Sunshine Dirt Schoolyard

I went to heaven today. In the back of a red pickup truck; I went to heaven. I held the crossbar like a valiant windsurfer -- riding the air currents like a dandelion seed. Not sure exactly where I am going, yet knowing the soil will be fertile. I feel like I am flying. In the back of a red pickup truck. My open heart is my sail. Fearlessness is my strength. Open heart and Fearlessness: companions. We climb higher and higher. The pothole highway to heaven. Steep green slopes. How did they manage to plant corn way up there? On that slope just inches away from being a vertical line to the center of the earth. Because Corn is god. Yes. I understand. Golden ears cared for with dedication, tenderness, sweat and broken backs. Uncomplaining broken backs. I am high on oxygen clouds. Oxygen clouds that kiss the blue-green celestial lake. Please do not make Lago Atitlán a "wonder of the world," I think to myself. An official "wonder of the world" destination. All of the camera flashes reflecting off the water would be like a terrible storm. And the souvenirs and catchy slogans and monster hotels would disrupt the texture of this heaven in the back of a red pickup truck.

We snake our way up the mountain. Higher. A seed am I. A smiling seed. On my way to Santa Clara. Still, I do not know where I will land. Fertile soil. Coffee. Corn. And children. Children. This is where I fly. This is where I land. Fertile soil. A schoolyard. Three buildings and a central sunshine dirt schoolyard.

Santa Clara. A pueblo in the clouds. A flock of sunkissed children swarm. They are curious. Excited. Ready to learn the dance we have prepared. A choreography we have danced in the evenings before dinner. Exaggerated. Fun. Young Women returning to childhood dance recitals. Shaking our hips and waving our pom-pom hands with inexhaustible enthusiasm. We play. And now. In this sunshine dirt schoolyard, on the top of a mountain, in the corn clouds, in heaven, breathing the blue-green evaporation of the celestial lake. In this sunshine schoolyard, we will teach 50 children this made-with-love choreography for their upcoming performance in the local Gimnasia Rítmica competition. A celebratory dance. To enjoy. To perform. Cumbea. As I dance alongside these children -- jóvenes between 8 and 15 years old -- I blossom like a happy silent clown who receives an airborne kiss from across the circus. A monkey kiss on a mountain top in Guatemala. The children are smiling. The children are laughing. The children are dancing. I am sunkissed, rosy-cheeked, too. Like the children. I am dancing. Saying to myself, "Yes! I want to dedicate myself to this place for the next year. I want to make my life here -- sharing, creating, smiling, growing with the children of Lago Atitlán. I watch Gabi, the founder and director of La Cambalacha, teach the children with confident, joyful composure. She knows how to facilitate beautiful collaboration, creation, art when surrounded by 50 bouncing children in a sunshine dirt schoolyard. I am filled with gratitude. I am content. I, too, dance with enthusiasm and feel heartbeat elation as I watch them dance, remember, smile their way into a final pyramid. A pyramid with 50 children. Cumbea. Remarkable cartwheeling joy. They love us instantly. And we love them. There. In the sunshine dirt schoolyard. We dance.