The days dissolve into smoke and ash. Dust to dust. I feel a pang of hunger, a pang of anger. The sky is clear blue, and it won’t be raining until later if at all. Narrow vision. Clear mind.
The water song.
Lakes, rives, oceans, call me, calm me, beckon me to them to sit and contemplate, to watch their ripples and flow. To float on top, to swim within, to sail. I stare at this one all day every day. Mama Atitlan. A reflection of the cosmos. She called me, beckoned me, keeps me here, warm and cool and cozy, grateful for this cocoon of love and effort.
Hold on tight.
Roller coasters, I used to like. Festivals. Concerts. Events. Now I hold on tight to my daughter’s hand. Cherishing the hand holding, the intimacy, the sweetness of her hand in mine as we walk the path to town or back. She is nine going on 10. She still reaches for my hand most of the time when we are walking together alone.
Wrinkles are beautiful. Sagging skin is alright. Gravity is reality. Aging. Every day we’re getting older never seem to find the time. Un día más, un día menos. Shining eyes. Grateful soul. Soles of feet planted on the ground. Earth, the eternal beauty of our mother. How many leaves, how many blades of grass, how many grains of sand on beaches, how many fish in the sea. Blue whales, elephants, ants, dust mites. Flower buds. Raindrops. Authentic smiles. Light from within.
I feel a major numbness when it comes to my brother. So many years he has spent on the drug addiction and rehab cycle. Taking years off his own and my parents’ lives. What a waste. Why did he turn down the wrong street? I’m sorry I can’t be more loving and compassionate. How could they let him move back in?Today Dad had a body scan to find out how bad his cancer is. I did a spontaneous crying standing meditation ritual, lit a candle, lit a pipe, contemplated his life and face, listened to Cat Stevens, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, Bob Dylan. Drank blue lotus tea. Sobbed and breathed.
Normal people live in the place where they are from, or at least in the country of their birth. Normal people have cars and houses on suburban streets and strollers and houses full of toys and flat-screen TVs. Normal people drive to stores and buy things and don’t think twice about the luxury of having a refrigerator or a washer/dryer or running water, not to mention hot water for their daily shower because heaven forbid that they smell like a human being. Normal people go to work five days a week, 40 hours or more and maybe get two weeks of vacation a year. Normal people have retirement funds and long-term plans. Normal people vote and think that their vote matters. Normal people watch the news and log in to all the networks. Normal people get sick and take pills and eat GMOs and junk food and huge servings at restaurants and die and are put in a box and buried underground.
I like it when my mind is blown. Epiphanies. Realizations. Shifting of paradigms. Reading does it. Travel, too. Yoga meditation. Nature. Natural disasters. The unexpected that could never be expected because it’s too different from what has been experienced before. Expected earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, tornadoes.
Giving into the light.
I allow myself to feel my feelings. I let the hunger rumble and it soon passes. I close my eyes and cherish the blackness behind my eyelids. I have it easy. I play it safe. I am here on the mountain in my little fortress. I gave into the light, listened to my inner wisdom, and came here. To the lake. The magic place. The seed sprouted and continues to grow and flourish. The light is here, the light beings are with me, even if I can’t see them.