Duality

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.