Panama!

Its been a while since my last installment. This is more due to the fact that Ive been finding the internet connection here extremely slow on the singular computer that is shared between staff and guests here at the hotel. In addition to the general unavailability of the computer, there is the problem that when it is available, the keyboard is arranged for german speakers and the keys tend to stick so one needs to pound on the keys with extra force in order to make it work. Its a hunt and peck situation, folks.
On this lazy afternoon in the tropics I have a few minutes to relate some of my journey since leaving Nicaragua two weeks ago. The journey in itself could really be a blog entry. It was an epic 36 hours between leaving Inanitah and arriving at Hotel Hibicus Garden, my new home. Check it out at: www.hibiscusgarden.com . The epic part was really two boarder crossings, one into Costa Rica and one into Panama. On a bus, everyone needs to get off the bus, stand in line at departure country to get stamped out, walk down the street to the next countrys boarder crossing, get stamped in, then take our luggage off the bus and pass it through security before getting back on the bus to get on down the road. This process took about 2 hours in Costa Rica and about 3 hours in Panama with 50 people cycling through together. Mind you, I had my backpack and a massage table with me as luggage, which made the transport a bit more of a challenge. I found myself carrying the table on my head across bridges, streets, and through bus stations alike, often being heckled a bit by bemused locals.
Once in Santiago, I was met by two of our staff members, where we spent the day doing grocery shopping and other random chores in the big city before heading down to our little haven on the beach. The drive down is about 2 hours normally in the 'flying sausage' van. Named so because it has flying sausages painted on the outside, or did, until Mick recently had it painted white. I think I preferred the character of flying sausages to white unmarked van, but not my call to make. Anyway, flying sausage got a flat tire on the way back home, not surprising due to the nature of the roads here and by the time we arrived I had a full blown fever and went right to bed.
Two days later, I emerged from my feverish state, head clear, and began to have a look around me. We are in a place called Lagatero, which is a bay on the southern coast of Panama. It is about a 10k drive to the larger ocean with real waves and lots of surfers. I discovered why its called Lagatero when I went jogging on the beach one of my first mornings after recovery. Lagatero is the Spanish word for Alligator. I found a dead one on the beach! Big one, maybe 6ft long. I told Mick at breakfast about my discovery and he sent Adan and I on horseback to retrieve the head to make alligator tooth necklaces! This was super cool. Adan weilded a machete and cut off the giant head, which probably weighed 15 lbs. or more and tied it onto a rope which he then tied to the saddle of my horse. So, I got to drag a giant alligator head down the beach by horseback. This was a lot of fun, but kinda tricky because I had to steer clear of getting it caught in driftwood or brush while it bumped along against the surf. The next morning Adan tied it up to a tree and about 100 or so vultures held council around this great feast, divying up the goods. I am looking forward to wearing an alligator tooth necklace when the head has fully decomposed and no longer smells of death.
What else? Lets see...I am doing a few massages on guests and staff and teaching yoga at a hotel in Santa Catalina where the beach is located on Tuesday afternoons in a beautiful treetop studio.
Im working kitchen shifts 6 days a week in trade for my room and board and having a good amount of time each day to reflect, read, relax and melt into a hammock. Its a really sweet way to spend winter.
Ok, more soon. I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season. I turned 37 here last week, which was quite, sweet, and the chef made me a lovely coconut, pineapple, rum cake which was amazing.
Love to you all. Write and let me know how you are...

Days Between

Waking up this morning, I heard an old argument going on in my mind. It said that morning meditation was happening NOW (as dictated by the gong sound down at main camp) and if I wanted to join in I'd better move it. My head was swirling with dream images and lost in a world of disjointed emotion and memory. My body still half asleep, bladder full, eyes open but turned inward I searched for my journal to write down the dreams and flashlight as it was still dark (5 a.m). The ancient argument was between my movement being dictated by a gong and the imminent beginning of a group event of which I wanted to take place or allowing my movement to be organic and in accordance with my inner timing and flow, which would most likely cause me to miss said meditation. The "outer world" movement was tainted with a pang of guilt, reminding me that I had requested this specific meditation the night before and how "bad" of me not to be present for it. It was also coming from a place of habit. Deeply ingrained as a child that when I was woken up, I had to get out of bed shortly thereafter to go to school. I remember my parents frustration at the snooze button on the alarm clock being pressed again and again by my sister and how I tried my best not to provoke the same frustrations when it was time for me to go to school. Getting up at a predisposed time because I was trying to please someone else. That is the habit.
The inner world told me to let it all go and that nobody would be bothered or upset by me taking the time I needed in the morning to wake up the way I want to wake up. The "inner world" voice was also concerned with pleasing others. Interesting. It then told me that it was OK to rebel against the structure set up around me and that I was prepared to accept any consequences of not following said structure. The rebel and the good girl having it out in my head at 5 a.m. How many times have these two had it out? They play against each other, polarizing my personality in seeming antithesis. Furthermore, the dreams I'd had alluded to a time in my life as a teenager where I was in full rebellion mode and that little rebel had the good girl tied up in a closet only to be let out between the hours of 7 a.m and 3 p.m for school and on family holidays. She developed some interesting habits at that time that would do me good to re examine, but that's another blog.
Upon noticing the internal chaos, my guru came in and settled the disharmony by reminding me that my deepest commitment at that moment was to loving myself, and from there, it became very easy to choose the following actions: I allowed that space/time to empty my bladder, scribble notes in my journal, and lay back down to comfortably meditate on my own process. I could hear the screaming going on below as they were practicing OSHO's dynamic meditation, which includes a releasing of held emotional energy by vocalization. It pierced through my heart. I woke up fully (around 6 a.m)...spending time arranging my belongings, and being peacefully present with my own voices, emotions, and judgments.
Here I am a few hours later, realizing that I have only 3 days left at Inanitah before heading off to Panama on Thursday morning. In these next few days I am going to focus on opening up space in myself, in my body, in my heart. Getting clear. I no longer have to have such a strong focus on holding space for others the way I have for the past 2 weeks in class, the way I have for the past few years in session after session of bodywork. The focus can shift freely from one place to another without greediness or urgency or desperation. I will be giving plenty of massages and space holding for others over the next few days, but the bulk of my energy can focus on self love, joy, and the adventure of living.

Baile de Zompopo

Ometepe's Leaf Cutter Ant Dance just happened to coincide with my 3rd day on the island. It's the largest festival of the year for Ometepe residents.

Our entire community of gringos and a few locals loaded up in a the back of a pick up truck, braving the potholed, rocky roads, singing campy songs, and entertaining everyone we passed, made the journey across the Island to the little town of Alta Gracia, where the festivities went on all day and all night!

The daytime festival is a parade up and down the streets of Alta Gracia where everyone holds up sticks with leaves, sugar cane, bamboo, papaya, anything goes. They bounce them up and down to the beat of a dozen or so drummers following the procession. It's loud, it's hot, it's fun and it goes on for hours. The first picture on top left corner is taken in the main square, and is a good visual representation of the island.

These next two show the Zompopo parade coming down the streets!

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Here's a little boy dressed up like the bull, and at the end of the day there are bullfights, which resemble a strange combination of spanish bullfighting and american rodeo. People take turns wearing the costume of the bull and running around chasing each other.

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• • • • There are lots of interesting and sometimes tasty snacks available at all locations and times during the festival. Here is a guy selling shaved ice, Raspados. He is literally shaving a block of ice and then a sugary "goo" is poured on top. No one seems to be sure what this substance is, but a lot of people seem to enjoy it.
        
        • Below are sorbets, which we were suprised to see don't really melt. They are made with milk and sugar cooked and then frozen, which seems to raise their melting point to make them more durable in the hot sun. Cost: $50 codobas or about .25 cents.
          

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At the end of the day, we went to the bullfights in the local festival area. It was the first, and probably the last time I will probably attend one. I just don't get it. These men drink way too much and then stand around on the field, taunting this poor creature who doesn't have any interest in being there. When it comes towards them they run and jump on the fence to avoid being maimed.
This last picture is of most of the women staying at Inanitah right now. From left to right: Danny, Anna, Hillary, Angela, Ericka, Valerie (me), and Simone.

Hello, Nicaragua!

