Brenda's Bicycles

 

Throughout yesterday morning, my mind was preoccupied with one, and only one thought. Busily running errands, I searched several stores until I found matches, a flashlight, and a few specially treated small sticks of wood that claimed to be handy in starting barbeques. By midday, I was gliding southward along the coastline, searching the jungle’s edge for dead branches. Breaking up some of the smaller dry limbs, I soon filled a small plastic bag with kindling.

 

“Yes,” I told myself, “I now have everything I need to build a fire, while still in the dark, on the east side of the island.

 

As I climbed my long staircase, I began to second guess myself. My muscles were consumed with a feeling of soreness and exhaustion. Tuesday afternoon’s deep-tissue massage seemed to be backfiring on me. Many times in the past, I have been told to drink lots of water and to expect flu-like symptoms after a deep tissue massage—but the warnings had always been without merit—until yesterday that is. My upper arms and shoulders felt as if they were bruised, and my body ached all over.

 

For the next eight hours I alternated between long naps and boring television, all the while admitting to myself that I would most likely need to postpone my ambitious plans. But as I prepared for bed, a slight burst of energy gave me hope. After quickly packing my bags, I set my alarm and crawled onto my bed (too hot to crawl into it), hoping for a refreshing night’s sleep.

 

A Day to Remember

 

My 4:00 a.m. alarm seemed to “beep … beep … beep” in my ears much sooner than expected. Quickly hopping out of bed, I was amazed by how rested and alive I was feeling. After giving myself a minute or two to open my eyes, I quickly began scurrying about.

 

A sense of adventure consumed my soul as I eagerly pushed my bicycle out onto the street, locking my front gate behind me. A quick check of my watch revealed that I was actually a few minutes ahead of schedule.

 

For fifteen minutes, frequent street lights brightly illuminated my path—but I soon found myself speeding across the middle of the island in near darkness. The silence was breathtaking—only broken by the squeak of my pedals and the sound of my rough rubber tires gliding on the smooth pavement below. As I glanced down at the ground beneath my wheels I was startled by the presence of a faint, but clear shadow. Looking upward, I was surprised by the brightness of the glowing half-moon. Even in darkness, I was blessed with just enough light to guide me on my journey.

 

By 5:00 a.m., as I passed the San Gervasio turnoff, the faint sound of distant roosters began to break up the silence. Knowing I still had plenty of time, I continued to gently pedal, relaxing and inhaling the energizing nocturnal experience.

 

Soon, I reached the small settlement of Mescalitos, which at 5:30 a.m. was still completely lifeless. Eagerly, I began to follow the road southward, paralleling Cozumel’s eastern shores, anxious to find the perfect place for my communion with nature, fire, and smoke.

 

The vista to my left was magical. The moon reflected brilliantly off the crests of the white surf, while the white sandy shores seemed to literally glow in the dark. About twenty minutes south of Mescalitos, I paid special attention to a quiet internal feeling—a sense of knowing that simply said “stop here … you need to get started on building your fire.”

 

I have to laugh at myself. In the past, I was always the anal one who insisted on following all of the rules. On Monday, when Eduardo encouraged me to build a pre-sunrise fire on the beach, the first thought that popped into my left brain was “Can I do that? Is it really OK to build a fire on the beach?”

 

Eduardo simply laughed, replying “You’re not going to build that large of a fire … don’t worry about it.”

 

He never did actually answer my question, and I still wondered “Can I get in trouble if someone sees me?” 

 

My analytical left brain always likes to fight to make its presence known—even when its opinion is not especially wanted; early this morning was no exception. As I walked my bicycle down onto the beach, I do have to admit that my left brain was still struggling for a voice. “Be sure to find a spot that will be well hidden so no one will see the flames!”

 

I did my best to appease the rule-follower in me, but silently reassured myself “Don’t worry about it … a strong spiritual prompting is encouraging me to do this … everything will be perfect … nothing bad will happen.”

 

After locating a secluded spot between several rocks, perhaps thirty feet from the surf, I set my backpack down in the sand, retrieved my flashlight, and set out across the dark asphalt road to the edge of the jungle. For ten minutes, still in the dark of night, I rummaged among the bushes, locating and breaking several dead limbs into manageable sizes. Minutes later, like the Eagle Scout that I am, I had constructed the perfect fire pit.

 

Being in a hurry, I knew this was not going to be a one-match fire. Stuffing the bottom with paper and all of my special fire-starting sticks, I rapidly lit about ten matches. Determined to get my fire started quickly, I was hoping to have hot coals before the first rays of the sun peeked out over the distant Caribbean waters.

 

Pride filled my heart when, only minutes later, a small but strong blaze was roaring in front of me. The heat caused me to step back a foot or two, as the dancing orange flames reached a few feet into the air.

 

In the corner of my eye I noticed a large pickup truck pass by on the highway. Something about the outline of the truck reminded me of the police vehicles that patrol throughout the island. After a momentary cringe of “what if”, a sense of relief filtered through me as the truck kept going.

 

Ten minutes later, as the eastern horizon was barely beginning to light up with a faint glow, I noticed two military-looking policemen, perhaps a hundred yards away to my south, walking up the beach and headed right toward me. The faint outline of machine guns hanging from straps on their shoulders only added to my adrenaline rush.

 

For a few instants, my whole life flashed before me. Knowing these officers had already seen the fire, I clearly knew that my only choice of action was to quietly wait. Any other behavior would do nothing but stir suspicion.

 

Within mere moments, the logical side of my brain was already entertaining elaborate stories of being arrested for violating some serious protect-the-beaches-from-stupid-tourists ordinance. Being handcuffed and hauled away to solitary confinement seemed inevitable.

 

Taking a few deep breaths, I remained in my centered space. Peacefully smiling, I reminded myself “Spirit brought me here … everything will be OK. When they question me, I’ll just be open, forthright, and honest with why I am here and what I am doing.”

 

Soon, my long and actually quite peaceful wait was over. As the two machine-gun-toting policemen neared my position, they casually passed between me and the mild surf beyond. I smiled at them, they smiled at me, and we both exchanged greetings of “hola.” Without even pausing, they continued their casual stroll to the north. As quickly as they had arrived, they were gone—their black uniforms, along with my fears, fading into nothingness.

 

At roughly the same time that the first sunbeams filtered over the eastern horizon, my little bonfire was rapidly approaching the “hot coals” stage. Using a long stick, I spread the coals, causing the flames to diminish, leaving behind a bright orange-red glow.

 

With both hands I gently untied the top of the small plastic bag that Eduardo had given me—the bag that contained my special ‘copal’ herbs. After pouring the contents into the palm of my hand, I quickly scattered the fragrant smoke-inducing mixture onto the hot coals.

 

For several minutes, I stood in front of the fragrant smoke, meditating and talking to the spiritual guides of the island. “I am so grateful for this opportunity to be here in your country.” I began. “I am here on a spiritual quest, and I ask your permission to pass through your sacred lands.” I continued with things like “Please guide me on my quest, open doors for me, and help me find what I am looking for.”

 

As I ran out of words, I simply stood, facing the ever-increasing glow to my east, quietly inhaling the magical experience. With the rhythm of the surf providing gentle background music, the stars above slowly extinguished, one by one.

 

Before saying goodbye to my now-sacred ground, I carefully buried the coals with six inches of cool white sand. By 7:30 a.m., a fresh breeze was again gently brushing my cheeks as I resumed my journey southward.

 

An hour later, only a few miles from the island’s southern tip, I parked my bicycle in a familiar stand of short palm trees. I had rested in this same spot on my previous round-trip of the island. Perhaps thirty yards to the east, mild surf was gently thrashing on the rocky shores. The morning sun was still cool, and the small palm trees provided ample shade.

 

For fifteen minutes, I attempted to meditate in a sort-of traditional, silent way. Sitting quietly on an uncomfortable flat rock and watching my breathing was simply not floating my boat. The chatter in my brain would not quiet down, as the adventurer in me was exclaiming “Come on, we need to get moving. There are lots of things you still might want to see—Punta Sur, El Cedral, etc…”

 

In frustration, I abandoned my meditation attempt and almost got back on my bicycle—but something inside of me said “NO”.

 

As I pondered the conflict in my soul, a famous quote flashed into my mind. When I first heard it, this quote was attributed to Nelson Mandela at his inauguration address. I later learned that he slightly modified the words, but the quote originally came from the book “Return To Love” by Maryanne Williamson.

 

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves; Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are we not to be? You are a child of God. Your “playing small” does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that others won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us; it is in everyone. And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. And as we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

 

As I pondered this quote, the thought flashed into my mind that I struggled because a hidden part of me was afraid of the thought of connecting with spirit at a deeper level. Part of me was saying “No, you need to maintain some control over your life … you don’t want to surrender completely to spirit because you are afraid of where it may try to take you.”

 

Yes, it was clear that a part of me is terrified by my spiritual quest, silently trying to sabotage my efforts. Shrinking from my own light, I am fearful of where that light may expect me to go; I hesitate to find out, staying relatively shallow, remaining at the “surface levels” of meditation as a defense mechanism.

 

My Monday morning dream flashed back into my mind. (I briefly described it at the start of my last post.) In some ways, the thought of going deeper into my spiritual quest almost feels as if the kamikaze airplanes from my dream are dive-bombing all around me. With each threatening plane, I momentarily freeze—like a deer caught in headlights. At the last minute the threat proves to be meaningless as a small unmanned drone crashes harmlessly a short distance away.

 

After a few minutes of internal arguing, I securely locked my bicycle to a tree, retreated further into the small palm forest, and began some serious spiritual centering. This was not the stuffy forced meditation that never seems to work for me. Instead, I immersed myself with gratitude, and sang song after song—songs whose lyrics speak deeply to my soul. Then I thoroughly internalized my personal mission statement—a collection of inspired words that literally fuel my passion to continue on my path. It is very sacred to me. Perhaps I’ll share it one of these days.

 

Finally, when my supply of memorized songs ran out, I pulled out my IPOD and cranked up the volume through a series of additional songs that make my heart sing.

 

For two and a half hours I basked in a feeling of joyful aliveness and deep spiritual connectedness. Tears repeatedly streamed down my cheeks, energizing tears, tears of gratitude and thanksgiving.

 

When I finally resumed my clockwise journey around the island, I felt enough energy flowing in my veins to sustain a small city. Filled with a calm peaceful spirit, I continued listening to my IPOD while slowly working my way around the remainder of the island. For the final thirty minutes of my ride, I was treated to a delightful shower. Making no effort to get out of the refreshing rainfall, I just kept riding—splashing through puddles, getting soaked through and through.

 

Ten hours after my 4:30 a.m. departure, I completed my glorious fifty mile round trip, filled with as much energy as when I had started. After a quick shower and home-cooked lunch of Shells and Velveeta, I whipped out my laptop and began tapping away. The energy I feel right now is just too good to waste.

 

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved