Author: Curiosity Roving

Curiosity Roving

The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen

V.18 : Chaos Control

in which we say goodbye and hello

___________________________

Greetings and Salutations!

Welcome to the eighteenth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention.

In September of 2020, I used Volume 17 to lay down both my pen and my sword, saying “It might be two months. It might be two years.” As it turns out, the latter estimate was accurate. Hello reader: the spell is broken. I’m writing again.

I took a stubborn hiatus from most forms of art during the pandemic, and I used that time and space to give a fair trial to the Muggle Life. I took jobs. I bought Tupperware. I grew my hair. I got my vaccines. I paid my taxes. I finally got a driver’s licence and bought my first car. I became a consumer. I lived with a man and a cat. I opened my mind to the possibility that I might be settling down. It was the first time in my life that I wasn’t actively engaged in battle with the centrifugal forces of cultural convention, and it was very, very easy, but it wasn’t sustainable.

leaving home

Whether compelled by destiny or merely old habits, I have this tendency to move around. My time in the trenches of the mundane came to an end in late July. More specifically, I ended it. 

I was in a relationship with someone who had no interest in learning to consider my preferences, and the basic comforts of our arrangement were no longer offsetting the psychological toll. I was dissatisfied with dead-end retail work and the economic structure that keeps the first-world working class in functional poverty. I was tired of tweaking the details and trying to improve something that maybe just wasn’t all that good to begin with. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough to sit on the beach and drink a beer and count my blessings. I needed a wholesale change.

on the road

So I cut my hair, quit my jobs, put everything in my car, and drove away. It happened quickly, and it probably looked like a snap decision, but I had spent an entire year waiting in readiness to recognize the opportune moment when it arrived. And behold: the road opened unto me. It’s been a long chapter of pure flaming chaos, but here’s the summary: 

My car broke down on the first mountain pass. I gave it to a hitchhiker and took a ride with a wizard, burning off my possessions like a phoenix, because the price of the new life is always the old life. I bought another car and drove it across the prairies. I accepted three housesitting jobs in three towns, caring for a total of five cats, two dogs, six fish, and one rotating stripper pole. I haphazardly attended my third and fourth music festivals of the season and they felt like family reunions. I got COVID for the second time and lived like an outcast vagabond in my own hometown until my tests read negative. I ate three beautiful meals at my father’s house before he died peacefully in hospital on September 13th. I served as DJ at his wake.

waves upon the sand

And now? 

I’m driving off into the sunset in a red Chevy Cobalt, blaring Sharpie-marked CDs that I ripped and burned on the family computer when I was fifteen, screaming into my cracked windshield at the top of my lungs and giving thanks to have had a father who had the wisdom to teach me that life’s not fair and that the dashboard is a drum kit.

Faced with a blank canvas once again, the weird fact of my life is that the easiest, simplest, most economical thing I can do right now is to go and travel for an indefinite period of time. I’ve accepted some very exciting invitations from some very good friends and made plans until the approximate end of 2022 that will take me through California, Mexico, and Colombia. It hardly even feels like a decision; it’s just what happens to be happening, and I’m going with the flow.

back road friendlies

I tried to live the standard narrative; it didn’t work out for me. It was incredibly hard to build an entire life and to leave it, again. A lot of my friends are making babies and buying houses, and it all looks so cosy and wholesome. Meanwhile, I’m taking my busted-up heart and my shiny new trumpet on a magical mystery tour because I know that action has the power to paint me into the landscape of my own life. So far, the big picture looks a lot like a trust fall through the ether, and I can only hope to be wildly surprised, well met, and safe. I always have been before.

This is the baseline fact of artists; we have to do what we do. We can’t not do it. If we try to dodge the calling of our vocations, we shrivel up and become embittered shadows of shattered souls that used to be people. Even if it doesn’t make any damn sense, we still have to do it.

she’s pretty

So I’m writing! More specifically, I’m writing to you. I’m feeling rusty, dusty, flustered by the potential for poetics in every paragraph, feeling my mind reach out its fingertips for the ease, the fluidity, the certainty of control and the satisfaction of mastery that the act of writing used to grant me. I’m out of practice, but that’s what this is for.

I refuse to succumb to what Charles Bukowski called, “the murdering of my years”. Death is the only experience that is truly promised in this life; we all know that we’ll never get out of here alive. I’ve accepted so much death in these last two months, and now, I want to find out what might be en route to enter this spaciousness.

liftoff

So, how would you like to come and see just a little bit more of the world with me?

See my magic carpet spewing technicolor fumes as it revs the timeless engine of bravado and mystique! Hear the hotline clanging at the Bureau for International Women of Mystery, lit up by callers hoping to catch a lift! Remember your mortality and kiss the joy as it flies! Do not be defeated by a simple failure of imagination! Your personal mythology is valid and beautiful! The integrity of your soul is not up for negotiation! Rejoice in the knowledge that we are but pawns in the great cosmic game, Sisyphean silkworms slowly knitting our own soft little shining ephemeral habitats, totally irrelevant and totally free!

Welcome back to my weird little niche on the internet, and thank you for reading. If you ever feel like responding to these newsletters, know that I welcome you.

Until next time, stay curious.

— Rose

PS: I’ve added a tip jar on Buy Me A Coffee. I’ve always believed that anything worth doing is worth doing for free, but one must keep up with the times – and the times are expensive. If you ever want to buy me a coffee, now you can!

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/curiosityroving

Curiosity Roving

The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen

V.17 : Salt and Sweat 

in which life has changed

___________________________

Greetings and Salutations! 

And welcome to the seventeenth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention.

My last letter reached you in late August, and ended with a premonition that September would find me in a return to form. It has; it does. However, it is not quite the form that I had forecasted. Such folly is always due to those who would count their chickens before they hatch. 

on the rocks

I’m writing to you today from Salt Spring Island, British Columbia. I have come here at the invitation of an old friend, and I have taken a job. I am now working as a harvest labourer at GoodBuds, a family-owned organic cannabis company.

Salt Spring Island is located in the Strait of Georgia between the west coast of the mainland and Vancouver Island. My information about the place has been absorbed from my coworkers and the various drivers who lift me down the winding roads in pursuit of a supply run or a swim. The popular lore of the island is thick with references to ancient Lemuria, crystal bedrock, indigenous rituals, the Dalai Lama, and other assorted arcana. It is a strange, magnetic kind of place and I like it very much.

my street

The island was settled by the well-to-do English and Irish in the late nineteenth century, and the aesthetic of the ‘gentleman farmer’ persists to this day. When appraising the value of a property, the age of the fruit trees is a serious consideration. I eavesdropped on some six-year-olds at the beach one day, and they were already well-versed in property subdivision. Many people choose to retire on Salt Spring. It is somewhat unusual to come here for work, but that is what I have done.

propriety

My work life is simple and pretty. I see the sunrise every morning. I spend most of my time in a nine-acre field of marijuana, looking at flowers, leaves, ladybugs, and teeny tiny little green tree frogs. My work is physical. I lift things and put them down. I am quick on my feet and deft with my hands. I drive the Gator, which is a darling little jeep-type vehicle that resembles the punk-rock offspring of an ATV, a John Deere classic, and a dump truck. I operate machines and handle sharp objects. I dress for damp in the morning and steam in the afternoon. I snip, chop, buck, weed, sort, defoliate, and trim. I have thirty minutes to feed myself every day at 11:30 AM, and for those thirty minutes, I am more animal than human. It’s a good life.

my workplace

Harvest is a season of intensity. There is a lot of work to be done, but the plants are so very sensitive and so very numerous, no one can say exactly when or how or by whom it will all be accomplished. We show up, we take instructions one by one, and we all hope for the best. I expect that the fever will continue for another month, maybe two.

weed it and reap

It’s been a long time since I worked in this way. A photographer came by the property last week, and a few of my coworkers didn’t want to have their photos taken, because marijuana is still a fringe industry and one’s involvement in it could be frowned upon by the mainstream. I was quite ready for my close-up, because the last time I participated in such legitimate (read: taxable) employment was April of 2009. 

variation on a theme

I had a nice conversation with a coworker about how, for fringe people like us, ‘the new normal’ has actually inspired a shift toward greater stability and greater capitulation to the status quo; that is, a shift toward what some would identify as ‘normality’.

