Buenas Tardes

In Todos Santos there are two major forms of mass communication: small cars with large PA systems blaring politically rousing rhetoric which, as best as I can tell, use the words “manana “and “mejor” profusely and vibrant, hand-painted murals. All along the major avenue through town the cinderblock walls are covered with advertisements and the occasional political message. Not unlike our own 30-second spots, these acrylic public service announcements go up on a moment’s notice and disappear just a quickly beneath yet another colorful display.

Yesterday I snapped a shot of a worker penciling in outlines for new, brightly painted yellow quadrant of the main wall. He caught me taking the picture and in the deep mortification that comes with being caught and unable to explain your behavior adequately, I sauntered off too afraid to circle back around until today. The yellow field is now home to a crisp campaign promotion for Victor Castro a candidate for Diputado Federal of Distrito II. I don’t know Senor Castro but if I had to vote today, he’d get my vote.

The evening was so beautiful and cool that I decided on a whim to march past the murals to visit Miguel’s - a favorite among local restaurants. I elected to sit at the street-side bar and was delighted to see mi favorito baristo in all of Todos Santos still working there. Pablo taught me how to make the perfect margarita and no one does it better. I ordered a margarita and he engaged me in lively conversation as is his professional duty. I struggled a bit to find infrequently used words like “piscina” and “propidad” but was quite pleased with my Spanish throughout the exchange. I am finally able to listen without seizing up in fear that I won’t understand and feel foolish. Mid way through the high octane beverage Pablo asked in Spanish, “You have a little girl who draws pretty pictures, no?” Si! I beamed. And he produced a picture that Celia had made the year before of a perfect Pablo-made margarita. I don’t know if I was moved by the gesture or the monster pour of tequila but I was moved.

Humming with the energy of distilled agave, I wandered back through town toward the town square to await the sunset view. I was a bit early and heard sounds coming from the church so I walked into the cool, damp shade of the outer lobby – I know there is a good Catholic term for it but I can’t remember it. I saw that there are about 30 women in the church reciting prayers. I decide to slink into the back pew and check it out. Without a thought, I genuflected when entering the pew and watched my hand perform the sign of the cross before my chest. Wow! Now that is muscle memory!

I was trying hard to understand what they were saying but I was distracted by the building itself. It is more simple than any catholic church I had ever been in. Although there is a stained glass window over the alter, there is little other adornment. Then I notice that there are no prayer books or song books in the pews. Could it be that the population is not literate enough to warrant them? My attention is drawn back to the small congregation when they suddenly take to their feet, break in to song, and progress out of their pews headed straight for me! The procession of ladies, each carrying a sprig of purple flowers and singing out in reverent unison, crept up the outer aisles of the sanctuary. I clutched my bag ready to sprint from the coven. But at the break in the pews at the center of the church, the women leading the queues on either side turned toward the center aisle and directed their legions to the alter where they laid the flowers on the steps.

As they returned to their seats and the song expended one last melodious note, two women gathered up the flowers and began to redistribute them to the ladies who were again deep in prayer. In my 18 years of Catholicism, I had never seen anything quite like it but then I heard the pattern. A prayer beginning with “Maria”, over and over. And then a different prayer led with “Padre”. Could it be that they are saying the rosary? I listened harder. “en tierra como en el cielo” – on earth like in heaven. “perdonamos nuestros deudores” – forgive our debts. “líbranos del malo” - Yes, deliver us from evil! That is the Lord’s Prayer. But where are the rosaries? As I searched the crowd, once again they took to the aisles and presented their flowers as they rounded home base. Who needs beads when you can play ring around the rosary! I like this Church.

It shouldn't be this hard

I woke up fine. I read late into the night and slept well until nearly 10:00. From the blinding light that seared my brain when I removed my eyeshades, I could see that it is another beautiful day in paradise. Two canary yellow - well, maybe canaries – dove past my window playing a game of chase through the mango branches. I lingered a moment longer in bed considering the paucity of things on my to-do list. They included: check e-mail, return movie rental, buy some yogurt. I smiled a huge Cheshire cat grin in apt recognition that having nothing to do is infinitely superior to real life. With that I was up and at em.

