Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Allowing Love

Mom is now eighty-three years old. I used to visit to do maintenance on her house. But as time passed I came to understand that the maintenance was an excuse to be with her.

Now when I pop over I hold her hand. It is how I feel close. I want to believe there will not be an era of my life without her.

By holding her hand we share the moment, and I don't think about watering the trees, fixing the toilet, or mopping the floor. Instead, I simply share the moment with her, share a moment of love when the world does not intrude.

During the years of misunderstandings and arguments, of laughter and shouts, I realized that she was going through a time that Native Americans honor, a time of releasing the world.

Now I try to honor that. I can't ask her to stay, or to think about me and my needs. No, I can only allow her to live her personal journey. That is why I hold her hand. That is when there is only love. I will always hold her hand.

Monday, October 3, 2016

The Playboy Saint!

That quote you read at the top of my blog, about truth, impressed me greatly. So much so I had to look up St. Augustine, or Augustine of Hippo, as he was also known.

My my, it seems old Augustine was quite the playboy, and known for saying: "Save me, Lord, but not just yet."

When I read that I had to laugh as I imagined the dashing young man in compromising situations with women.

That's what I like: real people, with real stories about them. They lived fully.




Sunday, October 2, 2016

My Yucatan Timeout

Is it possible to be in love with a place?

Years ago I took a timeout from life in the US, from the nine-to-five grind, and threw it all to the wind.

Yes, I did something that forever established me as the wild one in my family.

I pulled my nose off the grindstone ('Oh my God! How could he?'), and took a timeout to heal from a divorce, to rebuild my life with inner, spiritual work, and do what I needed, what I knew to be the truth for me.

I found a simple Mayan village on the Caribbean, found an abandoned house to live in, carried water in a jug, slept in a hammock, the surf whispering in my dreams.

Imagine letting go of the city stress and instead walking quiet village streets, calling to friends who roll past on creaking bicycles, sandals flopping the hot, sandy asphalt.

The inner work I did there in my shell of a house, geckos darting about the walls, fleeing a cat who often came to visit, a frog residing in the toilet tank, set the tone for years to come. I remembered who I was. I scrapped off the crust, so to speak, of who I thought other people wanted me to be, and found that happy person inside--that jumping, laughing child I lost along the way.

As I work to master the craft required to be a novelist, my village keeps popping up. It became the setting for my latest book, The Mayan Case. And it brought me great pleasure to share with my readers the joy of my village.

I prefer not to think of myself as 'the wild one' in my family, but instead as the authentic one. Is that not what we all should be, what is in our heart to become, what we love, instead of what Mom or Dad wants us to be?

So, I call on all of you to be your own Wild One, and shake off the wants or perceived wants of others, and look in your heart and decide what would really make you happy and keep you in joy? And that is what you need to be doing. That is Truth.
Somewhere, your village is calling ....