San Marcos is BEAUTIFUL!! In stark contrast to San Pedro, San Marcos is covered in vegetation. Trees and foliage line all of the cobblestone paths (not roads . . . the gringo part of town is all walking paths, not even room for a tuk-tuk). Connecting the two main paths are dirt trails that navigate around whatever structures are in the way.
Las Piramides (http://www.laspiramidesdelka.com/) is in the middle the gringo village, surrounded by holistic healing centres, hotels and hostels. San Marcos is a healing mecca, with a bit of a new age flavour, but so far, it´s not too woo-woo.
I didn´t make a reservation for a place to stay here, and it turned out to be a more popular destination for new years than I expected. I managed, however, to get the last dorm bed in a place called La Paz, which another traveler had recommended highly. I really like it. The owner is Guatemalan, and definitely a character; dinner is served family style and there are folks hanging around chatting and being. It´s very friendly, and the gardens are STUNNING!!
I think I like San Marcos a lot.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Losing days in San Pedro
It appears that my experience in San Pedro is not uncommon. I came with the intention to stay 2 days, and I stayed 5. Others come for a day, stay for a month, come for a month, stay for a year . . . and many just don´t leave.
It´s not for everyone. It´s not a pretty city, particularly, but it has its own charm. The streets are cobblestone, but one walks through a mixture of those streets and alleys and cut-throughs to make it around town. Although I learned my way around fairly quickly, I never did actually figure out the layout of the town, as it´s really NOT linear. I couldn´t tell you, for the life of me, where north is.
I found San Pedro fascinating in some ways. There are a lot of ex-pats (from all over) that have settled here, short or long term, and you can meet many of them just wandering down the ¨"Gringo Path" . . . the strip where all those restaurants are. Once they have a little bit of spanish, basically enough to serve the occasional Guatemalan that comes in, they can get a job there - as most of the customers are english speaking travelers or other ex-pat residents. There´s also a significant Israeli population, which I hadn´t expected. Signs everywhere are in spanish, english and hebrew.
It is full of restaurants, vendors, spanish schools, more spanish schools, little tiendas, bars, net cafes . . . and did I mention spanish schools? The party scene is definitely strong, and I have a new appreciation for how easy it is to drink regularly here. Happy hours range from the usual 4 - 6 to 9am - midnight. And happy hour means alcohol is almost cheaper than water. Imagine 2 Cuba Libres for 2 dollars. Seriously. So I confess I indulged, but for those that know me, that means that over my 5 days, I had less than 10 drinks. A power drunk, I know.
I also caught the expected cold shortly after my arrival, so I was forced to slow down, take siestas and do a lot of nothing. Although rather resentful of the stuffy nose, I felt renewed justification in the pounds of vitamin c, echinacea and other health remedies that I brought with me. I also recognized that it was an inevitable result of leaving Vancouver tired, and traveling for over 24 hours to get here. Not so terrible really.
I moved after a few days into a room at the front of the hotel, facing the lake, and really enjoyed my two nights there. I got to indulge in a king size bed, with many pillows, a view of the lake and the grand gardens, and the most amazing smell of the flowers as I came and went. One bush of lilacs (I think that´s what they were) was particularly potent in the evening, and I stopped each night under it, just to inhale for a while.
I also spent some quality time reading in a hammock chair surrounded by the flowers, facing the lake. Rough life.
The cold, and enforced rest, provided me with some reflection time. I found myself feeling a real dis-ease, and struggling with the question of "why am I here?" Not the existential question, but, why Guatemala? Why am I traveling? What is that I want out of this trip? How long am I staying? Do I want to learn spanish first, or go to the meditation centre first? What happens if I run out of money before I´m ready to leave? . . . . and so on, and so on. It´s a powerful weapon sometimes, the mind, and amazing the damage it can inflict when I´m not paying attention.
So, as I indulged my screaming mind, I wandered the town, looked at cheap places to live and tried to decide where I wanted to be. I learned a fair bit, I think. Among other things, I learned that a fridge is not a standard piece of equipment in a kitchen . . . one often needs to buy it oneself and bring it with, even in short-term rentals. I gather that a lot of folks just don´t use it. Eating out is so cheap, they do that, or they buy at the market the day of and prepare as needed.
I also re-connected with my privileged existence as a Canadian, who takes clean water and hot water for granted. Both things are commodities here. Agua Pura is everywhere . . .but you pay for it. I may complain about the taste of tap water in Canadian cities, and the chlorine . . . but there´s no risk of parasites or SERIOUS illness from our water, and a hot shower is fairly standard back home. Here the hot water tap is generally disabled, and one gets cold water that comes through this electric heater thing before it lands, low pressure and luke warm on your head. (If you´re lucky . .. many don´t even have that).
I also have a new appreciation for how we handle garbage and recycling, as insufficient as our environmental awareness is at home . . . it´s almost an unknown here. Recycling is VERY minimal - most things can´t be recycled, and garbage and litter are everywhere. I was having the most wonderful breakfast on the beach one morning, only to find myself suddenly inhaling smoke and slowly getting covered in ash from a garbage fire on the beach. Nothing like a little burning plastic to enhance the eating experience.
The highlights of my time in San Pedro were really La Piscina, the friends I made there, and the gardens at my hotel. Oh, and the lake. The last three days I was in San Pedro, the lake was SO choppy. The waves were crashing and roaring, it was really like being back on the ocean. I found it so soothing to my spirit, and it also served to keep me in San Pedro that extra couple of days, as I just didn´t think the boat across to San Marcos was such a good idea with the water that rough
One of my new friends, Guyta, is another Canadian from Quebec, in San Pedro studying spanish. I´m not sure how well my spanish is progressing, but I´ve discovered I´m far more conversant in french than I give myself credit for. I´m starting to think I´m going to return home with my french vastly improved and my spanish not so much, as I keep connecting with Francophones. oh well. Guyta is lovely, and I´ve been enjoying her company a lot. She challenges me to use what little spanish I have, and when that fails, we fall into Frenglish. I´m enjoying it a lot. We´ve decided to spend New Years together in San Marcos; since I´m heading there a day ahead of her, I´ll scope us a place to stay, and meet her at the dock there on Thursday afternoon.
Next top, San Marcos La Laguna.
It´s not for everyone. It´s not a pretty city, particularly, but it has its own charm. The streets are cobblestone, but one walks through a mixture of those streets and alleys and cut-throughs to make it around town. Although I learned my way around fairly quickly, I never did actually figure out the layout of the town, as it´s really NOT linear. I couldn´t tell you, for the life of me, where north is.
I found San Pedro fascinating in some ways. There are a lot of ex-pats (from all over) that have settled here, short or long term, and you can meet many of them just wandering down the ¨"Gringo Path" . . . the strip where all those restaurants are. Once they have a little bit of spanish, basically enough to serve the occasional Guatemalan that comes in, they can get a job there - as most of the customers are english speaking travelers or other ex-pat residents. There´s also a significant Israeli population, which I hadn´t expected. Signs everywhere are in spanish, english and hebrew.
It is full of restaurants, vendors, spanish schools, more spanish schools, little tiendas, bars, net cafes . . . and did I mention spanish schools? The party scene is definitely strong, and I have a new appreciation for how easy it is to drink regularly here. Happy hours range from the usual 4 - 6 to 9am - midnight. And happy hour means alcohol is almost cheaper than water. Imagine 2 Cuba Libres for 2 dollars. Seriously. So I confess I indulged, but for those that know me, that means that over my 5 days, I had less than 10 drinks. A power drunk, I know.
I also caught the expected cold shortly after my arrival, so I was forced to slow down, take siestas and do a lot of nothing. Although rather resentful of the stuffy nose, I felt renewed justification in the pounds of vitamin c, echinacea and other health remedies that I brought with me. I also recognized that it was an inevitable result of leaving Vancouver tired, and traveling for over 24 hours to get here. Not so terrible really.
I moved after a few days into a room at the front of the hotel, facing the lake, and really enjoyed my two nights there. I got to indulge in a king size bed, with many pillows, a view of the lake and the grand gardens, and the most amazing smell of the flowers as I came and went. One bush of lilacs (I think that´s what they were) was particularly potent in the evening, and I stopped each night under it, just to inhale for a while.
I also spent some quality time reading in a hammock chair surrounded by the flowers, facing the lake. Rough life.
The cold, and enforced rest, provided me with some reflection time. I found myself feeling a real dis-ease, and struggling with the question of "why am I here?" Not the existential question, but, why Guatemala? Why am I traveling? What is that I want out of this trip? How long am I staying? Do I want to learn spanish first, or go to the meditation centre first? What happens if I run out of money before I´m ready to leave? . . . . and so on, and so on. It´s a powerful weapon sometimes, the mind, and amazing the damage it can inflict when I´m not paying attention.
So, as I indulged my screaming mind, I wandered the town, looked at cheap places to live and tried to decide where I wanted to be. I learned a fair bit, I think. Among other things, I learned that a fridge is not a standard piece of equipment in a kitchen . . . one often needs to buy it oneself and bring it with, even in short-term rentals. I gather that a lot of folks just don´t use it. Eating out is so cheap, they do that, or they buy at the market the day of and prepare as needed.
I also re-connected with my privileged existence as a Canadian, who takes clean water and hot water for granted. Both things are commodities here. Agua Pura is everywhere . . .but you pay for it. I may complain about the taste of tap water in Canadian cities, and the chlorine . . . but there´s no risk of parasites or SERIOUS illness from our water, and a hot shower is fairly standard back home. Here the hot water tap is generally disabled, and one gets cold water that comes through this electric heater thing before it lands, low pressure and luke warm on your head. (If you´re lucky . .. many don´t even have that).
