This was a big day here in Sayulita and everywhere else for those who believe in convergences, numerology, magical thinking, and the universal woo woo. This was the last day in many years that the three numbers—day, month, year—will all be the same.
Also of significance this week, according to the Mayan calendar the world is coming to an end either today or next week, on Dec. 21st, so batten down your hatches.
I personally tend to believe that the imposition of numbers—of a calendar—on the passage of time is just that, an imposition. But then, human energy gets behind the idea generated by the numbers, and suddenly the numbers matter. 12/12/12.
Meanwhile in Sayulita, tonight is the last night of the weeklong celebration of the Virgin of Guadalupe. Another kind of significance.
What do you do on 12/12/12? Well, since there isn’t much surf this week, I launched my paddleboard from the north beach and paddled over to Punta Sayulita, where the first of several dozen luxury homes are now under construction, as is the clubhouse. The jungle-covered hill out there looks a bit scarred at the moment–there is plenty of concrete and not much style just yet–but once the buildings are done and the landscaping in place, we hope it will look like, well, where rich guys with good taste live in Sayulita. That’s the plan anyway.
The paddling is great this time of year. Clear water, fish jumping, pelicans perched on every rock. I looked for the season’s first whale, who failed to show (as did the world-ending tsunami)–but any day now. We’ll keep you updated on the whales and the world’s end. Just check the blog.
Just before 12 noon, runners bearing torches carried all the way from the original site of the vision of the virgin of Guadalupe, near Mexico City, arrived and entered our little church on the plaza, where a rousing song to the virgin was sung. I had to work hard to keep the tears in check, not being one for public displays of emotion, but that song carries such a burningly sweet message, not so much in the words but in the melody, carried by sweet women’s voices, that one just succumbs, and lets them flow. Not for Jesus, Mary or Juan Diego, but for the song.
At 12 minutes and 12 seconds past 12 noon on 12/12/12, on the beach, a motley crew of visitors, locals, surfers, hippies, and whoever wanted to be a part of it joined hands, formed a circle, and with our own local didgeridoo man blowing a conch shell and informally praying to the four winds, the four points of the compass, the four corners of the sacred world, the circle of people held hands and found their childhood selves again, and the world did not come to an end.
We went back into town for the evening shift, and found the plaza crowded but relatively quiet at 8 pm. Everybody waiting, anticipating. After while the police siren notifies us that the parade approaches. The troupe of Aztec Guadalupe dancers comes first, shaking their maracas and prancing to the beat provided by their drummer. They’re followed by the virgin on the truck, or rather, a couple of Virgins on the truck, one facing forward, one backward, both looking solemnly Guadalupan. Behind the truck, a small parade of citizens, followed by a brass band blasting the Guadalupe song, followed by a lot of men and a few elegantly-costumed women on horseback. They paused in the street by the plaza, a crowd gathered ‘round, the band began to play, and the horses danced.
Dancing horses, marching bands, songs in the church, kids in the plaza, hippies holding hands with surfers and tourists; the conch blows, the waves break, pelicans swoop past in the morning light. I like this town. What’s not to like? We are lucky to be here, no matter the date.