Sunday, August 28, 2005

here's a little mexico for you . . .

Today Carolina said Mayan prayers for me, rubbed me down in honey, and sprinkled white and red flowers all over my body. She told me that I would be protected, and when in doubt to remember the spirit of the white flowers and look to the left. The flowers in the plunge pool floated toward the left, and the birds' singing came from the same direction. The red flowers are for love.

The present is a night breeze on the veranda with dozens of croaking frogs so happy after the rain. Soft Spanish guitar in the background, distant chatter from the open-aired dining hall, and a few pool balls being struck from time to time.

To be here in this place is to be quiet in one's soul, not restless for something else. We are on the grounds, off road five miles, through dried-out brush that guards this tranquility like spines of a cactus--hidden life as busy as stockbrokers or journalists while the people walk slowly, strolling through garden lanes, listening. Time to take in the world. Place is all things sometimes.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Friday, August 19, 2005

How I love my puppy, let me count the ways . . .