Community has become a trendy word
these days. There are civic communities, online communities, even yoga studio
communities. There are communities of online reviewers and bloggers,
communities of like minded foodies (the "vegan community" for example)
and communities of sports and pop idol fans. What boggles my mind is that
members of some of these communities never see each other face to face or even
meet voice to voice. Communication can occur via visual image labelled with a
minimum of words. "Awesome veggie burger" with a photo of your
favorite one about to be eaten by you, "perfect pedicure" with a
photo of your toenails, or less commonly "spectacular sunrise", also
illustrated by a photo.
In many ways our new ability to share
our whereabouts opinions and purchases with family, friends, and an unknown
online community has an appeal and a power that I for one am only just
beginning to appreciate, and somewhat mistrust.
Here's why: ever since I owned a
computer (probably 1996, and for many years used mostly for word processing)
and a "smart" phone (ca. 2013) my communication and collaboration
skills have deteriorated. My opinion about this is confirmed by my friends and
family, who have to now compete with these devices for my attention. The devices
provide me instant information about world events, a window to the tiniest bit
of trivia I might want to know (what IS the etymology of the word
"community" anyway?) as well as a means to keep in touch with home
when I am on the road. The last mentioned use was the initial rationale for
having a cell phone, which soon morphed into the smart phone, so now I am never
without the means to access calls or emails or text messages or world events.
As a matter of fact the word
community shares the same Latin root with commune and communion, which, as a
member of "communities of spiritual practices"--yoga and
meditation--I find highly intriguing. After teaching at Sama Yoga in
Queretaro all weekend, I was taken by my friend Lorenia Trueba to San Ildefonso
where the second annual Festival of Traditional Corn was taking place. Mario,
Loreñia's friend, had worked for weeks with the local communities there to put
together a newspaper, a photographic exhibit and a place in the plaza for
villagers to come and display their handicrafts and amazingly beautiful ears of
red, blue, white and yellow corn. The special newspaper proclaimed "Somos
hombres y mujeres de maiz" --"we are men and women made of
corn," and "sin maiz no hay pais"--"Without corn there is
no country." Seeds were on display, bean and squash as well as corn. Many
people were wearing traditional dress-- the women in long pleated bright white
skirts and blouses trimmed in strong colors. A blue corn quesadilla filled the
empty space in my stomach, and the beautiful woman who reached her hands full
of corn seeds across her display table to fill my hands with red, blue-black
and yellow/white kernels won my heart. Her words were "es un regalo--its a
gift"--she wanted no money, just for me to plant them. They will be contraband
in my suitcase of course, but with luck they will make it. Also with luck my
crop will yield more seeds.
Mario explained that the villagers
were not exclusively protesting Monstanto and its Frankenstein-like invention
of "roundup ready" (meaning the pesticide is already IN the seed)
corn, but also against the global monopoly that four big-ag corporations have
on the world seed supply. He recognized Percy Schmeiser's name when I brought
it up and said that he knew about Percy's lawsuit against Monsanto that went
all the way to the Canadian Supreme Court. Percy lost, by the way, since the
court legally had to protect Monsanto's patent, but the corporation was awarded
no damages. Percy was in Austin several years ago for a convention, and I
consider myself lucky to have met him. He is a man of principle, a rarity these
days.
As the 8-man rock band was warming up
to entertain us at the festival, I had a chance to read the exhibit hanging
under the tent cover. It described the 10,000, yes ten thousand!-year history
of corn in the new world. As I read through the information I was completely
emotionally blind-sided by the fact that the village has re-instituted the
annual "Bendición de las Semillas" in early February. Tears actually
welled up in my eyes as I recognized how far I have lived from anyplace on
earth where people bless seeds before planting.
The band began to play Bob Marley songs--I shot the
sheriff, one about Babylon, complete with trombone and trumpet. Young people
looking very much like the counter culture kids of my youth began dancing in
the afternoon sun, a man with his sleeping daughter on his shoulder in front of
the stage, two women at the back. Older people were rocking in their plastic
chairs, and everyone seemed holy beyond belief. I'm going to let that typo
stand, though I meant to type "jolly". This old woman, though she was
completely out of place, felt "no obstante" (nevertheless) completely
at home.
