Brenda's Bicycles

 

The plaza is just beginning to show signs of life. Down the pedestrian street to my left, a lone woman uses a long pole to hang colorful dresses from a rope above her small shop, the only such shop that appears to be open at this early hour. Near the corner of the plaza, a single small restaurant has set out umbrellas, while a waiter busily rearranges tables and chairs. A few small clusters of people are already scattered here and there, some chatting on benches, a few reading newspapers, and others simply relaxing and enjoying the light breezes of the fresh early morning air. This relaxed, peaceful scene is quite different from two short nights ago.

 

Having been away for a few weekends, I had almost forgotten just how much fun Sunday evenings on the plaza can be. Sure, the band plays in the gazebo on Friday and Saturday evenings too, but Sunday night is when the families and big crowds gather—and this most recent Sunday did not disappoint.

 

As I neared the plaza, the energy of the bustling crowds was already vibrant. Mom-and-pop food vendors surrounded the gathering with small folding tables selling a variety of homemade dishes. Beautiful and interesting people were everywhere. Some were dressed up in fancy clothes, with elegant women in dresses and heals. Others were quite casual, with a few even showing up in their swimwear. It didn’t really seem to matter—everyone was just here to have a good time.

 

 Distinguishing just “who are the locals” became a little more difficult, because the island is also being visited lately by many Spanish-speaking tourists from all over Mexico.

 

As I spotted Miguel sitting on a short wall by his friends, he stood up and insisted that I take his seat on the crowded wall. What a sweet gentleman he is. “I’m feeling much better today.” I told him with a warm smile. “I got some really good rest last night.” I omitted trying to explain about all of the emotional processing I had gone through, as I proceeded to talk up a storm.

 

As the music was about to start, Miguel told me “I left early last night too. I’m tired tonight too, so I think I will leave early again.” Not long after the music began, he said his goodbye and asked “Are you staying?”

 

Giving him a little hug, I told him, “Yes, I’m going to stay late tonight.”

 

For the first half hour, I thoroughly enjoyed simply watching the crowds. A group of young girls, joined by two young boys, were dancing to their hearts content up near the Gazebo. I again admired the self-confidence of a single twenty-something man who was out dancing all by himself, moving with his heart and soul, not seeming to have the slightest worry about what others might think.

 

My favorite was still watching the sweet elderly couples, some of whom have some really fancy dance moves. One thing I admire is that many of the women get up and dance with each other—simply because they love to dance, and because they have no one else to dance with.

 

As I was thinking about this very topic, an older woman sat down by me, and almost immediately asked enthusiastically “Porque no estas alli bailando?” (Why aren’t you out there dancing?)” Then she tapped me on the shoulder, nudged me toward the middle of the plaza and said “Vamonos (Let’s go).” A big smile graced my soul as we walked out into the plaza and began moving with the music. It felt good to be dancing the salsa again—even if I don’t really know how to do it right.

 

When the song finished, we both sat down for a rest. Five seconds after the next tune began I felt another eager tug on my left shoulder. We continued to repeat this pattern for dance after dance after dance. I threw abandon to the wind and was having a blast. On some of the earlier dances, hundreds of people were watching while only a handful of couples were out dancing. Looking around at the crowd, I was amazed at how I felt no fear. Not long ago, I would have been horribly intimidated by the awareness that so many eyes were studying me. Confidence in public had never been my strength. How amazing it felt to realize that those fears were melting away into nothingness.

 

As moisture dripped down my forehead and nose, I simply wiped it away. With relative humidity in the 90% range, it is nearly impossible to even wiggle your toes without breaking a sweat. Back in the U.S., I would have been horrified to have others see me sweating like that, but here it just doesn’t seem to matter. Moisture on faces and wet sweaty clothing is simply part of “what is.”

 

At one point, a forty-something Latino man asked me to dance. He was dancing a step that I simply could not seem to master. Several times, he stopped and tried to teach me, but it was no use. I felt so awkward and un-coordinated. Even so, I simply “did the best I could” and had fun with it. “He’ll never ask me to dance again,” I prophesied to myself as I wandered back to my seat on the wall.

 

Thirty minutes later, he was back, reaching out his hand—asking me to dance yet again. This time, after a little more coaching, I finally got it—and had a blast. It was a slow graceful step, and he had a way of leading me that made me feel like a princess at a grand ball. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a young local photographer with a fancy SLR camera, less than ten feet away. For several minutes, he was totally fixated on us, playing with his large lens while he kept clicking away on the shutter.

 

The thought “I wonder what these photos are for?” crossed my mind a few times—but I simply pushed all worries away. Immersing myself in the moment, I instead imagined myself glowing with the incredible joy and peace that was swelling inside of me.

 

The evening of dancing breezed by, ever so quickly. As the band began dismantling their equipment, I paused briefly in deep gratitude. With a huge smile on my face, I collected the remnants of my tired, hot, and sweaty body and began to stroll through the plaza. I had danced most of the evening with my new friend—the grandmother-type lady who kept tapping me on the shoulder and encouraging me to dance with her. I never even learned her name.

 

Immediately after the music ended, three clowns began performing in the corner of the plaza. As I skirted around the outer edge of a large animated crowd that surrounded the clowns, I heard someone calling.

 

“Brenda … BREnda … BRENDA!”

 

When I finally recognized the sound of my name, I glanced up in the direction of the voice. Sitting on a low wall, about twenty feet away, was Berto with two of his friends. Surprised by his enthusiasm in seeing me, I walked over for a short chat. Feeling amazed by how free and peaceful I felt, I allowed my joyful energy to carry over into our conversation.

 

“Where have you been? I have been worried about you.” He began.

 

“I was gone for seventeen days,” I responded. “My mother passed away, and I just got back on Monday.”

 

After offering his condolences, Berto continued, “I was worried about you … wondering if someone snatched you off of your bicycle and ransacked your house … thinking you had disappeared or something.”

 

After thanking him for his concern, we actually had a pleasant but brief conversation. He even introduced me to his friends, one of which I remembered having met in 2007.

 

“Wow,” I thought to myself as I walked toward home, “He was actually concerned about me.”

 

I was amazed at how the energy had shifted between us in such a short time. Only a few weeks ago, at the Mega store, we had pretended to not even see each other—at least I had pretended—I can’t actually speak for him. Maybe he didn’t actually see me.

 

Before flying back to Utah, I had processed my final emotional resentments toward Berto, and had actually immersed myself into a place of forgiveness and unconditional love regarding our past brief encounters—releasing all of my negative energy towards him.

 

Now, standing here on the plaza conversing, I was shocked at how happy I felt to see him, how freely the conversation flowed, and how all past resentments had simply melted away. No, romance is definitely not on the radar screen—but I realized that I could indeed be open to a friendship if such were to occur.

 

Miguelito

 

While sitting here on my shady bench, typing away on my keyboard, Miguel strolled by on the way to his work. During our ten-minute conversation, I asked him the question that had been on my mind, “Why have you been feeling sad lately?” He started out by vaguely hinting at ‘stuff’ going on with family and friends. Then he talked about being old and alone, followed by “And I know that it won’t be long before you go away too.”

 

I smiled back and told him “Don’t worry about what will happen in the future … you are here today … I am here today … enjoy the present moment … enjoy today.”

 

We then actually managed to have a semi-meaningful conversation about how we tend to waste most of our present moments in life by focusing on past pain and future fears.

 

“It is difficult to have a conversation about feelings when I have the vocabulary of a three year old.” I expressed to him.

 

Miguel revealed insight when he responded, “Yes, but when a young child is with her mother, she simply needs to say “I love you” as she hugs her mommy tightly. I knew he was right—body language and emotion really are the majority of our communication. We just think it is the words.

 

As Miguel began to leave, he asked “When will I see you?”

 

Being totally honest, I answered “I don’t know.”

 

Noticing the sad look that entered his eyes, I elaborated, “I don’t plan very far ahead. I live in my heart, and follow my feelings from one moment to the next … but I will definitely see you around here.”

 

My heart breaks as I recognize that Miguel probably feels as if I am brushing him off—but I am merely being honest and truthful with my own inspiration. An internal awareness is telling me to keep my days mostly unstructured—and to maintain some healthy boundaries with him. I enjoy our friendship, but actually find myself pushing away and avoiding him when I sense neediness. With every interaction, I attempt to focus inward, listening to the feelings in my heart—realizing that spirit knows much better than I. Something inside tells me this friendship will yet prove to be a meaningful growth experience, not just for me, but for both of us.

 

Personal Boundaries

 

I have to pause and smile here. In the mornings, when I start writing in the plaza, I am usually alone and isolated, writing in near silence.

 

However, my shady bench is prime real estate, and by midday, as people gather in the plaza, personal space is frequently a thing of the past. I am finding this moment almost humorous as an internal smile engulfs my soul. Merely eight inches over my left shoulder, a lady sits on the wall, squeezed in behind me. I can practically feel her breath on the back of my neck. To her left are two of her friends—all of them are chatting away loudly. Sharing my bench, on my right, is her daughter, and to the right of the bench (on the wall) is another son. Throughout the whole experience, I simply continue peacefully writing. In a past life, I might have been very annoyed by this seeming invasion into my ‘personal space.’ Today, as I write, I hardly notice—other than to observe.

 

As quickly as they surrounded me, they have now disappeared again, and once again I am the only soul within twenty feet. Ah … the peace that comes from simply embracing ‘what is.’

 

This Too Shall Pass

 

Try as I might, I found myself again sinking into tiredness and a feeling of being spiritually disconnected yesterday as I went about my Monday activities.

 

“What is wrong with me?” I kept asking. “What am I not doing right? Why am I so low in energy? Why do I feel so non-spiritual, so tired, so empty?”

 

Even so, I determinedly pushed through the whole day, attempting to remain centered—reading, listening to spiritual discussions on my IPOD, studying Spanish, and I even went for a long bike ride exploring some rural areas just northeast of town.

 

Early this morning, still in my pajamas, I ascended my spiral staircase to enjoy a new sunrise on the roof, hoping to reconnect with spirit. Thirty minutes later, still feeling tired and confused about my lack of inspiration, I sat meditating half-heartedly in my spare bedroom. Suddenly, it hit me.

 

I was feeling spiritually disconnected because I was subtly looking for things to be different than they were. I was not embracing the “what is” of each moment with unconditional love. Instead, I was judging the “what is” with subtle beliefs that something needed to be different—something needed to be better. In my attempts to be more “spiritual”, I was actually creating a disharmony with the joy and peace of the present moment.

 

During my meditation, a story shared by Eckhart Tolle in his book “A New Earth” came into mind. Briefly summarizing the story, a wealthy (but unhappy) King approached a wise man, asking him for the key to happiness. The wise man gave the King a ring on which were engraved the words, “This too shall pass.” Then the wise man told the King “Whenever you go through any situation, before you judge it as good or bad, take off this ring, and read the engraving, reminding yourself that this too shall pass.”

 

For me, the gem of this story is the wisdom that happiness comes from peaceful loving acceptance of every moment, without judging it by appearances, without placing expectations on it.

 

Immediately after recognizing this spiritual lesson, a surge of energy flooded my body, cementing the truth into my inner soul. It is so obvious to me now. I begin to feel the stress and tiredness when at a very subtle level I am attempting to control and judge my present experience as being good or bad.

 

My life is abundant with examples of how “seeming diversity” has blessed me in beautiful and incredible ways. Likewise, I recognize that the emotional highs always eventually give way to receding tides of lower-vibration feelings. My true peace comes from completely accepting the ebb and flow of experience without judgment, simply retreating into the awareness role, being an impartial observer, learning to connect with spirit no matter how high or low the emotional tides may be. It is often during the low tides that the hidden beauty of the heart and soul is most evident.

 

It is not my job to judge the tides in any way … it is my job to learn to be … to be here … to be now.

 

© Brenda Larsen, 2009