Brenda's Bicycles

As time passes, I am developing an ever-increasing appreciation for my friend Arturo. Until recently, I had only briefly, on two separate occasions, expressed to him my interest in locating a Mayan shaman. Since my most recent return to Cozumel, Arturo seems to have made it a personal quest to assist me in my search.

Merely a week ago today, Arturo sent me a web link for the Temazcal ceremony—the same Mayan sweat lodge that I later experienced on Saturday. Then, just four days ago, he informed me that we had an appointment to meet with his acquaintance, a “brujo”—a man Arturo described as a “modern-day shaman”.

Late last night, as I researched and added this new Spanish word “brujo” to my vocabulary, I discovered that it translates to several possible meanings—among which are ‘witch doctor’, ‘wizard’, ‘medicine man’, and simply ‘male witch.” My curiosity was indeed intrigued.

From the first time he mentioned our appointment, Arturo seemed to be slightly concerned as to what my expectations might be. In follow-up emails, Arturo expressed a desire to meet with me personally before the day of our appointment.

Finally, late yesterday afternoon, we managed to coordinate our schedules. After beginning with polite small talk, we were soon engulfed in a fascinating ninety minute discussion. Sweet Arturo took the time to give me a birds-eye view of the history of various native cultures in Mexico. In addition, I was the grateful recipient of a few much-needed geography lessons, during which Arturo educated me about various cities, including his own personal thoughts regarding living in Cozumel.

My favorite part of the conversation was when we discussed Mayan spiritual beliefs. I expressed to Arturo how I loved the fact that Mayan beliefs resonate so closely with my own—and told him how I thoroughly enjoyed my Temazcal ceremony. When I asked if he had been to a Temazcal yet, Arturo replied “Not yet, but I would like to go.”

Most importantly, however, Arturo talked about our upcoming visit with the ‘brujo’, giving me several clues regarding what to expect as I prepared for my encounter. I was most curious about the “echk” ceremony. Arturo and I both let out belly-laughs when I finally figured out he was trying to say the word “egg” rather than “echk.”

At 7:40 a.m. this morning, after only getting about five hours of sleep, I was eagerly standing on my front balcony above the narrow street below while watching for Arturo’s car. I had woken early, and even took the time to wash and style my hair—wanting to look my best for my visit with the medicine man. Minutes later I was locking my front gate and sliding into the passenger seat of Arturo’s little red car.

As we neared our destination, I asked, “So how do you know this brujo?”

“I went to see him myself one time.” Arturo replied, without providing many additional details.

Soon we were parked in a quiet residential area, several miles from my home. On the right side of the car was a small city park, noticeably barren of trees. Across the street was our destination—a small typical one-story home with a low concrete wall. Several teenage girls were hanging out on the sidewalk near the open front door. One of them was holding a cloth against what appeared to be a recent nose piercing. “Ouch,” I thought to myself, “that appears painful.”

Arturo asked one of the girls “Is your father home?”

“He will be here soon.” was her reply.

Minutes later, a man on a three wheeled bicycle slowly approached. Three-wheeled bicycles in Cozumel are quite common for carrying cargo. The two front wheels support a small cargo bin directly in front of and below the handlebars. The rear of the bicycle is just like any other traditional street bicycle.

“That’s him” Arturo quietly whispered.

As he dismounted the bicycle, I noted that the brujo was quite short, with black hair and dark brown skin. He was dressed in dark slacks, with a white button-up shirt. Arturo facilitated a quick introduction as we were being invited inside. I soon learned that the man’s name was Marcos.

“This is where I work,” Marcos said with a large grin, as he proudly pointed to the left-rear corner of this large room. The vista in front of me was more than fascinating. My first impression was that I was approaching some type of catholic shrine. The walls displayed large paintings—one of Jesus and one of Mary—with a large cross hanging between them. In the corner, spanning more than ten feet along the wall, were several old tables. Boards were strategically placed between them to form rickety-looking shelves that bridged the open areas. The entire top surface of these tables and shelves was crowded with vases of flowers, soda bottles filled with colorful liquids, and a variety of other unknown wonders. In the corner of my eye, I noticed that many of the flowers were old and wilting.

Behind me and too my left, adjacent to the front door where we entered, was a large king sized bed. My imagination momentarily questioned, “I wonder how many people in the family need to share this single large bed?”

The entire right side of the remaining space appeared to be a large living room area. I didn’t scan this area in detail, as I was quickly engaged in a conversation. I did note, however, that the television was left loudly turned on throughout our session, even though no one else was in the room. Finding this a bit odd, I simply chose to ignore the noisy distraction as I peacefully pondered, “If it doesn’t bother him, I can certainly ignore it too.”

As I observed the ease in which I remained present in the moment, a sense of amazement filtered through my awareness. “A few months ago, I would have felt very put-out and annoyed by this ambient noise.” I told myself. “Now, it doesn’t bother me in the least.”

“Have a seat,” Marcos instructed me, as he pointed to an old wooden chair. He sat on a similar chair, with a small round wooden table situated between us.

Immediately, I realized that I was going to have considerable difficulty in understanding Marcos. He spoke rapidly, and used many words that were either unfamiliar to me, or perhaps spoken with an accent that confused my ears; regardless, I only understood perhaps twenty percent of what was going on.

“What do you want to do today?” Marcos queried. “Do you have a problem … family member … friend … situation … or something else you want to learn about?”

At this point I was feeling very grateful that Arturo was standing only five feet away. I looked to him for assistance, not totally sure at first what had just been asked of me.

Arturo replied “She wants to know her future.”

“Yes, I want you to tell me my future.” I told Marcos.

With a serious look on his face, he replied, “Very bad luck to tell the future.” He told me. “Muy malo suerte.”

Arturo and I both insisted that I wanted to have my future read in the cards. Marcos reluctantly agreed and shuffled the deck. Grabbing half of the deck and fanning it out face down, Marcos instructed me to start choosing cards. As I grabbed the first two cards, he looked into my eyes and then glanced back at the cards before saying “Very bad … some woman is very angry and jealous at you, causing many problems.”

Immediately, I smiled a silent internal smile as I realized “This man is not playing with a full deck.”

His words were empty and hollow, not resonating with me in even the slightest of ways. Every fiber of my soul was saying “Ignore him … he is not connected to your inner truth.”

One by one, Marcos had me choose cards until every card in the deck was laid out in order on the table in front of me. As I examined the pictures on the cards, I was very curious. “What type of cards are these?” I pondered. I imagined they must be some type of tarot cards, but have no experience at all in this area; I was only guessing.

What I do know is that I have a very intuitive psychic friend who read playing cards for me a few years ago, and she was amazingly accurate. She used a methodical system, laying selected cards out in patterns, with the order and placement of cards being highly significant in how they were interpreted. In addition, she tapped into her spiritual intuition as she spoke to me.

This gentleman in front of me was doing none of this. He simply laid the cards all in a left-to-right order, and did no interpretation based on order or position. After every five or six sentences spoken by Marcos, I looked to Arturo with a blank puzzled look. Arturo would then speak a very brief translation that I ‘sort-of’ understood. Between the confusion, I kept hearing words like “bad employment”, “jealous and angry”, “bad luck”, “not good.” I only remember hearing one positive comment, something about “lots of money”.

Most every statement passing through Marcos’s lips was a “Mensaje de Malo” – or a message of bad and evil things.

What I do know for a fact is that my heart was telling me, “Do not to take any of this seriously!”

In my Temazcal experience on Saturday I sensed a strong loving spirit—a deep connection with the universe. That whole experience was meaningful and powerful.

In today’s “brujo” session I sensed no such spiritual connection. My internal voices were loudly proclaiming “No truth to be found here … this man is not spiritually connected to either your soul or to the universe … and there is no real point in even continuing.”

With this in mind, I smiled and simply decided to sit back, becoming solely an interested observer of the experience.

“I have a lot to learn here.” I told myself. “This is an incredible cultural learning experience—even if it does not resonate in any way with my soul.”

For fifteen minutes I kept pushing back the thought, “Is it time to leave yet?”

Something inside replied “No … hang around for awhile … this could yet get quite interesting.”

A sense of relief settled in as I watched Marcos gather up the cards and put them back into their small box.

Marcos rattled off a few words and Arturo quickly interpreted, “Do you want to have your soul cleansed?”

“Yes, very much so,” I eagerly replied.

Soon, Marcos placed a chair in an open area right in front of his table of flowers and colorful liquids. After briefly turning his back, Marcos returned to face me while holding a brown egg in his hand. Beginning with my head, Marcos gradually moved the egg around while pressing it against various portions of my body, pausing for a while in each general area. As he reached the palms of my hands, he briefly examined my right palm and said “You will have a very long life.” Now that was a statement that resonated with me. My internal voices have already made this very clear to me.

After about five minutes, Marcos put the egg into my right palm and instructed me to rub it around on my tummy. He walked away for a minute, returning with a glass filled about two thirds of the way with what appeared to be clear water.

Taking the egg from my hand, he gently tapped it on the rim of the glass, being very careful to not break the yolk. Next, after placing the glass on the round wooden table where the cards had been just a few minutes earlier, Marcos gently pulled the ends of the egg apart until the yellow yolk plunged into the water below.

“Oh, this is not good.” He exclaimed. “Notice the pattern.”

I watched as the yolk of the egg split apart and formed a bumpy layer at the bottom of the glass, perhaps one half inch above the bottom. Much of the egg white stretched in vertical streaks, running from the yolk towards the top of the water.

Over and over, Marcos talked about how bad this was, commenting about the negative energy, the anger and jealousy, and how I must be struggling.

I just smiled inside. “This is really an interesting educational experience.” I reminded myself. “This is one of those experiences that I will remember this for the rest of my life.”

After ten minutes of listening to this doom and gloom, Marcos told me he would now cleanse my body. Having me sit quietly in the chair, he grasped a tiny bundle of small-leafed herbs, dipped the bundle in a bowl of yellowish-colored liquid, and began to swat me firmly with the saturated leaves. Starting with the top of my head, he then moved to my back, shoulders, neck, and upper chest. Next he loaded up the leaves with more scented yellow moisture and repeated the process, again starting with my hair.

While the swatting was not painful, it was definitely quite forceful and very wet. My hair was now fully drenched, and continued to be more saturated over time. Again and again, Marcos immersed the leaves in more yellow liquid, repeatedly thrashing me. Soon he moved on to my legs and feet, only to return again to my dripping hair.

After a few minutes, Marcos placed the remaining leaves on his table and retrieved a soda bottle filled with yellowish liquid. Instructing me to hold my hands out in a cupped position, he sloppily poured the liquid into the palms of my hands. A great deal of the solution spilled onto the right knee of my jeans.

“Rub this on the back of your neck, shoulders and hair.” He sternly dictated. Refilling my hands several times, he had me again rinse my neck, then my arms, and then my feet.

Next, we repeated this procedure with an opaque, dark green solution. This solution had a strong herbal scent, with a tiny touch of mint.

Finally, my hands were filled repeatedly with a solution of pink rose-scented holy water from yet another soda bottle. By now, I was emitting a strong mixture of floral and herbal scents, and I felt as if I had walked through a waterfall.

As my delightful and educational cleansing came to an end, I smiled inside as I watched Marcos tell me how I needed to buy bottles of all of these solutions and bathe in them. I forgot to mention that earlier, he had also instructed me that I should purchase a deck of cards and place them in certain combinations under my pillow in order to absolve myself of all the negative energy.

Believe it or not, I was feeling quite joyful as I handed my two hundred pesos (about $16) to Marcos. While absolutely none of the experience spoke to me in any way at a spiritual level—I had indeed just completed a once-in-a-lifetime cultural experience. There was no doubt that my money was incredibly well spent.

While Arturo drove me to my home, he queried several times with “What did you think?” and “I hope you were not disappointed.”

Reassuring him, I replied, “I don’t believe anything Marcos told me … but yes … I really enjoyed the experience … in fact I thought it was fascinating.”

We laughed as we both realize that we were in full agreement. Arturo added “It is sad that some people can be very drawn in by him, and believe his negative words. He convinces them of all these bad evil things, and gets them to purchase his lotions and to return for more cleansings.”

Still basking in the uniqueness of my early morning experience, I was soon standing again in the privacy and warmth of my own shower, washing my hair for the second time in less than three hours. Even now, as I continue describing this experience more than eight hours after the fact, I am quite aware of a strong rose-blossom scent still emanating strongly from my hair and shoulders.

I shall not soon forget this experience. How many people can say that they have been cleansed by a real witch doctor/wizard/medicine man in such a unique way? Yes, this will be a very pleasant and enjoyable memory for many years to come.

This afternoon I received a three-sentence email from Arturo. The last two sentences read word for word:

“Brenda I’ll be dare and honest with you, can you tell me why am thinking in you all day? Sorry i’m thinking all day in you.”

As I sit here with a loving smile on my face, I am now faced with a new issue on which to meditate. How do I lovingly respond to Arturo in a way that will preserve a cherished friendship—while at the same time gently letting him know that we are “solo amigos?”

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

Gratitude is the life-giving essence that flows through my veins on this beautiful Sunday morning. The resonant energy of my first Temazcal experience still lingers, basking my soul in peace and light.

Late Friday afternoon, an eagerly anticipated email appeared in my inbox. I was offered an opportunity to participate in a Temazcal on Saturday evening—with just one catch. A group of locals would be participating, and the ceremonies would be entirely in Spanish.

I quickly responded “Yes, I would love to participate. My Spanish is weak, and I may not understand everything, but I believe I would really enjoy that. Please tell me more.”

After a back-and-forth exchange of two or three emails, I was offered—and I accepted—an alternative opportunity. I would be participating in an English-speaking Temazcal with some cruise ship passengers. This one would begin five hours earlier, at 11:00 am.

In the meantime, my friend Arturo sent me an unexpected email telling me that I had an appointment with a “modern day Mayan Shaman” at 8:00 a.m., on this coming Tuesday. “I will pick you up at 7:40 a.m.” he matter-of-factly told me. “If you like, the shaman can tell you your fate using cards, or you can just talk to him.” Then Arturo asked two more questions. “Just exactly what are your expectations with him anyway? And can you tell me more about your friend Rafael?”

Totally surprised, I first gave myself an imaginary high-five. “Wow,” I thought to myself, “just a week ago I had no clue how to locate any type of Mayan spiritual leader. Now, in just a matter of hours, with almost no effort on my part, I have firm plans for two different and distinct Mayan spiritual experiences.”

As I read through Arturo’s email, I had to scratch my head. Yes, I would love to have a Shaman read my fortune with cards, but I suddenly realized I had neither plans nor expectations regarding what I would do once I found such a Shaman. A feeling of deep internal peace calmly assured me “Don’t worry about planning that part. You will know exactly what to say and do when that moment arrives.”

Soon, my fingers were rapidly typing a response for Arturo, explaining my experiences with Rafael—the powerful spiritual memories that resonate in my soul to this very day. As you may recall, Rafael is a spiritual young man that I met at the information desk during my first eight-day visit to Cozumel. He is the one who softly spoke those powerful energy-charged words during our last conversation, proclaiming “Oh Brenda, you have to come back and meet my Medicine Man.”

As I turned off my computer on Friday night, delighted anticipation had already become my constant companion. My bubbly and bouncy friend shadowed me throughout the evening, kept chattering away in my ear while I tried to fall asleep, and then eagerly woke me up first thing on Saturday morning.

After a few hours of peaceful morning stillness, I enthusiastically mounted my trusty bicycle and set off in pursuit of my next adventure. My first stop was at the office of my Temazcal contact. We had arranged to meet for short introductions at 10:00 a.m., following which he would give me instructions on how to locate and join up with the group from the cruise ship.

The entire next hour was a great practice lesson in peace, non-attachment, and forgiveness. My contact was over thirty five minutes late, leaving my ego wondering how I could possibly get to my 11 a.m. destination in time. Ignoring that thought, I remained in a state of trust and surrender. “Trust the process,” I reminded myself as I took a deep breath and simply melted into the moment.

After a delightful fifteen minute conversation with a deeply spiritual young man, I was back on my bicycle—a fifteen minute ride in the hot sun would take me to the Cozumel jail, a remote place I am glad to have never visited. The taxi van from the cruise ship would meet me there at 11:15 a.m. and lead me along the final mile through a winding dirt road into the jungle.

I was so grateful for following my peaceful instincts. I rode quickly and arrived at the jail in plenty of time. In fact, I had arrived first … the taxi was nowhere to be seen.

As I scanned my ominous surroundings, I noticed an armed guard with a machine gun standing fifty yards to my left in front of what appeared to be the jail’s entrance. Directly in front of me was the right-angled protruding corner where two tall concrete walls came together, adorned on their upper edges with large circular rolls of sharp razor wire.

To my right, just outside the next section of jail walls, was a large cleared portion of jungle that appeared to be an automobile grave-yard. The junkyard was littered with abandoned, wrecked, and rusting old vehicles.

Soon, a police truck exited the jail and slowly drove right past me. Hanging from the back were two machine-gun-wielding guards. Their solid black uniforms were spotlessly clean—seeming strangely out of place in this dirty and dusty environment. Following behind the truck was a large official looking German shepherd, just minding his own business.

As the truck passed by, several yapping dogs came streaming out of the abandoned junkyard. Momentarily there was a standoff; neither side ventured a closer approach. The armed guards called out as the truck moved further away, and finally the large German shepherd turned and followed the truck. His pride seemed to be hurt as he temporarily allowed the feisty and noisy junkyard dogs to believe that they had won.

Only minutes later, a large taxi van slowly came into view. I fully expected to simply follow behind, riding my bicycle down the remote jungle road. Stopping his taxi right beside me, the driver startled me when he jumped out, requested that I take a seat, and proceeded to squeeze my bicycle into the back of his van. Soon I was comfortably riding the final bumpy mile while getting to know the four passengers from the cruise ship who would be my companions for the next four hours.

The Ceremony

After exiting the taxi, we were led to a large concrete patio where a series of perhaps ten or twelve white-mesh hammocks provided a resting place that proved to be very inviting. A large roof of thatched grass provided ample shady protection from the hot sun above.

As soon as we were all barefoot and contentedly hanging in the comfort of our own hammock, our guide, Eduardo, began to orient us to our upcoming experience. For forty five minutes Eduardo delighted us with stories about Mayan traditions and spiritual beliefs. While we were talking, Jose Luis was busy preparing a huge burning hot fire on a large round concrete patio about 50 feet away.

In the past few years, I have been very intrigued when I occasionally heard people talk about Native-American sweat lodges. Each time I considered pursuing such an opportunity, a feeling of doubt and nervousness seemed to be hiding in the back of my mind. “I wonder what strange things go on inside?” I wondered. “Could I handle the heat and the sweating? Would I feel claustrophobic?”

While this small amount of nervous fear was always present in my thoughts, I would not say I was actually afraid—I simply never felt a strong inner prompting to participate.

As I approached today’s Temazcal experience, I was amazed by my loving confidence, and by the utter absence of any fear or nervousness whatsoever. Filled with intense passion and desire, I had no doubt that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. Eduardo was very thorough in teaching us about what was to come in today’s ceremony. By the time we actually began, we all had a good idea of exactly what was ahead of us.

Soon, we were preparing for the formal portion of our ceremony. Wearing only our swimsuits, we walked slowly toward the hot fire. As we stepped barefoot onto the round concrete patio, we circled the flames in a counter-clockwise direction, spacing ourselves evenly around the outer ring, facing into the hot coals. As I stood no more than eight feet from the intense heat, I was forced to muster every ounce of internal strength to simply stand and be present, without backing away.

For fifteen minutes, I endured the heat, while focusing my mental powers on acceptance and love. During that beautiful span of time, Eduardo began to lead us.

For starters, we all faced with our palms extended to the north as Eduardo asked us to honor and embrace the energy of the element “air”. Then we turned to the east, where we embraced the energy of “fire”. South was next, where we honored “water”, followed by the west, where we embraced the “earth.” While facing in each direction, we paused for several minutes while Eduardo also discussed how each of these directions represents different emotions such as courage, and different periods of our lives such as childhood, adolescence, etc…

Finally, prior to leaving the fire patio, Eduardo grasped a small metal goblet containing hot coals. He then added the root of an herb, causing the goblet to emit a thick fragrant smoke. One by one, he approached each of us and performed a sacred cleansing ritual with the smoke, blessing us and preparing us to enter the Temazcal. Hidden energy filled my soul as Eduardo performed the cleansing on me.

As we filed away from the fire patio, I have to admit I was grateful to be leaving the intense heat—yet amazed that I had endured it so well. Soon we were approaching the Temazcal structure. Perhaps sixteen feet in diameter, the round earth-colored structure appeared to be constructed of some type of clay or concrete bricks. The outer walls were perhaps three feet high. The roof was slightly dome-shaped, perhaps rising to five feet in the very middle where the hot rocks are placed.

One by one, we entered through the small door on our hands and knees. Before passing across the threshold, we repeated the phrase “Para mi y mis relaciones”, which loosely translated means “For me and my ancestors.” Once inside, we crawled on hands and knees in a clockwise direction until spread out evenly around the outer walls. The inner walls and floor were a rough concrete, with the floor being covered by a series of small woven rugs. In the center of the room was a four-foot circle where the hot rocks would soon be placed.

The Temazcal ceremony consisted of four phases of about fifteen or twenty minutes each. Fresh glowing hot rocks were brought in before each phase, following which the door was covered with rugs to both block out the light and to trap in the steam.

At the beginning and during each phase, Eduardo would periodically grasp a large bundle of herbal leaves, saturate them in a bucket of herbal tea (prepared with a mixture of various healing herbs), and then shake the herbs over the rocks, causing the excess tea to quickly turn to steam as it landed on the hot rocks below. We were told that the upper portion of the room was probably about 120 to 130 degrees Fahrenheit, while the area nearest the floor was around 110 degrees.

During the first phase, associated with the North and the element “air”, Eduardo asked us to remember experiences from our youth, from birth up until around age twelve. In a pitch black room filled with hot steam, we one by one took turns naming our grandparents, and then our parents, following which we shared a memory from our childhood. The room was very hot, but I remained seated in an upright position, fully embracing the experience, surprised at how well I was handling the heat.

As the second phase began, we embraced the East and the element “fire”. During this phase, we were encouraged to remember all of the difficult years and emotions as we struggled through adolescence and early adulthood, from about age twelve to age thirty two.

I almost laughed when a wave of recognition hit me. The first “North/air phase of my life” was a very happy period where I felt loved, secure, and safe. It was only as I neared the end of my eleventh year and entered my twelfth year that I began to deeply struggle with my gender issues. The second “East/fire phase” was dominated by guilt, shame, emptiness, identity struggle, and horrible self-loathing that began to phase out right around age thirty two—the age when I began to come to grips with my feelings and my identity.

Early during this second Temazcal phase, we followed Eduardo’s lead as we beat loudly on drums and other various rhythm instruments—I presume to help us remember the painful emotions of the past. Then we took turns touching an herb to the hot rocks while proclaiming that we were releasing an unwanted element of our story—such as fear, self-loathing, anger, etc… Then we again touched an herb to the fiery rocks while embracing something we wanted to increase in our life. In my case, I chose to embrace more joy and unconditional love.

The third phase of the Temazcal—the phase of the South with the element “water”—was perhaps my favorite. This phase also represented the years from age thirty two until the elderly phase (for which Eduardo gracefully omitted specifying a year.) At the beginning of this phase we were each given a half of a coconut shell filled with water to drink. Then a water jug was passed around so that we could refill our coconut to drink as needed during the phase. At one point, a bowl of cut-up aloe vera plant was passed around. We each removed and kept three pieces. Later in the ceremony, we pealed the skin from each piece. We spread the gel from the first piece over our face, head, and neck. We then spread gel from the second piece on our shoulders, arms, and torso. Our legs and feet were the recipients of the third piece. For the remainder of the ceremony, our bodies were slimy and sticky with hot aloe gel.

The fourth and final Temazcal phase represented the west, and the element “earth”, along with elderly life. Amazingly, I seem to have been so enmeshed in the experience that I have no recallable memory of what we actually did in this phase. About the only thing I do remember is that I was laying flat on the floor, because the hot steam higher up in the room was beginning to feel excessively uncomfortable.

The Temazcal seemed to end all too quickly when one-by-one we crawled clockwise around the room and then backed out, feet first, back into the sunlight. Eduardo told us that the whole experience was representative of re-entering the darkness and heat of the womb, and then finally being reborn from the womb as we backed out through the tiny opening.

Compared to the inside temperatures, the hot afternoon sun felt very cool and refreshing. While standing in a circle, each holding a tree, Eduardo one-by-one washed us with the remainder of the cool tea mixture. He poured one coconut-shell on our left leg, one on the left shoulder, one on the right leg, and a final one on the right shoulder. Then he did the same to himself.

Not far from the Temazcal stands an ancient sacred tree, one of only five on the island of Cozumel, estimated at being five hundred years old. It is said that there is always a water source wherever this tree grows. Adjacent to this particular tree is a fresh water “cenote” or spring—perhaps 20 feet across and 150 feet deep. The waters of this cenote are a dark yellow amber, colored by the yellow ink contained in the roots of this sacred tree.

To end our incredible ceremony, Eduardo had us each jump into this cenote and swim to the other side, cleansing in these sacred waters. For five or ten minutes, we sat in the water visiting together on a rock ledge, before finally swimming back and climbing out via a slimy, rickety wooden ladder.

The ending of this powerful experience was very much like the beginning. After eating a light snack of fresh fruits grown locally on the property, we resumed our perches in the white mesh hammocks. One-by-one, Eduardo presented us with an individual analysis of the significance of our birth date and year on the Mayan Calendar.

In the Mayan calendar, there are thirteen months or moons. The calendar also contains twenty “solar seals” and thirteen “galactic tones”. As it turns out, I am a “Yellow Resonant Warrior”, as my seal is that of a warrior, and my tone is that of resonance. I was born on Solar Moon day four during the year of the Red Magnetic Moon.

To end the ceremony, Eduardo gave us each a small wooden “glyph” and a printed card that represents our individual birth dates. On my card was a small poem constructed from my particular combination of month, seal, and tone. Here is that poem:

Yellow Resonant Warrior

I Channel in order to Question

Inspiring Fearlessness

I seal the Output of Intelligence

With the Resonant tone of Attunement

I am guided by the power of Elegance

I am still quite new to this whole experience, but can definitely see how elements of this poem—and the deeper analysis that Eduardo presented verbally—connect with my inner soul. If you want to have a little fun with your own birth date, you can come up with your own analysis at www.tortuga.com. Just bring up the web page and click on “decode a date”. If you select the extended options, the site will guide you through detailed explanations of the Mayan Calendar, including the months, seals, and tones, and how they apply to you.

I do not remember any of the words that Eduardo spoke to me as he verbally described the various meanings of my birth combination. I do, however, vividly remember the emotions. A deep spiritual love washed through my soul as he spoke, and I felt a deep connection with the universe. Gratitude swept through me as small tears of joy formed in the corners of my eyes. I don’t know how things will pan out, but I knew in my heart that this is not the last time I will be discussing spiritual wisdom with Eduardo.

During a question and answer phase, one of the cruise ship passengers asked Eduardo, “Are you a Shaman?”

To this question, Eduardo paused, and then redirected. “We do not usually call ourselves by the term Shaman,” he began, “we like to call ourselves Temazcaleros.”

“Are you the spiritual leader of your group?” she continued probing.

“I consider myself to be a student, as we can all learn from each other.” Eduardo then talked briefly about his own teacher, and then about his teacher’s teacher—and what great men they are. He said that when a teacher leaves this life then one of his students steps up to fill his teacher’s place—not before.

All the while that Eduardo spoke, it was obvious to my soul that he is indeed a very spiritual and wise man. A feeling in my own heart cried out “I want to learn more from this man, and from others like him.”

As everyone was preparing to return to the taxi, I pulled Eduardo aside and asked him. “Do you ever get together in groups to study, meditate, and/or discus Mayan spiritual concepts? Do you have any type of gatherings that I could participate in?”

“Not now,” he began, “but if you found a group of people that wanted to learn, we could do something like that.”

“I have friends back home that would love this,” I told him, “but I do not know anyone here that would like to join me.”

Almost without pause, he reached into his wallet, pulled out a card with his phone number, and handed it to me, with the words, “Call me anytime you want to talk about spiritual things.”

Later that night, as I lay in my bed “pillow-meditating”, a loud and clear feeling floated through my soul, “It’s time to get a local cell phone.”

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

Recently, my friend Trish sent out another of her messages from the Archangel Michael. As I reread her message last night, I immediately realized that it is too good not to share with you.

“Freedom from others’ ideas and opinions comes when you

find freedom within you.

Freedom comes when you Trust yourself, your ideas and intuition,

and then have the courage and Love to live them.

Freedom is the courage to live your own Truth.”

 -Archangel Michael

The message is so simple, so clear, and so incredibly powerful. Each one of us does indeed have our own unique and loving truth living deeply inside us.

For the majority of this lifetime, I was stuck in a box constructed by the ideas and opinions of others. The thought of straying outside of the box was terrifying. There was no doubt in my mind that the world as I knew it would end if I were to venture outside the box—even if but for brief explorations. All the while, my soul was suffocating.

Well-meaning caretakers, and society at large, taught me how to construct the box, and encouraged me to stay there—for my own good—for my eternal salvation.

Yes, I now realize that it was I who built the box, and I always had the power within me to tear it down. Just like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, my emerald slippers were already right there on my own feet; I simply didn’t know how to use them. I now realize that my box was nothing more than a belief system and a learned way of perceiving the world.

In past times, if the walls of my box had been destroyed by a hurricane, I would have rapidly constructed a new box with thicker walls. If an earthquake came along and destroyed the walls for a second time, I would not have delayed in rebuilding yet again. My fear of being judged and labeled as a misfit was so acute, that I went to great lengths to stay in my box, to blend in with conventional wisdom­, to conform to the teachings and beliefs of the culture in which I was raised.

Yes, I was serving a life sentence, held captive by the ideas and opinions of others.

Even now, I occasionally invite these insidious voices into my living room for a cup of hot chocolate. I momentarily listen to one of these voices say “You know Brenda, what you are doing is so very irresponsible. How are you going to support yourself when your money runs out? You should be using your new degree to pursue a money making career. You are seriously fooling yourself if you think people are going to want to buy your books.”

Another of these voices pipes in with “Yeah, and you have completely left all of your family and friends behind. You have no idea where you are going, let alone what you will do tomorrow. How responsible is it to have absolutely no plans or goals for your future?”

After a few minutes of polite conversation, I graciously thank my guests for their visit and their opinions, …  and then I confidently ask them to leave. Their words simply do not resonate with me.

Learning to trust myself was not easy. In the beginning, my progress was painstakingly slow. With tiny baby steps, I inched forward along my path, terrified at the thought of failure and ridicule. I clung to conventional wisdom as if my very life depended on it. Even after my life transitions of thirteen years ago, I tried to reinsert myself into the conventional world—wanting so desperately to simply fit in, to be ‘normal’.

Yes, it is only in the most recent few years that I have developed the ability to trust and completely rely on my own ideas and intuition—and only in the past few months that I have found the courage to follow my own internal intuition so fully. Even now, I recognize that I am a novice, a beginner, excitedly looking forward to my next lesson in love and life.

In my own personal journey, I can honestly say that “living my own truth” has indeed brought me a feeling of incredible freedom and, might I add, peace.

What I love about Trish’s message is that she acknowledges that each of us have our own unique inner ideas and intuition. What is right for me might be totally wrong for you—and vice versa. In no way would I advise all of my friends to sell their house, walk away from a new degree, and travel the world like a nomad. And yet, that is exactly what my internal voices are telling me to do. I have never been happier, more trusting, more at peace. I have a deep sense of trust that all of this has a divine purpose.

I would never have the right or the capacity to tell anyone else what their own voices have in store for them.

But what I would love to do is to convince you to begin some type of spiritual practice, where you set aside your own time, in our own unique way, to practice silencing all of the external chatter in your life.

I have never been good at “traditional” meditation. For me, my early time of spiritual silence came from being alone with nature in the mountains. Each of us has our own style, so select a method that works for you. Find some type of activity that grounds you in the present moment, and use that as a basis for your spiritual quiet time—your centering time.

This activity might be traditional meditation, or it might be nature, listening to music, playing an instrument, bicycle riding, swimming, reading, writing, or whatever.

Once you begin to feel comfortable in this space of silence, invite your own inner heart and soul to sit down for a long visit.

In the stillness, meditate over questions such as “What is it that my heart wants me to know?”  … or perhaps…  “If I were to set aside all of the worldly voices that keep me trapped, what is it that my inner soul would really like me to be doing right now with my life … today … in this moment?”

Don’t necessarily use my questions. Be creative. Ask questions that rise from within your own heart – questions that your inner soul prompts you to ask.

Most of all, please listen to what your inner voices and heart have to say. Your very life depends on it.

Body Temper Tantrums

This week has literally zoomed by … yet, as usual, last Sunday seems like a decade ago.

Tuesday evening, after returning from my most recent jungle ride, I found an email inviting me to play Canasta. Even though I was exhausted, an internal energy surge caused me to accept the invitation—and what a delightful evening I had with four of my new American friends.

Since I had no idea how to play Canasta, one of them became my personal coach while I played in her place. For four hours, we bantered and giggled, simply enjoying the moments together. As I retired that evening, a sense of peace and belonging settled into my soul—not an “ego” type of belonging, but a sense of complete oneness with the experience.

On Wednesday, my body decided to throw a temper tantrum, demanding that I get some rest. A hot skin sensation in my arms, shoulders, and forehead all signaled that “perhaps” I absorbed a few too many sunbeams over the previous four days. Then my muscles joined into the party and let me know in no uncertain terms that they also wanted some rest and relaxation.

After running a few late-morning errands, I decided to lay down for a short nap. Minutes turned into exhausting hours. Four hours later, I forced myself out of bed just long enough to run an errand and to get some nutrition in my stomach. After satisfying my hunger, the sofa and television held me captive for the remainder of the evening. I wouldn’t change a thing; I fully agreed with my body’s messages that it was time to crash for a day.

Scuba Paradise

Scuba diving is a major tourist industry here in Cozumel, as well as something that I passionately love to do. The island is a favorite for divers from all over the world, and sports some of the best recreational diving available in the Caribbean, even the world. One very unique element of diving on the reefs of Cozumel is the currents. While submerged one can simply drift with the flow of the currents, exerting very little effort, absorbing the visual wonders of the undersea playground as you gently float by the colorful reefs.

During my first two months on the island, my internal voices refrained from guiding me into the waters’ depths. Yet as I flew home for my son’s wedding, I had a strong hunch that I would be diving soon after returning.

At game night, only two days after touching back down on the island, my opportunity presented itself. I learned that two of my new friends were going diving this week, and was invited to go with them. Eagerly I said “Yes, I would love to.”

Early yesterday morning, the sky was blue and the ocean waters were almost as smooth as glass, as our little dive boat left the crowded marina and began a southward journey. An energy of aliveness filtered through my body as I pondered the upcoming experience. My two friends and I were the only divers on the boat, joined by three crew members: the captain, an assistant, and the dive master who would be our underwater guide.

As we cruised a few hundred yards from the beach, the crystal blue waters below were radiating a magical quality. The ever changing bottom, some thirty or forty feet below us, was easily visible through the crystal clear waters. The salty breeze gently played with my bangs and pony tail as I leaned over the edge of the boat to inhale as much of the experience as possible. The warm sun felt so energizing on my face and skin.

Soon, I was standing at the rear end of the boat, decked out in my scuba gear, eager to take the plunge. Reaching my left fin forward in a giant stride, I pushed off with my right, and in moments I was completely immersed in the warm bath. The soothing Caribbean waters reach delightful temperatures well into the upper 80’s during this time of year. I was told that today’s temperature was around 88 degrees.

After a twenty month sabbatical from diving, I felt as if I had been diving just last week. Everything came back to me—stuff like safety procedures, clearing the pressure in my ears, breathing slowly and regularly, controlling my buoyancy, and using hand signals. The one thing I had not done was use a defogger on my mask—but I managed by frequently clearing the fog—letting water flow into my mask, forcing it back out again using my breath—all while floating along in the depths.

Our first dive location was the Santa Rosa Wall. While reaching depths of 70 feet, I floated along the beautiful coral playground. Soon, the dive master signaled that we were going to swim through an opening in the coral. Without hesitation, I calmly and easily followed his lead. We ended up passing through a series of overhangs and various types of window openings, some as small as four or five feet in diameter.

Writing on a little underwater slate, the dive master informed us that the wall below us dropped off for over 600 feet. Looking down, there was no visible evidence of any type of bottom. A feeling of adrenaline energized my body as I analyzed just how far away that bottom was below us.

As the air in my tank was the first reach the “time to go up” mark, I signaled to the dive master that it needed to ascend. Soon, he attached a small inflatable buoy to a cord on his waist, barely inflated it, and sent it darting toward the surface. Beginning my slow ascent, I stopped at fifteen feet for my precautionary three minutes.

Only seconds later, I noticed the bottom of a boat appear a short distance away. As I waited for my three minutes to tick away on my watch, I pondered the beautiful sights I had just witnessed, and I mentally reviewed the variety of fish, lobsters, and other miscellaneous undersea life that had captured my imagination.

Soon, I was back on the surface, making my way to the boat. Once my feet and hands were securely in place on the large ladder, I removed each fin and handed them up to my helper, who then assisted me in removing my tank and buoyancy compensator vest before helping me climb the final few steps into the safety of the boat.

Minutes later we were all back on board, eating mangos, apples, bananas, and rolls. At the same time, our trusty little dive boat began gently cruising toward our next destination, a reef called Yancab. It was necessary for us to remain out of the water for one hour prior to our next dive, so we were in no hurry. The little nitrogen bubbles in our blood needed time to slightly diminish before we could again descend to the depths.

Our second dive was every bit as delightful as the first. On this dive we maintained depths between thirty and forty feet. In places the current seemed stronger, but not unmanageable. I was glad, however, that I could just drift forward with no need to swim back the other way. Besides the beautiful fish and an array of underwater reef life, the highlight of this second dive was an abundance of spiny lobsters and a lone sting ray.

I was both content and sad when the dive master sent the inflatable buoy to the surface, signaling our time to leave. Regardless of the amount of air still remaining in our tanks, we had reached our limit of bottom time.

While I don’t expect to be diving on a weekly basis anytime soon, I would be very surprised if I don’t find myself back under the sea in the not too distant future.

Miguel Update

Yesterday evening, I saw Miguel for the first time in this busy exhausting week. This time, I snuck up on him, startling him from behind. I filled him in on my busy activities of the week—three long bike rides, scuba diving, and writing—and then told him I still feel tired.

I was not surprised when he somehow managed to work a suggestion back into the conversation.

“You can come over to rest at my house. You will be in my spare bedroom, and I will go about my business in the other rooms.”

“No” I said firmly.

“Why not?” He begged again.

“Because … I don’t want to.” I replied firmly.

Miguel looked hurt and maintained a serious look.

I mimicked his frown, asking “Why are you so serious?”

Soon we were both giggling … but he still didn’t get it. A few minutes later, when I told him I was going home to rest, we exchanged a little friendly hug and peck on the cheek. Almost as if on cue, he remarked “See, you do like me.”

I just can’t win; I don’t know what I have to do to get him to understand, “I want to be fun friends … but that is all we are … just friends … solo amigos.”

I do know, however, that my promptings continue to tell me to maintain a friendship. I am so glad that I have the courage to trust and follow my own inner guides—my own inner truth.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

My intention late Tuesday morning was to spend a large block of time studying Spanish verbs and grammar. After an hour of struggling to keep my eyes open, I finally got the message. My body was telling me there was something else I ought to be doing—something quite different from sleepily studying on a bench in the plaza.

A little feeling in my heart told me “Hop on your bicycle, crank up your IPOD, and start exploring.”

While I don’t normally bring my bicycle down to the plaza, today happened to be different. My trusty little mountain bike was right there, leaning against a short wall less than five feet away. Coincidence?

As I browsed through my thousands of MP3 files, a two-hour speech reached out and grabbed my attention. The speaker, Eve Wood, conducted a breakout session at a spiritual conference that I attended a few years back—but I had not attended her presentation and had never listened to her talk. As I pushed the play button, I had no idea what to expect.

Minutes later, as I cruised through the narrow crowded streets of Cozumel, I was awake, and fully energized. From the very beginning of her speech, Eve’s words were connecting and deeply registering with my soul. As it turns out, she is a spiritually-minded psychiatrist. Her beautiful presentation focused on healing concepts that are very dear to my heart—concepts I frequently discuss in my own writing.

At one point in her speech, Eve referred to the story of “The Princess and the Pea.” You may recall that the princess was unable to sleep, even on a tall stack of soft mattresses. After agonizing exhaustion, she discovered and removed a small pea at the bottom of the mattress pile. The princess was finally able to comfortably rest.

Using this story as an analogy, Eve compared the pea to the many ignored and unresolved emotional issues in our own lives. She talked about how these well hidden elements of our past story subconsciously affect us and cause a variety of dysfunctions in our lives—not just emotional problems, but physical ones as well.

To make a long story short, Eve related story after story about former clients whose emotional and physical symptoms had been returned to balance simply by helping them to explore their own story, and helping them to discover when and where they began to ignore their own inner wisdom—the voices of their own inner desires and passions.

Pushing the Limits

After taking a short lunch break, I checked in again with my own heart. Soon I was leaving the city, headed southbound along the ocean front. Logic dictated that this would be a short ride. I had already been on two separate twenty-plus mile rides on Saturday and Sunday, and recognized that I was pushing my limits.

As I approached my intended turn around point, about five miles south of town, I noticed a small paved road that headed east, into the heart of the jungle.

“You know you want to explore that road,” the little voice whispered in my heart, “and you already know you are going to do it today.”

How could I say no to that?

Pedaling slowly, I stayed to the right side of the road hoping to catch portions of spotty shade that occasionally lined the hot asphalt nearest the jungle trees. I rarely listen to my IPOD when exploring, but this time I continued my morning inspiration. A random selection of beautiful music provided background ambience for my latest in-the-moment exploration.

The road continued in a straight line for several miles. As the road approached its final dead end into the jungle wilderness, a small grid of asphalt roads split off in various directions. Being careful to remember my path through the unfolding maze, I methodically explored each and every road. Scattered here and there were a couple of homes that appeared to be occupied, along with several partially completed structures that seemed to be totally abandoned.

Strangely enough, some of these abandoned roads even had sidewalks that were completely overgrown by dense jungle vegetation. It was as if a huge subdivision had once been laid out with ambitious growth plans—only to be completely abandoned in mid-stream.

As I pedaled slowly by one of the few occupied homes, two large dogs left the shade of an SUV and charged in my direction, barking loudly in a threatening manner. While recognizing my defenselessness and imagining the dogs’ large teeth, I smiled and firmly barked my own orders back at them.

“You leave me alone!” I lovingly lectured them. “Go back to your house!”

I do have to admit, that a small burst of fear momentarily sank its hooks deeply into my gut. Taking a quick deep breath, I briefly centered myself while surrendering my fate to the universe.

Maintaining my composure, I remained calm and peaceful as I pedaled forward. Fifteen seconds later, the noisy watchdogs gave up their fierce bullying and retreated back to the shade.

As I traversed my way back toward the main highway, my eyes were attracted to a small cleared trail. With a feeling of intrigue, I eagerly set off on another adventure. This narrow, rough, and bumpy trail rapidly inched its way up to the top of my mental list of  favorite trails. Obvious signs of horse shoe tracks, and occasional horse droppings, convinced me that this was a well-maintained horseback riding trail.

Barely wide enough for a single horse to pass, this trail was lined with lush green vegetation. At times, the medium-height canopy above was so thick that the hot blistering sun was all but blocked out. Sensing the exhaustion in my muscles, and feeling the heat (even in the shade) on my arms and shoulders, I finally succumbed to my “its time to go home” feelings. Had it not been for the lateness of the afternoon, I might likely have continued on even further.

Temazcal Times Two

Soon after arriving home, I performed a quick scan of my email. Eagerly opening up an email from Arturo, I smiled a huge internal grin as I read what he had to say.

His message was brief—merely listing a web site address, asking me to check it out, and to let him know what I think.

The web site was for yet another Temazcal (Mayan sweat lodge) – one that was located in the same general region that I had been exploring all afternoon.

I could not help but be amazed by the synchronicities of my previous two days. For two months, my feelings have guided me to sit back, relax, and do nothing in the area of Mayan spiritual explorations. Now, in a period of two and a half days, I have been independently guided to two separate Temazcal sites—in two totally different areas of the island.

As coincidence would have it, on Sunday I was guided to discover the first Temazcal site on my own, simply following internal hunches while riding through the jungle adjacent to San Gervasio.

The second Temazcal was independently located by my friend Arturo. The only thing Arturo knows is that I am looking for a medicine man. I have not said a word to him about my discovery at Villa Maya. To make things even more interesting, the second Temazcal is very close to the jungle area that I was exploring on Tuesday.

How’s that for a seeming coincidence? Anyone who wants to stay in their left brain could easily argue that both events were simply that—coincidences. However, the joyful peaceful feelings in my heart tell me otherwise.

A little internal bird tells me that I will be participating in both Temazcal ceremonies very soon.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

As I begin my writing today, the bright warm sun is already more than halfway across the partly cloudy skies above the plaza. My morning has already been quite busy as I begin to explore new possibilities and experiences.

As you may recall, ever since my first visit to Cozumel in 2007, I have sensed a strong internal “cosmic tractor beam” guiding me to return to this beautiful island. I cannot seem to shake the memory of my final conversation with my friend Rafael as he fervently spoke those words “Brenda, you have to come back and meet my medicine man.” Even though over twenty months have since come and gone—the emotional memories of that evening remain as clear and vivid as if they actually happened only yesterday.

For the logical mind, it might appear as if my quest were hopeless. After having sent numerous emails to Rafael, he has answered only one—and that was over fourteen months ago. In that single response, Rafael completely ignored my questions about the Medicine Man, and instead just wrote a few superficial words like “It was good to hear from you … Please tell me about your life and how you are doing.”

My time here in Cozumel is already half spent, and as of yet I have made very little overt effort to locate either Rafael or his Medicine Man. Yes, I once stopped briefly at the resort hotel where Rafael used to work, and I did ask my friend Arturo for help and advice—but that is the entire story. At least that is the external story.

Throughout these past twenty months I have maintained a strong internal sense of knowing that “Someday, I will indeed get to know this Medicine Man … but not now … I need to be patient … I need to trust … and I will be guided only when the time is right.”

I continue to meditate often on the issue. Each time I immerse myself in the silence, I continue to peacefully feel the thoughts, “Just be patient … the time is not yet … don’t rush things … just trust, and things will unfold perfectly.’

For over two months now, my ego voices have been screaming, “Brenda, if you are going to find the Medicine Man, you have got to get started now! You have to hurry! You have to take action! You need to be doing something before it is too late! You’ll never find him if you don’t look.”

Each time these ego voices try to get a foothold, I spiritually center myself and return to the peaceful knowing of, “Patience … trust … everything will happen exactly as it needs to … I need do nothing except remain centered  … responding to my inner promptings as they happen.”

In many ways, my current situation reminds me of the patience and trust that peacefully surrounded my life after being laid off in October of 2007 right up until the day I signed the final papers on my home sale less than a year ago. Throughout that entire period of seeming financial uncertainty, I remained calm, peaceful and trusting. What a powerful faith-building experience that was. If you desire to refresh your memory, you can re-read my “Amazing Freedom” post from August 9, 2009. In that post, I discussed the powerful series of spiritual synchronicities that gradually unfolded one peaceful and trusting moment at a time.

My future story with Rafael and the Medicine Man is as yet totally unwritten, but yes, a deep sense of peace and trust continues to fill my very being.

Arturo is a casual friend who works for the property management company that cares for my rental house. From the first day when he picked me up at the airport, I have sensed a bond with him. When things have needed repairing at my home, he comes and fixes them for me, and he has faithfully (well almost) taken me to and from the airport during my two flights home to Utah. Prior to returning home for my mother’s funeral, I felt prompted to ask Arturo if he knew anything about a Mayan Shaman. He didn’t know anything, but told me he would ask a friend who might know.

As Arturo transported me to the airport prior to my second flight home for my son’s wedding, I again breached the subject. In response, he told me “I have a friend who works with a place where they build hot fires and use water to make lots of hot steam—they have ceremonies there—Please remind me when you come back, and I will ask my friend for information.”

From everything Arturo described, it sounded as if his friend worked with some type of Mayan sweat lodge. “This sounds very promising,” I told myself, “This feels like much more than a coincidence.”

I smiled inside when Arturo was not at the airport to pick me up last Wednesday. “This is no coincidence either,” I told myself, “The universe is playing another game with me … I’m supposed to be more patient.”

Salsa or no Salsa

Yesterday was Sunday, usually a lazy day when I like to rest before visiting the plaza for the evening festivities. I have become very attached to my weekly people watching visits, listening to the band in the Gazebo, and letting go of my inhibitions as I often perform my own version of a dance that remotely resembles the Salsa.

As lunch time rolled around, a peaceful little feeling inside told me “Brenda, you’re not going to relax this afternoon … you’re going for another bike ride.”

“OK, I responded, as I packed a few items into my backpack. Still remembering my previous experience of riding in the hot sun on a full stomach, I skipped lunch and munched down a few candy bars and a granola bar for some quick energy. Shortly after 1:00 p.m., at the start of the afternoon heat, I found myself following the silent voices that were calling to me from the east.

“I guess I’m going to explore the area surrounding San Gervasio,” I acknowledged to myself. Mind you, this was not a conscious logical decision—instead, I was responding to a strong internal feeling that was setting up residence in my heart. Thoughts of an exhausting ride out in the hot blistering sun were not exactly at the top of my personal wish list.

An hour later, with the sun bearing down on my sweat drenched body, I pedaled my bicycle into the same parking lot where I first ventured in late June—marking the entrance to the main Mayan ruins on the island of Cozumel.

My feelings were quite clear, “I am here … but I’m not stopping here—I have other places to explore.” Five minutes later, after turning around, I began paying very detailed attention to my inner guidance. Soon I ventured off onto a lonely dirt road. The whole six kilometer ride up from the cross-island highway is riddled with such tiny roads. Every few hundred yards, similar tiny dirt roads split off at right angles to the main road. These small roads appear to be very infrequently traveled, quite narrow, and most look as if they only run for a few hundred yards before disappearing into the jungle.

For some reason, these remote side roads had never before called to me. I remember thinking several times about how easily it would be to get lost in there—but today my feelings were different. As I left San Gervasio  a strong intuition guided me to follow the very first road that split off heading in an easterly direction. Shortly after leaving the safety and familiarity of that main road, I passed by an old open-air bus-like transport vehicle. Painted boldly on the side of the vehicle were advertisements for jungle hiking tours at a place I had never heard of—a place called Villa Maya.

As I pedaled by the half-truck-half-bus transport, I etched a firm mental note in my brain, “Hmmm, I’ll have to check that out sometime very soon.”

While rough and rocky, the dirt road was well marked and quite passable for jeeps and mountain bikes. After about thirty minutes of bumping and bouncing, I was very grateful that my bicycle frame has a few weak shock absorbers—and that my tires are fat, knobby, and heavy. My hind end was also extremely thankful for a softer, bouncier seat cushion.

Recent tire tracks continued to spawn the hope that this increasingly-bumpier road might actually lead somewhere—and a sense of eager anticipation and curiosity filled my soul. “I wonder where this road might go … perhaps it might actually take me to my goal of reaching the north end.” I pondered.

After what must have been four of five kilometers I was surprised to see a small sign that read “Villa Maya, 1.5 Kilometers.”

With the enthusiasm of a small child—completely ignoring the heat and my increasing muscle exhaustion—I picked up my speed and pedaled on. A new goal had taken over my journey. I was now determined to check out “just what is this Villa Maya?”

After ten minutes of additional bouncing, I passed another encouraging sign, “Villa Maya, 1.0 Kilometers.”

As I rode through this remote section of the pristine jungle, I began to take notice that the jungle vegetation was growing greener, thicker, and taller. Some of the beautiful trees rose to over forty or fifty feet in height—considerably taller than what I had seen in previous jungle adventures.

Soon, another twinge of curiosity and anticipation giggled their way through my soul as I came up to an intersection with a sign clearly indicating that Villa Maya was 600 meters up the jeep road to my left. Scanning the jungle around me, I took the time to mentally memorize every detail about my surroundings. My left brain circuits are not totally gone, and I cautiously recognized that even with just a few direction changes, losing my way in such a lush and unfamiliar jungle was a real possibility.

This final third of a mile was unmistakably the most difficult of all. Not only was the trail considerably rougher, but it was rising and falling up and down over small ten-foot rolling hills. My body was crying out for a break, but I continued to push on with the calm realization that “I am almost there.”

As I finally dismounted my bicycle, I found myself standing in front of a large sign displaying general information about Villa Maya. There in front of me was a map detailing the layout of 85 acres of jungle trails, including the location of several remote buildings.

As I read further, I learned that Villa Maya is a privately owned eco-tourist and research foundation. One particular photo on the sign seemed to capture my attention—it showed a round ancient-looking building which I later learned was called a Temazcal. “I want to know more about that building,” I thought to myself.

Noticing a small gate in front of me, just beyond the sign, I deduced that this must be the main entrance. I further assumed that the place where I was currently standing by my bicycle was probably a small parking area, perhaps large enough for a handful of jeeps or similar vehicles. Other than the recent tire tracks that I had seen in the road, there was no visible sign of any current activity. The entire facility appeared to be completely abandoned.

“Since this place is deserted,” I pondered, “I wonder if it would be OK for me to briefly look around.” Soon, I found myself slowly pushing my bicycle through the small open gate. I was secretly hoping to run into someone so I could ask more questions.

Perhaps fifty yards inside, I came across a very well maintained area with a modern fire-pit and concrete picnic tables. Finding a shady spot at one of the picnic tables, I began to envision myself sitting in this exact same location with my handy little laptop perched in front of me. Something about this place felt very familiar and incredibly peaceful. The ambient energy seemed to radiate an ancient spirit, surrounding me with a calm feeling of pure serenity.

For a few brief minutes I strolled around the immediate vicinity. I soon recognized I was on a well-marked nature trail, with signs clearly identifying the trees and shrubs. Surprise flowed through me as I read one simple sign. There directly in front of me was a gum tree—used for making chewing gum. Just learning this simple little fact heightened my curiosity. “I wonder what else I could learn if I had time to hang out here on a more extended basis.”

Alas, I realized that I was on private property and had better not overstay my welcome. Wishing I could remain in these beautiful surroundings all day, I glanced at my watch and realized that I ought to be leaving soon if I were to have any hope of making it to the plaza for the Salsa dancing later that evening.

Late yesterday afternoon, as I finally pushed my trusty bicycle through the private gate of my own home, exhaustion and hunger were occupying the majority of my conscious thoughts. After the obligatory shower and long follow-up nap, I forced myself off my mattress to get some much needed food.

After dinner, my aching muscles seemed to be loudly proclaiming “You’re not going to the plaza tonight. There is NO WAY that you are going to be jumping around doing the Salsa.”

Instead, I found myself browsing the internet. “I wonder if I can find a web site for Villa Maya.” I pondered. After a few false hits of finding various beach resorts called Villa Maya, I finally hit the jackpot. The website was www.villamayacozumel.com. There on my very own computer screen, powered by the magic of technology, was everything I ever wanted to know about Villa Maya.

Just minutes later, I realized that the “Temazcal” that had so intently captured my intention was a type of traditional Mayan sweat lodge—a place where fire and heat, combined with water to make steam, was used to perform Mayan healing rituals. A surge of energy ran up my spine as I connected the dots and imagined the possibilities.

“Did the universe just guide me to my first clue?” I smiled as I asked myself. “Is this why Arturo was not at the airport? Was it because I needed to find this place on my own?” A strong feeling of peace in my heart was confirming to me that the answer to all three questions was a giggly and peaceful “Yes.” I had unexpectedly found this place on my own, simply by trusting and following feelings.

This morning I sensed a strong urge to begin doing a little more footwork. “Now is the time to start taking a few proactive steps.” I told myself.

I don’t know what the universe has in store for me, or when it will happen, but a strong inner pull caused me to sit at my laptop and compose three detailed emails.

My first email was sent to the main contact email address at Villa Maya, expressing my desire to participate in the experience of Temazcal and letting them know of my quest to find a Mayan Medicine Man—asking if they can give me any advice.

My next email was to Rafael. For the first time ever, I actually wrote to him in Spanish rather than English. Still realizing that I might never receive a response, I poured out the details of my heart and intention to Rafael, sincerely requesting that he please respond and help me in locating and/or contacting the Medicine Man.

My final email was to my friend Arturo, reminding him of our previous conversation, again asking for his assistance.

While I have no idea what, if anything, will come of any of this—I do have a firm sense of inner peace that I have followed my promptings perfectly—and that the next step is up to my spiritual guides. I love the excitement of being able to trust so completely, blindly following promptings and not being attached in any way to the final outcomes.

After hitting the “send button” on all three emails, I then responded to another intuitive feeling. A small museum sits prominently on the waterfront here in Cozumel, merely eight blocks from my home. Prior to today, I had never sensed a desire to set foot inside that building.

This morning, after paying my $3 admission, I was filled with fascination as I explored for almost three hours. Among other things, I learned a great deal about the island itself, the Mayan history, and the Spanish conquests in the early 1500’s. But mostly, I learned that I really don’t know much of anything at all. As I left the museum doors early this afternoon, I was overwhelmed by the realization that when it comes to Cozumel and Mayan history, I have barely scratched the surface.

What is for certain is that my heart was touched very deeply by the events of the past two days. I honestly have no clue as to what might happen next—but I am overcome with a sense of child-like wonder as I ponder the possibilities. There is so much joy in the simplicity of not knowing and in the excitement of anticipation.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

Yesterday, as I pondered how to spend my afternoon, I felt an internal pull to see the movie “The Time Traveler’s Wife.” Having seen the trailer several times while in Utah, there was no doubt that something about the movie profoundly intrigued me.

Yes, Cozumel actually has a new theatre complex, with eight modern screens. One might actually believe he or she was in a small stateside theater if not for Spanish speaking employees and signs. Everything in the complex is new, clean, and fully air conditioned.

Sitting in the comfort of my kitchen, I used my tiny laptop to browse to the theatre’s website at www.cinepolis.com.mx. While initially scanning the movie names, I was saddened that none of the movie titles looked like “The Time Traveler’s Wife.” Knowing that some Spanish titles differ greatly from the original, I began clicking on each currently-showing movie.

“Yes” I exclaimed, as I finally clicked on the last movie in the list. The movie was “Te Amaré por Siempre,” which translated literally means “I will love you forever.” As I released the mouse button, a window popped up on my computer screen, displaying an English movie poster with the words “The Time Traveler’s Wife.”

A few hours later, as the girl behind the counter handed me a ticket, she quickly rattled off a couple of sentences in Spanish. My silent reaction was “huh?”—but I actually ‘kind-of-sort-of’ understood the general message—just not the individual words. She was showing me a two-for-one coupon for salads at some restaurant and telling me that my movie was in theatre five. Deciphering spoken Spanish is still my most difficult language hurdle.

Eagerly waiting for the movie to begin, I was not quite sure what to expect. “Will this movie be fully dubbed with Spanish voices? … Or will it be in English with Spanish subtitles?” While prepared for either, I was eagerly hoping for subtitles.

Finally, after a series of Spanish language commercials and promotions, the moment of truth arrived when the opening credits finished scrolling by.

“Yes,” I rejoiced, “they are speaking English.”

I have found that reading subtitles is a great way to practice vocabulary, grammar, and verb conjugations. I will occasionally spend a lazy evening sprawled out on the sofa in front of my television watching a variety of American shows with Spanish subtitles. Surprisingly, I get so involved trying to read the Spanish subtitles that I am not even paying attention to the spoken dialog. What a great way to pick up a few additional Spanish skills after a long tiring day.

The metaphysical twist to the movie intrigued me from the very beginning. If you have seen the preview, you know that the main character has a condition that causes him to travel back and forth in time. With no ability to control his travel, he usually jumps to different eras at the most inopportune of times. In his travels, the main character meets and befriends a young girl in the past, who eventually becomes his wife in the present. While living in the present, his past and future selves often enter the scene, causing some quite unexpected twists as the story unfolds.

Joyful tears streamed down my cheeks as the closing credits began their final parade across the screen. What an incredible exploration into life and unconditional love! And then there is the metaphysical twist of how our future literally changes the past, while at the same time the past influences the future—yet all we really have is the wonderful and magical present moment.

I won’t ruin the movie for you, but I will highly recommend that you see it.

Julie and Julia

Another movie that I just loved was Julie and Julia. I had the pleasure of viewing it with my friend Michelle on the day before my son’s wedding. What a beautiful exploration into having the courage and conviction to follow your own heart and dreams—in spite of what other naysayers around you might be saying or thinking. Understandably, I was particularly inspired by Julie’s genuine experiences in blogging her journey.

Like Julie, sometimes I wonder if anyone out there is reading my words. Yet, my passion to write is so strong that I would be typing page after page on my laptop regardless. I do want to add that I love hearing feedback from others regarding how my words have influenced or inspired them.

During my struggling years, movies used to be an escape from reality—a place where I could forget my real-life struggles.

Now, as I progress down my beautiful journey of self-discovery, I go to movies for an entirely different reason. Movies help remind me of the metaphysical nature of our reality, reinforcing that I am the creator of what I see and perceive—not just in the movies, but also in everyday life.

While in a theatre, I love to explore my internal reactions to every situation—whether it be violence, comedy, horror, romance, tragedy, love, crime, adventure, travel, or whatever. Yes, movies are a kind of playground where I can practice modifying my filtered lenses—altering my attachments and perceptions—shifting them from fear into love.

Independence Day

During my childhood, one of my four favorite holidays was always the Fourth of July. This year, with living in Cozumel, combined with traveling home to be with my mother, my only Independence Day excitement occurred at 30,000 feet, looking out into the darkness through airplane windows, as I witnessed a spectacular display of flashing lightning. Or was it my only celebration?

This week, I have noticed several vendors in the local markets, beginning to sell large quantities of Mexican flags and other red, green, and white patriotic memorabilia. Last night I inquired of a new American friend, “What’s up with the flags?”

I was soon filled in on a few basic details regarding the upcoming Mexican Independence Day celebrations that begin on the evening of September 15 and continue through September 16. From what I was told, the locals love this holiday, and exude a powerful display of excitement and patriotism.

I apologize in advance, because my information is second-hand and likely misquoted, but what was told to me is this. On the evening of September 15, the townspeople gather for festivities at a large open square adjacent to the “Palacio”, the government buildings in town. Late that night, the Mayor of Cozumel will shout out the traditional chant, “Viva Mexico,” which was a famous rallying cry on the eve of the Mexican battle for independence. Then the city will be treated to fireworks, followed by all night partying (horns honking, dogs barking, private fireworks, etc…) throughout the streets.

I am intrigued at the thought of this new cultural experience. How exciting it is to open my eyes to “how little I really know” regarding the larger world around me. My entire world view has been shaped by my large and thick “red, white, and blue” filters.

How refreshing it is to recognize the patriotism and genuine love in others, no matter what their nationality. My heart swells with additional love as I practice seeing into the hearts of others, beginning to understand life through their “red, green, and white” filters.

The Trap of Routines

As I ponder my eating habits, I realize that I am beginning to be a routine-robot with my food. In my first few weeks living in Cozumel, I passionately explored different restaurants and markets with an air of wonder. As I stepped into unfamiliar ground, testing unknown foods, each new experience was significant and “in-the-moment.”

Lately, I find myself falling into predictable food ruts, with most of the sense of wonder being long gone. Yes, I seem to have resumed merely eating out of necessity.

For breakfast—if I even eat in the mornings—I eat a simple pastry or cold cereal.

A late lunch, at an inexpensive restaurant, seems to have turned into my main daily meal. Out of convenience, I often find myself stopping at one of several familiar places—with my most common stop being the sports bar operated by my English speaking friends Agi and Roger. While I continue to consume a variety of new dishes (the specials of the day), I seem to have ceased my intentional explorations into new foods.

For dinner, I usually prepare something simple at home—macaroni and cheese, peanut butter sandwich, scrambled eggs, pancakes, spaghetti, leftovers, fruit, or even yummy frozen Ego Waffles that I found at the Mega Store.

As I write about my eating, I am feeling almost embarrassed. “Where did all of my food excitement go? …  Why am I in this rut? … What happened to my passion for new eating experiences?”

The answers to these questions are complicated, involving a variety of factors such as cost, convenience, familiarity, and even laziness. While I still need to contain cost and eat conveniently, I am making a publicly written commitment to mix up my eating a little more. Yes, I will add a little more variety to my daily habits.

Life Lessons From a Lizard

As I ramble on, systematically beating myself up over this topic, I am struck with the awareness that maybe I am approaching my self-reflection all wrong. In reality, “living in the moment” does not require that I do new things every day. Instead, I need to approach every situation, even routine every-day events, with a feeling of presence and awareness. The routines in and of themselves are not bad—it is the mindlessness with which I perform them that keeps me stuck.

My lizard friend just waddled back out onto the plaza. Weeks have passed since I last observed him. As he contently zigzags back and forth, checking out every little potential treat on the concrete squares, my wise friend seems to be reminding me to follow his example.

As he wanders in search of his own food, he is performing the same routine, eating the same food that he eats every day. As he engages in his activities, he is indeed centered in the moment, fully aware of everything around him. He doesn’t whine and beat himself up regarding a lack of variety in his diet—he is just being who and what he is.

“Can I practice performing routine tasks from this same state of complete mindful awareness—just like my lizard friend?”

My answer is an enthusiastic “Yes.”

No Comprendo

Sometimes I get impatient with myself, thinking “I should have learned more Spanish by now … I should understand native speakers more easily … my Spanish conversational skills should not be so weak.”

Perhaps I should stop “should-ing on myself” quite so much.

Subtracting the twenty-five days that I have spent on my two side-trips back to Utah, I realize that I have actually only been in Cozumel for less than seven weeks. Considering all factors, including how much time I spend in writing and other activities, I believe that I am doing remarkably well with my language progress.

While still being weak in some vocabulary, I have already mastered the basics of regular verb conjugations in all fourteen tenses. In addition, I have learned the concepts of present and past participles, and have a great grasp on the command forms of most verbs.

My almost-daily studies have also led me to memorize many of the irregular verb conjugations, with my memorization efforts being continuously ongoing. Yes, my vocabulary increases on a daily basis, and I am consistently improving in my grammar skills.

In the midst of all my blog-writing and little mini-adventures, I make a very conscious effort to devote a considerable quantity of time to language study. My internal voices make it very clear to me that being fluent in the Spanish language is an important part of my yet-unknown future.

Lately, my studies have found me mostly devouring my verb-conjugation book—but I also take advantage of every opportunity—such as conversations with Miguel, television shows with subtitles, reading everything I see, and day-to-day interactions with strangers.

Yes, in my early days in Cozumel, the phrase “No comprendo” (I don’t understand) was indeed a very frequent experience. I am proud to say, that although progress may be only gradual, I am indeed working hard and continuously growing in my language competence on a consistent daily basis.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

As I sit to write on this beautiful summer morning, my attention is captured by two ferries that are beginning their twelve mile sprint across the Caribbean waters that separate Cozumel and Playa Del Carmen. As I ponder the question “Why are there two of them?” a cool breeze gives a moment of welcome relief to my already hot and sweaty back. Clusters of white puffy clouds gradually change shapes as they gently drift by against the backdrop of the sunny blue sky. A short distance away, a small bird carefully and methodically scours the ground investigating every potentially tasty morsel with its long sharp bill.

How wonderful it feels to be back in the plaza, beginning another day of writing. After having been away for just a week—a week that feels like months—I am overflowing with an undeniable internal urge to resume my passion.

The wheels of my plane touched down on the hot tarmac shortly before 3:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon. My suitcase was among the first to be deposited on the inside baggage carousel, and I breezed through customs, only to discover, “No Arturo.” My friend and transportation back to my home was nowhere to be found—and I had no way to contact him.

With my plane already on the ground for over 45 minutes, I resolved to take matters into my own hands. Having ridden my bicycle past the airport a few times, I am quite familiar with the route. Doing some quick math in my head, I calculated “I could easily walk the distance in around forty minutes.” With hardly a pause, I strapped my two suitcases together and set out into the hot sun, eager for a little much-needed exercise.

The first five blocks went quite smoothly, until I realized that my suitcases were becoming increasingly more difficult to pull. A quick investigation revealed that the wheel mechanism on my larger forty-five pound suitcase was deteriorating rapidly as I drug my luggage over the hot streets and sidewalks.

Choosing to hail a cab, I was soon handing thirty pesos (about $2.40) to the driver as he unloaded my heavy bags onto the sidewalk in front of my home. After climbing the stairs and unlocking my front door, I was quite surprised by the stale, musty smell. Only minutes later, every window in my apartment was open, and my ceiling fans were cranked up on high. The musty stale air was soon a thing of the past.

As I began to unpack, my need for rest soon trumped all other desires. After being up since 2:30 a.m. Cozumel time, my bed was loudly beckoning me for a short nap. Minutes turned into hours before I finally forced my tired bones out of bed long enough to munch down a nutritious meal of three mini chocolate bars topped off with several spoonfuls of peanut butter. I washed down my satisfying ‘meal’ with two large glasses of ice water.

Miguel the Persistent

With a few weeks having passed since I have talked about local life here in Cozumel, I was about to begin today’s writing by discussing Miguel.

Minutes ago, shortly after I began writing, Miguel silently tiptoed up behind me here in the gazebo. I jumped as Miguel let out a soft snorting noise while playfully tapping me on the right shoulder.

Usually, Miguel takes a bus all the way to his work (which begins at 11:00 a.m.), but after discovering that I am often here in the plaza during the morning hours, Miguel has begun to alter his daily routine. Several times during the past few weeks, he just ‘happened’ to be strolling through the plaza around 10:30 a.m., giving him just enough time to visit for ten minutes before walking the rest of the way to his job.

Confusion would be a great starting term to describe my relationship with Miguel. Our conversations always leave me confused as to what his intentions might be. Romance and intimacy are the furthest things away on my radar scope, yet every time we talk, Miguel makes a point of telling me how much he likes me—even loves me.

My feelings continue to tell me there is a hidden purpose to my friendship with this sweet 75-year-old gentleman, but I have yet to discover what that unknown purpose might be. I continue to be unconditionally loving and friendly with him, but at the same time I am practicing the delicate art of laying down firm but loving boundaries—in a foreign language no less.

I could have a blast being friends with Miguel if I actually trusted that our friendship was his only intention. But the language and cultural barriers always keep me guessing. Yes, my Spanish is greatly improved, but I still do not understand all of the subtle cultural meanings of various words, even seemingly simple words. A case in point would be “What does it mean when you say that you ‘like’ someone?”

Miguel is constantly telling me how much he likes me. Not being sure what “like” actually means in this culture, I reply with qualifications such as “I like you as a friend,” and “I like you as a person.”

He replies something like “I like you very, very much … I like you as a person … I like you as a friend … and I like you as a Woman.”

Not knowing what he means by “I like you as a Woman,” I reply “I like you as a friend, but I do not like you as a Man.”

“But I am a Man,” he protests.

“But I don’t like you that way,” I try to respond, reinforcing with a firm “We agreed that we are just friends, right?”

While he verbally acknowledges that “Yes, we are just friends,” he keeps dropping major hints that he would like to be more. “I love you very, very much,” he often tells me. I can tell by the sweet sincere tone of his voice, and the genuine attentive look in his eyes, that he really means it, and wishes I would reciprocate.

With every such conversation, I try to emphasize that I love him too, but I love him the same as I love everyone else, not in a special ‘man-woman’ way. “Solo amigos (just friends)” is a phrase that I constantly feel obligated to repeat throughout our sometimes awkward conversations.

In the midst of these hints, Miguel repeatedly begs me to do things. Two weeks ago he asked me over and over to let him know when he could bring food to my house to cook me dinner. On other occasions, when I mentioned that I was tired, he pressured me to come over to his house to rest. “I will just go about my activities while you rest and listen to music,” he reassured me.

“No.” I repeatedly answered to each of these requests.

“Why not?” he persistently begged.

“I don’t know how to say the words.” I replied.

“Just try to say it,” he insisted.

Searching my limited vocabulary for appropriate words, I began with what I think was, “I worry that your heart will be injured … I worry that you want more from me than I can give to you, and I don’t want to hurt you … I worry that you want to be more than friends and I can only be a friend.”

“I am a grown man,” he tells me. “You cannot hurt me. I know that we are just friends.”

Still, my heart and intuition tell me otherwise. I would love to let him cook me dinner, but I just don’t trust his intentions—and I don’t want to lead him on. If I believed he was capable of being “just friends,” I would say yes in a heartbeat—but I fear that such a dinner would just feed into the confusion even more.

Frequently, we sit and converse while I constantly look things up in my trusty dictionary. Miguel helps me with my Spanish and I teach him a few phrases in English. A few days before my recent flight home, he asked me to look up the word “convivir.” As I discovered that the verb means “to live together,” he proceeded to innocently talk about how some people share the same household space. I could not quite decipher his intentions as I was left to naively fill in the blanks. “Why did he want me to learn this particular verb?” I silently pondered as I walked away. I simply pushed the thought out of my mind.

Still, amidst all of the confusion, I do enjoy our friendship. Our frequent encounters keep me anchored in the moment, wondering what will happen next, forcing me to learn how to lovingly express my inner feelings in ways I might otherwise have not explored. Even though I find myself at times avoiding Miguel, I eagerly approach each encounter to see just what will happen next.

Sharing My ‘Story’

Complete honesty is my motto—but I used to fudge in one major area. ‘Terrified’ would be an understatement regarding how I used to feel when I contemplated sharing my transgender status with anyone.

In past years I had two kinds of friends. Most of my friends were merely casual acquaintances. With these “type one” friends, I kept my walls up, being very careful to keep my past secrets safe and secure. The other type of friends included those with whom I had shared my complete heart and soul. I deeply cherished these “type two” friends because I could be my real genuine self in every way.

Fear of rejection was foremost on my mind, followed closely with fear that my new friend might feel as if they had been deceived and lied to. I kept my casual friends at arms distance, skillfully deflecting queries about my former spouse, my children, or my childhood. When questions began to get personal, I casually diverted the conversation to someone or something else. On the one hand, I longed to share more openly, but I agonized over the fear of what might occur if I were to reveal my seeming-dark secrets.

With my healing path has come incredible freedom and openness. For several years now, I have followed a new rule. While I don’t go around with a big red “T” on my forehead, I also don’t walk the streets with a sack over my head. Instead, I trust my instincts, my heart, and my internal voices. If a conversation begins to flow, even with a total stranger, I flow with it. I don’t always mention my writings, or personal topics, but I often do venture into that realm. When I talk about myself, there is a huge chance someone will inquire deeper, asking questions that, if answered, may lead to the sharing of my story.

The “rule” I made for myself is that I will never deflect an obvious direct and genuine question. While I may not always fill in all of the details, I will always answer truthfully.

The result of following this rule has been more than fabulous. My personal confidence has skyrocketed as my deep genuine friendships have gradually expanded in numbers. In fact, I cannot recall a single incident where following my heart and sharing my story resulted in any type of negative reaction. Gratitude swells in my heart as I reflect on the amazing friends that bless my life—and all I had to do was to be my loving genuine self and follow my inner promptings.

As I have begun to develop budding casual friendships with some American women here in Cozumel, I have found myself facing an old dilemma. “What will these women think of me? Will I end up sharing my story? What will their reaction be? Will they accept me … or will I be ostracized from the island?”

Up until twelve days ago, this was not an issue. I did not talk much about myself, and no one asked questions either. I simply enjoyed casual conversation over weekly breakfasts or fun silly discussions as we played games during the Friday night game nights.

For weeks now, there are a few women with whom I contemplated sharing my story. But so far, my heart had not provided the direct “knowing” that now was the time.

A few days before I flew home for my son’s wedding, I briefly held my breath when a new email brought me to the reality that I had two choices: Ignore my rule, or once again take a risk by stepping into the unknown.

I received a “Facebook friend request” from one of my new American friends here in Cozumel. For those of you not yet familiar with Facebook, it is an online social website where people connect and share information about daily life events or feelings. When I post a comment, all of my online friends can see what I have written, and may optionally respond. It is a very fun, simple, and less-time-consuming way to keep up with a large number of friends.

I seriously pondered the realization, “If I accept this woman’s friend request, I will need to share my story with her.”

This statement was quite obvious. Anyone who follows me on Facebook will soon learn about my blog, as I often mention my blog in my Facebook status updates. Another unavoidable fact is that I openly discuss my transgendered past in some blog entries. Yes, I am keenly aware that a Facebook friendship with someone implies that my past is now an open book.

For a while, I cowered in the safety of simply ignoring the new “friend request.” Two days later, after pondering the potential ramifications, I made a decision based solely on internal promptings. Sitting down at my laptop, I composed an email to my new friend in which I briefly summarized my life story. Knowing full well that rejection was a real possibility, I paused briefly while my cursor was still positioned above the “send” button.

Just seconds later, after taking a few deep breaths, a calm and peaceful feeling quietly settled into my being. As I pushed the button, I knew there was no going back, but I also knew in my heart that “all is well.”

Early the next morning I gleefully discovered that I have a new “type two” friend—the kind where I can be my real and genuine self. How I love following my internal voices.

As I write, the thought dances into my mind. “What will I say to Miguel if he begins to ask me more detailed personal questions?” I have no idea when or if this will happen—but I am at peace, knowing that I will be guided by my internal voices at the appropriate time.

An ego part of me wants to remain anonymous as I participate in my bicycle journeys of self discovery. Sharing what is now “simply a story” always has the potential to complicate things—but I cannot develop deeper relationships by remaining silent. Yes, not sharing cements me into unrewarding, superficial, and ultimately unsatisfying relationships.

Each time I get out of my heart and into my head over this issue, my meditations bring me back to the awareness that “I honestly don’t know what any of this is for.” I know that my spiritual guides know the bigger picture and I trust that my inner voices will guide me through each and every situation. How could I possibly know the outcome all by my lonesome?

When I am spiritually centered, I feel no need to stress over or control the situation or the outcome—my only function is to be tuned in to the inner frequencies that allow me to respond with love, surrender, and trust. When I am connected to my inner guides, I know that I will have the courage to do whatever they ask of me. When I am connected to my spiritual source, I have the peaceful conviction that the journey ahead will be incredibly beautiful. Not knowing “what any of this is for” simply adds to the wonder and excitement.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

The fleeting nature of time never ceases to amaze me. On the one hand, I feel as if I have lived in Cozumel for an entire lifetime; on the other, it seems as if I was barely there for an instant. Practicing “living in the moment” has a way of playing magical mind games—creating a sensation of having been through a series of time warps.

I find it quite difficult to believe that only three and a half weeks have passed since I returned to Cozumel following an exhausting and emotional seventeen day journey to Utah—a difficult but spiritually rewarding expedition in which I ended up saying my earthly goodbyes to both of the dear mother figures in my life. That unexpected side-trip with two funerals turned out to be a rigorous mountain bike excursion over rough and rocky terrain into new uncharted territory.

Tonight, I am once again back in Utah as my youngest son and his beautiful bride-to-be are anxiously counting down the final hours before the official beginning of their new life together. Tomorrow morning they will kneel facing each other over a sacred alter in a Mormon temple as they joyously unite their lives together in holy matrimony.  

My first two days back in Utah have so far resembled a casual bicycle ride on smoothly paved streets. But I am well aware that tomorrow’s path has the potential to be considerably more challenging.

Gratitude fills my heart for my incredible children. They amaze me with their character and integrity; I am thrilled to observe how they live and honor their religious and spiritual beliefs. Each has chosen to get married in a Mormon temple, in a sacred ceremony where their marriage is performed not just for this lifetime, but for all of eternity. Temple marriage in a sacred tenet of Mormon beliefs, and qualifying to marry in the temple is not an easy accomplishment. Yes, I am very proud of them.

My spiritual life path has guided me in a very different direction—on a path that is neither understood nor supported by the church. The hard truth is that I am not considered worthy to attend the actual wedding ceremonies of my own children. I am no longer a member of the Mormon faith, and am not allowed to pass through those temple doors.

The awkwardness of this difficult truth has left me vulnerable to some extremely difficult emotions over the years as I have watched (or should I say not watched) my oldest five children get married. With each wedding, I passed through varying levels of deep emotions such as feelings of victimization, resentment, sadness, grief, anger, hurt, guilt, fear, and myriad other painful sentiments. Each difficult experience, however, also eventually resulted in tremendous healing and growth—greatly blessing my life as I learned to shift my perceptions.

While writing tonight about these experiences, a vivid image floods my mind. I picture an open and desolate field that was once scattered with thousands of hidden land mines. Seven years ago, when my life seemed to be collapsing all around me, I was very needy; I desperately craved love and validation from others. My emotional landscape literally resembled this volatile field of land mines. My own capacity for self love was so fragile that the smallest of external triggers could cause my life to seemingly explode around me. One small misstep and a sensitive feeling would be shattered, or a hopeful expectation would be devastated. On a daily basis, I was constantly picking up the pieces and attempting to heal and stabilize my life.

Over time, as I have progressed along my joyful healing path, most of those land mines have long since exploded, being subsequently healed and replaced with love. Through therapy and spiritual growth, most other unexploded land mines were safely uncovered and defused. Today, my emotional field actually feels quite clear, safe, and stable. The few land mines that still remain are very well hidden, existing only on less traveled paths, in unexpected places.

Tomorrow, as I sit out yet another wedding, my heart is indeed overflowing with love and gratitude. While feeling spiritually and emotionally prepared to face the day, I fully expect to pass through each experience with grace and dignity, joyfully participating in the day’s events in every way possible.

But I cannot fool myself either. I am fully aware that early tomorrow morning I will be mounting my bicycle and eagerly riding through the same large open mine field that once concealed thousands of land mines. As I venture through rarely traveled sections of the field, there is a very real possibility that I will stumble across another of these well-hidden and unexploded booby traps.

One thing I do believe, however, is that I am prepared to deal with whatever emotions may arise. I have the tools to heal, and know that no matter what comes up, I will respond through a perspective of unconditional love.

Yes, it is indeed quite likely that deeply buried feelings may begin to surface. If they do, I will shine the light of love on each of them. I will remind myself that each feeling is merely the result of my own perceptions, beliefs, and expectations. If I remain spiritually centered, Saturday will be a beautiful and peaceful day.

The Big Day

Saturday afternoon is now rapidly disappearing. As I attempt to squeeze in a little more writing time, the hours continue to race by.

I finally made it to bed early this morning, shortly after 1:00 a.m.—I simply couldn’t seem to put my laptop down last night; the urge to write was just too powerful. After less than six hours of restless zzzzz’s, I was stirring again, busily preparing for today’s big activities. By the time I pulled my Camry into the temple parking lot at 9:20 a.m., my insides were filled with an over-active gathering of anxious butterflies.

As I commonly do, I had arrived ten minutes early. Looking around the parking lot, all I could see were strange unfamiliar faces of men and women, dressed in their Sunday best, headed for the temple doors.

The last time I remember being this close to a Mormon temple was over twenty-two years ago—and today was the first time I had ever been on the grounds of this particular temple. Feeling quite strange as I exited my car, I began walking toward the entrance. Memories of the past, from so very long ago, flooded through the corners of my mind—memories of my own temple wedding almost 33 years ago—memories of how I had fought so valiantly to suppress and control my gender struggles—memories of the incredible guilt that haunted me during those difficult years—memories of how I had reached a point of no longer wanting to live if I had to continue pretending to be something that I was not.

When he invited me, my son told me that everyone was meeting at the temple around 9:30 a.m., and that I could come to help babysit the grandkids while the adults were inside participating in the ceremony. Feeling thrilled to even be involved at this level, I jumped at the opportunity. As I pondered my joy at being included, I could still remember the past emotional stings of not being given such an opportunity during previous weddings. Vivid memories still linger, memories of somberly sitting with a few friends at work, trying not to burst into tears as I painfully watched the minutes slowly tick away—knowing that at that very moment, one of my children was in the process of getting married—knowing I was not there—desperately wishing I could be.

Yes, I was thrilled to have been invited to be so near—to be so intimately included in today’s events. As I write about these feelings, however, I realize that I would be deceiving myself if I pretended that all past pain was fully healed. The intensity of my feelings tells me that I still have a little additional perception-shifting to work through. But that is exactly why I am writing—to bring these lingering little land mines into the light of truth.

As I neared the entrance area, the butterflies in my stomach fluttered even more wildly. “I wonder if my family is even here yet.” I pondered. “They’re probably still stuck in that slow traffic at the south end of the valley.” Then I wondered, “Do they really want me here?”

As 9:30 came and went, I began to slip deeper into a feeling of panic. “What if I can’t even find them? … What if I stand around here by myself for the next hour?” Even with my emotional preparedness, my self-doubts silently began to creep in. Yes, I momentarily tripped over the trigger of a small land mine.

I felt my cell phone buzz. Eager for a distraction, I reached to investigate. My dear friend Lori sent me a beautiful text wishing me a wonderful day with my family. I texted her back, letting her know that I was beginning to feel anxious. Seconds later, her beautiful reply arrived, “You will be just fine! Take a deep breath … and the reflection of who you are will be your companion today! I love you!”

Following her wise advice, I stopped and took a few deep breaths. After briefly meditating and immersing myself into a feeling of gratitude, I picked up my cell phone and called two of my sons. Both were still on their way, just a few minutes away. Calm and peace began to settle back into my soul.

Minutes later, I was standing in the waiting area just inside the temple entrance, joyfully visiting with several of my children and grandchildren. A sense of comfort and peace was now becoming deeply rooted within.

As all of the adults disappeared into the temple, I spent thirty special minutes with three of my precious granddaughters. I couldn’t have been happier and more content. Yes, I still wondered about the “goings on” inside the temple walls—but I was having a blast—and was overflowing with peace.

Almost as quickly as they had disappeared, my children began to emerge back into the waiting area. My dear son was now married, and it was time to record the event with photos.

The wedding party, including family and friends, found their way out into the beautiful landscaped surroundings of the temple. The colorful flowers, shrubs, and trees were alive with the moist energy of a recent storm. An earlier downpour had only recently ended its fury, and the skies were gradually shifting from gray to clear blue.

Deep gratitude permeated my being as I watched my beautiful family amidst the hustle and bustle of the photographer who was actively performing her duties. The youthful energy of my grandchildren eagerly playing in the background brought new life to my soul.

As larger family group shots were posed, I again began to doubt. “Should I stay in the background?” I asked myself. I was thrilled when the photographer told me, “Brenda, you go stand up over there …”

The remainder of the afternoon flew by quickly. Before disbanding for the afternoon, we met at a local church building for a small family luncheon. While waiting for the dinner to begin, I took advantage of the chance to play with several grandchildren. To my delight, I was thrilled to have my first opportunity to hold my tiny three-week-old granddaughter. What a wonderful afternoon, and the day’s events have yet to be completed.

An Abundance of Gratitude

My son’s magical wedding day is now complete. The reception was a beautiful experience. I could not have imagined a more wonderful ending to a fabulous day.

Yes, I did momentarily stumble early this morning as I began to slip into past thinking patterns and old emotional pain—but I put myself back on track by re-centering myself into a loving mind set.

Michelle, a dear friend and self-adopted sister, went with me tonight to the reception. I was intensely proud of my children as I watched them lovingly interact with each other, with their children, with Michelle, and with me. In every possible way, my children truly reflected back the love that I feel for them. Moments like tonight cause my heart to swell with an overwhelming abundance of gratitude.

In spite of the challenges that we have all faced—and even with the awkwardness of religious separation—tonight my children set a powerful example into the true meaning of unconditional love.

To each of my children, if you are reading this, I want to tell you how proud I am of the example that you set for everyone around you. I love you with all of my heart, and could never find the words to properly express the deep gratitude I feel for your beautiful presence in my life. Thank you.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

Skipping breakfast has become a habit lately, especially when I am scurrying down toward the plaza to write. My passion to write is so powerful that often nothing else seems to matter. This morning, as I strolled down 4^th street, the image of a quaint little bakery popped into my relaxed mind. Situated on the corner of 4^th Street and 5^th Avenue, this delightful little store was right on my way.

As I left the bakery with my prize, a delicious cinnamon roll, I pondered “Why haven’t I done this sooner?” It only cost 7 pesos (about 55 cents), and I just knew it would be a perfect way to take the bite off my slight hunger.

Now, a few minutes later, I find myself sitting on a bench under the shade of the gazebo, with my bare feet in front of me, a cool breeze dancing through the leaves of the nearby trees, and an ocean vista that is ever so tantalizing. What a beautiful place to munch down on my breakfast treat as I begin another magical day of writing.

Over the last couple of years, dreams have begun to play an ever increasing role in my spiritual path. The majority of my dreams continue to elude me, disappearing in the moments right before I open my eyes. Frequently I wake up realizing, “Wow, I know I was totally engulfed in a vivid dream … I sure wish I could remember even the slightest detail of what it was about!”

Every so often, a powerful unforgettable dream works its way into my waking consciousness—such as my “bicycle dream” in early April, or my “Losing my Identity” dream from last fall. Such dreams are so vivid that they even surprise me. When I wake up from a dream like these, the memories are clear, detailed, and powerful.

For the better part of this past year, I have made a concerted effort to hang onto my dreams, to write them down if I can, and to try to decipher their personal meaning. Occasionally, I wake up and write one down in which the events are so crazy that I cannot see how there could possibly be a sensible meaning. Such was the case last Thursday morning.

I was in a bowling alley with a former friend—a friend with whom I spent considerable time prior to about ten years ago. Not wanting to spend much time in picking out the perfect “bowling ball”, I simply grabbed one of the first ones off the rack. This ball did not fit my grip well, but I was not concerned. Rather than having the normal three holes for my thumb and two fingers, this one had holes all over it. Every time I picked it up, I had to keep fumbling around until I found a combination of three holes that fit my hand.

As I walked up to the lane to throw my first ball, I took careful aim around all of the obstacles in the lane. These obstacles partially blocked my view, but strangely enough, they seemed quite ordinary to me. After releasing the ball, I leaned to the right so I could get a clear view of the ten pins at the end of the lane. I had made a weak throw, but my aim was spot on. One by one the pins toppled over, with the last one barely falling as another spinning pin just clipped it with enough force to knock it off balance. “I got a strike!” Jumping for joy, I turned around to celebrate with my friend.

Then I realized that she was not there, nowhere to be found. I abandoned my game, went outside and noticed her up on the roof, crying. I started to ask her “What is wrong? What can I do to help?” Before she had time to answer, a married couple came out of the bowling alley, calling to me “Brenda, it is your turn, get back in here.”

In my dream state this seemed perfectly normal. I guess I was really bowling with this couple, not my former friend.

Grabbing my bowling ball, I again fumbled around for a minute to figure out which three holes would best fit my thumb and fingers. As I walked up to the lane, I realized that something was different. This lane was shorter and had so many obstacles in it that I could just barely see the head pin.

By now, the realization sank in that we had shifted to a new lane, and I asked the couple “What happened to our other lane?”

“When you were outside, the owner switched us to this new lane.” The woman began. “He didn’t give a reason, but seemed to think we wouldn’t mind.”

A sense of anger and self-righteousness rose up inside of me. “This is not right!” I exclaimed. “We cannot bowl on this lane, we have to find the owner and demand that he put us back on the other lane.”

Immediately, the three of us set off in different directions to find the owner, to complain and to demand that he give us our “good lane” back.

I first went to the front counter, looking for the owner. Instead, four burley men were standing there. When I asked where I could find their boss, one of the men told me “I will have the owner call you on your cell phone.” It didn’t even seem strange that I had never given anyone my cell phone number.

For some reason, I didn’t ask these men to resolve my problem, instead I insisted on seeing the owner. The next thing I know, I was outside in the yard, looking everywhere for him. I walked into a large mansion, realizing it belonged to the owner. I passed through long wide hallways with many adjacent rooms and elaborate doors. After passing through several such hallways, I suddenly realized that I was trespassing.

Hearing someone in the next room, I turned around in a panic and began to retrace my steps. “I better get out of here.” I thought to myself. “I could get in real trouble.”

As I began debating what to do, I suddenly woke up.

“Wow, that was a really crazy dream.” I thought to myself. “I’ll never make sense of this one.”

It almost didn’t seem worth the bother to get up to write down the details, but something inside reminded me, “You know that you’ll never get better at remembering your dreams if you don’t take the time to get up and write about them!”

Ten minutes later, I rested my head back on my pillow. “We were talking about a Cozumel bowling league at breakfast yesterday.” I reminded myself. “Maybe this was just a silly dream triggered by thinking about bowling. I’ll never figure this one out.” Soon I was back asleep, not giving the dream a second thought—until last night that is.

Seeds of Understanding

After going to bed last night, while I lay pondering on my pillow, I was again filled with gratitude, feeling a special closeness to my soul—to everyone and everything around me. As the energetic aliveness flowed through my awareness, I began to reflect back on my strange bowling dream. Suddenly, the ideas began to flow.

Sometimes in life, we are oblivious to the internal obstacles that block our true vision. We continue to ‘bowl’ around these obstacles, becoming very accustomed to them; we see them as quite normal, or we don’t even see them at all. Often, we are capable of ‘bowling strikes’ in spite of what may be blocking our ability to see more clearly. We just accept that our filtered vision is “all there is” and we don’t take the time to search our souls—to awaken to our true vision. Yes, we are quite comfortable where we are at.

When someone moves us to a lane with more obstacles, our awareness suddenly wakes up with “Hey … this is not right … I need to do something to fix it.” We are forced out of our comfort zone and it is clearly obvious that our vision is now blocked—even though it has been blocked all along. We might envision that the solution we seek is to simply return to the comfort of what we knew before. We may realize that indeed there were obstacles on our previous lane, but those obstacles were manageable—they were known and familiar.

Then we go searching for something external to fix. In the midst of running around to fix “someone else,” we get stuck in their private space—space in which we don’t belong—getting us into even more trouble. In my dream, I ended up running through the manager’s mansion so that I could demand that he make external changes on my behalf. It was only after being there for a while that I even realized I was trespassing.

Rather than getting into others’ business, searching for external fixes and pointing the blame at things beyond our control, we instead need to place our focus inward—we need to fix our own obstacles—the ones that keep us from seeing clearly through unfiltered lenses. Our solution comes only from within.

Digging Deeper

After exploring these thoughts, I placed my notebook back on the nightstand, believing I had taken this analogy as far as it needed to go. Amazement settled in as I recognized how clearly the insights had flowed into my awareness—and at how much sense those words actually made.

But I was stuck in a spiritual trap. I was still not applying these insights to myself. My own internal obstacles were causing me to project these lessons as being needed by others. I had not yet realized they were aimed at me.

As I again “pillow-pondered”, the wonderings began to bubble. “Was this dream more personal? Was it trying to tell me something about my own obstacles? I wonder what obstacles are in my lane, right here, right now … what is the universe trying to communicate to me?

Humility flowed through my veins when I realized the dream was not for others at all—it was indeed for my benefit.

I love the lane I am on. I am having a blast as I practice skillfully rolling my ball down this lane—and yes, I am actually hitting a fair number of strikes.

But I’m so focused on knocking over the pins at the end of the lane that I’m not paying attention to the smaller obstacles right in front of me. While aiming for my spiritual destination with such strong passion, I’m not seeing the smaller barriers right in front of me—the ones that continue to filter my vision—that continue to handicap my game.

I began to think about how much better I could bowl if my lane were one hundred percent spiritually clear.

“Don’t be so blind that you have to get moved to a new lane with more obstacles before you get the message.” This amazing little warning flowed clearly into my soul.

I began to ponder “Just what are some of the obstacles in my lane?” Following are the ones that popped to the forefront of my awareness. I know there are probably others, but these are good for starters.

–          I still battle with some very strange beliefs about sleep. When strong promptings tell me to stay up late or get up early—or to even get up in the middle of the night—I still frequently resist. My ego tells me “If I don’t get my eight hours during these precious night time hours, I will not be able to function.” From experience, I know this to be false—but I continue to resist when my inner voices say “Get up NOW.” I can only imagine how much better my bowling game might be if I were willing to receive clearer, more consistent spiritual guidance during these more-in-tune times when the sun is not shining.

–          I still frequently get stuck in time wasters that have a way of numbing me down. While none of these are inherently bad or wrong, I see how they sap my energy and distract me from pursuits that my heart wants to follow.

–          For years I have wanted to begin a regular yoga and stretching program, yet I continue to put it off. As my body begins to feel the stiffening effects of aging, I recognize just how vital a well functioning and flexible body can be to my continued bowling.

–          As much as my intuition is already driving my life, I still struggle with establishing regular mediation habits. I often ponder about how much more spiritual guidance I might be able to receive if I were more consistent and disciplined in my meditation efforts.

Gratitude fills my soul at the fact that last night I was willing to sit up in the dark of night to listen to my spiritual guides. Midnight had long-since passed as I prepared to finally drift off to sleep. As my consciousness slowly drifted into the ether, my intuition was proclaiming loudly, “It might be time to pay closer attention to some of these obstacles”

Another thought also passed through my mind. “I never figured out the significance of the strange bowling ball with all the holes—or why was my former friend there—or the big burley men … I’ll have to give this one a little more thought.”

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

Retiring early last night, I decided to immerse myself in gratitude as I began to mentally review my spiritual growth of the past twelve months. While pondering many precious memories, my awareness drifted to the fact that a very special event had occurred exactly one year ago, on August 8, right down to the very hour. This particular event was pivotal for me in the midst of a series of synchronicities that led to the sale of my home smack dab in the middle of a very tight real estate market.

Of all possible days, I was laid off on Halloween—October 31, 2007. After spending 29 years as a socially-challenged left-brained computer geek, I walked away with intense feelings of gratitude and love regarding the whole experience. For several years my heart had been preparing me with the awareness that computers were definitely not the focus of my future. I would be lying if I tried to convince you that some fear and panic did not arise in my soul, but the fear was intermittent and very short lived. Being laid off was actually something I desired. For the most part, I was excited. I didn’t know yet how I would survive, but was looking forward to my yet-unknown future with eager anticipation.

Just under two years earlier, I had begun a three and a half year Master’s program in Mental Health Counseling. Having no clue as to where my future might be taking me, I responded to a powerful internal pull that was guiding me through the cocoon stage of a life-changing metamorphosis. While I was still not sure if I would actually pursue a future career as a traditional mental health counselor, I definitely knew that the wings of this emerging butterfly would no longer be flying me through the halls of a software engineering company.

As I said my goodbyes to a very lucrative salary with great benefits, I knew in my heart that this monetarily-secure phase of my life was now over. I used to love software engineering, but my passion for programming had all but disappeared. My inner promptings were very clear, and I knew they would never allow me to turn around or go back.

Yes, I was staring into the thick white cloud of the unknown future with inner peace and confidence that all was exactly as it needed to be. Somehow, I knew that there was absolutely nothing to worry about, even though I knew that my financial world was about to take a 180 degree shift.

Facing considerable obligations of a mortgage, car payment, alimony, utilities, insurance, and every day miscellaneous bills, conventional wisdom screamed out that I should immediately seek out new income in order to maintain my lifestyle. I had a few investments (set aside to pay student loans), and a generous six-month severance package, but was fully aware that those would soon be used up if something did not change.

But no, I ignored conventional wisdom, choosing instead to listen to my heart, to follow its dictates. I began to peacefully use up those financial resources, trusting my heart as it continued to tell me “All is well—just sit back, enjoy the ride, and trust the process.”

Even on the day I was laid off, I knew I would eventually need to sell my home—but a peaceful feeling in my heart said “Not yet … you will know exactly when it is time.” Instead, I followed strong internal promptings that said “Use your first month to repaint the interior of your home … then stay tuned for subsequent guidance.”

In my newly found abundance of free time I began following my passion, which involved two things, working on writing my life story, and pursuing my Masters Degree.

Magically, the work on my life story involved sorting through and organizing piles of old boxes from my grandfather, my aged parents, and from my own childhood. For several years, these belongings had sat sloppily crowded in a corner of my downstairs family room, depressing me each time I passed them by. This intense emotional journey consumed my spare time for the better part of five months.

As I resurrected past memories one by one, I processed and relived many of my earlier life struggles. I was determined to breathe new life into every emotional memory, both painful and happy, exactly as each had actually unfolded. Unwavering in my attempt to genuinely remember emotional details of my life, I frequently unearthed raw emotions that caused me to sob uncontrollably. After allowing myself the time to re-experience the pain, I processed the events through present-day spiritual awareness and insights—bringing closure to that pain—recognizing that I had always done the best I could—I had always been pure and genuine in my intentions. Throughout the whole process, I used the platform of writing as a means to solidify my healing and perceptual shifts.

Soon, I also immersed myself in my 1000 hour clinical internship. For most of a year, I spent an average of 20 to 25 hours per week volunteering my novice therapy skills at a local substance abuse treatment center. Yes, I was totally immersed in moving forward; there was no going back—not even a glance.

When my resources began to diminish, I reluctantly applied for unemployment benefits to which I was entitled. While making an honest effort to do the minimum required to locate a new software engineering job (to qualify for my benefits), I knew in my heart that no such job would materialize—the universe had other plans for me.

Last summer, as the end of June drew near, my internal voices had a new message for me. “Now is the time to make final yard improvements. You will be selling your home soon.”

Immediately I stopped writing and began staining my fence, cleaning out weeds, fixing sprinklers, and trimming trees—along with a myriad of other miscellaneous tasks. Then, I noticed that my backyard play area, supported by eight 4×4 posts, was wobbly and unstable. As I began to work on it, I soon realized that seven of the eight posts were either completely rotted through, or very near to doing so. I tried to dig one post out, but hit large blocks of concrete. “This is going to be a very difficult repair job,” I told myself.

Thinking about how much work was ahead of me, I thought of the easy way out. “I’ll just rip it all out and discard the lumber. The new owners will never need to know that this was even here.”

However, my inner promptings told me otherwise. “This swing-set, slide, and tree-house-like structure will be a big selling point … you need to repair them … start working on it NOW!”

With considerable effort and money that I did not want to spend, I began the tedious process of removing the old concrete blocks and swapping out each post. Two weeks later, after having received much appreciated assistance from my sons and a few friends, I brushed on my final coat of stain. The play area was as good as new—better than it had ever been in the ten years that I had lived in the home.

Just another two weeks later, through another series of amazing little coincidences, I was guided to a highly recommended realtor in my area. Something inside of me knew that “She is the one that I need to help me sell my home.”

We were in the heart of a very difficult market, with home prices crashing as the national economy was spiraling downward. My realtor gave me all of the “gloom and doom” speeches, warning me to not expect too much, preparing me for the possibilities of a long-term listing. I simply smiled and told her “I have a very strong feeling that my home is going to sell very quickly. You are going to be very pleasantly surprised.”

July was in its final days when my property listing first showed up on the internet. Butterflies filled my stomach as I first opened up the website where several photos of my home were proudly displayed. Little doubts tried to hook themselves into my mind as I browsed the site, noticing how many other great homes were listed, some of them being less expensive and looking nicer than mine. I fought back the doubts, constantly reminding myself, “My inner promptings have guided me this far … they will not let me down.”

Responding to another feeling, I called a dear friend, Susan. She and I met through a series of spiritual retreats where we gradually developed a powerful spiritual bond. Susan has spent years studying, teaching, and professionally consulting in Feng Shui. She even hosted a weekly internet radio show for an extended period of time. Her children are young, and we live in different cities, so our paths usually only crossed about once per month. Our’s is one of those cherished friendships where you can go for months between get-togethers, but as soon as you are reunited everything is as if there were never any distance between you.

“Would you be willing to come down and help me do an energy clearing in my house?” I asked Susan, “I would love your help, and will pay your usual fee.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, “for you, I will do it for free. I would love to come down.”

For ten days our schedules kept colliding and, try as we might, we just couldn’t seem to find a time that would work for the two of us. Finally on Friday morning, August 8^th, she called me. “I can come by early this afternoon if that works for you.”

After informing me that she was going to create a small alter in my home, Susan asked me to make a few preparations. “Please draw a picture of the people you envision as buying your home.” she began. “Then write a letter—a goodbye letter to your home. Also, gather up a few special items you might wish to place on the alter.”

For the next few hours, while immersed in a meditative state, I imagined a young couple with two children moving into my home. As I contemplated how to draw them, I pictured them playing on the swings in my back yard. I drew a makeshift sketch of the back play area of my yard. I am no artist, so in my creative genius I drew stick-figures of a young mother and father holding hands in front of the swing-set. Then I asked myself “Are the children boys, girls, or one of each?” My intuition caused me to draw two stick figures in the swings—one of a little boy and one of a little girl.

Next, I wrote a moving letter to my home, thanking it for its powerful service and presence in my life. Among other things, I wrote about some of the beautiful family times, the comfort and security, the wonderful neighbors, and the peace it had created in my life. Not wanting to stop there, I wrote another letter—this one being from my home to me. As the words of these two letters found their way onto the paper, they were accompanied by tears of deep gratitude, joy, and peace.

As fate would have it, Susan called in deep apology. “They called a meeting at school. I can’t get out of it. I’m going to try to free up some time later this evening after I get the kids to bed. Would that work for you if I can manage that?”

Later that evening I was ready to give up on Susan’s visit. At 7:00 p.m., I sat down to watch the pre-show for the opening ceremonies of the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. The ceremonies were set to begin at 8:08 p.m. on 08/08/2008. The announcer began to discuss the sacred significance of the number 8 in the Buddhist and Chinese cultures. He explained how the symbol has no beginning or end, representing infinity and eternity. He continued to discuss sacred meanings of this number, not only in Buddhism, but in other religions as well.

While daydreaming, not really paying much attention to the explanation, I was startled by the phone. It was Susan. “I can be there in thirty minutes—if that still works for you?”

While she was driving to my home, the awareness hit me. “She will be getting here to do a blessing on my home shortly after 8:00 p.m. on 08/08/2008—this is no coincidence.” I smiled as I realized that “This is another example of the universe playing synchronicity games with me.”

The first words out of Susan’s mouth as she entered the front door were “Do you realize it is 8:00 pm on August 8, 2008?” She had been thinking the same thing as I. We laughed at how the universe had kept us from getting together for almost two weeks—finally bringing us together at this significant moment.

Last night, as I lay in bed at 9:00 p.m., Cozumel time, I realized that it was 8:00 p.m. back in Utah, and that exactly one year to the hour had past since Susan walked into my home at the nexus of that beautiful evening.

And what a beautiful evening it was. First she created a small alter on my coffee table, near the center of the home. After meditating in silence, we each said a small verbal prayer, blessing my home, before continuing.

First, we took care of the mechanical stuff. Methodically she walked me through the house and yard and told me things like “There is too much furniture in this room … move that table downstairs where it is needed.” “You need a red table runner here, red placemats there, flowers in the front yard, and flowers on this counter.” I took detailed notes of her suggestions. Every one of them made great sense and felt right.

Next she brought out a set of Tibetan Tingshaw Bells and a small chime, asking me to choose which one I wanted to use. For 90 minutes, in almost total silence, we slowly walked around every corner of my home, floor to ceiling, repeatedly ringing these bells and chimes, listening to how the tones resonated with the ambient energy. As soon as her senses told her that a room was complete, we moved on to the next one.

As we moved into the corner of my downstairs family room (which was completely empty), she froze in one spot while continuing to ring the Tibetan bells, “Ring … Ring …. Ring … Ring.” She stood there for ten minutes or longer, not moving. Finally, she spoke “Brenda, do you mind if we finish this room later? I simply can’t stay in this part of the room any longer. I’m having an anxiety attack … I’m suffocating in here.”

As we stepped a few feet away into the main area of the living room, she explained that as soon as she stepped into that part of the room she had felt intense emotional pain and stagnation. She said that she felt as if the whole world were closing in on her, feeling strong anxiety, as if she were trapped and stuck. The experience was so intense that she could not continue.

“Wow,” I exclaimed as I told her, “This is the spot where I stored all of my old boxes of stuff from my childhood, from my parents, and grandparents.” I continued to tell her about how anxious, stuck, and trapped I had felt each time I had attempted to sort through all that old stuff. I told her that this was the room where I had done much of my deep emotional processing as I sorted through those old belongings—after I finally found the courage to face them.”

Minutes later, after a short break, we resumed clearing the energy in the remainder of the house. The hour was late, and our minds and hearts were soaring with spiritual energy. Neither of us wanted the evening to end. Finally, well after 11:00 p.m., she backed out of my driveway to return home to her family. Before retiring, as I took one final stroll through each room, I experienced a deep sense of peace and gratitude.

Three days later, by Monday evening, I had finished making all of the recommended changes—rearranging furniture, placemats, and buying flowers for the kitchen. My friend Lori had even donated her day off to come over and help me design and landscape a beautiful layered arrangement of shrubs, plants, and flowers in the front entryway.

Two short days later, on August 13^th, the realtor called and told me the home was being shown. Afterward, the only feedback I received was “They loved the house, and especially loved the yard and the play area, but they want a home with a connected master bathroom, which mine does not have—so they are still looking.”

Discouragement tried to settle in as I thought about how few people were stopping by to see my home. In three weeks, only four showings had taken place. As I pondered my situation while driving to my internship, a distinct awareness floated into my consciousness. “It doesn’t matter how many people see your home. It only takes one person to buy the house. You only need the one right person to be attracted to it.”

On Friday, August 23, my realtor called. “The young couple that saw your house 10 days ago wants to see it again tomorrow morning. They want to bring their parents by to see it. This is really positive when someone wants to come back for a second look.”

I tried to stay away from the neighborhood on Saturday morning, but something drew me back, keeping me close. I was sitting in my car across and up the street when they pulled into the driveway. As the young couple climbed out of their little mini-van, a wave of powerful energy surged through my body.

There, standing in my driveway, was a young couple with two babies, perhaps 10 months to one year in age. They were dressed in identical outfits, so I could not discern their gender.

As I sat observing from afar, basking in the powerful energy, a deep sense of knowing flooded my consciousness. “This young couple will be buying my home.”

Then a second powerful thought followed up almost immediately. “They are going to low-ball me on price, and I am going to need to be very generous with them. I need to treat them as if they were my own children.” This latter ‘knowing’ was extremely clear and powerfully rooted in my soul. Somehow, I knew it to be true.

“Wow, that was an interesting prompting.” I told myself. I wonder what that means?”

All weekend I patiently waited, expecting an offer to come in anytime. Finally, on Monday, my phone rang. “They have made an offer,” my realtor started, “but you might not like it. They came in $10,000 lower, plus they want you to pay $6,000 in closing costs on top of that.”

Remembering my strong prompting, I told the realtor “Let’s accept the offer with a slightly higher counter.” I wanted to be generous, but I could not let go of the ego thought that I will need to live off this equity for a few years.

A day later, the young couple countered yet again, with the exact same original offer. They did not budge even a dollar in what they were willing to offer. Shocked, I removed myself into meditation to figure out what to do. I was feeling intense anger. “How dare they do this to me? I need this money to live on. They are not playing by the rules of negotiation! I won’t do this. They have to give me more money. This is not right.”

I stewed in my anger for an hour or two while bitter tears flowed down my cheeks. I gradually began to spiritually re-center myself. I retrieved my pencil sketch of the family that was buying my home, and re-read the letters I had written—both to and from my home. I asked myself, “If this were one of my own children making this offer, would I sell them the house for this price?” Finally, I humbly admitted that my answer was an absolute “Yes, I would sell my house for this price—if it were my children.”

Picking up the phone, I told the realtor “I don’t like this price, but yes, I want to accept the offer. Let’s do this.” Soon, the agreements were all signed and zooming across the telephone wires between two fax machines.

Ignoring my realtor’s advice, I met the buyer’s realtor during the home inspection. Strike one, I needed a new furnace—but the two of us quickly worked it out together. Over a week’s time, I built a great relationship with the realtor. He told me how he had taken this couple to house after house, for over two weeks. “Every time we went to a different home,” he told me, “they asked me to bring them back to your house for another drive-by. Something kept drawing the back here.” Then he added, “And they loved your back yard and the play area.”

Soon, the realtor arranged for me to meet the new buyers face to face. Not wanting to let anything sabotage the sale, I bent over backwards to work with them in a positive, affirming way. Somehow, I knew that my participation in this way was necessary to ensure the smooth completion of the purchase.

“Tell me about your twins,” I asked the young mother when we first met. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that one was a boy and one was a girl. Since she dressed them the same, I had assumed that they were probably both boys. As I told her about my energy clearing on the home, and the pencil sketch I had made, she was fascinated, calling to her husband, “Honey, you have to hear this.”

“Wow, the young couple that is buying my home really does have a little boy and a little girl.” I pondered. My insides were glowing brightly as I reflected back on the powerful events of August 8.

Originally I planned to wait till the papers were signed before I moved my furniture and let go of my prized worldly possessions—but my faithful little voices screamed out, “Nonsense … everything is going to go just fine … make this a relaxed process and empty out the house now … there is no need to wait.”

I turned the ten days before my closing into a “Christmas in September”. My children all took turns walking through my home and letting me know what they would like to inherit. By the time I signed final closing papers on Sept 18, 2008, my worldly belongings had been reduced to my computer, a laptop, a small piano, two bookshelves, a lamp, a chair, a rug, miscellaneous office supplies, clothes, camping supplies, and my two vehicles. In great joy, I had gifted away most everything else to my precious children and grandchildren.

Just days after the papers were signed, the financial news was filled with more stories of how the national economy had taken another stiff downturn. Home prices were again falling uncontrollably, and the market did not appear to have a bottom. I gratefully realized that if I had not been “generous—as I would be with my own children”, I probably would have ended up with much less equity, if I was even able to sell at all.

This next part still plays tricks with my mind. In early September, I was so caught up in the process of getting my home sold, and my belongings divided up, that I was not paying any attention to my personal finances. When it came time for my loan to fund, I suddenly realized just how low my checking account balance was. On the very day that my home equity was transferred into my account I calculated that I would have been overdrawn by $400 had the money not shown up precisely when it did. Yes, I had some money set aside for student loans that I could have tapped into—if I had been watching—but I didn’t need to. I love how my recent life has been filled with these wonderful little coincidences.

As I said goodbye to my home and most of my once-precious belongings, I was amazed at how much freedom and peace permeated the core of my being. I knew that I had just taken a huge leap toward achieving the freedom to follow my heart. Over the years, the possessions that had once brought me peace and comfort had somehow turned into boat anchors, chains that were keeping me trapped. My heart no longer wanted to work at a meaningless job—just so I could afford to pay for stuff, provide a place to keep stuff, maintain stuff, and insure stuff—especially when the stuff no longer seemed important.

As drove away from my home for the final time, the sense of freedom in my soul was unbelievable.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved