Brenda's Bicycles

 
December seems like forever ago, but I remember my time spent with Conny as if it were yesterday. In those unforgettable growth-filled days, my left foot was bandaged tightly, and I walked with an awkward and cautious limp. I was still in the midst of confronting my deepest fears regarding my severe third-degree burn, and I continued to waffle in my confidence and courage to travel onward into Central America by myself. My dear new friend from Germany helped me greatly in both fronts.

Several times during our discussions about her own memorable travels through Guatemala, Conny had told me about her deep love for a beautiful volcano-surrounded lake called “Lago de Atitlan.” I shared in her inspired energetic connection as she related a few personal spiritual experiences that she had enjoyed while visiting the area.

“Brenda,” Conny had suggested, “I think you would really enjoy the spiritual energy of the small town of San Marcos, nestled in the hillside along the northwestern shores of the lake.”

“The entire town has a peaceful energy about it.” Conny had continued. “And there is a meditation center in San Marcos that offers a month long meditation retreat at the start of every full moon.”

When Conny had uttered those words, an energetic lightning bolt simultaneously grounded itself in my heart. At the time, I knew absolutely nothing about the “Moon Course” at “Las Piramides Del Ka (The Pyramids of Ka),” but a strong intuitive feeling already told me that I would love the experience if my heart were to guide me in that direction.

The San Marcos Peace Accord

By the time a small barely-ocean-worthy launch dropped me off on the Caribbean shores of Guatemala in mid-March, my ego-based head logic had mostly talked me out of the idea of spending an entire month at a New-Age Hippie-like retreat in San Marcos—but nonetheless, I kept my options open, making no commitments either way. I simply placed my trust in my inner guides.

“That is totally in the future.” I told myself. “If I am destined to participate in the retreat, everything will unfold in perfect order.”

For my first Guatemalan full moon, I felt strongly guided to be in the energizing Mayan ruins of Tikal, experiencing an unforgettable once-in-a-lifetime midnight adventure surrounded by thick jungles and ancient temples.

Just two weeks later, after arriving in the beautiful city of Xela, my heart left no doubt as to the fact that now was the time to spend at least a week engaged in intensive Spanish language study. But in the back of my mind, I also knew that the next full moon was fast approaching. A decision had to be made.

By Saturday evening, April 17, I was in a state of deadlock and frustration. I would be starting Spanish school on Monday, and I felt a need to decide once and for all how many weeks I would be studying. While I remained deeply intrigued by the idea of participating in the meditation retreat in San Marcos, I continued to resist with logic.

“Just stay in Xela for a few extra weeks of Spanish study.” My head insisted. “You don’t need a meditation retreat to teach you how to connect with God and the Universe. You already know how to do that.”

“Besides, what will people back home think about you participating in all that Hippie stuff?” my head threw in one more pointed jab aimed at past fears and insecurities.

What confused me is that my heart and soul seemed to be frustratingly silent regarding the whole issue.

Then, early on Sunday morning—several hours before a small 5.4 earthquake literally shook my physical world—a small meditation tremor shook my spiritual one.

Well, maybe I should rephrase that last statement. I wasn’t exactly trying to meditate. I had woken up to go to the bathroom, and was now back in bed, relaxed and trying to go back to sleep. Somehow, in a state of being half asleep and half awake, a series of strong inspired feelings washed through my consciousness, firmly planting their roots in my soul, leaving no doubts as to their origin.

“Get out of your head.” The feelings clearly resonated. “This retreat is exactly what you need. You already know that you are going to participate.”

My undeniable feelings went on to tell me several reasons why I would participate.

First, yoga is something I have always wanted to learn and to practice. It will energize my body and soul, adding to my strength, flexibility, and vitality. Even better, the Hatha Yoga at this retreat will not just be exercise and stretching – it will be the framework for deep spiritual centering.

Second, the Vegetarian food will be a great experiment in my diet, and I might actually learn to like it. It is time to stretch my food horizons a little more.

Third, I have always struggled with traditional meditation practices and techniques. When it comes to silencing my mind, I am often quite lazy and impatient. In spite of that fact, the Universe has greatly blessed me with intuitive guidance. This retreat will provide a valuable and needed meditation structure and discipline, helping me to strengthen and further develop such intuitive connections.

And fourth, my feelings whispered to me that unseen, unrevealed blessing await me in San Marcos. Who knows the people I may meet, the physical or spiritual connections that may open up, or the growth through which I might pass?

After Sunday morning, my heart was quite clear—but the logical voices in my head continued to argue loudly and stubbornly. I allowed the lopsided internal debate to continue on unchecked for a few more days.

Finally, on Wednesday, the morning after yet another tiny earthquake tremor, I reached a peace accord between head and heart. After finishing my week of Spanish study I would go to San Marcos and check out the meditation program. If, after beginning the retreat, I was not completely comfortable with the decision, I could always leave and move on to more Spanish study, either in Antigua or back in Xela.

My head seemed quite happy with the compromise—while my heart silently knew that it had won.

Between Two Piers

As the little tourist van drives away, I take a deep breath to center myself while looking around to gather my bearings. The rut-filled dirt road beneath my feet is totally unfamiliar. What I know for certain is that I am somewhere at the edge of the small town of Panajachel (pronounced pa-nah-haw-CHEL), and that the expansive calm waters of Lago de Atitlan lie about one hundred yards down a small hill, straight ahead. Before driving away, the shuttle driver had assured me that I would be able to catch a public shuttle boat down by the water.

As I rapidly step over ruts and uneven rocks, working my way toward the shoreline, I find it somewhat difficult to believe that just two hours ago I was sitting on the narrow curb in front of the Casa Doña Mercedes in Xela. Now, on this warm and hazy Monday morning, my recently completed Spanish classes feel like a distant fading memory. I find myself in a whole new world, beginning a completely different adventure.

 “San Marcos.” I reply confidently to a man who asks me where I want to go.

The man points quickly to a small passenger boat that is just preparing to pull away from the dock. Before I have a chance to second guess anything, I scurry up a wooden ramp. Soon, a young man throws my backpack onto the boat’s flat roof and I am seated on the right rear bench. Within seconds we are underway.

A quick glance reveals that the covered cabin area contains four small benches, each of which appears capable of comfortably holding three adults—at least that is what I assumed. I soon giggle as I recognize that these public boats are quite similar to the little public vans that carried me across the western highlands of Guatemala. The captain soon crowds as many passengers onto the boat as he can find. We frequently stop at small docks to drop off a passenger, or to add another one. At the larger lakeside villages, the passenger turnover is even greater.

After stopping at two villages, I realize that I have no idea exactly where San Marcos is located. Swallowing my pride, I finally turn around, lean back slightly, tell the captain that I am unfamiliar with the lake, and ask if he will please tell me when we arrive in San Marcos. After two more small village stops, I step up onto the front edge of the boat, crawl up two feet higher onto a wooden dock, and lean over the boat’s roof, pulling my lonely backpack to safety.

“I am standing on the pier in San Marcos.” I tell myself. “Now what?”

The Ego Strikes Back

A young Mayan boy asks what I am looking for. When I reply “Las Piramides” he says “Follow me.” Three minutes later we are standing before the locked office door of Las Piramides del Ka.

I hand two quetzales (about 25 cents) to the young boy and he looks at me like I am crazy.

“That will be FIVE quetazles.” He demands with confidence, while insistently holding out his hand.

I choose to remain happy and peaceful rather than argue “correctness” with the young entrepreneur, so I simply hand over the additional three coins—yet my ego begins to feel slightly annoyed.

After knocking on the office door, not really expecting an answer, a young twenty-something English-speaking man pokes his head out. 

“I’m interested in participating in the moon course that starts on Wednesday.” I begin, “Do you have any private rooms available?”

“The moon course doesn’t begin until Thursday.” He responds. “There are two extremely tiny places I can show you right now, and you can probably get a bigger private space when the current group leaves on Thursday morning.”

“The groups are in silent retreat this week.” The young man adds. “I’m not sure, but you probably won’t be able to participate in the Yoga and meditation until the new course begins on Thursday.”

“I’m totally OK with that?” I respond happily as we walk toward the back corner of the beautiful property.

Two minutes later we enter a small cabin. I climb a flight of stairs, scale a narrow rickety ladder, and place my belongings into a tiny cubbyhole. My sagging twin mattress sits on the floor, and literally fills all usable portions of this cramped attic loft. The peaked roof above me is less than three feet high, making it impossible to sit up anywhere except in the exact middle of my bed. But in my heart I know that I will be fine in these tiny quarters as long as it is just for a few days.

“The woman in charge went to Panajachel today, but she’ll be back tomorrow.” The young man tells me. “I’m leaving now, but I will return to the office at 1:00 p.m.. I will call her to find out if she wants me to take your money, and I will ask her if you can participate in tonight’s meditation group.”

Several times after 2:00 p.m., I poke my head into the office area and see a Mayan women walking around near the kitchen—but the young man is nowhere to be seen. There are many current retreat participants wandering around the area with beautiful smiles, but they are all in a week of silence, so I am unable to ask them any questions.

I choose to simply enjoy my first day—exploring the village a little, walking along the lake, and investigating restaurant options.

As I explore the one main street of San Marcos, I grapple with feelings of repulsion. Large piles of dirty and smelly food-covered foam plates and cups are scattered everywhere in the streets. Flies buzz over and around the piles, while stray dogs dig through them. The local people simply walk around the garbage as if it were invisible.

As a band begins to blast extremely loud music through the surrounding area, I subsequently learn that the town is participating in a multi-day festival that will end late tonight.

“I sure hope they clean up this disgusting garbage when the festival is over.” Ego mumbles noisily in my head, still trying to create reasons why I should simply pick up and leave the area.

“Brenda, you can be peaceful even in the midst of this seeming mess.” My heart counters.

By 7:00 p.m. I am in bed, utterly exhausted. My digestive system has not worked well for five weeks now, and I have had very upset intestines for the last two days. I am hoping that a good night’s rest will give me back some much needed strength. The loud music of the festival, echoing from several hundred yards up the hill, sounds as if it is right outside my window. Even with ear plugs, sleeping proves to be difficult.

Tuesday I begin to feel increasingly annoyed. The woman in charge is still not back. The young man who helped me on Monday apologizes, telling me that his cell phone minutes were all used up, so he never called her – but he assures me that she should be back to help me at 1:00 p.m., giving me the impression that no one else can help me.

Circumstances seem to be throwing roadblocks in my face, challenging my ability to remain centered. I need cash to last me for the whole month, but the only ATM on the lake that works with my card is forty minutes away in Panajachel. I also realize that I will need to make several daily trips to that remote ATM, because the Guatemalan bank only allows me to take out 2000 quetzales ($250 US) each day.

“That is not a problem.” My heart calmly reassures me. “It will be fun to explore the lake for a few days.”

After making my first cash run, I learn that the woman in charge has changed her plans again, and will not be back until Wednesday. My stress level increases, but I continue to silently focus my energy on remaining the observer, allowing things to play out with love.

Wednesday morning, when the “woman in charge” is still not back, my unexpressed internal frustration jumps another notch. I have spent two cramped nights in a tiny uncomfortable space, and still know almost nothing about what I will be doing. Ego wants to throw a pity party.

But spirit quietly and peacefully urges me to remain in a space of love. I focus all of my energy into regaining and maintaining this loving mindset.

“What should I do?” I finally ask the young Mayan woman in the office, trying to remain peaceful in my inquiry. “The lady in charge is still not back, and I need to pay and make arrangements for the Moon course—plus I’m really hoping I can get a larger room.”

I then tell her the history of my interactions with the young man who helped me on Monday and Tuesday.

“He doesn’t even work here in the office, but I do.” The young Mayan woman smiles surprisingly. “He is just a kitchen helper. On Monday, if you had told me who you were and what you wanted, I could have easily helped you with what you needed.”

I am deeply humbled and ashamed when I realize that I had never asked questions of the Mayan woman before, because I had assumed that SHE was the kitchen help. In the meantime, I am beginning to feel quite annoyed at the young man in the kitchen who knowingly kept me so uninformed for over two days.

I learn that I would definitely have been able to participate in meditation and yoga during my first days—and I also learn that I must pay the daily rate of $20 US per night for the cost of my cramped loft and the classes—even though I did not attend a single class.

Ego is roaring inside, insisting that I feel victimized—insisting that I demand justice.

“It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t participate in those classes.” The agitated ego voices rumble. “For $20 US you could have been sleeping in a large luxurious room at a nearby hotel. You would have been sleeping in a room with a private bath, a comfortable bed, and even television.”

Ego’s annoying tantrum nearly convinces me to take sides.

In the midst of it all, I manage to remain calm and loving in my interactions.

Return of the Jedi

Ten minutes later, the sweet Mayan woman has volunteered to give me a slightly larger room for tonight, and has shown me a delightful little room with a desk and a gorgeous garden view that she promises will be mine beginning on Thursday.

“You will love this.” The little peaceful Jedi voices whisper to my heart. “All is well.”

As I make my second crowded boat trip to the bank in two days, Ego is still nagging away in the back of my mind, insisting that I should feel victimized.

“I shouldn’t have to pay for these first three days when that young man told me I couldn’t participate.” Ego argues.

Then I laugh inside as I realize the “coincidence” that just last night I spent two hours listening to a Byron Katie CD on my IPOD. It is time to put her technique called “The Work” into practice I tell myself as I begin to question and challenge my unreasonable ego beliefs.

“Is it true that I shouldn’t have to pay that money?” I challenge Ego. “And is it true that this young man victimized me?”

“How do I feel when I believe that those statements are true?” I ask myself. “And how would I feel if I did not believe them to be true?”

Finally, I turn my victimizing statements around, placing responsibility firmly where it belongs.

That young man was just trying to help me. On Monday, I lovingly agreed to pay $20 per night in that tiny loft, fully knowing that I may not be able to participate until Thursday. It was me who jumped to conclusions and refused to ask the Mayan woman for help on Monday afternoon, and again on Tuesday. It was me who created all those stories of “shoulds” and “musts” in my head.

And the best part of it all is that for the next thirty days I will be getting a private room that in my humble opinion is the best one on the whole property. I only find out later that the “woman in charge” had intended to give my new room to another participant. Had things not played out exactly as they did, I would most likely have spent my month in a less appealing room.

There is no doubt in my heart that I am deeply blessed – everything happened exactly the way it needed to – and I learned some valuable lessons about peace and love.

On a different front, an unrelated stream of synchronicities had been simultaneously unfolding.  On Monday afternoon, I unexpectedly bumped into my young friend Gael from Montreal – the same twenty-year-old inspired young traveler that I met in Semuc Champey two weeks earlier. When I asked where Clara was, he told me that she was having stomach problems, and that she was sleeping back in their room.

On Tuesday afternoon I stopped by Gael and Clara’s hostel room, and had a delightful visit with Clara, who was feeling much better now.

“I went to the doctor and was told I have parasites.” Clara told me. “I finally gave in yesterday morning and took the pills that he prescribed. Today I am feeling so much better. It is like night and day.”

Something inside my soul clicked as I listened to Clara’s words. An intuitive feeling told me that I needed to take the exact same medication. During my Wednesday morning trip to the bank in Panajachel, I stopped at a pharmacy and purchased the meds, quickly swallowing my own first dose. By Wednesday evening my intestinal upset had completely settled, and by Thursday morning it was obvious that my digestive system was actually beginning to function normally for the first time since my early days in Rio Dulce.

Throughout this week, ego has made a valiant attempt to battle with my peace, constantly attempting to derail my forward motion. It has not been easy, but through it all, the silent little Jedi voices have continuously guided me back to my place of centering. I can see blessings in everything that has happened.

As the skies begin to glow early on Thursday morning – the morning after yet another eventful growth-filled full moon – the cheerful birds begin to loudly chirp outside my bedroom window. A delightful peaceful energy seems to dance in harmony with all of my surroundings. Deep love and radiating energy flow through my veins, and I am filled with eager anticipation about my upcoming immersion into the unknown.

Tonight my soul will enter a new month-long phase of growth. 

Copyright © 2010 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved