Brenda's Bicycles

I am suddenly startled out of a deep sleep by the familiar rhythmic sound of a loud male voice – a voice emanating from the loudspeakers of the local Catholic Church. Feeling somewhat disoriented, I quickly glance at the time. Surprise fills my face when I note that it is only 4:15 a.m. – a very strange and unusual hour for the local community announcements to be broadcast at full volume less than seventy-five yards from my apartment.

I double check my alarm to make sure it is still set and then make a futile attempt to return back to sleep – but the loud male voice continues rambling in half-Spanish-half-Kaq’chiquel (Mayan dialect) for a full half-hour. Finally, I surrender to the morning as I realize that all attempts at additional sleep are futile.

A Heavy Load

Less than an hour later, at 5:40 a.m., I strain to lift my fifty-eight pound backpack over my shoulders and onto my back. The bottom pouch is crammed full with twenty-five pounds of pure Guatemalan chocolate. The remaining thirty-three pounds consist of assorted clothing and miscellaneous items that I will need in my travels.

Next, I swing a second pack over the front of my chest – this one weighing nearly thirty pounds. This smaller daypack contains all of my precious computer/electronic equipment, snacks, travel documents/books, camera, IPOD, etc…

As I stand on my front porch, attempting to lock my doors in the still-dark early morning, my overburdened legs can barely balance the eighty-five pounds of extra weight that my shoulders are carrying.

Soon I tightly grasp a handrail as I carefully maneuver one-step-at-a-time down eighteen steep-and-narrow stone steps to my gate and the cobblestone path below.

With eager anticipation, I turn one last time and wave goodbye to a now-empty apartment before beginning a slow and tedious stroll down the uneven path toward the boat dock – a destination that lies a few hundred yards away on the calm early-morning waters of Lake Atitlan.

Two Bruises

It is 5:46 a.m. on Saturday, July 2, when I finally park myself on a small wooden bench near the boat dock – a rickety wooden dock that has been built and rebuilt more times that I could count during the past fourteen months since I first set foot on these beautiful shores. The water levels have risen more than ten feet since I first stepped off the boat in late April of 2010. The shoreline looks nothing like it did then when I first arrived.

A light rain from thirty-minutes earlier has left the ground and dock somewhat moist. I cross my fingers and hope that the forty-minute boat ride to Panajachel will not be visited by random downpours. Though the mornings are usually clear and calm, the rainy season is unpredictable and often random.

After enjoying a beautiful sunrise, I am quite relieved when the 6:00 a.m. boat from San Pedro finally arrives at around 6:25 a.m. – more than fifteen minutes later than expected. A sense of nervousness attempts to consume me, taunting me that I will be late for my shuttle connection in Panajachel.

“Breathe deep Brenda.” I silently remind myself as I reassure my logical mind that all is well and that everything happens for a reason.

As I carefully attempt to step down off the dock into the luggage area of the twenty-passenger lancha (boat), my foot unexpectedly slips out from under me as I attempt to maneuver on the boat’s wet fiberglass surface. Before I can catch my balance, I am on my knees, twisted and facing over the edge of the boat. My left upper thigh has taken a big bump on one of the small fiberglass steps.

“Estoy bien (I’m OK).” I smile to surrounding passengers as I unbuckle my heavy backpack and struggle back to my feet. The result of my fall leaves two bruises – a small bruise of embarrassment to my ego, and a large dark bruise on the inner side of my left thigh – but other than that, no permanent damage appears to have been done to either.

“What an interesting way to start my journey back home.” I ponder to myself with a thoughtful and curious smile.

Profound Curiosity

Less than five minutes after disembarking at the boat dock in Panajachel, my shuttle driver has stuffed my heavy backpack into the rear of a twelve-passenger minivan and I am comfortably seated inside. Four young women from London and Wales already occupy a few other seats. By shortly after 7:00 a.m., the second leg of my new adventure is underway. This particular tourist-shuttle will take me to the Mexican border where I will pass through customs before boarding a second shuttle that will take me the rest of the way to San Cristobal De Las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico. Our expected arrival time at San Cristobal is sometime after 5:00 p.m..

As we wind our way up the narrow road leading up the mountainside from Panajachel, I note two strange metaphors in my body – a sense of physical/sleepy exhaustion and a pronounced headache.

“What is going on?” I question myself curiously. “I rarely get sleepy during the daytime any more – and I haven’t had a headache in eons.”

It takes me a few minutes to notice that the four other girls in the van are themselves utterly exhausted. They appear as if they have been up all night partying during their final night in Panajachel.

“Could I be empathically reading and/or internalizing their exhausted and headachy energy into my own body?” I ask myself with profound curiosity as I remind myself that as of late I have really started to feel the emotional pain of others during chocolate ceremonies – and I remain totally clueless as to how to distinguish my own emotions from those of others.

Full Circle

After reaching the main highway, we soon rendezvous with a shuttle from Antigua. Minutes later, the two passengers on that minibus have transferred to our own. A couple of hours later we take on three additional travelers from the Quetzaltenango area as we take a brief morning break near this beautiful mountain town more commonly referred to as Xela (Shay-la).

Finally, with eleven of us (including the driver) now tightly crowded in our seats, we begin the final few-hour drive toward the Guatemalan border town of La Mesilla. Gradually the cool mountain air is replaced by stuffy heat as we slowly descend the curvy mountain roads from the highlands of Guatemala towards the lower elevations of the Yucatan.

As we park our van on the street in front of the small La Mesilla custom’s office at around 12:20 p.m., a quick glance around the area reveals congested narrow streets, colorful-but-crowded souvenir shops, eager moneychangers, and a feeling of bustling chaos.

Inside the small customs building are several Guatemalan customs agents, casually going about their daily business. After a couple minutes of waiting, I have what I came for – a small stamp on my passport indicating that I have officially exited Guatemalan territory.

After all of us have acquired our passport stamps, we are escorted by a new driver to his Mexican van – a van that had shown up a few minutes earlier with a load of tourists traveling from Mexico into Guatemala. It seems that the travel companies find it much easier to simply exchange passengers at the border rather than fussing with the complexities of actually driving their minivans into neighboring countries.

Fifteen minutes and a few Kilometers later, we again find ourselves in yet another customs office – this one on the Mexican side at a small border crossing called “Las Champas.”

With yet another colorful stamp on my passport, I again board the small tourist shuttle. Looking out my window to the right, I take one final glance down the road.

“Goodbye Guatemala.” I silently whisper with a feeling of deep gratitude.

“And hello Mexico.” I quickly add. I am excited by the opportunity to spend the next two weeks visiting my old stomping grounds in the Yucatan, reconnecting with cherished friends and places – in a sense, bringing my journey of the past two years full circle.

A No-Brainer

Several times over the next hour or so, our minivan stops at random border checkpoints where machine-gun-carrying soldiers first talk to our driver before peering through the windows to determine who or what is inside. After each checkpoint, we quickly resume our onward journey. I can only presume that these extra checkpoints are intended to make up for the seemingly lax security at the border itself.

Soon we are again winding along mountain curves as we begin to climb toward the gorgeous highlands of Chiapas, Mexico. Our destination is a popular stopover for tourists – the beautiful mountain-valley town of San Cristobal De Las Casas. I spent several days in and around this delightful city just a year ago – right before returning to Guatemala for my Sun Course at Las Piramides Del Ka.

However, my plans are quite different on this trip. I am eager to move on quickly – perhaps even catching an all-night bus this very night.

But making decisions right now is difficult. My stomach is wildly churning in addition to the unexplained headache and exhaustion that has continued to tug persistently on my body during this otherwise-delightful day of travel.

As we enter the city limits of San Cristobal, I note that the time is 5:15 p.m. local time.

“Does anyone want to get off at the main bus station?” Our driver asks before we approach the center of town.

I quickly weigh my options – those being to crash and recover in a nearby hotel versus to take the all-night luxury bus north toward Merida – a bus that will be leaving the bus station in about an hour. With the confusing state of my physical body, the decision is a no-brainer. I just want to sleep and meditate. I don’t understand why I am so exhausted and I just want time to recover and regroup.

Twenty-Four Hours

“Am I sick?” I ponder. “Do I have parasites? Why am I so exhausted?”

Each time that I meditate in search of answers, the only thing my intuitions tell me are that I have left my little high-energy-vortex cocoon of San Marcos and that I am fumbling around with the effects of being a newly-exposed and still-untrained empath who has just begun to open up her confusing magic.

“Yes, that must be it.” I reassure myself. “I am simply taking on the denser energy of all my fellow travelers in those crowded tourist shuttles. If I meditate I will be able to release that energy – energy that does not even belong to me.”

After checking-in to the same hillside-hotel where I stayed last year, I casually stroll back toward the bus station. I am hoping to purchase a ticket for the first thing in the morning, allowing me to continue my travels with a fresh start. Fifteen minutes later, as I stare at the confusing array of scheduled departures, all in Spanish, I note that the only bus listed north to Merida leaves at 6:20 p.m.. After a quick chat with the sales clerk, my confused thoughts are confirmed. I will either need to leave on the bus in a few minutes (and my bags are now back at the hotel) or I will have to wait an entire twenty-four hours, still taking an all-night bus that will leave me even more tired and sleepless tomorrow night.

Resolving myself to the fact that I will be in San Cristobal for twenty-four additional hours, I hand my money through the ticket window.

“One ticket for the bus to Merida leaving tomorrow (Sunday) night at 6:20 p.m., please.”

When It Rains …

I love the beautiful view from my hotel room – a room high up on a hillside. The only drawback is the steep climb up what-feels-like hundreds of steps to get there. Luckily, a nice young man carries my heavy backpack for me – but it is all I can do to carry myself and my other smaller backpack.

After climbing back down the steps, purchasing my ticket and leaving the bus station, I grab some dinner before stopping at a local pharmacy to purchase some parasite meds, just in case. I run all of my errands at one time, wishing to minimize the number of times that I need to re-climb the stairs to my cozy little hotel room-with-a-view.

An hour after returning to my bed – with intentions to peacefully meditate – my intestines enter a state of full energetic rebellion. This is my first round of such physical mutiny in a very long time. After purging what must have been the entire contents of my watery intestines, I can only giggle with surprise and playful frustration when I hold down the flush-lever and nothing happens.

After manually flushing the toilet with my hand in the back tank, I visualize my humorous plight before carefully descending the steep rain-soaked steps back to the hotel lobby to ask for help. I can only hope the problem is resolved before any additional embarrassing and uncontrollable outbursts.

The hotel owner sends a young man back up the steps with me – a young man who performs a temporary makeshift repair to the flushing mechanism. Realizing that I am in remote-ville Mexico, and that a proper repair will probably not happen until the entire toilet crumbles to dust, I simply cross my fingers and hope I can make it through the night.

It is raining hard outside and I do not wish to take on those steep slippery stairs even one more time.

Hopelessly Awake

I find great peace in meditation, but the peace is not accompanied by satisfying rest or physical relaxation. I meditate off and on through the evening and most of the night, I meditate in between nap attempts during most of the morning on Sunday, and I meditate in the hotel lobby after having to check out of my hotel room five hours prior to heading to the bus station.

Sleep has been fleeting, sporadic, and unsatisfactory. As I sit in the hotel lobby, I feel as if I have not slept in days. I am determined to remain awake so as not to miss my evening bus, making my journey with exhaustion even more paradoxically challenging.

At around 4:15 p.m., I catch a taxi back to the bus station where I again struggle to keep my eyes open so as not to miss the 6:20 p.m. bus.

Finally, after loading my backpack into the bus’s luggage compartment, I slump into my front row seat on the large luxury bus. As our journey gets underway, I allow my eyes to close but I can only giggle as I realize that my energetic nervousness will not allow me to sleep. I will just do the best I can.

Never A Dull Moment

The first four hours of the journey are slow and tedious as we slowly twist and turn down steep curves on our way north toward Palenque. The distance of only about 132 miles is greatly hampered by switchbacks and speed bumps. About two hours into this drive, I decide to visit the restroom at the back of the bus.

After pushing my way into the tiny cramped quarters, I awkwardly close the door and attempt to latch it from the inside. For a minute or two, I fumble in the dark. The room is excessively hot and the light will not turn on. Finally, I succeed in getting the lock to partially latch, but the light will still not turn on. A couple of minutes later I begin to giggle with a bizarre dilemma.

As I attempt to exit the restroom, still consumed by pitch-black darkness and sweaty heat, I cannot get the door latch to unlock. With visions of spending the entire trip in these ‘luxury’ quarters, I begin to anxiously fumble with the lock – working completely in the dark. To my luck and embarrassment, I soon notice that the bus has stopped. Seconds later, I hear the driver attempting to enter the restroom from the outside. He calls out to me, but with thick walls and language barriers, I can understand nothing.

To my great relief, about five minutes later I finally manage to twist and turn the lock to a position that allows the door to swing open. Feeling self-conscious and embarrassed, I conspicuously work my way back to my front row seat.

I am filled with gratitude that the driver stopped in order to run back to get some soapy water to wash down the inside of the huge glass windshields. It seems that the bus’s defroster is not working and the soapy water from the restroom is the only way for the driver to clean the windows so that he can see the dark curvy road through the fog and rain.

There is never a dull moment when traveling in Mexico and Central America.

Beautiful Valladolid

At 8:25 a.m., after ten hours of driving, including several small stops, our bus finally arrives at the city of Merida – a popular travel destination in the northwestern Yucatan peninsula. To my surprise, I have somehow managed to capture a few hours of semi-consciousness, but I strongly hesitate to actually call it sleep.

There are several Mayan ruins and historical sites within a few hours of Merida – sites that I have wanted to visit ever since beginning my travels in the Yucatan. As I disembark from my exhausting all-night bus ride, it is still my intention to get a hotel in Merida and to spend a couple of days here playing tourist.

But as my tired feet hit the ground, I realize just how literally exhausted I actually am. A few minutes later, after weighing the option of spending two days in an unfamiliar city, simply trying to find food and acquire much needed sleep – I realize that my rest, nourishment, and sanity are the only things that really matter to me right now. After a hurried decision and a quick visit to the ticket booth, I instead find myself on the 9:00 a.m. bus to Valladolid – my home-away-from-home in the north-central Yucatan.

Imagine my delight when at noon on Monday, July 4, 2011, I finally step off the bus in beautiful little Valladolid – the very familiar town where I spent three months healing my third-degree burn from November, 2009 into the middle of February, 2010.

I have literally come full circle since an exotic-looking little tick latched onto my foot in the Jungles of Ek Balam. It was an event that synchronously launched me forward through Belize and Guatemala – an event that in a round about way inspired me to seek out a little town called San Marcos, nestled on the shores of Lake Atitlan in the highlands of Guatemala.

A Generous Gift

A huge grin fills my face as I greet Ewot at the Hostel La Candelaria – the same place where I limped around for three months while caring for my burn. He tells me that all of the private rooms are full, but he knows just the place to put me. Soon I am unpacking my bags in a small room that is in transition – once a dormitory room that is now being converted into a private room. The indoor room is still missing a hallway door, but Ewot quickly staples a sheet across the opening to give me a little privacy.

“What rate will I be paying for the room?” I later ask Ewot, having realized that in my excitement I had never even thought to ask.

“You won’t be paying anything.” Ewot responds with a grin. “Tania and I want you to stay here for free.”

The rest of my day disappears in a sleepy blur. After a quick lunch, I am in bed by 2:00 p.m., sleeping soundly until dinnertime. After a quick fruit salad for dinner, I again crawl under my sheet at 7:30 p.m., sleeping soundly through the night. I am amazed at how easily I adapt to the heat and humidity of the Yucatan, while sleeping with only a thin sheet to cover me.

A Complete Joke

At 6:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning, the sounds of loud church bells jar me out of my deep sleep.

As I sit up to meditate, I detach and observe from a distance as my body continues to want to shut down and my mind insists on rebelling. I am exhausted after having completed seven months of nearly-non-stop inner work, including the intense two-month writing marathon through which I have just passed.

I recognize the ego loop in which I am stuck. In fact, I am quite familiar with it. It is the same loop that I used to experience after spending a beautiful day writing, only to hit the publish button before sinking into a mild depression.

“Nobody cares about my journey.” The ego thoughts parade in front of me. “I have absolutely nothing to show for my last two years except for a ‘dysfunctional me’ and a pile of worthless writing that no one cares about.”

“Look at me.” The ego tirade continues. “I am exhausted, I don’t trust my abilities, I am getting overwhelmed from inhaling the emotional energy of others, and I don’t seem to have the capability to do anything about it. I’ll go home to visit family and friends and simply be a failure – a complete joke.”

Time To Play

After meditating through my ego loop, I manage to find great clarity and stability before spending the rest of Tuesday writing my final blog entry regarding my inner work in San Marcos – a blog titled “Listening to My Heart.”

In spite of it all I have managed to pull myself together to finally get my writing caught up – well at least caught up to my final chocolate ceremony before leaving San Marcos. Part of me continues to feel burnout. My heart is demanding a rest from writing – from inner work in general. I just want to play.

An Ek Balam Pilgrimage

Ignoring my continued physical exhaustion, early on Wednesday morning I eagerly hop into a colectivo (shared taxi cab) and pay 40 pesos (less than $3.00) for a ride to the village of Ek Balam. It is a pilgrimage of sorts.

After the thirty-minute cab ride, my first stop is the little “Comedor Maya” – a tiny one-room kitchen/dinning area with very fond memories. This is the pride and joy of a woman named Trini – a tiny little restaurant in the remote Mayan village of Ek Balam where I spent five beautiful days in late November, 2009.

I am delighted when Trini remembers who I am – and even more delighted when she tells me that my little Ceiba tree is alive and well in Kaxan Xul (Kashan Shool).

Soon I am hiking out toward this sacred place. Kaxan Xul is the site of an unexcavated pyramid where I participated in an amazing fire ceremony on the first evening of the festival – the site where I participated in the second sweat lodge of my entire life – the site where I donated a sacred little tree called a “Ceiba” to the organizers of the festival. This precious little tree was given to me by my dear friend Eduardo in Cozumel. He asked me to plant it somewhere in the Yucatan during my travels. On the morning of the fifth day of this amazing Indigenous Festival, with my infected and swollen foot wrapped in gauze bandages, I had tearfully gifted that precious little tree to Carmen, one of the organizers of that memorable event.

Finally, after searching the grounds for nearly a half an hour, I locate the beautiful little tree. Giggles rise in my soul as I kiss the little tree’s bark. It is alive, it is growing, and is already at least eight feet tall. I am so grateful to have been a contributor to the special memories of this sacred Mayan site.

After eating a delightful little breakfast in Trini’s tiny Comedor, I soon walk several miles through the hot morning sun on a quest to visit both the ruins of Ek Balam and the Cenote Xcanché. It was near the Cenote where my third-degree burn occurred – the site where the Olmec Shaman Jose Manuel reminded me of a precious truth when he spoke those words “Brenda, there is a big difference between pain and suffering.”

At the end of the day, as I rest back in Valladolid, I am exhausted but happy and grateful. My muscles and feet are sore from having walked at least five miles in the hot sun, but my soul giggles with delight at the beautiful memories that fill my heart.

A Delightful Reunion

Thursday morning, I am delighted to learn that my dear friend Conny has arrived at the Hostel. She is the same woman whom I befriended in December 2009 – the woman with whom I shared many spiritual conversations – the woman who inspired me to have the confidence to travel into Central America, and who told me about San Marcos – the woman who gave me her Central American tour book. She has been living in Oaxaca, Mexico and is now engaging in her own pilgrimage to visit her family back in Germany.

“How are you doing Brenda?” Conny asks as we share a huge hug.

Emotional Roller Coasters

Embarrassment fills my soul as I unexpectedly burst into tears while attempting to describe my emotional journey of the past week – my fears and insecurities about going home – fears about family relationships – fears about having nothing substantial to show – and feelings of being seen as a fraud for having such out-of-control emotions these last few days.

Soon, as I share breakfast with Conny and Ewot, I find myself simply sitting and watching from afar, feeling disconnected and emotionally numb. After a few minutes, I excuse myself to go shower. Seconds after finishing my shower, I find myself quietly sobbing in my room – deep teeth-chattering sobs of bottled up emotions.

The tears silently rage on for more than an hour. I make no attempt to stop them. Instead, I am determined to let this emotion have a voice – to let it come up and then flow through me. The last thing I want to do is to bottle it up and stuff it back down.

I am back in my ego loops – struggling with “What now? … I just finished two years of amazing travel experiences … Now who will care? … How will I explain myself? … Etc, etc, etc…”

I am feeling isolated from the world. My personal emails were not working this morning. My blog subscription emails stopped working several days ago. The internet has been flaky making Skype difficult if not impossible.

A part of me literally feels as if I am having an emotional breakdown … wondering if I need to be committed to a psychiatric hospital … feeling as if all of the deep inner work that I have done has simply pulled me apart at the roots, leaving me torn and unstable … blah, blah, blah.

Finally, with the help of some good Muppet Show visualizations, I am able to return to being the observer – to being unattached to the emotions that are raging – to return to a place of being centered and connected to source.

Sleep And Isolation

After the flash flood of tears has dried up, I set off on a new adventure. I want to visit my friend Doctor Gomez – the kind man (and now friend) who cared for my third-degree burn during some of the most difficult weeks of my travels. Soon after talking to his receptionist, I am delighted to be seated in Doctor Gomez’s office, engaging in a wonderful thirty-minute chat.

But I am still riding an underlying current of emotion. After more beautiful visiting with Tania, Ewot, and Conny I again retire early. I just cannot get enough sleep and isolation.

Crazy And Lost

Friday is more of the same – more inexplicable emotional struggle – more inability to focus – more inability to connect with others.

After an exhausting and frustrating day, I again retire early, plugging in my IPOD to mask the loud noise from a concert in the park just outside of my bedroom window.

Again, the tears flow unobstructed as I repeatedly listen to many of the songs that have touched me deeply during my travels – especially the song “I Believe” by Diamond Rio. It seems that I am extremely emotional about anything and everything.

As I attempt to find comfort through meditation, intuitions have me convinced that I am still internalizing all of the emotions from others around me – eating and stuffing those emotions into my own energy field – running on out-of-control autopilot – seemingly unable to stop what I am doing.

I literally feel crazy and lost – as if I am on the edge of losing it – of being committed to a mental institution – yet as I drift off to sleep, something tells me that all is well.

Unexpected Guidance

Saturday morning, my emotions continue to run rampantly out of control. It has now been one week since I bruised my inner thigh while climbing into a small boat at the San Marcos Boat dock. I can’t believe how unstable I am – how disconnected from source that I feel.

Again, as I share breakfast with Ewot and Conny, I have a difficult time explaining myself, avoiding details of my emotional journey – not knowing how to explain – fearing that I will not be understood.

Finally, in desperation, I manage to connect with my dear friend Michelle via Skype. After a long and emotional conversation, Michelle stuns with me with her channeled insight.

“Your guides are telling me to have you ask them to install filters to protect you right now from the emotions of others while you are traveling and attempting to stabilize yourself.” Michelle unexpectedly tells me. “Your guides cannot do it without you asking them to do it. You need these filters in place until you learn to do it on your own.”

It’s Filter Time

After my beautiful conversation ends, I return to my room and cry and cry and cry. Once the pressure of my top layer of emotion has been released, I sit up and begin to meditate, visualizing a huge water tank with a small garden spigot at the bottom. I recognize this water tank as a metaphor representing a huge reservoir of bottled up emotion that needs to be released.

Pursuing this metaphor in classic chocolate-ceremony style, I imagine myself filling up a small drinking glass from the garden spigot at the bottom of the tank. As I attempt to pour this emotion out onto Mother Earth, I am overwhelmed with fear and grief.

“Now I am really onto something.” I congratulate myself as I recognize that this meditative metaphor is connecting with real suppressed inner emotions.

Soon I hook up an imaginary garden hose and sit with little Sharon and Bobby by the edge of a huge cavern. We take turns holding the hose while the bottled up emotions are energetically released to the bottom of the depths below. Gradually we increase the size to a fire-hose, then to a two-foot pressurized spray.

This powerful release process goes on for most of the next hour. When I intuitively sense that it is nearly complete, I ask the angels to put the process into autopilot mode while I begin to bring in light energies to fill up the now-empty spaces in my field.

After the entire process feels complete, I meditatively connect with my guides and ask them to please install filters somewhere in my field – filters that will prevent me from unknowingly bringing in the emotional densities of others, at least for now.

New Hope

As I attempt to stand up from this amazing meditation, I am initially quite dizzy and nearly fall over. Soon, I am amazed at how energized and free that I feel – so free that I literally feel like whistling and singing. I have finally been able to liberate myself from the emotional net that has trapped me so tightly all week long.

Conny and I share delightful afternoon conversation while I fill her in with all of the beautiful details about my emotional-energy-release and filter-installation meditation processes.

New hope is dawning on the horizon. For the first time in a week, I am emotionally stable and alive – eager to continue my journey home – eager to face whatever challenges lie in front of me.

Eight days have come and gone since I waved goodbye to my little apartment in San Marcos – eight up-and-down days filled with joyful reunions, giggling pilgrimages, and extremely confusing emotional and physical roller coaster rides.

Tonight I will sleep like a happy and content little baby. Tomorrow I begin the next leg of my journey as I board yet another bus destined for the Caribbean shores of Playa Del Carmen and then Cozumel. Giggles fill my heart as I am consumed by joyful thoughts of returning to where it all started.

Copyright © 2011 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved