Brenda's Bicycles

One of my long-time favorite movies is Groundhog Day. In this enlightened and humorous little story, Bill Murray is a television reporter who becomes magically stuck. Every morning he wakes up at 6:00 a.m. on the same day, Groundhog Day. From the moment he wakes up, the exact same sequence of external events begins to occur. The only thing that changes from one day to the next is Bill’s own internal attitude, namely how he chooses to perceive and respond to every situation throughout the day.

In the beginning, Bill’s character has what one could call a very negative attitude, being filled with harsh judgmental perceptions of the local people and culture. He loathes every day, treats people rudely, and even actually kills himself in many creative ways—hoping to end his misery—only to wake up all over again on the very same morning.

Gradually, Bill shifts from his negativity into a more loving way of perceiving. Eventually, over time, he approaches pure unconditional love in every possible way—through his attitude, his perceptions, and in the way he treats and responds to others. With each repetition of the day, he deepens his personal quest to find loving perfection.

For me, this movie teaches a deep spiritual message—a message about how our perceived world actually is our own unique creation. Every moment of each day presents us with opportunities to practice perceiving and responding with love—or not. Our true peace and happiness, our deep inner joy, is a natural consequence of finding a loving response in every situation. On the flip side, stress, anger, victimization, and the like, are natural consequences of choosing to respond to life from a place of perceived fear and judgment.

Jungle Revisited

With this concept in mind, I set out yesterday to take another stab at a creating a peaceful, relaxing adventure into the wilds of this beautiful Cozumel jungle. Without feeling even the slightest ounce of fear, my inner voices were telling me I needed to venture a little deeper into the jungle … stay a little longer … and surrender to whatever happens. My sixth sense told me this would not be an ordinary trip.

When Thursday morning rolled around, I somehow knew that “Today is the day.” While packing for the trip, an intuitive feeling—based on a memory flash regarding Sunday’s storms—caused me to wrap my wallet, camera and IPOD in waterproof plastic bags—something I had never thought of doing in the past.

Knowing I was headed into a mosquito infested jungle, I also took precautions with insect repellant. I coated my clothing with the spray, allowing it to briefly dry before getting dressed. Rather than my usual sandals and capris, I wore long jeans and hiking shoes. Just prior to leaving, I covered every ounce of my bare skin and hair with a thorough coating of repellant—being careful to keep the toxic spray out of my eyes.

After securing my front door and unlocking my bicycle, my attention was immediately drawn to a lady passing by on the sidewalk. Ignoring everything else about her, my eyes were pulled to the umbrella that she was carrying in her hand. Even though the skies were blue and cloudless, a small feeling told me “Go back upstairs and get your own umbrella—you will want it on this trip.”

Mind you, I have never before carried an umbrella on my bicycle rides—but I have learned to trust these little feelings. During moments when I am paying attention, I have recognized profound intuitive hints in many different ways: Songs on the radio, billboards on the freeway, words spoken by a friend (or total stranger), unexpected memories of something from the past, sudden emotional feelings, or just little subtle thoughts that seem to come out of nowhere.

When I am aware and willing enough to be the observer in such moments, I immediately recognize a quality that says “this event was for you … pay attention.” Such was my morning. I was in a deep state of spiritual reflection, paying attention to the tiniest of thoughts as they flashed into my awareness.

From the moment I first hopped onto my bicycle, I was filled with an internal presence that had been absent on Sunday. As I began to pedal through the streets, my mind was not obsessed with a destination—I was focused instead on each moment of the experience, constantly paying attention to the subtle details of my surroundings and the weather.

Soon I had traversed the few miles of highway and was engulfed in the beautiful details of life surrounding the small dirt road at it guided me northward. As I neared the northern end of the road, as the lush green jungle vegetation gradually closed in around me, I noticed a few scattered dark clouds off in the distance. Even though the clouds were not directly above me, an occasional drop of scattered rain found its welcome way to my warm face or forearms. Throughout the ride, I remained relaxed, breathed deeply and slowly, and continued to methodically pedal at a gradual pace. The journey was ever so peaceful—seeming to pass very quickly.

Minutes later, shortly after passing the final ranch home, a light spattering of rain began to hit the ground. As the intensity of the drops slightly increased, I paused my journey, opened up my backpack, and removed my precious umbrella. With one hand holding my umbrella, the other on my handlebar, I slowly continued forward until my coordination reached its limits—the jeep trail being so rough that one-handed riding was beyond my abilities. 

 At this point, I began one-handed pushing, loving the feeling of being in the jungle during a light rainstorm. While continuing to walk slowly, I noticed a swarm of mosquitoes gathering around me as I felt the familiar sting of a few fresh bites on my arms. I swatted at them, both with my arms and my umbrella, hoping they would leave me alone—but the mosquitoes continued to wildly invade my space.

In a brief moment of panic, I turned around and began walking the other way. “I’m done!” I told myself. “I can’t handle these mosquitoes. I give up.”

As I slowly walked away, I focused on spiritually re-centering myself. Seconds later, I again paused, retrieved my insect repellant, and drenched my already dripping skin and hair with a fresh layer of the smelly spray. After a few deep breaths I told myself “I know I was guided to be out here today … I CAN do this … I DO have the faith to follow my feelings … a few mosquitoes will not stop me.”

Resuming my journey northward, I slowly pushed my bicycle over the rough bumpy rocks, ruts, and roots. The mosquitoes seemed to be mostly leaving me alone, although I noticed large numbers of them swarming around above my head, underneath the umbrella.  They seemed to be attracted to the silver metallic fabric of my red umbrella’s inner lining. Each time after I swung the umbrella around to shake them off, the swarm was soon back, gathering in large numbers within mere seconds.

Giving up on chasing the mosquitoes away, I began to wonder if perhaps the umbrella was distracting my new companions from landing on me. Regardless, I noticed that for the time being, they were not biting. Feeling happy and content, I continued forward.

Minutes later, the rain let up; the sky appeared to be turning blue once again. Putting away my umbrella, I again continued to gently inch forward, still pushing my bicycle with one hand. As I rounded a small bend, I came upon the familiar shack with the tiny pen full of goats. The loud bleating sounds of goats echoed throughout the jungle during the brief seconds that it took me to pass them by. Glancing into the jungle to my left, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a tiny makeshift home perhaps 50 yards deeper into the trees.

After another hundred yards, the trail again turned left and narrowed dramatically. Minutes later, I reached the spot where I had given up in exhaustion on Sunday afternoon. I was not giving up this time—I was energized, alive, and excited about continuing onward.

Suddenly, another small swarm of mosquitoes buzzed around me, and I soon had several more few fresh bites on my arms and forehead. In yet another brief moment of panic, I again turned around and began walking away. “I cannot do this … I give up … I will NOT stay out here in these mosquitoes … this is insane!”

A short internal debate erupted in my soul, as I argued with myself—back and forth. Only minutes later, my spiritual intuition again won, as my voices reassured me “Come on … you know how you were guided every step of the way to come out here … you know it … you can do this … this is going to be a wonderful experience … it all depends on your attitude and perception … period.”

For the second time, after again coating my hair and bare skin with additional insect repellant, I resumed my journey northward—slowly pushing my bicycle up what was now hardly even a trail. Soon I leaned my bicycle against a tree and continued a short distance on foot. I knew my journey was almost over—not because I was giving up—but because the trail was obviously disintegrating. I walked perhaps another fifty yards before coming up on some large logs that had fallen over the tiny trail. Hints of a trail continued, but those hints were disappearing rapidly into thick jungle overgrowth.

As I have done many times in the past, I gradually settled into a meditative state, internally knowing that I would be here for a while. There was no place to sit, so I remained standing. The wet grass had already drenched my jeans and shoes, and the humidity was so thick that my eyeglasses were mostly fogged over. At one point, I retrieved my camera and snapped several photos—but the lens was so covered in condensation that the pictures could not properly capture the beauty.

I began by singing inspiring songs that always help me connect with my source. Then I immersed myself into an experience of deep gratitude. One by one, I reviewed and pondered the incredible blessings that frame my life experience. Eventually, as the peaceful feeling came that “It is now time to leave,” my soul was singing with gratitude.
 
Amazingly enough, as I strolled back past the small pen full of goats, the skies suddenly cut loose with a several rounds of lightning and thunder. Two of the powerful thunderclaps gave the feeling of being quite close. I would not label the rains as being “torrential”, but they were definitely on the heavy and aggressive side.

A brief instinct told me “That lightning was close … you need to get to safety … you need to hurry and get out of here.” As I began moving, fifty yards further down the trail, my heart began to speak. “Stop right here … everything about this moment depends on my attitude and perception … I can choose to run away … or I can choose to thoroughly enjoy the moment that is unfolding around me right now.”

I stopped in the middle of the small jeep trail and simply inhaled the adventure. Standing with my umbrella overhead, I smiled when I realized that there was not a mosquito around me. I was immersed in magical surroundings in the midst of an energetic storm—in the middle of beautiful pristine jungle. Beginning to meditate into the moment, I imagined myself as being the rain itself. Then I became the moist rich soil beneath my feet. Next, I observed how the rain dripped, pooled, and ran off of the luscious moist green foliage—and I imagined myself melting into that beautiful vegetation, actually becoming the plants themselves.

For over thirty minutes, I stood almost motionless in the rain, literally vibrating with the mystical magical energy of my surroundings. Deep puddles began forming around me as thunder continued to rumble in the distance. The pitter-patter of rain that bounced off my umbrella was joined by the sounds of thousands of similar drops cascading through the natural canopies of luscious green leaves all around me. The chorus of nature was captivating, stunning.

In silent awe, I continued my energetic feast. I laughed as I realized that the ‘old me’ would have feared and run from this experience. Wanting to stay comfortable and dry, I most likely would have missed it all. Instead of feeling blessed by the storm, I would have seen myself as being victimized and stuck. Yes, perception really is everything.

While standing in this incredible rain, I became possessed by the enthusiasm of a young child. I was whisked away to childhood memories of playing in similar storms. Smiles filled my face as I imagined my care-free self again riding my small bicycle through massive puddles created by plugged-up storm drains.

“Where along the way did I lose this youthful life-giving energy?” I pondered. 

As my peaceful feelings again reluctantly informed me, “It is time to move on,” I slowly began pushing my bicycle forward, at first avoiding the puddles along the way. As the road began to widen and become smoother, I climbed back up on my seat and began to slowly pedal. Soon, I was plowing right through the middle of puddles, letting the water splash where it may. As I slowly inched closer to home, I thought to myself “It feels so wonderful to be young again.”
 
After arriving at home, my clothing and backpack were thoroughly drenched, but my wallet, camera, and IPOD remained quite dry—thanks to the plastic bags. Another wave of gratitude filled my soul as I recognized the blessings of having been open to the tiniest of promptings while I prepared for my journey earlier that morning.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

I decided it is about time I posted some more photos. These are miscellaneous photos that I have taken since I returned to Cozumel on July 20, 2009.

