Ebru makes felt shoes, which are especially good for pregnancy—easy on the back and the calves. Kind to the soles. She is little. And seems quite serious, but then she has this wonderful shy, pink-skinned laugh that makes you feel like she is not only enjoying this very moment, but that she just remembered that time when you took a road trip to San Francisco together, even though you have just met today.
We sat on the terrace on my last day at Yakaba and she told me a little bit about her life. She resides in a wooden, handmade home high-beamed-with-stunning-views-and-massive windows kind of Steamboat, Colorado cabin without the hunting trophies and hot tub. But she, her husband and child travel frequently. Ebru carries sea salt and around her neck, 
from commune to commune, where she learns to make something out of nothing. Ebru weaves her own sweaters and striped leg warmers and she seems to have been born in a big fuzzy blanket. In the woods. In May. WITH an innate skill to find edible berries.
I see not a trace of ego, not a speck of the new age caricatures which, like a fly’s larvae on a pink-ripe pomegranate, can infect an otherwise promising persona in this environment. She is just serious about motherhood and health and happiness. Her hair is colored with henna, she hand-washes all her clothes and the other day, she threw away our salt. Just opened the silver pin-pricked top and paid no attention to our faces as it slid it into the garbage. No bravado in her eyes, only wisdom. I’m still not sure why regular salt is so bad.
As we drank Turkish coffee, I explained to her that when I very occasionally smoke, I prefer pre-fabricated cigarettes. All wrapped up in a cancerous package. That rolling cigarettes was kind of like eating wings. A lot of work and not enough payoff. But Ebru rolls these chemical-free cigarettes as if she was sketching the Duomo in Orvietto from a pension across the Italian alley. Her patience With Eri, her three year old imakes you stop and stare. She doesn’t speak a lot of English, but this did not stop us from talking about lemons and clove-flavored cupcakes and having babies and nudity at rainbow gatherings and the peaceful culture in Thailand. Or how to boil cauliflower and oranges for a nice salad. And it only makes the way she describes “connection” and “energy” with the word “electricity” and by pretending she is experiencing an electrocution, that much better.
*******************************************
But you know, there are individuals at Yakaba who possess some very different world views. For example, within hours of our arrival, we were told, without panic or persuasion, but with certainty and simplicity, that “according to the Mayan Calendar, the world is going to end and begin once again in December of 2012”.
We learned that the Gulf Stream had stopped. Europe would soon freeze. The bees had disappeared—that jar of honey you’re holding? It will be your last. World War Three—no, not in the figurative sense, in the real sense, a Hot War—had begun. September 11th had kicked it off. And it will not be long until the city people come rushing into the villages, here, where we already are, safe and sound.
George Bush is hardly mentioned, because there is a much bigger group causing us all to go to hell in a hand-woven basket—capitalists. Because capitalists use money and currency, well, that’s where life really begins to go wrong.
At Yakaba there is a lot of conversation about the evil of the “system”. This system is out to convince us that we need a v-neck sweater, a pair of Chacos, an extra-large coke, a bottle of Pantene shampoo, a BMW and a flat-screen television, when we absolutely do not. These voices want people to take responsibility for their actions. To consider the earth. To take care of their bodies and the environment. I understand. However, I’m not sure that the system is inherently evil for providing shampoo, electronics, clothing, shoes, cola and cars. Or that the advertising industry is evil for encouraging people to purchase them. This is how the world works. How an economy works. People, the kind they’re talking about, are educated. I beleive that they have a choice. And life is just a whole lot more complicated than a good-evil paradigm. 
But if you want a debate, head to YouTube. This is a feeling place. Conversations are less about details and more about visions. Ideas do not sit on a plate at the dinner table. They float in the air above us with the grape vines. Life is a thicket of theories on which to recline.
Plus, a big part of Yakaba’s atmosphere is acceptance. Everyone is on their own internal journey. A journey we all respect. Whether or not you like what energy emerges, it’s not your place to zig someone’s zag. In time, they may take care of that glitch themselves. Or perhaps as a result of their participation in your journey, it is you who will change.
Here, where one day feels somewhat like a long leisurely month of olive picking, tea drinking, dishes, orange-picking and keyif, the Turkish word for “idleness”, I respect nearly everyone I have met. These people do not get angry or swear very often. They don’t yell. They don’t really mind. When 12 more people arrive for dinner. When someone is hogging the computer. When you don’t clean up the dishes. When I forget to lock the gate. They pray before they eat. They make beautiful music. They work with their hands. They freely express themselves.. They avoid alcohol. They can make dessert out of orange zest.
They have shown me how little is worth getting pissed off about. And regardless of anything else, that’s some damn good energy.
