Cancun Dispatch: 9/9

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CANCUN CITY, MEXICO -- I'm sitting at the convergence center, waiting for the Pagan Cluster meeting to begin, feeling bad. I'm exhausted and covered with sweat and so is everyone else around me. In spite of the best efforts of some of the best organizers I know, we're about to have our pre-action spokescouncil, and I have no idea what action we even have in mind. In spite of all the meetings and the organizing, nothing is organized. We're still waiting for the caravan to arrive so that we can finalize plans, and the word is that they want to march at 8 a.m., which I know we're not ready for. People keep coming up and talking to me, and I finally ask them to just go away for a moment and let me feel really, really bad, in a somewhat comfortable chair.

But then our cluster gathers and Elizabeth goes out and brings me back some food and my mood begins to improve, slightly. We make a circle, do a quick bit of trance meditation in one corner of the convergence center while people sneak past us to go to the bathroom. We decide to meet the next night and go out to the sacred tree by the WTO conference, if we can get there, and do another short ritual.

The spokescouncil meeting is the largest yet, and with close to a hundred people packed into a fairly airless room the heat becomes unbelievable. Sweat is pouring down and many people are sitting with heads tossed back, mouths open, panting. It's like a sweat lodge, without the purifying spiritual aspects. The meeting moves slowly, as most of the group is stunned into lethargy. I'm trying to hold the image of the action as a kaleidoscope. All the pieces are there, they are just still in flux, shifting with every turn of the collective mood. And I'm still trying to hold the vision that we will shake down into a coherent pattern at the last minute.

We can't really make any decisions until the caravan arrives. And the caravan is late. We get news, in the middle of the meeting, that they are blocked at a checkpoint outside Merida. Our media team quickly calls the press, who drive out to cover the story and hopefully be the pressure that will spring them loose. Our group has already decided that we will blockade the bus station if the caravan is blocked, and I suggest we take a break to see what happens, but reconvene in case numbers are needed. Finally we are released from the oven.

Word comes back -- the caravan is free! We go get some food at Mario's, the restaurant down the block that has good fish and outdoor tables and a waiter who is dear friends with the local cops. Then we head out to the stadium to greet the students.

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