I also have a new appreciation for how we handle garbage and recycling, as insufficient as our environmental awareness is at home . . . it´s almost an unknown here. Recycling is VERY minimal - most things can´t be recycled, and garbage and litter are everywhere. I was having the most wonderful breakfast on the beach one morning, only to find myself suddenly inhaling smoke and slowly getting covered in ash from a garbage fire on the beach. Nothing like a little burning plastic to enhance the eating experience.
The highlights of my time in San Pedro were really La Piscina, the friends I made there, and the gardens at my hotel. Oh, and the lake. The last three days I was in San Pedro, the lake was SO choppy. The waves were crashing and roaring, it was really like being back on the ocean. I found it so soothing to my spirit, and it also served to keep me in San Pedro that extra couple of days, as I just didn´t think the boat across to San Marcos was such a good idea with the water that rough
One of my new friends, Guyta, is another Canadian from Quebec, in San Pedro studying spanish. I´m not sure how well my spanish is progressing, but I´ve discovered I´m far more conversant in french than I give myself credit for. I´m starting to think I´m going to return home with my french vastly improved and my spanish not so much, as I keep connecting with Francophones. oh well. Guyta is lovely, and I´ve been enjoying her company a lot. She challenges me to use what little spanish I have, and when that fails, we fall into Frenglish. I´m enjoying it a lot. We´ve decided to spend New Years together in San Marcos; since I´m heading there a day ahead of her, I´ll scope us a place to stay, and meet her at the dock there on Thursday afternoon.
Next top, San Marcos La Laguna.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Merry Christmas in San Pedro
I arrived in San Pedro on Christmas afternoon, having decided that as lovely as Santa Cruz was, I just wasn´t up for a communal North American Christmas dinner that, of course, I couldn´t really eat. (Gluten-free down here is EASY if I eat traditional Guatemalan food. Where the Gringos converge for their usual fare, generally, I´m screwed.)
I was a little nervous about coming to San Pedro as I have heard such mixed reviews about it. My dear friend Elinor told me how wonderful it was, and connected me with her friend Daniel, owner of the local pool. On the other hand, most of the travelers I ran into said it was a big drug and party town, and that I wouldn´t get 10 feet without being offered every nature of mind-altering substance . . .and that the town itself was (to paraphrase) icky and uninspiring.
On the launcha over, I reconnected with some of the friends I´d made on my eventful bus ride to the lake, and we chatted all the way over. We wandered together in search of a hotel, before they abandoned the search in favour of a hike up the volcano. I figured I was unlikely to see them again. I ended up at what turns out to be the loveliest hotel in town: Sak´Cari. At 100Q a night, it´s considered Muy Caro - too expensive. At a conversion of $13 a night, I decided to indulge for a few days.
My room was a lovely single with a double bed, HOT water with fabulous pressure (a rarity here) and just outside the back gardens. The birds nested in the tree outside my room have the most amazing calls, and the colours are spectacular. There is free agua pura and I´m all set. Once I settled into my room ,I donned by bathing suit and headed for the pool. I´m excited at the prospect of a swim. The weather has been really hot during the day, and chilly at night . . . but with the bloom on the lake, it´s not really safe to swim, at least that´s the perspective I´m going with. That point is of great debate - some say it is, some say it isn´t . . . I put a foot in while in Santa Cruz, and psychosomatic or not, that foot was ITCHY for the next hour. I think I´ll pass on the full-body experience.
So, off to La Piscina I went. What a fabulous place. The pool itself is not large, but the water is clean and inviting. The bar has good music playing and the people are fun. Daniel made me feel very welcome and before long I made friends at the bar. I can see why this has become a regular hang-out/hub for many of the longer term gringos and for short term travelers alike. Daniel is a modern-day, bar-tending Bodhisatva and makes sure a good time is had by all. In my case, he made my Christmas day.
After the sun went down and the pool closed, we went out for dinner at a local place, Ventana Blue, which has officially become my favourite restaurant in San Pedro. The food was SOOO good!! It wasn´t a terribly late evening . . . I was in bed by about 10 for much needed rest, but it was a GOOD Christmas.
PS: Did I mention how much Guatemalans LOVE fireworks and other VERY noisy firecracker type things????
PPS: So far no drug offers or untoward anythings. Folks have been friendly, and while partying appears to be easily available . . .things seem pretty chill. Glad I didn´t let other folks bad press dissuade me from coming.
I was a little nervous about coming to San Pedro as I have heard such mixed reviews about it. My dear friend Elinor told me how wonderful it was, and connected me with her friend Daniel, owner of the local pool. On the other hand, most of the travelers I ran into said it was a big drug and party town, and that I wouldn´t get 10 feet without being offered every nature of mind-altering substance . . .and that the town itself was (to paraphrase) icky and uninspiring.
On the launcha over, I reconnected with some of the friends I´d made on my eventful bus ride to the lake, and we chatted all the way over. We wandered together in search of a hotel, before they abandoned the search in favour of a hike up the volcano. I figured I was unlikely to see them again. I ended up at what turns out to be the loveliest hotel in town: Sak´Cari. At 100Q a night, it´s considered Muy Caro - too expensive. At a conversion of $13 a night, I decided to indulge for a few days.
My room was a lovely single with a double bed, HOT water with fabulous pressure (a rarity here) and just outside the back gardens. The birds nested in the tree outside my room have the most amazing calls, and the colours are spectacular. There is free agua pura and I´m all set. Once I settled into my room ,I donned by bathing suit and headed for the pool. I´m excited at the prospect of a swim. The weather has been really hot during the day, and chilly at night . . . but with the bloom on the lake, it´s not really safe to swim, at least that´s the perspective I´m going with. That point is of great debate - some say it is, some say it isn´t . . . I put a foot in while in Santa Cruz, and psychosomatic or not, that foot was ITCHY for the next hour. I think I´ll pass on the full-body experience.
So, off to La Piscina I went. What a fabulous place. The pool itself is not large, but the water is clean and inviting. The bar has good music playing and the people are fun. Daniel made me feel very welcome and before long I made friends at the bar. I can see why this has become a regular hang-out/hub for many of the longer term gringos and for short term travelers alike. Daniel is a modern-day, bar-tending Bodhisatva and makes sure a good time is had by all. In my case, he made my Christmas day.
After the sun went down and the pool closed, we went out for dinner at a local place, Ventana Blue, which has officially become my favourite restaurant in San Pedro. The food was SOOO good!! It wasn´t a terribly late evening . . . I was in bed by about 10 for much needed rest, but it was a GOOD Christmas.
PS: Did I mention how much Guatemalans LOVE fireworks and other VERY noisy firecracker type things????
PPS: So far no drug offers or untoward anythings. Folks have been friendly, and while partying appears to be easily available . . .things seem pretty chill. Glad I didn´t let other folks bad press dissuade me from coming.
Santa Cruz La Laguna
I spent two beautiful days in Santa Cruz La Laguna at La Iguana Perdita. It´s a hotel/hostel with a mix of dorms, private rooms, shared and private bathrooms. It´s right on the lake, which is great, because if I'd had to make it up the hill to the village in order to get there, I probably would have turned right around and back onto the next Launcha.
When I reserved, I was able to get a private room, but no private bathroom. What I didn´t find out until I arrived was that the room was a cabana with no electricity, and the bathroom was outside and across the walkway. It made me think of Cortes . . . and all the places I chose NOT to live because I was unwilling to go outside at night to pee. Oh well. I do miss home.
Other than that little glitch, which I managed just fine with, the place is lovely!!! Dinner is a set-meal, served family style, and most of the guests (and some of the locals too) gather together to eat. After dinner a group of us sat outside around a fire pit. It was beautiful. The gardens and greenery were spectacular, the food was pretty good and the people were lovely.
Our first morning there my roommate, Rita, and I walked up into the village (it´s about a 30+ minute walk up a STEEP grade) to the top of the village, but it was beautiful and totally worth it. We passed a little place about 2 thirds of the way up advertising local food, which excited us both, but we didn´t want to ruin our dinner, so we had popsicles in the village instead. Really, there isn´t much in Santa Cruz except the local village and the hotels. This little cantina was a surprise. Santa Cruz is not a bustling town - but rather an outdoors kind of place for tourists. There are beautiful hikes to be taken in any direction . . . to other villages, to a waterfall, through the forest . . . but no stores or restaurants really.
I was there for Christmas eve, and after a not-so-traditional dinner of tacos, we had another lovely evening by the fire pit. This time a few local kids were there and they got playing with my hoops. It was a riot. They had a blast. I finally toddered off to bed around 11:30, which turned out to be a bit of a strategic error, as the fireworks around the lake started at midnight. They were spectacular. I hopped back out of bed to catch the tail end of them.
The next morning, Rita convinced me to do the hike uphill a second time. She desperately wanted to try that little cantina for authentic guatemalan food. The Iguana has pretty good food, made by local chicas, but it´s really more gringo food. The guests tend to be back-packers who are tired of local food and want a taste of home . . . at least that was the explanation. So up the hill we went. We weren´t terribly optimistic, however, as it was Christmas morning. And not surprisingly, there were no menu signs on the gate - no authentic food for us. Mind you, the walk up and back made us pretty grateful for the food we did eat back at the Iguana.
Shortly after brunch, I packed myself up and headed for the launcha to San Pedro . . .
*Special Note: For the record, Guatemalans LOVE their fireworks . . . and firecracker things . . . black caps . . . whatever they´re called. Whatever they are, they make a lot of noise. The the kids throw them at the pavement and they sound like a gunshot. They go off here all the time. Feliz Navidad!!!
When I reserved, I was able to get a private room, but no private bathroom. What I didn´t find out until I arrived was that the room was a cabana with no electricity, and the bathroom was outside and across the walkway. It made me think of Cortes . . . and all the places I chose NOT to live because I was unwilling to go outside at night to pee. Oh well. I do miss home.
Other than that little glitch, which I managed just fine with, the place is lovely!!! Dinner is a set-meal, served family style, and most of the guests (and some of the locals too) gather together to eat. After dinner a group of us sat outside around a fire pit. It was beautiful. The gardens and greenery were spectacular, the food was pretty good and the people were lovely.
Our first morning there my roommate, Rita, and I walked up into the village (it´s about a 30+ minute walk up a STEEP grade) to the top of the village, but it was beautiful and totally worth it. We passed a little place about 2 thirds of the way up advertising local food, which excited us both, but we didn´t want to ruin our dinner, so we had popsicles in the village instead. Really, there isn´t much in Santa Cruz except the local village and the hotels. This little cantina was a surprise. Santa Cruz is not a bustling town - but rather an outdoors kind of place for tourists. There are beautiful hikes to be taken in any direction . . . to other villages, to a waterfall, through the forest . . . but no stores or restaurants really.
I was there for Christmas eve, and after a not-so-traditional dinner of tacos, we had another lovely evening by the fire pit. This time a few local kids were there and they got playing with my hoops. It was a riot. They had a blast. I finally toddered off to bed around 11:30, which turned out to be a bit of a strategic error, as the fireworks around the lake started at midnight. They were spectacular. I hopped back out of bed to catch the tail end of them.
The next morning, Rita convinced me to do the hike uphill a second time. She desperately wanted to try that little cantina for authentic guatemalan food. The Iguana has pretty good food, made by local chicas, but it´s really more gringo food. The guests tend to be back-packers who are tired of local food and want a taste of home . . . at least that was the explanation. So up the hill we went. We weren´t terribly optimistic, however, as it was Christmas morning. And not surprisingly, there were no menu signs on the gate - no authentic food for us. Mind you, the walk up and back made us pretty grateful for the food we did eat back at the Iguana.
Shortly after brunch, I packed myself up and headed for the launcha to San Pedro . . .
*Special Note: For the record, Guatemalans LOVE their fireworks . . . and firecracker things . . . black caps . . . whatever they´re called. Whatever they are, they make a lot of noise. The the kids throw them at the pavement and they sound like a gunshot. They go off here all the time. Feliz Navidad!!!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Journey to Lago Atitlan
After a full two days in Antigua, I was ready to head to Lago Atitlan. Created by the 3 volcanoes surrounding it, it is supposed to be one of the most beautiful lakes in the world. So I hustled back to my hotel from my morning of touring with Guy in order to make sure I didn´t miss my 12:30 shuttle.
I needn´t have worried. The shuttle arrived about 10 past 1, and after negotiating my mucho stuff into the back I climbed in, and then held on for dear life. We rattled through the streets in a tin can. It looked ok from the outside, really . . . but I seriously wondered if parts were going to fall off as it squeaked and rattled. It appears I wasn´t too far off. About 20 minutes outside town we broke down. Fortunately, I already had friends in the shuttle to chat with while we waited by the side of the road for a new bus to be sent for us. One of them was Alexandra, who I had met at the airport in Guat City and chatted with into Antigua. It was lovely to see her again. I also got chatting with the couple beside me and the woman behind us - all Gringos from the US.
After about a half hour wait, with children peering in, trying to sell us firewood, (what did they think a shuttle of tourists would do with it???) we were on our way again. The next two hours were a bit harrowing, but absolutely stunning. The grades on the roads are unbelievable. The shuttle we were in looked and sounded much newer when it picked us up, but it was sounding pretty rough a couple of hours later as we laboured up and down hills, and back and forth around hairpin turns. There were more than a few hold-on-and-pray moments . . . but at least this shuttle had seatbelts, for which I was quite grateful!
About 2 hours into the trip (and about 20 minutes from Panajachel, our destination), we blew a flat. So we had another 20 minutes to hang-out while the driver changed the tire. We were all quite pleasantly surprised (and deeply grateful) that he had a spare. Morale boosting was required at this point, so I pulled out my hoops, which had been the subject of some conversation en route, and a bunch of us hung out on the grass and hooped. I was informed that if I ran short on cash this trip, I should consider giving hoop lessons. We´ll see what happens!
After our brief stretch and shimmy break, we resumed our journey to Pana, continuing through hairpin turns, on immense grades, over single lane bridges, above an incredible canyon of trees and rocks and wow. I wish I could have taken pictures of this journey, but it just wasn´t possible through the windows of our little shuttle van. Finally we arrived in Pana and negotiated our way slowly through the market streets. Vendors everywhere . . . beautiful cloths and wares and stuff. I definitely want to go spend a day in Pana just wandering . . . but with my packs, this wasn´t the day.
At the bottom of the street, we were let off just above the docks where we were guided down to the launchas to take us to our respective towns on the lake. Some of the troops were heading for San Marcos, some for San Pedro; I and my new friend Rita headed for Santa Cruz La Laguna to check out the Iguana.
I needn´t have worried. The shuttle arrived about 10 past 1, and after negotiating my mucho stuff into the back I climbed in, and then held on for dear life. We rattled through the streets in a tin can. It looked ok from the outside, really . . . but I seriously wondered if parts were going to fall off as it squeaked and rattled. It appears I wasn´t too far off. About 20 minutes outside town we broke down. Fortunately, I already had friends in the shuttle to chat with while we waited by the side of the road for a new bus to be sent for us. One of them was Alexandra, who I had met at the airport in Guat City and chatted with into Antigua. It was lovely to see her again. I also got chatting with the couple beside me and the woman behind us - all Gringos from the US.
After about a half hour wait, with children peering in, trying to sell us firewood, (what did they think a shuttle of tourists would do with it???) we were on our way again. The next two hours were a bit harrowing, but absolutely stunning. The grades on the roads are unbelievable. The shuttle we were in looked and sounded much newer when it picked us up, but it was sounding pretty rough a couple of hours later as we laboured up and down hills, and back and forth around hairpin turns. There were more than a few hold-on-and-pray moments . . . but at least this shuttle had seatbelts, for which I was quite grateful!
About 2 hours into the trip (and about 20 minutes from Panajachel, our destination), we blew a flat. So we had another 20 minutes to hang-out while the driver changed the tire. We were all quite pleasantly surprised (and deeply grateful) that he had a spare. Morale boosting was required at this point, so I pulled out my hoops, which had been the subject of some conversation en route, and a bunch of us hung out on the grass and hooped. I was informed that if I ran short on cash this trip, I should consider giving hoop lessons. We´ll see what happens!
After our brief stretch and shimmy break, we resumed our journey to Pana, continuing through hairpin turns, on immense grades, over single lane bridges, above an incredible canyon of trees and rocks and wow. I wish I could have taken pictures of this journey, but it just wasn´t possible through the windows of our little shuttle van. Finally we arrived in Pana and negotiated our way slowly through the market streets. Vendors everywhere . . . beautiful cloths and wares and stuff. I definitely want to go spend a day in Pana just wandering . . . but with my packs, this wasn´t the day.
At the bottom of the street, we were let off just above the docks where we were guided down to the launchas to take us to our respective towns on the lake. Some of the troops were heading for San Marcos, some for San Pedro; I and my new friend Rita headed for Santa Cruz La Laguna to check out the Iguana.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Antigua
Antigua is a beautiful town. I spent just under two days here and have a bunch of beautiful pictures and some great memories.
Things that stand out:
The Parc Central in the middle of town in beautiful. A big fountain in the centre, surrounded by treas and flowers and other greenery, and lots of benches for people to just sit and enjoy . . . .and they do. Peddlars come past constantly offering to sell their wares, provide a shoe-shine, juice, whatever. Children tag along behind their parents, often peddling their own stash of wares.
The streets are all cobblestone and there are no traffic signs (no lights, no stop signs), just the occasional one-way marker which is observed unless it´s inconvenient. There are a ton of motorcycles and mopeds here - people ride them double, triple, with children, babies . . . . usually without helmets. The traffic here is a wonder to me. And those intersections provide me with endess fascination. I can stand for quite a while just watching how traffic zips through and I haven't seen any accidents. You can't see around the corners - one only hopes no one else is racing through at the same time - and yet, somehow it seems to work. Somehow words feel like they fail to really illustrate the process.
My favourite moment, however, is clear and I wish I could have caught it on camera. A woman zipped by me on a motorcycle, and as she approached the intersection, without slowing down, she crossed herself and kept going. I stood and laughed for a full 3 minutes.
Later in the afternoon I went to explore the market. What an experience. I rarely get lost, as I have a really good sense of direction, but at some point, I realized I might actually be lost inside the endless corridors of this mammoth market. You can buy ANYTHING here. Shoes, chickens, veggies, tortillas, cds . . . . seriously, ANYTHING. I walked through with an unstoppable grin, just enjoying the show. Once I finally emerged, I found a woman making these amazing tortillas, with cheese inside, guac, cabbage and salsa on top. 5 Q. (That´s about 60 cents) . . . OH MY GODDESS!! SO GOOD.
As I was walking back towards the Parc Central from the market, I met my first traveler-friend in Antigua, Guy. He was wearing a polo shirt with a Canada flag, so I asked him where he was from. Turns out he´s from France, but loves Canada. I laughed. We wandered and chatted and ended up having dinner together . . . it was lovely to have company. I think, mind you, that I improved my french far more than my spanish. We hung out again the next morning and continued to explore Antigua. It was great. We got a tour of the old Cathedral, which was just amazing. It was originally built around 1545 and has been destroyed and rebuilt (at least partially) twice. The front part of the Cathedral has been mostly re-constructed, but the ruins of the former palace, the rest of the Cathedral and the catacombs underneath remain mostly as ruins, with a few reenforcement points. We got the tour from a ´helpful' local, who of course expected a tip at the end (my pleasure!) but had a much larger amount in mind than we expected - and he had neglected to mention that upfront. I was glad to have Guy with me (who speaks spanish quite well) to guide the transaction.
After the Cathedral, we wandered through the streets, stopping in little artisan shops to admire their wares, as we made our way to the big hotel. The name escapes me right now - but it´s the biggest, most expensive and most beautiful hotel in Antigua. It´s not a historical site, but it feels like one, and I think it was built over some ruins - because I think you can tour some inside. The courtyard is full of beautiful vegetation and birds. Wow! The birds!
After that, we headed back towards my hotel, stopping at my favourite little place for lunch, and then hustling back so I could make my shuttle to Panahachel on Lago Atitlan.
And that will be my next post . . . .
Things that stand out:
The Parc Central in the middle of town in beautiful. A big fountain in the centre, surrounded by treas and flowers and other greenery, and lots of benches for people to just sit and enjoy . . . .and they do. Peddlars come past constantly offering to sell their wares, provide a shoe-shine, juice, whatever. Children tag along behind their parents, often peddling their own stash of wares.
The streets are all cobblestone and there are no traffic signs (no lights, no stop signs), just the occasional one-way marker which is observed unless it´s inconvenient. There are a ton of motorcycles and mopeds here - people ride them double, triple, with children, babies . . . . usually without helmets. The traffic here is a wonder to me. And those intersections provide me with endess fascination. I can stand for quite a while just watching how traffic zips through and I haven't seen any accidents. You can't see around the corners - one only hopes no one else is racing through at the same time - and yet, somehow it seems to work. Somehow words feel like they fail to really illustrate the process.
My favourite moment, however, is clear and I wish I could have caught it on camera. A woman zipped by me on a motorcycle, and as she approached the intersection, without slowing down, she crossed herself and kept going. I stood and laughed for a full 3 minutes.
Later in the afternoon I went to explore the market. What an experience. I rarely get lost, as I have a really good sense of direction, but at some point, I realized I might actually be lost inside the endless corridors of this mammoth market. You can buy ANYTHING here. Shoes, chickens, veggies, tortillas, cds . . . . seriously, ANYTHING. I walked through with an unstoppable grin, just enjoying the show. Once I finally emerged, I found a woman making these amazing tortillas, with cheese inside, guac, cabbage and salsa on top. 5 Q. (That´s about 60 cents) . . . OH MY GODDESS!! SO GOOD.
As I was walking back towards the Parc Central from the market, I met my first traveler-friend in Antigua, Guy. He was wearing a polo shirt with a Canada flag, so I asked him where he was from. Turns out he´s from France, but loves Canada. I laughed. We wandered and chatted and ended up having dinner together . . . it was lovely to have company. I think, mind you, that I improved my french far more than my spanish. We hung out again the next morning and continued to explore Antigua. It was great. We got a tour of the old Cathedral, which was just amazing. It was originally built around 1545 and has been destroyed and rebuilt (at least partially) twice. The front part of the Cathedral has been mostly re-constructed, but the ruins of the former palace, the rest of the Cathedral and the catacombs underneath remain mostly as ruins, with a few reenforcement points. We got the tour from a ´helpful' local, who of course expected a tip at the end (my pleasure!) but had a much larger amount in mind than we expected - and he had neglected to mention that upfront. I was glad to have Guy with me (who speaks spanish quite well) to guide the transaction.
After the Cathedral, we wandered through the streets, stopping in little artisan shops to admire their wares, as we made our way to the big hotel. The name escapes me right now - but it´s the biggest, most expensive and most beautiful hotel in Antigua. It´s not a historical site, but it feels like one, and I think it was built over some ruins - because I think you can tour some inside. The courtyard is full of beautiful vegetation and birds. Wow! The birds!
After that, we headed back towards my hotel, stopping at my favourite little place for lunch, and then hustling back so I could make my shuttle to Panahachel on Lago Atitlan.
And that will be my next post . . . .
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Arriving in Guatemala
I arrived in Guatemala yesterday. It is hard, in this moment to believe that it was only yesterday!
After 24+ hours in transit, not surprisingly, I arrived exhausted. I navigated through customs and immigration . . . except that I was so tired, I didn´t even realize that I had made it through immigration. I had to ask at information - and the nice man there pointed out the stamp in my passport.
When I emerged from the airport, as I was told to predict, there was a fenced area beyond which throng of people crowded. The promised, easily-identifiable, shuttle drivers were not so easy to spot, and definitely not within the fenced boundaries. I managed, however, to safely secure myself a shuttle, and after waiting for the driver to find two more souls (they won't leave without at least 3 people), we were on our way to Antigua about 45 minutes later.
The drive from Guatemala City to Antigua was fascinating. The scenery is the constant paradox: lush, verdant green, garbage in the street, shanties, brand- new paved roads, luxury cars, black-smoke puffing chicken buses. Children, dogs and vendors everywhere. The colours of the people and the landscape are amazing - and in stark contrast to the almost gray of some of the buildings.
The other two travelers in the shuttle were also English-speakers, but and far more experienced travelers and both reasonably conversant in Spanish. I got my first immersion experience, with some occasional translation, and some coaching to try some myself. I was pleased at how much I was able to follow - even if I can't yet speak a word.
As we approached Antigua, the driver provided a bit of a tour as he drove through the cobbled streets dropping each of us off. I was last, which was great - because it gave me the most thorough tour and a chance to scope out some places to see and some alternate places to stay. He pointed out a great place for 'authentic' local food, which I was able to find back later that evening for dinner - and WOW was it good.
My hotel the first night was nondescript. My room had a window into the hallway, but not to the outside - so it felt a little like a prison cell, but the bed was reasonably comfortable and there were extra blankets. Thank goodness, because the evenings are surprisingly cool.
Despite my exhaustion, I managed a little wander through town to go find dinner, visited the most amazing crafts market, and checked out a Spanish school. I was impressed by the school, and the lady I talked to. I think I tripped over a good one. However, despite her strong encouragement for me to return this morning, I didn't. I really want to start learning the language - I feel so disrespectful by not speaking it - but I'm hesitant to make any commitments yet. I'm still not sure how long I want to stay in Antigua, and how soon I want to head for Lago Atitlan. I've already switched to the hotel next door (much nicer), but I know I can only stay here for one night, so I'll be shifting again tomorrow. I'm just not sure where.
And I have already discovered how painfully I over-packed. Changing locations is just not easy or appealing with the amount of stuff I'm carrying. It seems I am already nose-to-nose with my attachment to 'stuff' and the very real impact of that.
Time to go explore . . . more later.
When I emerged from the airport, as I was told to predict, there was a fenced area beyond which throng of people crowded. The promised, easily-identifiable, shuttle drivers were not so easy to spot, and definitely not within the fenced boundaries. I managed, however, to safely secure myself a shuttle, and after waiting for the driver to find two more souls (they won't leave without at least 3 people), we were on our way to Antigua about 45 minutes later.
The drive from Guatemala City to Antigua was fascinating. The scenery is the constant paradox: lush, verdant green, garbage in the street, shanties, brand- new paved roads, luxury cars, black-smoke puffing chicken buses. Children, dogs and vendors everywhere. The colours of the people and the landscape are amazing - and in stark contrast to the almost gray of some of the buildings.
The other two travelers in the shuttle were also English-speakers, but and far more experienced travelers and both reasonably conversant in Spanish. I got my first immersion experience, with some occasional translation, and some coaching to try some myself. I was pleased at how much I was able to follow - even if I can't yet speak a word.
As we approached Antigua, the driver provided a bit of a tour as he drove through the cobbled streets dropping each of us off. I was last, which was great - because it gave me the most thorough tour and a chance to scope out some places to see and some alternate places to stay. He pointed out a great place for 'authentic' local food, which I was able to find back later that evening for dinner - and WOW was it good.
My hotel the first night was nondescript. My room had a window into the hallway, but not to the outside - so it felt a little like a prison cell, but the bed was reasonably comfortable and there were extra blankets. Thank goodness, because the evenings are surprisingly cool.
Despite my exhaustion, I managed a little wander through town to go find dinner, visited the most amazing crafts market, and checked out a Spanish school. I was impressed by the school, and the lady I talked to. I think I tripped over a good one. However, despite her strong encouragement for me to return this morning, I didn't. I really want to start learning the language - I feel so disrespectful by not speaking it - but I'm hesitant to make any commitments yet. I'm still not sure how long I want to stay in Antigua, and how soon I want to head for Lago Atitlan. I've already switched to the hotel next door (much nicer), but I know I can only stay here for one night, so I'll be shifting again tomorrow. I'm just not sure where.
And I have already discovered how painfully I over-packed. Changing locations is just not easy or appealing with the amount of stuff I'm carrying. It seems I am already nose-to-nose with my attachment to 'stuff' and the very real impact of that.
Time to go explore . . . more later.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Getting ready to travel
I was told to journal my pre-trip process, as well as the journey itself. Most of that happened in a little book - but it is worth reflecting some on it here.
I left packing until the last minute. I panicked about what to pack. I left flight-bookings pretty late too, and they cost me a pretty penny. I did, however, get everything done that needed to be done and then some perhaps. I shopped until I dropped - and marveled at how much it cost me just to leave the country - never mind what I might spend once I was gone. I agonized over what to take - and whether I was taking too much, and what I might find I'd forgotten.
I have been laughingly assured by many that, yes - I would pack too much . . . and that was part of the journey. Next time I go traveling I will pack lighter and laugh at how heavy I made the first trip - literally and figuratively speaking.
Despite the doubts and concerns, mind you, I have received a ton of support - some from very unexpected sources. I have received help moving, help booking my tickets, short and long term places to crash over the last two months, a ton of wisdom, guidance, advice and a lot of love. I have been blessed with support and friendships that I am immensely grateful for. I have been both wished blessings on my journey and had angels sent with me to ensure I return.
Many times I was asked why I was going - at least half of those times, the question was posed by me. I still don´t fully know the answer, though I hope to soon. Or not. I do know that this journey is as much about letting go and trusting the process as it is anything else. I also know that that is the hardest combination in the world, and what has made this such a terrifying journey to embark upon - and what will potentially make it so rewarding. I do know that even as I wondered why I was going, and even as I experienced the longing for home, and the pain of missing my friends before I even left . . . I knew that I had to go. I knew that this was my journey to be on, and that it was time.
And so the journey begins . . . .
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The Wonder(ing) of Love
I have been called to wonder deeply over this last month about love. What is it, really? We have so many fairy tales, and beside them equal number of horror stories. What is it that draws two people together? What makes them really good together? What is it that makes their interactions, their relating to each other something that is good and healthy – something that builds and creates - rather than something that hurts and tears down?
How do we know when we have found our ‘other’ – the one that meets us truly? Not one who completes us –for no one but ourselves can do that . . . but how do we know when we have found that other that is truly our match, the one with whom (at least for now – for what, really is forever?) we, together, are more than the sum of our parts?
And when we have found it, how do we know whether the timing is right? If it hurts others, or threatens to take us away from the path we know we need to be on, is it more courageous to dive in against all odds, or to walk away, holding that love in reverence, trusting that it will come again when the timing is right?
I tasted, briefly, this month what it was to experience that match – that equal - to love and be loved with equal joy, passion and reverence. To learn and grow with and from another even as he learned and grew with and from me. I also experienced what it was to let it go, with love and reverence, and a knowing that the timing was not right. I feel a little like I’m living a romance novel, and am chagrined at that . . . .life often imitates art, but somehow the romance novel is not the art-form I think of when I hear that reference.
Truly, even as my heart aches, I am filled with gratitude and a clear awareness that I would not give back a moment. I willingly accept the pain of loss knowing in it that I am vitally alive – that is a testament to how deeply I have felt love and joy in such a short period of time. I do not know if the timing will ever be right for the two of us – and right now I cannot picture another man being with me as this beautiful man has been in this past month – but I know now what is possible. I know that such a way of being with another exists. I know that it is possible to be truly met on all levels: body, mind, spirit and heart. I know that the skeptics who say I want too much are wrong. They, like me, simply need to call on more patience and trust.
And so, even in my sadness, I know joy and hope. I choose to hold my heart open, even as it wants to contract. I choose to breathe through it and allow the feelings to move through as waves - for I dishonour the beauty of what we have shared if I close in response now, and I hold myself stuck if I contract.
I know my love to be ever-growing and expanding. For he will have a piece of my heart forever – and still there will be a full heart for me to give when the timing is right – be it to him or another. And always I know my life to be filled with love - for I am blessed to have a rich circle of friends and family, and a wonderful community - and I am filled full by all of these.
And so I know the Power of Hope . . . and that is a whole other story
How do we know when we have found our ‘other’ – the one that meets us truly? Not one who completes us –for no one but ourselves can do that . . . but how do we know when we have found that other that is truly our match, the one with whom (at least for now – for what, really is forever?) we, together, are more than the sum of our parts?
And when we have found it, how do we know whether the timing is right? If it hurts others, or threatens to take us away from the path we know we need to be on, is it more courageous to dive in against all odds, or to walk away, holding that love in reverence, trusting that it will come again when the timing is right?
I tasted, briefly, this month what it was to experience that match – that equal - to love and be loved with equal joy, passion and reverence. To learn and grow with and from another even as he learned and grew with and from me. I also experienced what it was to let it go, with love and reverence, and a knowing that the timing was not right. I feel a little like I’m living a romance novel, and am chagrined at that . . . .life often imitates art, but somehow the romance novel is not the art-form I think of when I hear that reference.
Truly, even as my heart aches, I am filled with gratitude and a clear awareness that I would not give back a moment. I willingly accept the pain of loss knowing in it that I am vitally alive – that is a testament to how deeply I have felt love and joy in such a short period of time. I do not know if the timing will ever be right for the two of us – and right now I cannot picture another man being with me as this beautiful man has been in this past month – but I know now what is possible. I know that such a way of being with another exists. I know that it is possible to be truly met on all levels: body, mind, spirit and heart. I know that the skeptics who say I want too much are wrong. They, like me, simply need to call on more patience and trust.
And so, even in my sadness, I know joy and hope. I choose to hold my heart open, even as it wants to contract. I choose to breathe through it and allow the feelings to move through as waves - for I dishonour the beauty of what we have shared if I close in response now, and I hold myself stuck if I contract.
I know my love to be ever-growing and expanding. For he will have a piece of my heart forever – and still there will be a full heart for me to give when the timing is right – be it to him or another. And always I know my life to be filled with love - for I am blessed to have a rich circle of friends and family, and a wonderful community - and I am filled full by all of these.
And so I know the Power of Hope . . . and that is a whole other story
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Summer Awakening
Summer has arrived on the West Coast of BC, here in the Northern Gulf islands . . . hot, sultry, glorious . . . and it is only June! I have already spent several days bathing in the ocean – warm like late August, or the Southern Pacific. The earth yearns for rain, and while I glory in the sunshine, I also note with sadness the change in our climate and the probable impacts, such as drought.
I have also moved, again, as is the way of many Cortesians at this time of year. We call it the summer shuffle; as the winter rentals expire to become high-priced short-term summer rentals and/or to make room for those owners who live here for the short, beautiful, summer months. I have left behind my winter paradise cabin, 20 feet from the ocean for a brand-new little cottage in a ‘village’ for seniors. . . except that the expected seniors didn’t sign up to rent them. There are six cottages, and only three currently occupied, only one with an actual senior in it. I guess my old-soul is manifesting in a new way . . .
My move has been fraught with emotion. I find myself coming up against my expectations, spoken and unspoken, of others, of myself, of the place in which I live. I discover, humbly, where my growing edges continue to be – where my strong values come into conflict with each other. I am reminded why I moved to Cortes – and how my reasons are not necessarily the same as other people’s; how my story about what living on this island means is not the same as others’ stories; how different people’s needs, values, and perspectives can be about the same things.
I also pay attention how much love and beauty I am surrounded by. I breathe in deep gratitude for the friends that I have developed here, for the powerful women I am deepening into relationship with, for the water, the sunshine, and the freedom that I have chosen.
Yesterday I chopped wood for over an hour in the heat of the day (what was I thinking???) . . . and followed it by a swim in the ocean (ah, yes – the reward!). My friend led me through the seaweed and the rocks over the reef at low tide – further out than I’ve ever been, navigating carefully over starfish and other amazing sea-life. We lazed in the clear, beautiful, water as the tide came in, and I realized that little more than a year ago, I’d have been in an office at that time of day, either staring longingly out the window . . . or so busy in my ‘important’ life that I almost forgot that ‘outside’ was even there. Whatever challenges I face here, whatever frustrations may come with this life (there are always some no matter what life we are living), no matter little money I have – I am blessed truly with freedom and abundance here.
Ironically, I have been thinking a lot about going traveling. It’s not so much that I want to leave here, as that I want to see and experience other parts of the world. I want to meet people in different places, experience different ways of living . . . hear and learn other languages. Feel sacred places on the earth. I also have a story about traveling, and finding myself within that process. Connecting to the parts of me that are fully confident in my ability to survive, to navigate anything, to go anywhere.
Last night I danced and, as I spun and spun and spun into ecstasy, I suddenly knew myself as whole – no matter where I am, where I go or don’t. I saw my divinity and felt it through my body. Aaaahhhhhh. I learned, bodily, that I don’t need to go anywhere to find myself. I am already whole.
I still want to travel – but perhaps it can be a lighter experience, one I can be more present to, with less unnecessary expectation. For now I choose to travel through my everyday experience into the sunshine, through the evening, into the realms of possibility and presence. I choose to be here now. And here, now, is incredible joy.
Blessed Be.
I have also moved, again, as is the way of many Cortesians at this time of year. We call it the summer shuffle; as the winter rentals expire to become high-priced short-term summer rentals and/or to make room for those owners who live here for the short, beautiful, summer months. I have left behind my winter paradise cabin, 20 feet from the ocean for a brand-new little cottage in a ‘village’ for seniors. . . except that the expected seniors didn’t sign up to rent them. There are six cottages, and only three currently occupied, only one with an actual senior in it. I guess my old-soul is manifesting in a new way . . .
My move has been fraught with emotion. I find myself coming up against my expectations, spoken and unspoken, of others, of myself, of the place in which I live. I discover, humbly, where my growing edges continue to be – where my strong values come into conflict with each other. I am reminded why I moved to Cortes – and how my reasons are not necessarily the same as other people’s; how my story about what living on this island means is not the same as others’ stories; how different people’s needs, values, and perspectives can be about the same things.
I also pay attention how much love and beauty I am surrounded by. I breathe in deep gratitude for the friends that I have developed here, for the powerful women I am deepening into relationship with, for the water, the sunshine, and the freedom that I have chosen.
Yesterday I chopped wood for over an hour in the heat of the day (what was I thinking???) . . . and followed it by a swim in the ocean (ah, yes – the reward!). My friend led me through the seaweed and the rocks over the reef at low tide – further out than I’ve ever been, navigating carefully over starfish and other amazing sea-life. We lazed in the clear, beautiful, water as the tide came in, and I realized that little more than a year ago, I’d have been in an office at that time of day, either staring longingly out the window . . . or so busy in my ‘important’ life that I almost forgot that ‘outside’ was even there. Whatever challenges I face here, whatever frustrations may come with this life (there are always some no matter what life we are living), no matter little money I have – I am blessed truly with freedom and abundance here.
Ironically, I have been thinking a lot about going traveling. It’s not so much that I want to leave here, as that I want to see and experience other parts of the world. I want to meet people in different places, experience different ways of living . . . hear and learn other languages. Feel sacred places on the earth. I also have a story about traveling, and finding myself within that process. Connecting to the parts of me that are fully confident in my ability to survive, to navigate anything, to go anywhere.
Last night I danced and, as I spun and spun and spun into ecstasy, I suddenly knew myself as whole – no matter where I am, where I go or don’t. I saw my divinity and felt it through my body. Aaaahhhhhh. I learned, bodily, that I don’t need to go anywhere to find myself. I am already whole.
I still want to travel – but perhaps it can be a lighter experience, one I can be more present to, with less unnecessary expectation. For now I choose to travel through my everyday experience into the sunshine, through the evening, into the realms of possibility and presence. I choose to be here now. And here, now, is incredible joy.
Blessed Be.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Riding the Wave of Transition
I am riding the wave of transition. Moving from one life into another. I know what I am moving away from, and I know the critical elements of what I am moving towards, but it would be a lie to say that I have a clear picture of where I am going. I know that I am moving towards a life where value and worth are measured by who I am and how I connect (with people, with the earth, with spirit), and away from a life measured by what I do (accomplish), how much I have (or don’t) and how independent I can prove myself to be.
I know that I am choosing to measure abundance in sunshine, relationships and possibilities, rather than in dollars. I recognize, indeed have already experienced, that this will not always be a socially acceptable measure. I accept that. Life is a continuing series of choices and trade-offs. I am trading the freedom of what money could buy for the freedom of choosing how I live, without basing it on the ever-present shadow of needing to earn yet more.
It has been an intense two year ride of transition . . . and I continue to ride that wave.
Two years ago I was finishing up a master’s degree, working full time, and beginning my coaching certification. I was aspiring, potentially, to be an executive in the Public Service, or a high-priced free-lance consultant. I was essentially qualified to pursue either one and hadn’t decided yet which had a greater call. Either way, it was a continuing quest for success – always focused on what was next, rather than where I was in the moment. In the moment, I was still hurting from the relationship that dissolved mid-way through my studies . . . . but I didn’t have time to stop and grieve it – I had too much to do.
I have self-identified as having “too much to do” for as long as I can remember. Frequently overwhelmed, and for the last several years, making constant apologies for being unable to attend to the relationships in my life the way I wanted to. I was startled and a little horrified to discover that many people in life agreed on the word “driven” to describe me – so out of touch with myself that I didn’t notice how my natural enthusiasm, passion and focus had turned into a force that was driving me.
The turning point came for me that summer as I finished my studies. Two days after sending in my final paper, I left for a one-month vacation. In anticipation of completion, I had registered to spend an entire month at Hollyhock Retreat Centre on Cortes Island as a Karma Yogi (a work exchange guest). That month was transformational. I discovered quiet like I had not experienced in my adult life. I found stillness within as well as around me. I will never forget sitting on the beach and realizing that the thwapping sound I was hearing was the whoosh of wind under the wings of the great birds as they flew over-head.
Over the course of that month, I slowed down – my movement slowed, my speech slowed, and even my thoughts slowed down. What a relief! I discovered what it was to measure days by
the sun, not by a computer screen or alarm clock. I experienced falling into bed pleasantly tired at the end of a day of physical work, rather than spiritually exhausted from a day of buzzing around an office, fighting bureaucratic fires. Quite to my surprise – I found home.
My body knew it quite quickly . . . my mind was a little slower on the uptake – I didn’t see
how it would be possible to live on this small island. I still don’t fully see . . . but I trust and one day at a time, I am doing it.
Nine months after my experience at Hollyhock, I left my job as a Public Servant (technically on leave, but we all knew I wasn’t coming back), and my life in Vancouver and moved up to Cortes Island. The last year and a half, from that pivotal experience to this moment, has been a series of synchronicities, turning points, challenges and little deaths. It has been filled with joy, possibilities and the grieving of letting go.
I settled into the community quite quickly, getting involved in the local forests protection group, and serendipitously landing the job as “manager” of the Friday Farmers’ Market. (Really, this is a political appointment - I still think I got paid to get to know my community). By the end of summer I was selling gluten-free baked goods at the Sunday market and feeling pretty settled in.
In the fall, I began the merry-go-round of trips back to Vancouver, following my plan to be a consultant that lived in paradise, but worked in Vancouver. It was more than a little nuts – and a lesson in how deeply ingrained my ‘busy-ness’ patterns were. A dear friend commented one day on “how important” I seemed, since I was always so busy. It was humbling.
Just as I began the merry-go-round, I also moved into a cosy little cabin 20 feet from the ocean. My stuff moved in several weeks before I actually did. It has been a privilege to be based from this cabin over the winter – though, truly, I have spent far less time here than I would have liked. I have treasured every moment I have been here, however. This winter I learned to chop wood and dig for clams in my ‘front yard.’ I also learned to be ok with going days (weeks) at a time without “working” . . . watching my guilt and shame stories play out about work ethic, productivity, responsibility. I discovered, in watching those stories, how truly I have been defining myself by external measures: productivity, accomplishment, money . . . .
Cortes is known to many as the island of transformation, or the island of death. (Metaphorically, not literally) Over and over this year I have been called to surrender my ego to the flame – to allow my identity to die little deaths. It has been both painful and liberating. It is a journey of letting go of attachments – both of external material things and, perhaps more painfully, of stories and beliefs.
This spring has demanded of me a deep cleaning of my life – of my spirit, my beliefs, and my belongings. Last weekend I had my storage locker delivered to my girlfriend’s house, where
I sorted through and sold off treasured belongings that I hadn’t seen in two years. What I realized was that it wasn’t the things themselves it was hard to let go of, but the stories I had attached to them; dreams of what my life could be with them, stories about who I am with them, and as a result, who I am not without them.
Many times through the selling process, I questioned my sanity, my choices, this path that I am on. I wrestled with the question of WHY and WHAT IF over and over. And ironically, as I returned home to Cortes, I looked at the boxes in my car that I did keep – and was startled to find my overwhelming urge was to seek out a match. I am exhausted by my stuff. I don’t want to carry any of it anymore. I find myself envious of those who truly live out of a knapsack or a suitcase. It seems so much lighter.
After a day of rest, mind you, I was ready to deal with the boxes in my car, and delighted to set up my copper table (a family piece I have promised never to part with). I accept that things change every day.
When I chose to move to Cortes I set in a motion an energetic domino effect. I let go of my regular income, surrendered any guarantee of year-round housing, and got off the hamster wheel. In choosing to stay on Cortes, I am choosing to continue down the rabbit hole I have opened. This month, I am ending my relationship with credit, and choosing a simpler life, truly within my means.
I continue to be connected to the consulting community that I joined in Vancouver, but on revised terms. I bill at a much lower hourly rate so that I can work from home – rather than on the road. It turns out that I don’t need so much when I live simply on a remote island.
I don’t know what will come next on my path . . . . but I am open to it, and curious to see what will unfold.
I know that I am choosing to measure abundance in sunshine, relationships and possibilities, rather than in dollars. I recognize, indeed have already experienced, that this will not always be a socially acceptable measure. I accept that. Life is a continuing series of choices and trade-offs. I am trading the freedom of what money could buy for the freedom of choosing how I live, without basing it on the ever-present shadow of needing to earn yet more.
It has been an intense two year ride of transition . . . and I continue to ride that wave.
Two years ago I was finishing up a master’s degree, working full time, and beginning my coaching certification. I was aspiring, potentially, to be an executive in the Public Service, or a high-priced free-lance consultant. I was essentially qualified to pursue either one and hadn’t decided yet which had a greater call. Either way, it was a continuing quest for success – always focused on what was next, rather than where I was in the moment. In the moment, I was still hurting from the relationship that dissolved mid-way through my studies . . . . but I didn’t have time to stop and grieve it – I had too much to do.
I have self-identified as having “too much to do” for as long as I can remember. Frequently overwhelmed, and for the last several years, making constant apologies for being unable to attend to the relationships in my life the way I wanted to. I was startled and a little horrified to discover that many people in life agreed on the word “driven” to describe me – so out of touch with myself that I didn’t notice how my natural enthusiasm, passion and focus had turned into a force that was driving me.
The turning point came for me that summer as I finished my studies. Two days after sending in my final paper, I left for a one-month vacation. In anticipation of completion, I had registered to spend an entire month at Hollyhock Retreat Centre on Cortes Island as a Karma Yogi (a work exchange guest). That month was transformational. I discovered quiet like I had not experienced in my adult life. I found stillness within as well as around me. I will never forget sitting on the beach and realizing that the thwapping sound I was hearing was the whoosh of wind under the wings of the great birds as they flew over-head.
Over the course of that month, I slowed down – my movement slowed, my speech slowed, and even my thoughts slowed down. What a relief! I discovered what it was to measure days by
the sun, not by a computer screen or alarm clock. I experienced falling into bed pleasantly tired at the end of a day of physical work, rather than spiritually exhausted from a day of buzzing around an office, fighting bureaucratic fires. Quite to my surprise – I found home.
My body knew it quite quickly . . . my mind was a little slower on the uptake – I didn’t see
how it would be possible to live on this small island. I still don’t fully see . . . but I trust and one day at a time, I am doing it.
Nine months after my experience at Hollyhock, I left my job as a Public Servant (technically on leave, but we all knew I wasn’t coming back), and my life in Vancouver and moved up to Cortes Island. The last year and a half, from that pivotal experience to this moment, has been a series of synchronicities, turning points, challenges and little deaths. It has been filled with joy, possibilities and the grieving of letting go.
I settled into the community quite quickly, getting involved in the local forests protection group, and serendipitously landing the job as “manager” of the Friday Farmers’ Market. (Really, this is a political appointment - I still think I got paid to get to know my community). By the end of summer I was selling gluten-free baked goods at the Sunday market and feeling pretty settled in.
In the fall, I began the merry-go-round of trips back to Vancouver, following my plan to be a consultant that lived in paradise, but worked in Vancouver. It was more than a little nuts – and a lesson in how deeply ingrained my ‘busy-ness’ patterns were. A dear friend commented one day on “how important” I seemed, since I was always so busy. It was humbling.
Just as I began the merry-go-round, I also moved into a cosy little cabin 20 feet from the ocean. My stuff moved in several weeks before I actually did. It has been a privilege to be based from this cabin over the winter – though, truly, I have spent far less time here than I would have liked. I have treasured every moment I have been here, however. This winter I learned to chop wood and dig for clams in my ‘front yard.’ I also learned to be ok with going days (weeks) at a time without “working” . . . watching my guilt and shame stories play out about work ethic, productivity, responsibility. I discovered, in watching those stories, how truly I have been defining myself by external measures: productivity, accomplishment, money . . . .
Cortes is known to many as the island of transformation, or the island of death. (Metaphorically, not literally) Over and over this year I have been called to surrender my ego to the flame – to allow my identity to die little deaths. It has been both painful and liberating. It is a journey of letting go of attachments – both of external material things and, perhaps more painfully, of stories and beliefs.
This spring has demanded of me a deep cleaning of my life – of my spirit, my beliefs, and my belongings. Last weekend I had my storage locker delivered to my girlfriend’s house, where
I sorted through and sold off treasured belongings that I hadn’t seen in two years. What I realized was that it wasn’t the things themselves it was hard to let go of, but the stories I had attached to them; dreams of what my life could be with them, stories about who I am with them, and as a result, who I am not without them.
Many times through the selling process, I questioned my sanity, my choices, this path that I am on. I wrestled with the question of WHY and WHAT IF over and over. And ironically, as I returned home to Cortes, I looked at the boxes in my car that I did keep – and was startled to find my overwhelming urge was to seek out a match. I am exhausted by my stuff. I don’t want to carry any of it anymore. I find myself envious of those who truly live out of a knapsack or a suitcase. It seems so much lighter.
After a day of rest, mind you, I was ready to deal with the boxes in my car, and delighted to set up my copper table (a family piece I have promised never to part with). I accept that things change every day.
When I chose to move to Cortes I set in a motion an energetic domino effect. I let go of my regular income, surrendered any guarantee of year-round housing, and got off the hamster wheel. In choosing to stay on Cortes, I am choosing to continue down the rabbit hole I have opened. This month, I am ending my relationship with credit, and choosing a simpler life, truly within my means.
I continue to be connected to the consulting community that I joined in Vancouver, but on revised terms. I bill at a much lower hourly rate so that I can work from home – rather than on the road. It turns out that I don’t need so much when I live simply on a remote island.
I don’t know what will come next on my path . . . . but I am open to it, and curious to see what will unfold.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Surrender and Attachments
"There is a difference between watching the mind and controlling the mind. Watching the mind with a gentle, open attitude allows the mind to settle down and come to rest. Trying to control the mind, or trying to control the way one's spiritual practice will unfold, just stirs up more agitation and suffering."
-Bhante Henepola Gunaratana, "Eight Mindful Steps to Happiness"
Learning how to watch the mind when all my life I have been taught to control my thoughts, my words and my feelings is a powerfully challenging experience. I am certain the Buddhists would tell me it's because I am trying too hard . . . but it's remarkable how hard it is to just BE, when my life has always been about DO-ing.
I have over the past several years been brought to humbling awareness of my fierce need to control – myself, my thoughts, my feelings, my environment. Until very recently I spent an immense amount of energy fighting against being out of control in the most amazing ways, creating an abundance of misery for myself (and frequently for those I love).
My current path is one of surrender. Frequently that means reminding myself (over and over) to let go, even (or perhaps especially) when I am terrified to do so. Increasingly, however, I notice that it is not a super-human effort to let go, instead finding myself almost surprised to experience an ease, or equanimity, as I witness my life unfold. This is perhaps most surprising to me because of the immensity of life transition I find myself in. Perhaps it is because I recognize that it is the path I am being called to, and so I am walking it, even though I can’t see where it is going. That in-and-of-itself is simultaneously terrifying and well . . . not. It just IS.
In between my moments of equanimity, mind you, I continue to be chagrined by how much my thoughts and behaviour are driven by deep fear. Somehow I keep thinking I should be more evolved than to be so driven by fear. Of course, as a recent article I read pointed out, I create my own suffering by judging my suffering (or in this case, by judging my experience of fear.)
Buddhists talk about releasing attachments (be they to joy or to sadness) for happiness in this lifetime, and I recognize in this wisdom the core of my life-long angst. From a young age I have grasped, with tight fists, to whatever I have, or want, or feel I need, should have . . . terrified of the idea of loss. This pattern of attachment has meant that I have held on to many things, including relationships, long after they have ceased to be healthy for me. Of course, this has often led to much discomfort for both myself and for the people around me.
One of the less obvious ways that attachment shows up is in the stories we are attached to - about ourselves, about others, about 'the way things are.’ It is amazing how powerfully we can stay unconsciously attached to a story that stopped serving us many years ago. It is especially humbling for me when I finally become fully aware of I have contributed to holding onto a story by unconsciously re-creating in my life over and over again.
For example, my story, for a long time, was that I had to do everything myself and essentially, things would fall apart if I didn't take care of them. Funny enough, this often appeared to be true . . . until I finally became aware that on an unconscious level I was helping to engineer that story. When others tried to help, I got in their way such that they couldn’t really help me. You know - 'supervising, doing it for them, etc., or I simply set people up by not clearly articulating my need/desire for help (not that I would have admitted that in the moment) or best yet - I simply did it myself, without asking for help, telling myself, "what's the point - no one will help anyway."
Once I began to recognize the story for what it is - a story, and my part in creating and maintaining it, I am able to choose how I want to be with it. As a starting point, I am able to witness myself acting it out, and just notice it, or find the humour in it, or pause in the process and choose a different behaviour. Whatever I choose, by recognizing the story, I am then able to begin to release it.
As I walk this path of surrender, it continues to mean letting go in ways big and small, again and again and again. Next month, it will mean letting go, physically, of much of what I own in the world. I have been mentally/emotionally letting go of those possessions, bit by bit, for months as I have moved towards this decision to sell off or give away the belongings I have kept in storage for almost two years. What finally tipped the decision for me was connecting with the stories I have nurtured around those belongings; stories of who I ‘should be’ by ‘this age’ and what I ‘should have,’ and the home ‘I deserve,’ and ‘what it says about me’ if I have furniture that matches or if I don’t.
And so I find, as I let go of the stories, that I am far more ready to let go of the stuff. When I realize that the beautiful, almost new chocolate brown couch is just that – a couch, no matter how new or beautiful, and not a representation of a life I ‘could have’ . . . then I am ready to be released from the weight of carrying it around with me.
Of course, all of this clarity doesn’t mean I won’t have a good cry (or 3 or 4) when I see all my possessions walk away with other people, but it does mean I have absolute confidence that I will be ok, however things turn out. It does mean that, increasingly, I trust that the universe will take care of me, and I don’t have to work quite so hard manage it all.
As I reflect on this prospect of finally letting go of my things, I feel my ego reaching out for that feeling of satisfaction – of the ‘look what I did – I got rid of all of my stuff,’ and I let go of that too. I return to my awareness of the connection between attachment and suffering - and I notice, with gentle humour, that I have been playing with the idea of selling/purging everything for almost 2 years. I recognize that over this time my attachment to the story that I "must let go of my attachments" that has made this journey so much more painful than it ever needed to be. Oh well - now I am choosing to let go because I am ready - not because I 'should,' and not surprisingly, I am not suffering for it.
-Bhante Henepola Gunaratana, "Eight Mindful Steps to Happiness"
Learning how to watch the mind when all my life I have been taught to control my thoughts, my words and my feelings is a powerfully challenging experience. I am certain the Buddhists would tell me it's because I am trying too hard . . . but it's remarkable how hard it is to just BE, when my life has always been about DO-ing.
I have over the past several years been brought to humbling awareness of my fierce need to control – myself, my thoughts, my feelings, my environment. Until very recently I spent an immense amount of energy fighting against being out of control in the most amazing ways, creating an abundance of misery for myself (and frequently for those I love).
My current path is one of surrender. Frequently that means reminding myself (over and over) to let go, even (or perhaps especially) when I am terrified to do so. Increasingly, however, I notice that it is not a super-human effort to let go, instead finding myself almost surprised to experience an ease, or equanimity, as I witness my life unfold. This is perhaps most surprising to me because of the immensity of life transition I find myself in. Perhaps it is because I recognize that it is the path I am being called to, and so I am walking it, even though I can’t see where it is going. That in-and-of-itself is simultaneously terrifying and well . . . not. It just IS.
In between my moments of equanimity, mind you, I continue to be chagrined by how much my thoughts and behaviour are driven by deep fear. Somehow I keep thinking I should be more evolved than to be so driven by fear. Of course, as a recent article I read pointed out, I create my own suffering by judging my suffering (or in this case, by judging my experience of fear.)
Buddhists talk about releasing attachments (be they to joy or to sadness) for happiness in this lifetime, and I recognize in this wisdom the core of my life-long angst. From a young age I have grasped, with tight fists, to whatever I have, or want, or feel I need, should have . . . terrified of the idea of loss. This pattern of attachment has meant that I have held on to many things, including relationships, long after they have ceased to be healthy for me. Of course, this has often led to much discomfort for both myself and for the people around me.
One of the less obvious ways that attachment shows up is in the stories we are attached to - about ourselves, about others, about 'the way things are.’ It is amazing how powerfully we can stay unconsciously attached to a story that stopped serving us many years ago. It is especially humbling for me when I finally become fully aware of I have contributed to holding onto a story by unconsciously re-creating in my life over and over again.
For example, my story, for a long time, was that I had to do everything myself and essentially, things would fall apart if I didn't take care of them. Funny enough, this often appeared to be true . . . until I finally became aware that on an unconscious level I was helping to engineer that story. When others tried to help, I got in their way such that they couldn’t really help me. You know - 'supervising, doing it for them, etc., or I simply set people up by not clearly articulating my need/desire for help (not that I would have admitted that in the moment) or best yet - I simply did it myself, without asking for help, telling myself, "what's the point - no one will help anyway."
Once I began to recognize the story for what it is - a story, and my part in creating and maintaining it, I am able to choose how I want to be with it. As a starting point, I am able to witness myself acting it out, and just notice it, or find the humour in it, or pause in the process and choose a different behaviour. Whatever I choose, by recognizing the story, I am then able to begin to release it.
As I walk this path of surrender, it continues to mean letting go in ways big and small, again and again and again. Next month, it will mean letting go, physically, of much of what I own in the world. I have been mentally/emotionally letting go of those possessions, bit by bit, for months as I have moved towards this decision to sell off or give away the belongings I have kept in storage for almost two years. What finally tipped the decision for me was connecting with the stories I have nurtured around those belongings; stories of who I ‘should be’ by ‘this age’ and what I ‘should have,’ and the home ‘I deserve,’ and ‘what it says about me’ if I have furniture that matches or if I don’t.
And so I find, as I let go of the stories, that I am far more ready to let go of the stuff. When I realize that the beautiful, almost new chocolate brown couch is just that – a couch, no matter how new or beautiful, and not a representation of a life I ‘could have’ . . . then I am ready to be released from the weight of carrying it around with me.
Of course, all of this clarity doesn’t mean I won’t have a good cry (or 3 or 4) when I see all my possessions walk away with other people, but it does mean I have absolute confidence that I will be ok, however things turn out. It does mean that, increasingly, I trust that the universe will take care of me, and I don’t have to work quite so hard manage it all.
As I reflect on this prospect of finally letting go of my things, I feel my ego reaching out for that feeling of satisfaction – of the ‘look what I did – I got rid of all of my stuff,’ and I let go of that too. I return to my awareness of the connection between attachment and suffering - and I notice, with gentle humour, that I have been playing with the idea of selling/purging everything for almost 2 years. I recognize that over this time my attachment to the story that I "must let go of my attachments" that has made this journey so much more painful than it ever needed to be. Oh well - now I am choosing to let go because I am ready - not because I 'should,' and not surprisingly, I am not suffering for it.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
What If?
How often do we torture ourselves with "what if" questions? How often do we look back at a situation and ask "what if I just . . . . (done, said, thought, been . . . different)???"
But what are the bigger "what if" questions?
What if my actions, and the events in my life aren't really who I am?
What if my thoughts aren’t really mine? What if they are a creation of the world I live in? The society values that helped shape me? The parents that brought me up? The experiences I’ve had and the messages I’ve heard and internalized without sufficient filters?
What if I’m not wrong – just because no one agrees with me . . . or What if I’m not right just because everyone does? More profoundly, what if it really doesn’t matter if I’m wrong or right? What if being right isn’t a measure of any part of my worth, including my sanity?
What if truly I am a manifestation of the divine? What if I really do have a message to carry to the world and I have a responsibility to step up to that plate? What if it doesn’t matter whether I do or not – I can still be a whole and worthy and loveable person if I do nothing?
What if I really am special? What if I’m not?
What if . . I am as special as everyone else????
What if my path in this life is to walk alone? What if it’s not? How different does my vision look? How different are my choices?
What if I can’t know what my path is until I accept that I can’t know?
What if the very process of asking the questions is the purpose, the path . . . and here I am on it.
But what are the bigger "what if" questions?
What if my actions, and the events in my life aren't really who I am?
What if my thoughts aren’t really mine? What if they are a creation of the world I live in? The society values that helped shape me? The parents that brought me up? The experiences I’ve had and the messages I’ve heard and internalized without sufficient filters?
What if I’m not wrong – just because no one agrees with me . . . or What if I’m not right just because everyone does? More profoundly, what if it really doesn’t matter if I’m wrong or right? What if being right isn’t a measure of any part of my worth, including my sanity?
What if truly I am a manifestation of the divine? What if I really do have a message to carry to the world and I have a responsibility to step up to that plate? What if it doesn’t matter whether I do or not – I can still be a whole and worthy and loveable person if I do nothing?
What if I really am special? What if I’m not?
What if . . I am as special as everyone else????
What if my path in this life is to walk alone? What if it’s not? How different does my vision look? How different are my choices?
What if I can’t know what my path is until I accept that I can’t know?
What if the very process of asking the questions is the purpose, the path . . . and here I am on it.
Friday, March 6, 2009
The Power of Words
How does one start a blog?
Should my first entry be a deep philosophical questions . . . or something lighter and of general interest about my life?
How important is what I have to say here anyway? I am just another blogger, writer, person-at-a-keyboard among millions of others tapping away in much the same way. And yet, I am struck by the power that others’ writing has had for me . . . of the moments in which a message has become the right message because it came at the right time, in the right words and from the right source (at that moment) to get through . . . to land and to leave an imprint.
So . . . what impact will my words have? What responsibility do I have for the trail that I leave here? Although the saying, “Actions speak louder than words” is commonly accepted wisdom, I have learned that words ARE actions – powerful ones. “Words are not innocent. The language we use shapes the realities we live in and the realities we create” (Kotzé and Roux (2002).
As I think about the language that I use, I know that the words I choose are both a direct reflection, and the creators, of how I feel about myself and the world in the moment I am choosing them. When I use language that reflects personal responsibility, hope and spiritual connection, I feel grounded, connected and positive. When I use language that is cynical, angry and hopeless . . . I generate and grow those feelings within me and manifest them into my environment. As a coach, consultant and educator, I recognize that my words and actions are powerful, and can have significant impact, whether I intend them to or not.
So what do I do with that responsibility?
Ghandi charges us to “Be the change you want to see in the world.” What is the change I want to see in the world?
I want to see a world that is inspired. I understand that this means I need to be an inspiration. I want to live in a world of authenticity and deep compassion. I have no choice, then, but to be authentic and live with deep compassion. I want a world that honours and celebrates the inherent worth and dignity of every being, and the interconnected web of life, of which we are all a part. I am compelled to live those values, else I cannot demand them of the world.
So this is my journey . . . to be the change I want to see in the world. To live, fully authentically, from a place of compassion and reverence and stewardship for the earth and all the beings on it. And just as my actions send powerful messages, so too do the words that I choose, so I must choose my words mindfully, as I share my journey, so that they too are authentic, inspiring and compassionate.
Should my first entry be a deep philosophical questions . . . or something lighter and of general interest about my life?
How important is what I have to say here anyway? I am just another blogger, writer, person-at-a-keyboard among millions of others tapping away in much the same way. And yet, I am struck by the power that others’ writing has had for me . . . of the moments in which a message has become the right message because it came at the right time, in the right words and from the right source (at that moment) to get through . . . to land and to leave an imprint.
So . . . what impact will my words have? What responsibility do I have for the trail that I leave here? Although the saying, “Actions speak louder than words” is commonly accepted wisdom, I have learned that words ARE actions – powerful ones. “Words are not innocent. The language we use shapes the realities we live in and the realities we create” (Kotzé and Roux (2002).
As I think about the language that I use, I know that the words I choose are both a direct reflection, and the creators, of how I feel about myself and the world in the moment I am choosing them. When I use language that reflects personal responsibility, hope and spiritual connection, I feel grounded, connected and positive. When I use language that is cynical, angry and hopeless . . . I generate and grow those feelings within me and manifest them into my environment. As a coach, consultant and educator, I recognize that my words and actions are powerful, and can have significant impact, whether I intend them to or not.
So what do I do with that responsibility?
Ghandi charges us to “Be the change you want to see in the world.” What is the change I want to see in the world?
I want to see a world that is inspired. I understand that this means I need to be an inspiration. I want to live in a world of authenticity and deep compassion. I have no choice, then, but to be authentic and live with deep compassion. I want a world that honours and celebrates the inherent worth and dignity of every being, and the interconnected web of life, of which we are all a part. I am compelled to live those values, else I cannot demand them of the world.
So this is my journey . . . to be the change I want to see in the world. To live, fully authentically, from a place of compassion and reverence and stewardship for the earth and all the beings on it. And just as my actions send powerful messages, so too do the words that I choose, so I must choose my words mindfully, as I share my journey, so that they too are authentic, inspiring and compassionate.
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