Brenda's Bicycles

 

In front of me lies a small, green, heavily wooded island, surrounded by a small tranquil moat filled with cloudy dark-green water. As I glance to my left, the smooth glassy water reflects a clear image of beautiful green trees framed by a partly cloudy sky. I find myself in the middle of a large green forest—a place called the “Bosque de Chapultepec” (Forest of Chapultepec)—in the middle of the enormous Mexico City. According to the signs at the park entrance, this is the largest urban green area in all of Latin America. The closest comparison that comes to mind might be Central Park in New York City.

 

My travels yesterday were logistically uneventful. As I crossed the channel toward Playa Del Carmen, Rufino, one of Miguel’s friends, just happened to be on the same ferry—and he strolled over to say hello, sliding down onto the smooth white bench beside me.

 

“Please, do me a favor and let Miguel know that I am going to Mexico City, and will not be back for eight days.” I asked of Rufino.

 

I had searched for Miguel in the plaza, but we never crossed paths before my leaving—and I was appreciative of the opportunity to pass along a second-hand message so that Miguel won’t worry when I disappear for a while. Rufino amazed me as he shared a little about his daily life. He travels to Cancun every Friday to play volleyball with a large group. In addition, every evening, he plays volleyball for two hours at a sports park in Cozumel. On top of that, Rufino runs five kilometers every morning and he goes to the dances on the plaza every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening—dancing almost every dance. Not bad for a man in his late sixties or early seventies.

 

While in the air at thirty thousand feet, flying peacefully somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico, I began listening to some beautiful Celine Dion songs on my IPOD. I was beginning to feel a little stressed and judgmental all over again, and an internal hunch guided me to listen to Celine in an effort to re-center myself, yet again.

 

I was not at all prepared for what happened next.

 

As a beautiful song titled “Come To Me” began to play, my mind drifted back to a conversation I once had with my dear spiritual friend Sue.

 

Sue told me, “Brenda, whenever you listen to a love song, imagine that God is the person with whom you are in love, and sing the words to him.”

 

I had always interpreted this as “Imagine that I am singing the love song to God.” However, this time, something prompted me to listen the other way around, as if God were singing to me.

 

As the beautiful words to this song streamed melodically through my consciousness, repressed tears began to form in the corners of my eyes. These were powerfully moving words, tailored just for me—words to which I had never previously paid attention. My heart wanted to just let the tears explode, but a quick glance around confirmed that “Perhaps this airplane is not the most appropriate place to turn my eyes into a water fountain.”

 

Nevertheless, I made a strong mental note in my heart, saying “Be sure to listen to this song again tonight.”

 

As I maneuvered through the airport in Mexico City, having to stop and ask for help twice, I finally managed to find my way out of the airport. Soon I was enjoying a 127 peso ($10 US) cab ride to my hotel in the center of the historical District of Mexico City, in the middle of rush hour traffic.

 

My hotel is only two blocks south of the “Zocalo” (pronounced sew-caw-low), the name of the main plaza in the historic city center. One source I read on the plane quoted the Zocalo as being the third largest city square in the world. On one side of the plaza is the Palacio Nacional—which would be somewhat equivalent to the US Capitol Building in Washington D.C.; on another side of the plaza is the “Catedral”, which is Mexico’s National Cathedral. The Cathedral’s interior is huge and ornate, decorated with gold, beautiful stained glass windows, and elaborate statue work.

 

Outside, in open areas surrounding the plaza, the sidewalks are lined by street vendors, entertainers, native Aztec dancers, and even people who appear to be performing energy work and spiritual cleansing. As I passed by one practitioner, she was beating the shoulders of another woman with a bundle of herbs, reminding me very much of my recent experience with the Brujo. Others were holding metal goblets filled with hot charcoal, emitting a thick white cloud of Copal incense/smoke, as they chanted and performed energy cleansings on interested passers-by (for a small fee).

 

I was fascinated by all of this, but my feet were killing me, and my intuition said “Get back to the hotel and go to bed early tonight.”

 

As I finally lay my head on my pillow, right around 9:00 p.m., I suddenly remembered my near-tears experience on the airplane. Reaching for my IPOD, I was determined to honor that previous mental commitment.

 

I could never have predicted my experience. I had expected some emotion, but less than thirty seconds into the song, I was rolling around on my bed, thrashing and sobbing. As I gasped for an occasional breath, the flood of tears continued to spring forth with intense internal energy seeking release.

 

Each word rang true with a powerful impact in softening my heart. A subtle awareness filtered into my being, a silent knowing that over the last two weeks I have gradually slipped into a feeling of separation from my divine source—of trying to go it alone. As the incredible song came to an end, my heart was proclaiming loudly, “I am not finished yet—I want to cry some more—play it again.”

 

Again and again, I listened to the repeating words and melody. “Surely I have done enough crying by now?” I questioned, but the tears kept flowing as my peaceful emotional release continued. With each listening, I sensed my heart growing lighter, my as-yet-unrecognized burdens lifting, my internal connection to my divine source strengthening, beginning to glow brightly once again.

 

Heavy weights seemed to be lifting from my heart—hidden weights that I was not even aware I had been carrying. I began to feel increasingly free, free of internal isolation, free from the silly expectations that I place on myself.

 

Perhaps the most powerful realization came in the form of “I am not here in Mexico City to be a tourist. I will not spend my entire time racing from here to there, trying to visit every historical site, museum, cathedral, or government building. Yes, I will see a few historical sites—but my purpose here is internal, spiritual—I am here for the Dos de Octubre celebrations—I am here to refocus within, strengthening my connection with the divine.”

 

After an hour of crying—an hour in which I must have listened to “Come to me” at least ten to fifteen times—I knew the time had arrived to pick up my laptop with the purpose being to capture the lyrics of the song in writing.

 

Come to Me

Sung by: Celine Dion

Album: Miracle

 

I will always love you

No matter what

No matter where you go or what you do

And knowing you

You’re going to have to do things your own way

And that’s OK

So be free

Spread your wings

And promise me just one thing

 

Chorus:

If you ever need a place to cry

Baby come to me

Come to me

I’ve always known that you were born to fly

But you can come to me

If the world breaks your heart

No matter where on earth you are

You can come to me

 

Don’t walk around

With the world on your shoulders

And your highest hopes laying on the ground

I know you think you’ve gotta try to be my hero

But don’t you know

The stars you wish upon

They fall it’s true

But I still believe in you

 

[Chorus repeated here]

 

And those seven seas you sail

Or the winding road you roam

Leave you lost and feeling all alone

Let my heart be your beacon home

 

[Chorus repeated here]

 

 

I struggle with how to proceed from here, because I strongly desire to talk about how each section of the song impacted me. This may be a tad redundant, but perhaps it is best just to repeat each section as I discuss my insights and reactions. Remember, I am discussing these words as if God were singing them to me.

 

I will always love you, no matter what, no matter where you go or what you do.

 

This powerful belief sustains me on a daily basis—but I forget so easily when I neglect my need to remain spiritually centered. After a week of facing a mixture of fear and judgment, I desperately needed to hear these simple words again—I needed them to be imprinted on my soul.

 

And knowing you, you’re going to have to do things your own way.  And that’s OK, so be free, spread your wings.

 

It took me a few times through the song for the truth of these words to sink in. Lately I have begun to stress about “Where do I go next?” My time in Cozumel is winding down, and I know my path will lead elsewhere—I just haven’t quite figured out where that is. My left brain is a tad impatient, wanting me to worry, to make decisions my old way—through logic and planning.

 

Sure, many ideas are bouncing around in my head—from traveling the Yucatan on a bus, going to a Spanish Immersion program in Nicaragua, volunteering in Equador, participating in a choice of several spiritual retreats in Peru, and connecting with the Incan people near Cuzco. But as of yet I have no internal clarity, and the uncertainty has been causing my ego to squirm.

 

All the while, my heart keeps saying, “Brenda, just be patient … several more things still need to happen before your path will be clear … just keep trusting and all will be revealed through your heart.”

 

My emotional floodgates first opened wide when the chorus began. The words reached deep into my heart, all introduced by the phrase “And promise me just one thing.”

 

If you ever need a place to cry, baby come to me, come to me. I’ve always known that you were born to fly, but you can come to me. If the world breaks your heart, no matter where on earth you are, you can come to me.

 

I suddenly recognized that, while I have been diligent and faithful in my path, I have recently neglected my divine connection. I’ve been too busy writing, studying Spanish, and above all things “pursuing a spiritual path”.

 

What an oxymoron this is—too busy pursuing spirituality to take time to nurture my connection to that spirituality.

 

As the words resonated within, my heart cried out with relief, “I don’t have to be strong. Yes, I was born to fly—but the wings on which I want to fly are not of this world.”

 

“Please,” I begged myself, “allow yourself these quiet moments of deep surrender to spirit.”

 

Don’t walk around with the world on your shoulders, and your highest hopes laying on the ground. I know you think you’ve gotta try to be my hero. But don’t you know, the stars you wish upon, they fall it’s true. But I still believe in you.

 

This continues with the theme that I am trying to do it all, carrying the world in my shoulders. It is so refreshing to remember that I don’t have to accomplish anything by myself. As I am constantly reminding myself, my only real work is within.

 

In the past week, my path has begun to feel out of control. At the same time, I realize that I have developed a tendency to subtly alter my daily behavior to correspond with future writing. My heart recognizes that this is backwards. My writing needs to be the result of living my passion—not the other way around.

 

And those seven seas you sail, or the winding road you roam, leave you lost and feeling all alone. Let my heart be your beacon home.

 

When I first heard these words, the sobs again burst forth. The strength with which these words resonated deeply surprised me. In no way whatsoever do I feel alone—I am happy, fulfilled, eager and wondrously engaged on my journey. Yet I now clearly see that I had begun to feel spiritually alone—momentarily separated from the divinity that fuels me from within.

 

Gratitude streamed through my soul last night as I literally felt the inspiration begin flowing again. I sat up and began writing, in my notebook, an imaginary conversation with God. The words came easy, nourishing my heart, helping me better understand my unsettled emotions of these past six days.

 

In a very clear way, I recognized that my passion never left, but my spiritual guidance was momentarily missing. My head was impeding my path, trying to second guess everything. While meditating in silence, the following two sentences flowed from my pen into my notebook.

 

“Not knowing” is the freedom to be present in the wonder of each moment.

“Knowing” assures that I am locked into the past. 

 

As I finish my writing this afternoon, I find myself sitting quietly in the National Cathedral, adjacent to the Zocalo. I have actually been here for over an hour. While writing earlier in the “Bosque De Chapultepec,” the rain began to fall. After putting my laptop away, I grabbed my umbrella and began people watching all the way back to the subway station.

 

Yes, I said subway station. This morning, as I contemplated how to best travel the several miles from my hotel to the Bosque, I stretched my comfort levels. Pushing my limits, I walked into a station, studied the maps, bought a ticket, and kissed my fears goodbye.

 

I was amazed when I learned that for a single peso (eight cents), I could ride anywhere in the entire city, transfers and all. The subways were crowded, standing room only, especially on the way back to the Zocalo during the afternoon rush.

 

Within minutes of my return trip on the subway, as I strolled through the huge square headed toward the National Cathedral, I became an instant movie star. A group of young women, in their second year at a local university, approached me and asked if I speak English. When I smiled and lovingly replied “Yes”, they asked permission to briefly interview me, on camera, for an assignment in their English class. A minute later, the girls were high-fiving themselves for having the courage to talk to me, and for having fulfilled their assignment.

 

Then, a few minutes later, as I strolled through the interior of the Cathedral looking for a warm and dry place to write, I was approached by three other young women, making a similar request. The quiet ones (Miriam and Carlina) took turns aiming a video camera at me, while the bold confident one (Sylvia) began chatting away. For almost forty-five minutes, we talked, mostly in broken deliberate English.

 

What I enjoyed most is the realization that, for the first time in several days, I was back in my element. A sense of joy permeated my being as I responded with unconditional love. It was a pleasure to help these beautiful young women—and they overflowed with gratitude right back at me. When Sylvia asked if we could exchange email addresses, I was more than happy to honor her request.

 

Filled with a sense of renewed peace and aliveness, my heart now flows once again with intense gratitude for my rich blessings.

 

I am back.

 

The world and the people in it are beautiful and wondrous again—I see that love in every one of the thousands of faces I see—on the subways, in the Zocalo, everywhere I look. How truly wonderful it is to realize that I am indeed back, here, now, in the present. All I needed was a place to cry, to release my emotional numbness, and to once again connect to the divinity within.

 

Footnote to a wonderful day

 

As I left the Cathedral, retracing my steps back through the plaza, a young man named Marcelino approached me out of the blue and began talking. What began as a casual chat soon evolved into a fascinating discussion of cultural history. My aliveness and pure love were glowing from within, and Marcelino even commented as such. We both thoroughly enjoyed our impromptu joining.

 

Some ninety minutes later, as we began to say our goodbyes, Marcelino. “I would love to talk to you again while you are here. How will I find you?”

 

Soon, for the second time in less than a few hours, I was exchanging emails with yet-another new friend. How amazing the world seems when your soul is on fire.

 

Bring on tomorrow.

 

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved