Green Everything

Last weekend was the Green Fest, a conglomeration of creators, collaborators and coyotes convening to share and learn about all that is environmentally and socially conscious business. Every year there are a plethora of raw organic chocolate treats to eat, flared out hemp yoga pants to strut your sexy authentic self in, re-purposed sweaters made into cute argyle patterned accessories, solar panel demos, earth alters, mushroom parades, non-toxic everything you could want to put onto your beautiful body, and people, people, GORGEOUS PEOPLE! Speakers are engaging with audiences for three days straight on a variety of stages. Musicians call and strum people to their feet for delicious movement and celebration. Food and textiles are traded for super-food beverages and back rubs. It's a reunion for many of us, another gathering epicenter of health and intentions of wellness on multiple levels... for others it is an introduction to this green craze they notice in the media. Overall, the Green Fest is a fertile ground for planting and harvesting brilliant ideas about how we can more consciously coexist on this beautiful water planet we call home.

I sang with a group called the Social Prophet Choir on Sunday evening. This has become a tradition of the San Francisco Green Festival, a closing ceremony with the bright and enthusiastic choir of activists and thought leaders of the Social Prophet Choir singing out the weekend. We went on to sing our signature song, Now is the Time, written by our beloved Troy Lush, at the after party as well. We had so much fun! Rockin' out with a gaggle of beautiful beings, all dressed in snazzy black and green, harmonizing and swaying to the funky beat held by our magnificent percussionists Yari and Tracy, is a feeling that stays with me and inspires me still.

Now it's back to my study work with the Green MBA. Accounting, marketing, economics... although it is not as glamorous as traveling through South America with my backpack and guitar, I'm really appreciating the mental exercise and the fact that I'm building skill sets that I can use into the future to secure a good future for our grandchildren. That's part of my intention for doing this work. I'm weaving my passion for children and travel and the earth and art of all forms into actionable dreams that can benefit from the structures of business. In the meantime, I'm taking care of my own little plot of land... my own body, my backyard garden, my close circle of friends and family, my precious inner mind space. When we take care of the most intimate home of ourselves, I mean really take care of it from the deep roots to the central core to the outermost leaves, we are doing the most essential job we can do for the world. Only from that cultivated and healthy self can we truly integrate and collaborate in productive ways with those around us. This way, we become a thriving forest that is likely to live on for a long time.

Today's pace of life and availability of options is all greater than one woman can take in and take on. I mean, this notion may seems crystal clear to others but for me, especially when living in the Bay Area, the limitless possibilities can get spinning before me like dozens of juggling balls I never intended to set into motion. I don't want to be a circus clown! So the paradoxical trick is to slow down, take on less, live a simple life as my friend Jennie suggested the other day.

Knowledge, creativity, healing, health, fun, work, organization, friends, beauty, revolution... these all are a constant hum in my existence. They are constructs of my mind, aspects I have chose to engage with, and also concrete realities of being alive (only in once sense... with another perspective we can see that this matter is mostly empty space and minute particles zooming around at cosmic speeds, motivated by an unseen force). But for the sake of straight-forward, grounded discussion, it's sometimes good to just look at things as solid.

So this buzz of activity is swimming within and without me and is also very still. I have the power to either animate certain objects and patterns or else to let them be.

There is no way to explain fully the benefits received from having a daily spiritual practice. They must be experienced to appreciate them even in the slightest. The ramifications of maintaining a dedicated practice, a routine return to the center of centers, cannot be conveyed in words to one who has not at least tasted these benefits pulsing throughout ones entire mind and body paradigm. I'm not even promoting this sort of daily practice for everyone. It just so happens that it helps me and is needed to fully support my Being. I have numerous friends who seem to get on royally in their own self-discovered or learned manners. It quite amazes me how they do it actually but I also understand that the causes for our all being unique is a phenomena of mind boggling complexity. We all have our own particular sets of needs and as a result of so many influences and circumstances. And I'm eternally grateful that I discovered a way to meed some of my most essential needs by having a spiritual practice ~ a habit of putting my mind towards that which touches the spirit... life knowledge, really. It would be an underestimation to only call it "spiritual"... holistic is more like it.

In this time of Fall, I am receiving the reminders from my ancestors (inner remembering and outer allies) to reflect on all that has come to pass in this year. To harvest and to celebrate the abundance, giving thanks continually for the fortune our earth bestows upon us in profound yet easily taken for granted ways. To sing and to pray, to slow down and nourish ourselves. To work with all of the energy of our love for those things that trigger meaningfulness for us. (Bioneers conference was this last weekend! Blessed Gathering of Brilliant Lovers of Life! www.bioneers.org)

So.... when it feels difficult to merge the daily life duties with the immensity of a spiritual, ancient-knowledge-informed consciousness, my intention is to simply practice kindness and friendliness with all I meet (including people, thoughts, objects, habits, cars, etc.)

The great move has occurred. For now, the gypsy has taken root. Berkeley, California is where I have nested... and what a nest it is becoming. I've been calling in this space for years. Snuggled in a cozy community yet mere blocks from the vibrant urban centers, this 100 year old Victorian house with worldly art on the walls and interesting roommates is always where I've wanted to live! Sunday afternoon~ Listening to Billy Holiday and drinking an alchemical brew of schzandra berries, oat straw and licorice root to name a few, the day will soon include planting the vegetable starts awaiting me in the vast back yard, home to succulents and fig trees. For those of you who have not heard, I've decided to finish up the Green MBA program, a statement that sounds much too casual for what it actually means. Soon I am likely to become a library mouse, focused on the fine cheeses and crumbs I find in the finance and marketing sections.

Along with that heady endeavor, I've re-committed myself to my sadhana practice (a twice daily routine of yoga, breath techniques and meditation) once again with new enthusiasm, joy, and utter fulfillment. This is part of what I am doing to live a more satvic lifestyle. Satvic is a Sanskrit word that is used to describe a certain quality that activities, spaces, foods, even behaviors have. When the satva is high in a person or place, there is calm alertness, an energized relaxation. The scent of a fresh rose is satvic. A ripe orange is satvic. Waking up early to shower yourself and then greet the day with prayer and deep breaths of gratitude for life will put you in a satvic state of mind. So will doing service for others. When we shake off laziness and dullness, go for an inspiring hike and spend time with good company, we are raising the satva in ourselves and our environment. The benefit of all of this is that emotions become even keeled, mental alertness and focus grow very clear, and we have physical energy that sustains us so we are able to do more but not get stressed out. More than anything, there is a pervading peace in the mind and a sliver of happiness and humor that never quite goes away. This sliver or thread, which I can associate with the inner Divine Self is more prone to grow into a wide beam of light and flood out into creativity and spontaneous kindness when we nurture the satva in our daily habits and spaces.

Oh how good it is for me to remember all of that! Articulating lessons and knowledge is one of the biggest gifts I can give to myself, to support myself. Thank God the Me of the past took the time to write things down and plant seeds for the purpose of nourishing the Me of the present!

La Casa de Maria Amor

Cuenca... a city of love for many reasons. Friendly greetings in the curvy orderly streets met me in the places of my soul where I adore to be met. Romance painted into the colonial architecture and fountain adorned plazas or African dance classes every Sunday in the park were all part of my world. Yet the moments that most stay within my memories and make me feel the pang of longing for that city were each evening that I went to Casa de Maria Amor where I volunteered by leading art projects for children twice a week. The house is a center for mujeres mal tratadas y sus niños, a safe-house for women and their children who had been affected by domestic violence. When I entered the dark hallway at the front, I would be swarmed by little black haired heads, the chiquitos niños y niñas whose eyes glowed widely when they asked if we were going to make art that evening, were we going to make estrellas (beaded stars) or ojos de dios (god´s eyes).

A new arrival of 6 kids and their mom came from Colombia one day. The girls were gorgeous, confident, sweet and sassy, each one a mirror of the other but in varying sizes. Viviana was the eldest and immediately became my buddy. I would never learn their full story, their reason for coming from so far away to this fairytale city of Cuenca. Unfortunately, it could only be made up of hardships if they were here in this antique house. Actually, I never heard the histories of any of the mothers as that was the domain of the therapy workshops and social workers (mostly a group of strapping, young, and compassionate women my age from a handful of European countries). I only played with the shining and sensitive children, these tiny daughters and sons who only wanted fun, beauty and love in their lives. Many of them were highly talented and mature beyond their few years. During a series of afternoons, we strung and wove beads, wound colored yarn around four directions of sticks to make a simple yet sacred patterns, and thread string into webs to catch their dreams.

Viviana was intent on learning how to make the complex loomed bead bracelets like the one on my wrist that she always admired and caressed. All on her own-resourceful-self, she obtained a rickety fruit crate, a bread knife snuck out of the kitchen, and that level of persistence exclusive to young people... materials and tools she needed to make real the image I had absent-mindedly described for her when she pestered me about what a bead loom was. We worked out a way to make this hap-trap loom for her, and off she went making straps of brilliant jewel-like bracelets for lucky wrists. Mind you that all of this had to be done in the middle of an ever chaotic buzz and wrestling of a dozen or more hankering little ones, each with an acute ability to demand your attention.

The last night I came to the house to deliver a batch of beads, string and glue, and mostly to say goodbye to this group of puppy like babies of all ages from 0-13, Viviana presented me with her latest creation, so proud and humble as she put it in front of my eyes and smiled that smile. It was a bracelet with the words, Te Quiero Mucho (I love you a lot) stitched into the design. It was only moments later after I had become distracted by something else when she let me know that it was a gift for me. Through gleeful expressions and laughter, I said half-seriously, ¨¡Voy a llorar!¨ (I´m going to cry!) That´s when she threw her cinnamon arms around my middle and really did start to sob. So then, a fountain of tears appeared pouring out of me, without control or premeditation. It was at that moment that I realized how important I had been to her and she to me. I held her and we cried while those around us fell silent. As we both tried to get to a place where we could look at each other and converse in these last short minutes, I found myself reaching from and finding something meaningful to say to her, something lasting and that worth of the genuine truth of what was occurring. Thank god for the seeds that have been planted in me over time for one of them became an automatic resource for me to use in this delicate instance. I told Viviana that she could look at the full moon whenever she needed me, that whenever there was a full moon I would also look up at it and think of her. In this way we would always be connected, we would always know that we were both there, beneath the same moon sending each other love and support. I asked her if she understood, and she really did. It still didn´t feel like enough, but it was something and it was a real intention of love. I know that what she wanted was for me to be in her life always, on a physical daily basis, touching her soft cheek encouragingly, laughing with her knowingly, telling her what I know about art and crafts, being a big sister.

But in that moment, we desperately grabbed onto all we could. And it was difficult not to just keep crying. She had all of the beads I had brought to center piled up in bags and in the little woven basket boxes I had bought for them. They were haphazardly filling up the fruit crate/bead loom, looking like the salvaged possessions of a refuge. She was obviously the new guardian of the mini-craft empire I had created in my time there. She was clearly the one who had the strongest desire to clutch onto all the treasures I had given to the group. Not because of any material value of the things, but because those things contained hope and joy and wonder. She is the most perfect person I could have passed the baton on to.

Viviana couldn´t have been older than 12. I have no idea what will happen with all of the beads I gave to the house. For all I know, she will become their official owner, making amazing pieces of jewelry for months to come. I can only wish as much to conclude my time volunteering there. Although I now that I was an uplifting and inspirational presence in many of the women´s and children´s lives there, something rare and powerful passed between this one young girl and me. Leaving that evening, I felt more inspired than ever in my life to engage meaningfully with children, to commit to be present in their lives. Viviana may well never know how profoundly she affected the trajectory of my life. And I can only guess to what degree I have touched hers or for how many years the memory of our encounter will positively influence her steps. I think that this is the nature of teaching children. Teachers give of their time, their bodies, and their hearts, and at one point must let go of their students like balloons released into the blue infinite above. We have only the trust in our souls to let us know that somewhere, somehow, our efforts continue to work their original intentions through the lives of the children we once knew.

The dandelion knows not where its seeds fly to, nor whether they will ever even take to soil, but regardless, it continues to unfurl what nature inherited it to give.

I think that this is the basis of faith.

Love and Parades

For more than a month I had chosen to wear blinders to all but my Spanish lessons and efforts to learn the language. Personal enjoyment outside of that realm was limited to mellow explorations of the city, brief conversations with likeable people, simple browsing in artisan shops, and my spiritual practice. Committed to immersing myself in a den of undisturbed study, I was content but in retrospect, longing for companionship. This, I thought, was just an unavoidable sacrifice I had to make for the time being. And then I moved to Hostel Macondo...

To my initial dissatisfaction, I realized that the guests of the hostel were dedicated English speakers. They were a group of American college students working on semester projects as well as another American couple traveling the continent. For several days, I avoided contact and cringed when my Spanish hungry ears were subjected to absorbing English. Until one day, I spoke with the only young man in the group, Pier, who was working on a project of agro-ecology with local campecinos. Within a day I had been clued into how fun, cool and smart these young(er) kids were, and before I knew it, I was out to dinner with the whole lot, enjoying the company more than I realized how much I had been missing it. Hence began a vibrant, interesting, and hilarious social life for me in Cuenca.

The other American couple turned out to be total gems. They were cruzers - the name for people who live on their boats, generally the wind propelled variety – and on a long journey up South America. Ken and Becky… blessed we all were to have these kind, funny, easy going and hip cats in our midst They were equally enchanted and enthused about us, a bright and motivated group of youngsters traveling and studying what our hearts compelled us towards. Set to the background of the court yarded, gardened, and white washed Hostel Macondo, easily the most beautiful hostel I have ever seen, we shared a week of laughter, interesting discussions, family dinners, and a wellspring of genuine liking of one another. Ken and Becky finally had to leave, a poignant void left in their sunny wake, but the group carried on with full gusto. For another week, the kids and I made a dorm/commune atmosphere out of the hostel. We bonded through massage sessions, pizzas and wine, my helping them in the last hours of their projects, tears, relationship counseling, and laughter. Oh how I had missed such companionship without even thinking about its essential role in the health and wholesomeness of my life before it was graciously granted back to me by the blessing of circumstance.

It was to the credit of my new college buddies that I was out last Friday night, having feasted at an Italian restaurant in the old part of the city, and henceforth got to meet Martín, one of a group of traveling Argentinean (and one Peruvian) guys traveling and making music throughout South America.

I spotted him through the window, he out on the sidewalk and I inside a less than appealing bar that to its credit served its purpose in the history of this event: the adorable guy I had detected with my feminine antenna radar system two weeks earlier at a free rock concert in Parque Paraiso (okay, I did get out a little bit before). I had only had a brush in with him but my attraction had been palpable from the instant I noticed this charming young man in a straw hat and large Bolivian poncho. He had approached Roqui and me with a devastating smile and a few humble bracelets displayed in his hand to ask if we were interested customers. I was interested but not in those... I asked and found out that he was from Argentina. So when I spotted him for the second time only through the window of that bar, I squealed excitedly to my friend Amanda (I´m admitting my girlish ways here), ¨Ooo! There´s that cute Argentinean boy I met in the park!¨ To which Amanda immediately replied, ¨I know him. Come on, I´ll introduce you!¨ Delighted, nervous, and characteristically red faced whenever I get embarrassed, I followed her out on to the street feeling like a giddy teenager. I figured that whatever was to happen, I was just going to be me and enjoy it. Yes I can!

Politely, I met each in the gathered group of guys and girls, kissing each one on the cheek and being friendly to all, secretly trying not to seem too eager to know this one individual. I didn´t even end up talking to him, but instead chatted to the dark one with the long Antonio Banderas black hair with the guitar (Fernando from Peru, who later turned out to be super likable and a friend). I showed so little interest in my Argentinean cutie that I was amazed yet thrilled that after saying a polite goodbye to each of them including him (another round of simple cheek kissing), he caught my eye, stepped towards me while motioning for me to do the same, and gave me a real (and may I say soft, romantic, delicious...) kiss on my lips. How did he know?! Totally pleased, I took my leave with my hostel friends as we had a yin for a dark beer at a pub across the plaza. I watched as the musicians walked the other direction towards some show they wanted to see. After that one truly satisfying kiss, I supposed that I may never see him again.

Minutes later, sitting upstairs and sharing some beers at the pub, I couldn´t help fanaticize about my heart throb ascending the stairs to my back, quietly approaching me from behind and leaning over my shoulder to give me another kiss. It was a faint wish, but tickling my awareness all the same… and then he DID come up the stairs! They had decided to come find us and to play a few tunes. Thank you, fairy godmother!

For the next few hours, we all wandered together throughout the cobblestone streets of Cuenca, looking for a fun destination but actually just being the fun destination ourselves. Martín did everything right to reel me in like a willing salmon to a yummy looking fly... or was it the other way around? The lightest of touches to the small of my back, a caress of a finger, looks that melted me... all of my romantic switches were attended to. The truth of it all is that every fly has a hidden hook. This I knew. But at this early state, I didn´t remember but more probably didn´t mind... such is love... take it or leave it, embrace it when it comes and feel its offerings or opt for a guarded heart and a flat line experience.

The details of the following five days are unnecessary to retell verbatim for they are those kinds of details that are only remarkable and moving to the person who actively lived them. Plus, they´re personal! But the highlights are worth hearing about...

Although in no way new to me, Martín was such an infuriating gypsy type that he was quite impossible to track down by normal societal means the Sunday I returned from a ceremony in the countryside. We had met that first night, exchanged a few tiny tastes of how much we liked each other, and then I had had to leave the very next morning for a two day baptism ceremony in Cañar, sleep not included. My plan was to find the boys Sunday afternoon in the hostel they had told me they were staying in. Yea right. By Monday mid-morning, I had almost completely accepted the situation as it was and chanted all of my letting go mantras. I even wrote a country western song to express my love sick heart. But of course, me, the idealistic-romantic-believer-in-miracles, put out the mental longing of, ¨I wish that I could just run into him right now on this street.¨ First you must know that Cuenca is small, but not that small of a city with a population of 400K. Anyway, not ten seconds after I had cast this wish web out to the world I saw straight ahead of me the mirage of three familiar figures walking towards me, one of them especially glowing in my vision. I couldn´t believe it! Then I corrected this thought and said, ¨Yes! I can believe it and oh thank you thank you Great Helpful Spirit!¨ Composing myself a little from the euphoric shock that comes when a wish is manifested so immediately, I reunited with them, beaming my enthusiasm and relished my fulfilled desire.

From all of my ¨training¨, especially in the Eastern traditions, I know to be aware of the tendency to chase after desires and become dependent on them to make us temporarily happy. I´ve been guided and instructed on how to access a deeper well of happiness that is detached from these transient, flash-in-the-pan sensations connected to desire. But with my awareness in tow, I still believe in being human and sometimes wandering down these tempting paths that offer the whole gambit of sweet, sour, bitter and salty emotions. Maybe I´m reinforcing the samscaras that keep me coming back to learn more, life time after life time, but for right now, that´s okay with me. I have a body and a heart because I am here on this earth to feel. Why not live up all there is to be offered in the human incarnation? In meeting Martín, my gut told me what I was getting into, possible highs and probable lows. With open arms, I said yes, I´ll take it all.

The rest of that day in which we had reunited was magic filled. We feasted that night at my hostel, and I invited Martín to stay with me to which he happily accepted. Let me first say, though, how although my tender heart wanted for the two of our bodies to be close, all of the time we spent as a group was as delectable as a glass of Baileys and Cream. Fun and rowdy, yet respectful and conscious, these free stepping men were like the circus coming into town but into my personal daily life. If we were outside in the chilly night under the stars, we would all huddle together under Martín´s poncho to keep warm, laughing and holding hands and discussing subjects near to my heart (all in Spanish, of course, so I was getting full-throttle practice). Fernado from Peru, nickname Civiche, would play guitar while we sang and clapped. Martín would play one of the three jimbe drums he had made himself form a tree trunk and with which he was traveling. Gabriel was like a kid with the new harmonium he worked for days to earn the $20 it cost to buy, blowing into it and sounding like a Parisian accordion musician in the metro tunnels. I found out that Argentinean men can be very much like Italian men: boisterous, expressive with their hands, unafraid to sing loudly in the streets or jump around, and generally just not holding back. And yet fully capable to know when to be quiet gentlemen.

On one afternoon I accompanied Civiche and Martín on their rounds of the restaurants of Cuenca at lunchtime where they would be allowed by nearly every establishment we approached to play three songs for the diners and collect contributions for their mini-performances. I loved it. We had a vegetarian lunch with our earnings, rain deluging now a few feet from our outdoor table, rain that had graciously waited for us to finish our restaurant tour. This left them with a few dollars to go towards the fund to buy bicycles at the coast next week and ride their musical way up the edge of the Pacific side of Ecuador for the next thirty odd days.

The next day we tracked each other down in a hodge-podge way, and they swooped me up for a journey out of the city to Girón, a pastoral, famous-for-its-waterfall pueblo an hour long bus ride down the valley from Cuenca. This was to be our most amazing adventure yet and the finale because they were scheduled (as scheduled as time-defying gypsy’s can be) to leave town the next morning. Climbing off the bus in the middle of idyllic nowhere, we then ascended a green slope owned by the farmer across the way. The steep lush cow pasture welcomed us with all of the freshness of her breast. My body filled with an enlightened pleasure I had missed after having been in the city for so many days. Discovering gifts from the Pacha, flowers in my hair, caves in the sides of wet ravines, we climbed and climbed. When the sun put himself behind the mountains, Grandmother Moon, days away from fullness illuminated our star speckled journey and on we sang and laughed. Being with these boys meant hugs and jokes and endless songs. We spoke to the moon and mooed to the shadowy cows. After jumping down the rolling hills, we sat in the deep grass and ate oranges and cookies, snuggled together for comfortable warmth. Chiviche sang his heart out to the night filled valley, rocking out on his guitar while we clapped and danced. Meditating on the moon for a while to the melodies of Gaby´s harmonium, I was in bliss.

We hitched a ride back to Cuenca in a big truck hauling a huge pile of sand in its open bed. Four of us clambered up and over the tall wooden sides in the back and jumped down like kids at recess. There were bars crossing over the top of the hill of sand so the first thing we did was start to swing around from them and hoot like monkeys. Doing flips and arches with our bodies as the truck roared along the road was abetted by the momentum of the trucks forward movement, and we laughed and sang some more. Then we perched on respective points of the bars which lifted us up high as the truck slowly chugged up a long grade. The air was one degree on the warm side of too chilly, permitting us to take in the wind through our hairs and let it caress our moonlit, beaming faces. Finally, when the road slanted downwards and we picked up speed, we jumped down to bundle ourselves in each other´s laps and burrow in a poncho shrouded mass. It was so dreamy to feel so genuinely comfortable and loved by this new threesome of friends. It was one of those gloriously alive and unique times you never want to end, but which like everything is bound to pass, and you are so grateful that you tasted ecstasy for a while.

When we arrived back to the lights and maze of the cement blocks, we descended to the street and boarded a bus that we soon turned into a music filled pod, and there was a lot more inspired swinging and hanging upside down from overhead bars. The bus, and now grinning bus driver, delivered us onto Calle Large like a school of wiggling tadpoles. We made our own parade down the deserted streets and every taxi and passing group honked and cheered to us. My hips and clapping hands felt vibrant and at home, my gypsy soul nourished as fantasies of my youth were fulfilled. The vision of our colorful and joyous selves made me shine on the inside and out. Part of me felt like I was feasting on the last of rare fruit. Not that I won´t be ensconced into other experiences like this throughout my lifetime, but none will ever be quite the same. This realization made it all that much more crystallized in blessedness. It made me inhale it in deeply, not to hold onto it with a grip fearful of loss, but to receive fully what I was being gifted during this slice of time with all the respect and awareness worthy of such a gift from Life.

Like any tide, the evening ebbed slowly back to a more relaxed state. At their request, I cooked a meal for everyone, flattered because they had liked my cooking from the other evening. I experimented for the first time with cooking chicken after many years of only putting my hands to vegetarian dishes. It was succulent and savory and a success. Although I wanted like everything to stay with the fiesta as well as spend another night with Martín, it was 1am and I had class at 8am. My heart knew that it had to accept the reality of our diverging paths, let go of this beautiful bird and walk on. Easy, no. Necessary, sí. The old pattern would be to stay feeling as if I now had a vacancy in my life or to focus on the absence of this man from my daily experience. But over time I have been influencing the ritual habits of my mind to foster feelings and recognition of the truth, which is that I always, in every moment, am complete. It is no more true to say that I now am lacking this person’s presence in my life than to say that I now forever have this person in my life. This is the truth. I have gained, not lost, a new soul friend. We both still exist on this very small planet and therefore will always be together. In any moment, I can wish him well with my heart and he will receive the touch of my friendship.

This all being said, to have seen someone leave who I really liked being with, has exercised my heart muscle. My belief is that each time the heart feels this strongly, it is living out its purpose, and it is opening wider. That which I loved being close to in the form of another person was a reflection of what is already planted in me. It’s just really fun to get to physically play with and gaze upon the genius and beauty that is the essence of our beings. Any amount of logic, no matter how wise, cannot substitute that feeling. There is a unifying and complete feeling when the whole divinity within us is manifested exteriorly in two bodies that can then touch each others Earth made animal forms. This mixture of flesh and spirit is so unconscionably sacred it breaks my heart open and drives me to go walk barefooted upon the Mother.

I know that I will meet a man who is this reflection and friend, one who is available in all ways for our physical bodies to stay close to one another (as my Dad would say, Geographically Desirable). We will both be incredibly attracted to each other on all levels, that is, skin, bone, scent, mind and spirit. The timing will flow and it will be both exciting and familiar. Until that day, I will love myself as deeply as I already love him. Because how I treat myself is the reflection that I will attract… and that’s how it works.

Vilcabamba, Water & Mountains

My dear and adventurous momma has been visiting me for the past few weeks in Ecuador, and for the last five days, we have been treating ourselves to a mini vacation within a vacation. We came to the small town of Vilcabamba in the way South of the country to hike, horseback ride, drink the famous water (which takes some of the credit for the common yet extraordinary lifespans of 100 years plus in this village), and relax at our hotel/spa, Madre Tierra. Each day we have been gifted a plethora of surprises and life affirming experiences... otherwise called challenges, yet for the two of us, we have been drinking them up with smiles and laughter.

Yesterday was to be the nice, moderately simple 5 km hike through the local national park, Podacarpus. We arose early, delighted in our full breakfast of eggs, hardy toast, fresh tropical juice and coffee on the veranda of our philodendron bordered hotel, and took a taxi to the trail head. We confidently set off into the cloud forest as the thick white water systems above drizzled upon our non-rain coated heads. Soon the trail was a straight up climb through muddy bogs and dripping moss covered trunks, our humble footwear gingerly guided around the wettest parts. Within an hour, we had reached the first razor peak and could only see the others peeking like giant green teeth out of the mounting cold weather front. Presumably, the trail went along the ridge, which was literally no more than a thin spine with both sides falling away dramatically into green jungle. Signage was not part of the deal. The only map we had was a non-topographic pamphlet acquired at the entrance gate and even it was quickly disintegrating with the onslaught of high winds and rain. Nearly soaked through already, we forged ahead, puddle hopping and me still stopping to ooo and ahh at cool high altitude flowers and even pull my camera out to capture images.

An hour and a half later, we had not found the connecting trail to make the loop back down the mountain. Officially sopping wet and unsure of our location at this point, we turned back, knowing how far we had to go to get back to our hero at the bottom of the trail (the taxi driver, Manuel). With only a half a bottle of water, a cell phone that was not getting reception, the wet rag of a map, and my tobacco pouch to leave offerings to the high mountain spirits, we didn't want to risk becoming another statistic. The brutal descent was full of slips and muddy butts, and much conversation of how lucky we are to even have legs and healthy bodies to do such a crazy hike. Raisins and chocolate awaited us in my backpack in the car. We dried out, had wine with dinner that night, and woke up today in order to take another incredibly treacherous climb into the Andes... except the horses we rode did all the real work.

Overall, this enchantingly beautiful valley is just that. They get plenty of rain, but the town has been without water for weeks as the systems to catch and deliver that precious water are not as dialed in as we all are used to. The streets are small and cute and everything is cheap, but I don't see any of your faces here. Once again, I admit, I miss you guys... The more I travel the more I realize how much I love my family and friends, and how radically blessed I am to have all of you amazing individuals in my universe.

Mi Vida en el Sur

Hola Familia far and wide!

As many of you already know, I am now staying for a spell in the city of Cuenca, Ecuador, studying Spanish in a school for gringos like me and carrying on with what I love to do... write, read, examine the beautiful details of this often overstuffed world, socializing with odd and interesting and sweet individuals... My introduction into this town and its culture has felt as slow as the flow of cool lava, but really, some beautiful things have happened in a very short time. Today, for instance, I visited a 400 meter waterfall in the valley below, hiking about 3 miles up hill to arrive at its thundering base, and got drenched by the blessings of its mist which created winds strong enough to blow your body around playfully.

To be honest with you all, I miss home. Here in Cuenca, I have the beautiful cobblestoned streets and picturesque buildings and tid-bits of my beloved reamls, but clearly there is more to life. That is, friends, family, roots, purpose. As my main purpose here is to immerse myself in Spanish, I do feel good in that respect and am studing and practicing my butt off. Also, I started volunteering yesterday with a social center here in town and will be teaching group of children art and leading craft projects a few times a week. Granted, that is in alignment with my goals. Yet in this increadibly important time in the history of our world and civilization, I can´t help feeling like I´m on an island, self-assigned, that is, and farther away from the people and projects I need to be involved in than feels right.

So I do what any sane, creative person would do in this situation. I breathe, I write children´s stories in Spanish, I walk a lot by the river, I ask unique questions to see what I can discover, I keep going, and I talk to people about interesting, important subjects such as water, air, respect, humor, and truth... even if they have no idea what I´m talking about! Am I one of those crazy wise people, roaming the earth? I take heart in the endearing term they have for women (and men for that matter) such as I down here in South America, which is Bruja, loosely translating to witch. Someone is a bruja if she uses plants as medicine, talks to the birds and trees, sings, dances and dresses as she pleases, and always seems to have a marvelous bundle of secrets that are anyway more useful in their clandestine sachel than shared with simply curious seekers. And I would add, has at least one cat... Which is just what I´m missing!!! I can´t wait to get settled enough again to have a kitty and my doggie back! Well, I can wait, actually, but it´s always nice to know that there is uncomplicated yumminess in your future.

Blessings and Beaming in your direction...