Bubbles from the Coconut Sea

I wrote the Compassion post a few days back, hesitating to publish it because an ineptitude to express what is burning in my soul. The Unbearable Lightness of Being on the sweaty busride, by the pulsing sea, sailing through wavelengths of different colors, shapes, textures and frequencies, I am inundated with emotion. Swimming in a sea of moments, I grow gills so that I can keep breathing. A fish who is meeting characters that blow my mind and send me topsy-turvy with love, hope, tear-inducing joy and occassional aversion. Poetry falls onto the page as I blow life-support bubbles to keep from drowning. How to write these moments? Bubbles start to rise as I breathe the coconut sea.

Forty pages of journaling. Where do I begin? When I find myself in this predicament, I always choose to begin with Now. Setting the scene. Morning in Livingston, Guatemala. I open my journal to last night´s scribbling passion:

Casi no puedo escribir por el amor que me siento.
Por la esperanza. Por la buena fortuna.
(A colored-pencil sketch of a boat named ESPERANZA,
an oar, and a coconut tree with gigantic seaside roots.)

While walking the beach, we pass a boat name ESPERANZA. "Hope." The sun sets over the coconut tree while the sea crashes hot-blooded into the shore. The winds of change are blowing. Gypsy wanderers are on a mission to listen. To hear the sacred spirits of this place and taste the wisdom. We walk quickly because we are inspired. We walk quickly because we are not tangled up in words. We prefer silence today. The Universe is overwhelming us in a cascading song of beauty. Inundation. We swim in a Wonderland sea: green snakes dancing, two meters long; shell-inhabiting mollusks moving slowly, delicately, artfully over the slippery rocks of the sacred waterfalls; exquisite vegetables dressed in orange and red and purple and green, beautifying the world and nourishing our tye-dye hands, our bodies, our souls; purifying, crystal water rushing over our bodies as we surrender to the orchestral energy of Los Siete Altares -- seven waterfalls sacred to the Garífuna people.

Growing silent in our blood, moving like graceful, patient, purposeful cats, we stretch our limbs over the rocks, feel the earth under our bare toes and marvel at the way our nerves befriend the textures of infinity. On our eyelids, beneath our belly-buttons, in the drops of water that sneak between our breasts. I love how silent we are! I love how we are silent while the world around us speaks. Loudly. The cascading water; the screaming cicadas; the subtle, salty breeze that reminds us how close we are to Mother Ocean. I listen. I surrender. I let go. I fold my spine over the rock, smoothed by centuries of life, centuries of flow. I let my hair loose so that it can float like a mermaid´s and play tag with the afternoon sunlight that echoes in the forest canopy. I dissolve. I laugh as my hands evaporate. I watch the vapor rise to the green tree-tops and merge with the sunlit echo. I listen to the echo´s laughter as it runs away with my lips, my belly, my submerged earlobe. I am part of this place. I am part of the earth. I am part of all that is. I dissolve. Smiling. My heart bubbles up and kisses driftwood gypsies as they travel on. Anima! Suerte! Buen Camino!