Humans have a great capacity for and frequency of shaping our own environments, but lately I have been wondering how our environments and the spaces in which we reside shape and affect us?
No matter how fluently I speak Spanish, nor how tan I become, there are some who may always see me as that gringa tourist. Barely escaping the row of restaurants cluttering what was once a virgin bay 20 years ago, I found myself standing for a time on some warm, dark boulders, facing once again the Pacific’s great expanse.
Looking down, I became aware of several crabs, their shells glinting brown, blue, red and silver in the late afternoon sun, crawling around the many rocks below, their movements jumpy and sudden. Focusing even further, I noticed how the larger crabs threatened those smaller than them, chasing their cousins and other kin toward the crashing waves, sending them fleeing into tiny cracks and crevices. In their own way, I found these crabs just as ruthless as the beachside waiters in their pursuit, fully aware of our willing surrender, trapped inside this bay and very situation, pushing menus into faces, selling drinks, shade, massages, boat tours.
Frozen there in the warmth, the wind and pounding waves drowning out any other noise, I wondered to what extent we are, as both individuals and groups, molded by external forces and conditions. Being born to and raised by such turbulent waters, did these crabs grow wrathful as they grew in size, bullying any others smaller and less fortunate, just as the ocean continuously and unforgiving crashed down upon them? Is it possible that these crabs continue to recreate and relive the very same uncomfortable story, it being the only one they know?
I find it hard to believe that humans are alone in their incorporation of the past into present situations, that we are the only ones who repeat histories, both in a personal and community setting. Just as our families and other close relationships have each left their mark, so too I would say have our places of birth and other long residencies imprinted upon us, molded us, changed us.
Whether one lives by the ocean, in the mountains, or by the desert, I imagine they each must be accustomed to the distinct ebb and flow of those natural spaces, the frequency and strength of light, the echoing of sounds across a vast expanse, the heaviness of heat or the biting cold, the salt in the air, the long shadows of trees, shifting with the afternoon sun like ancient ruling spirits.
I wonder too how we may be called to experience different spaces, driven by any specific or various internal needs. After spending two plus years in the concrete jungle of Los Angeles, I craved a major shift, both energetically and in my physical surroundings. It was the largest city I’ve lived in to date, and even after a relatively short period, I still feel its effects in body and mind.
Living now so much closer to the equator, I wonder if maybe because the air is heavier here, I am lighter moving through it. For many years, I swam through murky waters, attempting to make sense of darkness. Now I embrace a warmer, clearer ocean, one that invites greater reflection. I float.
Crescent Phrasing 