View of the Cozumel Coastline (looking north) right before landing.

This was taken from my plane, looking to the north, right before I landed at 2:30 pm on July 20, 2009.

A closer view of the coastine right before landing on July 20, 2009

A more zoomed-in view of the Cozumel coastline, right before landing.

Looking up 4th street toward my home.

Looking toward my home, from about 1.5 blocks away (to the west). You can see the apartment building on the left, which is right across the street from my home.

My Street looking from 30th Avenue.

The street where  my house is located. The light pole is right in front of my home (just left of the blue home).

Clothes drying on someone's roof.

A typical view — clothes drying, hung on ropes on someone’s roof.

Cute dog staking out his territory on the roof.

This dog is frequently sitting on his roof. He lives about half way down the street between my house and the waterfront.

Closer view of the same dog.

A more zoomed in view of this same dog. He seems to love sitting up here and watching the activity below.

A "Royal poinciana" tree just down the street.

This beatiful tree is a few blocks down my street. I found out (from wikipedia) that these beautiful flowering trees are called “Royal Poinciana” trees. They bloom in the summers, and only survive in tropical climates.

Lots of sidewalks require caution ...

Caution is required when walking on many sidewalks. You never know what you might trip on or fall into.

Another sidewalk that is falling apart.

Another sidewalk. This is more typical as you get further away from town. The sidewalks are in muchy better shape as you get closer to the plaza.

A run-down home one block from my home.

A typical older home just down the street from me.

Another view of the same home.

Homes with yards such as this are quite common. Some people take really good care of their property. Others give it less attention.

Typical religious shrine on someone's home.

Shrines like this can be seen scattered on various homes around the city. Sometimes, even a very run-down home might have a beautiful shrine such as this, or something similar painted on the exterior wall.

Broken Glass on walls to keep people from climbing over them.

It is not uncommon to see walls with broken glass cemented to the top. One can only assume that this is a way to keep people from climbing on/over such walls.

Looking down 4th street, two blocks from the ocean.

This is about four blocks down my street, looking towards the ocean about two blocks away.

The chicken roticerie on my corner.

This is a sight that takes place every day on the corner, just 1/2 block west of my home. When you walk by these cooking chickens, the heat is very intense.

A permanent trash container on the street.

These permanent trash containers are quite common on the streets nearer the center of town. The garbage collection workers manually empty these as they drive by.

Another container for trash.

Another of these permanent containers, made out of something like rebar. This one has a couple of motorcycles parked by it.

Plastic bags with garbage hung on fence down the street.

A couple of garbage bags hanging from the fence just down my street. As I was riding through the rural areas, I witnessed a girl hanging several large trash bags from a tree. I’m wondering now if they do this to keep stray dogs from digging into them.

The trash cans across the street from my home.

These two cans sit right across the street from my balcony window.

These pipes above drain water onto sidewalks below

Not only do you have to look down when you walk, you also need to look up. If you will notice, the roofs of these buildings have pipes coming out. Usually these only drip during storms (runoff from the roofs), but some of them drip all day long with runoff from air conditioners, etc…

More pipes draining the rooftop runoff.

Another view of drain pipes on a different building.

Banana tree by my stairs.

This is a banana tree that grows just below my staircase, just inside my gate. A few weeks ago, I noticed it was actually growing a cluster of bananas.

Looking at the bananas and my bicycle from above.

This is a view from my front door, looking down at the bananas and my bicycle, which I now usually lock to my gate below.

Zoomed in view of the bananas.

I can’t wait to try eating one of these when they get riper.

The spiral staircase to my roof.

It occurs to me that I have never posted a photo of  my favorite spiral staircase … the one that leads from my front door up to the roof. This is very small and winding, but it does the job.

One of my plaza friends.

Not sure if I ever posted a picture of one of my common friends on the plaza. He visits me almost every day, but never gets closer than about six feet. Several other lizards and iguanas are around, but they don’t commonly venture out.

Another frequent friend on the plaza.

This old bird  is always hanging around my favorite bench in the shade. You can’t see it all that well in the photo, but this little friend is very shabby, with his feathers looking as if he has lived through some pretty rough conditions.

Sign about a new subdivision east of town.

This sign advertises one of two new subdivisions that I have seen being built a few miles east of town. I can’t quite figure out the prices on the sign. These homes are very tiny, each having a lot only about 120 square. Other signs indicate they have one bedroom and one bathroom.

The actual subdivision, east of town.

This is a photo of the actual subdivision. When you get up close to them, these homes seem very tiny and crowded.

One of the homes, one bedroom, one bath

Closer up view of one of these tiny new homes.

Looking east on the main highway, a few miles east of town.

A view looking east on the main highway. This is from the intersection where my new favorite dirt road heads off to the north. This is a few miles east of the city.

Beginning of the dirt road I explored to the north.

This photo is taken from the same intersection, looking north on the dusty dirt road.

Riding up the dirt road.

View about 1/2 mile up the dirt road.

Looking back where I came from.

Looking back south from the same spot.

The road is beginning to narrow.

After a while, further north, the road begins to narrow.

Closeup of some jungle by the road.

Closeup view of some typical trees along this road.

Closeup of some jungle by the road.

Looking ahead, to the left of the road, as I head north on my bicycle.

One of the ranch houses near the end of the road.

This is a photo of one of the ranch houses way out near the north end of the road. This one did not appear to have outside electricity, as there were no telephone poles this far into the jungle.

Another less-zoomed view of the same ranch house

Another view of the same remote ranch house.

The road is starting to get narrower and rocky.

Beyond this small ranch, the road gradually became more narrow and rougher.

Continuing to get narrower.

The road kept getting more remote, less passable.

More of the jungle by the road.

Closeup of some more jungle vegetation by the narrowing road.

This jeep trail continues to get more wild, narrow, and rough.

This is the last photo I took along this particular road. This was taken before I came across the tiny shed in a small clearing–the one where the bleating goats surprised me. A few hundred yards beyond that shed, the road became so rough and difficult that I turned around.

One of the nicer homes in the rural area.

As I rode home, I took some photos of scenery in the more populated areas, nearing the airport. This is a photo of one of the nicer homes with a huge lot that had a well maintained rock wall.

Riding down a dirt road, by the rock wall of one of the nicer homes.

Continuing back towards the city.

This home is built from wooden posts with some type of roofing fabric.

This home is constructed using tall wooden posts, appearing to be about 3 or 4 inches in diameter. The roof is covered with some type of dark roofing material.

Looking out through some of the rural area.

A view looking into someone’s yard. This structure has walls made out of old wooden pallets, and a thatched roof.

A home coated in plywood with a large thatched roof.

This large wooden home has a sign on the front identifying who lives here. I can’t imagine that the plywood walls and thatched roof could provide too much protection in a severe storm.

Another view of the dirt road through the homes.

Continuing to ride through these rural homes.

One of the tiny block/concrete homes

This home looks as if it is only about 10 feet square. Notice that the outside walls are complettely unfinishhed and rough. This type of home build from cinderblock and concrete is very common out in the rural areas.

A tiny home that appears to be made out of miscellaneous wood.

This tiny home looks as if it is constructed from various types of wood. The door is covered by an old blanket, and the window is simply draped with some old screen material.

Looking down one of the roads.

Another typical view along this dirt road.

Four boys that begged me to take their picture

As I pedaled past these four young boys, they suddenly turned around and started yelling “foto, foto, foto” … begging me to take their photo. I stopped, they ran over to me, and posed while I took this picture.

Afterward, I gave them each two pesos (about 15 cents each).

© Brenda Larsen, 2009

The concrete under my favorite bench is damp, surrounded by a few small puddles, revealing a slight hint of three spectacular thunder storms that energized my soul during the past 24 hours. A mosquito eats a quick breakfast consisting of my tasty bare ankles, so I situate myself in a slightly dryer spot. Sitting on a low wall, in the shade directly below the clock tower, seems to be a delightful alternative. As I munch down my own breakfast—some very healthy chocolate chip cookies—two pigeons gather at my feet to enjoy a few meager leftover crumbs. A beautiful dragon fly with a vibrant red body performs a small dance, just for me, before hurrying off to locate its next audience.

Now I move into the dry cool shade of the gazebo. Three policemen, perhaps the same three who asked me to define “SWAT” just a few days ago, walk by and greet me with a hello and a smile. After dragging a wooden bench around to face the ocean vista, I lean back and place my bare feet on the low wall in front of me. A large tree with fern-like leaves frames my postcard view of the blue-green ocean. A small boat is puttering away from the beach, just as a snorkeling boat, crowded with people approaches the rocky shore. Straining my eyes, I can barely see hints of Playa Del Carmen some twelve miles in the distance—a layer of puffy clouds rises just above it.

Berto Revisited

Earlier this week, I was quite surprised to see Berto wheel his bicycle into the back of the little sports bar where I was peacefully gobbling down my lunch special. I was even more surprised when his first words were something like “Brenda, How are you? I haven’t seen you for a long time?”

Thinking he was just teasing me, I smiled and jokingly reminded him “I just saw you a few days ago. We had a long talk.”

Berto looked at me as if I were the crazy one. “What are you talking about? It has been a month or more. Where did we talk?” he quizzed me.

“Sunday night on the plaza,” I quickly replied, “just after the band finished playing. I told you all about my mother passing away … and where I have been.”

“Wow, I don’t remember anything about that.” was his apologetic confession. Then he requested, “Please tell me again, fill me in on everything that you told me that night.”

Berto went on to tell me that he has tried to stop drinking so much, but his two buddies “made” him drink on Sunday night. “I must have been on my seventh or eighth beer by the time we talked,” he admitted.  Acting embarrassed, he continued, “I guess I was too drunk to remember much of anything.”

Later, while reflecting on these two encounters, I was filled with a sense of genuine pride. During both conversations, I had been loving, respectful, bubbly, genuine, joyful, and empowered—while at the same time remaining unattached and nonjudgmental. I was really surprised by how I did not pick up on even a hint of alcohol when I had talked with Berto on Sunday evening.

The whole experience brought back old memories of how Berto continually chugged beer after beer when he and I spent a day together almost twenty months ago. As that long-ago day came to a close, I was filled with extreme judgment and disgust; I would have been happy if I never crossed paths with him again, ever.

Now, in my heart I simply feel peace and unconditional acceptance. “All is well … all is as it should be.”

Rural Explorations

Earlier last week, late one afternoon, my bicycle explorations found me pedaling through a rural area just a few miles east of the airport. Narrow and dusty dirt roads led me past a full spectrum of living situations. Unlike the city, these homesteads were considerably more spread out, surrounded by varying sizes of cleared or partially cleared jungle acreage. Most of the homes occupying these rural surroundings were rundown, with the majority being very small—many of them having as few as one or two rooms. Unpainted concrete and cinderblock walls were very common, many of them looking as if they were still under construction.

