Son Monos
At the beach, people slowly gathered. One remarked “Son monos” to her friend beckoning her to come see. They are monkeys.
The first time I heard them I was terrified. No one warns you. The front desk at the hostel doesn’t say “bt dubs you may hear the sound of pure terror from the jungle in the middle of the night. There is the potential of a concert of intruders, pirates, and marauders coming in your direction.” Luckily they aren’t going to attack, and even if they did, they let you know they are coming for miles. Still a scary prospect if you don’t know what the creatures (or are they spirits?) look like. An army marching, swinging your way with their version of vocal drums and horns blaring. No one says don’t worry about it. Pura vida, dude. I didn’t know what it was for several days. I had to put the pieces of this horrific soundscape and mental puzzle together myself. I didn't know what or how to ask about it. How about “Hello fellow hostelmates. Did your blood curdle as an unknown creature drew closer from the canopy bowls of the forest last night like mine did?” “Did you hear a sound last night” didn’t quite describe it although that is what I asked assuming this U.S.E (Unauthorized Sound Event) must surely have wrung an odd bell to the ears of everyone else in my area. When you find out they are hairy, hungry, not human, wild primates it is still unsettling.
The monkeys howl while I write in the daytime. Alien, still. Intimidating. I’m surrounded. Far off but only because I can’t see them. They could be on me in an instant. Swinging. They sound angry. So did I. But is it just how they talk? In their language are they reciting love poems? Totally in the moment like a monkey-beat poet… go monkey-o, go.
To the untrained ear it’s intense and aggressive. So was I. Intentions start pure but weren’t received that way. This speaker can change. Receivers can too. Despite their tone, I know the monkeys aren’t coming for me.
A chorus of them now. Each creates its own portion of a wave that fades in and ends semi-abruptly on the beach of my ear canal.
I usually can’t see them, but when I can they are not howling. Upon closer examination, the sound is of constant desire but inquisitive from juvenile-faced creatures while their expression continually asks “Who?” and “Where?” and “What?” and “How?” lips pursed and gaze strong.
Around the pool that was the basement to the penthouse home of the little red flowers, we did yoga. I was asked to lead a session. I came to Tadassana with my hands at Anjali Mudra at the end of the practice. The moment was blessed with our collective energy because it was, well, a capsule of existence made even more special by a group of unique souls living in the experience of this moment never to be repeated exactly again. I addressed the group and glanced upward to see a monkey staring back at me from high in the canopy. Silent now in its glare, the monkey addressed the unique indelible essence of the moment as well.
The monkeys said goodbye. I heard them while I was walking back from the beach the morning I left. It was a gentler howl. More like a “Howl-you-doin?” More tender and restrained from the typical posture of the howl. I hear you monkey. I have mixed feelings about me leaving too. Thanks for speaking up. A tender howl is the right way to express the combination of emotions I am feeling after such a pivotal experience. Germans would come up for a world for this emotional combo and it would sound like that morning’s monkey howling at me.