That Was Then, This Is Now

The Baja has been my home for more than seven years, beginning with five in La Paz, which is that diamond of light on the Sea of Cortez just north of Cabo San Lucas at the end of the peninsula. In a rare fit of stability, I lived at the same address my entire time in La Paz. And then started living/traveling in a 1979 Ford El Dorado re-creational vehicle with 118k miles when I bought it and 136k now.

In January 2015, I was living with Snowball in Bahia Asuncion, a fishing village of 3,000 souls just south of Guerrero Negro--halfway up on the Pacific side where that big left hook protrudes--parked outside Gloria's restaurant with the above as my backdoor view. In a notebook I scribbled "It is SO hard to keep recreating my life. This had better be the last time. Oh well, I have to admit that while it is frightening and exhausting, I've never regretted a single move." In part I wanted Asuncion to become home because the previous May a birthday party was thrown for me after I'd been in town less than two days!

And now,so as not to bury the lead, I will tell you that it is my intention in March to drive LaRoVReV one last time, park her and me in Bahia Asuncion again, and hope to stay there for at least the rest of the year. She will be my home again as I "move back to Mexico" is how it feels after a year upcloseandpersonal with life at the border.

Which started last March with a move to Rosarito, fewer than 20 miles south of the USA, during which trip the cat accidentally committed suicide by squeezing out the broken-but-bungie-corded back door as I was doing 70 in the middle of the desert. My destination was a 4-bedroom home on the beach that I planned to share with a friend from La Paz who wanted easy access to southern California. I wanted easy access to reliable internet, reliable city water, a bank or at least an atm, and BUTTER! All of which I got, but my friend got deathly ill after two months and had to move back to Portland, Oregon for medical treatment with about a week's notice. Leaving me with an amazing home complete with prayer room that I could not pay for by myself. Before I had to cut my losses and drive LaRoVReV away in August, however, I had hella fun using my friends' abandoned furnishings and car to entertain the likes of Eleanor Piez and The Carlstad Girls, Tammy Johnson of bellydance teaching fame, and my one-and-only takeaway friend from 2015, the amazing Karina!

Having sold most of my friends' things to the landlord for $1000 to be used for gas, I loaded up the RV with some of her personal stuff and all of my own possessions and headed to Portland to deliver the goods. 

But LaRoVReV made it clear by having a rare breakdown that the summer heat plus mountains was a no-go, so we ended the trip in Oakland. (My friend's stuff got delivered to her a few weeks and a couple of miracles later.) Just in time to change the course of history...

On August 30, I attended the ordination of a redheaded, rebellious stranger at the Church for the Fellowship of All Peoples in San Francisco, was convinced by a congregant to process with clergy, and felt a call to somehow return to ministry!!!

And now that I think of it, the circumstances were eerily similar to my first call. In 1978, I attended an all-day seminar titled "Taking Your Life Seriously", went outside for a cigarette break, had a vision of myself in a white robe, and heard my inner voice state "I guess I will go to seminary." Eighteen months later I started at Starr King School for the Ministry. This time, after the service, I went outside because I was so stirred up, saw a man smoking, and asked if I could stand next to him since I no longer used the stuff. He told me about a bilingual Unitarian Universalist congregation in Chula Vista and gave me contact info.

Everything has felt like destiny since then, and that is as may be, but just like the first time around I may have misunderstood entirely what my part is. In 1980, a Jesuit professor joked that I was meant to be a choir director (anyone who has heard me sing knows that's not true); 35 years later (!), I seem to have been meant only as a reverend roving through.
In October, I worshiped at the church, and it was love at first sight, and not just for me! Before I left that day, I was tempted to believe the two Latinas who said "You are the answer to our prayer for a minister to start a UU congregation in Playas de Tijuana."

QUE TONTERIA! as we like to say in Spanish when faced with utter nonsense. Important things have happened to me and because of me in my five months here, and I am glad to have been here, and it's time to "move back to Mexico." That's how it feels after being up north for a year, especially in Tijuana, where I've had a daily view of The Fucking Fence that separates Tijuana from "el otro lado" -- the other side of same, aka the USA. Also a view of the gorgeous Tijuana boardwalk, thank goodness, from the huge shared  porch of my tiny SRO. Church has meant a weekly trek across "la linea" (Mexicans don't call it the border, they call it "the line" even on bus signs!) that takes one to three hours as a pedestrian and one to four hours in an auto from my home to storefront-church door.
BASTA! I was actually on my way to church when I had the revelation that GOD was not putting me in the way of dealing with the US government on a regular basis, nor was GOD responsible for my contact with my least favorite people, middle-and-professional class white religious liberals. In service of what, I asked myself? And could only come up with (1) a desire for church so strong I blinded myself to the context -- kinda like we do in order to let ourselves have sex with the wrong people -- and (2) ego answers, i.e., the maintenance of my self image and perhaps your regarding me as a sane, useful person. That's as may be, but I learned more than 13 years ago that whatever keeps me further from instead of closer to that next drink is the right choice for me. Turns out I can treat the last two years as an emotional sobriety relapse -- thinking that I could tackle sober and sane what defeated me drunk and nuts. Not true, as it turns out. My serenity lies in the simplicity of the life I chose when I moved to La Paz, in the stunningly simple beauty of Bahia Asuncion, in the letting go of so much and so many I hold dear...

My 2nd-floor home is across the street from the bullring

Congrats for making it this far, dear reader, and here's your reward: the REAL news of this story is that for the very, very first time in my life since I was six years old, I have no anxiety about what is next. And now, I have no doubt that it will include a very different ministry than the one I had in mind. Maybe like the ending of the movie "Resurrection"? Can we all see me as Ellen Burstyn hanging out at Campo Sirena waiting for folks in spiritual need to stop by? Please God, may that include you, since that would certainly fill a spiritual need of my own!
 
Stay tuned, if you like -- I plan to write again towards the end of March from Bahia Asuncion. Internet acess permitting! Oh well, at least this time I will bring four pounds of butter with me and beg freezer space in my friends' restaurant. Come to think of it, I am friends with two of the six restauranteurs in town! Gloria's is behind the RV, and Bertha is inside La Loncheria.

asuncion 2015

bertha, creater of salsa susana

downtown asuncion (jajajajaja)