Tears have once again been wetting my cheeks. Emotions are quite raw as I begin writing today. Fear, uncertainty, and doubt are attempting to regain old territory—but I will simply not allow such panic to reestablish its stronghold in my heart. Yes, the emotions seem real and daunting. I know that they need to find release in the form of healthy exploration and expression—but I also know that these emotions are not the truth of who I am.
For a brief while, I have been sitting with these emotions, offering them a warm mug of hot cocoa while they throw their little temper tantrums. Experience tells me that these uninvited visitors will not leave before I give them a chance to fully speak their mind—but once I allow them to completely express their victimizing woe-is-me thoughts, I will most certainly invite them to leave.
Even as I begin to record my thoughts, the tears have already ceased and the emotions are beginning to evaporate.
But I am getting a little ahead of myself. Before I talk about today, a beautiful warm and sunny Saturday afternoon, I need to fill in a few gaps.
An interesting Conversation
As I finished scribing the above words, I was sitting in the beautiful Candelaria Park, right in front of my hostel. As I prepared to move on with my writing, I was quite surprised when a sixty-something man approached and confidently pushed his way into the seat right next to me.
These park benches are not your normal straight and flat park benches. Each concrete bench is a sort of love seat, in the shape of an “S”, with room for two people, one on each side of the “S” sitting and facing in opposite directions. I was sitting by myself on one side of the bench with my water bottle placed in the other—essentially marking the space as mine.
As my new friend approached, he simply pushed my water to the side, sat down, and began to talk.
“I’m sorry … I don’t understand everything you just said.” I quickly replied to his first sentence as I retrieved my water bottle, placing it in my lap.
Without even batting an eye, this sweet gentleman ignored my statement and resumed talking almost nonstop. He talked so rapidly that I could not get another word in edgewise. Only seconds passed before a strong feeling came over me.
“Just listen and let him talk.” The feeling began. “It doesn’t matter that I don’t understand hardly anything. He just needs to connect to another caring human being, believing that someone is listening. I am the perfect person to fill that role.”
For forty five minutes I simply sat and stared lovingly into his eyes, intently focusing on trying to decipher the words streaming almost nonstop out of his mouth. While I did not understand the vast majority of what was said to me, I did pick up on some of the basic facts.
My new friend is a devout Catholic, and goes to Mass every week. Sometime in the past, both his beautiful wife and his dear mother have passed away, and he lives alone—but he proudly reports, while pointing to his head, that he still has his mind. He has traveled frequently between Mérida, Cancun, and Playa Del Carmen, and each time he travels, someone gives him 250 pesos to cover his costs. He has a pension from his former job that pays him 1700 pesos per month (about $130 US).
My new friend repeated these facts over and over in the midst of hundreds of other details that I simply could not even begin to figure out.
“I wonder if he suffers from Alzheimer’s, or something like that?” I pondered to myself as I continued to lovingly stare into his eyes, still feeling clueless about perhaps 90 percent of the words that left his mouth.
Taking advantage of my opportunity to simply listen and observe, I studied everything about him. His graying hair was covered by a blue baseball cap containing the logo of a construction company. The moustache covering his entire upper lip was equally graying, but his bushy eyebrows were a solid light black. His eyeglasses were of average thickness, with the bottom half of each lens showing obvious lines of large corrective bifocals.
Through his glasses, my new friend’s eyes reflected a genuine light of love and peace. Around his neck was a thin gold chain, from which was proudly hanging a medallion of Guadalupe. His light brown skin was covered by a sleeveless white tank-top and a pair of light blue shorts. His facial skin, while sporting a good number of wrinkles, did not show signs of excessive aging.
Throughout our conversation, I continuously checked in with my soul, repeatedly asking myself, “What is the purpose of this visit? … Do I continue to listen? … And if so, for how long?”
Finally, after forty-five minutes of uninterrupted listening, I followed my heart, lovingly spoke up, told him what a pleasure it was to meet him, and let him know that I needed to leave. Magically, in the process of focusing on this sweet man, my own emotional sadness seemed to completely melt away—becoming just a simple faded memory.
Our Lady of Guadalupe
For the past two weeks I have begun to observe a very interesting phenomenon—occasional groups of young children, perhaps 10-14 years in age, carrying a large fan-shaped palm leaf, with a large image of Our Lady of Guadalupe at the center of the leaf.
I watched some of these children walking door to door in neighborhoods, while others explored streets filled with locals and tourists. After finding a captive audience, these children began to sing loudly, in unison with each other, keeping the fan-shaped palm leaf at the center of their gathering.
Being so close to Christmas, I made the assumption that this must be some type of culturally-unique Christmas caroling. I could not have been further from the truth.
Today, Saturday December 12, is the day that Mexican’s all over the country celebrate their Patron Saint, Our Lady of Guadalupe. According to tradition, in the year 1531 the Virgin Mary appeared to a humble man named Juan Diego near Mexico City—near the place where the Basilica of Guadalupe currently stands. But the Virgin did not appear as a European Madonna—instead, she appeared as a beautiful brown-skinned Aztec princess, and spoke to Juan Diego in his own native Aztec tongue. This appearance by “Our Lady of Guadalupe” is thought to be the major stimulus that influenced the native people to begin converting to Christianity in large numbers.
I am told that these singing children were canvassing the city in preparation for today’s festivities. These children use the money they collect to purchase offerings that they use in worship on December 12.
The festivities have been building for several days, but began in full force last night when religiously devoted locals began to parade through the streets in the most interesting of ways. Caravans of cars and trucks decorated with balloons, crepe paper, and images of Guadalupe randomly steamed through the streets, honking their horns loudly, accompanied by ear-piercing police sirens. While several authentic local police cars were in fact participating, many of the sirens were attached to the tops of taxi cabs and trucks.
Another interesting phenomenon, which I have yet to figure out, is the runners and bicyclers. For about a week I have seen them occasionally moving through the streets, escorted by decorated, honking, siren-screeching trucks. Some of the running groups were taking individual turns at carrying a flaming torch.
Last night, the sounds of these roaming random parades could be heard all around the area, accompanied by the sound of loud fire crackers—almost sounding like gun shots. Around 11:00 p.m. the party music began to play from a few blocks away—blaring so loudly that even my ear plugs proved ineffective in masking the sound waves. The festive music continued to resonate loudly through the surrounding neighborhood until the wee early morning hours.
This evening, while eating dinner near the city center, the parade resumed in large fashion. Rather than a handful of small random processions, a huge parade seemed to spontaneously erupt, containing a mixture of everything: decorated cars and trucks, rumbling motorcycles, runners, bicycle riders, horse-back riders, and noise—unbelievable noise so loud that I was unable to carry on a dinner conversations with the friends who were sitting with me.
For nearly an hour, the horns honked and sirens wailed as these devoted worshipers snaked their way around the center of town before eventually heading off toward the west. As I finish my Saturday evening writing, I feel truly blessed to have had the opportunity to witness such a delightful display of local flavor and color.
A Positive Turn
Monday afternoon, I was spiritually alive, experiencing a powerful presence of peace. A series of subtle energy filled events had literally transformed what started out as an emotionally difficult day. Who would have thought that the breaking of a bicycle chain, a simple lunchtime conversation with an Asian woman, and a flood of intuitive spiritual confirmation could have such a profound impact? (If you missed it, the story is in my last blog entry.)
That evening, I unexpectedly learned that my mystery friend was actually a beautiful young woman from China who was staying for a few days at my hostel. After learning her English name, I again thanked Joan for her powerful healing advice that had impacted me so deeply. While the words had come through Joan’s lips, there was no doubt in my mind that those words originated from a higher source.
Immediately after returning from lunch I began to allow my burns to air out, quickly learning that even after hours of exposure to open air, the dead burned skin remained moist and pliable because of the thick humidity. By the end of the day, my symptoms of secondary infection (urinary tract) had all but disappeared, and a confident aliveness had taken up residence in my soul.
Prior to this week, I had mostly isolated myself in my hostel room, either writing, caring for my burns, or resting—only venturing out for necessities such as meals and restroom breaks.
Tuesday morning, however, a whole new experience began to open up. Armed with my newfound positive energy, and the awareness that I was finally completely current on my writing, I opted to remain in the hostel garden area after finishing my delicious breakfast of toasted bread and a bowl of sliced fruit with yogurt and granola.
A Friendship Meant To Happen
On Monday, I had begun to feel an intuitive connection with a woman from Germany; her name is Connie. We had only talked briefly, once in the morning and once in the evening, but something inside told me that the friendship would be going to much deeper levels.
As Connie and I began a casual conversation during our Tuesday morning breakfast, it did not take long before we were engaged in deep and meaningful spiritual discussion, sharing numerous stories and inspired experiences with each other.
Connie told me how just a year ago she had spent three months backpacking throughout Central America, visiting every country between Panama and Mexico. She shared stories of how one man in particular had deeply inspired her journey as they discussed the idea of erasing the past and living in the present.
