I have been here in Mexico for a week and I am beginning to thaw out. The thawing isn’t about a physical winter or being physically cold; rather, it is about being encased in a lasting moment of stuckness. Today, I began to write again, a small bit of writing more like a baby step than a full tilt plunge into the world of words. It is better this way, a gradual easing back into a state of soul.
A walk through the village and then along the road that borders the mangrove swamp that runs north from the village for more than a several kilometres, helped pass a couple of hours this morning, a pleasant walking meditation time. Thoughts came to life, swirled, then drifted off like morning mist. All that was left was the sensation of breath entering then leaving, the scents of a musky swam, the touch of errant breezes, and the occasional “buenos dias” as people passed by on bicycles or on foot. My eyes saw and accepted what appeared. No watch measured the minutes or hours. There was only the moment that was constant.
I arrived back at the casita feeling whole. Back in the world of time, I returned again to the keyboard to give voice to the inner presences hidden in the shadows of psyche.