Morning Mediators, Tea Takers, and lovers of obscure woodworking projects gather round! For herein begins a story, proving win-win solutions can be found!
Imagine waking from a peaceful sleep with hopes of sitting in a spot to think about the things that come from deep.
Morning Meditators note this as an instinctual moment, one similar to the feeling an anxious puppy must get when searching for that special spot to curl up his criss crossed legs. For the puppy, finding a perfect spot to sit is a daily challenge. The same is true for Morning Meditators. Especially ones who live amongst infinite insects, deep inside the South-Eastern Peruvian Amazon.
At Novalis, a jungle conservation center for seekers and givers of varying sorts, friends often enjoy ginger tea and conversations about funny dreams while sitting at the morning breakfast table.
Or they sip pineapple tea while describing side-stories on a jungle walk. Sometimes even, lovers share steaming cacao and talk about their feelings under starry skies, as six billion singing cicadas whisper simultaneously.
But for all this chatting, a place had not been designated, specifically, for journeys toward that inside space. These are solo journeys, I describe. Quests en route towards the roots and inside sensors. The map leads to a place where reality can be rearranged.
(Sorry, that was Absurdist psychedelic jungle-talk. Here’s a more docile translation: “there were no good places to think by yourself without falling victim to an assault by a caravan of reasonably aggravated ants.”)
Until one day - a sunny, crowded day - when a Mellow Muse convened with me in Morning Meditation.
As I sat with my white thighs exposed on the sandy jungle floor, the Mellow Muse asked me this: Why not build an enclosed wooden structure where Morning Meditators could go and sit without overhearing conversations, OR having their nether regions tickled by irritated ants?
The Mellow Muse showed me how to source a style from inside. She showed me how to pull it out with practice, patience and persistence on-the-daily. Gradually, with enough intention and conversation over cups of ginger tea, Jefé (the boss), grew excited with my vision and finally gave me the go-ahead.
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Having subsisted as a Traveling Carpenter (ehem, Yeshua) for years, I gathered the applicable tools, set some wide-eyed goals, and recruited a cornucopia of volunteers with varied, yet relatable roles.
The overall vision flashed and flipped inside of my head, constantly evolving, constantly conforming to what the eclectic gaggle of laborers I found myself commanding could manage with the miscellaneous materials available.
The design changed almost daily. As did the multi-colored hands carrying the wood. High-fives were shared. Blood was shed (hand saws were used to avoid losing any serious appendages). And countless buckets of ginger tea were sweat.
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To be painfully honest, four small hardwood trees, as well as a single larger Palo Barbón tree, were felled during the construction of this structure. It was a sacrifice in hopes that future thoughts originating within the bowels of the finished structure would save at least that many trees in the years to come.
Otherwise, most of the building materials were scavenged from fallen trees or scraps found ‘round camp -- as they should be when your entire project could be considered rather superfluous.
I struggled habitually, as if the meditation pod (as it was referred to at the time) wanted me to stay there, at Novalis, forever. I had self-scheduled my soft departure date for one month after beginning construction, and I had planned to successfully finish “in as little as three weeks!”
Yet, this did not happen. There is such a concept called “community,” that, in dignified cases, takes precedence over personal success. Time was put aside to aid in other worthy arenas, such as mental health, and the making of Jungle Butter.
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Upon the first attempt to raise its walls, the whole thing fell to pieces. It was a failed design. The other workers and I were distraught, realizing that time was running out and there was a shortage of roofing panels made of Caño Brava and Crisneja leaves, which were required to make the structure waterproof. In fact, we had no idea what we were doing.
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Morning Meditators need a spot without external communication. A spot physically detached from where the outside action is, so they can start feeling friendly with the inside action.
People also like to drink ginger tea. Some people even like to do both at the same time. But neither like ants in their pants.
Novalis, despite being located entirely off-grid, and 2.5 hours from notable civilization, is surprisingly action packed. I began wondering: Why leave the Tea Takers out to parrish, even by so frivolous a demise as agitated ants?
I asked the Mellow Muse again for her guidance, this time by means of enduring several morning meditations deep within the rainforest, unprotected, with frustrated ants nibbling on my nards. Finally, I was blessed with a design that just might work. But it wasn’t for a mediation pod; it was for a Tea House.
As if coordinated by a Universal Logistics Supervisor, an unexpected wave of able bodied monkeys arrived (including one particularly useful kangaroo) with their hands prepared to harvest and weave the remaining 45 meters of Crisneja roofing panels and attach the protective mesh screen that would prevent even the most antagonized ant from enjoying a taste of sweaty scrotum, or steaming labia.
In any case, as you might’ve guessed from looking at the accompanying images, the primary structure and roof were successfully completed before my forlorn departure. And despite a series of unpredictabilities, our remaining gang of jungle heroes slapped together a remarkable set of saloon doors and some stand-out decorative touches that would make any environmental designer squeal.
All in all, the project required several hundred kilos of jungle wood, ~500 nails, 10 meters of (black) wire screen, 6000 Crisneja leaves, 12 shoots of Caño Brava, one French thumb, +400 wo-man hours, 4 months, and approx. 300 cups of ginger tea.
Alas, the Morning Meditators are now protected, and so are the Tea Takers. Save the few who don’t mind angry insects offering oral titillation.
Stay Wild Folks,
A.C.E. the Theorist