As part of her journey, Connie had stayed for a brief period of time at a hostel in the city of Mérida—a relatively large city, three hours from here, near the northwest corner of the Yucatan. While at that hostel, Connie had become friends with a young couple who worked there; their names were Tania and Ewout.
This year, at the end of November, Connie was prepared to take a one month vacation to Southeast Asia. She had already purchased her plane tickets, had already figured out her travel route on the ground, and was in the final trip planning stages when she received an unexpected email.
Her old friend Ewout, whom she had not communicated with in quite some time, told her something like:
“Hey Connie, Tania and I have reopened the Hostel La Candelaria here in Valladolid, Mexico. We would love you to come and visit us here sometime.”
As Connie pondered the email, an undeniable internal feeling energetically pulled at her like a strong magnet. She could not get Mexico out of her mind, and it was not long before she called the airline to change her flights. Instead of flying to Southeast Asia, Connie would be spending a relaxing month in the Valladolid area.
As I told Connie of my own recent experiences in the jungle, the pieces began to fall into place. In a very powerful way, albeit through entirely different circumstances, we had both been unexpectedly guided to be here in Valladolid, at the same time, for an extended stay at the same hostel. The amazing series of synchronicities that brought us together was hard to deny.
“Could it be that the Universe has guided us together for a reason? … And if so, why?” we asked ourselves.
On that beautiful Tuesday morning, our inspired conversation lasted for several hours.
Again on Wednesday, we began talking nonstop at breakfast. The morning quickly disappeared in animated conversation, and we soon found ourselves eating lunch together near the town square. As I munched away on my grilled chicken, intuition left no doubt in my mind that I would soon be sharing my life story with Connie. Shortly after returning from lunch, that premonition became a reality as I confidently filled in the details of my own life journey. Finally, after 4:00 p.m., it was I who ended the conversation when my foot began to throb. My tired body was begging me for some rest.
Thursday would have continued in much the same manner were it not for the fact that I decided to visit my friendly General Practitioner just around the corner from the hostel.
As you may recall, Dr. José Francisco had insisted that my burns were just second degree.
“Brenda, don’t worry,” he had told me, “just take care of the wounds and come back to see me in ten days.”
Those ten days had now passed, and I was eager for an updated opinion.
Right before leaving to visit Dr. José, I confidently joked with Connie, “He is going to take a quick look at the burn, tell me that everything still looks great, and ask me to come back in yet another ten days.”
Third Degree Twist
In my mind, I can still picture the image of Dr. José’s face.
Seated confidently in front of his large wooden desk, I carefully pealed back the tape on my gauze compress. As his eyes made contact with the burn, Dr. José’s face seemed to immediately turn a lighter shade of white, while at the same time a worried look suddenly possessed his once-smiling face.
“I think the burn is worse than I suspected.” Dr. José confessed. “There appears to be some third degree damage. We need to remove the outer blister skin, but if we do, you will need to cleanse the wound on a daily basis.”
In some ways, I felt vindicated. I had intuitively known from the moment Delfino (my Zapotec healer friend) pulled the charcoal away from my foot that the burns were quite severe.
Logic dictated that I should be upset, that I should be angry that Dr. José had let me go for seventeen days before he would acknowledge the possibility of third degree burns.
But in spite of my continued inner awareness that the burns were most likely of a third-degree nature, my intuition had strongly guided me to stay put … to wait … to trust … to surrender to my promptings—all of which told me to stay in Valladolid, catching up on my writing, connecting with people, waiting for further guidance.
Yes, I had indeed been riding an extreme roller coaster ride of emotions, experiencing spiritual highs, fear-filled lows, and frightening sharp corners—but in the process I had grown both spiritually and emotionally, more so than I imagined possible. No, I was not angry or upset with Dr. José. I knew that were I to re-live this experience, I would not change a thing. Gratitude was actually radiating through my soul.
After Dr. José announced his concerns, he left me sitting in my seat and began quickly scurrying around. After momentarily leaving the office to talk to his wife, Dr. Jose soon returned to make a phone call. In the meantime, my imagination was left to speculate.
“I’m not sure I trust him to work on my burn.” I began to ponder. Strong doubts were already beginning to presence themselves.
“What will I do if Dr. José wants to remove the outer blister skin himself?”
The question seemed to be time critical, yet no intuitive answers seemed to be forthcoming.
After a few minutes, my unspoken question became a mute point when Dr. José turned back to talk to me.
“I’m going to refer you to a specialist.” Dr. José informed me. “My wife is waiting outside right now to take you there. He is expecting you at his office.”
Throughout the ten minute chauffer ride, a feeling of peace resonated within my consciousness. Still feeling deeply spiritually grounded from my “Consultation With God” experience on Monday, nothing seemed capable of interfering with my loving spiritually-centered confidence.
As I entered Dr. Gomez’s front office, I focused on being acutely aware of my inner feelings. Immediately I was thrilled to learn that Dr. Gomez spoke enough English that we could easily communicate. For the most part, we conversed in Spanish, but anytime I got the least bit confused, he repeated himself in his best English until we both felt comfortable that I understood. Within a few minutes, a deep feeling of peace had settled into my heart, confirming that I should trust Dr. Gomez.
Minutes later, after moving to his back consultation area, Dr. Gomez first asked me, “Are you a strong woman?”
After I reassured him that I am capable of handling whatever he was about to do, Dr. Gomez began to work, not giving me time to think or second guess myself.
First Dr. Gomez vigorously scrubbed the entire burn area with rough gauze saturated in a brown Betadine solution. While I felt some pain, that pain was manageable and tolerable. I have dealt with much worse in my lifetime, and for the first time in three weeks my intuition told me that I was receiving quality health care.
Soon, the blistered skin was moistened and torn, allowing Dr. Gomez to easily and skillfully utilize a small pair of special scissors to carefully trim away all of the remaining blister skin.
Compared to my imagined fears, the area of third degree burns was relatively small—about the size of a U.S. fifty-cent piece—or about the size of a ten peso coin in Mexico.
Dr. Gomez repeatedly reassured me that the area was small enough that it should successfully heal in several weeks, and that it will most likely not require skin grafts.
“The skin should gradually start growing inward, beginning at the outer edges of the circle-shaped wound, slowly working its way toward the middle.” Dr. Gomez reassured me.
When I asked him about the possible necessity of surgically removing all of the dead skin in the burn area, Dr. Gomez told me that he did not recommend this procedure in my situation.
“Removing the dead skin will simply expose more deep tissues to the risk of severe infection and healing problems.” He informed me. “It is definitely one possible option, but would greatly increase your level of required care, and your wounds are small enough that it should not be necessary.”
As I left Dr. Gomez’s office on late Thursday morning, I continued to feel a deep sense of inner peace and confidence. While I am no medical expert, his advice and treatment approach simply felt right in my heart.
I lovingly accepted the fact that I will most likely be spending my Christmas and New Year Holidays in Valladolid, and that I will have plenty of time to deepen relationships with my new friends.
While holding an appointment slip for Friday morning at 10:40 a.m. in one hand, I used my other hand to flag down a taxi.
Emotional Quicksand
Thursday finished out as being another great day of visiting and deepening relationships. That evening I found myself briefly sitting alone with Tania and Ewout. After ten minutes of general conversation, the topic slowly drifted to my family. I began to squirm as Ewout asked me a few questions about my ex-husband.
Breaking my “prime directive” rule, I briefly diverted the complicated questions; I followed my intuition that was telling me “now is NOT the time to share your story—but the opportunity will present itself very soon.”
My visit with Dr. Gomez on Friday morning again proved to be uplifting and confidence-boosting. Even thought the drying dead tissue had begun to turn a little blackish, the overall feel of the wound gave me the impression of slight general improvement, and as before, Dr. Gomez filled me with encouragement and trust.
I left Dr. Gomez’s office with a slight twinge of curiosity, however, after he informed me that he is not in the office on weekends.
“One of my colleagues will fill in for me tomorrow and Sunday.” He calmly informed me. “I will talk to him today and bring him up to speed on what we are doing.”
One other big unknown also loomed in my still-peaceful mind. Dr. Gomez had informed me that he is leaving Mexico on Dec 21 to spend Christmas in the United States. Again, he confidently reassured me that someone else will continue my quality care while he is out of the country.
Friday continued to be a beautiful and inspired day. Late that afternoon, during the perfect moment, I found myself confidently sharing my life story with Tania and Ewout, while Connie sat quietly listening, cheering me on with loving support. As usual, the Universe showed me that my fears of self-disclosure are overrated and essentially silly. Tania and Ewout were fascinated by my stories, and the evening turned into a series of great heart-felt discussions.
Saturday was a completely different story, however.
After a brief encouraging conversation with Dr. Gomez’s colleague (I never learned his name), this new doctor took me back to the same area where Dr. Gomez had worked on me twice before.
My heart and mind soon filled with doubt and terror when this new doctor proceeded to do exactly what Dr. Gomez had previously informed me that we should NOT do. Rather than washing and exfoliating my dead tissue with Betadine saturated gauze, my new doctor began to pick at my dry leathery tissues with a sharp needle. While much of his poking and tugging was totally painless, a good portion was quite painful and traumatizing.
After spending ten minutes roughing up the tissues with his needle, this unnamed doctor retrieved a pair of curved scissors and carelessly and awkwardly began attempting to trim off several upper pieces of the roughed-up dead tissue, frequently slicing into tender, living tissue.
Throughout the consultation, my mind was running wild with resistance, feeling a deep sense of panic. I wanted to speak up and yell out, “NO … STOP … don’t do that … it hurts, and it is wrong.”
But instead I quietly surrendered while feeling a complete lack of confidence and peace.
As I walked out of the doctor’s office on Saturday morning I felt anxious, fearful, and completely re-traumatized. Thoughts of returning again on Sunday for another frightening treatment sent my imagination and resistance into the stratosphere. And then my thoughts flashed even further into the future.
“Is this the same doctor that will treat me starting on December 21?” I pondered. “If so, I don’t think I can do this … I have to leave … I have to go somewhere else … I will not stay in Valladolid if this is the doctor I have to work with.”
Twenty minutes later, as I sat down with Connie to explain what had happened during my traumatizing appointment, a reservoir of tears started to form in my eyes. I wanted to bawl my eyes out, I wanted to open the floodgates and let the reservoir spill out all over my cheeks—yet I did not feel comfortable doing it in public.
Retiring to my room, I partially accessed the tears—but before they were all released I followed an internal urge telling me that now is the time to begin the healing process of writing.
The Day After
Yesterday, Saturday evening, after writing about the festival of “Our Lady of Guadalupe” I put away my laptop, still feeling entirely unsettled about what to do next. One thing was absolutely clear, however—I needed to spiritually re-center myself.
Immersing myself in meditation, I searched for the peace that was once again skillfully eluding me. Soon, in my attempts at silent breathing, the terror-filled tears again found their way to the surface. Giving up on traditional meditation, I opted to instead listen to emotion-inducing songs on my IPOD. It was not long before the chorus of the song “Close Your Eyes” powerfully reached into the depths of my soul.
Close Your Eyes
Michael and Jeff McLean
Album: Father and Son
[Chorus]
Close your eyes
This part is scary
Take my hand
It won’t last long
You will love the ending I promise
When this part of the story is gone
A sense of peace reassured me that, “Yes, I will indeed love the ending once I get through the scary parts of this experience.”
Yet the fears did not totally go away. I was still obsessed with the question “Do I, or do I NOT, go to see the replacement doctor on Sunday morning?”
This morning, while talking to my dear German friend Connie, a series of insight-filled words finally escaped out of my mouth as I attempted to explain to her the dynamics of my continued struggle.
“I’m trying to control and plan the future.” I said with surprise.
These words formed so easily on my lips, making so much sense once I spoke them out loud.
In the midst of my fears, I had abandoned my present-moment trust and peace.
Instead, I was living in the fear-inducing “what-ifs” of an imagined worst-case-scenario future, no longer trusting the feelings that “today I am OK … today I know that I am where I need to be.”
Returning to my room, I began to work on today’s continued writing while still pondering the question of whether or not to go see “Dr. what’s his name.”
During my deep soul-searching the answer came so easily that I didn’t want to believe it.
When I was with Dr. Gomez, I experienced a deep sense of inner peace and confidence. My feelings of calm and trust seemed to flow from deep within, assuring me that I can and should safely embrace his treatment approach—at least for the short term.
When I was with his replacement, Dr. what’s his name, my body and intuition were loudly screaming “no … no … no.”
What more did I need to hear?
I am always saying “trust your feelings.” It was time for me to listen to my own advice, to the conviction of my own soul. I was clearly experiencing a complete lack of peace with regard to Dr. what’s his name.
In a simple change of thought and perception, I gave myself permission to skip today’s doctor visit. Immediately, a feeling of loving peace comforted my soul.
“I can leave tomorrow’s decisions undecided.” I told myself, “As for now—I will once again immerse myself in the trust of the present moment, knowing that when the time is right, spirit will guide my next move.”
As I have spent the whole day writing, living in the present moment of today, this rediscovered peace has proved to be real and lasting.
The answer was so simple. I simply needed to listen to the peace. I simply needed to trust my own deeply rooted inner feelings.
Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved