Chasing down the muse -- Catharine Cooper

“We remember a place not for just its beauty but for the way that

beauty made us feel the most special places are the ones that give

texture to our dreams, that ground us, make us whole, remind us of what

is real.”

-- Jill Fredston, Rowing to Latitude

Dark volcanic cliffs reach high into gray clouded skies marking the

edges of La Monta’a Sacrada (the Sacred Mountain). Lacey fingers of

jacarandas, flame trees, plumerias, bromeliads and orchids plummet down

its face like gentle waterfalls. Beyond the peaks, an expansive verdant

valley spreads beyond Tepoztlan, a small city of 13,000, southwest of

Mexico City.

“What do you think?” my friend, Mayte Sanchez, asks. We sit in the

midst of her construction site, a soon-to-be weekend retreat high on the

side of the mountain. It takes a moment to find a thought. The view is

breathtaking. I drift in a gaze that takes in miles and miles of green --

and with enough imagination, the Pacific Ocean, 200 miles away.

Mayte, an art history professor at the University of Mexico, is

building a dream home, along with 35 other art’sanos -- poets, painters,

philosophers -- even a puppeteer. Drawn to the area because the magic it

purportedly bears, she and her neighbors add depth to an already thriving

creative culture.

Tepoztlan is scattered with retreats such as the one my friend is

building, owned by creatives seeking refuge from the city. Narrow

cobblestone streets, restaurants with excellent cuisine, a thriving

marketplace, and quaint shops, remind me of a smallish Santa Fe or even

Laguna Beach. Crowded on weekends with tourists. Quiet midweek with local

residents.

“I think,” I respond, “that you are luckier than most.” She smiles, a

quiet acknowledgment that does not undermine the immense workload she has

carried to make her dream a reality.

We sit on the edge of her porch. Her eyes reflect the unique light and

she radiates a fullness in her heart. She has found a place that makes

her “whole” just outside her urban roots.

Crowded is an insufficient word to describe Mexico City. We return

from the country to join the estimated 25-million inhabitants in the

crush of automobiles, metro and foot traffic. Seeking solace, my son,

Cooper (who lives in the city), Steve and I head for Chapultapec Park,

with its open space, extraordinary archeological museum and grassy areas

covered with children.

A photo exhibit, “The Earth from Above,” lines the periphery of the

park. Yann Arthus-Bertrand, a French man, has taken over 3000 images from

a helicopter, recording the imprint of man and nature upon the planet.

The images are stunning: the barrier reef in Australia, underwater sand

dunes in Mali, camels in shadow crossing the Sahara.

The image of an abandoned city near Chernobyl -- a spot made

uninhabitable by man -- stops us on the street. In contrast to the

extraordinary beauty of the earth, this photo eerily reminds us of our

power to destroy that which supports and nurtures us.

I watch as others pause at the image, and with the same discomfort,

fall silent. Without vigilance, consciousness and life supportive

actions, we could lose it all.

“Is there really any difference between watching the boulevard and

staring into the river?” My friend Jeffe writes as I struggle with

reentry after luxuriously hard days in the wilderness. I ponder his

question as I dodge traffic on Avenida Reforma. No, this isn’t the river,

and the vehicles are not foaming rapids.

Jeffe makes light of my discomfort -- he and I both know that -- yes,

there is a tremendous difference between experiences in the city and

those in the wild. Thankfully, in Laguna, we have surrounded ourselves

by a greenbelt -- a protective zone -- that provides solace when the

summer throng winds its way into our village.

As I hike our locale this summer, I’ll think of Mayte’s Sacred

Mountain, the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon and the plethora of wild

places I’ve had the great fortune to call “home.” And I’ll remind myself

to consciously and doggedly take steps to insure protection of that

wilderness, so that those who follow my footsteps will never know that I

was there.

* Catharine Cooper is a locale designer, photographer and writer who

thrives off beaten trails. She can be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net

or 497 5081.