Bobbing and weaving down the northern spine of the
Panamanian Isthmus, through a sector of the hundreds of white-sanded islands,
their palms stretching skyward, I stop. Our ado Guna Native American skipper
grips two ropes, riding the bull, calm and stoic, as we jump and crash in our
fiberglass boat. The seas are rough today, January winds bring dark clouds to
the coast, causing unrest in the Caribbean waters of the Guna Yala. Staring forward, I am faced with the duality.
On my left is paradise. The Archipelago San Blas. The
Comarca Guna Yala. White freckles and footprints strewn across a cerulean
abyss. Green palms gathered in a Burning Man ritual, waving wildly at the
universe. It’s windy, a real rough ride, but the waves to my left are playful
wisps of white, wistfully wandering in the wake.
To the right, a starkly different scene. A contrast. Dark
clouds have been pushed by tropical summer winds sent south from northern
winter, like dark refugee faces on the frontera.
Surely not paradise. Contrary to the brilliant blue hues to the left, the
clouds combine with sunlight, giving the sea a dark metallic sheen. The waves
look distressed, angry, on the verge of tantrum. The mountainous coast looks
hazy. On the left, salvation, the right damnation. Saved or doomed? The thought lingers. It’s a matter of choice
isn’t it?
For the Kuna, they fled from the dark rainforest, which
represented war, gold lust, disease, and death. They fled the savage primal
darkness, electing for the island homes filled with coconuts and bountiful
fishing, sun and breeze. A safe haven from a difficult past. Their dreams
became reality and their reality became a dream.
A Wonder.
An After-Life.
One they continue fighting for. Successfully defended
against conquistadors, pirates, and the Panamanian government. Still defending
their culture, their identity. Surviving, adapting, and managing the changes
and challenges that globalization brings.
Tourism. Climate change. Rising seas. Technology.
Panamá, on the right, the place where wise elders fear to
send their children. Panamá. The City. Dirty, congested, loud. Panaba, a Kuna word for “far away, ” lejos. Dominated by money, millionaires,
banks, skyscrapers, corruption, drugs, gangs, and violence. Too many
distractions. All unnecessary complication…
Here. Kuna Yala. Our destination, Dupir, the childhood home
of my English teaching counterpart Claudio. Caribbean island life is slow and
still. Low maintenance. Nuedi, the all-encompassing Kuna word for good livin
and contentedness. It is easy and breezy and full of smiles. No rush, no time,
nowhere to go! Waves and palm trees all around, a timeless tranquility that
will make you believe the Zen philosophy that Today IS Tomorrow.
But things constantly change. Money, desires, and ambitions
lead to television, migration to the City, higher education, modern comforts.
The quest for improvement, the desire for better things, wanting more comfort.
'Tis natural. It’s not simple. It is simple! And so it goes.
Our trip to Claudio’s home continues. I’m excited, in good
spirits. I want a real experience, or
at least something more authentic than sharing a perfect, white sandy island
paradise with European travelers (also seeking a rustic lifestyle filled with native
authenticity), eating fresh seafood, drinking spirits with my toes in clear
blue water… Something real, yeah.
We hit the open seas. It was rough before but now we are in
between island sections of the archipelago and el mar Caribe es mas bravo que un mil avejas despiertas . We are
surging and smacking, boat on water, ass cheeks on wood.
I look right—darkness,
metal—fuck this hurts, four more hours of this? xuuuxxxaaa (pronounced “chooo-chaaa,”
a Panamanian obscenity).
I look left—sunshine, blues and greens—I grab an extra life
vest my bum. These are tears of joy!
Right—baby crying.
Left—Kristin cackling in excitement.
Right—smack!—ouch, mis
huevos! Can’t breathe!
Left—This is kinda fun! and so pretty!
Right—Splash!—Shit! Salt water in my eyes! It stings!
Left—mmm but it tastes kinda good. Screw it im soaked and stoked
woohoo!
--These waves are huge!
…
Right—The perfect storm. We could flip over so easily. WE
ARE FOR SURE GOING TO DIE!
Left—aooouueee!! 4 hour thrill ride for cheaper than a Cedar
Point ticket!
And so it went. Trying to be satisfied and present is an
incredible and continuous challenge. But often, it is simply a question of
attitude. A little curiosity and positivity can go a long way. There are always
clouds lingering in the distance. I was trying to look left.
Right—The City. Structure. Plans. My Future. Economic Responsibility.
Left—Living in the Moment. Stillness. No Worries… No Need
for Perfection, I AM Living (in) It.
Even on the island, not having plans or plans falling
through like white sand through fingers. Or poor communication. Like when we
almost drowned with Kristin, Claudio and his daughter Nubdi when our poorly-
equipped dugout mini canoe (built for slight Kunas, not big, awkward gringos)
filled to the brim with water while crossing between islands, nearly ruining
books and electronics. I could bitch, complain, be salty. I already am quite
salty!!
Looking out to sea, feeling the warm breeze, waves crash.
Watching, listening, kids playing. My gaze moves back toward Panama. Clouds
block what would certainly be a most splendid display of a fat sun dipping into
the horizon. A hazy, dark jungle lurks. A bustling, filthy, noisy city awaits…Behind
me, an enormous creamy full moon creeps up. I am kissed by a nice, beautiful girl.
Aaaaaah. It’s all perspective indeed.
And on the return trip, it’s all flipped.
Right—Island paradise. Trapped. Monotony. Lack of mobility.
Few options, less choices.
Left—Travels. Adventures. Beautiful People. Festivals,
Music, Dancing. Education. Literature. Old Friends. New Friends. Diversity.
FOOD. Progress. Freedom
Duality, like the left and right brain. Left for reason,
science, order, control, mechanized. Right for creativity, art, playfulness,
ambiguity.
Anyway, back to Torti. The simple life of the campo. The heat. Summer breeze.
Dupir, San Ignacio, Guna Yala January 2015.
The sea was so rough that it was too dangerous for
transportation to run between the islands and the mainland for a few days. We heard
that a SENAFRONT boat flipped near the coast. When we finally got back to the
mainland, we hitched a ride back to the Inter-American Highway, tired, smelly,
and desperate to get back to Torti for a hot meal, cold shower, and a nap.
When we flagged down
a bus, we shuffled down the aisle to stand because there were no seats. I
hovered over a pair of young gringos and with the little remaining energy
engaged in conversation, curious of their destination on the less-visited side
of the country. Travis and Sophie, badass Austin Texans and founders of Teysha,
were headed to Ipeti, a Kuna community I visited often. We shared our interests
in Native American culture, travel, and the desire to (re)connect with nature.
Seeing Kristin’s tattered Bonnaroo bracelet, we connected through our passion
for music.
This chance encounter led to our dream opportunity to travel
to music festivals with Teysha to sell Guate boots and Mola slippers, share stories
of the Kuna people, Panama and Central America, and also our passion and love
for music, travel, art, and culture. The dream, rather, found us. Touché
Universe. If you are open to it, it will bend in your favor. I truly believe
that.
As fall moves in on the Midwest, we are heading with Teysha
to Austin, Texas, chasing the endless summer.
Ramble on.
