Milpa truths

Corn will not grow unless it is removed from the cob, dried, and planted. In other words, it relies entirely on interaction with human beings.

Everywhere I've travelled so far, the local people eat corn for every single meal.  Not only does the man survive from the corn, but the corn survives thanks to the man. So corn represents the interdependency of humans with nature.

Corn started its life as a mutation of a tall species of grass. Thousands of years ago, humans recognised plants with unusually large seed pods, and made the decision to cultivate. Corn in its current form could never occur without human influence, because left alone it does not have the means to propagate. Arguably, humans within a certain region would not have flourished without corn.

In growing our ego, we have cultivated our individuality. We have selected uniqueness as a trait that we would like to conserve. We have explored it as far as possible, until we've become so unique that we've ended up unknowingly craving that which we've run from.

I see it on the road all the time - drifts of travellers, washed up from their previous lives, awkward in the real world, trying to express their strangeness by running away to Guatemala where they realise they're at home with a thousand other gypsies who all look the same.

Only the tattoos, like barcodes, define their differences. Through their tattoos they try to express their truth, dividing the uniformity of non-conformity.

Perhaps we have taken the search for ourselves too far. We, the children of the earth, have stretched our umbilical cords so far from our mother that we've forgotten her call. We're floating in space and all we can see when we look down is our frail little bodies, and all we can do to feel at home is to mark our bodies with our mottos.

Consciousness splits itself in order that it might become more conscious of itself. In molding the formless into form, in every possible permutation, it provides itself with billions of facets to its own prism, each reflecting the universal energy in its own way, each providing a deeper insight into the true nature of itself.

But in becoming conscious, it is easy to delve deep into your own 'path' and forget the bigger picture.

Grasp a hold of that cord, joined deep down within your core. Pull. Feel the vertigo as you swing closer to the centre. Open your eyes and take in the sights. Here is nature, pure and simple. Look at her beauty, her incredible manifestations. Sense how effortless she is within her complexity.

Corn is sacred to many cultures. Not only is it valued for its tortilla-making potential, the variety of sugars and starches contained within, but it is revered in a spiritual sense as well. Corn is so much more than just a versatile food substance. In corn we see the truth. We need nature as much as she needs us.

Contrary to popular belief we are not the only species with a story. We are all in a delicate balance with each other, sensitive to shifts way beyond our understanding.

Move away from the ego. The ego tells you humans are the superbeings, worth saving above all else. And the ego tells you that you personally are special amongst humans, different to everyone.


The truth is you are unique, an individual expression of the whole. But you are the same, and you are interdependent with each and every thing around you.



Go and sing to the mountains, go and sing to the moon.

Go and sing to just about everything, because everything is you.


(Elephant revival)

Buds bursting

I look over at Felix and his frizzy blonde locks, bobbing as he laughs from his cross-legged seat on the ground. Under his overalls squirms a kitten, running lumps through the material as it tries to fight its way out.

The kitten has been brought here from the neighbouring village, on a motorboat, in someone's pocket, to kill the rats.

The rats have been brought here by the recent addition of human food to this land.

The humans have been attracted by the unusual flatness of the terrain; hard to find on the shores of Lago Atitlan but a necessity for an eco-village.


From the almost-whole shack - the only building on the land as of yet and the base of operations for Green New World (GNW) - the future seems tiny with long-distance perspective. But it is growing, fast.


GNW, a charity focused on providing much-needed help to the ailing lake, have just purchased the land and are finding their feet. Through them I have already helped with a basic-level sewage project for San Marcos, stopping at least some of the raw effluent from running into the lake. Now, I find myself on the side of a mountain, observing the fetal stages of a proposed eco-village. Like many in the area, it hopes to set an example to the locals by providing easy, green solutions to traditional problems such as farming and washing.

Right now, they lack even basic facilities.

Without these, much-needed volunteers are repelled. Without volunteers, the project struggles.

I don't have long but I want to help. I lay stones for the kitchen floor and cover myself in clay in a long day of digging and hauling in the toilet pit. Once in use, the toilet will be kept dry with sawdust to allow decomposition. Once full, the pit will be closed off. Unbelievably, after two years, a full pit of sewage will turn to rich compost that can even be used to grow vegetables. Such a simple idea, and yet the lake is about to go toxic from hundreds of years of human waste settling on the bottom.

We drink creek water through a clay filter and I try to understand where it all went so wrong.

I realise how much I love the simplicity. There is no electricity and our only music is the whisper of the wind through the avocado trees. We eat from the forest floor and piss amongst the coffee leaves. I haven't seen a mirror in days.

In the silence of the forest I find my retreat.

Although I'd originally planned on committing a month to a meditation centre, I realised quickly that organised spirituality is exactly the kind of practice that I reject, no matter how good the intention. Instead, I practise yoga underneath a morning mist that breathes lightly over me, fishermen my only observers, paddling dugout canoes with tender strokes.

Sitting here, the view of the lake sparkling between the trees, I understand that it is nature, pure and simple, that gives me my truth.

The trees whisper an ancient language. The bees fly lines of interconnection. The rain washes webs of oneness, united and yet barely noticed by those who are a part of it all.


The earth speaks to me in musty tones, humidly rising warm through my being.

I resonate.