Soul Gypsy

It was looking grim, real grim. But it always is when one is presented with shitty choices, all of which are equally undesireable and menacing. I guess climbing mountains would be a good analogy for the situation. Sometimes one reaches a point mid climb where it is excessively dangerous and risky to continue. Going down is undesirable, for one has to face both self-disappointment and the friends they boasted to pre-trip. But at the same time, going to the top is  is becoming increasingly sketchy and the benefits are beginning to outweigh the risks. While the summit would be epic, it might just not be worth one’s life.

And there we were in Casa Grande, contemplating whether or not to push for the top of the one of many summits that lay ahead. But whether the benefits actually outweighed the risks or we were just too cocky to understand the danger, we took off into the Sonoran desert about 1 pm on December 20th. With no 4th gear and not being able to drive much faster than 35 mph, we were forced to pick an alternate route to highway 10 in order to arrive to the border. Miraculously, it just so happened that there was a network of back roads that zig-zagged through the Indian Reservations of Southern Arizona that would take us to Nogales. We had not been on the 15 South to Sells long before we began to feel the overwhelming presence of the Border Patrol and the tension. Granted, many Mexican citizens and Latin Americans had been returning to their hmelands due to the economic crisis, there was still an overwhelming presence of patrol. At first I was slightly startled but the frequent passing of 4-5 car caravans of border patrol vehicles became commonplace. There were lots of crosses as well. You know, the ones you see for car accidents on the side of the road. Except, the few I saw quickly became small cemeteries of 50 some crosses. Due to efforts to funnel crossing immigrants into the inhospitable Sonoran desert many had perished trying to cross the border.

The hours dragged on but we were slowly making headway and were heading North-West on the North edge of the Tohono O’odham Reservation. Due to increased surveylance along the entire U.S-Mexico border, the 75 miles of the reservation adjacent to Mexico has become one of the most trafficked crossings today, putting an enormous amount of stress on the local Native American Population.

We reached the East side of the Baboquivari Peak Wilderness as the sun had just dropped down and begun to silhouette the the highest peak in the range. The peak, sacred to the O’odham people had now become a popular climbing destination. Legend has it that when the Conquistadors invaded, they minded into the side of the mountain is search of gold and the Mountain God swallowed them into its depths.

The sun had now dropped below the entire range and it was beginning to get dark. We were still in the States, but being so close to the border I was nonetheless nervous about having to sleep a night out in the bush again. Luckily,  5 1/2 hrs and  80 some miles later we reached Nogales exhuasted but unscathed. And of course, we gypsy posted up in the bed of the truck right in the Super 8 parking lot. Damn I slept well that night.

After a grueling few days bust’n ass,  finals week was reaching its end and our journey South was finally within our hands. We had originally planned to install a veggie system but due to circumstances we had to settle making the journey without. The truck we traveled in, a low-profile 1981 volkswagen rabbit truck, over packed with camping gear, books, food and other odd ends would be our gypsy rig voyager craft for the next 4 weeks of Winter break.

We had a few believers but a majority of our friends had told us we were either crazy or stupid to drive to Mexico with the current unrest between the drug lords and the government.  But being young over confident males we shrugged off their doubts and drove on east towards Phoenix with little thoughts to their concerns.  We had plans to stay with Osito’s friend at her University but he had some how mixed up Flagstaff with Phoenix. Minor details…  So we did what gypsies do best. We posted up on the side of the highway, tucked away in the bush (literally parked under a big bush) at the base of some mountain.  But however frigidly cold it was,  it was an appropriate way to start off the multi-thousand mile journey to the Yucatan Peninsula. Our university’s pampering had softened me and Damn it was refreshing to feel the elements again. Besides, on a low budget, sleeping in the open bed of the truck was something we needed to get accustomed to.

The Butt Crack of the morning came quick. Our goal for the day was to make it some 500 miles south to Guaymas, Sonora and driving at a modest speed of 55 mph was going to take a wee while.  We arrived to the modern desert oasis of Phoenix on a pleasant Saturday morning… Ghost Town. To my surprise there were vitually no peps stroll’n around.  I was convinced some Dawn of the Dead”or 28 Days Later shit was secretly unfolding. …Spooooky. After some difficulty finding a grocery store, we finally stumbled upon a farmers market, got some dank burrito’s, veggie grub and hit the road for the next journey leg.

The blazing desert sun and lack of air con in the rig hit us  hard and I was getting tired having driven since sunrise. It was time for Osito, conveniently with no licsence and mediocre  stick driving skills, (originally my theory was that he mis-scheduled his driving test on purpose to avoid his driving duties) to drive a little as to train for co-pilot.  Despite a few sketchy incidents he was gett’n the job done and I finally felt I could relax without noticeable  fear for my life.