Scattered among the more sturdy structures were a few homes built from various types of wood. Some were covered by sheets of plywood, providing at least basic protection from the elements. More rarely, a few occupied structures were constructed of old vertical skinny wooden posts, perhaps three or four inches in diameter, with some type of privacy lining on the inside. I can only imagine how these structures might fare under the fury of hurricane force winds.

Glass is an unneeded luxury for many of these residents. In many homes, wooden shutters take the place of glass windows. As I pedaled by these tiny residences, most of their windows and doors were wide open, allowing afternoon breezes to flow more freely. Through one open door, several hammocks were hanging in what I could only assume was the main living area.

The roofs were equally varied. Most of the concrete buildings had slopped concrete roofs just as we do here in the city. However, the wooden homes were covered in a variety of ways. Some were adorned by old corrugated sheet metal. A few had traditional thatched roofs, while others had makeshift roofs covered in some type of black roofing material.

Scattered in the midst of these more humble homes, was the occasional home that was larger, well maintained, and even painted. Here and there, a few newer homes were under construction—homes that looked as if they would be quite nice when they are finished. A few even had rock walls surrounding their lots.

As I slowly pedaled along the hot dusty road, a man on a bicycle casually passed by, then slowed down and began talking to me. During our conversation, I asked him if any of these roads in the area might lead through the jungle up to the north end of the island. “If you go across the island to Mezcalitos,” he began, “there is a road there that goes up to the north end—but it is closed.”

In my mind, I could envision the entrance to that road. Just a week earlier I stopped there during my long ride around the south end of the island. How I had wanted to venture an excursion up that tempting and isolated dirt road. A large sign made it forcefully clear that passage was forbidden, warning that all trespassers would be arrested and prosecuted under the law.

As I imagined myself sitting in a local jail cell, I reluctantly decided that perhaps it might be best to forgo that forbidden adventure.

As I continued riding alongside my temporary traveling companion, he told me “I live right here. It was nice meeting you.” Then he gave me some parting directions. “If you turn right up there, then take the next left, follow that road for a while, and then take another right—that road will take you back to the main highway.”

As my new friend said goodbye and dismounted his bicycle, I noted that his home was a gorgeous unpainted home that appeared to be in the final stages of new construction.

Following his directions, I soon came to the ‘T’ in the road that would take me back to the main mid-island highway. Before making the right turn that I knew would take me back toward known territory, I stopped to visually scan the area. Looking left, I noted that the road continued a considerable distance to the north before disappearing into the jungle beyond a small bend.

Fifteen minutes later, as I arrived at the highway, I was surprised by how far from the city my wanderings had taken me. Wanting to make sure I could find this road again, I carefully memorized the landmarks. Something inside of me knew, “I will be back here soon … I have more exploring to do … I need to see where that other road leads.”

Jungle Isolation

Early Sunday afternoon, a little bird whispered, “Load up your backpack and go get some lunch … it is time to finish what you started … time to see just how far that road goes into the jungle.” 

Ignoring logic, I began my journey on a full stomach at the start of the hottest part of the day. The early part of the journey was relatively easy. After several miles of riding eastbound down the now familiar mid-island highway, I easily located my dirt road. Turning northward, I began my methodic pedaling—reminding myself “Easy does it … go slow … you’re not in a hurry to get anywhere … don’t overdo it.”

Whenever an occasional car or scooter would pass by, the resultant cloud of dry dust temporarily engulfed me. I soon regretted having just pigged out on a delicious meal of chicken fajitas. The waist of my jeans pinched my full belly as I leaned over to grasp my handlebars, and a feeling of slight nausea kept warning “take it slow.” Sheer determination propelled me forward.

Soon, I was exploring new territory, while continuing to the north. The jungle was closing in around me on both sides. The only things that reminded me of civilization were the telephone poles on the right side of the road—and the occasional cleared spaces occupied by an occasional ranch house with adjacent structures.

I pushed on. My surroundings alternated between wild untouched jungle and an occasional small ranch. There were no longer any cars or scooters passing by me, and the ranches grew more and more scarce. The once wide dirt road gradually grew more narrow and rough—growing in both potholes and numbers of protruding rocks. What had once been a road drivable by passenger cars was slowly turning into a jeep trail.

Several miles up the road, I noted as I passed a small ranch that the telephone poles ended at the ranch. Later, I was quite surprised to pass by another ranch or two. Curiosity flowed through me as I imagined how these people might operate a small ranch without outside electrical power.

Then the narrow jeep trail began to fizzle out as it split in two. What appeared to be the main road had a fence across it. About 100 feet straight ahead, the road appeared to simply end, fading away into nothing but jungle.

A small narrower jeep trail split off to the left. It appeared to be wild and mostly untraveled. I began to turn around, conceding that I had probably reached journey’s end. Curiosity then got the best of me. “You know you want to try that road to the left … keep going … see where it leads … don’t stop yet … you can do this.”

By now, I was very hot, tired, sweaty, and dusty … but I forced myself onward, along the rough narrow trail. The road was barely wide enough for a jeep, but motorcycle tracks indicated that only two wheeled vehicles had been down this road in the recent past. Travel was difficult, as the rocks, roots, and ruts were constant companions. Shifting my bicycle into a lower gear, I struggled to maintain balance as I bounced over and around difficult obstacles. Glancing down, I noted that the sharp rocks in the trail appeared to have marine-like qualities; some of them even reminded me a bit of eroded brain coral.

The beauty of the trail and my surroundings astounded me—but I was too exhausted to enjoy any of it. Rather than being peacefully in the moment, I had slipped into a pattern of ruthlessly pushing myself onward, focusing on an ultimate destination rather than on simply enjoying the ride.

Stubbornly, I pushed forward another half mile or so. At one point I passed an abandoned shack in a small clearing—and was startled silly when suddenly several goats began bleating loudly in a tiny enclosure adjacent to the shed. “I wonder if someone actually lives out here,” I pondered, but I didn’t stop to give the thought any energy. I just kept pushing forward, imagining that it might actually be possible to make it all the way through the jungle to the northern coast.

Several hundred yards further up the trail, I finally called it quits—exhaustion and intense heat overwhelmed me. After stopping to drink some water, I noticed I was itching with a few fresh mosquito bytes. Wanting to stay and rest for a while, I coated my ankles, arms, and neck with insect repellant.

By now, the jungle trail was even more rough and narrow. By my estimations, I must have been six to eight miles north of the main highway that joins the east and west sides of the island. If I was right, the northern tip of Cozumel was probably at least three to five miles away. As much as I desired to continue forward, logic won the internal battle. I really had no idea where I actually was. Even if this trail did lead for five more miles—even if it did lead to the northern shores—there was no way I would have the strength or the time to continue for such a distance under current conditions.

Reluctantly, with my itching increasing and my exhaustion still building, I turned my bicycle around and began to retrace my difficult ride through the beautiful pristine jungle. With considerable effort, I soon made it back to more passable roads. Another hour later I was exhaustedly riding back toward the outskirts of the city. As I looked down at my ankles, I noted that they were covered in dark brown dirt—dust was caked onto my moist sweaty skin.

Sudden Storms

“Crash” A loud clap of thunder came out of nowhere. I looked over my left shoulder and noticed a large black cloud just a mile or two behind me. “Bam” another loud burst of thunder again rumbled through the neighborhood. I pedaled faster—hoping to beat the storm. As I drew nearer to my home, the drops began to lightly fall. By the time I turned down my street, only a half block away from shelter, the clouds let loose and the drenching began with a fury. In a matter of seconds, the incredibly soothing showers completely saturated my clothing. By the time I finished opening my gate, locking up my bicycle, and ascending my staircase, I was thoroughly waterlogged.

Sitting on my balcony, I absorbed the powerful refreshing energy of the afternoon storm. Fifteen minutes later, the transient storm was over, the clouds had moved on, the sun resumed its hot burning rays, and the partly cloudy sky was once again mostly blue.

After a relaxing shower—this one in the comfort of my own bathroom—I rested for a few hours before taking a late stroll down to the plaza. In my mind, I was expecting to have another magical Sunday evening dancing the salsa.

The first downpour caught everyone on the plaza by surprise. It seemed to come out of nowhere. The water-laden clouds appeared to be playing games with us. Repeatedly, a downpour would drench the plaza, only to stop and appear to be clearing up. Then another heavy shower would hit, teasingly followed by yet another slight pause in the action. Finally, after thirty minutes of back and forth teasing, the band gave up and began putting away their equipment. Seeing an opportunity during one of the longer pauses, I darted off with my own quick getaway toward home.

Within minutes of reaching my home, I was entertained by a spectacular display of lightning and thunder, combined with torrential rains. Several strikes of streaking electricity were so near to my balcony that the energetic thunder burst forth only a tiny fraction of a second later, sending a deafening crackling roar rumbling throughout the surrounding neighborhood streets.

After an hour of sitting on the porch, inhaling the powerful display of nature, the fury of the storm began to subside. Gradually, the lightning flashes moved off into the distance, and the rumbling sounds of thunder were replaced with the sounds of a few sirens, and some far away car alarms.

Around 6:00 a.m. this morning, Mother Nature heralded the arrival of the sun on this beautiful new day with yet a third powerful display of lightning and thunder. Amazingly enough, within an hour, the skies were again clear and blue.

What a beautiful day this has been. Throughout the day, the partly cloudy skies have been mostly blue, highlighted with clusters of interesting puffy white clouds. While the humidity still remains quite high, a gentle cool breeze has been blowing all day, providing some natural relief to the thermal discomfort.

If it were not for my powerful energetic memories, I might be convinced by today’s beautiful weather that none of those tantalizing displays of Mother Nature ever happened—unless of course I pay attention to the subtle evidence—namely the several mosquito bytes on my ankles and the scattered puddles of standing water that still linger in many of the streets.

How I love the changing weather. Every display of nature brings with it a sense of wonder and life, helping me to remain present with each passing moment.

© Brenda Larsen, 2009

Each day I continue to garner additional tidbits of information regarding everyday life in Cozumel. Just five short weeks ago, I believed I had figured out everything there is to know about “taking out the garbage” here. As the weeks have passed by, I continue to gain more understanding, even about such a simple basic subject.

A twinge of judgment shot through me when I noticed for the first time that my neighbors down the street had simply suspended several small grocery bags of smelly trash from the top wires of a shabby chain link fence next to their home. “Why would they do that?” I silently judged. “Don’t they have the common sense to just carry those bags across the street and toss them into the garbage cans?”

I felt quite humbled last week when I observed the garbage truck halt just opposite that fence. With my attention peaked, I watched a young worker run out, retrieve several bags of trash from the fence, and casually toss them into the back of the truck.

“That is just the way it is done here,” I pondered, as I realized that once again, I had jumped to erroneous judgments—basing my opinions only on my personal past experience.

Some neighbors down the street simply leave bags of trash on the sidewalk. The owner of the little BBQ chicken store on the corner just stacks old meat boxes behind his shop by the sidewalk. Almost daily, the garbage workers gather up and discard each of these piles as they scurry by. There seems to be no fixed schedule. At times I see the garbage trucks drive by during the middle of the day. Several times I have seen them drive by at 10:00 p.m. or even later. Once, while watching the early morning sunrise, I witnessed a small garbage truck stop at the mouth of the narrow row of homes just below my roof, as several young workers ran down the street gathering up all of the refuse.

This morning, I was filled with a new sense of respect as I sat down to write. Almost immediately after plopping my backpack down on my favorite bench, I observed a small pickup truck slowly inch its way through the plaza. Several workers quietly ran around shadowing the truck, emptying a variety of trash containers into large black plastic bags and tossing those bags into the back of the truck. Then I witnessed one worker walk over to a large blue plastic garbage container—similar to the residential ones we use in Utah. Opening the lid, this young man proceeded to manually empty the contents. Using his bare hands, he first picked out the larger contents from the top, and placed them into a black garbage bag. Then, he and another co-worker picked up the large can and dumped the remaining contents into yet another bag.

“Wow, what dedication and hard work.” I thought to myself. On a daily basis, under hot sweaty conditions, these garbage workers perform an amazing service to their community. I have grown to take so many things for granted in our largely mechanized society back home.

As I listen to two particularly exuberant birds squawking away at each other in the tree above me, I am immersed in thought, pondering just how this whole “garbage collection” topic can apply to everyday life. I believe there are several lessons to be explored.

Several times during my short stay here in Cozumel, I have jumped to conclusions, believing I now knew all of the “facts.” Perception is such an amazing concept, such an automatic process. From the day we are born, we begin to collect “knowledge” about the expansive world around us. We categorize and store every encounter in our brain, gradually reducing each memory to simple words, labels, and emotions. It becomes so easy to slip into a place of unconsciousness in our lives, where everything around us in the magnificent present moment is quickly judged and perceived based on past experience. We are so intently focused on “what is next?” that we literally don’t see any of the magic going on around us “right now.”

It is as if we each have our own private pair of sun glasses, with the lenses being specially crafted from every element of our personal past experiences. As we stare at the world through these filtered lenses, literally everything we see is colored by our own past. We think we see the truth, but we really only see our perception, our interpretation of the truth. Returning to and focusing on the present moment is a wonderful way to begin “taking out the garbage” of the past, to help us see the “here and now” through clear lenses.

For example, the first time we encounter a new tree, such as the incredible orange flowering trees here in the plaza, the experience can be a magical exploration of the five senses. Such new experiences bring us into the moment, helping us to feel a sense of awe and wonder. After spending considerable time around the tree, however, we usually begin to think we already know everything about it, we spend less time observing its elegant details, and we begin to take it for granted.

One day, we might walk by and simply think “There is that ‘orange flowering tree.’” However, in thinking the words, we no longer actually see the magic of the tree. Perhaps we don’t even see the tree at all. It becomes a known and categorized entity—simply a label—a memory identified by a word or collection of words.

If we later happen upon another tree with orange blossoms, we do not even look at it to notice that it is unique and different. Perhaps the blossoms of this new tree have different shapes, or the seed pods hang differently. We don’t get close enough to feel the texture of the bark or notice that the leaves are fern-like. Because we think we already know what this tree is like, we simply judge it from past experience, past labels.

Yes, I was judging garbage collection through past experience and past labels, assuming I already knew everything there was to know. I was judging a few of my neighbors by assuming they should see things the way I see them—concluding that my past experience was the only valid method of viewing the situation. How fun it is as I begin to see a little more clearly.

Judgment is such a subtle, many-headed beast. Take for example, the young twenty-something man that I admire—the one that has the courage to dance solo in the plaza. With my darker lenses of the past I would have judged him as being a socially inept loser, dirty and sloppily dressed, incapable of having a relationship, too weird to get someone else to dance with him. Now, I don’t see outward appearances. Instead, I enjoy his beautiful energy as he expresses his soul with abandon through uninhibited dance.

I recognized a similar shift in perception with the little grandma that I danced with for most of Sunday evening. The old me would have looked at her and seen a squatty, heavy-set woman. I might have thought twice before being seen dancing with her. The new me thoroughly loved the experience and saw nothing but love and beauty in her eyes and soul. Yes, the old me would have missed a wonderful evening of dancing.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not trying to imply any personal expertise in seeing through clear lenses. I trip and fall all the time. I am yet an infant, still growing everyday, continuing to work on shifting perceptions from fear to love. But I have experienced incredible shifts as I flow down my river of life. With every bend in my journey, I can say with absolute certainty that the view continues to grow increasingly more spectacular as I pass through each lesson in love and personal growth.

Throughout much of my life, I packed away stagnant, smelly, emotional garbage in the dark recesses of my soul, believing that if I buried it well enough the garbage would never again see the light of day. Guilt, shame, anger, victimization, judgment, and self-loathing were all composting in my hidden chambers. Some of this emotional garbage was piled up on sidewalks or hanging in bags from chain link fences, but most was buried in caves as it festered in the cold damp darkness. I used to believe that stuffing these emotions was the healthy way of dealing with them—but I have since learned that emotions buried alive never die. They simply build up pressure, forming volatile gases, waiting for opportunities to explode like volcanoes when you least expect them.

As I watched the young garbage workers this morning, working tirelessly under dirty and difficult conditions, I could not help but draw additional personal comparisons to my own process of internal excavations.

I would love to believe that I have already gone through the hardest parts of my healing journey—digging through and processing what I believe to be the biggest mother lodes of my buried past perceptions. The path has not been a graceful waltz. Much of the process has involved rivers of tears, puddles of perspiration, sleepless nights, and literal physical exhaustion. Emotional honesty and a willingness to get down on my hands and knees to dig even deeper, have been key elements in my ability to continue on. And yes, I recognize there may yet be more tears, more sleepless nights, more exhaustion to come, as I continue forward on my journey.

Every exhausting effort has been rewarded one thousand fold with joy, peace, love, gratitude, and happiness. The process began many years ago, and continues one small miracle at a time. With each miracle shift from fear to love, the newfound peace launches me willingly into my next perception-shifting adventure.

Just as these garbage workers in Cozumel have no fancy mechanized methods for removing the trash—neither do we. While some methods of taking out the trash are definitely quicker, perhaps even more efficient, every method requires a deep willingness, and an incredible amount of hard manual labor. This is not a resistance-free process, but the rewards are huge and begin immediately.

Like climbing a spiral staircase, we simply need to have the willingness to take the next step right in front of us. Each step gives us more confidence, more peace, more love, more joy. As we go around each bend in the staircase, more of our future path gradually unfolds ahead of us. We recognize that we are not there yet—there is still another step to take, and then another. But the higher we climb, the more joyous each step becomes, the more peace we encounter in our lives, and the more anxious we are to continue climbing. In fact, we begin to ascend even faster.

The journey at times can seem quite daunting. We tend to doubt our abilities and hesitate to venture the necessary risks. It feels easier to remain in the safety of our familiar known universe. But the climb up this spiral staircase does not have to be frightening or difficult; all it takes is a little willingness …

A little willingness … to take the next step

A little willingness … to look within

A little willingness … to risk opening up old painful wounds

A little willingness … to trust

A little willingness … to see things differently

A little willingness … to let go

A little willingness … to forgive

A little willingness … to be wrong about the past

A little willingness … to begin to love

A little willingness … to be vulnerable

A little willingness … to let emotions surface

A little willingness … to feel

A little willingness … to stand in the river of emotions

A little willingness … to love unconditionally

A little willingness … to do the right thing

A little willingness … to let go of expectations

A little willingness … to release judgments

A little willingness … to let go of our story

A little willingness … to shift our perceptions

Yes, taking out the emotional garbage requires a deep internal willingness—but it doesn’t have to be done all at once. We simply need start where we are, today, taking one small step at a time. Just as with the garbage collection in Cozumel, there is no fixed schedule for our own growth opportunities. Sometimes the experiences that will help us clear our garbage seem to stop by at the most inconvenient of times. Personal experience tells me that these unscheduled encounters often bring the most growth … if we are willing to lovingly embrace them.

If we but focus on being present, each moment of our life will reveal to us our next small step. We need but take advantage of the lessons that life puts before us as we practice shifting our perceptions from fear to love in each and every situation.

We often get impatient and fearful, believing that we cannot take a step until we can clearly see the big picture. “What if I am walking off in the wrong direction?” We might ask ourselves as we shrink away in fear, doing nothing, sitting around while waiting and hoping for additional directions.

The universe rarely gives us our own personal big picture to focus on. If we clearly saw our ultimate destination—and if we rushed off towards it—we would literally miss out on each of the small, individual, day-by-day experiences that actually provide us with opportunities to grow, to heal, and to learn to love unconditionally.

My adventure here in Cozumel would be far less interesting if I knew where this journey is taking me. The magic is in the not knowing, it is in the anticipation, the trusting, and the loving of the process. It is so much more fun to receive a gift when I don’t know what is underneath the wrapping paper.

Great joy comes from simply trusting each small step into the unknown, taking advantage of the growth opportunities presented to us by each step—namely learning to shift out of fear into a place of unconditional love. We grow in faith as we gradually learn to trust our own spiritual intuition by actually following the tiniest of promptings—even though these miniscule feelings might seem quite silly at the time.

If we can be trusting and patient with the universe, recognizing this truth, our reward is indeed a feeling of immediate deep peace. We no longer worry about where we are headed. The peace of the present moment is all we need.

© Brenda Larsen, 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brenda … BREnda … BRENDA!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguelito

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Personal Boundaries

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

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

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

This Too Shall Pass

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Brenda Larsen, 2009

It amazes me how easy I can slip into a melancholy mood. On Friday, as I sat writing in the plaza, I was alive with vibrant spiritual energy. Friday evening, I thoroughly enjoyed a wonderful experience as I began connecting with a whole new group of friends. On Wednesday, I had gone to my first breakfast with a group of American women who live in Cozumel. During breakfast, two of them were talking about their Friday evening game nights. “That sounds really fun,” I had hinted. Before I could blink, Friday evening had arrived, and I was eating delicious desserts and enjoying delightful conversation while playing ‘Cranium’ with a fun group of new friends.

But then Saturday happened. Perhaps my body was simply expressing a delayed rebellion to my strenuous bicycle excursion from Thursday. My forehead was quite sunburned and I had definitely pushed myself to extremes in the hot, blazing sun. I also recognized that I had experienced mild symptoms of heat exhaustion both during and after that journey.

“But if this is physical exhaustion, then why had I felt so incredibly good on Friday?” I asked myself. “Maybe my emotions just got the better of me.”

While relaxing Saturday morning, I allowed my tired mind to drift as I checked email and played a few games on my laptop. Feeling drained, I lay down and rested for a while. Then I turned on the TV and watched CSI with Spanish subtitles. Before I knew what was going on, I was back on the computer playing games once again.

I began to recognize an old pattern. Instead of just playing a few games, I was drifting into a robotic mindless trance. While continuing to physically go through the game-playing motions, my mind was actually drifting in an entirely different and familiar dimension. I was fully aware of the depressed feeling in my gut as I monotonously watched the minutes ticking away on my watch. Minutes gradually turned into hours, consuming my entire morning and eventually chipping away at the whole afternoon as well.

But there was a difference to my pattern this time. In past years, during such periods of depression, I had become mentally and emotionally lost in these mindless diversions of computer games. Yes, in the past, I had been consumed in the hopelessness—feeling helpless, frightened, and trapped by life circumstances.

Yesterday, throughout this entire moody experience, I simply became an observer. Instead of owning and buying into the feelings, I simply watched them, knowing there was absolutely no reasonable foundation for their existence. I have never been happier in my life, and have never felt more free to follow my heart. Even so, the unexplained depressed feelings flowed randomly through me with the force of a small river.

By mid afternoon, still being the observer of this mindless process, I was quite surprised to witness intense anger arising within my body. The fury and rage was directed toward my former religion. “That is quite interesting,” I thought to myself as I continued being the spectator, “I thought I had resolved that emotion long ago.”

Allowing the angry feelings to continue flowing through me, I realized that they were actually related to fears of the future. In just three short weeks, I will spend another week in Utah. My youngest son has asked a beautiful young woman to marry him, and they will be completing their sacred vows in a Mormon temple.

Continuing to observe myself, I recognized that I was resurrecting past painful experiences and projecting them into the future—the future that was very rapidly approaching.

I could already sense the sadness of knowing that religious walls would prevent me from being present during my own son’s wedding—as I am not considered worthy to enter within those sacred temple walls. I was already experiencing the awkwardness of wondering which wedding activities I may or may not be invited to attend. Already envisioning the reception, I could see myself sitting off to one side with a couple of friends, enjoying the festivities—but still feeling like an outsider.

Yes, I observed the anger flow into my body, and I watched it morph into sadness as it flowed through me and soon exited.

No, I would not dwell on the emotion. I knew it consisted merely of thoughts and memories filled with the energy of the past, projected onto the future. “I am a whole new person, and this is an entirely new experience.” I reminded myself. “My peace and happiness comes from internal connections to my source and living in the moment—not from any external events.”

As 4:00 p.m. rolled around, still lost in the mindless wanderings, I told myself “Stop … you need to get out of your pajamas, shower, and get some food … you’re starving and you need to get ready to go dance on the plaza tonight.”

Another hour later, at 5:00 p.m., I finally coaxed my fingers to click my computer into a state of hibernation. Feeling determined to shift my day towards positive energy, I went through the motions of bathing, styling my hair, applying makeup, and even consumed a yummy meal at a small outdoor restaurant adjacent to the plaza. But the melancholy mood continued to follow me around like my shadow.

As I joined Miguel in waiting for the plaza festivities to start, we both sat in awkward silence. I briefly explained that I was very tired, probably from my bicycle ride. After I shared a little about my Thursday adventure, he explained that he was feeling sadness, but he didn’t try to explain why.

“I think I am going to leave and go home to rest.” I told him. I just couldn’t see myself trying to pretend to enjoy the dancing while intense emotional moods were still rumbling through me.

“I might do the same.” He answered.

As I walked through the dark narrow streets, heading toward home, I was so consumed by my own river of feelings, that I didn’t give much thought to the question, “Why is Miguel sad?” I’ll have to pursue that one later.

A New Day

I awoke this morning at 1:00 a.m. to the sensation of moisture misting onto my face. A few seconds later, I realized that a huge downpour was releasing itself with incredible energy in the streets just outside my open bedroom window. Rather than taking the time to absorb the powerful rejuvenating energy of the storm, I tiredly closed the windows and returned to bed—my exhaustion had not yet subsided.

At 7:00 a.m., determined to start my day with new energy, I showered and peacefully strolled toward the plaza. The effects of the early morning drenching were still evident throughout the damp narrow streets. While walking, I had time to ponder. “I have given enough attention to these emotions.” I told myself. “It is time to let them flow on—time for me to rejoin the present moment.”

I began by sitting on a bench, enjoying a podcast of Oprah Winfrey and Eckhart Tolle on my IPOD. While I loved the spiritually inspiring conversation, exhaustion again overwhelmed me. Pressing the pause button on my IPOD, I curled up on my park bench, closed my eyes, and attempted to sleep off the emotional hangover.

Finally I heard it—that little silent internal voice that annoyingly proclaimed “You won’t feel better until you write about this experience … there was a reason you went through all of these emotions … get your laptop out now … come on … do it!”

Surrendering to what I knew to be the truth, I sat up on the bench, looked out toward the ocean, took several deep breaths, switched on the power button, and began rattling away on my laptop. Now, several hours later, I am beginning to feel energized, renewed with a spiritual connection to who I am and why I am here.

I have to laugh. As I write today, I’m sitting on a bench in the gazebo of the plaza, staring out toward the calm ocean waters. For the last half hour, three policemen have been sitting about 20 feet away under a shade tree. Two of them just approached me. “Excuse me. You are an American, right?”

“Yes.” I answered, curiously wondering where the conversation was headed.

“Can you tell us what SWAT stands for?” one of them asked—as if I was supposed to be an expert.

Pausing and smiling, I reached into the back recesses of my mind. “I’m sorry, but I am really not sure.” We bantered around for a few minutes, and came up with the speculation that perhaps it stands for “Special Weapons and Tactics.”

The synchronicity of this moment is amazing. As I chatted with these fun policemen, I felt my mood suddenly lighten, and I felt my mouth curve into a big smile. After they walked away, I began to search for an analogy to tie this whole experience together.

All day yesterday—and even this morning—my whole state of being had been held hostage by old, stale, worn out, dead, depressing emotions. I could easily have bought into the gravity of the whole situation, and rushed in with weapons drawn, determined to recklessly kill those emotions before they had a chance to play themselves out.

But instead, I drew on the wisdom of my own “Special Weapons and Tactics.”

My special weapon was “Using no weapon at all”. I have learned that fighting against emotions only reinforces the negative energy and strength of those emotions. There is truth in the statement, “What you resist persists.”

My first special tactic was to stand back and maintain the role of observer. Allowing the hostage standoff to play itself out, I gave the emotions time to process, time to flow and develop into something concrete that I could identify and recognize. Once the real emotion surfaced, I could then employ my other special tactic.

My second tactic was to simply shine the light of truth onto those dark emotions. From writing about these emotions, I realize how silly they really are. As I examine the hearts of each member of my dear family, I can easily recognize that we are all simply doing the best we know how under complicated circumstances. Each one of us is acting from a state of genuine desires—from a place of pure unconditional love.

As I ponder about my former religion, I don’t feel anger—I feel gratitude for the blessings in my life that came as a result of my religious upbringing. Much of who I am has been positively influenced by the religious teachings of my youth.

Yes, situations and circumstances appear to be awkward and emotionally difficult, but in reality, life is just providing me with another obstacle course so that I can practice honing my skills of unconditional love. I love the miracles that come from shifting my perceptions.

© Brenda Larsen, 2009

An 18 inch tan lizard with brown rings cautiously explores the treasures which lay on the concrete walkway just 6 feet in front of me. Pushing its nose into a small seedpod, it turns away disappointed, still looking for something better. Slowly, my little friend waddles a couple feet closer, zeroing in on a fine tasty treat—the dry squashed remains of a small berry. As he begins to eat, he completely ignores my motionless body. A tourist with a camera decides he has a better idea, and begins to move in. My new friend scampers off and climbs over the wall into the safety of the bushy shrubs surrounding the clock tower.

I look up. To my left I notice an armed policeman, looking quite official in his black uniform. As he strolls through the plaza, his right hand rests on the barrel of his small machine gun that dangles from a strap across his chest. His handgun is holstered on his right hip, and I trust that he knows how to use both weapons. To my right, just behind the clock tower, a young American couple, each wearing fancy Mexican sombreros, is smiling and happily snapping vacation photos of each other

As I sit here on my favorite shady bench, a couple of large African American men sit on the wall just a few feet behind me and to my right. They are big and strong, with the build of professional football players. Almost instantly, they ask, “Are you online? Do you have internet here in the plaza?” In the past, I may have been intimidated by these two, but I simply smile, look into their genuine eyes, access my heart, and envision them as beautiful teddy bears.

Only minutes after engaging in a delightful conversation, the topic magically drifts to the spiritual deep topic of following your heart. After telling them that I am working on two books, the discussion drifts to the topic of honesty in writing. I tell them “I am being 100% honest with things as I perceive and remember them—but I’m sure that others around me may see or remember the same events differently. All I can do is be honest from my own heart’s perceptions.”

“Why Cozumel?” one of them queries.

“I don’t know. All I can tell you is that my heart guided me here.” Then I begin to briefly summarize the inner journey that brought me to be sitting on this small shady bench in the plaza.

Then it happens—the golden question, “What is so interesting about your life that people would want to read about it?”

I smile, pause for a minute, glance into their eyes for a heart check, and slowly begin “I think I can share my story with you.” Trusting my heart, I proceeded to summarize the basic elements of my life struggles, using love and confidence to share what is now simply a story. No look of shock—just pure soul connection—was their response. Not letting their size intimidate me, I instead allow my heart-to-heart connection to continue guiding me.

We talk further about spirituality versus religion. After agreeing that true spirituality and real life change must come from within, they share a quote from the end of the movie “Dirty Laundry.” I wish I could quote it directly, but haven’t seen the movie and did not write their words down. Paraphrased, the quote was something like, “You haven’t lived if you don’t follow your own heart.”

A twinge of sadness jabs my heart as these two beautiful men stand up and let me know that it is time for them to move on. They are cruise ship passengers, and have limited time on this, the last day of their cruise. Shane reaches out his hand and I shake it. Keith begins to do the same, and I immediately say “enough of this handshake stuff.” After giving Keith a big hug, I turn back to Shane and hug him too. As they walk away to wherever they went, my heart is smiling. Somehow, I know that their hearts are smiling too.

Dear Sweet Miguel

Wednesday afternoon, I hopped onto my bicycle seat and began what I believed would be a short exploration of the southeastern corner of the city. A surge of energy turned my short ride into a 15 mile roundtrip ride to Chankanaab. On my return ride, as I neared the city center, I hopped off my bicycle and pushed it through the pedestrian-only plaza.

I had only one thing on my mind—my sweet 75 year old friend Miguel. I suspected I would see him in the plaza. My flight arrived on Monday afternoon, but I had spent my last two evenings resting. I knew it was time for a visit.

I spied Miguel sitting in the gazebo. His eyes lit up when he recognized me. I must have been quite the sight after just completing a 15 mile ride in the dripping-hot humidity—but I ignored my own appearance. It was time for more important things.

After a brief hug, we leaned my bicycle against the gazebo and climbed the stairs back to the bench where Miguel had been sitting. “How is your mother?” he asked.

In the best Spanish I could muster, I briefly explained the basics of the passing of both my mother and mother-in-law—and how I had attended two funerals.

Miguel continued “I knew you were coming back to Cozumel on Monday, so I was right here in this spot on Monday afternoon, waiting for you. Then, I was right here again on Tuesday. I am so glad to see you here today.”

I began to get nervous when this sweet friend told me “I thought about you every day. You are growing in my heart. Did you think about me everyday?”

I answered “I thought about you,” but did not know how to delicately add, “Just a little.”

“We are just friends, right?” I asked inquisitively—gently trying to make sure that he understands my genuine intentions to just be friends.”

“Yes,” he answered, “but my wife and I were friends too before we got married.”

Red flags flashed before my eyes, as I attempted to remind him “I’m not interested in dating, romance or marriage – I just want to be friends.”

I’m not really sure how effectively I communicated. From what I understand of his comments, he is growing very fond of me, and made it clear that he would like me to live permanently in Cozumel.

Having made my intentions as clear as I could, I relaxed into the conversation. Our ability to converse is still quite awkward and limited. At one point he made the statement. “I am just sitting here observing you. Are you observing me too?”

I replied, “Yes, I feel like I am observing you too, because I don’t have the words to speak what I would like to say.” Speaking no better than a three year old, I tried to explain my spiritual path of learning to love everyone, including him. “I love everyone here.” I emphasized.

Miguel pointed at something on my lower left lip—something from my sweaty ride—until I was finally able to remove it with a napkin. I will never know what it was, and was not the least bit embarrassed.

Sitting together for another hour, Miguel and I attempted to converse in small talk about this and that. Whoever wrote my Spanish/English Dictionary has my deepest gratitude, as it was my constant companion. I so appreciate Miguel’s patience, but worry deeply about his heart and his intentions regarding me.

While riding my bicycle toward home, I kept reminding myself “I don’t need to worry about Miguel. I just need to love unconditionally, follow my internal voices, and be kind and gentle. Everything will work out beautifully in the end. I don’t need to know what any of this is for.”

I Did It

As Wednesday evening drew to a close, a new ‘knowing’ had managed to filter into my soul. “Tomorrow, you are going to ride your bicycle around the entire southern end of the island.”

This was not a decision made with planning, foresight, and logic. It was simply something that I knew—something I was actually quite surprised to know. Many times I had thought that “one day soon I will attempt this journey,” but logic told me that I was not yet physically ready for such a ride. As my inner ‘knowing’ settled into place, I simply surrendered and told myself, “OK, I guess I better get packed.”

Thursday morning, excitement filled my soul. I tried to pack lightly, but my backpack was still heavy—with two liters of water, bicycle tools/pump/patch kit, my wallet, and a few snacks. I wore my swimming suit under my light blouse and capris, but opted to leave the weight of towels and snorkeling equipment behind.

At 7:45 a.m., with SPF 30 smeared all over my body, I locked my gate, mounted my trusty bicycle, and set off in the direction of the waterfront. The cool morning breeze was refreshing as I made excellent time heading south along the coast. Within 35 minutes, I was passing the spot where my tire had gone flat on a previous excursion. At 9:00 a.m., I pulled into “Playa Palancar”—the furthest south I had yet ventured on my bicycle. Resting briefly at this beautiful sandy beach, I sipped on a soft drink while I studied the gentle pulsing of the turquoise blue waters. After asking if I was going to stay and play on the beach, my kind waiter was surprised when I answered “No, I am riding my bicycle around the island, and I need to be going soon.”

By 10:00 a.m., I had reached the entry station to the “Punta Sur” reserve area. This is a gorgeous place at the southern tip of Cozumel. From the entrance station, a dirt road winds along the beach, past a few small Mayan ruins. On one side of the road are spectacular white sandy beaches, off limits to the public, because they are protected nesting grounds for sea turtles. On the other side of the road are a few large marshy areas—home to a variety of birds, fish, and even alligators. Two miles down the road stands a beautiful, tall, white, round lighthouse. The view from the top of the lighthouse is gorgeous.

Because of limited time, and the $8.50 entrance fee, I made the decision to return on a different occasion—at a time when I can devote my entire day to the experience. But past memories are calling me back for more than the lighthouse and the view.

Another dirt road starts at the lighthouse. On a regular schedule, visitors can catch a ride down that road, on benches in the back of an old truck, with the final destination being a beautiful and isolated beach. On my previous visit to Cozumel, I found a beautiful, shallow, living reef within swimming distance of shore. Yes, when I return to the lighthouse, I will be bringing my snorkeling equipment.

With memories still calling me back, I turned my bicycle northward and began my ride up the eastern shores of the island. This side of Cozumel directly borders the Caribbean Sea, and the views are spectacular. For the next three hours I feasted on the energy of the sea. The shoreline on the southeast has a variety of sandy beaches and rugged black rocks.

In the sandier areas, the first things that captured my focus was a cluster of three-foot deep holes in the white sand, with what looked at first like snowmobile tracks winding 100 or more feet from the hole back to the edge of the rough surf. Almost immediately, I realized that these were turtle tracks. About four feet wide, the middle of the tracks was smoother, while the edges were riddled with little cupped out holes made by the turtle’s feet as they pushed and dug their way back toward the ocean. Most of these tracks looked quite recent, showing minimal signs of erosion from wind or storm. It also occurs to me that only one set of tracks led to each hole. Each tortoise must have followed the exact same path both up the beach and back to the water’s safety. What an amazing experience.

Making my way up the shoreline, I continued to see such tracks for ten miles or more, but many of the tracks further north appeared to be older, less recent, more windblown.

The eastern shores of Cozumel receive the brunt force of tropical storms and hurricanes. These shores are the island’s first defense against the fierce winds let loose by Mother Nature. The makeup of the jungles on this side of the island seems to tell a story of many of these past storms. The jungles near the water are short and squatty, and the palm trees seem to be beaten down by years of buffeting winds. The small jungle palms nearest shore have ragged clusters of shorter leaves that are bent back and sparse.

Thirty minutes into my northward ride, I came upon a cluster of healthier trees between the road and a small sheltered cove of turquoise water and white sand. Finding a place to sit in the shade of these trees, I used my senses to inhale my surroundings. Remains of a crumbling lobster lay on the ground in pieces, just a few feet to my right. The scent of salt water was everywhere, made stronger by the occasional breezes that brought a tiny bit of relief from the hot sun.

The surrounding ground under the trees was covered with clusters of white rocks. A closer look revealed that these rocks were remains of various types of brain coral that had weathered and washed up onto shore. Some had pink spots, but most were a sun-faded white.

A few of these small trees had succumbed in their standoff with storms, and had fallen over, revealing an incredible root system of twisted and tangled brown straw-like roots—roots that looked very much like a wild windblown head full of dreadlocks.

The scene was so inviting that I was soon standing up to my thighs in the warm, rhythmic surges of water in the sheltered cove. Thinking of the discomfort of riding 20 miles in a wet swimsuit, I opted to stay dry—thinking “Perhaps I’ll swim when I am a little closer to home.”

As I attempted to meditate in the shade, I noted that the breezes had ceased, and my shaded skin was very hot and moist. A little intuition told me “you’ll be cooler if you get back on your bicycle and ride—creating your own breeze. Not many minutes later, I was doing just that.

At noon, about halfway up the eastern shore, I came across paradise. It was a little beach called “Playa Bonita” (beautiful beach). Swimming on the east side of the island is highly discouraged. Strong riptides, undertows, and currents make it dangerous to wander into the tempting waters. This beach is one of the few developed places where swimmers can swim—as long as they do not venture very far into the depths. After securing my bicycle, I selected a table in the small beachside restaurant—a shady table right on the edge of a small balcony, only a hop, skip and a jump from the inviting surf below. While eating lunch, I immersed myself completely in the moment: watching the swimmers, sensing the energy of the powerful crashing waves, feeling the magic of the turquoise waters, and absorbing the vista of the half mile of white sandy beaches nestled in this beautiful circular cove.

A part of me said “Get in that water … do it now … you know you want to swim today.” But alas, the practical part of me won this debate. I realized that I had forgotten my sunscreen, and I still had a two hour bicycle ride ahead of me. Realizing that a swim might wash away much of the protection still remaining on my skin, and choosing to not risk another bad sunburn, I reluctantly mounted my bicycle and resumed my northward journey.

Soon, my memorable three hour journey up the southeastern shores of the Caribbean was coming to an end. What an incredible experience to gently glide along those peaceful, beautiful shores. What a peaceful spirit accompanied me as I studied the turquoise blue waters, white sandy beaches, turtle tracks, rugged black rocks, and windblown jungle trees. Each element of the journey seemed to come alive as I placed my entire focus into the experience—that aliveness still lives within my soul.

“Just keep on pedaling” became my internal motto for the final hour of my journey as I pushed my way back across the middle of the island. I was very tired, the heat was beginning to affect me, and my stomach was beginning to slightly ache. Looking back, I realize I was beginning to feel the sensations of a mild heat exhaustion. Nevertheless, I managed to remain centered and at least partially in-the-moment during this final push.

Feelings of pride surged through my soul as I locked up my bicycle and climbed my stairway to the cold shower that was screaming out my name. “I made it” I silently but joyously proclaimed. While I have no idea of the exact mileage, my estimates tell me that I rode nearly 50 miles during my circular journey around Cozumel.

While smiling in the mirror, I examined my red and exhausted face. After lifting my bangs, and touching a finger to my red forehead, I thought “Ouch,  did I forget to put sunscreen on my forehead?” Regardless, I knew in my heart that this will not be my last time riding my bicycle up those beautiful southeastern shores.

© Brenda Larsen, 2009

Deep self-reflection has been my constant companion ever since last week. “Just what led up to my emotional meltdown on Thursday? Why was I so vulnerable? What might I learn about myself from the entire experience?”

During my focused inquiry, I have shined the searchlight in many different directions, exploring possible external causes, but the beam of light always ends up shining right back at me. Yes, the cause lies completely within. I have sufficient insight to realize that nothing outside of me has the power to hijack my emotional stability—unless, of course, I relinquish that power.

So just what have I discovered about myself? What little tidbits of clarity can I record that perhaps might prove useful in future situations?

For starters, I was tired. For twelve days, my life had been consumed with a continuous stream of emotional events. For much of that time, my sleep had been interrupted, night after night.

Being around birth family also takes its toll. As I sat with my brother and sisters, planning Mom’s funeral, I found myself drifting back to childhood roles and behaviors. For brief moments, I began to slip into past insecurities, self-doubt, and guilt. Glimpses of these old emotions attempted to resurrect themselves—feelings that I had believed to have been fully healed and resolved. Apparently, a few minor cuts and bruises still remain—giving me additional opportunities for growth. 

Then we have my relationship with my own precious children. After my divorce and transition, almost thirteen long years ago, I was buried under huge mountains of guilt and regret. No, I have never regretted going through my life transitions—but I experienced deep sadness in knowing that my changes resulted in so much stress and awkwardness in my children’s lives. No, I have never felt guilty regarding my surgeries, but I once suffered extreme guilt over how my journey has impacted the lives of those that I love.

To this very day, I have a deep spiritual confirmation that my path was necessary, and inspired. I could never have gone through the growth and deepening of my soul without having followed the promptings of my heart. And yes, even if I had somehow managed to not kill myself by now, I would have been a miserable shell of a human being had I not faced my debilitating fears and followed my heart into the unknown that is now the present.

My family may vehemently disagree, but I also believe their lives have been blessed. While the path has not been easy for anyone, they too have learned lessons that would have otherwise gone unlearned. It is my deep conviction that all suffering and struggle is accompanied by hidden treasures if we but look for them.

Five years ago, after having felt deeply wounded by family, I reached an incredible breakthrough in my emotional healing. One of my children had excluded me from participation in an important life event, and I was consumed in a cloud of emotional devastation and victimization. In the midst of trying to process and lick my wounds, I had a life-changing epiphany. Through a series of beautiful little spiritual synchronicities, the powerful message profoundly flowed into my awareness.

“Do the right thing … do it for the right reasons … and expect nothing in return.”

This powerful insight settled deeply into my heart, bringing about a complete internal shift, a total shift in awareness that brought immediate results.  “My only function,” I reflected, “is to love my children with unconditional love.” I continued my pondering with, “In all of my interactions with my children, I need simply come from that unconditional place, simply loving them because it is the right thing to do—doing everything from that same pure space.”

It was the final insight, however, that was most profound. “I cannot base my behavior on expectations of any kind. Unconditional love expects nothing back. If love is accompanied by an expectation, then that love is conditional.” I realized that no matter how my children respond to me, I simply need to love them.

As I pondered, another thought became equally obvious, “Having expectations is what sets me up for further pain.”

From that moment forward, I radiated a completely different energy with my children, and I began to observe and sense immediate positive results in the way they responded to me. As I practiced loving without expectations, I noticed that they were treating me with more love and respect as well. Perhaps they changed—or maybe it was just my internal perception of them that changed—but I loved how I was feeling.

Yes, of course there were still vulnerable times when I built up expectations, and as a result was blindsided by hurt feelings. However, once I healed through them, I simply used each of those events to stimulate additional shifting and healing of my own attitudes and perceptions.

This past week, in the midst of family interactions, I now recognize that I began to subtly “wish for” and “desire” a closer relationship. At a very unconscious level, I placed hidden expectations on outside behaviors and events. While talking lovingly with my son on Thursday morning, I was primed and ready for my new lesson. As he explained his concerns, my exhaustion, guilt, and hidden desires began to surface. Past feelings started rising from the depths—feelings of needing validation, being misjudged and wishing things could be different, feelings of “If only they would change, I could be happier.”

Believe it or not, I am deeply grateful for having gone through this growth experience. I recognize that the entire experience was an inner journey. No one else did anything. I was reacting to my own internal stories, responding to the trauma/drama of thoughts, emotions, and memories that had gradually resurfaced during the week. I am also grateful for how I handled my pain. Rather than lashing out at my son or inlaws, I remained calm and loving. I stood in the river, allowed the emotion to flow through me, and then healed myself by again reconnecting with my spiritual source.

Symphonic Voices

As I reflect on the profound synchronicities of my short journey back to Utah, I am amazed at the incredible timing of it all. Something I have not previously mentioned is that three days before learning that my Mom was rapidly declining, my dear friends Lori and Jeanette were in the final stages of planning to visit me here in Cozumel. They had intended to purchase tickets on Saturday. As I talked to Lori, she filled me in “Brenda, I don’t know why, but I just don’t feel good about buying tickets today. I have a strong feeling that I should wait until Monday.”

Lori later revealed several stories of how she and Jeanette had been puzzled by little experiences that seemed to be discouraging them from flying to Cozumel. On Monday, I again talked to Lori, only to learn that she felt prompted to wait a little longer. The ticket prices had gone up by $100—and something just didn’t feel right to her.

An hour later, my brother called me for the first time to tell me that my mother was declining rapidly—that death may not be far away.

Immediately after ending the call with my brother, I dialed Lori’s number. We had an amazing conversation, the kind that creates goose-bumps and spine-shivers, as I told her why she was not supposed to fly to Cozumel on July 14^th. “I’m supposed to be in Utah for my Mom’s funeral,” I explained to her. “I’m not sure I would have been back to Cozumel by the 14^th. You might have been down here by yourselves.”

Then Lori felt inspired to tell me about an event that “might” happen in Utah from July 16^th through the 19^th. My therapist friend Paul was tentatively looking at that weekend for one of his powerful healing workshops. A strong sense of ‘knowing’ inside told me, “You need to be in Utah for that weekend.” At the same time, I somehow knew that the therapy workshop would probably not happen, but I remained firm in my recognition that I should stay until the 20^th.

I overflow with gratitude at how I came to the realization that I should fly to Utah on July 4^th and remain until the 20^th—and I am amazed at how Jeanette and Lori’s voices contributed to that awareness. We all listened to the quiet feelings within. Each of us honored, communicated, and trusted those voices. The end result was indeed a symphony of harmonious spiritual music.

Just hours after purchasing my tickets, my Mother rallied. As I began to doubt myself, I kept returning to the thought “I know I was supposed to fly to Utah from the 4^th through the 20^th. I don’t know what to expect, but everything will turn out perfectly.”

Looking back on these event-filled 17 days, I cannot imagine a more perfect unfolding of inspiration. My mother rallied long enough for me to get home to have a few precious memories with her. Then, on the evening of her funeral, I was blown away with a beautiful spiritual experience as my mother-in-law took her own final breaths. After passing through another emotional growth experience, I was blessed with the opportunity to attend my mother-in-law’s funeral in southwestern Wyoming. My heart was full as I watched one of my sons share a beautiful life sketch of his beloved grandma, while another son provided beautiful piano music throughout the heartfelt gathering.

I could not have imagined a more fitting finale for my journey. One day later, on Sunday evening, I spent several hours reconnecting with my children and grandchildren as we celebrated the fourth birthday of one of my beautiful and precious granddaughters.

Gratitude and peace fill my soul as I reflect on the harmony of the beautiful symphonies of these past two weeks. I am overjoyed for having had the courage and faith to trust my feelings, to listen to those internal voices—both my own and those of my friends. Each beautiful experience reinforces my confidence to continue riding my bicycles into the unknown as I experience the future unfolding one precious moment at a time..

© Brenda Larsen, 2009

My soul had a flat tire yesterday.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I hit a sharp rock that literally sliced my front tire open. As the air rushed from my tire, the impact sent my body flying into a pile of gravel. I started sliding and rolling down a steep grade, and nearly fell over the edge of a cliff. Somehow, I managed to catch myself on an overhanging branch, just in time.

Only seconds earlier, I was naively coasting down what I believed to be an effortless and smooth completion of my two week mountain bike journey in Utah. I was supposed to be on the home stretch. The trail was gradual and smooth—at least it was before I turned that last blind corner.

I was sitting at my computer, preparing for a fun relaxing day, when the phone rang. My eldest son’s voice greeted me on the other end of the line. After exchanging a few pleasantries, the conversation soon turned somewhat serious. “I just thought I better call you to fill you in on what is happening,” he lovingly began.

Then as gently as he could, my dear son let me know that a recent post, the one where I wrote about being guided to my mother-in-law’s side in her final minutes, had caused some hurt feelings. Certain unnamed extended family members believed that I was insensitive, and had twisted words and facts, distorting my mother-in-law’s intentions.

Here is where I hesitate to even continue writing. I realize that anything I say, even from the bottom my heart and soul, has the potential to be misinterpreted. If you continue reading, please know the sincerity of my soul. My only desire in writing is to lovingly express my feelings, my deep experiences as I genuinely perceive them in my own heart.

My son continued by telling me that when my mother-in-law was asking for me last week, telling family that she loved me equally, she was really worried about me because I had strayed from the gospel. “She saw you as a lost sheep, and wanted to make sure you were included in the family so that one day you might again be able to repent and be with her in heaven.”

At one point during the discussion, my son even reluctantly advised me, “If you do go to the funeral on Saturday, you should probably lay low, remaining in the background.” He was worried that my presence might stir up resentment from some family members.

I calmly listened to my son’s loving words, knowing they were coming from deep within his own heart. I felt deep sadness as I recognized the huge religious and spiritual gulf that separates me from my family.

Several times during the hour-long conversation, I expressed gratitude to my dear son, “Thank you for having the courage to call me and share these feelings and insights with me. I deeply appreciate the fact that you can honestly discuss these things with me.”

As our discussion continued, we delved into several dark corners, shining a dim flashlight on places that conversations rarely, if ever, go with my family.

The overall impression I have received in the past few years is that my children were gradually learning to love and accept me for who I am. However, what I gleaned from yesterday’s heartfelt conversation is that my own children still see me very much through the eyes of their religious beliefs. Yes, to them, I do indeed seem lost. There is no doubt in my heart that they all love me—but an awkward gulf indeed separates us. My children see what I have done as a sin, and are not sure how to reconcile their love for me with that huge canyon looming dauntingly between us.

I am so incredibly proud of my children. They are wonderful, moral, righteous, loving, serving, caring, and giving. Those with children of their own are beautiful parents. All six of them walk the walk, and live up to their beliefs in ways that fill my heart with gratitude. They valiantly honor their religious and spiritual teachings. The part that stabs me in the heart is that their religious truth is absolute. The only way for them to reach their eternal spiritual goals is to remain true to that absolute truth.

I believe I can understand their sadness regarding me—that awkward gulf that separates us. I once stood proudly on their side of this same canyon. I know what it felt like having grown up in the Mormon faith. I know how distressed I felt when I witnessed others going astray from the gospel.

My huge dilemma is that now I know in my heart that I am closer to God than I have ever been in my life. When I connect with my source, I am more alive in my soul than I could have ever imagined possible. I want to cry out to my family: “I am not lost … I am right here … right here in front of you … I am deeply connected to spirit … I am on an inspired path … I love you all deeply.” But alas, I understand that their beliefs will not allow them to give even the slightest credence to my own beliefs and experiences.

I honor my children for following their beliefs. The irony is that I was a major participant in teaching those beliefs to them. While I would never presume to try to convince them to alter their path of truth—how I wish they could experience some of what I have gone through over on my side of the canyon.

Letting the Emotions Flow

In the past, I might have tried to be strong, stuffing down my emotions, and pretending like everything was peachy-keen. Not anymore.

As I ended my conversation with my son, I allowed myself to sink deep into the flow of my emotions. I have learned that buried emotions never go away. The only way to release such powerful emotions is to allow them to flow through my heart—to stand in the middle of the river and embrace the currents. After feeling their energies, I then gradually reconnect with my divine source, forgive my thoughts about the emotions, and release them as the nothingness that they are.

Minutes later, I found myself sobbing on the floor. A deep sadness set up residence in my soul as I pondered the meaning of that loving phone conversation with my son. I began to realize that my relationship with my children was indeed balanced on a very thin tightrope. The canyon between us no longer felt as if it were narrowing—it felt bigger than ever.

In the midst of my anguish, I felt words begin to flow in my heart. Picking up my pink notebook, I began to scribe the words as they streamed into my awareness.

How do I follow my heart when I know that people I love will misinterpret and not understand?

How do I follow my heart when I know that others will judge

and condemn me?

How do I follow my heart when I know my actions look slightly crazy to others who hold different viewpoints and beliefs?

How do I NOT follow my heart when I know that following my heart is the only way to be at peace, to be true to myself.

I’m too awake to the passions within. I cannot go back and live everyone else’s life—to please them and make them happy.

My own happiness—my very breath of life—flows from being in touch with my heart.

No, as painful as it seems, following my heart is something I must do—even if everyone I have ever loved disowns me. I have faced this decision before in my life. I chose my heart then, and I can do it again.

Alligator tears continued to flow down my cheeks as these words made their way from my heart to the paper. I cringed inside as I understood the meaning of the last paragraph. No, I am definitely not choosing to walk away from my loved ones—but at the same time I absolutely know that I must choose my heart. I deeply pray that my family does not view this as an either/or decision on my part. How I would love for them to be a part of my life while I continue to follow my heart.

Being the Observer

Having chosen to allow these emotions to flow through my soul, I temporarily slid down a slippery slope of feeling victimized by life. I began to feel a small pity party coming on. It was not long before I was making plans to go buy refreshments, wanting to invite others to join in with me. What amazes me, however, is that throughout this whole process I also found myself rooted in the role of observer—observing what I was doing, without really buying into the drama at the deepest levels.

Michelle is a beautiful friend and a wonderful sounding board, so I allowed the tearful floodgates to open as I poured my heart out to her. After unloading my pain, while still crying, I found myself saying, “This is beautiful … as soon as I work through this emotion, I know that I will experience some powerful growth … I always do.”

I continued to observe the ego battles going on inside of me as Michelle and I went to a movie and dinner. Still on the edge of tears, I watched my thoughts demand that I remain in my emotionally numb and disconnected state. I allowed the emotions and ego thoughts to play out a little longer. I continued to wallow in the deep emotional pain.

It was not until later last night that a calm peacefulness began to gradually return to my soul. This morning, as I attempt to write about my emotional journey of yesterday, the saga is fast fading into “just a meaningless story.” Gratitude flows back into my soul as I recognize that a few additional rough edges were broken off from my heart, leaving more polished surfaces of love and peace in their place. Recognition fills my soul as I begin to reconnect with the present moment, calmly trusting that I need not worry about the past or the future. If I am connected to spirit, I need merely act on the promptings of my heart. The rest will take care of itself.

I am comforted by the realization that when spirit is involved, there are never winners and losers; while it may not always look that way at first, everything is always win-win. I know in my heart that a beautiful path will continue to unfold if I simply remain in my centered space of trust and surrender. I can’t wait to see what happens next.

© Brenda Larsen, 2009

It is shortly after 1:15 p.m., and I again find myself sitting by the stream on my favorite winding trail where barely a week ago I stared into the eyes of a regal young buck with the velvet still layered on his short stubby antlers. But I am not here to talk about today; I am here to talk about an element of the winding path that brought me here.

It was June of 2004, as I responded to an internal yearning to take my Jeep up into the mountain wilderness of northern Utah, searching for solitude, searching for a connection with something deeper within. On that beautiful day, I was filled to overflowing with a beautiful spirit as I sat at on the brink of a mountain top. A beautiful meadow spread out behind me, as I sat overlooking a majestic valley sprawled out before me. Surrounded by nature’s finest variety of pine trees, aspens, shrubs, bushes, and flowers, I sat on a rock, meditating, writing in my journal, evaluating my past, present, and future, and literally basking in spiritual energy. Memories of the vista still linger near the surface of my soul.

As that spiritual experience unfolded, I found myself making a profound inner commitment. “From this day forward,” I told myself, “I will make every reasonable effort to reconnect with this same spiritual energy as often as possible.” My initial promise was that I would do this once per week, in the mountains—making only rare exceptions.

I also started another tradition: “Once every year, in the June timeframe, I will perform an inventory of my spiritual growth.” Somehow, I knew that this goal would help me to recognize the incredible growth process through which I have been evolving.

My soul vibrated in the passion as I silently committed to these sacred internal vows. My small mortal awareness had no comprehension of the beauty that would gradually unfold as I began gently flowing down this new path.

In the early years, my determination was strong, and I cleared my calendar for at least a half day—every single week, with rare exceptions. Usually having no destination in mind, I simply climbed into my Jeep and began driving, following my instincts as I randomly explored several canyons and remote Jeep trails within 75 miles of my home. Over time, I built up a mental list of favorite hideaways. Sometimes I simply drove on remote mountain trails. Other times I hiked, to a peaceful isolated vista. Usually, I did a combination of both.

The only common denominator for all of these weekly excursions is that I went alone, solo, by myself. These were not social outings—they were my sacred “mountain time.” It was not long before I began to refer to them as my personal vision quests.

Many journeys turned out to be uneventful, with no profound experiences to record in my journal. But that did not discourage me in the least. My passion was fueled by the other trips where my soul was swept away in spiritual rivers, feasting on the incredible energies that bathed my soul as I began to experience a deepening connection with my divine source. Each vision quest was different, carrying me to varying depths of spiritual awareness. On rare occasions, a profound experience would come along—being so powerful that I encountered a tiny glimpse of what heaven must be like. On those days, as the deep tears of gratitude flowed down my cheeks, I found it very difficult to return back to “civilization.”

What amazes me is that I have engaged in these weekly quests regardless of the weather. Whether rain or snow, hot sun or freezing cold, I continue to set aside this sacred time. Perhaps my most dramatic recent experience with the elements was when I went snow shoeing two winters ago in 7 degree below zero temperatures. After hiking two miles in the freezing cold, I was struggling to find the energy to make the return journey. As I fought back the exhaustion, a voice inside told me to hug the trees and ask them to share their energy. Feeling silly at first, I finally told myself, “Why not?”

Every few hundred feet, I stopped at a towering pine tree, gently placed my glove-covered hands on the rough frozen bark, and whispered “Will you share your energy with me?” As strange as it may seem, each time I asked, I sensed an infusion of energy fill my entire body. As my hips and knees briefly stopped hurting, I trudged on a little further until I felt my energy again weakening. Over and over, I repeated this process of faith, hugging another tree every few hundred feet. An hour later, I sat exhausted but safe in the warmth of my jeep.

In the last few years, as my soul connections have deepened, my spiritual quests have been a little more random, more frequent, and shorter in duration. Sometimes the experiences surprise me when I awake in the middle of the night, when I am driving down the freeway, or when I am engaged in deep conversation on the phone with a friend. Even with these added bonuses, I still make an effort to visit nature almost every week, even if the visit is simply spending an hour in a park, strolling along the Jordan River Parkway, or writing and meditating in the town plaza in Cozumel.

As I sit today in my small camping chair, four feet from a small babbling stream, I am almost hypnotized by the constant sound of water splashing rapidly over the rocks. Reflecting on my growth of the past year, I amaze myself with how peacefully I have transitioned into my new spiritual adventures. Just a year ago, my finances were dwindling, and I was preparing to put my house on the market—filled with trust, but at the same time wondering how my future would unfold. Being only two months into my internship, I felt as if graduation were light years away. I had thoughts about pursuing a career in counseling after I finished my masters degree, but had a subtle awareness in the back of my soul that I might soon be following a different path.

Now, just a year later, I am blown away with the clarity of my inner voices, and the profound ‘in-the-moment’ experiences and insights that continue to flow through my soul. Who could ever have imagined that I would be living in Cozumel, writing about my bicycle journeys into self discovery? Twelve short months ago, I was still living on the edges of the “safe” world, still living the majority of my life inside the box. Yes, I was already beginning to poke holes in the box, sticking my arms and legs out to test the surroundings—but I still had a “safety” chain anchored to the center of that box. Little did I know that my safety chain was actually holding me prisoner.

Now, as I begin to break free of the box, tearing it apart with abandon and burning the pieces one by one, I am filled with eager anticipation, yearning to discover what awaits me in the world of surrendering to spirit. As I practice trusting my own internal voices, I cannot wait to find out where they will guide me in the next 12 months.

Peaceful Endings and New Beginnings

As I polish off my words for the day, I find myself sitting on my parents’ headstone—marking the final resting place of their fragile physical remains. The sky is low in the western sky. My watch reads 6:05 pm. A spectacular vista spreads out before me. On my left, the east side of the Wasatch Mountain range towers above the calm blue waters of Deer Creek Reservoir. To the right of the distant waters, directly above my great-grandfather’s old homestead property, the green open meadows of Soldier Hollow are clearly visible. Just 7 short winters ago, this was the site of the cross-country competition for the 2002 Winter Olympics. Straight ahead, clumps of green trees and shingled rooftops are faintly visible as the small mountain towns of Charleston and Midway scatter across the valley. A few miles to my right, the town of Heber City fills in the landscape, bordered by another small range of mountains. What a beautiful peaceful resting place.

Just two short afternoons ago, in this very spot, I whispered my final goodbyes to my mother’s physical remains. Gently placing my hand on her beautiful pale-pink coffin, I carefully removed a silky-white rose from the delicate spray of roses that adorned her casket during the ceremonies. No sod has yet been placed on the grave. Only three large flower arrangements cover the rectangular plot of dry brown soil. The blossoms still show signs of life, reminding me that Mom is not really here. Her beautiful soul is still perfect and whole, eternal and divine, safe and at peace.

Three days in future, I will again be sitting next to an open grave, as my beautiful mother-in-law is laid to rest beside her own wonderful husband, in another pristine mountain setting—a remote mountain valley in southwestern Wyoming.

Very, very soon, my eighth grandchild will be crying her first cry, gasping for her first breath, as she starts a new cycle of life. While she wont’ be taking my mother’s place, she will begin her own life path, creating a beautiful legacy of her own. Hidden treasures continue to manifest all around me. Life is indeed magically beautiful.

© Brenda Larsen, 2009