I don’t know any quantum physicists. If I did I would invite them to take a tour of my little corner of the world. They would be giddy when
surrounded by the miracle of things random; the canyons and the pueblos have the feel, the look of arrangements that defy order, the jumble-tumble of
brush and browse and cactus, the misplaced hovels jammed against bustling niches of questionable holdouts of city commerce.
The canyon growth does not even bear a proper name. No forest looks like that – too much greenery to be called a desert. Hardwoods like Guamuchil
and Palo Amarillo barely make a showing above the massive Lomboy and the spiny Ocotillo, the towering, red-tipped Adan which give way to Brazil,
Plumeria while the emerald poison, the Mala Mujer tries to push aside clumps of hardy bunch grass. Add to the mad mélange cacti like Pitahaya, cardon
and cholla. Mountain peppers grow here. Here are peyote cactus and plants which, if eaten, will cause paralysis, blindness and death. The delicate
wild fig, the Palo Blanco, helped the early ones tan animal hides – Lomboy can cure some kinds of skin disorders (including cancer).
The cities, the pueblos have been allowed the same freedom to grow and exist without a plan. One eye might see the arrangement as squalor; another
eye finds character in the way things refuse to flow – a certain graciousness where there is no gracefulness. The tiny taco shop rests uneasily
between a family home on one side, a make-shift car wash on the other – the three together cover no more space than one would expect only one to
survive but their incongruity seems preordained, necessary, perfect. The smell, the texture of the non-arrangement is jarring, overwhelming to those
used to the conformity found in condominiums, strip malls, the manicured, measured feel and look of U.S. suburbia.
Farmers everywhere sleep the night through, oblivious to the night sounds of the farm; the cows, chickens, dogs and other country and farm animals. I
suppose city dwellers in Mexico are able to tune out the many sounds of the night, get some much needed sleep before another busy day begins with the
dawn. While they sleep the city moves, pulses with the myriad collisions of random music of hard-working people slowing now to take a deep,
satisfying breath – still alive, eating, drinking, dancing; celebrating their propinquity and their tolerance.
Nature must be the very best teacher because here it seems to help us resist the human urge to stack things up, make lines and squares – define art by
those things that have right angles, sharp corners. I shall celebrate that resistance while driving round and round, in random fashion, searching
(with all the other drivers) for a place to park my little car and wondering if a big, flat, paved parking lot would forever spoil San Jose del Cabo.
[Edited on 1-23-2011 by Osprey]
beach and forest
volcano - 1-23-2011 at 02:26 PM
yes........to both....the beach walk was the one I was searching for.....thanks for both...Heather/volcanovandenberg - 1-23-2011 at 07:21 PM
One of your better ones, amigo.
Thanks for posting it again.Skipjack Joe - 1-23-2011 at 09:07 PM
Quote:
Originally posted by Osprey
Nature must be the very best teacher because here it seems to help us resist the human urge to stack things up, make lines and squares – define art by
those things that have right angles, sharp corners.
It's those damn Greeks that are to be blamed. If it had not been for Euclid we woudln't be in this mess.