Everything seemed to be going smooth….hahaha. We had just stocked up in Casa Grande and were on our way down to Nogales and beyond to reach the ocean where we could chill.  But it was not long after leaving Casa that the stick popped out of fourth gear again…..a fairly normal happening. Somtimes she would get pissy and pop out of gear when being pushed at speeds of 60 mph and up. I quickly jammed it back into gear as is standard procedure to only hear grinding gears. I jammed it one more time…but no avail and no 4th gear. Sweet…fuckin sweet.  If we drove at 35 mph it would have taken two fuck’n days to reach Guaymas. Slowly our vision of rejuvenating on the beach shriveled away into tension.  A few visits to some local mechanics revealed that 4th was shot and that our other 3 were bound to go soon. We had not even been out for 24hrs and the Gods were already make’n shit hit fan. It was time to make decisions and pull some shit…. and we had a few ugly  prospects: Getting the transmission fixed in the states,  possibly going bankrupt and not being able to continue the trip or risking driving some 350 miles across the heavily drug trafficked Sonoran desert…..

Growing up amidst the beautiful wilderness of Colorado and being inspired by works like Lord of the Rings it was natural that I became gripped by the QUEST. As a youngster I spent much time in the mountains exploring the rugged terrain that had once been the great Ute Indian’s.  In high school I was fortunate enough to have the circumstances and mentality to travel to South America and Asia to study for two of my four years. But exploring the world was not as epic and idealistic as I had hyped it up to be. Not to say that my experiences were not epic but I had very humanly hoped that the pain that came with such journeys could be some how transcended. Yes, I was very conscious that the trips would be intense and uncomfortable but I, like most humans tried and tried to run from the pain and hardship I encountered.  It has taken me these experiences of great pain(great pain in a very very relative sense) a lot of fortune and luck to realize that it was  my very running and inability to embrace that brought more suffering. In some respect, part of the reason for my desire to live and study in these different cultures was a manifestation of how I suppressed my pain. Although I certainly I had good-hearted intentions on one hand, on the other hand I was “questing” to prove myself as a bad-ass to the world. So in part, these quests were like burying nuclear waste. Sooner or later the toxicity leaches out into the earth (maybe not the best analogy but I hope you get what I mean). To say the least, I was addicted (and still am to a lesser degree) to great paradox of the Painless Quest and only found myself in perpetual suffering. Reality Check! Questing is a painful, arduous and often life threatening endeavor.  Just look at the great archetypal bad-asses like Lao-tzu, Jesus, Siddhartha, Gandhi to name a few.  To them, pain was just another hommie there to help them along the way. Embrace that shit for it is this type of pain that  keeps our heart beating until the last breathe……QUEST ON GYPSIES, QUEST ON AND NEVER STOP

peace,

mizairubian

As I sit in my intro biology class, I struggle to stay awake and alert. But my inability to concentrate is not just my own laziness and is not just the professor’s teaching style. There is something far bigger, far more complex and far more elusive that is at work here. Don’t worry, I am not some fanatical conspiracy theorist. (not that all conspiracy theorists are all fanatical) Allow me to explain: My teacher, being Chinese and having the influence of a very different culture is actually one of the more interesting professors I have.  Despite the arduous, toilsome semester of of this class, my professor and I have held up some engaging conversations about the evolution of Western science and Eastern philosophy.  However, as I sit in my chair nearly drooling at the whiteboard, I can’t help but ponder the pressure that squeezes and morphs the whole classroom scene. Knowing my teacher on a personal level, I can almost feel her knowledge being squashed and reduced to a very angular, mechanistic mold to which it can’t fit. For example:  As she talks about how cancer is developed, she explains that when the gene that regulates cell growth is mutated, it results in rapid, unstable cell division. END OF STORY.  Wait, wait, wait,  what happened to the part where we talk about the mental, emotional stress that causes cancer as well? Does the fact that these subjective, disease causing factors cannot be fully boiled down to chemicals make them less valid? Why are they left out of the picture? Now, I know, given what I have discussed with the professor that this gross reductionism is hardly her doing. If you were to speak to the average Chinese person (like my teacher), a majority would not deny the importance of objective (chemical) side of science, medicine and other fields. But a majority of them would also agree that mental, emotional elements of these fields and life in general are just as significant as the tangible ones. It makes sense, despite recent cultural transformation, this wisdom has been imbedded in Chinese culture for thousands of years. Why is it that the West still denies what has been known by many of the worlds ancient traditions for thousands of years?

The subjective, emotional, mental side of our academic systems and lives can no longer  be denied to the degree they have been.  Not everything can be reduced to nuts and bolts. Now, some may argue that, that is simply how biology (science) is meant to be. Others might  argue that this equilibrium of objective and subjective does in fact exist in western science, medicine and philosophy but shouldn’t be taught at such an elementary level.  (and it is important to acknowledge the great progress in western psychology, neuroscience, physics that are all examining this subjective reality) But honestly, in my inexperienced mind, teaching this balance of subjectivism and objectivism at the lower levels of education is fundamental.  So in conclusion, I am not pointing fingers but attempting to make observations.  I am making observations about how I think as an individual and how our academic system and social system think and operate. Maybe, just maybe interest will be sparked by reading this.

Wow, that was a little more serious than i usually take it……

but I hoped you all liked it.

Peace,