Tag Archives: Lake Atitlan

Floating Castles


Work-for-stay agreements honor basic needs for shelter and food in exchange for  contributions of energy and time. At the finca this meant spending 25-60 hours a week cooking, cleaning, teaching yoga, office working, accounting, amateur religious counseling, spiritual space-holding, singing, and/or painting in exchange for 3-meals a day, saunas, lake jumps, ceremonies, singing, yoga, chosen community, and room for two.

Our room happened to be a converted pleasure craft – a house boat.


The house boat’s humble facade belied the internal character of the space… cozy wall panels of plywood held proud graffiti-style inspirational phrases scrawled haphazardly in crayon or colored pencil. Two short shelves on either side of the bow created a temporary aisle and a surface for our altar. Under the shelves were two mysterious gaps leading to the internal hull of the ship -an abyss availalble only to the farm cats and probably some of our socks. A long and even row of nails made a make-do closet.


Half the boat was dedicated to a full bed where one could gaze out the windows, seeing the farm dock and two looming volcanos. The volcanoes waited, shrouded in darkness, arising resplendent each sunrise from the mist rolling across the glassy morning waters of Lake Atitlan. Other than the view, the interior of the boat was as plain as a nun^s habit, which was maybe apropriate given the context.

We learned how to balance our entries into the boat by positioning ourselves on opposite sides, so as one person see-sawed the boat starboard the other entered down a steep ramp on the other side. We took comfort learning these quirks, even as the water of the lake dropped several inches each week, and our little door sunk lower and lower until we were doing a kind of limbo down the narrow plank entrance.

Each morning we awoke to a light grey sky behind the dark blue volcanos, and each evening the waves of Atitlan would lull us to sleep once again.

While loving the space, I awoke some mornings feeling heavy, like dreams had been dark, weird and cloudy. I began to blame the visual environment. Eventually we took a hard look at the makeshift collage right next to the bed, and wondered if we could use that precious wall real estate for our own creative expression, at least while we were here. Something that would feel familiar, inspiring or something that could remind us less of other people{s time here, but more a reminder of the ever-present.

After a few days scheming, we decided to continue the houseboat tradition of using magazine clippings and found objects to create art representing not only our sacred journies, but  the mythic and mystical that belongs to all of us through sacred geometries.

We spent many hours finding and clipping circles from a collection of old Yoga Magazine and Self and National Geographics. We made wheatpaste in a big pot in the kitchen on the gas burner, and NKO drew circle after circle on all the wood panels. Arranging the circles chromatically, we pasted up sacred geometries which NKO then embellished further with paint and his research into chakras, platonic solids, and sacred numbers.

We finished the piece over the last few days at the farm, NKO doing the lions share of the work once the circle cutting was complete. The last few nights in the houseboat were restful and my dreams were vivid, deep and present.

We left behind a more elaborate piece than we had intended, but on our shuttle away from the farm, our friend Kali commented on the mural, letting us know that people who stare and a sacred geometric symbol or mandala before bed claim to have better success at interpreting dreams and lucid dreaming. Success!

Landscapes of San Marcos


Unicorn Tile Murals at the Unicorno Hostel


Sage and Candles


5am from the deck of my room at Ananda Healing Center


And sunset…


What $7 a night pays for in San Marcos


More Unicorn Art


Crazy yogi’s raiding the 2nd hand clothing pile at the sushi restaurant


A glimpse into what 2 weeks of Thai Body Work/Massage Training in Guatemala looks like…


A room with a view – Hotel Quetzal


Learning curve. This photos was back when I didn’t know that the last boat left for San Marcos at 5:00, and arrived at the dock at 5:15 and was suckered into paying 150 Quetzals for a private boat. The equivalent of $20. Less than a cab fare in Seattle, but it should’ve cost more like $3-5 max… I was “Had”.

As the Moon Rises


The full moon approached as we explored San Pedro during a couple of well deserved days off – our first after a long stretch of work-for-stay on the Mystical Yoga Farm. The day began with a juice date with Jananî, the spiritual leader of the farm who we had shared transport with.

Andrew, a Canadian friend who had just left a position at the farm to travel Central America showed up unexpectedly. Being one for extremes, he took two juice shots in 15 minutes – the first a ginger, the second garlic. He then spent the next hour doubled up against a wall in a gravel parking lot across the street sweating garlic and trying not to vomit. Note to self – no garlic shots. Especially at 10am.

As Andrew repaired himself we progressed to the local Hebrew hummus joint HUMMUS YA for a delicious and filling 25Q roasted veggie lunch. Our mission after lunch was setting our lodging straight – we found a hotel near the public dock with a private room, lukewarm showers in a private bath, shared kitchen and a roof terrace – all for Q60 (about $8 US). The room even came with an unexpected guardian – a 7 legged spider the size of a small cat.

Mystical Yoga Farm values community and we often end the days by sharing time with people around us in a variety of mystical summer camp type activities; sweating in the temescal, kiritan style call and response fireside singing, gift sharing ceremonies (basically a yogi talent show), or guided meditations. The full moon is especially potent and sacred for such exchange, and we envisioned our rooftop terrace as the perfect place to share an intimate ceremony with Jananî.

The blossoming of the full moon is a perfect time to set an intention for the next cycle of your journey. The ripe moon allows us to meditate on where we are at in the moment, and what the next month looks like offering us a discreet frame to view our actions and manifestations.

The lunar cycle pulls us, as the moon pulls the tides, reminding us of other constant cycles in our lives and our constant state of flux. And just at the moon circles the Earth – outshining even the starts for a moment – we are able to chart our paths.

We met Jananî and slowly climbed the 4 flights of stairs to the roof of Hotel Peneleju as the the moon slowly began it’s ascent in the cloudless sky. We bundled up and spent 30 minutes in an unchoreographed clown show trying to light candles on an unsheltered rooftop on a windy night. Finally, all candles went out and we began our ceremony, calling in the 4 directions of the Medicine Wheel. Our other SYI friends were performing a simultaneous ritual near Yellowstone in California, praying for rain to end a 3 year drought. We spent some time talking about the nature of things like drought and human intervention. Our conclusion was that it’s impossible to wish a specific outcome for any situation – any wishes using the genie’s lamp inevitably go astray. So we wished for things like limited suffering, abundance of food, allowing equal and just access to resources, and realizations that water is one of our most precious natural gifts – hoping that it remain free and accessible for all.

We then discussed our own personal manifestations for the coming month. Creating this ceremony on a clear night with full bellies, abreast a beautiful lake, with a soft bed to sleep in and good friends around us we realized – who needs more than this?

Be Careful What You Wish For


Having eaten, exercised, studied, sung, socialized, slumbered and dreamed at the Mystical Yoga Farm for more than 2 weeks, we finally decided to venture into civilization to check email and look into post training lodging options.

The farm´s strict schedule of spiritual, physical and mental practices (15 hr/day) coupled with the ban on sugar, white flour, alcohol, processed food, caffeine or stimulants of any kind created a serenity I rarely experience. While loath to break the spell, we felt called  to manifest an existence post finca, and so we ventured toward San Marcos.

We boarded the launcha at 9:15 am. Public and private, gas-powered launchas  jet between lakeside villages in semi-regular intervals and semi-predictable routes. Our boat stopped after 10 minutes in Santiago before setting off across the widest expanse of Lake Atitlan. A stern morning wind kicked up huge swells on the ordinarily serene waters.  As waves started to crash against the side of the motorboat, water started splashing in open windows, soaking unlucky passengers, pooling in the bottom of the boat, and  greatly disturbing the serenity of all. This was not the normal experience jetting around in the launcha and most of us knew it. After some shrieks and  rapid maneuvers to lower the flimsy plastic  window covers, we sat in silence watching powerful waves approach the boat and toss us to and fro.

At this point many yogis began to chant (and presumably pray) for their lives.

Screams gave way to  song and then laughter as we moved through mystical chants into the great hits of the 70´s, 80´s and 90´s. The boat driver executed frightening techniques of salvation by shutting off the engine and turning the boat hard right to avoid the biggest swells. This did not provide comfort but perhaps kept us dryer.

After 70 minutes and two additional boat transfers, we arrived in San Marcos slightly damp, but no worse for wear.

After a couple hours inquiring fruitlessly for housing and eating a delicious vegan sandwich at La Paz, we returned to the dock to meet our driver for the return trip.

The waves of lake Atitlan grow rough and stormy as the day progresses into afternoon and today more than ever. Whitecap waves at the lakeshore crashed against the retaining wall into beachfront lawns, washing across the surface of the dock. The fear crept back in as we waited for our small crew to assemble for the journey back to the farm.

The moment I sat in the boat, feeling the waves pull against the fragile rope tied to the dock, dark visions filled my imagination … a capsized boat, passengers floating in the deepest part of the lake, possible death and devastated parental units receiving a telegram that we would not return back home. As we untied the rope and started our engine, I closed my eyes and tried to cut the terrifying images away.

As I worked on this meditation, a song came to me and I adopted it – sang it over and over, aloud, quietly but in tune to the hum of the engine. I began to will the water to stillness.  I imagined each chorus soothing the waves to sleep like a fussy child.

And it worked.

The driver weaved in and out of swells, the jolting collisions seemed to cease, and we moved into more peaceful water.

In fact, the ride became so tranquilo that we suddenly found the boat sputtering to a stop and I opened my eyes to find us adrift – seven yogis and a local captain – super out of gas. Close enough to see Santiago, but too far to swim. The captain dug out his spare plastic gas can and tipped it entirely upsidedown, getting every last drop. The engine sputtered back to life and for one brief moment we sailed closer to Santiago before the engine hummed to lower and lower pitches to silence. We were, for real, adrift. We waved fruitlessly at another launcha that cruised nearby – the passengers merely waved back.

I stopped humming and began praying.

Actually, my mantra had left me in a glorious mood and I began singing the theme song to Gilligans Island and asking fellow passengers what character they were. With a Brit and Australian on board, this led to a quick retelling of the plot of the show. By this time, the driver reached a  buddy by phone whose speck of a boat began growing closer and closer.

Rescue came much faster than expected – after only 30 minutes adrift we had enough fuel to get back to the finca, pay our 30Quetzals each – a fare of about $3 each – less than an amusement park ride.

The lesson I received this day in Guatemala – mantras are like wishes. You need to be very conscientious of their power. Ergo – if you wish to make the water very still, you need to be sure you do not accidentally wish the boat still too.