Brujeria at the Beach

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Virginia Beach with Lupe and the kids and was reminded by Lupe just how shallow our lives can be as Westerners.

We were on the beach, the kids were swimming in the ocean, and we had packed all the necessary accoutrements: boogie boards, hummus, pistachios, etc. The deepest thought I had that day was thinking of a response to Brian’s question of, “If we swam across the ocean, where exactly would we land?”

Then I looked over at Lupe, who was performing some brujeria, or Spanish witchcraft. When I asked her what she was doing, she replied that, as a child, whenever her family went to the beach and someone went in the water, her grandmother would pray to the ocean, give her thanks, ask for permission to enter, and ask her to be gentle and protecting.

This made me reflect on the idea that we just jump in that same water without any deeper connection to the planet. Lupe’s little rituals underscore the sacredness of our planet, of relationships and family time; of life. They are like a compass point keeping you on track. We even see it now, as the Gulf oil spill rages on—causing conflicting sentiment over using petroleum products for transportation to and from the beach.