I work a minimum of forty hours per week, often more. My status can generally be summarized as ‘tired’ or ‘busy’. I don’t hate it. I will continue.

So, while I’m not willing to entirely dismantle my shimmering and ramshackle temple to the written word, and while I will never abandon my own personal paradigm that supports a life devoted to adventure, it is now clear that Curiosity Roving is not currently the Thing I Am Doing In Life. I don’t have the capacity to support this project while working full-time. Therefore, I am releasing myself from the monthly deadlines that I have diligently met for the last year and a half. It makes me absolutely insane to pause this saga on such a cumbersome and anticipatory number as seventeen, but I soothe myself with the adjective ‘prime’.

leap of whimsy

You’ll probably hear from me later, whenever the magic carpet and the muses swoop back around to my cheeky hitchhiker’s thumb, as I’m sure they will, eventually. It could be two months. It could be two years. Please don’t unsubscribe; I’ll be sad. I’ll miss you. I’ll miss the version of me that collects facts and anecdotes and shiny things to share with you.

oh Canada

Have you enjoyed my performance? Think of me as a busker, laying out her hat. I am accepting tips through PayPal; not because I need the money, but because I am confident that my work has value.

If Curiosity Roving has made you think, made you giggle, made you blush, made you look, made you wait, made you pause, made you question, made you consult the dictionary, or made you feel something; if it’s sent you down a rabbit hole or on a wild goose chase; if it’s delivered a reliable dose of the shining, shimmering, splendid, then I hope you’ll consider tossing your spare change over to gooseroses@gmail.com.

hat life

My PayPal money generally gets recirculated into the arts. Whatever you pass along to me will go toward buying music, supporting fundraisers, and donating to artists like me. I am becoming a DJ these days; I buy songs. I buy albums. I buy the many things of beauty that my friends produce.

filthy farmgirl

Reader, I still don’t know much about life, but I’m pretty sure it’s important to know how to let a good thing go. Curiosity Roving is dead; long live Curiosity Roving. I am so grateful to every one of you who made the effort to read every one of the seventeen thousand words that I generated over the course of this odyssey. It’s been my absolute pleasure to show you the world. Thanks for the ride. I loved every minute of it.

Until next time, stay curious. — Rose

Curiosity Roving

The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen

V.16 : Bold Moves

in which we plant the winter wheat

___________________________

Greetings and Salutations! 
 

And welcome to the sixteenth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention, and I thank you for staying with me through these strange times.

In the time since my last letter, I have danced like it’s gay pride again, successfully scavenged the metal dump, observed the liquid waste and the bears, spied on the meteors, scoured my bile ducts, performed a secret mission and a seasonal ritual, whined about the weather, given birth to the DJ in my heart, started a cult, sparked and extinguished a number of fires, ached in all the right places, and made a Life Decision™.

occult icon

I’m writing to you today from a scenic balcony in the capital city of Winnipeg. You join me here, in limbo. I am going back to work, because I have already achieved my humble personal goals for the pandemic period and now I feel driven to become busy and accumulate some dollar bills. One of my historic compadres-through-the-ages has invited me to Salt Spring Island, on the west coast of Canada, to ply the sylvan fields of a marijuana farm in the harvest season. This invitation came about as a result of a single limerick that I composed and posted to his Facebook page on the occasion of his birthday. He also replied in poetry. I love my life, and I love my friends. Let’s keep in touch.

migration

I have never been to Salt Spring Island. The only things I really know about it are that I don’t need to own a vehicle and it probably won’t ever be colder than minus 5 Celsius. It sounds fine. I love work as a mental health strategy; if someone will just give me forty hours a week of things to do for the next few months, I will probably emerge in a much better state of mind.

I am scattered mentally, but collected physically. Everything is packed. I am very practiced in this kind of change and I have not forgotten anything.

temple

This letter is more from the heart than the cortices, because my brain is frankly on the fritz with the effort of integrating the accumulated combination of self-education and lethargy and rude shocks and anxiety and grief and childhood regression and coping strategies and decadence and stubborn love and audacious holy joy thrown in the face of terror that has characterized the last five months. I’m cutting myself a lot of slack and I recommend that you do the same. I don’t know what to say except thank you, again, and also the future is uncertain.

peepers

Yes, joy is holy in these times. One of the greatest mental health benchmarks that I have noticed and celebrated during this long season is having the capacity to experience personal misery without it  affecting my capacity to also enjoy my life. Wherever you are, I hope that you have created occasions to appreciate the small things. The small things are everything. If you experience beauty, I hope you share it. Even in seasons of trial, people are capable of such beautiful things.

ppe zeitgeist

A friend recently composed a tiny Twitter ode on the subject of traveling as opposed to tourism, with the central proposition that the two are distinguished by the presence of risk. It’s possible that I am nursing an addiction to risk. Flying across the country to a place I have never been is undoubtedly more risky than staying here, in the lap of the support network to which I exist in tight mutual obligation established by blood ties and years of shared experience. Let’s find out if this gamble pays off.

another day

I would also posit that the difference between a traveler and a tourist could be demarcated by the points of focus. A tourist is motivated by destinations, and runs around the track of an itinerary, with clear outlines for photo ops, life support, and transit. A traveler engages with the spaces in between. A traveler values the company. 

potential

Departure is awful. That never changes. But then I cry on the plane, order a coffee, dry my face with the napkin, become preoccupied with the pressure in my ears, wonder if I should be embarrassed, try to write, discover that my pen doesn’t work at altitude, stretch my legs, remember an anecdote, ponder with whom I could share it, hope that I don’t forget, spy on my seat neighbours, groan at the baby, walk to the bathroom and back, buckle my seatbelt, have a giggle at the magnificent futility of human endeavour, contemplate mortality, remember to breathe, and usually, I find fresh air wherever I land.

riddle

Reader, that’s all I’ve got for today. September will find me in a return to form. Thanks for sticking around.

In love, in gratitude, in humility.

Until next time, stay curious. — Rose

Appendix : Loose Change
 

– I don’t know who needs to hear this right now, but you can watch ‘Spice World’ online. You may not have realized it at age seven, but it’s satire and it’s rich.

https://watch.123movie.cc/movies/spice-world

– This article on Mr. Rogers is a nice reminder about little and big, about purpose, about grace.

https://www.esquire.com/entertainment/tv/a27134/can-you-say-hero-esq1198/

– Canadians really love not being American. Here’s a piece on the state of affairs in the US of A, written by a Canadian.

https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/political-commentary/covid-19-end-of-american-era-wade-davis-1038206

Curiosity Roving

The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen

V.15 : The Great North

in which we discuss the weather

___________________________

Greetings and Salutations! 

And welcome to the fifteenth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention. For new subscribers, a special hey-hey and howdy y’all. You join this odyssey already in progress. If you would like to get caught up on the various nefarious hijinks that have brought us to the here and now, my last fourteen letters are documented in the archive: http://tinyletter.com/curiosity_roving/archive

gush

Today is a very special day in the world of Curiosity Roving, because for the first time since March, I am able to offer you a little slice of something geographical. I’m writing today from a grove of pine and poplar at the end of Sunset Drive in the 21st Unorganized Division on the eastern shore of Wekusko Lake, which can also be called South End or Herb Lake Landing. We’re sitting pretty on the 55th parallel and I just might be as far north as I’ve ever been. Around here, a person can watch the sunset until well after midnight, and we do. The space is shared with geese, loons, eagles, pelicans, chipmunks, squirrels, dragonflies, a great many mosquitoes, the rumour of bears, and one old crow named George. I have spent the last week dressed in plaid flannel, sampling the thrills of various watercraft, sipping on sweet rhubarb juice, and cooperatively conferring about the weather at least six times per day.

one way or another

In my country, going north is a classic rite of passage, so I’ve been looking forward to this for a lifetime or so. The north has been romanticized for its hardships since the pioneer days, and there is a spirit of rough, enduring grit that still distinguishes the people of the north from those of the south. It is understood that to live in the north is to volunteer for risk, adventure, wide open spaces, greater self-reliance, long dark winters, and good cheap thrills. The north is a mood as much as it is a place.

palette

Canada’s economy still rests on the foundation of our natural resources, and the northern towns are mostly built for work – in mining, in construction, in oil, in conservation, and in education and other services to support the families who choose to make their homes here. Work in the north is generally well-paid, so many young Canadians will eventually find themselves strapped into a tin can aircraft, or perhaps driving over the winter road of a frozen lake, all a-rattling toward a good opportunity. They return to the south at sporadic intervals, lusting after the creature comforts of midnight food deliveries, preferred brand names, and everything else that isn’t available “up there”. It’s a living, and it’s a lifestyle. My parents both worked in the north in earlier years, and many of my friends do so to this day. 

outlook

I have the great joy and privilege to be here with one such friend, whose family is of Metis heritage. The Metis people are a multiancestral indigenous group, descended from the mixed lineage of First Nations people and European settlers. This unique cultural group came into existence in the mid-17th century, at the peak of the Canadian fur trade. Many intrepid trappers emigrated to North America from France and Britain, and it was the custom for them to marry women from the local bands. A good woman was a crucial component for a trapper’s overall success; she would provide survival skills, linguistic and cultural translations, social integration, and the maintenance of sanity that comes with steady companionship. Canadian Metis were officially recognized as a distinct Indigenous people in 1982, and their population currently numbers about six hundred thousand people nationally.

trusty float

This area became populous in the early 20th century, when gold was discovered in Wekusko Lake. Manitoba was hard-hit during the First World War and the Great Depression that followed, so when the reports of ‘free gold’ in the north started to circulate, many people were willing to try their luck in the remote and uncivilized territory. Many new towns that came into existence during that time, most of them formed by a company to serve the production of a particular resource. The town of Herb Lake was a bit of an anomaly, in that it was settled by independent prospectors and grew organically into a very complete, albeit isolated, town. The gold rush built and sustained the community from 1914 until 1958, and at its zenith, the town had a population of about 450 people to patronize the barber shop, churches, pool hall, hospital, restaurants, and school that were established by the new residents.

purple sandy

Herb Lake has long been abandoned. The ghost town is still accessible by boat and bush, but all you’ll find there are some sagging boards and a mighty cloud of insects. The area’s people now make their homes at Herb Lake Landing, which was once the last rail stop on the way to the old mining town. The business of ore still sustains the area, with the production of copper, nickel, and gold that is now based in the neighbouring town of Snow Lake, and many local families have stayed in the industry. Smaller contributions to the local economy come from fishing, trapping, wild rice harvesting, and a smattering of tourism.

tiger lily

My own heritage hails from the Mennonite community of southern Manitoba, about 800 kilometres distant, so I am as much a foreigner here as I am abroad. I’m too skinny. I wear the wrong clothes, I use the wrong slang, and I don’t know how to fish. Where we’ve got cattle, they’ve got moose. Where we’ve got dust, they’ve got moss. Where we’ve got wheat fields, they’ve got bush and stone and quarry.

Still, there is more the same than different. We all drink wine from boxes. We want coffee in the morning and alcohol at night. We paint on rocks with cheap acrylics. Everyone wants to hear ‘Hotel California’. When people come to visit, we call them ‘company’, and when we eat in the evening, we call that ‘supper’. We laugh at the dogs when they chase the squirrels, we scream when the swimming’s too cold, and we smile when the rainbow cuts through the storm. It’s home, and it isn’t. It’s another variation on the endless theme of living.

my kind of treasure

Reader, go on and get your gold wherever you can find it. If you don’t take any risks, it’s all too easy to overlook the rewards. If you are the king of today’s one-horse town, then carry your crown up high and give away your Budweiser; a few good friends can keep the ghosts at bay. The clouds could roll in any day now, so if someone offers you a Sea-doo ride, just take it. Chase the damn ducks. A little wind in your hair won’t scramble your brains, and a little rain is a fine occasion to start a conversation. Whatever you’re doing, try to want it. Try to do it deliberately. Me, I reckon I’ll be over here with my feet in the grass and my WiFi shut off for just a little while longer.

Until next time, stay curious. — Rose

Appendix

My singer/songwriter alter-ego has been hard at play. 

– I have a new music video here:

https://vimeo.com/437718845

– and a reasonably scathing open letter that pairs with it here:

https://www.curiosityroving.com/storytime

– The new EP, ‘Young Wolf’ is live on every platform:

Bandcamp: https://radiorose.bandcamp.com/album/young-wolf

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/radio-rose-143433790/albums

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/4AXfTo2iBGew14H8a2XNpZ

Youtube: https://youtu.be/8wimrp-RHNQ

– My old friends at the Music Nest also released this new compilation album that documents a year of rooftop performances, mine among them: https://musicnest.bandcamp.com/releases

– And here’s a great little article on the settling of Herb Lake: 

http://www.mhs.mb.ca/docs/mb_history/68/herblake.shtml#:~:text=In%201914%2C%20Richard%20Woosey%20and,for%20some%20distance%20in%20was

Curiosity Roving

The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen

V.14 : Quiet Bloom

in which we watch and listen

___________________________

Greetings and Salutations! 
 

And welcome to the fourteenth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention. For new subscribers, a special welcome to my little world. You can review the last year of my adventures in the letter archive: https://tinyletter.com/curiosity_roving/archive

It’s been three months since I made an unscheduled crash-landing in rural Manitoba. I am in a very strange state of limbo, and I don’t know how long it will last. I do entertain the idea of suspending this project until I can resume the geographic variety of adventure, but for today, I have chosen to persevere. I’m still open to the possibility that this protracted moment will eventually prove to be a passing anomaly. After all, we’ve just stepped out of pandemic season and into riot season without even enough lag time to change the decorations, and my head is spinning. How about yours? For anyone reading this today, I’m honoured that you have chosen to keep my voice at your side through this strange and challenging time.

peaceful protest

It is appropriate to begin with an acknowledgement of the current conversation around the necessity of proactively upholding the human rights of people of colour. I’m white, I’m privileged, and I’m paying attention. Racism was directly addressed and educated out of us tiny Canadians during elementary school, but I can recognize that I have benefited from, and occasionally exploited, the advantages that have been accessible to me as a white woman. I can recognize that systemic racism is active in my home country. I appreciate that so many people are now taking the initiative to hold ourselves accountable and step up to the responsibility of making changes. If that’s what you’re here for, I have included a collection of resources for self-education on this subject in the Appendix. 

bleeding heart

However, Curiosity Roving is more like an antidote to the news, so today, I’m showing you flowers and I’m writing about rest.

My generation has drawn the short ends of the statistical sticks across a wide selection of quality-of-life metrics – financial stability, emotional wellness, and even life expectancy seem to be on a downward slide among the millennials – but after the experience of the last few months, I am convinced that one of the greatest and most profound losses in the vast sassy void that we have claimed as our natural habitat is the loss of true rest.

honeysuckle

On April 2nd, near the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic and subsequent lockdowns worldwide, Florida business advisor Jeremy Haynes published a viral tweet that read: 

“If you don’t come out of this quarantine with either:

1) a new skill
2) starting what you’ve been putting off, like a new business
3) more knowledge

You didn’t ever lack the time, you lacked the discipline.”

harbingers

This suggestion that a group of people living through the novel experiences of collective crisis and a global state of emergency should be using their time to start a business is perfectly demonstrative of the toxic hustler culture that is the bread and butter of my peer group. Now that so many of us live with perpetually pocketed internet access, the meaning of a full-time job has become increasingly literal. Even when we’re on vacation or enjoying leisure hours, social media users stay busy with the production of benignly manipulative content to prop up our public image, and consumption of the same. The self-made entrepreneur is the primary deity of late capitalism, and we are all conditioned to subtly shame ourselves and each other for ever giving less than 110%. When we burn out, we are encouraged to disappear. It’s a dirty, dirty river that we’re in, and we’ve all made compromises to stay aboard the raft of the status quo and thrive. 

I don’t want to complain, because millennial life is also super great and sparkly and fun in a lot of ways, and I certainly didn’t spend all this time and energy promulgating my own personal myth just to debunk it. Still, faced with such a climate, I believe that the choice to deliberately rest constitutes an act of subversion. And, of course, I acknowledge that having the option to rest is a privilege.

hanging out

Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing. Here in the Interlake, the seasons have finally changed. The last few weeks have heralded a sweet onslaught of birds, blooms, and butterflies, so I’ve been sitting around and looking at them. The lawnmowers have emerged in force. The weather can finally be celebrated, rather than ignored. I’ve found a lemon radler in the local shop that pairs nicely with a sneaky afternoon moment by the lakeside, and I like goin’ over there and talkin’ real country at the checkout. I decided a couple of years ago that I’m old enough to call everyone ‘honey’, so I do as much of that as I can. I’ve been up some slippery staircases and down a few new back roads. I’ve been challenging myself to remain horizontal for increasingly long periods of time. I’m in the midst of a purely subjective study on the cumulative effects of leaving one’s feet in a sunbeam. I’ve been plumbing the deep dark depths of the memory tank; personal, familial, and collective. I’m exploring even more ways to be less angry. I’m growing my hair. I’m recording some music. I’m minding my business.

stopwatch

Reader, there is nothing in nature that blooms throughout the year. So look: you can take a break. You might not need it today, you might not even need it soon, but when you need rest, please take it. Even if that’s just kneeling in the shower and putting your forehead on the floor and letting the water rain down on your shoulders and temporarily forgetting that you exist and have opinions and a face and people know you and stuff. Even if that’s just throwing yourself into bed and wholeheartedly yielding the entire weight of existence to gravity for as long as your schedule permits. I mean, yes, there’s a time and a place to pull yourself up by the bootstraps, but have you ever tried just sincerely and devotedly surrendering for a minute or a month? Do it. Rest begets readiness. Don’t take my word for it. Ask the perennials. Ask the trees.

limited time only

Today’s Sauce features a short poem about some of the precocious local flora. I wrote this one on April 11th and my predictions were exactly correct. There might be an allegory in there somewhere. 

www.curiosityroving.com/sauce

Happy Solstice!

Until next time, stay curious. — Rose

Appendix : This and That
 

1) Resources for self-education on the current conversation around upholding the human rights of people of colour:

– White Awake :  https://whiteawake.org/self-education/themes-and-resources/
 

– Dismantling Racism Works : https://www.dismantlingracism.org
 

– Compilation of anti-racism resources for white people : https://docs.google.com/…/1BRlF2_zhNe86SGgHa6-…/mobilebasic
 

– Sara Ahmed’s articles : https://www.saranahmed.com/articles
 

– White Noise Collective : https://www.conspireforchange.org/reso…/antiracism-practice/
 

– Practice Showing Up : https://www.jardanapeacock.com/…/16…/practice_showing_up.pdf

– Buzzfeed put up this quiz that invites you to literally check your privilege. It’s not flawless, but it’s fun. I scored 42. 
https://www.buzzfeed.com/regajha/how-privileged-are-you

2) Hustle may be bread, but oxygen is art:

– Ryan Cook’s new collection of gospel covers and his entire back catalog are streaming here : https://portal.ryancook.ca/

– Bella White (you may remember her from V.2) just moved to Nashville (!) and released her first single : https://lnkfi.re/BrokeWhenI

– Barbora Xu created a ‘Morning Music’ series during quarantine and it is totally enchanting : https://www.facebook.com/barboraxumusic/

– This hand drum concert by Mohammed Reza Mortazavi is a wowzer : https://youtu.be/fAdWfGb5rIo

– DJ SUAT just might be a fully actualized creative human  : https://www.facebook.com/SUATISM/

– For the down and dirty DnB/Jungle crew, DJ Aphrodite has been hosting some full-power 2-hour live sessions :  https://www.facebook.com/djaphrodite/

– This festival of short films is on until the 22nd and it’s great : https://www.psfilmfest.org/2020-shortfest/film-finder

Curiosity Roving

The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen

V.13 : Small World

in which, lacking space, we explore time

________________________________

Greetings and Salutations! 
 

And welcome to the thirteenth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention. For new subscribers, a special welcome. If you aren’t sure where you are or how we got here, you have the option to review my letter archive: http://tinyletter.com/curiosity_roving/archive

It’s been a month. It’s been an extremely strange month for many of us. I am definitely not interested in writing about the phenomenon of a global pandemic, and I don’t think you are particularly interested in reading about it, either. So, today, I’m offering another letter on the loose theme of ‘lifestyle’.

local services

I am maintaining a somewhat unusual lifestyle, but that’s easy to forget when I am deep in the practice of living. Every so often, I get a chance to step outside myself and be surprised by the sneaky accumulation of my own habits and character. In recent days, I’ve been living with a completely empty schedule, and I’ve had the opportunity to appreciate the nonstandard relationship that I’ve cultivated with time.

Years ago, in the village of Amari on the island of Crete, my father and I participated in a course in storytelling in which we were introduced to the idea of kairological time. In Greek mythology, Chronos is the god of time, as understood in the linear or sequential sense; one thing follows another. We’ve adopted this in English for the word ‘chronological’. However, Chronos also had a brother, whose name was Kairos. Kairos is the personification of ‘timing’; as in, when things happen at the right or opportune moment. Kairological time, which could also be termed ‘synchronicity’, has been central to my haphazard participation in this life, and I use three mystic tools to keep myself engaged with the sense of divine timing in everyday life.

reminder

My first tool is the dance of stars and planets. Western astrology is tied up with mainstream culture, and most of us learn our sun signs during the process of developing a sense of individualized identity. As a child, I was devoted to the three-line horoscopes of the Saturday paper, and after years of casual study, I’ve now come to appreciate astrology not as a quick-fix telescope for glimpsing the future, but rather as an opportunity to regularly meditate on how humble a human life becomes when held up against the backdrop of the cosmos. When a person pays attention, astrology is a lush ballet of massive celestial bodies that we can watch from our seats here on Earth, and a very complete set of archetypal frameworks that can be used to articulate and better understand the nature of being human. 

old familiar

My second tool is runic symbology. I grew up in the capital of New Iceland, which I told you all about in V.2, so although my own heritage is not genetically Icelandic, the cultural dynamic of my childhood was. The Viking Runes are a set of twenty-four symbols that date to the approximate stone age, and they came into my life with a little silver-and-gold book that fell off the library shelf and into my hands when I was a teenager. I love this system for its simplicity and solid earthy themes. The symbols all relate to plants, to water, to seasons, to weather, and, because it’s Vikings, to the path and duty of the warrior, and the pantheon of Norse gods and goddesses. Some years back, I extrapolated from my knowledge base to design a runic cycle of the year, which sketches a fresh thematic shift for every two weeks.

oracle bones

The third tool is the Tzolkin matrix from the Foundation for the Law of Time. This system is loosely related to the Mayan calendar, and some of the jargon around it gets a bit hippy-dippy for my tastes, but it was presented to me by a very impressive person under some very unusual circumstances, so I keep it. I mean, when an ageless cosmic priestess travels with her donkey across a mountain range to deliver a full-colour instructional booklet that is helpfully written in your second language, the very least you can do is study the thing, right? It would be silly not to. 

spring forth

The Tzolkin is a synchronometer of twenty symbols, thirteen tonalities, four colours, and a great many portals of galactic activation. Every day is assigned a signature, the characteristics of which can provide optional guidance for how to approach the events of that day. There are thirteen moons of twenty-eight days each, and the calendar resets on July 25th with an annual “day out of time”. Mostly, I like the colours. They’re so pretty.

cracking up?

I’ve been paying attention to all of this for a decade or so, and now, I have a synthesized format and ritual practice for acknowledging the passage of time. I use my journal. I map out a month in advance, add details as they come to my attention, and generally take a minute in the morning and a minute in the evening to review the various swirling forces of the day and think about how I might manage myself and my activities to be in harmony with that and make good use of the time.

hindsight

None of it means anything. I know that. But really, neither does anything else. Faced with the strict facts of universal meaninglessness and the inevitable domination of the supermassive black holes, I believe that our task in this life is perhaps to simply find the things that we like, and enjoy them as much as we can. Choose the path, and it chooses you. This is what I like. I’m really enjoying it.

play time

The integration of these systems of thought with my daily life provides me with a sense of stability and rootedness that is anchored in time, rather than space. It’s a useful thing for a wanderer. Throughout our hectic human experiences, a life on Earth will be basically defined by the boundaries of space and time, so I think it’s nice to develop a personal relationship with these phenomena.

Do you have rituals or systems to frame the passage of time? Feel free to drop me a line and tell me about them.

pastime

In today’s Sauce, we’re sliding across and down to let the cruciverbalist out to flex and splash some colour on that newsprint.

https://www.curiosityroving.com/sauce

Reader, adventure is a paradigm. I salute you from my armchair.

Until next time, stay curious. — Rose

Appendix : Extra Extra

(read all about it)

I subscribe to Sabrina Monarch’s weekly forecasts for my tracking of stars and planets: 

https://monarchastrology.com/

This website is a pretty good resource for learning runic symbols:

https://runesecrets.com/

The Foundation for the Law of Time is found here: 
https://lawoftime.org/

And as for current events:

Two more music videos making light of current times, these featuring a very important announcement from the South African Minister of Cooperative Governance and Traditional Affairs on the subject of their current smoking ban, with some reinterpretation and pizzaz by Max Hurrell. This is one of the gems of the Internet right now. ‘Zol’ is slang for a joint or a spliff, and the tune is legit bangin’. 
https://youtu.be/yh3wcqMC9hM
https://youtu.be/UshEeyv8YZM

And if you want to give some attention to the deep and undeniable corruption of our capitalist milieu, this new documentary highlighting the utter futility of so-called green energy is not a bad choice: 

https://youtu.be/Zk11vI-7czE

Curiosity Roving

The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen

V.12 : Home Free

in which we encounter disruptive elements

___________________________

Greetings and Salutations! 

Welcome to the twelfth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention. For new subscribers, a special howdy howdy, welcome to my three-ring circus and magic pony show. If you fancy some historical context, you have the option to browse volumes one through eleven in my archive: https://tinyletter.com/curiosity_roving/archive

In the time since my last letter, my life as I understood it has done a spectacular kablooie. One month ago, I had just finished an indulgent vacation in Mexico with a young American and I was all set to mosey out to a secluded permaculture farm in the mountains of Chiapas. Things were getting tense on the world stage, but I still had some faith that I might be able to opt out of the madness and carry on in my pleasant little bubble without major disruption.

prayer

Enter Loki, Eris, and Anansi. Cue life.

I took a sixteen-hour bus ride to the beautiful mountain town of San Cristobal de Los Casas, spent two days waiting to meet my hosts, then received a memo that the farm would not be accepting any new volunteers. The Guatemalan border closed. Parts of the USA went into lockdown and flights became increasingly jeopardized. I contracted some stubborn food poisoning that rendered all varieties of Mexican food totally unthinkable for about a week. The young American dumped me in video chat. I checked in with a fellow artist-voyageur with whom I’d planned for an April project in Oaxaca, and he told me that not only was that definitely off the menu, but also this would probably be a good time to return to my country. 

So, I emailed my mother, and for the first time in twelve years, I invited her to influence my decisions.

from this beach…

One week after I shipped out Volume Eleven, I woke up in the loft of my grandfather’s motorhome, swaddled in down-filled plaid motifs, and watched my breath pluming dragon-like out into the frigid air. I remembered how to unzip the bottom of my sleeping bag so I could walk around while continuing to be inside it. I learned to pre-heat the bathroom before attempting any business therein. My first two weeks of reluctant repatriation were passed in a strict quarantine, during which time my only non-digital human contact was with my mother when she delivered toast and coffee at 11 AM, then quesadillas and wine at 7 PM. She deposited paper plates on the doorstep and backed away to the requisite six-foot distance, and when it was warm enough, we shouted pleasantries across the driveway. My travel kit contained only one sweater and one pair of trousers, so that is what I wore for every single one of those fourteen days and nights. Taking inspiration from the geese that arrived on my schedule, we decided that if I needed attention, I should just honk.

…to this beach

My grandfather’s motorhome is a 1988 Travelaire, and it is one of my favourite places in the whole wide world. As children, we would tear up and down the two metres of aisle space, burrow into the fuzzy blue seats, probe the fascinating retro contents of the enigmatically tiny cupboards, and abuse the radio. My grandfather drove it to Arizona in the quest to escape the winters of the ’80s and ’90s. He maintained the interior with characteristic homesteader fastidiousness, so if anything is broken, it was securely the fault of the rambunctious grandchildren. The machine has been parked here for a decade or so; my mother occasionally takes it on an outing. Like all of her vehicles, it is colloquially referred to as ‘Lizzie’.

habitat

Then there was a blizzard on April 2nd – of course there was, this is Manitoba – during which all of my power sources shorted out. No shade to Lizzie; we can hardly be surprised that the electrical engineering of the eighties wasn’t quite up to the task of sustaining a depressed millennial with tropical predilections and a quenchless thirst for hot tea through the last hurrah of a prairie winter. As the world turned white, I was hustled in through the garage and re-quarantined in my sister’s old room, which I found somewhat chaotic and very orange. I achieved fusion with a vintage armchair. I have been here ever since. This is the only bedroom in the house which I have never before occupied, and it feels like the last level of a video game. I have become the Final Boss.

nightmare

In December of 2012, I was at a Rainbow Gathering in the High Atlas mountains of Morocco. My memories from this period of my life are far from reliable and certainly not complete, but there is a fragment of a song that I’ve managed to carry with me from those campfire evenings: “I’ve always been a drifter // I’ve traveled all my life // and when I cannot hit the road // I travel in my mind“. Such is my reality, as I have now come to understand it. I will be here, in this room, with myself, for the foreseeable part of the now-foggy future. As the geographical world closes off, my inner world expands. Despite my public and performative vocation, I am a deeply introverted person, so the current responsibility of isolation is like candy on the holidays for me. I can imagine very few circumstances under which I would allow myself to have this much time and space for great glorious antisocial behaviour. I’m having it now.

heirloom

Gratitude is appropriate. To all the teachers who have guided me in yoga and meditation: thank you. This month has been hard, but without the strength of my training, it would have been quite unbearable. To all of the artists and entertainers who are offering daily online opportunities for connection and joy: thank you. I’ve learned to party on Zoom and it’s certainly better than nothing. To all of my friends who have taken the time to call and commiserate, thank you. Tu eres mi vida. Please keep the all memories that I forget. To the essential workers who are managing the “real world” while we’re all checked out: thank you. I cannot imagine the living hell with which hospitals around the world are now tasked to cope. Brava, brava, brava and 加油. Last but largest, to my mother, for telling me to come home, for letting me cry, and for helping me clean out the closets. Thank you.

perspective

Reader, I’ll be thirty next Friday. When I started this odyssey, part of the fun was that I didn’t know where in the world I would observe that milestone transition, and Gimli, Manitoba is absolutely the LAST place that I would have guessed, so there is some trickster beauty in that. We’ll also celebrate the birthday of my brand; Curiosity Roving is one year old, and dang, she is cute. But on that note, I’m considering rebranding as Compass Rose. What do you think, is that better? Better because it incorporates my name, worse because the domain’s already taken. Hmmmm…

Anyway, birthdays mean wishes where I’m from, so listen up. Here’s what I want: 

I want readers. Not followers. I want you to tell your friends who read. If you are enjoying my little project, get crafty and thread the words “Curiosity Roving” into some socially distant conversations with your literati nearest and dearest. Give me a shoutout on the social media platform of your choice. If you’re embarrassed by this flagrant plug, just tell everyone it’s my birthday. It actually will be on May 1st. I’ve been at this for a year, it is going well, and I will continue. I know I’m good. I work to be good. Show me you love me.

growth

Our sauce today is equal parts romance and razor blade, because that’s my job.

www.curiosityroving.com/sauce

Please enjoy.

Reader, I won’t pretend to fathom the details of this fabulous destiny that I am bound to pursue, but I am confident that it won’t be boring, and I promise to tell you all about it. I still have some fumes of ambition drifting through my shattered tanks. I’ve strapped my bones to a dream machine and I solemnly swear that I will ride ‘er till she breaks. Frankly, I expected to die a long time ago, but as I approach this next decade and confront its shady promises of horror and joy, I find myself becoming accustomed, or perhaps resigned, to the idea that I might not.

Until next time, stay curious. — Rose

Appendix: Proof of Life / Life Support

Here are some of the online resources that are keeping me sane and healthy:

https://www.youtube.com/user/lesleyfightmaster

 — Lesley Fightmaster’s channel is a great option for those days when you need to get into some yogic asanas and you don’t really have the mental force to initiate. Safe sequences, great guidance, nice production, California style. I’ve been running her 30-day program and my ardha chandrasana’s never been better.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1bvKGE2qbL8urdb7p4GR-Sv6aWZqmtiQCaGFQOk6xygE/edit?usp=sharing

 — Emily Rosen has been hosting some awesome conversations in an event called Navigating Trauma. Trauma psychology is an expanding field in modern mental health, and these interviews are packed with techniques and vocabulary for anyone and everyone. Don’t be scared off by the word ‘trauma’. It probably applies to you. I especially liked the talk with Rachel Maddox, and there’s a demonstration of conscious relationship that is both amazing and hilarious in the episode featuring Buster Radvik and Rachel Rickards.

http://www.napowrimo.net/

 — It’s been National/Global Poetry Writing Month all through April. There are still a few days to hop aboard and make use of the daily prompts. Zero risk, lots of fun.

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1v8Smp2A9iO1Tqyvd_0UJLizFE-0273cCgExAVgT9pL4

 — This is my NaPoWriMo collection of poems. I write poetry like a songwriter and a storyteller, mostly aiming for the low-brow emotional appeal. Some are good, some are not. The daily ritual of completing this task has turned it into a sort of diary sequence, so don’t go there unless you fancy playing Peeping Tom to my deep dark subconscious. April 9th and 10th are probably the best ones so far.

http://www.chriswhubbard.com/from-here-to-over-there-podcast

— Chris W. Hubbard has a weekly podcast where folks share stories about going from one place to another. You, too, can travel in your mind. You can hear about a wide variety of human challenges that will allow you to momentarily release your fixation on the present one. Find me at Episode 16.

http://www.neopets.com/

 — This is my juvenile solution to dupe and pacify the capitalist agenda of my brain. I haven’t played online games in about seventeen years, and this site looks exactly like it did in 2003. My username is goose_roses. Friend me and I’ll fight you.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3yO8nSSjmqmcFZN3ecQRKg

 — Some housebound pals in Calgary are making these hilarious QuaranT.V. videos because they can. They had my heart at “Igor! Did you feed the sheep?!” Featuring cameo appearances by Jesus, Satan, and Joe Exotic.

https://www.twitch.tv/fleetmacwood

 — Fleetmac Wood hosts a digital dance party every Friday at 4 PM PST on Twitch. If you need a serious twirl-fest, this is your go-to. Bring your best pashmina. They fuse the Fleetwood Mac catalog with electronic dance music, and the potential for emotional climax is off the dang charts.

https://sunnyraynz.bandcamp.com/album/sentient-compass-2

 — My old pal Sunny Ray of New Zealand just released her new album, Sentient Compass. It’s calibrated to 432 Hz and it’s very soothing and full of positive and hopeful messages for the road-weary warrior. Track 3 is my fave.

https://youtu.be/eySDeBdqxGY

 — Here’s our pretty-boy prime minister with an important broadcast.    (click it, you’ll love it)

https://youtu.be/gwxdh4JX9e4

 — By way of counterpoint, here’s the mayor of Taipei with some sound advice.

Welcome to Curiosity Roving by me, L Rose Goossen. Wordsmith and globetrotter, currently publishing under the banner of Curiosity Roving

Sign up now so you don’t miss the first issue.

In the meantime, tell your friends!

Curiosity Roving

The Grand Adventures of L Rose Goossen

V.11 : Safety Third

in which we explore dangerous liaisons

_____________________________

Greetings and Salutations! 

And welcome to the eleventh volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention. It’s been a little more than one year since I, hungover and half-blind in Ho Chi Minh City, finally made the long-pondered decision to quit my rich sedentary life and catapult this one-woman traveling circus back onto the road in order to explore fresh frontiers, find friends, and frivolously spend my accumulated monies. I regret nothing. Thank you for joining me on this wild ride.

I am writing to you today from Mexico City, which is North America’s most populous cosmopolitan megalopolis, with twenty-one million people living inside its official bounds. Before 2016, the accepted local abbreviation for this place was DF, for Distrito Federal, but it has now been rebranded as CDMX, for Ciudad de Mexico. 

a city of monuments

Three weeks ago, I flew all the way down to Panama because indirect flights are cheaper, and the flight attendants poured me doubles in my handy collapsible travel cup. When I arrived in the big city after nearly three moths in the relative boonies, I wandered the parks and museums with my jaw scraping the sidewalks. I replaced my shoes, which is always a mildly agonizing endeavour as I am only allowed one pair and I like the expensive ones. I took a bus to Acapulco and another one back. I brought along an insidious skin affliction from the poisonwood tree of Belize, and a sweet companion from the Estados Unidos. I said many things in Spanish that I had never said before. I have been watching the grand drama of the coronavirus as it escalates on the world stage, and it swept rather aggressively into my happy little bubble just a few days ago. As it turns out, a taco a day does not keep a pandemic away.

it’s still a beer down here

This is a very awkward time to be traveling. I usually begin composing these letters around the tenth day of the month, but with the rapidity and extremity of the developments surrounding this moment of global panic, it was difficult to understand what the real story of this time was going to be. Every day still brings surprises, but that’s business as usual for me.

Here in Mexico, awareness of the coronavirus is still pretty minimal. One week ago, I watched the elderly patron of the Barbaroja pirate bar as he gave my companion a very firm parting handshake, and I cringed, and I knew then that my own perspective had shifted. A few days later, that same companion flew home two days earlier than expected, sliding back into the USA just before air travel between the two countries became jeopardized. Many of my readers around the world are now in some variety of quarantine. I’m not quite there yet. By that I mean that I am still technically allowed to leave my rented rooms, but I generally do not. My plans for the weeks and months ahead have been completely vaporized by the fact of uncertainty and I am taking it one day at a time. 

skull and skyline

CDMX and Acapulco are very different places, but they share the distinction of a seriously mauvaise reputation. In global homicide rankings, Acapulco is second only to Tijuana, and the international profile of CDMX is coloured with garish stories of chaos, brutality, and street crime. The selection of these destinations was more opportunistic than intentional; the decision was made based on metrics of cost, distance, and access, without thinking too particularly about what the cities themselves might have to offer. Frankly, I am glad to have made such an ignorant choice, because to have been balked by statistics would have meant missing out on some real diamonds amongst all the rough.

actually pretty polished

The historic center of Ciudad de Mexico is lined with tall jacaranda trees, which are currently blooming in pale purple. There are shoe-shine men serving customers seated in tall red booths on the sidewalks and in the plazas. The bakeries are stacked with pastries that look like cartoons glazed with butter. The local Chinatown, over on Dolores Street, is draped with red lanterns and paper parasols. In trendy, bourgeois Roma/Condesa, the dog park fills each morning with happy mammals in fur and spandex and every night, the bars are full and glittering. In the central square, or zócalo, the ruins of the 700-year-old Aztec city of Tenochtitlan stand right beside the Metropolitan Cathedral and the National Palace. 

view from the canopy

In yet another instance of Spanish language being maybe just a little bit drunk, the word zócalo actually translates as “baseboard”. At one point, there was a plan in place to build a column in the central square in honour of Mexican independence, which was recognized in 1836. The building of the column never progressed beyond the baseboard, and somehow that word came to be favoured above all others to signify “central square”. I can confirm that, five hours to the south, they’ve use the same word in Acapulco.

under the dune-coloured dome

Acapulco is the grand dame of Mexican beach tourism. In the 1950s, following an upgrade in basic infrastructure, the port town became a fashionable place for Hollywood celebrities to go on vacation, and many stars acquired second homes for convenience. The economy boomed, and the population exploded. By the 1960s, the resort culture of the middle class was swiftly encroaching on that of the A-list.

nice place ya got here

These days, there are almost no foreign tourists in Acapulco, due to the city’s statistics of violence, an official warning from the US government to avoid traveling there, and the accessibility of new and novel destinations like Cancún. However, domestic tourism is still booming, and Mexican families are masters of the beach game. On a typical day in Acapulco, it is quite normal to see three generations of people sitting around a little plastic table on the crystal sand, with a fully stacked picnic and/or cooler minibar, everyone playing in the surf and smiling, more than likely accompanied by some bubbly pop music on a portable speaker. Pray to your hypothetical higher power of choice that their playlist may be longer than three songs, because they will definitely be there until sunset.

bay of Acapulco

Of course, it’s not all Disney. I rode one local bus that had me fearing for my life and another for my eardrums. When a person is a pedestrian, the traffic lights are not the babysitters. I watched two very large and very drunk men get swept into the undertow at sunset on a normal weekday. La Tortuga, a modest Acapulco restaurant since 1960, suddenly and mysteriously closed in the middle of the week. One morning there were police, then all the furniture was out on the sidewalk, then the sign was gone, and it had effectively disappeared. Out on the beach, I turned down a number of wandering salesmen with grey heads and bound knees who had probably been working the local market for about the same length of time. And where I’m sleeping these days, I certainly do not go out at night.

but it’s fine in the daytime

So yes, diamonds, and yes, roughness. On a last pandemic note, here in Mexico, the government is officially choosing to prioritize the economic hamster wheel over risk mitigation. Testing is not an option, and the borders of the neighbouring countries are not exactly open. I am grateful that I still have the option to take buses and go for walks. It is tense. This evening, I will begin a journey to the southeastern mountains in the state of Chiapas, because staying in a tightly crowded and highly charged city center is a definitively bad idea at this time when total annihilation seems to be just a handshake away.

