Wednesday, January 29, 2014
moving to mexico? -- the tribes of mexico
Anyone contemplating a move to Mexico should know the country is not culturally monolithic. It is made up of many tribes.
Some people say the arrival of the Spanish tribe in 1519 was one of the most disruptive tribal events in Mexico's history. That may be true. But there are plenty of tribes that still wend their way through Mexico.
From time to time, some of you may find it helpful to hear about The Tribes of Mexico.* Let's start with the Magic Cleansing Tribe.
Whenever the snows build up in northern climes, they migrate to Mexico for a week, a month, half a year, to seek a renewed spirit.
They are easy to recognize. Often, because they have done their homework on the steps to spiritual rebirth. And the group I encountered at dinner last night knew their stuff.
1. Release the Real You. The tribe grows weak with the outer shells that hide who we truly are. All of that false politeness, voices at conversational level, concern for those around us, needs to be shed. There is naught but the tribe.
Releasing the Real You is the simplest step of the journey. Peyote is used by some tribes. But the northern tribes find that the blessed tequila and cerveza (and it must be called forth by its spiritual name -- or it is just the stuff that couch potatoes use to toss at opposing teams on the magic picture box) are expert at strangling years of acquired social behavior.
By the time I joined the periphery of this tribe, they had successfully passed through the fires of doffing their northern nature. Their Real You had been set loose like a five-year old in a crystal shop.
2. Combat the forces of External Negativity. There is always a danger that releasing the Real You will inspire the spirits of external negativity. It is important to fend them off with the Sacred Smoke.
In this case, a two-punch powerhouse -- both a pipe and cigarettes. I could tell this tribe was not filled with novice acolytes. The cloud surrounding them guaranteed death to the negative.
But something went wrong. The negativity surrounding the tribe was not dispelled. In fact, the smoke seemed to increase it. To the point that a member not of the tribe approached and asked, in a polite manner (showing she had not yet released her Real Self), if the Sacred Smoke could be taken elsewhere.
The tribe knew she was just an illusion to be ignored. And she was.
3. Unleash your Spirit Guide. While experiencing another truly authentic Mexican adventure in a local market, one of the tribe members overheard a crystal salesman from Ontario mention Colima dogs: "In ancient Mexico, dogs were needed by their masters’ souls to help them safely through the underworld." And wasn't there something about a spiritual coyote in those books that some guy named Castañeda wrote?
So, along to dinner came their spiritual guide -- Raulf. A guide that had such great powers that a tribal member would loudly command him to "Speak! Speak!" Apparently, not realizing that spirit guides speak only to the tribe, not in restaurants filled with non-believers.
Raulf, noticing that the blessed tequila and Sacred Smoke had limited the awareness of the tribe, felt free to stick his Teutonic nose into the food on surrounding tables. Undoubtedly, searching for a new tribe to guide.
Having cleansed their souls, the tribal leader felt it necessary to prove his spiritual superiority over the young lady waiting on their table by offering large amounts of money to purchase the metal communion cup he used to drink the blessed tequila. When she refused, he was astounded that his tribal wealth did not subdue her.
Instead, the tribe gathered its belongings and stumbled into the darkness. And those of us who remained, smiled, sighed a breath of relief, and took a breath of fresh air.
Cleansing can come in many ways in Mexico.
* -- Some of you are already way ahead of me. Yes. Yes. I know. This is a blatant rip-off of Richard Lander's Gangs of San Miguel de Allende. But what a great cover for me. My plausible deniability is that Richard is moon-lighting in Melaque. Of course, I would need an excuse for the reduced quality of his prose. Maybe too much oxygen here on the beach.