like, just zen out? — but my practice barely manages to keep pace with the accelerating hyper-consumerist world, and sometimes it lags behind. I surrender to the ceaseless spiral of media-manufactured attention deficit, pumped out 24/7 by what Ted Gioia calls ‘the dopamine cartel’ — social media, retail seduction, the relentless onslaught of apocalyptic news and celebrity trivia. What if I find myself alone and bored in my sleepy little Oaxacan village? What if the wifi fails? What if I return with no pictures to flaunt, no story to tell. It is naked addiction pure and simple. It is fear of being close-up-and-personal with me.
As if that dreaded boredom ever actually materializes. It never has. In fact, some of my best micro-adventures have resulted from being stuck for a while in unexceptional places. And yet, even a peek into this hypothetical void scares the bejesus out of me. Bah, I see you Mara. The ticket is non-refundable.
So I formulate a strategy to get me through. I will go on this little trip, not to see lots of things — but rather, to see things a lot. To find hidden fascination. To smash moments into microparticles and make an experiment of slowing down time. So I pull myself together, put my stuff in my bag, and go.
Some things I observe in great depth include:
Torpid coastal heat, and blessed afternoon breeze. A riot of grackles at dawn. Chirping lizards. The perfume of hoyas at night. Warm clay tiles under my bare feet. Children in the schoolyard by my guesthouse, the flash of white cotton shirts as they chase the ball. Roaring waves. Orange butterflies. Magnificent fork-tailed frigate birds with crimson throat pouches. Bright red 10-kilo fish flopping on the weigh scale. Always on the beach, the faint smell smell of fish. A painful herpe erupting on my lower lip. Dogs in constant need of bellyrubs, resting up all day in order to bark all night. Spicy ceviche de camarones. Beach vendor helping me negotiate the taxi collectivos. Ever-present lilt of Québecois french. Helados de coco y limon. Angel fish. Dead corals. Dolphins blowing underwater rings that rise to the surface like bubbly life preservers. Leaping manta rays. A Canadian woman trying to order a ‘double-double’ at Starbucks, to great confusion and misinterpretation. Well-heeled digerati lunching in Mexico City taquerias, feeding flautas to their well-coiffed dogs. Parqué Mexico vibrant with sexy salsa dancers, skateboard punks and singalongs, puppies to adopt for free.
And this: a grey whale swimming close beneath me in the open ocean. And this: the Grand Canyon, observed from 10,000 feet, like a whale within arm’s reach.
And finally this: landing parched at YVR, drinking sweet water from a fountain, water flowing clean and abundant and free. Vancouver from the SkyTrain, the double-peaked Lions cloaked in snow.
Why be suspicious of the true dragon? She lives in the dry and dusty lands, always just under my feet.
Loved this!. As always, a bracing and delightful experience to ride along with you, old friend. xx
Love it!