I've made it! I'm writing to you from the rock circle that creates a small amplitheatre, looking out to the west as the sun begins her descent into the horizon. Conception, the active volcano rises up to the right of my vision, declaring her reign over the island. When I was here in February, I seized the incredible opportunity to climb up her rocky terrain and deeply forested trail up towards her hot, lava singed mouth where smoke pours out from her lungs 24/7, creating a thick windy cloud cover. I have deep respect for Conception. That was no easy task, taking a total of 9 hours to ascend and descend, causing me to barely be able to walk for days after. But that's another story. Did I mention the warm, tropical breeze blowing gently in the after glow of a 80 degree day? Ahhhh...tropical breeze. Smile.
Being here feels like coming home again. The community is more active and alive than when I left in February. There are 13 volunteers and visitors, contributing to the vision of sustainability and shared living on this fertile land. The website for the community is up and running: www.Inanitah.com. The papaya, citrus, and banana trees are fruiting, and two more structures have been erected since I last visited. At any given moment, you can hear english, german, and spanish being spoken amongst the activity.
I've pitched my tent at the top of a ridge of campsites. It's location is the farthest walk to the main area, (which includes the kitchen, temple space, and shower/composting toilet), but it provides me with a private space to retreat to when needed. My body feels tired from the long journey here and lack of exercise in the past few months. It's going to take a few days, at least, to get acclimated again. Luckily, I have this space. I am not needed for much this week except to work on designing the massage course, which will start next monday and a few odd chores here and there. Time to sink in. Did I mention the warm, tropical breeze?
Tomorrow, there's a festival happening on the island to celebrate some natural change, which I cannot recall at the moment. We're all headed down to witness the celebration, I'll be sure to post some photos.
Until then...with love from OMetepe (that's the name of the island)

Growing up in Arden, Twice

This was written for the Arden Page on October 20th, 2010, 10/20/2010. (numberologists must be having a field day during this first few years of the new century).

My parents moved into Ardentown in the late 60’s, years before I was born. I was lucky enough to be an Arden child during the 70’s and 80’s, and to claim this inheritance my whole life.

As a little girl, I would wander the woods for hours, hopping rocks, playing games and feeling a sense of protection provided by the fairies and gnomes who played alongside me. Memories of mayday festivities, ACRA and the Arden Pool, haunted houses, Easter egg hunts, and Christmas plays fill my early years. I was offered a connection with nature and human communities, a rare thing at that point and time. Most kids at my school were living in soulless suburban sprawl where they were taught to be suspicious of their neighbors.

Nevertheless, I’ve had a case of itchy feet my whole life. I’m surprised I wasn’t found out on Harvey Road hitching a ride south on I-95 in diapers.

Like a fish that doesn’t know it’s in water, I never really had an appreciation for what I had growing up in Arden until I left. Age 18, while attending Prescott College in Arizona and looking through a book of Intentional Communities. I wanted to live in one and thought to myself, “I wonder if there are any in Delaware?” Imagine my surprise as I leafed through the pages and saw “ The Village Of Arden” listed under Delaware’s heading. I guess what we are looking for is most often right under our noses!

As many times as I’ve moved away, Arden has never left me. When I go to a peaceful place within, I often imagine myself sitting on the moss-covered rocks in the middle of the creek near Indian Circle.

In April 2006, I chose to move back to Arden to live from Berkeley, CA. I wanted to be close to my family again. I wanted to fill in the gap of years between 17 and 32. I had done a lot of growing and changing and so had they. I knew if I were to move back to Delaware, I wanted to live in Arden, surrounded by the invisible bubble of insulation that protects it from the general chaos of the world. My experience as an adult here has been sweet over the past 4½ years and I’ll be sad to end this chapter on November 14^th. Through my home-based massage therapy practice, Body Wisdom, I have gotten to know a lot of you wonderful Ardenites. This has truly been a place to rest and nest. I have grown roots deep and strong enough to support the expanse of my wings. I have grown-up here, again.

I am off on a new adventure, starting in Nicaragua teaching basic massage skills to women so they have a means to earn income. Followed by a winter work trade on the southern coast of Panama where I’ll do some visioning for the coming years. This will be a practice in making friends with the unknown.