Gentle waves ripple and splash all around me. As I stare out at the horizon, the faint rumble of a small outboard motor boat catches my attention. Further out, about one mile to the east, a long row of large white-capped waves crash over the edge of the barrier reef. The calmer waters closer to shore have almost no surf action, being only slightly choppy due to the effects of a warm, continuous breeze blowing in from the southeast. The pale-blue skies are slightly hazy as small bundles of low-flying puffy white clouds drift by, and a lone seagull explores the surrounding shoreline. The salty air causes my fingertips to stick to my keyboard as the refreshing scent of saltwater fills the air.
I find myself lying back in an orange, black, and white hammock, atop a palm-leaf-shaded pier-like fourteen-foot-square wooden platform perched above one-foot-deep water. Just a few feet behind me, the gentle ripples wash up on a sandy beach. Ten feet further up the sandy shore sits Tina’s Hostel, my home for the past three days.
Caye Caulker is a relatively small island paradise situated just over fifteen miles off the shore of Belize, and perhaps twenty miles north of Belize City. The small island itself is about four miles long, with only around 1300 permanent residents and over 85 small hotels and hostels. The central part of the island where most people live is perhaps 300 yards wide, making it possible to casually stroll from one shore to the other in less than ten minutes.
The northern uninhabited part of the island is separated by a small one-hundred-foot channel, called the “Split,” technically dividing the island into two. This split was created by Hurricane Hattie in 1961. In modern times, the island has been devastated four times by major hurricanes, with the most recent one being Hurricane Keith in 2000. With the highest point on the island being only eight feet above sea level, a strong storm surge can completely cover the island, causing extensive damage to life and property.
The southern portion of the island is a little wider, perhaps one mile across, and is also largely uninhabited. A small airstrip south of town provides a fifteen minute commuter flight to Belize City, but most people choose to travel to the island on large water taxis. In fact, one such taxi is busily unloading on a long wooden pier just 50 yards to my south. The pier is crowded with about twenty five happy people, some wearing backpacks, others dragging their suitcases over the bumpy planks. All are eagerly headed toward the shoreline.
These water taxis are about the size of a large scuba diving boat, and travel frequently to and from the mainland, as well as to the city of San Pedro on Ambergris Caye to the north. The trip to Belize City takes only about one hour, with a round trip costing merely $12.50 US.
The streets of Caye Caulker are not paved. All roads are very narrow, and consist of hard, packed sand. Many island visitors and residents go barefoot, while others wear only flip flops. Very few wear shoes.
Bicycles and golf-carts are the general methods of getting around—but most places are easily reached on foot, being less than a ten minute walk away. The local people are very friendly. Most speak great English, and are more than happy to engage in casual, fun loving conversation.
What an incredible place to write, to rest, to meditate, and to simply be.
Moving On
Ever since engaging in a short conversation with three travelers, I experienced a feeling of fascination with their destination: a tiny island off the coast of Belize called Caye Caulker. As I talked briefly with these three young women during last week’s Sunday morning bus ride to Chetumal, an energetic seed was planted in my heart. Over the next few days in Orange Walk, that seed began to sprout and grow. By early Friday morning (Feb 19), there was no doubt in my mind as to where my next destination would be—the only question was how to get there.
After grabbing an early breakfast and checking out of my luxurious concrete bunker, I walked several blocks to the center of Orange Walk where I visually scanned the five or six old school buses that were lined up near the tiny market. The night before, a man at the Jungle River Tours office had told me to take an 8:00 a.m. “blue” bus—but shortly before 8:00 a.m., the only Belize City bus that I could see was painted grey. When I looked at a metal logo on the front of the bus—a logo that read “Blue Bird”—I began to wonder if maybe I had just misunderstood.
But peace filled my heart and I knew it didn’t matter what bus I took. As soon as I arrived in Belize City, no matter where I ended up, I could always catch a cab to my next launching point.
Being unsure as to what to do with my large backpack, I approached the driver with a puzzled look and a brief question. Seconds later, the kind man guided me to the back of the bus and opened the rear door. Grabbing my backpack as if it were a bag of feathers, the driver heaved my belongings onto the top of a huge spare tire that was laying flat on the metal floor behind the rear seat.
“I guess I am taking this bus.” I told myself as I walked to the front passenger door, climbed the steep steps, and walked down the narrow aisle to the rear of the bus.
Being my first trip on a second class school bus, I wanted a seat where I could easily observe my backpack during the journey. A bench on the right side, three seats from the rear of the bus was perfect.
Finding Love In Shame
As the bus began moving southbound through the streets of Orange Walk, I was surprised by how quickly it again stopped. I soon observed that the bus pulled over just about anywhere to either load or unload passengers. While there were indeed some well marked bus stops along the route, it seemed that anyone simply walking along the road with a hand stuck out could also get the driver to stop.
After about fifteen minutes, a man slowly made his way down the aisle. While holding a wad of cash in his left hand, he used his right hand to collect money and to make change. Finally, he arrived beside my bench.
“How much to travel to Belize City?” I asked with an unsure tone in my voice.
“Four dollars (Belizean).” The young man replied quickly.
Surprise must have shot across my face as I realized that a two hour bus ride would only cost me $2.00 US. What a bargain!
Gradually the entire bus filled up, and soon the front aisles were crowded with people standing. A tall slender curly-haired Creole man was seated directly across the aisle from me. Just a few minutes earlier, he had boarded the bus with a large weed whacker that he had carefully placed on the floor between us.
I was totally unprepared for what happened next.
“Slap.” The owner of the weed-whacker stood up and assaulted the man behind me, using the palm of his right hand to slap the man’s left cheek.
Then there was a one-sided exchange of angry words. The man behind me simply absorbed both the abuse and the unkind verbal attack. Seconds later, the attacking man walked noisily away to the middle of the bus, continuing to verbally express his disgust.
Only seconds earlier, I had noticed the man behind me standing in a funny crouched position beside his seat. Apparently, the man was unable to control his bladder, and decided to relieve himself on the floor.
Quickly, I slipped into observation mode—not only observing others, but also observing myself.
A small stream of urine was streaming down the grooves in the rubber floor mat that lined the floor between benches. Some of the fluid had also gotten onto the angry man’s weed whacker.
Creole words were suddenly flying all around me, sounding like a shortcut slang mixture of English (with Spanish pronunciation) combined with many rapid-firing unrecognizable words.
But the word “pee” was clearly recognizable, as was the angry emotion of those around me. Many, even in the middle of the bus, turned around to ridicule and taunt the man.
As I briefly glanced back to look into his eyes, I noticed that they were bloodshot, filled with embarrassment and shame. Staring mostly at the floor, he made no attempt to defend himself or to lash back.
As I observed myself, I noted that in the first few seconds, I too had momentarily shared a sense of disgust and revulsion—but such emotion was extremely short lived. Almost immediately I found myself feeling a sense of deep love and compassion. While I understood the reactions of those around me, I could also feel this embarrassed-man’s soul.
I later realized that at no time did I ever feel even the slightest speck of fear. I never once felt unsafe or threatened by the potentially-violent confrontation unfolding around me.
The old me would have been extremely uncomfortable being so close to a brief physical assault and angry words, while trapped in the back of a bus in a foreign country.
The new me just quietly smiled.
Through it all, I remained in the role of observer, making no attempt to intervene in any way other than by sending an incredible silent focus of loving energy and thoughts, while peace and calm energy flowed and danced with my spine.
Twenty minutes later, after observing a barrage of almost continuous verbal harassment, my heart was filled with warmth and joy when two men approached the shame-filled man behind me. With loving emotion in his quiet voice, one man said “C’mon man … let’s get out of here … we’ll get you home safely.”
Soon, the three of them exited the rear door of the bus and walked away. I could feel their love.
Caye Caulker Water Taxi
At 10:00 a.m., as I walked out of the confusing bus station in Belize City, I had no idea where I was—but I knew that every taxi driver in the city would soon be eager to answer that question for me.
Five minutes later, my taxi driver parked in front of a small waterfront building—the departing point of the Caye Caulker Water Taxi. I laughed inside when I realized that the taxi cab ride cost almost twice as much as a two hour bus ride. But hey, I couldn’t complain—I had found my next departure station, and the next water taxi would be leaving in only twenty minutes.
The luggage check in was a breeze—that is I thought it was a breeze until a boat parked outside. I was not given a claim check for my bag, and it was simply piled behind the counter. The baggage handler assured me that he would handle it from there. I lined up in eager anticipation of boarding the boat, but when the ticket taker called out “San Pedro,” I began to panic.
“How do they know which boat to put my bag on?” I asked myself. “Worse yet, what happens if my bag ends up in San Pedro?”
I rushed back over to the baggage check area to make sure my backpack was still there. Relief flushed through my soul when I saw a red backpack still among a pile of other bags.
I chuckle in retrospect when I ponder how calm I was during a physically and verbally abusive situation on a crowded bus—yet how panicked I became at the thought of losing a few worldly possessions on a water taxi. In retrospect, I realize now that I had also felt some fear on the bus. But the fear was not about the unfolding conflict—my fear on the bus had also been about the safety of my backpack.
Creepy Feelings
The one hour boat ride went quickly, and I was soon stepping onto smooth white sand. Having no plans regarding where to stay, I grabbed my guidebook and flipped open the page listing “where to stay” on Caye Caulker.
One of the budget-priced names on the page was “Tina’s Hostel”. As I glanced up and around the area, the first beach-side building that caught my eye, perhaps fifty yards to the north, had a large sign out front reading “Tina’s Hostel.”
“That was easy.” I told myself proudly.
The private rooms sounded a little pricey to my logical brain, so I opted to immerse myself in the experience of a shared dormitory. As the young hostel employee led me upstairs into my small bedroom containing two bunk beds, I immediately felt a feeling of negative energy.
Lying on the bottom bunk of the other bed was a man in his mid twenties, sleeping soundly as if he had been up partying all night.
“Don’t you have any girls-only dorms?” I asked hopefully.
“No, I’m sorry, they are all mixed dorms,” was her apologetic reply.
After quickly locking my electronics up in a small lockable drawer, I left my backpack on the bed, grabbed my wallet and a few other items in my daypack, and walked back downstairs. Every intuitive element of my being told me that I should not sleep in that bedroom. Only minutes later, I was walking toward the hostel’s front gate, setting off to explore the island with intentions to find more suitable accommodations.
“Are you going out to look for a better room?”
Startled by the question, I looked up to see where the voice came from. A very happy and pleasant fifty-something couple were standing on the balcony in front of their almost-ocean-side room.
“These private rooms are very nice.” The woman began. “You should just stay in this one right next to us.”
After a quick peek inside the open room, and after a delightful fifteen minute discussion with Marty and Carolyn (from north of Toronto, Ontario, Canada), I hustled back to the office and asked to upgrade to room 13. Once I successfully abandoned my stuffy left-brain logic, the decision became so easy. This second floor balcony room overlooks the ocean barely twenty feet away, and it is only $8 US more per night than my room in Valladolid. How could I walk away from that?
As I returned to the office to upgrade my accommodations, a strong peaceful feeling resonated throughout my relaxed soul. I knew I had made the right choice.
Mulling Over Money
More than one month ago, I was browsing Facebook when I learned of a retreat that a spiritual friend of mine is co-hosting in Costa Rica during the third week of March. As I pondered the thought of attending the retreat, I was alive with excitement and intrigue at the thought of such a gathering. I could fly to Costa Rica, attend the retreat, and then tour Central America from the bottom up. But after I learned how much the retreat cost, my stomach sank a few notches.
Even so, I wrestled with the decision for more than a week, knowing in my heart that I wanted to go to the retreat. Finally, I succeeded in pushing my head out of the way and openly acknowledged to myself that I was indeed willing to spend the money—enough money to cover almost three months of basic expenses—if and only if this is where my heart were to truly guide me.
Once I internally agreed that I was willing to spend the money if prompted to do so, I then wrestled with the final decision—a decision that I again postponed for at least another week. But, no matter how I approached the issue, I could not seem to feel any type of energetic, knowing, answer.
Finally, one afternoon, as I approached a confusing feeling of desperation, I decided to simply explore the logistical issues surrounding the retreat—where it would be held, what we might be doing, what I might hope to get out of it, etc…. As I did so, I suddenly felt a clear answer peacefully flowing from within.
“No, the retreat is not for me, and I will not be attending it.”
Oddly enough, this intuitive knowing was accompanied by another powerful follow-up Jedi voice.
“This whole exercise was a lesson in trust. I will soon be encountering a few additional decisions that involve spending money. I need to be willing to sacrifice budgetary logic and spend some money if and when my heart guides me to do so.”
That second feeling really captured my attention. It was only a few days later that I was also guided to know that my next stop would be the country of Belize.
Diving Or Dollars
Ever since I first saw a photo of the “Blue Hole”, I knew I had to dive there. In 2003, I actually had plans to go on a cruise with a stopover in Belize—and I fully intended to do a day excursion to dive the Blue Hole—but at the last minute, my plans for that already-paid-for cruise burned up in a blaze of disappointment (and I am eternally grateful that they did—but that is a whole different story).
Oddly enough, when I began thinking about coming to Caye Caulker, I had no idea that this island is one of the prime departure points for diving the Blue Hole—and I also had no idea that the enormous 1000-foot-wide, 400-foot-deep, underwater sink hole is over sixty miles off shore from the mainland, making it a very expensive and time consuming dive.
In the last few days, as soon as I connected all of the mental dots, I knew that I wanted to dive the Blue Hole while here on the island. But then I saw the price tag—just under $200.00 U.S. for an all day trip involving three dives.
Instantly, on learning the extravagant costs, I pushed the idea away into the recesses of my mind.
“That is way too expensive … There is no way … I cannot justify that …This is just an Ego desire anyway… etc, etc, etc, … ” The negative excuses continued on and on.
But I could not shake the feeling that has been brewing inside for some time now—a feeling telling me that it is time to fly free, to listen to the yearnings rising from within my soul, to act on the genuine desires of my heart no matter what other people may think.
And for some reason, my desire to dive the Blue Hole seemed to be coming, not from Ego or head, but from within my heart—telling me it is OK to be joyful, encouraging me to have a little fun while on my spiritual journey.
So I put my two previous promptings together—(1) follow my heart, and (2) it is OK to spend a little money in order to follow my promptings.
By Friday evening, I had explored the island, made my decision to dive, selected a dive shop, made reservations, picked out my rental diving gear, and even paid my money. My adventure would begin on Saturday morning at 5:30 a.m.—and that early morning was only hours away.
Sleep Lessons
Being eager to get lots of sleep before my 5:00 a.m. cell phone alarm, I retired quite early on my first night here at Tina’s Hostel. In fact, I was in bed and sound asleep before 9:00 p.m..
At around 2:30 a.m. the noise began. At first I thought that it must be Marty and Carolyn talking quietly right outside my door. Then the noise got louder, and louder, and louder; and then there were more than just two voices. I soon learned that Marty and Carolyn, just like me, had been sound asleep.
Over a fifteen minute period, the party downstairs, situated directly under my room became increasingly more animated, evolving into a full-fledged club environment as about ten to fifteen drunk revelers began loudly calling back and forth to each other, competing to hear each other over the loud boisterous conversations of the others.
By 3:00 a.m., I was becoming downright annoyed—but was determined to find a peaceful, loving, inner solution. I had no intention of saying anything. Surely, they will go to bed soon I hoped. I would normally have simply put in ear plugs, taken a sleeping pill, and covered my head with pillows—but I needed to be sure to hear my alarm at 5:00 a.m. and could not risk that type of sound muffling.
By 3:05 a.m., I was beginning to lose my loving patience. After quietly opening my door, I looked over the balcony at the boisterous party below me and whistled as loud as I could, trying to get their attention—hoping that someone would look up and that I could ask them to please be a little quieter. But my whistle was lost in the roar of the deafening noise, and I soon went back to bed, again determined to solve the problem with an internal perceptual shift rather than taking outside action that may take me out of a place of love.
By 3:15 a.m., I again opened my door as the unsettled battle between my heart and Ego was now fully engaged. This time, I noticed Marty standing in his open door just to my right. When he saw me, Marty encouraged me to go support his wife.
“Brenda, Carolyn just went downstairs to ask them to leave. Will you run down to offer her support? If I go down, that may just fuel things, me being a man and all.”
Without even thinking, I found myself walking down the stairs and toward Carolyn as I overheard her beg the group to either stop or leave to a different location.
“There is a woman upstairs that needs to go diving at 5:00 a.m.” Carolyn said as she pointed toward my room.
“She should just put in ear plugs,” Someone loudly replied with a rebellious chuckle.
Just then, I arrived and joined in calmly, “Yeah, I need to be up at 5:00 a.m., and I would really like to get some more sleep before I go diving.”
Reluctantly the revelers apologized and filed out of the hostel, resuming their partying a short distance down the beach, still being quite noisy.
Feeling a little disappointed in myself, I was slightly beating myself up, wondering why I could not find the peaceful inner solution that I so desired to find. I hardly slept a wink during my final two hours as I reflected on the experience.
Diving Delight
We could not have picked a more beautiful day to dive. After a short orientation and a quick breakfast of bread and strawberry jam, our group was soon on board the boat, attempting to assemble our scuba gear in the dark. By 6:15 a.m., our large dive boat pushed away from the dock, pulled up three large rubber bumpers, and began chugging east in the direction of the crashing waves about one mile off shore.
Most of our two hour boat ride—a journey taking us into open water, further and further away from Belize—was cruising through deep seas with turbulent rolling wave action that caused the boat’s bow to forcefully bounce and rock. But I managed to control my nausea, and before I knew it, 8:00 a.m. had arrived around the same time that we entered a calm shallow reef area. To my surprise, the engines suddenly stopped, and our dive master announced “We are now inside the Blue Hole … it is directly below us.”
Quickly, everyone on the boat glanced around at the plain and ordinary seas. From water level, I could barely make out the edges of the 1000 foot wide underwater circle that completely surrounded us.
Our group of ten divers was soon plunging into the water, one excited person at a time. With two dive masters on the boat, we had the luxury of splitting into two smaller groups, one dive master taking six of us, and the other dive master taking the remaining four. The tiny groups gave us a much more intimate and safe diving experience.
As I prepared for my first dive ever to a depth of 135 feet, many little fears attempted to find a place to grow roots in my soul.
“What happens if I suffer nitrogen narcosis?”
From my certification classes, I knew full well that this drug-like crazy-making effect is a definite, but uncommon, possibility at depths of 135 feet. The dive master even warned us what to do if we begin to feel a little loopy, indicating that some people even do crazy things such as trying to breathe without their air supply.
Other little fears also tried to find fertile soil to grow.
“What happens if I cannot control my buoyancy at that depth and I sink down toward the bottom over four hundred feet below?”
“What if I can’t see well without my glasses?” (I left my contacts in Cozumel)
“What if this … what if that … what if … what if … what if?”
My mind wanted to play crazy with me, even before I jumped into the water—but I gave such fears no time of day as my peaceful instincts calmly pushed me over the edge of the boat and down and into the water below. I knew in my heart that all would be just fine. And it was.
Once we began our descent, I felt completely safe and calm, filled with confidence, sensing no fear whatsoever. I do have to admit, though, that it was quite an adrenaline rush to watch the needle pass the one hundred foot mark on my depth gauge.
Soon, our dive master clanged something hard on his tank to get our attention, and then he eagerly pointed below us. There, swimming around about thirty feet away, was an eight-foot Caribbean Reef Shark. We stared in fascination as the eerie-looking creature slowly waved his tail as he casually swam around, seeming to completely ignore us.
At around 100 feet the once-vertical walls of the cylindrical hole began receding, leaving an overhang in their place. As our dive master coached us to swim closer to the wall, under the overhang, a group of huge stalactites gradually came into view. At 130 feet down, these incredible cave-structures were very impressive.
For just over five minutes, we remained at about 135 feet below the surface as we explored in and around these huge underwater stalactites—stalactites which had once been part of a huge above-water cave. At this depth, not much light reaches down from the surface, but we still had amazing visibility in the clear Caribbean waters. When I noticed that my depth gauge was now reading 140 feet, I calmly corrected myself, swimming back up a few feet while noting that others were still lower than me.
The remainder of our dive was a slow gradual ascent, followed by a long safety stop at 15 feet. As we had been coached before hand, the blue hole is not necessarily a pretty dive with lots of fish—it is mostly an adrenaline experience in going to new depths and possibly seeing large sharks—both of which proved to be very satisfying.
The rest of our day was amazing. During necessary between-dive surface time, we cruised to two other dive spots: Half Moon Caye and Long Caye. Both of these small islands had amazing and beautiful offshore reefs, filled with gorgeous coral, tons of fascinating fish, and even the occasional octopus, lobster, or turtle. During our second and longer rest, we enjoyed an extended lunch break on the shores of Long Caye, following which we explored a remote bird refuge while waiting for our blood nitrogen levels to reduce.
By late afternoon, as we returned in our final two-hour race across rough ocean waters, I was physically exhausted—but spiritually energized.
Party Revisited
For the second night in a row, I retired just after 8:30 p.m.. Shortly before walking to my room on Saturday night, I overheard a young man engaged in conversation with a young woman in the hallway.
“You know,” he said, “we stayed up partying last night till almost 5:00 a.m.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” she replied.
As I overheard this brief snippet of their casual exchange, I looked at the face of the twenty-something young man. He was a beautiful young man, similar in age to my own children. How could I be angry at him for waking me up this morning?
Minutes later, as I closed my eyes, early evening partying had already begun. Almost immediately, Ego attempted to suck me into a resentful feeling while spirit again encouraged me to find internal peace instead.
After just a few minutes, the answer suddenly hit me in a powerful way. I began to imagine that the young people partying downstairs were my best friends, rejoicing together after spending an incredible and energizing day on the island. As I pictured the faces and the joy of my friends, I suddenly felt myself celebrating with them, wishing them an exciting and fun-filled party.
In literally the shift of a thought, my perception of the party noise also shifted. Instead of resenting the loud boisterous laughter, I embraced it as a joyful occurrence among friends. To my amazement, I was no longer bothered. Even more incredible is that over the next hour or so, the noise gradually faded. By 10:00 p.m., the downstairs area was silent. Everyone must have gone to a local bar, and they never returned, at least not in a noisy way.
I have a sneaking suspicion that I will be using this same tactic tonight.
Sailing Synchronicities
Friday afternoon, during my brief island explorations, I noticed a small tour shop called “Raggamuffin Tours”. One of their signs read “Overnight sailing adventure to Placencia. Three days and two nights.”
I walked right past the sign, but made a mental bookmark. Something inside of me had clicked when I read those words. I was very energetically intrigued.
Later that evening, I was having a delightful conversation with Marty and Carolyn.
“We’re thinking about taking that three day sailing adventure at Raggamuffin Tours.” Marty announced.
Immediately, my synchronicity meter began sounding loudly.
“I was thinking about that myself.” I eagerly replied. “What can you tell me about the trip?”
I soon learned that the sailing trip leaves Caye Caulker on Tuesday morning, with many stops along the way to enjoy beautiful snorkeling and fishing. On both nights, the boat stops at small islands for a night of camping. The tour company provides tents, sleeping bags, and pads for sleeping on the beach. The first night would be at a deserted island. The second would be on a tiny 5 acre island called Tobacco Caye—a place I had been researching just the day before—a place that I really wanted to visit.
On the third day, the sailing adventure would end at the city of Placencia, further south along the shores of Belize.
Then I heard the price tag: $300 US.
After taking a few deep hesitating breaths, I engaged my left brain to make a few logical calculations.
“Hmmm,” I told myself, “If I factor in the cost of two nights lodging, three days of food, and a one day snorkeling trip, the remaining $150 is actually cheaper than my Blue Hole scuba dive trip.”
Saturday afternoon, I was lying on the hammocks when a young African American man with huge dread locks joined me on an adjacent hammock. Soon I learned that several times per month, he goes along on the Raggamuffin tours as a deck hand—and amazingly, he had answers to all of my questions.
It wasn’t until Saturday night that my heart made it absolutely clear that I am going on this trip. A surging internal energy absolutely radiated within when I thought of the growth and adventure that lie just in front of me—and I knew without any doubt that I will be sailing. Happily, Marty and Carolyn also announced just an hour later that they too had made the final decision to sail.
In an amazing display of synchronicity, the universe had guided me to the island at the right time, helped me select the perfect hostel room, repeatedly put the idea of the sailing adventure in front of me, answered all of my questions, and convinced me to be willing to spend the money. But the best part of all was that I had been given two extremely fun ready-made friends with which I would be sharing my amazing adventure.
Past Dreams Revisited
If you read my January 5, 2010 post titled “The Peace of Simply Allowing”, you might remember a strange dream that I wrote about. In that dream I told of how my father had dropped me off at a restaurant high up on a hill overlooking the Salt Lake Valley—but as soon as he pulled away, I discovered that I had no wallet with which to buy dinner. So instead of trying to eat at the restaurant, I hopped onto a bicycle that was mysteriously provided for me and coasted down a long hill. Moments later, I was engaged in a conversation where a younger man invited me to attend prom with him, but I turned him down because I was backpacking and had no formal dress to wear.
I never provided a written interpretation of that dream—until now that is. It was not until late January when I actually figured it out. In both the restaurant scene, and the scene where I was invited to prom, I was extremely quick in saying “NO” to an opportunity. Rather than trusting the universe to provide a way, I simply walked away from growth opportunities where the universe would likely have blessed me.
Take the restaurant, for example. If I had entered the restaurant with no purse, who is to say that there was not an already-paid for meal waiting for me inside—or perhaps I could have worked out a deal to work for some food.
As I decided to leave instead, the universe provided me a smooth and effortless ride on a mysterious bicycle that appeared out of nowhere. Why couldn’t the universe have provided a paid-for meal?
Then, when asked to attend prom, I simply said “NO” without any thought or soul searching. I probably passed up an incredible opportunity for a delightful evening, simply because logic told me the idea didn’t make any sense. If I had said yes, would a dress have magically appeared just like my bicycle?
The end of the dream was quite sad. I was lying in a gutter, crying with deep sorrowful emotion. Could it be that I was lamenting the missed opportunities that I let pass me by, simply because I was being logical and responsible? I think so.
It was this very dream that convinced me to consider actually paying for the Costa Rica retreat in March—the same retreat that I later was prompted to not attend. It was also this very same dream that convinced me to seriously consider the three-day sailing adventure that I will begin early tomorrow morning.
It would have been so easy and logical to simply say “NO” to this seeming-extravagant adventure. But instead, I listened to my heart and said “YES”.
I have a strong and powerful feeling that I will go through some huge internal growth on this trip—a trip into the wilds of open sea for three whole days, sailing through the waves, exploring isolated islands and reefs, getting to know a group of fun interesting people, and discovering new horizons—both in the Caribbean sea, and in my own heart.
Bicycle Surprises
Sunday morning, before beginning my writing, I decided it would be appropriate if I rented a bicycle for a few hours. Even though the island is small, exploring every nook and cranny is difficult to do on foot.
While exploring the remote shoreline at the southeastern end of the island, I came up to what appeared to be the end of the trail. Another woman was there on her bicycle, preparing to turn around.
“Is this the end of the trail?” I asked.
“More or less,” she replied, “It goes on a little further, but is very wild and bushy.”
Soon I darted into the wild and bushy trail, proceeding another 100 yards or so before I convinced myself that this was not really a passable trail at all.
As I returned to the end of the real trail, the same woman was still there waiting for me.
“Brenda?” she called out.
With an extremely puzzled look, I turned around and looked into her eyes. I still could not place her.
“I thought that was you. It’s me, Gretchin.” She looked at me as she responded to my baffled look.
Immediately I recognized her. She had sat right behind me on the Jungle River tours to the Lamanai ruins. We had engaged in some very fun conversation during that trip—a conversation that immediately resumed where it left off.
As we began to ride our bicycles together, my rear tire axle suddenly came loose on one side, causing my tire to severely rub the bicycle frame. As I tried to pedal onward, the chain came off the sprocket as well.
Laughing inside, I began to walk while lifting up the dragging rear of the bicycle. I knew that the town was at least a twenty to thirty minute walk from here. In a sweet gesture, Gretchin began walking with me, even though she was leaving the island in a couple of hours and really needed to go check out of her hotel.
Only minutes later, we were walking in front of a large beach house when I noticed a local man walking in the yard. He was very friendly and started talking to us. Almost immediately, I felt prompted to ask if he happened to have a crescent wrench. Two minutes later, Zenon was out on the trail with us, fixing my bicycle for me.
What a delightful bicycle ride it was. I bumped into a new/old friend, and we had a very enjoyable conversation with a man that was eager to share stories about his family and the island.
It never ceases to amaze me as the synchronous little experiences continue to unfold.
Into My Soul
I started my writing yesterday, but due to interruptions and being flexible, I am just now finishing up on Monday morning.
Early this morning, while taking a 4:00 a.m. bathroom break and checking up on a group of photos that I was uploading using our very slow internet connection, I discovered a weekly email from my dear friend Trish—the same weekly email containing her messages from the Archangel Michael.
This particular message spoke deeply to my soul.
In very simple words it goes as follows:
Move out of your head and into the soul…
it is there where you will discover not only your truth,
but your capability.
Archangel Michael
So far my time in Belize has been all about that—moving out of my head while journeying deeper into my soul. I love the amazing peace and joy that I am discovering as I experience the loving truth that springs up from within—and I am indeed learning that I am capable of doing absolutely everything that my adventurous soul guides me to do.
Copyright © 2010 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved