danielbaylis.ca

Dear family and friends,

I’m into the home stretch of my three-week stint on a raw vegan farm in the heart of Costa Rica’s jungle. And what a jungle it is! During my time here I’ve seen a plethora of creatures ranging from the world’s smallest variety of hummingbird to the world’s largest species of cockroaches. And when you throw in some grumpy monkeys and a five-foot snake, we practically have a zoo.

It’s been a zoo of emotions as well. The detoxing affect of raw vegan diet can certainly lend itself to a grumpy Conversationalist. I don’t think I will be interested it quitting “Team Coffee” at any point soon. But I did get some natural highs, and moments of bliss, when walking down to the waterfalls and climbing up on boulders. And there were certainly some frustrating moments in dealing a host (I shall refer to as “The Farmer”) who often displays the interpersonal skills of a coconut.

This week my frustration reached a new apex when my opportunity to go to a local yoga class was threatened.  Don’t nobody be messin’ with my yoga.

*          *          *

Shortly into our morning task on Wednesday – tiling the inside of a new hot tub with slate – my fellow volunteer Matt paused and raised the important question of transportation off the farm this upcoming Monday. Matt and I had both decided, for various reasons, that we wanted to leave the farm a week earlier than we had initially agreed. I hadn’t recently raised the subject of the early departure because I received a hostile reaction from The Farmer when I had initially tested the waters a week prior.

The Farmer grumbled something about buses, and the subject moved on.

However, as we were heading towards the noon hour, I mentioned getting packed up and ready for lunch to ensure we’d have enough time to get to yoga. The Farmer greeted my suggestion by stating, “Well since you guys are leaving so early, we’ve got a lot of work to do, so I’m afraid we’ll have to skip yoga.”

“But,” I gently retorted, “Yoga makes us happy.”

“You can choose your happiness. Ever seen the film Life is Beautiful? That guy was in the middle of the Haulocaust and he chose to be happy,” the Farmer quickly replied.

In my head I was thinking, “Wow. You just compared my stay on your raw vegan farm to a fictional film about a World War II Jewish interment camp. Actually, now that you mention it, that sounds about right. Except I wish this experience was fictitious. But it’s not. And you, Mr. “Supposedly- Spiritual-Earth-Connected-Raw-Vegan-Farmer,” are the fucking Nazi of my yoga practice.”

Instead I said nothing.

I was frustrated at his repugnancy. The Farmer was still mad because Matt and I chose to leave a week earlier than anticipated, and even though we had assured him that he could keep our deposits for the full month, he decided to play a little game of ‘tit-for-tat.’ His poor raw vegan ego was feeling… well… raw.

I continued working beside him for five minutes, of which frustration and anger increasingly augmented. Finally, I just walked away, heading back up to the Rancho to get some water, and to sit down and cool off (temperature and emotion).

It’s a small miracle that, over the years, I’ve somehow learned to sensor my mouth from spilling out the vicious thoughts that roll into my head. Many years ago, when working at a café in Edmonton, my colleague described me as being ‘sharp tongued.’ I greeted the description with a certain amount of pride, but have continued to foster a capacity to engage in verbal discretion. Biting my tongue has enabled me to prevent energy-draining verbal quarrels.

The past three weeks have provided fertile ground for continued development of such verbal discretion.

I sat for ten minutes on the couch, cooling down, until eventually Matt called for my help, as he was cleaning the water tower and needed an extra set of hands. As we were standing together, The Farmer approached us and awkwardly stated, “The practice of yoga is very important, so I’ll drive you guys to the studio and I’ll do some work on my laptop.”

Matt expressed his immediate gratitude. I said nothing, feeling far from indebted.

Again, my internal dialogue started racing, “Here’s an idea… don’t be a punitive dickhead in the first place! How about that?” In my personal paradigm of social etiquette, I don’t feel it necessary to express gratitude to someone for not engaging in spiteful behavior. It’s like having someone punch you in the face repetitively, and then, when they stop saying, “Wow, it feels really great to not being punched in the face at this moment. Thanks a lot for not punching me in the face!”

But Matt offers up much more humility than I.

We piled into the pickup truck and headed over to the open-air studio, overlooking a lush Costa Rican valley. As soon as I feel the wooden planks with my bare feet, I feel the tension draining from my body. This is exactly what I needed.

This was my second class with Beth, a ball- of-energy yoga teacher who stands about three apples tall. At the start of each practice Beth passes two decks of cards around to the students. Each card has written on it a virtue or a sentiment that serves to germinate reflection in the yogi. Last week my “Angel Card” read TRUTH, while my “Buddha Card” displayed the word LOVE. Other cards had such words as freedom, patience, strength, creativity, kindness, grace, humor, humility, solitude and a whole plethora of other somewhat cliché spiritual lingo.

In general, when it comes to drawing cards, my approach is to not allot a great amount of meaning, but to use the words to, as I mentioned, spawn a morsel of introspection. Or, if I’m lucky, to at least have a laugh.

When the decks arrived, I focused “my energies” and selected a card from each pile, intentionally letting my hand wander over the options until I found a card that I felt intuitively pulled towards.

I flipped over the Angel Card – it read GRATITUDE. A smirk crossed my face. “Oh, the great divine wants me to feel gratitude. That’s rich.” I thought to myself facetiously. Then I flipped my second card, the Buddha Card, and what word is presented to me? In some form of cosmic-slap-across-the-knuckles, the word GRATITUDE is starring right back at me. Again. A one-two appreciation punch.

“Okay, world,” I state to myself, as I cross my brow, “I get it. I’m supposed to feel grateful.”

The formal part of the class commenced, and we took turns sharing our words with each other, Beth was thrilled that I’ve uncovered a “double.” Her eyes widen, as she quipped, “Oh, wow! I love it when this happens. You must have some interesting stuff going on!”

I smiled, raised an eyebrow and nodded my head “yes.”

We began to head deeper into the practice; I kept the word GRATITUDE with me. As I stretched my body, I slowly softened to the idea that maybe I’d been too harsh; maybe I’d been a bit too self-righteous. Rather than acknowledging the positive shift in The Farmer’s perspective, I remained indignant in my own frustration. And was there any benefit in that?

If I was interested in preventing energy-draining emotion, it might have been simpler to have humbly said “Thank you” and moved on.

But apparently, despite my ability to cultivate gratitude, I’m still working on my humility.

*          *          *

I leave the farm on Monday. It’s been a three-week test of character – how can I maintain a positive spirit in a situation that challenges my personal beliefs, my digestive tract and my interpersonal skills? I can’t say that I’ve glowingly succeeded. But I did show up each day. And there’s something to be said about simply showing up. It’s the first step in achieving anything.

And to you, Mr. Farmer, I am grateful for a few things. You’ve provided fertile ground for reflection and learning. You’ve enabled me to experiment with a detoxifying and therapeutic form of eating. You have prepared some delicious and stunningly presented meals for me. You have shared your home in this tropical paradise. You have taken my self-righteous ass to yoga.

So for all this I simply say, “Thank you.”

Xoxo

Daniel

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