The cool air of mid-morning fluttered through the tangled canopy that surrounds Casa Bentley, appearing as a dense green cloud in all directions. For a moment I tried to let my eyes adjust, wiping the night’s sleep from them but it was no use. I found if I focused on the yellow mangoes or bright green coconuts affixed tightly in place and too weighty to sway with the leaves, the trees started to take shape.

I ventured out in my pajamas to make a cup of tea and was greeted by Bob’s pooch, Samyra, and the new innkeeper, Alvaro, along the way. Oh happy day!

Just as a I sat down at my little secretary to fire up the laptop, I felt an indulgently insolent voice say – screw it, go out and enjoy the morning! Vaguely recognizing the voice as my own, I relocated with my tea cup and my camera to the patio. After snapping a few photos and finishing my tea I grew restless and annoyed with the flies providing the perfect transition back to work mode.

It was no surprise that I logged on to 47 new messages. In fact, that’s about a third of the usual morning haul. My clients know I am out of the country and will not likely start appearing in the morning queue for another week with “quick questions” followed by well wishing signoffs. By the third week they are projecting the many things I will need to do for them when I return. The fourth week they feign to forget my return date and ask when they can expect to receive this and that. But week one – this week - is pure bliss.

My only work commitment on vacation is to review the happenings in the world of healthcare information technology. I steeled myself for the inevitable onslaught of bad news that has been a daily staple in my life for nearly 10 years. Here’s a sampling of the day’s highlights:

• Avoidable Childbirth Injuries Remain an Issue at Hospitals
• Report finds 70 children died after lapses in medical care
• Doctors: Our hospital is health risk
• Alleged hospital negligence kills child
• Three thousand veterans exposed to HIV and Hepatitis B and C during endoscopy
• Private records of almost 200 patients lost; Move led to blunder
• Common CT drug triggers fatal allergic reactions
• Device-maker accused of fraudulent testing
• NRC Report: Medical Event involving an underdose due to technician error
• Three elderly patients died after being given inappropriate drugs, inquest jury finds
• Illness, Medical Bills Linked to Nearly Two-Thirds of Bankruptcies

I felt the familiar tingle of agitation on the back of my neck and the swelling wave of nausea in my stomach that signals I am nearly done with this abhorrent task. I wish I didn’t know that last week a couple in England had their last viable fertilized embryo accidently implanted in another woman’s uterus due to a lab mix-up. Or that 1 in 5 medication doses given in a hospital are given in error. Or that patients wake up during surgery, strangle against bedrails, and die of slow, agonizing deaths from infections they can only get inside a healthcare facility. Not knowing any of this would be fine and dandy with me. But, if knowing results in some improvement, I’ll take the morning punch to the gut.

And then a particular headline caught my eye: Health insurers refuse to limit rescission of coverage. Apparently executives of three of the nation's largest health insurers testified before congress this week. Investigators demonstrated that health insurers WellPoint Inc., UnitedHealth Group and Assurant Inc. canceled the coverage of more than 20,000 people, allowing the companies to avoid paying more than $300 million in medical claims over a five-year period. The companies targeted individuals with conditions such as breast cancer, lymphoma, pregnancy and high blood pressure. The companies staunchly defended their right to rescission tactics. Shocked congressmen asked the insurance executives whether they would at least commit to immediately stopping rescissions except where they could show "intentional fraud." The answer from all three executives: "No."

WTF, my friends! Ed and I have been trying to purchase independent health insurance for nearly 6 months. We feel strongly that we do not need the Cadillac of health coverage offered by his employer nor the price tag that comes along with it. We had hoped to establish a high-deductable plan that protected us in the event of something awful but that funneled our low healthcare costs through a responsible tax-free health savings plan. Only there’s a problem – neither Celia nor I have been deemed insurable by the jackass-led “insurance”companies characterized above. Celia was denied coverage based on a childhood history of ear infections! Now I learn that even if I “win” coverage then fall gravely ill with cancer or (gulp) pregnancy, the bastards will likely drop my coverage anyway!

I sat in front of my computer feeling my pulse race. I decided to share the article with Ed hoping that he’d add some levity to the situation so I fired it off only to immediately receive a message from my omnipotent System Administrator stating, “Your message did not reach some or all of the intended recipients. Relaying denied. IP name possibly forged.” Meaning, it seemed, that I have been identified by my ISP as a possible Mexican fraud and they enacted their own rescission tactic.

I held my head in my hands and chanted my all too routine mantra, “It shouldn’t be this hard. It shouldn’t be this hard…” But with no one to rant to and little possible recourse for the time being, I just stood up and crossed the room. I slid into my long cotton halter dress, smoothed my hair into a ponytail noting that I should add a shower to the day's to-do list, and headed out for yogurt. The outing was a great success. I returned to a freshly cleaned suite, my ISP has taken me off their Most Wanted list, and, although I am still uninsurable, that is a worry easily assuaged by tequila.

Let it go, already!

I admit it, I am slow to let things go. Mistakes, mostly mine but sometimes others, register deeply with me. Once something has gotten under my skin it becomes so persistent an irritant that I’ll let it drag me down into a festering funk. Case in point, when the Easter Bunny failed to put eggs around our yard and shoddily left Celia’s Easter basket sitting on the kitchen counter where she found it while her parents slept-in, I fought the funk but it succeeded in spoiling my morning. On every level I logically understand that by letting the small offenses of others and mistakes of my own go, I can be a happier person. And yet, I’ve not found a way to let things go.

So I thought that it was perfectly apropos when I read that the subject matter of this week’s Dharma talk was pure salt in my self-inflicted wound. On Sunday mornings in Todos Santos a small brick building which doubles as a dojo, yoga studio and party venue belongs to Dr. Robert K Hall, a retired psychotherapist and ordained Buddhist Priest and his pupils who turn out for his Dharma talks. Accepting that maybe meditation is the solution to my self-destructive tenacity, I broke my cardinal rule of Todos Santos and set an alarm clock to learn more. In addition to heeding the alarm, the morning posed a number of challenges.

Catholics say that Sunday mass is a time to reflect. Really? I was a practicing Catholic for nearly two decades and I recall the mass being about genuflecting, standing, singing, sitting, kneeling, sitting, standing, giving peace, singing, kneeling, taking communion, kneeling, sitting, standing, singing and genuflecting – roughly in that order. Exactly where in that spasm of spirituality would you find to time to reflect? What I found, during my time in the pew was ample opportunity to day dream, obsess, plan and even work in some covert butt clenching to tone up for bikini season. With this definition of reflection, I’m not surprised that I’m meditatively challenged.

I arrive at the dojo with local residents and long-time Dharma pupils, Glen and Arlene who have graciously invited me to join them. As the room fills with people exchanging hellos and vying for seats, a man enters. Before a group of about 30 locals seated in plastic lawn chairs, Dr. Hall, dressed in breezy white linen, folds himself down into a kneeling position on to a tower of teetering pillows and tucks a blanket over his lap. Hall is a gentle but sturdy-looking man in his mid-60s with a broad, open face. His job on this morning is to lead us through an hour-long session of Vipassana or Insight Meditation and he looks like the right man for the job.

I steal a quick look around the room while I still have a chance – expecting that meditation might discourage idle people watching. For the most part I am about 30 years younger than the congregation average. Most are recent retirees who have ex-patrioted themselves to simpler lives in Mexico. I recognize individuals from town – several of them well-known artists. I notice that they all have an easiness about them which suggests few are new to meditation. I can see that this group is an eager choir to Dr. Hall’s signing.

Looking much like a legless Buddha in a crisp Cuban-style shirt, Dr. Hall starts to talk about our physical beings – starting at our feet and dialoging – ever so smoothly – up our bodies. [Ug! We’ve started our meditation and I’m already behind!] I sit up straight and give a quick shout-out to my feet, claves and thighs to catch up with the group’s contemplation of bellies. Confirming my general reluctance to fixate on my midsection, I see that sitting upright in the plastic lawn chair is making my belly squeeze over my waist band in a most unflattering way. [Maybe if I slide back in the chair and recline a bit the roll will subside. That’s better but now my feet – hi feet – don’t touch the ground. Oh well. Shoot I missed the shoulders and neck!]

We are on to breathing. I take a few deep breaths as directed, feeling “the life-giving process course through my body.” As we breathe deeply with conscious thought my thinking goes to the phlegmy tickle in my throat. [Don’t cough. No one else is making noise. Try swallowing – nope. It’s getting worse! I should just clear it – but if I only do it half way, I’ll have to do it again. Then I’ll be a repeat offender.]

While I wrestle with my inner demon, the group moves on to calming their minds. If you’ve never tried meditating you won’t believe the complete lack of control you have over your own mind. The goal is simple - blankly focus on clearing the mind by listening to your breath and constantly bringing your mind back to nothing when it strays. And stray it will. [I wonder if Arlene would give Celia a piano lesson while we are here…oh crap, exhale. Focus, damn it… I should ask Ed to bring some more mosquito spray – this bite itches… that flounder was good last night…] In 10 minutes of effort, I accomplish about 10 seconds of near meditation. Just when I am about to internally berate my ADD self, Hall tells us to gently bring our minds back to rest, without punishing ourselves. [Saved by the bell, self.] I’m finally getting the hang of it when I realize the whole group is now sitting tall looking at Dr. Hall who is smiling back like a happy Hotei. The smile is infectious and soon everyone is smiling including me.

We are on to the Dharma talk portion of the program. Hall begins in a soft, soothing voice by calling our attention to the news today of the election in Iran. [Really? Everyone else is nodding like this is common knowledge. I should Google this when I get back to the hotel.] A candidate has won and, in true Iranian fashion, the opposition has been jailed and the dissenting public is receiving demonstrative beatings in the streets –while the victor professes the advent of new and impenetrable joy for his countrymen to the CNN correspondent. For a moment I think we are headed for a political discussion and I feel myself wince, lamenting that I ever bent my no alarm clock rule. But instead Dr. Hall gets right to the point.

The world is – and always has been - suffering from polarized views and belief systems. The human condition, he says, is plagued by the fundamental role the ego plays in interpreting everything that happens – directly or indirectly – as it relates to one’s self. We spend our years developing and nurturing our sense of self in order to build an identity. We become –ists to various –isms. We subscribe to theories and denounce others. Each opinion, preference and prejudice is fashioned into an arduously-cut stone with which we embellish our life’s work – ourselves. We grow stronger in our beliefs by clinging to these jewels. It turns out that our precious views are essentially the problem. [Wait – I’m no expert but I’ve seen my share of after school specials. Isn’t knowing yourself the goal? If I don’t know what I think and feel, how will I have voice? Are you saying that my voice isn’t helping? Quick, think of a time my voice has helped someone – thinking… missing the conversation, still thinking…crap, what did Dr. Hall just say?]

No one view point is more right or more just. Hitler [ballsy choice] had a point of view that conflicted with a good number of non-Aryan dissenters. [Hold up now – he can’t mean that any view point is equally good for mankind, can he? This is getting complicated, I wish I was taking notes.] The key, Dr. Hall, says [I’m listening…] is in learning to connect with our mind on a level below identity, deeply beneath the labels that define us – not as men or women, gay or straight, republican or democrat, Muslim or Jew – but as a component of humanity. [Oh. That totally makes sense. It’s like reducing organized religion to the golden rule. But HOW does one…] And then he said it. “You just have to let go.”

[No, no, no! That can’t be the secret to happiness.Next you'll tell me that patience is the key tot he kindom - I am so screwed!]

Horrified, I will Dr. Hall to launch into metaphysical mumbo-jumbo which makes no sense at all so I can cling to my jewel of intolerance. But, no dice. Instead he says when we let go of the beliefs that polarize us from others we achieve an awareness based on the totality of each situation – not a single point of view. We can then empathize with all humans because we see all points of view. Dr Hall pauses for a moment and then rewards the class yet again with his happy Buddha smile to signal the crucial bit of information coming our way. I’m on the edge of my seat, despite the belly roll. He says that if we can find this awareness, at the end of our days, we can truly let it all go in death as we did in life – no clinging needed.

Damn! Looks like I have to forgive the Easter Bunny.