Be Aware

The Light of the Soul is a book that has fascinated me for years. The surname for this book is The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali and it has become my go-to. However, one of the tricks to reading it is to put yourself behind you.

I was walking in the light of day; my shoulders burned to a crisp. We were at the San Jose Flea Market in Northern California, and I had taken off as many pounds as I put on after walking for miles in the blistering sun while eating my fried tacos and drinking my ice-cold Pepsi.

The 80s, before health consciousness kicked in, and my awareness of skin cancer was null and void to the point of disaster. One subtle hint settled in, however—my feet were killing me, and my muscles ached beyond relief for all the bags of goodies I was carrying around, including one bigger-than-life, over-stuffed St. Bernard—life-saving kit swung around his neck.

The point of my travels to this long-forgotten destination was the underlying desire for experiences beyond mundane everyday stuff. What I found, of course, was a lot of things, and none of it genuinely helped me realize anything new, except for maybe the St. Bernard, which I felt nostalgia for at the time. But how did this overstuffed beast help me?

When I arrived home, my grandparents let out a gesture that was hard to put into writing. It was a mixture of amusement and “Where the hell are we going to put it?” I walked in smiling from ear to ear, soda still in hand, fried tacos on my breath, and continued to a private bedroom, where I put my things away. I promptly plopped down, rested, and recovered from a day full of events – none of it very satisfying, save for one thing – the people I went with were amazing to me!

Maria and I had a friendship that lasted from adolescence to my early college years before I moved away from “home.” She was from Mexico and loved to tell me stories about it.

“Estupida mensa!” Maria scolded me, “That’s not how it goes.” I looked up at her in amusement, “Okay, mi amiga! Show me how!”

Her sense of correctness was overwhelmingly appropriate, as she introduced me to her customs and family’s way of being. We traded living arrangements many times. More often, I’d live with her family, while less often, Maria lived with mine. Her family was much more accepting of me. I loved her family’s home cooking—gaining over ten pounds in less than a year!

"Ay, gordita!” Maria’s Aunt hung her head out of the doorway of a trailer parked to the side of the house, smiling widely. “It’s all the frijoles,” I told her in broken Spanish, from the bits I learned from Maria, who saw to it that I first understood slang and the underpinnings of street Spanish. “Come see Los Matadores in Jalisco, Chica,” Maria begged. Her father agreed to take me with them. My mother said no.

Years passed, however, and Maria’s dream of sending me to Mexico came true. On my honeymoon, I spent five weeks in Oaxaca, Mexico, including one overnight stay in Mexico City. Now, I understood why Maria wanted me to be so street-smart. “Seniorita, you’ll want to request a taxi from inside the airport. We’ve had problems with kidnappings in the surrounding area,” said the airport attendant in Spanish.

I waited for her to call the taxi for me, as I stood inside the airport. My hotel was nearby, too, though it wasn’t safe to walk there unattended. Even nearer, just outside my window in the hotel room, was another hotel; it was condemned and leaning to one side from the 1980 massive earthquake in Mexico City, the quake that devastated many residents at that time. I felt nervous but reassured myself that I was okay for one night; it had been more than ten years since the quake.

What was life experience still trying to teach me?

Be aware of your surroundings! It can be a cold, brutal world out there.