Reader, fear is the mind-killer. Let’s all keep breathing.

Until next time, stay curious. — Rose

Appendix: Odds and Ends

The last videos from the crop that I produced in Belize are now online:

A session of singing crystal bowls with Nancy Kaasay Watters: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jELLe1p3tlI&t=6s

Two live numbers from a Blues Meets Girl kinda day:

https://www.facebook.com/BluesMeetsGirl/videos/2806535142764978/

https://www.facebook.com/BluesMeetsGirl/videos/2609411465969186/

Future Joy’s recap video from Eternal Sun: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UCYa6w2GM8

And here are some very soothing albums from some people who let us sing along:

https://samanvayakirtan.bandcamp.com/album/samanvaya-kirtan

https://www.luminous-tones.com/portals-of-grace-cd.html

And another healthy dose of party time from good old San Francisco:

https://soundcloud.com/sidebet/sets/

Curiosity Roving

The Grand Adventures of Rose Goossen

V.10 : Omward Bound

in which we spiral back to the source

_____________________________

Greetings and Salutations! 

And welcome to the tenth volume of Curiosity Roving. I thank you kindly for your attention. For new subscribers, a special hi-hi and thankee-kindly. You join this odyssey already in progress, and if you’d like to get up to speed on the various escapades that have brought me to the here and now, you have the option to review my letter archive: https://tinyletter.com/curiosity_roving/archive

I’m writing to you today from Chai Garden Ashram, located at 420 Waterfall Road near the village of Cristo Rey in the Cayo District of Belize. I have been here since the beginning of February, and it is wonderful. I have waited many years to get myself to this very particular place, and it brings me immense satisfaction to finally pull it off.

you don’t say

Belize is a small country with an ethnically diverse population of nearly four hundred thousand people. It is still belongs to the British Commonwealth, and bears the signature merry olde stamps of English language dominance and a queen’s head on every coin. The touristic slogan of Belize is “A Curious Place”, so I am right in my element. 

When I first cruised in on a series of buses from Cancun, I was immediately struck by the African feeling of the place. In the details, it reminds me of Swaziland. At the station, I changed my money at the same kiosk where I bought an instant coffee, and then picked up a local paper, the Amandala Friday Issue, which offered a front page spread with tawdry scandal and violence, and, deeper and stranger, an opinion column by a young woman who uses the same “stay curious” tagline with which I sign off on each of these missives. On the highway, large billboards are sporadically assembled, and they currently advertise nothing save their own availability. Although tourism is a developing industry, Belize has not yet generated an international profile to rival that of the neighbouring territories in Mexico and Central America, and it remains stunningly empty between the inhabited centres. Many signs are hand-painted, and the advertising targets a Catholic version of family values.

read all about it

Statistically, about one-third of Belizeans are of African descent, through the Creole or Garifuna lineage of the Caribbean. A larger percentage are Hispanic, and a smaller percentage are Maya aboriginal. The country received an influx of Mennonite farmers in the 1950s, and many refugees from nearby Central American territories through the 1980s. Genetic diversity is the status quo, and although English is the primary language, patois and multilingualism seem to be more common.

intentional?

I’m here as the guest of my old friends Evan and Laine, who own and operate Chai Garden Ashram. We became acquainted more than ten years ago through yoga, dance parties, and the great mothership of the Winnipeg Folk Festival, and then I ran off to travel the world and they moved to Belize. With the wonders of social media, we’ve been able to keep track of each other this entire time. Their ashram is located on a beautiful piece of hillside property that they found abandoned, surveilled for some time, and moved into eight years ago. That is to say, it is technically a squat.

morning at the tent

I arrived here just in time for the second iteration of Eternal Sun, their annual yoga rave, which I can now endorse as a unique and excellent small-scale gathering. Between February 7th and 9th, there were approximately forty people on site, who came from near and far to indulge in gong baths, morning chants, cacao ceremonies, asanas, deep breathing, starstruck kombucha, vegan conviviality, moonlit missions, and the general celebration of life. Nobody got here easily, or by accident, and the event was a fascinating petri dish of personalities interacting with circumstances.

evening with the neighbour

The ashram property drops off into a creek with a waterfall and a number of swimming holes. The water comes from a spring directly above the falls, and it contains minerals that build sedimentary rock where the water flows. A primed eye can spot an elephant in the years of accumulated limestone, with the water now falling over its hindquarters, and a blanket of vines on its back. It is a clear indication of the nation’s rate of development that this gorgeous natural feature still remains unprotected, and unmonetized.

state of affairs

That will change. For the last few months, the ashram property has been shared with the Kax’Oxo (ka-sho-sho) family, who operate the Tropical Rainforest Institute of Belize (TRIBZ), a not-for-profit organization that promotes environmental protection. The project is under the leadership of Dr. Tehu Kax’Oxo, an engineer, and his wife Dr. Nika Tsato Kax’Oxo, a specialist in community development. I know the Kax’Oxo as neighbours, and they are a tribe unto themselves; weavers of webs, crafters of chants, authors of ritual, rockers of babies, drummers and dancers and deep-rooted wanderers. 

buddha and bubbles

On a recent walk by the water, Evan proposed the idea that it is the destiny of spiritual people to become stewards of sacred land. Everyone who is now on site at the ashram has accepted that responsibility, and it is a great privilege to witness this space and these people as we all move through a nascent, transitional moment, with as much grace as we can carry.

the course of true love 

The word ‘ashram’ is derived from Sanskrit, and denotes a spiritual centre. Yoga is a big part of what we do from day to day. The paths which lead modern people to ancient practices are fascinatingly varied, so for today’s Sauce, I wrote my own cheeky autobiography of a yogi.

www.curiosityroving.com/sauce

Reader, I wish I could send you the smell of this air. I would love to sit you down in the day’s first sunshine and teach you the morning call, then make us some tea with strong back and cacao shells, and show you the tarantula holes, the sensitive grass, and the tarpees. Wherever these words may find you, may the peace of this place find transmission as you read.

Until next time, stay curious. — Rose

Appendix : Board The Arkestra

This small community is rich in knowledge, wisdom, facilities, and culture. Below, I’ve collected some links for the people and things around which my little planet has recently been in orbit.

Chai Garden Ashram’s official website: http://belizeashram.com/

Official website of TRIBZ: https://tribztest.wixsite.com/tribzeco

A little recap video for Eternal Sun: https://drive.google.com/open?id=1oEzaiUT7VVUMTTNsoSRIbTkqlVi7eJyw

The albums of the Kax’Oxo family: https://store.cdbaby.com/Artist/SolNokIKIXIYakuTanIRootsArkest?fbclid=IwAR1ukglBaQKEFpqv66sRKL_x8S46dKlxAaamlxkG72tOT2xDhAKplgBT6W4

The kundalini kriya for spinal energy that I currently practice every day:

https://www.sirilakshmi.com/phdi/p1.nsf/imgpages/7745_spinalenergy.pdf/$file/spinalenergy.pdf

And the musical headliners of Eternal Sun:

Future Joy: https://www.futurejoymusic.com/

Elton Tom: https://open.spotify.com/artist/0IxMy5IgL7u5OykNnZt1n2

Mic Most: http://www.micmost.com/