Note: This is a continuation from my previous blog titled “The Elephant Rope.”
“Why are some peoples’ Facebook posts triggering me so deeply?” I ponder in agonizing frustration. “Why, oh why, do I still have so much repressed anger and judgment lurking inside of me, just waiting for an excuse to be projected outward?”
I feel insane. I feel like a total loser when it happens. To my horror, on an ever-increasing basis, deeply triggered emotions are unexpectedly surfacing and exploding, as if out of nowhere. Each and every time I manage to reel the emotions in and own them, but the journey of doing so is agonizingly difficult and painful.
I have many profoundly magical friends on Facebook, and as bizarre as it sounds, when any of them posts anything joyfully sharing, almost boasting, about their amazing magical experiences, something inside of me wants to vomit with anger. And then, when another magical friend “likes” their post, I feel almost betrayed.
Emotional Quicksand
It seems that somewhere inside of me is a putrid swamp of self-hatred and hopelessness. I first tapped into this emotion at the end of June when watching that suicide episode of Glee. When the lid to that Pandora’s Box was removed, the swirling dark and dense emotion inside was so profoundly overwhelming and all consuming that I nearly withered away and gave up.
Several times in the last few weeks of intensely pushing the river, other layers of this putrid self-loathing futility have repeatedly surfaced. In fact, it is now getting to the point that each time that I even momentarily connect to this emotion, even in the tiniest way, I feel as if a pair of slimy gnarled hands reaches up out of that Pandora’s Box and suddenly drags me inside that emotion, consuming me to the core.
The emotion is like a huge pool of toxic emotional quicksand. The mere act of touching the surface of that pool seems to drag me to the bottom of that hopelessness.
I am growing increasingly adept at extricating myself from this putrid place, usually within a day, often within minutes or hours. But during the times that I am inside the dark depths, unable to breathe, all hope is gone and all desire to live begins to wane.
Anatomy of a Putrid Puddle
This emotional quicksand has a long list of self-defeating characteristics.
This dark emotional energy inside me is angry to the core, filled with resentments toward higher energies, defensive, belligerent, defiant, and profoundly rebellious.
It reeks with all-consuming hopelessness, futility, despair, emotional pain, sadness, and grief … wanting nothing more than to give up, to wither away, and die. It sees no reason to live, absolutely knowing that I am going to fail no matter what I do, and that it would be so much easier just not to even try.
It is jealous of anything joyful and magical, angrily projecting onto anyone who flaunts their mystical gifts in a way that is perceived as rubbing it in my face … as coming from a place of ego … or from a place of being a healer who has not yet done the majority of their own inner healing.
This putrid puddle of hopelessness hates anyone and or anything that tries to help or fix me. It absolutely knows that others cannot be trusted because they do not understand – they have not lived my life nor had my experiences, they do not have true compassion for my struggles, and they cannot possibly help me because they are blinded by their own unhealed densities.
I absolutely know this quicksand to be nothing but a reservoir of bullshit-but-very-convincing emotional lies – at least I know this at the level of rational mind. What boggles the mind, however, is that no matter what I know in my head, this dark painful place really does exist, with an overwhelming power that defies logic. It was once buried beneath layer after countless layer of whitewash, but the lid to that Pandora’s Box has now been removed, and no matter what I try – no matter what I do – portions of the frightening contents are now spilling into my life in ways that are excruciatingly difficult to contain and heal.
In early September, I still believe this putrid puddle of sadness and grief to be the guarded personal property of my unhealed teenage self. It will be months before I begin to see it for what it really is.
Facing The Lies
It is now Saturday, September 8, 2012, as I spend a little morning time browsing Facebook. To my shock and horror, raging emotions create angry projections – not just at one person, but onto at least four or five.
I agonizingly mull over this deep judgment that plagues me. It haunts me; time and time again it haunts me. I know the judgment is insane … in fact it is a flat-out projected bundle of lies … but I feel powerless to stop it.
Screaming inner chatter angrily projects stories onto Keith, Paul, Angela, and countless other beautiful magical people who have graced San Marcos and Keith’s magical porch.
“How dare all of these people trigger me so deeply, making my life such a nightmare!” the voices yell in despair. “How dare Keith permit them to wreak such havoc in my life! A true inspired teacher would never permit such behaviors. A true teacher would create a safer environment, free from such triggers, blah, blah, blah.”
It is almost humorous as I write about this inner chatter, because I absolutely know it to be utter nonsense, pure creation of the mind, inner density projected outward in an attempt to deny inner responsibility for what is inside of me.
I know that all of this discomfort is really my own creation. I know that it has been with me through my entire life. I know that if I had been anywhere else in the world that I would simply have run away from it. The reason it came up so strongly in the chocolate ceremonies is because of my absolute commitment to stay and face my inner demons.
Each time these lies rear their ugly heads, I somehow manage to heal them with loving meditation, doing so without creating any trauma drama involving anyone else in a physical body. But increasingly, futility grabs my neck and squeezes. These inner liars just keep coming.
Smothered
Each time such projections arise, I surrender to the emotions, allowing myself to feel the anger … to let the emotions flow through me. Often I surrender to sobs and dry heaving … even punching a few pillows to facilitate the release of suppressed pain.
Then I return to listening to more audio chapters of ACIM … or to recreational reading … or Spanish study … or meditating … or taking another beautiful hike. Each time, I soon manage to return to a beautiful and peaceful energy.
But to my shock, as I sit down at my computer to again browse Facebook, another post from one of several dear magical friends strikes me as extremely boastful and teaming with ego. Harsh judgments suddenly rage forth, and I sink into another round of puzzling emotional struggle and release.
Every time I sink into even the tiniest levels of such emotion, it is as if something sucks me, uncontrollably, right to the bottom of the huge dark dense emotional quicksand, to the very depths of that putrid puddle of hopelessness and despair – right back to the near-suicide levels of rebellion and pain.
When I ponder the complexities of my puzzling quandary, I realize that all of my triggering seems to center around feeling deeply betrayed by someone who is professing a truth that resonates with me as being a distortion … a truth preached to me by someone who should know better … someone I perceive to be in ego … someone who forced their truth onto me amidst my own painful protests that caused me to hate myself even more. Deep down, I know I am feeling the pain of having my truth shutdown by my beloved parents – parents who, from a place of pure and genuine intention, smothered me with the truth that was taught to them, killing my own truth.
An Inner Saboteur
On Saturday, September 8, 2012, after being deeply triggered, I spend the day in beautiful meditation, on a journey of inner healing, engaging in expanding more self-love for my beautiful inner children.
After a brief, early-afternoon break of blissfully walking around the central portion of San Marcos and lovingly connecting with several friends, I return home for more meditation.
In that meditation, I eventually reach another level of going “stir-crazy” with distractions and squeamys. As I continue pondering, I realize that I have finally reached the level of inner rebellions that I have actually been trying to achieve … working toward it for several days … but now that I am here, the inner shaking is so intense that I cannot handle it.
“I see you ego,” I call out suddenly.
Quickly, the inner rebellion subsides, going back into hiding. This experience alone helps me to understand that a very real and powerful part of me is desperately attempting to sabotage me – desperately afraid of losing control.
In meditation, I lovingly thank this ego part of me, tell her that I love her, that I am aware of her self-sabotage … and then I continue meditation.
Finally, by 6:30 p.m., I am beginning to feel stir-crazy again … and absolutely exhausted. Again recognizing that I am trying to push the river, I give myself a break, ending right in the middle of an energetic panic attack … but doing so from a place of self-love and self-acceptance.
Relentless Projections
The loops just keep getting more intense. On Sunday, I find myself being dragged to the depths of that putrid pool on three separate occasions – all triggered by reading Facebook posts from magical friends.
The first dumpster diving takes place in the early morning, dragging me through a vitriol of inexplicable projection. After soon releasing and healing this judgment with love, another swim in the swamp sucks me under in mid afternoon – as if perfectly timed. Once I recognize ego and projections, and process another layer of healing, working on finding more purity and innocence on the inside, I again wallow in the quicksand for another smothering swim during the late evening.
Repeatedly, I am proud of myself for the healing, for recognizing the insanity of my projections, and for bringing them back inside.
Repeatedly, I am blindsided by yet-another layer of relentless projections that just will not cease.
I am exhausted. Every trip to that putrid pool continues to take me to the depths of hopelessness and despair. I am not sure how much longer I can do this. I increasingly believe myself to be near insanity … and increasingly struggle not to blame Keith, chocolate, and San Marcos as being the cause of that hopeless craziness.
Dental Blessings
By now, my listening to the audio version of ACIM has taken me through chapter nine, a chapter talking a great deal about the difference between grandiosity and grandeur – about ego and guilt versus basking in the divine power of unconditional love.
I clearly recognize that the cause of my projections is that I see myself, my inner children, as being guilty of great offenses – and that I am subconsciously projecting that guilt outward in an attempt to free myself from it.
I continue to recognize that the solution to my problem is to find the purity and innocence within – to find that self-love that has been so fleeting throughout my life.
But this journey is intense. That inner ego vacillates between suspiciousness and viciousness, and I do not like it one bit. Each time the viciousness strikes, I am almost immediately aware that the feelings are not me, that they make no sense, that they come from ego. But the feelings are so vicious and strong that I require intense concentration, focus, effort, and meditation – focus on bringing in true grandeur and unconditional love – in order to transmute the present layer of pain back to loving peace.
As I finally go to bed, exhausted on this long Sunday, I am still in the throes of the last vicious ego attack. I am mostly in a state of love, but distant rumblings of the latest ego temper tantrum continue raging in the depths. I clearly recognize this all as an inside job, but the emotions are taking their toll. I am not sure if I have the strength to keep going.
There is no doubt right now that if it were not for the fact that I am still in the middle of working with my dentist, waiting for my crown to be finished, that I would likely pack up my bags today and leave San Marcos … probably for good … never to return. Were it not for the universe “blessing me” with the need for this crown, I would probably just throw in the towel right now.
Part of me is deeply frightened.
Lost In Loser
Monday, I maintain my sanity by taking a long walk into the hills above San Marcos. I can only giggle when the rain clouds begin to form while I am still high on the mountainside. By the time I reach my apartment, I am drenched and dripping, laughing both inside and out – even with tired and shaking legs from the extreme physical nature of my adventure.
Later Monday night, sleep is fleeting, nearly nonexistent. By 2:30 a.m., early on Tuesday morning, I give up and simply watch videos. For some strange reason, however, I am not upset by lack of sleep, I simply surrender – feeling grateful when sleepiness finally begins to consume me around 5:00 a.m..
On Wednesday, while still feeling physically exhausted from lack of sleep, I receive a text from Isaias. We have been talking about doing our own private chocolate ceremony together for several days, but he is so busy that things keep coming up. His message lets me know that today is finally a good day for him.
I have been avoiding chocolate for the last few days, as I have noticed that connection to the energies has only increased my emotional volatility and my overwhelming struggles. Because of this, I feel quite tentative regarding a chocolate meditation with my dear young Mayan friend – I am quite afraid of what might come up for me – but at the same time I feel deeply honored that Isaias would like to share a meditative journey.
As I finish the last of my chocolate, I am already overwhelmed by intense energy. On the one hand, a sense of putrid inner hopelessness silently screams “I am still here” while wrapping its futility around my heart. On the other hand, I am experiencing a flow of intense higher energies that clog my head, more than overwhelming my fragile ability to focus.
“I am such a loser,” the inner voices rage as I struggle not to burst into a pile of sobbing mush.
I love my young friend dearly, but feel deeply embarrassed by the thought of emotionally collapsing in Isaias’s presence.
Fears Of Chaos
As I sit with Isaias, silently meditating while struggling not to lose my composure, I intuitively realize that the self-hatred that is raging through my veins comes from my late twenties and my early thirties. This was a period of my life when I had a beautiful young family that I deeply loved – a period of my life when I began to realize that my transgender feelings were going to eventually rip me away from that family.
