A sustainable community vision

by Pablito, June 2005

Dear Mom,

I'm writing this in the oddest place, but don't get me wrong it's also a wonderful place. It's a tiny little village called Reclaimed and... and I better go back to the beginning.

Well I finally thought I was going to crack up, so I came here to recover, only it's not quite the Betty Ford clinic or anything. Um, that's not the beginning either.

Remember how the stress of my job and life in the city has been hard on me lately? A few months ago I learned about this energy worker Nora who is not too far from the city and started seeing her.

We've been meeting every week in her office, which is in her home on the edge of Reclaimed. Ok mom you're going to think I'm really weird, but her office feels more like a ...womb. It's rounded everywhere and the walls are uneven, I saw a child's hand print in the plaster the other day. It's that color of the dirt around here, and I find it very soothing. Nora's neighbor is an herbalist, and he dropped by one time at her request and fixed me up with something. I forget what it is, but it tastes like dirt and seems to help my mood.

I wasn't able to work with Nora while I was in South America negotiating those trade contracts. That was really stressful for me, dealing with a different culture, and it always seemed so incredibly hard to get anything done and I had nightmares. Between that stress, no energy healing, and the culture shock, I felt I couldn't handle life for a little while.

So I called Nora as soon as I could and she recommended a nearby retreat center. I called them and got in right away, but it's not what I expected. First I went to the psychologist's so-called office, which was a kitchen in a home not far from Nora's. She and I sipped mint tea and chatted with Tony, a bearded psychologist who was kneading bread dough.

Retreat center? More like some extra rooms here and there throughout their community. We decided I wouldn't stay in one of the isolated rooms, but instead in a room at Henri and Bonnie's house nearby. Henri is also a nurse, midwife, and energy healer. Lots of healers live and work here. There are psychologists, a psychiatrist, herbalists, acupuncturists, body workers, and different types of energy healers. Everyone I talked to had a really supportive way of listening to me too, even the plumber. I could pretty much do nothing all day and approach anyone for help at any time.

Later I found out there are witches here too. It's not what you think, they didn't turn me into a frog or anything.

I could hardly move the first day. All I did was sleep and cry. One of Henri's kids brought me a couple of light meals in my room. The next morning Bonnie coerced me into attending a community yoga class. Everybody was friendly and not intrusive. After breakfast I retreated to my room again and sobbed some more. Henri noticed I missed lunch and sent me a light dinner.

On the third morning I went to yoga myself, but after crying some more got tired of being cooped up and went for a walk toward the center of the village. This is a weird place. Half the adults and all of the children seem like they can see right through me. It's creepy, but doesn't feel dangerous. I didn't want to talk to anyone, which is kinda hard because people here actually look at each other, not like in the city where we try to avoid eye contact.

After missing lunch again, I ran across some other people here on retreat like me, except there's no way the darkly-dressed 20-something pierced kids could be paying for this! I asked one kid why he's here, and he got a haunted look on his face and said "Miami". A 40-something woman looked grim and said "Genoa". I don't know what they were talking about. They say they're activists and they get to come here for free.

I was feeling good enough to try going to the Edge Cafe for dinner. I've been there before -- sometimes I'd eat after working with Nora before driving back to the city. The menu is different every day and the food is so good and fresh I'd call it magical.

On the way I saw some 9 and 10 year olds playing in a big mud puddle. They asked if I wanted to help them build a mud dog house. I'm afraid I just rushed by instead of playing along with their little joke. I sure was surprised a few days later when there was an igloo-like mud house with a dog inside! Somebody else tried to explain to me about avoiding energy-intensive construction and solar mass, but I'm afraid that passed me by.

Dinner was excellent. Mixed salad with sunflower seeds and an amazing miso dressing. I'm not sure I believe they make their own miso. Curried fava beans with mixed veggie wild rice pilaf was followed by fresh raspberries and just a dab of cream. The server said they grow most of the produce in a garden out back, and invited me to come by before lunch tomorrow.

I ran across some people gathered watching twirling fire on the way back to my room, and noticed that, well, you know I watch The L-Word and all, but things are at a little different level here. There are men who look like men and wear dresses, and men who look like women and dress like women, and men who I'm sure are really women, and some who I can't tell at all. Around here there are more, um, flavors, and nobody seems to be treated at all differently because of it. Seriously I could probably paint on a moustache and be welcomed without a notice into the men's locker room!

The next day was hard. I started shaking in the morning and couldn't stop. I didn't ask what was in the tea Nora brought. She and Henri's oldest sat with me until I stopped shaking. I felt horrible, but they seemed surprisingly pleased. I missed the garden that day, but made it the next day.

I found out they make the menu while working in, and sometimes arguing in, the garden, based on what food is ready. I offered to help and was surprised when one of the mud doghouse kids gave me something to do instead of the older man, who didn't seem surprised at all. Well the kid sure knew her stuff! Eeew I learned they also turn our excrement into fertilizer which grows the plants we then pay to eat, so I guess we pay twice.

Actually they don't charge everyone. I learned they always have a soup or caserole which is free to activists and indigent people. I always wondered how those other people could afford to be eating with me since I pay the same prices as in the city.

While I'm talking about money, I think their fee structure is a bit strange. We agreed I'd pay the amount per day which I actually cost the community, which wasn't very much. Then they said I could decide after treatment whether to pay more, and told me what it costs to go to a normal retreat center. I couldn't believe how cheap this would be, but in the end I did pay more than the minimum even though I didn't have to, it was weird.

I think one of the best things about being here is that everyone seems to be emotionally healthy or at least aware, and that rubs off on me. I learned even though everyone is fairly poor, even the doctors, there is no theft or muggings. Maybe another reason they're healthy is I saw hardly any cars or other pollutants and mostly organic food. I'm guessing they're also not so scared of the world situation since they don't use much oil and grow much of their own food, and maybe that makes life easier to live. There seems to be a fair amount of free time to just hang out, and there are lots of community projects and activities. I also heard gossip and arguments, sharp tempers, and heard of broken hearts, so I wouldn't call it utopia or anything.

That night all the people I had met gathered and we had what they insisted was a magical ritual. I can't say really what happened or how it worked or even what worked, only that the next morning I felt fine, paid at Tony's, ate one last meal, and went home to the world where I work too much and know a little too much about those South American oil contracts to feel completely comfortable. I sure hope if things get bad, I can find people to get through things more like they do in Reclaimed, instead of how we usually deal with it.

Your feeling-better daughter,
Jo