The Dark Face of Mother Nature

I'm changing it up this week. I don't feel like writing about Colombia because I'm hella over it right now. I love my job, but the country is driving me full metal crazy. So to take my mind off it, I wrote a story. In French. This is only the second real attempt to write something besides a journal entry in French so bare with me. I translated it to English afterward for the French impaired. It's definitely got a bit of a Lovecraft vibe or at least it started there and then transformed into what I like to think of as the dark face of mother nature. Not my most impressive piece of writing but doing it in the same week a paper and model lesson plan are due for two different classes on top of all the bullshit of life, I'm not that displeased, especially considering the barrier of thinking in your third language. Anyway, enjoy.

Sous terre, je dors et les gens n'ont pas d’idée que j’existe et que j’attends. Je suis tellement vieux comme leurs histoires, mais je ne suis pas un personnage dans leurs contes. En fait, je suis leurs contes. Je suis l’ambiance, l’inspiration et la fin de leurs intrigues. Je n’ai pas de parents ni d’amis. Les humains ont oublié ma forme. J’en suis sûr, car moi même je ne m’en souviens pas, ici, en l’obscurité. Certains m’ont appelé démon et d’autres m’ont donné le nom de Ténèbres et le reste n’ose pas le dire. Ce troisième groupe est le plus intelligent parce que des cultures anciennes et sages savaient qu’en déclarant le nom d’une personne, on donne pouvoir à son propriétaire, de la même façon que répéter des ragots peut les transformer en réalité. Faites attention, mes simples humains, à ce que vous direz: Je vous écoute, ici, dans mon domaine souterrain.

J’existe et j’attends. J’attends le moment parfait pour me révéler à tous, pour m’approprier cette planète et tous ses habitants. Et quand il arrivera, vous n’aurez autre choix que vous rendre parce que cette roche est prête à accueillir son nouveau maître. Vous l’avez trahie et les arbres, les oiseaux, les lacs et les nuées qui auraient été vos amis seront ceux qui vous rendront à la ruine. C’est pour ça que j’y attends, au centre de la Terre, en communiant avec les vers, les asticots, les racines des chênes et les sources des eaux. Ma voix est de la musique. Elle est miel et nectar. Elle est irrésistible quand je désire qu’elle le soit, bien que vous n’ayez pas rendu difficile mon travail, et c’était une prouesse simple, les convaincre de me joindre.

Et maintenant, nous attendons ensemble, les créatures de la Terre et moi. Quand vous regardez le paysage, rempli de paix et de beaux animaux et avec des cieux bleus et quand vous sentez que tout est bon dans le monde, la vérité est que ses bêtes sont en train de comploter votre chute. Il n’y a pas de paix pour vous, il n’y a pas de fuite. C’est le destin que vous avez créé et je crains qu’il n’existe pas d’autre remède. Vous n’avez pas d’alliés. Tous vous ont abandonnés.

En attendant, je vous donne mon sang, noir et collant, pour alimenter vos machines et votre avidité et, maintenant, en si peu de temps, vous avez devenu des toxicomanes, mordus de cette destruction qui semble le progrès et retourne votre propre planète contre vous. Vous buvez cette liqueur et ainsi vous vous rencontrez ivres de la colère que je faisais fermenter pour des siècles dans mes veines, avec ma haine pour vous. Et pourquoi vous détesté-je ? Parce que vous vous croyez forts, invincibles, éternels et vous êtes tout sauf ça.

Ici, je reste, pour le moment, vous donnant ma vie et même si j’ai besoin de vider la dernière goutte pour accomplir mon but et régner comme un simple esprit sans forme dans mon nouveau royaume, je n’hésiterai pas, je n’hésiterai pas...

Underground, I sleep, and no one has any idea I exist, waiting.  I am as old as their stories, but I am not a character in them. In fact, I am their stories. I am the ambiance, the inspiration and the end of their tales. I have not parents nor friends. Humans have forgotten my shape. Of that I am sure because even I don't remember it, here, in the dark. Some have called me demon and others have given me the name of Darkness, and the rest don't dare to say it. This third group is the smartest since ancient and wise cultures knew that speaking the same of a person gives power to its owner, the same way that repeating rumors can transformer them in reality. Be careful, little humans, of what you say: I'm listening, here, in my underground domain.

I exist and I wait. I await the perfect moment to reveal myself to everyone, to dominate this planet and all its inhabitants. And when it comes, you will have no other choice but to give up because this rock is ready to welcome its new master. You have betrayed her, and the trees, the birds, the lakes and the clouds that would have been your friends will be who bring you to ruin. That's why I wait, in the Earth's center, communing with the worms, the maggots, the roots of the oaks and the waters' sources. My voice is music. It is nectar and honey. It is irresistible when I wish it to be, even though you have not made my work hard, and it was a simple feat to convince them to join me.

And now, we wait together, the Earth's creatures and I. When you look into nature, full of peace and beautiful animals and blue skies, and when you feel everything to be right in the world, the truth is that these critters are plotting your downfall. There is no peace for you, no escape. It's the fate you have created and I'm afraid that there's no other way. You have no allies; they've all abandoned you.

I give you my blood, black and sticky, waiting, to feed your machines and your greed, and now, in so little time, you've become addicts, hooked on that destruction that seems like progress and turns your own planet against you. You drink that liquor and thereby find yourselves drunk on the anger that I've fermented for centuries in my veins, with my hate for you. And why do I hate you? Because you believe yourselves to be strong, invincible, eternal, when you are anything but.

Here, I stay, for the moment, giving you my life, and even if I have to drain my last drop to accomplish my goal and rule as a simple, formless spirit in my new realm, I will not hesitate, I will not...

Ten Months of Solitude

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about Indiana. Fondly. I know, what the hell, right? First, I allow meat back into my diet, and now I look forward to coming back to the States, not to resume living in what I used to call home, the City of New York, but in Indiana, the home I, to mince no words, practically rejected.

Well, loneliness will do funny things to you. It'll change you and sometimes, maybe, for the better. I think when I look back on Colombia, I'll think of it as the year where I learned to really, for the first time, enjoy my own company. I'm not sure I could say I did before living here. It's not because I've never really felt alone, but it's always been a faint hum in the background, and here I've had not choice but to face it directly. I've had to look at who I am, what I think, what I do, how I react to things, what is actually making me tick instead of letting it get lost in the noise or distraction of other people. What I like I am learning to let myself feel proud about, and what I don't like I'm learning to change or accept.

So, why am I, dare I even say, longing for Indiana? Well, for the sucktastic place Indianapolis used to be, it's actually developed a bit in the ten years I've been away. I'm not sure if it's gone so far to become a place I want to stay in forever, but the city in and of itself is now bearable for the four months I plan to be there. But in addition to general urban development, what makes it attractive these days are some of the people I've gotten to know. By and large, Indiana is full of people who are, for lack of a better word, simple. I don't mean that they're stupid at all. Indiana is full of engineers and pharmacists, thanks to Purdue. I mean, their needs are simple; their lives are simple. They were born there, they live there, they occasionally vacation in Florida, and they will probably die there. And for the people who are made happy by all that, bless you because if I didn't demand so much from life, I would probably be happier person too. However, it can sometimes lead to a certain sense of insularity. There's something very important about coming into contact with people from other cultures on a regular basis, and I'll always be thankful for New York and my line of work for affording me those experiences. But not everyone is like that. Among these people are some really stellar ones, some that I knew growing up and others that I met after I had already moved away. And when a Facebook message from a friend or family member asking me "why aren't you home yet?!" or telling me "I'm excited for when you come back!" prompts a bit of reverie about the kind of life I'll live there, I think about them, along with an easier job market, a lower cost of living, and all the while having some nice things on the horizon (Europe!... Hopefully!). It's nice to feel wanted somewhere, and in Colombia, if I ever feel wanted, it's only to be used as a resource.

Um, well, we're in Colombia,
 and we're not at the university and I'm not working, so.... no.

But I need to break this habit of fantasizing about far away places, regardless of whether that far away place is the United States or some other country. For as great as it'll all be, I'll get there when I get there, and for now, I'm here, which really isn't that bad. Living in the future doesn't do much to make the present any more agreeable. I've felt a certain desire to give in and keep my head down, grinning and bearing it for the next four months (wow... so little time, really), but I know that this is only going to lead to more misery. Fantasizing about a life that I'm not living will bring only more mental anguish, particularly because who knows how it will really be when I get back. I feel very much like a man without a country, to steal a bit of Vonnegut, and that tends to make me a bit displeased living anywhere in the world. I know this, and I've accepted it. It's why I often finish a rant about a recent Colombian annoyance with "but I'm actually fine." I get grumpy and complain. It's part of who I am and how I do things. By giving into my nature but keeping in mind what it is, I find harmony with myself and therefore not necessarily happiness but a kind of peace. What doesn't give me an iota of peace is trying to pretend that's not who I am and that everything is all smiles and sunshine and "culture shock? what's that? haha, winky face, exclamation point." It's a lie to myself and to the people around me, and I've only ever wanted be truthful with you all.

Vegetarian rumspringa (Aspect 2 of Coffee Region, Cartagena, and Pasto)

I just ate a ham sandwich.

Let that sink in. I'll wait for a second.

Yes, you understood correctly. After twelve years of vegetarianism, I'm back on the meat. Well, temporarily at least. To refresh your memory from a previous post debating this:

1) Food is a major part of the culture in any country, and missing out on something this integral component is something that can't be ignored when a good deal of what one's life is dedicated to is world languages and cultures.

2) Vegetarian food in Cali is hard to come by, and when you do find it, it's often time very expensive. Tofu, for example, is double what it costs in the US, whey is also about double the cost, and while they don't have seitan, they have gluten. However, it isn't a complete protein. Gluten is basically the same as seitan except for it hasn't been marinated in soy sauce which adds in the final missing amino acid. 

I decided to make my trip to the coffee region my vegetarian rumspringa. For those who don't know, rumspringa is when an Amish youth leaves the community to go experience our way of life. At the end of that period, they decide whether to return or not. I made the choice to do this on a trip because there was a lot of shame wrapped up in the idea of eating even a little bit of meat again. It's a source of pride for myself that I don't eat meat, and I was sad to give that up, to part with that piece of my identity. At least while I was traveling, I would have no one to explain it to, no one to look at me to see what my first reactions would be, no pressure to do this any sort of way than how I wanted.

Flash forward to the coffee park where I ask for an arepa filled with chorizo. I ate it and waited. I was afraid that after twelve years, my stomach would launch a full scale coup, and I'd be rushing to a bathroom on the regular. Last thing I wanted was for that to happen during a roller coaster. No one likes a poopy pants. And everyone absolutely hates a poopy pants on a roller coaster. This is universal law.

But as I waited, I didn't notice much of anything. My guess is that because my diet has usually been pretty heavy on dairy, maybe this was close enough for my stomach to still process meat. There is also the fact that I had eaten meat for the sixteen years of my life, but suffice it to say, no bad effects whatsoever.

After I found out that eating meat wouldn't send me into a world of pain, I took full advantage of my rumspringa. "Let's tempt fate," I thought, "let's try to find some meat thing that I absolutely love and would go crazy for, something that would make me think I'm actually missing something because that chorizo arepa was like eh....." So I ate every meat item I could get my traitorous little hands on during that trip.... And nada. Meat, while it can taste good, still can't come close to rivaling vegetarian food in absolute savoriness. There's so much flavor in vegetarian food, and meat is just... there, all lumpy and stupid. Don't get me wrong. There were a few things I did like, but vegetarian or not, they weren't things one should make a habit of eating.

When I went to Cartagena, I tried step two of this grand experiment and didn't eat any meat to contrast, and it was probably the wrong place to try this. Not only is that city hella expensive, it's whole culture is based around seafood. Options were found; I didn't starve, but man, it was difficult without access to a kitchen to cook things for myself. I mean, yes, my hostel had a kitchen, but cooking in it was sure to give me an as of yet unknown disease, probably breeding in its darkened corners and waiting for it's opportunity to go out into the world. I've seen horror movies with plague motifs. I'm not going down that road. NOT TODAY, EBOLA!

After this experiment, the twenty pounds I've lost in the six months I've been here, the prohibitive prices of vegetarian food, and an increasing feeling of exhaustion and weakness, I decided this was the right choice. I won't eat meat at home, and I tend to follow a meal plan and it won't include meat, which means it'll mostly just be out when I'm at restaurants, but there you have it: I'm eating it none the less.

I was once explained that religions can often be broken down into one of two groups: ones that put a premium on time (such as Christianity, with an emphasis on history and potentially impending rapture or apocalypse) and ones that focus on space (such as a good deal of indigenous religions). I prefer the ones that focus on space, which I think Buddhism. It transforms and merges with the culture in which it finds itself. Zen Buddhism in Japan is not the same as it is in the United States, and there's good reasons for that. The Buddha himself wasn't vegetarian. His principle was to eat whatever was placed in his begging bowl. Well, Colombia is putting meat in my begging bowl, and so, it's meat I'll eat.