🕯 Brotherhood Without Borders: A Masonic Pilgrimage Through Baja California
- trevor3861
- Jul 21
- 21 min read
Written By Bro. Trevor Eliott - Mr. Fancy Fez
In the heart of Baja California—where the desert meets the sea and the boundaries between cultures shift like sand in the tide—a remarkable journey unfolded. It wasn’t a vacation. It wasn’t a formality. It was something far more sacred: a modern-day Masonic pilgrimage.
Thirteen Freemasons from Alberta—representing ten different lodges—answered a call that transcended geography. They came from and towns across the province, some long-time friends, others meeting for the first time. They arrived by plane, car, and shuttle. And though they represented diverse Masonic homes, they travelled as Brothers—united in purpose, walking together on the level.
This was not a tourist outing. There were no plastic leis or curated photo ops. What transpired over the course of one long weekend in July 2025 was a deliberate act of fraternity—a journey defined by Light, by ritual, by memory, and by the deeply human experience of connection across cultures.
The path led them through Puerto Nuevo, Tijuana, and Ensenada—three regions as different in pace as they are in atmosphere. But in each, they discovered something familiar and something new. A table of strangers that became a table of family. A foreign ritual that spoke straight to the heart. A solemn tribute to a fallen Brother that transcended language altogether.
And at the center of it all was the silent understanding that the Craft is far more than words and walls. It’s lived. It’s felt. It’s carried in our presence, our humility, our willingness to extend a hand and truly see one another.
Freemasonry was never meant to be static. It was never meant to stay in one place. From its very inception, the Craft was designed for movement—for travel, for exploration, for growth. And this journey to Baja California wasn’t just a trip across borders. It was a movement of the spirit. A reanimation of what it means to be a Mason in a world both connected and divided.
It began with a lobster feast in the fishing village of Puerto Nuevo, where laughter and language flowed freely and toasts rose not from obligation, but from genuine joy. It moved into the bold heartbeat of Tijuana, where the Brothers stood at the foot of a wall built to divide and participated in ritual designed to unite. And it culminated in Ensenada, where the sacred work of the Master Mason Degree took on a new dimension—raising not only the candidate present in the room, but also honoring the Brother who could no longer receive it in life.
The beauty of the weekend was in its contrasts. Light and shadow. Laughter and silence. Celebration and solemnity. It wasn’t scripted, but it was deeply intentional. And every moment, every embrace, every sacred word and shared meal bore witness to the fact that when Masons travel together with open hearts, remarkable things happen.
Behind the scenes, permissions had been secured, rituals coordinated, lodges prepared. Dispensation had been granted by the Grand Lodge of Alberta. Communication with the Grand Lodge of Baja California had been handled with care and mutual respect. But more than paperwork, what made this possible was trust. Trust between Brothers. Trust in the values we all uphold.
This weekend was more than an experience—it was a model. A glimpse of what Freemasonry can be when it chooses courage over caution. When it steps beyond the walls of its own lodge room and says: “Let’s build something together.”
Throughout the journey, the invisible thread of the EMVP framework—Energy, Mentorship, Visibility, and Purpose—ran strong. Not as a theory, but as a lived reality. In Puerto Nuevo, it was energy: the spark of shared stories and clinking glasses. In Tijuana, it was mentorship: Mexican Brethren modeling reverence in ritual and hospitality in action. In Ensenada, it was purpose—crystalized in silence, in ceremony, in Light.
Every Brother on this journey came away changed. Not because they received a new title or learned a new sign. But because they felt something. Something ancient. Something real. A reminder that the Craft isn’t just alive—it’s awake.
This article is a reflection of that journey. Each of the following sections will explore one leg of the pilgrimage in detail—not just recounting what happened, but illuminating why it mattered. Because what began with thirteen Masons from ten lodges became something more: a story for every Mason who has ever sought connection, renewal, and a reason to keep traveling toward the Light.
So, come with us—through border towns and lodge rooms, through tacos and tracing boards, through ritual and revelation. Rediscover what it means to be Brothers in a world hungry for meaning.
And remember: They represented ten different lodges… but they travelled together—on the level.
Leg One: Lobsters, Laughter & Light in Puerto Nuevo
Some journeys begin in temples. Ours began around a table—long, weathered, sun-warmed, and surrounded by strangers who felt immediately like family.
After days of coordination, travel, and anticipation, we found ourselves pulling into Puerto Nuevo, a small fishing village nestled along the Pacific coast of Baja California. Known for its lobster and its rustic charm, Puerto Nuevo doesn’t announce itself loudly. It doesn’t need to. The sea does the talking. The breeze carries the welcome.
Thirteen of us had made the journey from Alberta. We represented ten different lodges—urban and rural, young and historic, Blue Lodge and appendant bodies alike. Some of us had traveled together before; others were sharing space and stories for the first time. What united us wasn’t jurisdiction—it was intent. We didn’t come to sightsee. We came to meet. To connect. To extend a hand across borders, not just of geography, but of tradition, culture, and expectation.
And so, our pilgrimage began—not in a lodge room, but in a place that echoed one of the most ancient expressions of Brotherhood: the shared meal.
The venue was humble. Beautiful in its simplicity. An open-air patio with wide views of the ocean and a long table pushed together to form a single line of fellowship. There was no red carpet, no formal receiving line. Just the smell of salt and butter, the laughter of arriving Brethren, and the unmistakable spark of something meaningful beginning.
Our hosts were already there—Mexican Masons from Tijuana, Rosarito, and Ensenada. Many of them had only ever seen us on WhatsApp or through digital introductions. And yet, when we stepped onto that patio, it wasn’t a handshake that greeted us. It was an embrace.
There is something deeply symbolic about the way Masons gather for a meal. We pass plates as easily as we pass ideas. We toast with both reverence and joy. And in Puerto Nuevo, as the seafood platters began to arrive—heaped with lobster, tortillas, beans, rice, salsa, guacamole, and grilled vegetables—we weren’t just eating. We were building.
Stories surfaced quickly. One Brother shared how he first joined the Craft after the loss of a parent. Another spoke about the difficulty of explaining Freemasonry to friends who saw it as a relic. Others asked questions: How are lodges in Alberta adapting to generational shifts? What rituals are practiced in Rosarito? What challenges do urban lodges face in Mexico? What role does the Shrine play in community outreach?
It didn’t take long before the table stopped being a table and became something more—an altar of fellowship, of dialogue, of curiosity made sacred through sincerity.
The lobster itself became a metaphor. Split down the middle, cooked in butter, served without pretense, it mirrored what we were doing. Opening up. Sharing something rich. Breaking past the shell. Getting to the meat of what unites us.
Someone passed around bottles of cold beer and icy margaritas. A few of us tried to mimic the way our Mexican counterparts rolled their tortillas with practiced ease. The laughter was not forced or polite—it was easy, genuine, familiar.
Then came a moment none of us will forget.
One of the senior Mexican Brothers—his eyes kind but steady—stood with his glass raised and said:
“𝙏𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮, 𝙬𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙙𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙈𝙚𝙭𝙞𝙘𝙤. 𝙒𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙁𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡. 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮.”
The table went quiet. The ocean continued to hum its backdrop, but for a moment, the only thing any of us heard was our own heartbeat—reminded, perhaps, of why we joined the Craft in the first place. For something like this. For this.
After the toast, the evening deepened into a kind of joyful intimacy. We exchanged pins, challenge coins, small gifts. Photos were taken. Jokes were shared. A Brother from Calgary offered his broken Spanish in an earnest attempt to connect—and received thunderous applause from the Mexican side of the table. A Grand Lodge officer from Ensenada asked if we'd consider a reciprocal visit. Another quietly shared that this was the first time he’d felt seen by Freemasonry in months.
What stood out most wasn’t the food—though it was delicious—or the view—though it was spectacular. It was the feeling. The atmosphere. That ineffable vibration that Masons sometimes feel when something greater than the sum of its parts fills the room.
No gavel struck. No degree was conferred. And yet, every one of us present will tell you that the Work was done that night. It was done in laughter. In stories. In humility. In the way we looked one another in the eye without agenda, without ego.
As the sun dropped into the Pacific and the sky turned lavender and then indigo, we lingered. We didn’t want to leave—not because the event was long, but because it was rich. The kind of richness that feeds more than just the body.
In our hearts we knew and felt...
𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧. 𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝘿𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙕𝙚𝙧𝙤.
It was a laying of foundation. Not with square and compasses, but with tortillas and trust.
Eventually, as the night grew darker and the stars emerged, we stood to leave. Hugs replaced handshakes. Promises were made—not hollow ones, but ones laced with intention: Let’s do this again. Let’s build something from this.
As we boarded the vans back toward Tijuana, someone rolled down the window and waved one last time to our hosts still standing on the patio.
They waved back.
We weren’t tourists...
We weren’t visitors...
We were Brothers.
Leg Two: Ritual, Reflection & Revelation in Tijuana
If Puerto Nuevo was the heart-opening appetizer of our Masonic pilgrimage, then Tijuana was its vivid, unpredictable, and deeply moving main course. The city doesn’t offer quiet entry—it announces itself. Bold. Unapologetic. Buzzing with energy and contradiction. And yet, in the noise and color of Tijuana, we discovered stillness. And meaning. And Light.
We began our day not in a lodge room, but at one of the most symbolically charged locations in North America: the U.S.–Mexico border wall. Known colloquially as the Trump Wall, it stands like a scar in the landscape—tall, rusted, unwavering. It snakes its way across deserts and hills before plunging into the Pacific Ocean, where the surf crashes at its base like time itself protesting the permanence of division.
We stood there—thirteen Canadian Freemasons from Alberta—on Mexican soil, looking north. The air was quiet, not just from reverence, but from reflection. Each of us processed the moment in our own way. Some took photos. Others stared silently. But all of us felt the metaphor. The wall was real—but so was the Brotherhood that transcended it.
“𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙗𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙩 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡,” one Brother said, “𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙖 𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚.”
That set the tone for the rest of the day. We didn’t come to Tijuana to be passive. We came to encounter. To engage. To cross lines—not illegally, but intentionally. Lines of culture, custom, language, and expectation.
We made our way through the bustling city toward a coastal restaurant perched just above the surf. On the way, the streets of Tijuana offered a visual symphony—colorful murals beside security fences, taco carts beside luxury condos, schoolchildren weaving between tourists and locals. The city is a paradox—and a poem. Beautiful because it doesn’t pretend to be anything it isn’t.
At the restaurant, we were greeted by live musicians in traditional attire—guitars slung over shoulders, warm smiles, practiced hands. Their music wrapped around us like incense: some songs upbeat and cheeky, others slow and wistful. One of our Brothers leaned over during a particularly poignant ballad and said, “I don’t know what they’re singing, but I know exactly what they mean.”
We sat at long tables again—this time with the Pacific roaring below us and the scent of lime, chili, and charcoal in the air. Cold cervezas were placed in our hands, their rims coated with chamoy and Tajín. If the night before had been sacred in its simplicity, this was sacred in its abundance.
One Mexican Brother stood up mid-meal to offer a toast:
“𝙒𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚,” he said, “𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧’𝙨 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬—𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧.”
The table responded in unison—clinking glasses, sharing food, and reaching across invisible lines. The sun beat down, but no one complained. The moment was too sweet.
We then headed to Avenida Revolución, Tijuana’s historic main strip. There, between mariachi bands and souvenir stands, we found ourselves outside the Museo del Taco—a delightful little museum that honors the cultural and culinary significance of Mexico’s most iconic dish. Inside, we laughed and learned as we explored exhibits on tortilla origins, the philosophy of salsa, and the regional differences in taco preparation. It was lighthearted, but meaningful. Food, after all, is one of the oldest and most universal expressions of culture—and to share in it is to share in each other.
But our real destination lay ahead: the Scottish Rite lodge where we would witness the Entered Apprentice and Fellowcraft degrees in the Mexican tradition.
The lodge was modest, nestled in a quiet part of the city, with wrought-iron gates and a small courtyard lined with palms. Inside, it was carefully arranged. Candles. Columns. Regalia. The familiar tools of our Craft, arranged just differently enough to make us pause and look again with fresh eyes.
We were greeted with warmth and formality. The Worshipful Master addressed us directly in English, thanking us for traveling so far and assuring us that although the ritual would be in Spanish, the meaning would transcend language. And it did.
The Entered Apprentice degree began with a solemnity that demanded attention. Even those among us who didn’t speak Spanish were swept into the energy of the room. The movement. The pauses. The symbolism. The candidate, eyes wide and heart open, moved with humility through each step of the journey.
Then came the Fellowcraft degree, with its emphasis on learning, structure, and growth. A powerful oration reminded us all that knowledge is not memorization—it is transformation. One line in particular echoed across the room and seemed to land in every Brother’s heart:
“𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙁𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙩, 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙—𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙮.”
After the degrees were completed, the Worshipful Master invited a few of us to offer words of gratitude. Several Alberta Brothers rose and spoke—short, heartfelt, translated when needed. The common message: Thank you. Thank you for letting us witness this. For reminding us why we joined. For showing us that the Craft is alive everywhere it is practiced with sincerity.
Then, something unexpected and beautiful happened. A Mexican Brother stood and addressed us, tears glinting in his eyes.
“𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙙, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙—𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙨.”
After lodge, the Brethren led us into the small courtyard where a modest feast had been prepared—grilled chicken, fresh tortillas, salsa, soda, and simple chairs arranged under string lights. There was no pomp. Just presence. We stood in clusters—trading pins, recounting favorite lines from ritual, snapping photos, embracing.
And as the night wore on, the feeling remained: this wasn’t just an international visit. This was a renewal.
On the ride back to our hotel, someone whispered what many of us were thinking:
“𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙆𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙨 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚.”
He was right.
Tijuana reminded us that ritual without relationship is hollow—and that the most powerful moments don’t always happen in the East, but in the in-between: a shared taco, a raised glass, a candlelit courtyard where Brothers from different worlds discover they are already home.
Reviving the Heartbeat: The EMVP Framework in Motion
If the journey through Baja California gave us stories, memories, and moments to cherish, it also gave us something deeper—a model. A living, breathing demonstration of what a thriving Masonic culture can look like when it moves beyond rote repetition and into intentional, relational, and purpose-driven engagement.
And that’s exactly what the EMVP framework is meant to capture.
Originally developed to help revitalize fraternal organizations in a time of declining participation and cultural fragmentation, EMVP—Energy, Mentorship, Visibility, Purpose—is not a theory. It is a practice. A filter. A compass. It asks us not just what we’re doing, but why, how, and with whom. It urges us to examine whether our actions carry meaning—or whether we’re just maintaining the machinery without fueling the fire.
Baja proved one thing over and over again: when EMVP is present, the heartbeat of the Craft is strong.
Energy: A Weekend That Refused to Coast
Energy is not just excitement. It is deliberate momentum. And from the moment this trip began, the energy was electric—not because of hype or obligation, but because everyone involved wanted to be there. There was joy in the preparation—in organizing transportation, ordering regalia, planning dinners, designing pins. There was no one phoning it in. Every Brother, from senior Past Masters to newly raised Shriners, leaned in.
The type of energy mattered too. It wasn’t chaotic or performative. It was relational. We weren’t simply bouncing from event to event—we were building something together, piece by piece, moment by moment. At every table, someone was sharing a story, telling a joke, giving a piece of advice, or reflecting on what they’d just seen. And the conversations didn’t stop when the ritual did—they flowed into parking lots, hotel lobbies, and moonlit patios.
The Brothers from Mexico carried that same energy. Their commitment to hospitality wasn’t showy—it was sincere. They prepared degrees with care, arranged meals with generosity, and treated our presence not as an intrusion, but as a gift. The reciprocity of energy was powerful. We didn’t just feed off of each other—we amplified one another.
This is what healthy lodge culture looks like: not draining, but energizing. Not static, but alive.
“You could feel it,” one Brother said. “This wasn’t a visit. It was a current. We were all flowing in the same direction.”
Mentorship: Not Always Above—Sometimes Beside
Mentorship in Freemasonry is often thought of in hierarchical terms: Past Masters teaching new candidates, old guard handing down wisdom. But in Baja, mentorship took on many horizontal forms—peer to peer, culture to culture, jurisdiction to jurisdiction.
Senior Alberta Masons modeled how to travel with dignity and cultural awareness. They offered guidance not by dominating the spotlight, but by showing up with grace. They quietly translated rituals, shared context, and held space for younger Masons to experience things for the first time.
But mentorship was not a one-way street.
The Mexican Brethren taught us just as much—about humility, about ritual variation, about cultural resilience. They showed us how to conduct meaningful work in languages not everyone understands, how to make space for guests while honoring their own traditions, and how to carry Light in the face of challenges unique to their communities.
Perhaps the most powerful mentorship happened through simple gestures: helping a Brother pin on his apron in a windy courtyard, explaining local symbolism without condescension, handing over a coin or a tracing board with a look that said, “I see you.”
Even the posthumous degree we witnessed was an act of mentorship. It taught us what it means to honor a Brother not for what he achieved, but for what he aspired to become. That is the ultimate lesson of the Craft: that we do not labor alone, and we do not walk this path merely for ourselves.
In Baja, mentorship wasn’t assigned. It was offered. Freely. Often without words.
“The best mentors don’t always teach,” one Brother remarked. “Sometimes, they just show up differently. And that changes you.”
Visibility: Brotherhood in Plain Sight
Masonry has long been a paradox—we call ourselves a “society with secrets,” but too often we’ve become a secret society, invisible to the communities we claim to serve.
But not this time.
Throughout the Baja weekend, visibility was intentional—and natural. Photos weren’t posed—they were alive. Shared moments around tables, spontaneous hugs, cross-border handshakes, and the quiet dignity of observing a degree in another language. These images told a story: that Freemasonry is still relevant, still resilient, and still beautiful when lived out loud.
We didn’t advertise. We didn’t recruit. But people noticed.
At the lobster dinner in Puerto Nuevo, a server asked, “𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙪𝙮𝙨?” After a simple explanation, he smiled and said, “𝙄𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚. 𝙄𝙩 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩.”
That’s visibility. Not flashiness, but feel. Not logos, but presence.
And it extended beyond restaurants. Mexican Brethren posted photos to their lodge pages. Canadian Brothers shared reflections online. Everywhere, the message was the same: The Craft is not a relic—it is alive.
We were visible not because we wore jewels, but because we wore joy. Brotherhood was the brand.
Purpose: The Compass That Made It All Matter
Purpose is what transforms effort into meaning.
Without purpose, even the most elegant ritual becomes performance. Even the most beautiful meal becomes just calories. But with purpose, everything becomes sacred.
This trip had purpose baked into every leg.
We didn’t go to Baja to tick boxes. We went because we believed that something sacred happens when you meet your Brothers where they are—in their towns, their temples, their cultures. We went to build something. To learn. To connect. And in doing so, we honored both our own obligations and theirs.
We saw Purpose in the solemnity of the Ensenada lodge. In the tears shed for a fallen Brother. In the way Brethren traveled for hours just to attend the Canadian Rite degree. In the hospitality offered again and again with no expectation of return.
Purpose gave weight to every handshake and depth to every conversation. It reminded us why we do this work—why we memorize those lines, why we practice those signs, why we show up, again and again, even when the world tells us we’re outdated.
One Brother captured it best:
“𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙥. 𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩.”
That’s what Purpose does—it draws a circle, not around who we were, but around who we’re becoming.
EMVP: Made Real in Baja
In the end, we didn’t leave Baja with a strategy document. We left with something more valuable: proof.
Proof that EMVP is not only possible—it’s powerful.
Energy created movement.
Mentorship created depth.
Visibility created resonance.
Purpose created meaning.
Together, they didn’t just revive the heartbeat. They reminded us that it was never gone. It just needed to be listened to again. Nurtured again. Amplified again.
And now, as we carry this experience home, the question is no longer Can this work?
The question is:
The Farewell Feast: A Future Lit by Flame
All pilgrimages end. But the best ones don’t close—they open. They leave you changed. Not in the dramatic, cinematic sense, but in the quiet recalibration of your internal compass. They shift your center of gravity, making it harder to return to the way things were before.
That’s how we felt on the final day of our Masonic journey through Baja California.
The events in Puerto Nuevo had warmed our hearts. Tijuana had stirred our souls. Ensenada had broken us open and stitched us back together. Now, it was time to gather once more—not for ritual or reflection, but for something just as sacred: a final meal by the sea.
We met at Splash Restaurant, perched like a watchtower on the rocky cliffs just outside Rosarito. From its open-air terrace, the Pacific stretched endlessly before us—crashing waves below, golden light above, a horizon that refused to stay still. If there was ever a place designed for farewell, this was it.
The tables had been arranged in a long row—no head, no foot, just one continuous line of fellowship. The symbolism wasn’t lost on us. We had begun this journey with a long table in Puerto Nuevo. Now, we were ending with another—bookends to a weekend that had become more than an itinerary. It had become a revelation.
The meal was casual, but rich with meaning. Steaks sizzled. Shrimp steamed. Platters of grilled vegetables, fresh bread, and spicy ceviche arrived like blessings. Mango margaritas clinked. Beers were passed hand to hand. Nobody rushed. Nobody checked their phones. There was nowhere else we needed to be.
At one end of the table, a group recounted the Master Mason Degree from the night before—replaying its most emotional moments, from the candlelit tribute to the final embrace outside the lodge. At the other, Brothers swapped stories of their first degrees, their proudest moments in the Craft, and the little lessons they had picked up from one another over the past three days.
And throughout the conversation, one theme emerged again and again: this had been more than a visit. It had been a threshold. A moment we would carry forward.
Toasts from the Heart
Without prompting, the toasts began.
One Brother stood and raised his glass:
“𝙏𝙤 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙁𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮.”
Another added,
“𝙏𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙—𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙨.”
Someone else offered simply,
“𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙧𝙮—𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚.”
The beauty of the moment was that none of these words were rehearsed. They weren’t pulled from a ritual book or a speech. They came from the heart. And everyone listening understood that.
One toast ended in tears. Another in uproarious laughter. A particularly memorable one quoted the late Anthony Bourdain:
“𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙬𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚. 𝙒𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠. 𝙒𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣. 𝙒𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙬𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚.”And then, without missing a beat:“𝙒𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨.”
The Gift of Presence
After the final bites of flan and café de olla, the keepsakes emerged.
It started quietly—one Brother passing a commemorative coin across the table to a new friend. But soon, it became a cascade. Coins. Pins. Miniature tracing boards. Hand-carved tokens. Personal items shared not as souvenirs, but as symbols. As trust.
A Brother from Rosarito took the hand of an Alberta Mason and said:
“𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙪𝙨 𝙇𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. 𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪.”
Another simply said:
“𝙈𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙪 𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙜𝙚. 𝙈𝙞 𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙖 𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙖.”
There was no doubt—we had crossed more than borders. We had entered each other’s circles. And now, the parting wasn’t just a goodbye. It was a sending. A commissioning.
The Road Home
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of violet and fire, some Brothers began their journeys back toward the border. Early flights. Long drives. Real life calling.
The hugs were longer this time. The words fewer. But deeper.
Those who remained lingered on the rocks by the water. Some in silence. Others in quiet conversation. The Pacific, eternal and unbothered, kept crashing below, as if to remind us that life continues—but so does memory.
One Brother picked up a stone from the beach, held it in his palm, and said:
“𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚. 𝙏𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙚—𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡.”
And it was.
On the drive back to Tijuana, the vans were quiet—not because we were tired, though we were—but because we were full. The kind of full that doesn’t weigh you down—it lifts you. A sacred fullness.
A few Brothers dozed off. Others stared out the window at the dusky coast. But all of us, silently or aloud, were asking ourselves the same question:
What happens next?
A Vision Forward
As it turns out—plenty.
The seeds of this weekend were already bearing fruit before we crossed back into Canada. Plans were being made for a reciprocal visit: a Canadian Rite degree conferred in Alberta for our Mexican Brethren. Dates were being proposed. Lodges notified. Details discussed.
But more than that, ideas were blooming:
A bilingual newsletter to connect our lodges across borders.
A video documentary capturing the journey—narrated by those who lived it.
Shared scholarships to support Masonic youth in both countries.
A North American symposium exploring multiple rites under one united banner.
Future degree teams blending Canadian and Mexican Masons working side-by-side.
None of these things seemed far-fetched. Not anymore. Because we had already proven the premise:
When Masons trust each other—when they show up with courage, humility, and purpose—remarkable things happen.
As we crossed back over the border, the weekend didn’t feel like it was ending.
It felt like it was just beginning.
A new chapter. A new possibility.
Not just for us. But for every lodge that dares to ask, What if we dreamed bigger?What if we left the comfort of our own temple to break bread with others?What if we became a Brotherhood without borders?
This final meal by the sea reminded us that the Feast is never really over.
Because as long as there are Brothers willing to travel……there will always be another table.…another story.…another spark waiting to catch fire.
The sun may have set that night—but something brighter was rising.
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