Six years ago, I made a commitment to myself—beginning a type of lifelong quest. Perhaps it might be a tad more accurate to say that the commitment “made itself” inside of me. This was not really a conscious decision on my part—it was more of a ‘knowing’ that rose up from within—a familiar voice that I knew I would be increasingly hearing as I evolved in my spiritual journey of self-discovery.
I had just completed an incredible few days of healing. In one short weekend of experiential psychological processes, facilitated by an extremely gifted therapist, I had magically released years of bottled up victimhood. As I walked out the doors of that “Journey – Letting Go” workshop, I felt a deep sense of loving empowerment, and I knew that my life would never be the same. Planted in my heart was a pure sense of awareness that the most important thing I could ever do would be to learn how to love everyone—not with a romantic type of love—but with a divinely inspired unconditional type of love. Beginning with tiny baby steps, I embraced that inspired goal with all of my heart.
I wish I could say that I had fully achieved this goal. I have had so many incredible experiences along the path, and I keep thinking the end of the trail might be near, but alas there is always another exciting bend, another peak to climb. I now look forward with eager anticipation when I reach one small peak, hoping to catch a glimpse of what the next summit might look like. As I learn to live moment by moment, I am fully content with letting the universe surprise me with my next lesson in unconditional love.
In the baby stages, I practiced learning to love people who were inherently easy to love. My next big hurdle was in learning to love myself—which is still occasionally an ongoing process. For the last couple of years I have begun placing my focus on finding the genuine souls to love underneath the earthly Halloween costumes of those that have always been my Achilles heels when it comes to love—those who seem to trigger buttons that I didn’t even know existed.
Several times along the journey, I began to believe I had finally arrived¸ only to have the universe hit me over the head with a cosmic two-by-four to remind me that my quest is far from complete. Hopefully, I am about ready to leave the baby stage, climb down from my crib, and learn to walk soon.
When I first met Berto, he was one of those “quite easy to love” people—at least until our first date that is. Then, a series of unplanned events unexpectedly led to a most difficult emotional challenge. In many ways, I have Berto to thank for a great deal of personal growth. He is beginning to remind me of Gollum in the “Lord of the Rings”. No, he doesn’t look like Gollum—but as you might recall, Gollum kept popping up throughout the story, and served a valuable and unexpected purpose right up to the very end. In fact, my encounter with Berto eighteen months ago has played a definite role in my being here in Cozumel today. Perhaps it is time to bring you up to speed.
It was the second week of December, 2007. Five weeks earlier I had been laid off from my software engineering job. Don’t get me wrong here—losing my job was a blessing in disguise. After having spent 29 years in the safety and abundance of my computer career, I had a deep inner knowing that the time had arrived for me to aim my feet in a new direction. You might say I was stuck on a dead end path, and the universe simply gave me a gentle nudge to get me on my way. I was already half way down the three and a half year trail of obtaining a Master of Science degree in Mental Health Counseling, and my internal voices were very strong, “Brenda, do not look back … your computer career is over … finish your degree … focus your energy in this new direction.” At age 52, this was somewhat unnerving, but I was blessed with a deep feeling of peace and confidence that all would be well.
Don’t ask me how, but somehow I knew I was supposed to go on an adventure trip—all by myself. As I began researching “where will I go”, my internal voices made it clear “You’re going to spend eight days in Cozumel.” Never having been to Cozumel, I had no idea where to stay. As I browsed hotel options, one specific all-inclusive resort was standing up in the crowd, frantically waiving its hands, screaming “Pick me, Pick me.” Yes, the price was right, the location appeared to be beautiful and isolated, and it just felt like the perfect peaceful paradise. If there is ever any doubt in a decision, I always go with choices that bring a feeling of internal peace.
Through a twist of fate, on the morning of my third day at the resort, I felt an internal nudge to go say “Hola” to a young man sitting at the information desk. It was not long before our pleasantries had evolved into a series of deep philosophical and spiritual conversations. Throughout my time there, I made a habit of stopping by to chat with Raphael whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was a young, single father, in his early thirties, who had an incredible sense of spirituality. He was deeply humble, and seemed to be both a magnet for, and a beacon of, unconditional love. For those eight short days, Raphael became my spiritual teacher.
As fate would have it, Raphael was arranging for people to participate in tours for one of those expensive vacation clubs. I tried to tell him “No,” but the little Jedi Master in my heart was saying “Yes … do this … you know you want to do this.”
At 8:00 a.m. on the morning of my fourth day, I found myself in a waiting room at the neighboring resort, ready for my tour. Berto, who was a manager and does not normally conduct tours, told his staff “Give me the first tour guest today”, and that first tour guest just happened to be none other than “me.”
I was feeling on top of the world, filled with peace, visiting a tropical paradise. As Berto and I began talking, the first thing I told him was that my answer was already a firm “no.” I made it quite clear that “I am just here for a good time, a free breakfast, and a free rental car around the island.”
I soon learned that Berto was an American living in Cozumel, and had simply assumed a local nickname. As we chatted over breakfast, I sensed an obvious feeling of electricity between us, and I found myself feeding off of the playful bantering energy that totally surprised even me. Yes, I was flirting with Berto, and loving the experience. “You’ll never see him again,” the little voices told me, “Just be fun and free—and roll with the experience.”
“What do you do for a living?” Berto asked.
“I was just laid off from a computer job, am working on a Master’s degree, and am writing a book.” was my innocent reply.
“Oh really, what is your book about?”
“My life story, my lifelong journey of self discovery and my spiritual healing.” was my reply. This is the part where I momentarily felt a flash of anxiety, because I had no intention of going any deeper into my background. I had no idea how he would react if I were to share my transgender story. I even felt a small amount of fear. Here I was, all by myself, in a foreign country, talking to a man that I didn’t know, not having a clue what he would say, do, or feel if he knew my “real” story.
“What is so interesting about your life that would make people want to read your book?” he asked innocently.
I almost froze in my tracks. “Why did I just open my big mouth and tell him that?” I thought to myself. I had only recently made a commitment to myself that I would always answer honestly when someone asks me questions that might lead to the sharing of my story.
I fudged a little bit in this case. Thinking quickly, I replied “It is a long complicated story … maybe I’ll share it with you someday.” I knew full well that “someday” would never come.
To my relief, the conversation drifted to snorkeling. I told him how I would love to find a good snorkeling spot on the island, and asked if he could share with me where to go. He proceeded to describe a few places, and then added, “I could go with you and take you there on my day off next Wednesday if you would like?
“That would be nice.” Was my automatic reply … followed by a silent “Oh my heck, what did I just do? (I’m not sure if “heck” was the word I actually thought.)
He finished our snorkeling conversation with “Remind me when we are done with the tour and we can make arrangements.”
I don’t remember much about the rest of the tour. I only know that I still said a firm “No” to the vacation club, but I was helpless in my attempts to divert my mind from my obsession about a potential date to go snorkeling. As Berto handed me a coupon for a free rental car, I reminded him about snorkeling. We were no longer alone, and he seemed awkward—perhaps about coworkers overhearing. A few minutes later, as I was ready to leave, he pulled out a yellow pad of paper, drew a makeshift map of the island, and marked a few spots on it. Then he scribbled his name and phone number at the bottom of the page, thanked me for coming, and then walked off—with the receptionist watching the entire verbal exchange.
I was stunned. “He expects me to call him? I can’t do that. I won’t do that.” I obsessed as I attempted to put the thought completely out of my mind, but by evening I decided to give in to my feelings and to let the experience play itself out. I picked up my cell phone, dialed his number, and left a message, “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I would really enjoy going snorkeling with you on Wednesday if you really want to.”
Wednesday was three days away, and I had a full agenda of adventures to experience. I spent a day driving around the island, a day on the mainland at Xel Ha and Tulum, and a day scuba diving. For the most part, I ignored my upcoming plans with Berto, but in the back of my mind, I was a giggling school girl having fantasies about having a Caribbean boyfriend.
In the meantime, my spiritual friendship with Raphael continued to deepen considerably, with discussions about the spiritual traditions of the Mayans, Greek philosophers such as Pythagoras, God, and the Universe. Tuesday evening rolled around, and I had arranged to meet Berto for dinner in order to plan our snorkeling trip on Wednesday. I bumped into Raphael at 5:00 p.m., asked him about taxis into the city, and told him I was meeting a friend for dinner. A few minutes later, Raphael and I were driving up the beach road, engaged in a deep discussion about his meditation experiences that brought him to Cozumel—a conversation that only happened because Raphael volunteered to drive me to town himself.
Dinner with Berto was both a great success, and an utter emotional disaster. Just a few minutes after we ordered our food, Berto cleared his throat and asked “So, what is so interesting about your life that you think people will want to read about it?”
Again, I attempted to divert the conversation, “I really don’t want to talk about that right now.”
“Were you molested as a child? Did your father abuse you?” he kept probing, and didn’t stop.
My internal voices were calmly saying “Yes … tell him … tell him now … everything will be fine.” I swallowed my pride, fought back my anxiety, let go of my schoolgirl notions of an island romance, and calmly forced myself to share my life story.
To my amazement, he was fascinated and excited—but his excitement was not exactly the type that I was hoping for. He was deeply intrigued by the physical nature of my changes, and I suddenly became a sex object to him. I felt as if he was no longer interested in me as a person—he was simply interested in my body. I felt dirty and objectified by his sudden shift in focus. As we strolled through the dark narrow streets back toward the center of town, he repeatedly made inappropriate advances. I have to admit, out of curiosity, I allowed things to go beyond my comfort zones—but somehow I still knew that I was always in control.
We spent another hour or so together, but my internal repulsion to his demeanor and behavior kept screaming “Just run away now, call off the snorkeling trip, you don’t really want to spend an entire day with this man.”
As I was preparing to leave his company, I said something like “About tomorrow, we really don’t need to go snorkeling if you don’t want to.”
I was hoping he would make it easy for me by saying “OK, let’s call it off then.” But instead he said “No, I would still love to go snorkeling … call me at 10 a.m.”
I had a hard time sleeping Tuesday night. I felt dirty, emotionally violated, and wished I could simply call off the upcoming events … but my little “voice friends” were calmly saying “You will have a great growth experience … you need to see this through … don’t quit now.”
To make a very long story short, I did spend the day with Berto, and had a great time snorkeling with him. He was like an excited child whenever he saw a beautiful fish. He was determined to find and show me his favorite fish, and when he finally found it, he was squealing like a little boy who had just found buried treasure.
However, the non-snorkeling time spent together was a real challenge. I used every moment as an opportunity to practice forgiveness and to practice non-judgment. Berto seemed to have an obsession with drinking, and probably consumed seven or eight beers while we were driving around the island together. Our conversations were forced and awkward, and I found myself anxiously anticipating the moment when he would drop me off at my hotel. It seemed that practically everything he did or said had a way of pushing my buttons, and I could not get past my feelings about his behavior on the previous evening.
I am proud to say that I survived that day, and as I have emotionally processed the unfolding events, I have learned a great deal about myself and about unconditional love. I will be eternally grateful for the growth that took place in my soul, but mostly for the other events in my life that may not have occurred had it not been for the events of that day.
As a result of my adventure with Berto, I deepened my spiritual connection with Raphael through the conversations we shared on the way into town. On the night before I left for home, Raphael and I were having an incredible discussion about a spiritual healing group he attends every Saturday night. As we talked, his eyes suddenly lit up, an electric energy filled the air between us, and Raphael spoke the words “Oh Brenda, you have to come back and meet my Medicine Man.” I have only had one brief email communication with Raphael since that moment, and I do not even believe he still lives in Cozumel, but I have no doubt that if the Universe wants me to meet this Medicine Man, the path will yet unfold. To this very day, I remember the electricity of that conversation as if it had occurred only moments ago.
Another result of my island tour with Berto is that I ventured downtown, and became slightly familiar with the layout of the waterfront area just south of town. Without that Tuesday night date, where we explored the streets around town, I might have never ventured into the heart of the city—an experience that solidified my confidence as I prepared to return on my current adventure. I have to laugh, because the first restaurant in which I ate lunch last week seemed strangely familiar. Only a few minute passed before I realized that I was eating in the very same restaurant where I had shared my life story with Berto—and it was only 1 block from where I currently live. Talk about coincidences.
Last night, after another exhausting 15-mile bike ride up a dirt road to the edge of a bay overlooking “isla de la passion”, I cleaned up and returned to the town plaza for dinner. Being only Saturday evening, I was not expecting a band in the gazebo. The music began just as I was finishing my meal of “enchiladas verde con pollo.” Following my instincts, I selected a seat right up front, on the edge of a small wall some thirty feet from the band.
At first, no one was dancing. Then three lone men took turns going out and strutting their stuff. The old me would have judged them as being narcissistic, simply thinking they were hot stuff and wanting to show off. The new me was admiring their self-confidence in dancing by themselves when everyone was watching. I found myself imagining myself out there dancing with the one man, expressing my feelings with abandon, not caring what anyone else might think. I then began imagining myself doing just that, but in the dark, on my roof, after I returned home. A tingling energy surged up and down my spine. Somehow, I knew that I would soon be out on the plaza dancing up a storm.
A middle aged man was sitting about five feet to my right. Something seemed a little “off” with him, and I was not quite sure if he was drunk, just a little strange, or perhaps he might simply be a little mentally slow. As I observed, I noticed a fifty-something man come out of the crowd. He approached this man and gave him a warm loving smile and handshake. Immediately I realized that the gentleman sitting near me might have a mild case of something similar to downs syndrome.
The loving manner in which this fifty-something man greeted the other man sitting near me caught my entire focus. Making eye contact with him, we exchange a look of unconditional love and gratitude—as if we were kindred spirits. Then he began to work his way toward me—passionately dancing towards me would be a more appropriate description. He seated himself right next to me and began to chat. I was amazed at how easily my Spanish was beginning to flow, and we communicated quite effortlessly.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked as he tried to nudge me from the safety of my perch.
“No gracias,” I replied, even though I secretly knew I wanted to dance with abandon.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because no one else is dancing, and the whole world will be watching me,” was my safe reply. Within minutes, he was insisting, grabbing my hand and pulling me onto the empty area in front of the gazebo. A minute later, I had picked up his left-left, right-right shuffle, and we were dancing up a storm. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was having a blast doing it, and I allowed myself to flow with the experience. “Carlos” was such a good dancer that he made it easy for me. I know I wasn’t doing the “Salsa” the way it is supposed to be done—but I was moving effortlessly, letting myself simply flow with the experience. Once my confidence increased, I looked into the crowd sitting next to the plaza, making eye contact with a local lady who was just beaming a glowing smile back at me.
Eight dances later, I noticed that the plaza was filling up with other dancers, and I was beginning to feel nervous about being Carlos’s exclusive dance partner. It was 9:30 p.m., and I used the excuse that it was getting late and I needed to go. He asked if I would be back on the plaza on Sunday evening. I told him “maybe,” but he would not take “maybe” for an answer. He begged me to say “yes,” and I finally said “Yes, I will meet you here at 8:00 p.m. tomorrow evening.”
He smiled as he prophesied, “By the time you leave here in 4 months, you will be very good at the Salsa.” I smiled, and inside I actually believed he might be right. I was actually a little intrigued to see what might be around the next bend on my path.
© Brenda Larsen, 2009