As I meditate, deep depression fights to consume me. I am immersed in those agonizing past emotions, feeling like a loser, hating myself, feeling trapped, believing there to be no point in going forward – absolutely knowing that failure and utter collapse of my life is imminent. I relive the knowing that I am headed toward either killing myself or making my family hate me – knowing that neither option carries the slightest thread of hope for success.
I faithfully follow the only “formula” that I trust – the one on the hard bus where I alone must do the emotional processing all by myself. I continue to focus on feeling the emotion to the core so that it can flow out of me, doing so while desperately trying not to identify with it or reenergize it – desperately trying not to sob uncontrollably in my young friend’s presence.
Finally, at around 4:00 p.m., two hours after we drank the chocolate, Isaias and I verbally begin to share our journeys. I am embarrassed by the tears that stream uncontrollably out of my eyes. I clearly sense his puzzlement as to why I am still in so much emotional pain after all the work I have done, and I clearly sense that he does not understand why I remain so stuck. In fact, I myself do not understand why I am still so stuck.
“I would like to drink chocolate together two times per week,” Isaias shares with a genuine heart.
As those words enter my ears, my heart shuts down, terrified by the emotional chaos that is consuming me – terrified that drinking more chocolate will only make that chaos even stronger.
“I would love to do that,” I am surprised by the words that soon leave my own lips.
Struggling To Breathe
Thursday I focus on centering myself, listening to chapter eleven of ACIM – twice. I love the deep understanding that resonates through my body, especially in the later half of that chapter.
Later, after I watch a documentary about the “Buddha,” my dear friend Sufi stops by for an unexpected visit. We have a beautiful chat that lasts late into the night. She holds magical space for me while I repeatedly sink into emotions – the same ones that reared their ugly heads yesterday. Many times before, I have been Sufi’s rock of support. Tonight, Sufi is my support, allowing me to work through this layer of deep emotion, gently helping me to process it … to release it … and to return to a state of loving and energizing giggles.
On Friday, however, I wake up quite exhausted, and again experience several tidal waves of intense emotion – waves that blindside me as they ebb and flow. It is all I can do to keep my head above the surf so that I can occasionally breathe in some light.
I am deeply grateful when Isaias calls me to cancel our planned joint chocolate meditation, letting me know that he is too busy. I also am too busy – too busy watching move videos, which is the only thing I can muster enough energy to do right now – the only thing that will keep me from slipping deeper into that slippery slimy emotional swamp.
The thought of trying to listen to uplifting ACIM chapters – the thought of trying to meditate – well those thoughts are totally out of my league of possibilities right now.
Dispelling Illusions
Saturday, September 15, 2012 is “Independence Day” in Guatemala. Shortly after 8:00 a.m., in an effort to pull myself out of my isolation – to free myself from these latest waves of intensifying emotional barrages – I head up to the center of town hoping to find a good place to watch the local parade and other festivities.
To my delight, an unexpected face soon shows up to greet me. It is a casual friend from a year ago, a beautiful woman who spent three months in San Marcos participating in the Sun Course here at Las Piramides Del Ka – the same place where I did my meditation courses in the summer of 2010.
During our beautiful visit, I am gratefully reminded that the deep emotions of social loser-ness and isolation that have been repeatedly raging through me are far from the “real” truth – that they are nothing more than projections from deep pain of the past. I DO have abundant and beautiful friendships … and if I want to do so, I CAN make deep and magical connections with other people. It is only when connected to these nightmare swamp-like illusions from the past that I allow myself to be convinced otherwise.
I spend several hours with this friend, deepening our friendship, watching the parade and other activities together, having a magical high-vibrational visit.
As we go our separate ways, I am again riding my surfboard on top of the waves, grounded and centered in the truth of who I really am.
Purity And Innocence
Later Saturday afternoon, as I am halfway through listening to chapter twelve of ACIM, I feel guided to put down my IPOD and to return to the center of town where I can hear additional celebrations taking place at the basketball court.
As I walk up the steps, I observe a large group of children ranging in ages from perhaps four to six. They are all dancing around holding blue and white pompoms.
“Oh, how cute!” is my first reaction.
Suddenly, I am overwhelmed with so much unconditional love that I start crying. The purity and innocence of these beautiful children overwhelms me. The only thing that stops me from breaking out into deep joyful sobs is the fact that I am standing in the midst of a large crowd of local Mayan people – a culture not prone to public display of emotion.
After a while, I notice my young friend Isaias’s wife in the crowd, and I make my way up the concrete bleachers to sit with her, playing with her little baby, watching as other children continue their beautiful celebratory performances.
“My own inner children deserve this same perception of unconditional love, purity, and innocence. Why can’t I feel it toward them?” I ponder in profound puzzlement. “I can see the purity and innocence in others, but when trying to find it inside, I continue to be blown away by the animosity and resentment that subtly surfaces.”
Yes, I Can
As I observe two older school groups perform, the deep base from the loudspeakers shakes and vibrates my whole body. Rather than judge the loudness, I take delight in the vibrations that rattle through my body, stirring up energetic flows that are usually dormant.
“No wonder so many of the younger travelers here in San Marcos love that loud vibrating trance music that usually triggers me so deeply,” I ponder with a new outlook.
Soon, I find myself back in my apartment, finishing off chapter twelve of ACIM. One paragraph deeply resonates in a way quite similar to the loud base vibrations from the speakers at the basketball court.
The following quote comes from Chapter 12, Section 6. (Note, I do not have the exact page numbers, and I probably have punctuation wrong, because I transcribed this from an audio recording.)
“When you have seen this real world, as you will surely do, you will remember us. Yet you must learn the cost of sleeping and refuse to pay it. Only then will you decide to awaken, and then the real world will spring to your sight, for Christ has never slept.”
As I listen to, transcribe, read, and re-read these words, it is clear that I am still sleeping, refusing to pay the cost. I desperately desire to awaken, but this deep putrid pool of emotional quicksand continues to entice me, continuing to hold me like an illusive elephant rope of childhood conditioning, continuing to convince me that the future is hopeless and that I cannot complete my journey.
This quote gives me another gentle nudge, telling me that, “Yes, I can do it.”
I spend the rest of the day relaxing in a very nice energy.
A Core Struggle
Sunday, I spend the day in my pajamas, with the blinds down, watching movies and listening to a little more of ACIM.
I am deeply drained, exhausted from the up and down roller coaster ride. The highs are profoundly encouraging, but the lows are deeply discouraging. The “loop” in which I seem to be voluntarily trapped repeatedly tells me that Keith, chocolate, and San Marcos’s intense vortex energy are the causes – the “blame for my insane suffering.”
I struggle to find balance.
I am ominously aware that my Guatemala visa expires in five days, and that I need to do something quick. I still struggle with the unfathomable rebellious feelings that periodically reach their hands out of that slimy swamp and grab me by the heart. I fear that if I leave San Marcos, even for a short trip, that I will make a rash decision and never come back.
I find gratitude for the fact that I am still waiting on my crown – that my dental work has been the only thing keeping me somewhat locked away in the confines of San Marcos. Were it not for the filling that fell out a few weeks ago, I would likely have bolted away by now, saying F-it all, possibly never returning to San Marcos, to my journey of self discovery, or even to a hopeful life of any type.
In fact, right now, the “I am a total loser” emotions are raging, causing me to feel totally embarrassed, screaming that I am a hypocrite … that I have miserably failed in my quest … that everything I have done is in vain.
The fact that my lungs are still congested only adds to the self-defeating emotions.
In Search Of Balance
Monday, after finally completing the final visit for my dental work, I return to San Marcos in a depressed and nonfunctional state. It is all I can do to drop off a little laundry and then to pick it up later.
The new crown on my molar functions well, but looks more like a blob of cream-colored chewing gum stuck in the back of my mouth. At least I manage to achieve a slight unattached giggle out of observing that fact. The “old me” might have felt horrified by that weird thing reflecting back at me in the mirror.
“Such is life,” I smile in the mirror, “what more could I expect for the price?”
Tuesday, September 18, clearly recognizing that I need to at least leave the country for some type of Visa excursion, I spend the day just a boat-ride away, visiting the ATM and small grocery stores in Panajachel, knowing that I need some cash to pay the rent and expenses of wherever I might go – a destination that is still undetermined.
Something tells me that the first thing I will do is head for the border of Mexico, trying something new in the form of traveling to the border town of Tapachula, using only chicken buses and other local public transportation. From there, it is anyone’s guess. I feel a beach calling to me. One friend has suggested that the beaches in El Salvador are beautiful. That thought triggers both a great deal of fear and a sense of adventure. But in my heart, I have a feeling that I am headed for a beach on the Pacific side of Mexico.
After finishing my errands in Panajachel, I spend a few hours in a Skype call to one of the few people in the world that I dare talk to when I need to sob – and sob I do. Being in an internet café, I attempt to hide the tears from those around me, but I just let the emotion cut loose. I am lost, deeply discouraged, quite embarrassed, and desperate for stability. My beautiful friend Michelle helps me to center and find some of that illusive balance.
At The Bottom
Later that afternoon, after returning home, I spend a few hours in much-needed meditation, releasing a great deal of emotion. For the first time in ages, I review the beautiful words of my personal mission statement, searching for peace and self-love. Those divinely inspired words have guided my life with passion for many years. These beautiful statements where channeled through me in the summer of 2005. The “music in my heart” refers to the divine inspiration that flows through me.
“I am a beautiful and courageous divine daughter of God, overflowing with unconditional love and acceptance of others.
I will compose and perform the special music I hear in my own heart, creating a safe and loving environment where others feel inspired and empowered to discover and to perform their own beautiful music.
Together we can, and we will, create symphonies.”
Today, as I repeatedly run these words through my mind, numbly saying them aloud, I struggle even to believe them. They fall flat, as if they are all blatant lies.
“How can someone who constantly struggles with vicious triggers projected onto others even begin to believe she has a clue what unconditional love is?” I ask with disgust.
“And I am such a loser that being a healer and striving to create an environment where I can inspire others seems like the last thing I will ever accomplish,” I flog myself with self-criticism. “In fact, I don’t even want to be a healer, or a writer.”
I really do need help.
Strong And Alone
I force myself into more meditation, searching my soul for answers, attempting to bring in more light and love.
It soon becomes clear that I have a lifelong pattern of being “Strong and Alone” – a pattern that especially solidified at around age ten and a half. This pattern is something that seems to have originated with the intensification of my transgender feelings. The pain was then projected onto my parents – and is now projected onto Keith – but in reality, it has always been projected as deep anger at God and Higher Energies.
Later, I feel guided to watch the final episode of season two from the television series “Suits.” To my shock, I sink into deep sobs as I watch the story when the grandmother of one of the main characters unexpectedly dies.
And I mean intense and overwhelming sobs!
Soon, as divine fate would have it, my dear friend Sufi unexpectedly knocks on my door. Again, she serves as my counselor as we talk for a couple of hours, part of which takes place at the local Japanese restaurant. I let my vulnerability surface and allow someone else to help me – and Sufi’s energy is once again a beautiful relief.
In the midst of that conversation, Sufi reminds me of a beach that I have heard others talk about – one in the small town of Mazunte, just a short distance south of Puerto Escondido, in the state of Oaxaca, Mexico.
As I prepare for bed late on Tuesday evening, I finally feel relaxed and unattached – at least for the moment.
Blind Planning
Wednesday morning, September 19, 2012, I am up early, but feel depressed. I have no direction and no motivation. In fact, my emotional state reminds me somewhat of how I felt in mid-November of 2009 when I was housesitting for my friend JayDee in Cozumel. At the time, I had already checked out of my apartment in Cozumel and was struggling to find the courage to move on to my first adventures of backpacking in the Yucatan. I was just passing time, waiting for a small hurricane to pass while struggling to find the motivation and courage to finish organizing my packing.
“My visa expires tomorrow,” I ponder in anxious depression, “what do I do?”
It is all I can do to make a list and pack a semi-full backpack before bedtime arrives. Still, the only thing I know about tomorrow is that I am going to head to the Mexican border and follow whatever guidance might come.
“Something has to change or I will go crazy,” I tell myself, “but I am not ready to make any commitments about whether I will stay or go as far as Keith, chocolate ceremonies, and San Marcos are concerned.”
“I might be gone just for a few days,” I ponder, “or I might be gone for a month. I might come back and pack up everything, or I might come back and stay.”
The only real consideration is that I am leaving many belongings behind, and my rent is only prepaid until October 24. I have to receive some type of guidance or make some type of decision before then.
Mexico Or Bust
After getting up at 5:50 a.m. on Thursday morning, I scramble through final preparations – internet, breakfast, emptying wastebaskets and organic garbage, and squeezing my down pillow into the top section of my backpack. Barely an hour later, I climb aboard a tiny Tuk-Tuk, a small motorcycle taxi, headed for the nearby town of San Pablo, and a few minutes after that I hop onto a large chicken bus, an old school bus now turned public transportation.
I have no idea how to get to where I am going. The only information I have are the names of three cities between Xela and the southernmost border of Guatemala and Mexico.
Two hours later, when I arrive at Xela, I forget all fear and begin to follow my instincts. To my delight, I find a chicken bus whose banner indicates a destination of three towns – all three of the towns on my list – the last of which is Tecun Uman, the border town toward which I am ultimately headed.
“Wow, that was easy,” I congratulate myself with a huge grin of satisfaction and relief.
In a determined effort to leave my stress and confusion behind, I focus the next several hours on being “in the moment” – on just observing and being everything that I see. It is actually quite a peaceful and magical experience.
There is only one little catch in my travels. When we arrive at the town of “Coatepeque”, the bus assistant hands me a ticket and urgently rushes me off the bus, escorting me (and several others) off to a mini-bus located more than a block away. Apparently, even though I already paid for the whole distance, the last leg of the trip requires a change of venue. No problem, I am in a deep state of peace.
Finally, I arrive at the border town. When I tell the driver I want to go across the border, he suddenly pulls over to the side of the road, unloads my luggage, and tells me to get on another little mini bus that will take me to the border. With nothing to do but trust, I finally find myself standing in front of the Guatemala customs office.
I look at my watch. It is just after 1:30 p.m. – the first leg of my adventure took just a little over six hours.
Customs Crisis – Not
After clearing Guatemala customs, I discover that I must cross a bridge over a very wide river. I have the option of paying a little bicycle taxi to carry me over, but I decide to walk, not understanding just how far that walk will be. I can only giggle as I look both upstream and downstream and observe large rafts carrying people and merchandise back and forth across the river, completely bypassing customs and border guards. Finally, after what is at least 400 yards of walking with a heavy backpack in hot humidity, I arrive at the air-conditioned Mexican customs office.
It is 2:00 p.m. when I finally step inside. I am eager to get on my way, but it seems that something is amiss in the Mexican computers – something regarding the validity of my passport. The border guard soon turns his monitor so that I can see it, and then shows me how two passports are showing up on his screen. The first is mine, with all of my details including my picture and a valid expiration date. The second is just a sketchy entry with no name or photo, indicating that it expired in 1971, when I was just sixteen years old (I never even had a passport before age 19). The guard is so confused that it takes two hours for me to clear customs. First, he calls the Mexican customs office in Mexico City. That office then calls the U.S. embassy. And finally, the guard gives me clearance, simultaneously reassuring me that a note has been added to my file, indicating that my passport is fully valid.
I can only smile, as I have spent the last two hours mostly sitting in a chair, meditating in a state of glowing peace. Rather than allow myself to worry, I simply trusted that all was well, knowing that whatever happens is my creation, and will guide me forward in some way – in some direction.
A New Adventure
The next adventure involves asking questions on how to get to “Puerto Madero” – my desired destination for the night – a little beach town at the very southernmost part of Mexico on the Pacific side. Armed with only trust and confidence, I have no idea how I might actually get there.
Soon, after asking many questions to cab drivers and others on the street, I climb onto what the locals call a “Combi”, a collective taxi in the form of a mini bus. Other than a very expensive private taxi, there is no direct route to where I want to go. Even though there is a shortcut, there is no low-cost transportation that goes that way. I must first go northwest to Tapachula, and then catch another Combi that will take me southwest, back to Puerto Madero.
Forty-five minutes later, as we near Tapachula, a huge cloudburst drenches the area with ferocity. The streets of Tapachula are like rivers, with at least six inches to a foot of water flowing down many of them. When the Combi pulls into the final stop, I find myself in a covered bus-station like area, where what feels like hundreds of little mini-buses are parked all over the place.
Because of the continued heavy rains, I seriously consider just trying to find a local hotel, right here near where I am at, but ten minutes later, with continued heavy rains and no guidance on what to do, it seems much easier just to climb into another Combi headed for Puerto Madero.
To my delight, the rains clear up as we near the coast. As the little mini-bus finally drops me off, what was an ominous dark night-like sky is now a beautiful sunset with just enough light to rent a motorcycle taxi to drive me all over while I check out the three or four tiny hotels in the area.
Beaches Here We Come
Friday morning, September 21, 2012, I eagerly set out on foot, exploring this little beach town. I quickly discover that the Pacific surf here is extremely heavy, and that a huge rock wall has been built all around to protect the town. Only a few sandy areas have swimming access – and those areas look extremely dangerous, given the intensity of the crashing and smashing waves.
A couple hours later, after discovering that the only ATM in the area is not functioning, and that there are very few eating options, I dine on fried chicken for breakfast. I quickly decide to move on. I do not have much cash with me, and I want to swim on calmer shores. Even though I have never seen them, the beaches of Puerto Escondido and Mazunte are calling to me.
After another Combi ride back to Tapachula, equipped with neither tour books nor detailed maps, I begin asking questions. My first success is that there is a station for a major first-class bus service just a couple blocks from the Combi station. When I find that station, I also discover several second-class bus terminals on the same street. The only first-class bus headed to the Puerto Escondido area is a night bus that does not leave until around 11:00 p.m..
I do not want to travel at night. I want to sleep in a bed, and I want to see the countryside as I travel north. Therefore, I snub my nose at my fears and purchase a second-class bus ticket to a city called Ariaga – a small town that, as far as I can tell from limited information, seems to be in the direction of where I want to go. I have no idea what I will find when I get there. I can only trust my instincts – feelings of inner trust telling me that once I am in Ariaga, that I can just keep asking more questions. It will be the type of adventure that I originally intended to have in November 2009 – an adventure of traveling without a plan, without knowledge of where I am going – an adventure of building trust and confidence.
Inner Committment
That crazy swamp continues to swirl and churn in my abdomen. The emotional quicksand is as ready to grab me by the neck as it ever has been. The putrid pool of dense suicidal emotions is just waiting to throw another hopeless despairing attack right back in my face.
I know that I am not yet out of the woods – not by a long shot. I still have no guidance as to what I will be doing in the long term. But at least I am doing something different. At least I am traveling without a plan and striving to reconnect with inner guidance – striving to return to a state of inner trust.
I desperately need to take a break from emotional processing, at least for a few weeks. I have no idea what I will encounter in my path, what self-transformation may (or may not) unfold in front of me.
I only know that I am headed to a beach … that I am committed to reconnecting with my spiritual roots … and that I will not give up. Somehow, I WILL reconnect to who I am.
As I head north into the unknown on this Friday afternoon, having no idea where I will end up on this beautiful day, a sense of hope fills my heart. Something is going to change.
… to be continued …
Copyright © 2012 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved