Tulum is a place of about 20 thousand people and I live in the southern part of town on a street with no name, about a block or so away from the periphery of the jungle. I've been renting a simple, semi-furnished room on a nice property from a mildly crazy, slightly avaricious older couple for about $215 a month. Back home, I like to keep things simple but comfortable and nice. Here, I've sought the simple, the nice enough and the utilitarian as my four month journey here was driven by a need for change, a need too see and experience a different way of living, and to determine if I could create the life I want to have and if so, if I want to do that here.

Many of my neighbors live in wooden pole and thatched roofed structures called chozas; the remainder live in meager, cinder block circumstances that aren't too far removed from their counterparts. There are even combinations of both structures on the same property: I imagine this occurs when the residents manage to scrape together enough money to buy a pallet or two of cinder blocks and progress in their circumstances is made. Other than the surprising frequency and presence of flat screen tv's and the stray smart phone that these households seem to share, most people on the streets with no names have nothing more than the humble lives they live and the rudimentary existence one can infer from such a description. These lives, however simple, seem to have a history and permanence to them that I don't always sense in the dreamy transience that floats through the streets of Tulum, or any resort town for that matter.

At any given moment - day or night - I can sit in my plastic chair and chat with a neighbor and listen to a chorus of dogs, cats, birds, geckos, roosters, geese, turkeys, goats and the infrequent, small band of monkeys that stealth their way through the trees in the middle of the night. Sometimes, all of these voices sing at once and it's a regular hootenanny.

Of course there are many well-established streets with names, strangely enough of a Celestial reference. But then you make a turn here, another there and you are simply face to face with a small heard of pigs, the jungle; a taco cart in the middle of nowhere, a small mansion or fine restaurant for that matter.

I've spent many hours day and night on my bike wandering around and looking at things, and at how people live here - that's what I like to do when I'm not at the beach seemingly staring at my navel and the universe. The well-dressed, Nordic looking guy rolling around on a red bike is met like most things by the locals: with curiosity, grace and tolerance.

There are a LOT of kids here, I believe on account of there being no notions of Planned Parenthood and the pernicious presence of the Catholic church in Mexico. There are many teenage mothers out and about with kids. I understand this is simply the way it is in many Latin American countries. Sadly, there are also innumerable murals deploring both the violence in Mexico as well as voicing concerns about domestic violence in the community. I have also come upon a surprising number of AA meetings all over town. One can easily conclude there is a connection between alcohol problems and domestic violence, just like anywhere else in the world.

I have a lot of respect for those who can carry on with the hand they've been dealt. I'm sure I would strain against the repetitive fate of circumstances that were too simple, too humble...too futile.

"Trying Another Life"

There are people from all over the world who live in town, in the jungle, and in various real estate developments scattered about the periphery of Tulum proper. Some have been here many years and have started businesses both small and large while others seem to have the resources to come in for a few months at a time to stay in their vacation homes. The type of travelers who find their way here are those with a taste for the off-beat, the funky and a free-spirited vibe. Innumerable groups of wandering hippies find their way here and stay for as long as their resources last - many find small ways to earn enough to keep their dream alive until it's time to move on. Occasionally, couples come down from the resorts up the highway, perhaps also looking for something quirky and unique- something that would draw them out of their expensive space bubbles for a taste of something different.

The Italians have the most obvious and influential presence all along this Peninsula, including Tulum. The most successful businesses and nicest properties invariably are owned and run by Italians. They are as infectiously warm, gregarious and inclusive as anywhere else you find them; they chase and create that dream of La Dolce Vita wherever they go and the Mayan Riviera seems to be a place where they find, or at least try to create that sweet dream.

What's been really great is meeting all of these different kinds of people at local hotspots, at beach parties and randomly hither and yon where you'd least expect an encounter. But as Tulum attracts a certain type of sensibility, a certain kind of person seeking something, these encounters offer a reflection of yourself that can be valuable and insightful, however fleeting, however transient the connection is.

This is also a party town and there are many who come...to party, either for a couple of weeks; a couple of months, or a couple of years.  As I quite drinking 10 years ago and don't consistently hang out in bars or the party crowd, it's been rather interesting staying up very late with these folks.  They don't seem to remember what they say and do (which begs two questions: shouldn't we be paying attention to what we say and do and, is the conversation not remembered worth having?)

Kind and beautiful spirits are as numerous as energy vampires and lost souls clutching broken dreams.  It takes all kinds to make a village...including those who work six days a week for very little.

(It's also easy to become a bit of a space cadet here as well.)

Other reflections have come from a noticeable contingent of people like me from all over: educated and middle-class with both the resources and the inclination to "try something different," however hesitantly or boldly, for a while. It's been interesting talking with these people and looking at myself in the process. I'm wondering when the shift from "trying a different life" to "having a different life" occurs.

It begins with having some faith and taking action.

Tulum is on the cusp of change and growth - it's almost palpable. There are a literal bounty of opportunities here waiting to be born. On the outskirts of town some huge streets have been made - they are literally as wide as any Manhattan street.

These beautiful roads lead to nowhere; they are waiting for dreams to be born.

I am on the cusp of the change and growth I've been seeking. 
Perhaps I've been figuring out how to go down that Road.

 A friend and I have come upon an idea that seems particularly suited to our sensibilities, what we know how to do what we are capable of doing. I have a very strong sense that it would succeed and ultimately be very successful in its own right. I also see a related but different opportunity waiting for me and my particularities to explore.

It all comes down to having faith in yourself and an idea then making a plan and taking action.

And I've been here seeing if I have what it takes to make a dream come true.

It looks like my next writing assignment is drafting a business plan.

This is a New Frontier.

     I had been humming a song I've never really cared for the other day as I swam in Caribe. "Message in a Bottle" by the Police and I wondered how it managed to get lodged in my head for the remains of the day - it certainly isn't in my mp3 player and I haven't heard it in years.

"I'll send my SOS to the world..."
"I hope that someone gets my Message in a Bottle"

Naturally, as I walked on the beach at dusk, the sea gave me the bottle and the shot you see here.

She gave me two more in the following two days, less photogenic than this, but the bounty was notable and I took the one home that still had a functional top.

Serendipity seems to have a vacation home in Tulum as these moments occur with more frequency in this area for people who spend any time here.

None of them had any messages inside: it's as if Caribe is simply indicating in plain terms, "Ask."

Tonight/tomorrow morning, a New Moon begins and it is said that it's a time to begin, to set intentions for oneself. My birthday is arriving shortly as well. In the spirit of what has been offered, I believe it's an opportunity for me to ask the sea about a couple of issues I've been pondering and establish some clear intentions for myself and then pay attention to what transpires.

I have all the time in the world but I'm running out of time. Perhaps you know what I mean.

I came to love a woman this last year under somewhat peculiar circumstances - one of those perfectly imperfect people you come upon rarely that affects you deeply; who you come to love and accept regardless of anything else, anything rational. Those moments and connections always bear the lightness and heaviness of fate and they often offer the opportunity to learn, change and grow. Oh, and I have, and I am.

In many respects, she was the one I had been looking for. That kind of snuck up on me. Unfortunately, I wasn't the one she seems to be looking for, and that's a sad song many of us have heard.

or,

Imagine George Peppard and Audrey Hepburn in the cab at the end of Breakfast at Tiffanys. His ache for her; his lament. That's not how it all started but that's where I've ended up feeling for some time now.

I've wanted that kiss in the rain.

So it goes.

The heart has a lot of wisdom but it doesn't know when or how to quit beating, quit feeling sometimes. It does what it does. Since I don't foresee a means of fetching her heart nor winning that fight, I need to figure out how to let these feelings go.

Thus, my love letter, my quirky query to the sea is between Caribe and me, and the sky.

"Don't look for things where they don't live."

Indeed.

My second note to Caribe is about articulating some specific desires and intentions for what I want and need to create for myself. I have an increasing number of clues; images are emerging; I often have good ideas.  But ideas  quickly become vapor if you don't do something with them.

 Now I need to express specific intentions and formulate a plan. That's how it works. That's another core reason why I've come here.

I'm sitting in my French cafe drafting the second note, amped up again on coffee.

Feeling a little rushed: purposeful.

When I finish, these notes go in the bottle and I'll fly again into the night, to the sea.

(Sheesh: second time today)

It might be more effective to swim out to sea and hurl it further towards the horizon. However, with only a sliver of a new moon, that might not be the safest thing to do. My mom would have a cow.

From the shore it is then.

I feel a 50 mile bike ride coming on but I need to buy a more comfortable seat - it's as hard as a rock and my ass hurts.  I'll write about this screwy little town in the next day or so. 

Life's a beach.
Sometimes.


"Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic"

        I don't remember as a child being unduly obsessive about bicycles, but I do recall they meant freedom and adventure, and I had one most of the time. When I didn't, I felt it; when I did, I made the most of it. 

I more clearly recollect always being drawn to those films in grade school that told tales of faraway places and people, and I knew I wanted to see those places and meet those people. I've been fortunate enough to have seen a few places in the world and have met many good souls abroad.

When I visited Tulum two years ago, I not only fell in love with the sea but the option of exploring what this place had to offer on a bicycle...and then there is The Road.

What I call The Road is the way from Tulum Pueblo where I live to the Costera Zona where all the beach accommodations are. Most of it bisects the beach from the jungle and it's about 12 kilometers from the beginning of town to the end where an archway marks the entry to Sian Ka'an- a huge nature reserve that I'll tell you about another time.

I first stayed out at the playa in a beach cabana with a magnificient view of the sea - it's something everyone should do ($60: I wonder if that pricepoint will ever come again). I somehow managed to tear myself away from the shoreline and immediately rented a bike and hit the road...at dusk, and then at about 11 in the evening. I had no headlamp that dark and stormy first night. I did have a strong impulse to move and see what there was to see, or rather, sense.

It was humid and there was thunder and lightning on my left along the coast and a noisy jungle on my right as I rode south towards the archway. I glided down the road more by ear and feel than sight (of course I could see somewhat, given my eyesight, but It's more exciting to say I was flying blind).

At the time, I didn't know what the archway or the building next to it were so I kept going. The Road changed, becoming compacted dirt rather than asphalt strewn with palm fronds and I rode for another 15 minutes until I finally stopped when I really couldn't see much of anything anymore. Nada.  I listened for awhile with wonder at what seemed a dialogue between the sky's booming voice and the nocturnal chorus of wildlife all around me. Lightening punctuated the Concierto of Tulum. Beautiful.

It was on that night that I remembered I do have inclinations towards moving fast (as I did as a kid in suburbia and then the mountains, and as an adult on the streets of Amsterdam when I lived there).

I put on some music and screamed back up the road, now deaf and somewhat blind on a ride of faith. I skidded with dramatic flourish once I arrived at a local beach club just as a dramatic, furious  coda ended the perfect song and a short rain squall began.

I didn't hit a single speed bump that night.

It was perfect. It was magic.

I subsequently bought a headlamp as I thought it might be prudent - I often go even faster at night than I do in the day for some reason (lighter gravity?) and invariably there are obstacles to consider such as texting-while-biking Mayans; drunk and oblivious tourists; a few species of wildlife, potholes and several varieties of speed bumps (topes).

(That light came in handy one night on a different, darker road when I nearly hit a really drunk American kid, half strewn in the middle of the roadway with a tangled chain. I fixed his chain as he was useless and had no light, and gave him a nice, simple lecture a drunk teenager could remember.) 

Today I found a race: as I was departing the Archway, a caravan of jeeps and a truck of tourists were coming back from a day trip into Sian Ka'an. With the invariable obstacles on any given day, we traded the lead over the course of 7-8 kilometers back towards the beach club.

I beat them with 500 meters to spare. I grinned at them as they drove by.

I go fast.
(I wonder how fast I could go with more than one gear.)

On one of my first nights here after buying a bike, I went out one night on The Road, music blaring; wheels blazing - keeping fit, filling my spirit. Being free.

I roared up on the Archway as I often do...lights flashed in my direction: two cops walked over and while I don't exactly speak Spanish, I imagined they asked, "What are you doing?"

All I could really say amidst my gesticulations was, "Musica, Mi Bici...I'm having a good time!"

They looked at me; I looked at them.

They seemed to be having an issue with my blinding headlamp.

"Oh, sorry," turning my light to a different angle.

We all had a chuckle. I found a grin at the realization of the role reversal.

I am the Cyclops....

and this is My Road.

     I've always been able to see a broad spectrum of the literal and the figurative in the world, in people and in things.

I would like to think I have broad range of understandings of the same, and perhaps I do have some insights that are valuable and have a potency that are above par and reflect a rich depth of field.

I also understand that it's important to learn how to live with those things one doesn't know or see for that matter.  I do my best with that...sometimes.

There have now been 3 Mexicans who have come up to me and have more or less said in Spanish, broken English and quite fluent English something to the effect of, "You're the kind of person who knows how to see the world."

External confirmation of one's feelings and perceptions is always gratifying and flattering and others have said similar things in the past.

And yet, I've recently become increasingly befuddled about what I'm supposed to do with this gift. Sure, I can take a decent photograph from time to time; I'm fairly articulate and informed when I explain my understanding of things (even when I'm wrong!).

The sea brought another message today: after swimming in Caribe on a beautiful day, I wandered down the beach as I most often do as I like to walk and see what I find. I stopped for a spell to admire the horizon - I can almost see beyond it.

I glanced around as I always do, looking for things: about 10 feet away, I spotted the fish in the picture in the debris the sea had brought for the day.

The thing is, this fish is 3/8ths of an inch long and has no tailfin - not very fish-looking.  What I spotted was his eye. When I took the picture, the lense barrel was an inch away from him. That's how small he was. How I am able to see things so small, so far away and to cipher through the detritus in the space between to perceive what I do is something I accept but don't understand.

Naturally I thought he was long dead given his distance from the sea and where the tide was landing on the shore but as I took pictures I saw that he drew a breath every 40 seconds or so. It was quick, nearly imperceptible. I was a bit surprised.

I gently picked him up, carried him to the water and threw him in. He swam away as only a tailless fish can. Oddly.

I've been wondering what the lesson or insight is here. Doing the good, the kind or the right thing isn't it as the willingness and ability to do so are an inherent part of my character (learning to look after my own needs and interests more effectively when doing the right thing or helping others IS a lesson I need to learn but that's another story).

For the moment, my thought is that being able to see involves much more than being able to see.

Understanding that more comprehensively and then mastering and capitalizing on it is perhaps one of the lessons I'm supposed to understand?

Chez Pas.

Use your second chance little dude.

If I were to consider nothing else - and if having no other criteria for a meaningful life, I could swim in this sea and ride my bike everyday for the rest of my life. And on most days of the week, I do swim in this sea: Mar de Caribe.

The stretch of coastline along Tulum offers what is considered one of the most beautiful beaches in the world and I'm grateful and blessed to experience this at will (and I do most willingly!). Surprisingly - and thankfully - it still remains off the radar of most touristic hordes. I hesitate in even creating a web page to show and tell a tale of what still remains a magic place.

I wouldn't characterize myself as a deeply and consistently spiritual person in spite of having innate associations, understandings and occasional practice with particular spiritual concepts. I'm averse to those constructs which can and do become even casually dogmatic. The tendency to clutch too tightly to beliefs and things is an inherently human trait that most often doesn't appear to serve our better natures, or interests for that matter.

That being said, I DO have a deep and abiding affinity for and connection to the natural world. One key motivation or impulse for my coming here was to really engage with "It" and thus, reconnect with a part of me that hasn't felt consistently fed for some time.

And in doing so, rediscovering feelings within me that can and should be nourished by a practice of connection with the natural world which by extension would include the universe (referring to the projections of a spiritual nature of some traditions upon the universe e.g. Divine Consciousness, etc).
.
Swimming in this sea has helped me rediscover what I've needed to re-engage with in myself and the world. This could be considered a spiritual practice but I don't seem to have a need to label it. It's just something I need to do.

I have a brief, simple ritual after I've put on my fins and walked out a bit: a spiritual greeting appropriated from another tradition and a gesture of my own that provides a moment of acknowledgement for me about where and who I am and what I'm doing, and why.

I greet and enter the sea (I call her Caribe).

There are some waves I swim under or through; with others, I enjoy swimming up their faces, rising briefly into the sky and falling down their backs to meet the next series. I'm continually moving outward and onward not towards a destination, but rather a feeling not clearly defined other than just slightly beyond a comfort zone. It appears that I swim out quite a bit further than anyone I've yet to see - somewhere between 200-300 feet. The only others I've seen out that far are the occasional kite surfer or fishing boat, and the errant butterfly going who knows where My fins provide a bit of confidence in being able to move more efficiently and effectively. I have a snorkel and mask that I use for other types of adventures. My sense has been that I could continue quite a bit farther out but my tendency has been to take risks in measured and conscious ways.

(The Pacific taught me a scary but important lesson when I was 18)

Conditions vary daily from glassy, calm and ethereal to a wind driven, lively choppiness that almost feels like a dance, to mildly turbulent on account of a mix of currents originating from farther out at sea that isn't betrayed in the sky. The mild to warm temperature is a constant caress.

I swim and float; I listen and feel, and connect. Sounds are different out here. All my senses are fully engaged. Mental noise fades away with the wind.

I'm where I need to be: that richer and deeper feeling of sublime connectedness is about really embracing a moment fully. That involves and requires letting go of so much within me, including feelings of fear.

I do this for about 20-30 minutes at a time until a point where I begin to feel either satisfied or uncomfortable, thanking Caribe as I leave her to lay a spell on the beach. I repeat this ritual one or two times more. I love the heat and the sun: the mythical nude beach always appears to be some different name and place according to word of mouth. I would like to remove the tiny remains of a tan line. Silly gringos - and their preoccupations.  I haven't burned once.

This shoreline is also magic at night and I have spent many hours under the moon and stars in awe of the beauty before me. This is a place with a quality of light that is quite unique in my experience. You can at times see the stars reflected in the wet sand; the moon can be so bright that it lights up the shoreline in a wash of muted pastels - Sea, Sky, Beach, Jungle. Cloudy evenings provide a rich spectrum of greys.

The sea brings messages that aren't always clear in their meaning. For example, on one of many nights wandering along the shore, I stopped for awhile to listen to some music while casually wading under a blaring moon. I spotted something large in the surf moving almost purposely parallel to the shore from approximately 40 feet southwards.

As soon as it was in front of me, the waves quickly delivered a 12 foot long tree trunk, literally depositing it at my feet. I wondered about the likelihood of this happening then and there, and just had to laugh for a few minutes until the surf tugged it back to buoyancy and it began floating southward and outward until was moving like a boat going to sea.

If this weren't peculiar enough, this phenomena occurred exactly the same way 2 more times in the subsequent 15 minutes.

I still can't decipher what this might possibly mean.

There have been and are many days and nights like this and I embrace and cherish the opportunity to have these moments. I watch people smile at what they see when they first arrive. Surprisingly, fewer people than you might think go swimming. I've not understood why that might be but then I remember that many people in the world don't live along a coastline as I have and are perhaps less comfortable with the embrace it might offer them.

Stray, solo flamingos fly by clumsily like apparitions; pelicans catch the breeze at sunset and they glide effortlessly down the coast in unison; humans stroll by with each other and alone, or with a dog within an indescribable palette of color and light on most days. It's something really beautiful to behold and experience...

I smile at what I'm seeing, and feeling...and experiencing.

There should always be at least one reason to smile everyday.

"Freeze this moment a little bit longer.
Make each sensation a little bit
stronger
Experience slips away...
The innocence slips away"