Movement

2009 thus far has been full of loss and complication, love and sweet moments. At least I can say there's been a balance for the equal doses of good and bad, but the swinging back and forth between smiles and tears has me feeling scrambled and confused.

Fede arrived on the first of the year and so began our magic carpet ride. I feel like my feet haven't touched the ground in weeks for all my holiday travels and New Year love. It's a wonderful feeling to be swept away romantically, but poses a bit of a challenge for a yogi who teaches connection the earth. Head in the clouds, hearts in my eyes, I've misplaced my cell phone, twice; would forget my own head if not for my neck; and am missing Mestizo who wandered off 3 days ago and hasn't been back (yet).

Trying to keep myself together, I've spent what feels like the whole week rushing around trying to put all the pieces back where I think they belong. The irony is that transition, inevitable and free flowing, has a way of stirring up the tendency to cling and resist the change. A few days ago, feeling physically exhausted from all the trying to control everything, Fede suggested gently that I should just go lay down. I listened, reluctantly but knowing he was right. I woke an hour later to find all the problems of the day resolved. I merely needed to get out of the way.

In the midst of flux, instead of swirling around, lost in the movement, the wisest thing to do is just sit down. Pause, without judging or criticizing, and drop into the stillness always at the center. Only then can the illusions start to fall away.

Nothing I tried to accomplish worked out yesterday. I tried to activate a phone I'd forgotten at home, tried to print some documents, but one internet cafe had no ink toner and the other was closed for lunch hour, tried to collect medicine at the pharmacy but couldn't find the prescription. Finally, we decided to just go to the beach. I unravelled on the way down the mountain, purified in the salty softness of the sea, then sprawled out like a starfish and fell asleep in the sand. I woke to Fede sitting beside me, wet from his swim. He looked down at me and smiled when I woke from my nap, kissed me lightly on the forehead, and went back to reading his book about yoga (how freakin' cute?!). Restored, we made our climb back up the mountain just as the sun started making it's descent.

Almost back to civilization, we spotted some white-faced monkeys in the trees and stopped to take a few pictures. One monkey ventured out of the forest and was climbing around on the electrical wires above the road. He sat close to the wooden pole holding it all up and looked almost human as he fiddled with the light bulb fixed to the top. His actions and movements were so accurate, the whole show seemed a parody of something he'd once seen. He was so curious and playful we couldn't resist taking some photos even while thinking his game wasn't the best idea. I noted the contradiction: a monkey in the middle of the jungle playing with electrical wires. The contrast between natural and artificial was striking. And then BLAM! Life exploded. Sparks and embers flew. The monkey hung, dangling upside down from the wire, stiff and swinging in the deafening silence that hung in the air around us. My stomach sunk and I was left with the sensation that I'd just witness a harsh lesson, a divine message.

We spend so much of our time dwelling in the artificial. My whole day, whole week, was spent trying to manage technology. Computers, cell phones, printers and pharmaceuticals. Even here on this mountain in the rainforest where the ocean rocks us to sleep each night, it's easy to forget what's important, why we're here. To live. To love. That's all. In an instant, in a flash, it could all be over. And then what?

In the whirl of confusion, don't race to understand. Don't rush to 'fix' it all. When you feel the need to run, SIT and pay really close attention. Fede would add, and eat some ice cream (quite possibly the deciding factor in falling for him completely!). Which brings me to the most profound lesson borne out of these last few weeks: Loss, even the loss of those we love, is a blessing in disguise. In the empty spaces left behind is the most fertile soil, that if tended properly, can yield wisdom, prosperity, and a greater love than even the one you're healing from.

Live, love and trust that everything is exactly as it should be. And if the universe has you swinging and you can't resist the urge to swing along, find yourself a hammock and someone special to snuggle up with. Feel the truth that for every rise, there's a fall and vice versa, and just enjoy the ride.

Space

When I first met my sister-in-law Linda, she'd just moved herself across the country from California to be with my brother. Having grown up in Arizona and warmer climates her entire life, she had a little trouble adapting to springtime in Pennsylvania. While we all reveled in the 65 degree sunshine after a long, cold winter, barbecuing in the backyard in short sleeves and sandals, poor Lin shivered, all bundled up in her sweaters and scarves. It wasn't long before instead of Lin or Linda, we started affectionately referring to her as Arizona, and always with a chuckle and a headshake.

I admit that flip flops were a bad choice for a 2am arrival in New York City in 19 degree weather. In my defense, they were comfy and easy to carry. Still, snow is enough of an adjustment in itself after flying in from a balmy beach, let alone slush squishing between bare toes! Shortly after reuniting with my family, a cozy and calm Linda caught me layered up, teeth chattering, shoulders up around my ears. She giggled and said, Costa Rica!, shaking her head.

No one has ever called me Philadelphia.

We all start out someplace and follow life through all it's peaks and valleys to where we eventually end up. We adapt many times along the way. I've found error in relating too strongly to any one point. Our true strength, our genuine content, is in all the space between where we come from and where we go.

It gets harder every time I go home and leave again. I puzzled over that briefly, but reflecting on the ache left following my week home for Christmas, I see each time I go back how that space has expanded. But for all the growth in the space between, it's just a bigger opening for love.