The words: "Let It Be" and a Gruntie, waiting for love
An experience of healing, and how I saw and learned to hold a past event in a more expanded way. The words, "Let It Be," came to me in the cacao ceremony. At first, they didn't make sense...
I have a few audio meditations/teachings available for my paid subscribers and plan to make more. It has been fun. I think you can try the “paid” version for free for a week, so if you like this post, you might want to check them out. The most recent audio is about how to increase the flow of feel-good, healthy energy in your body without bypassing things
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be— The Beatles
The words, “Let it be” came to me in the cacao ceremony. At first, they didn't make sense...
I was slightly panicked. We were sitting in a circle with our tiny cups of cacao. I was in Mizata for an event. The flyer said in the space of only four hours, I would experience a cacao ceremony, ecstatic dance, hands-on art, and brunch.
The venue was Meghan’s house.
We sat in a large, open air room with a shiny wooden floor. It was open to the breeze. At one end was a kitchen. At the other was a bed. Between them was the glossy floor that looked like some kind of local, deep red wood. It accommodated the group of us…maybe 10 people. We sat in a circle with a mandala one of the hosts had made out of flowers. Next to it was a tea kettle filled with rich, creamy cacao that had recently been poured into tiny tea cups and passed around the room.
Meaghan, the hostess, told us not to assume what gift the cacao had for us or what it would teach us.
Cacao is not technically a psychadellic substance. Technically, it is simply chocolate. In this case, unsweetened other than the brown sugar and cinnamon I think Meaghan said she had added.
I have a habit now of drinking cacao almost every morning.
At this moment it is a little after 6 am and I am sitting at my computer, by the pool, in a slightly uncomfortable chair, with a large cup of it sitting next to me as I type this to you.
And this is not my normal routine.
My normal routine is to take this incredibly large cup of cacao (it could easily fill the tiny cups for half the group I was sitting in a few days ago…I think there is some decadent energy in that and I am going to blame it on the cacao) and go down to the beach to do some open and closed eyed meditation on the lava rock in the cool-ish early morning breeze.
Low tide opportunities like this don’t come every day in the so-called “winter” here in El Zonte.
But the tide is technically lowest today at 9:30 am. It will be hot then.
However, despite the pull towards the beach with my cacao for my morning routine, this story started writing itself to you, through me and my mind, and I have relented.
Thus I sit here in the peaceful quiet, alone on the property for a few more moments, so I can share some things with you in words that will speak to you.
Things that I believe might help with what my yoga teacher from years ago used to call, “Grunties.” I don’t know how to spell that word. I believe it is Sanskrit and I can’t find it or anything like it online now. So I will use a word I likely made up. But something he taught me is where it came from. And I believe he meant knots of tension in the body and energetic system.
For me now, I see these “Grunties” (think “grumpy” with a cute, twisty ring to it), as soft, grey clouds of tangled energy in one’s system, that are in a process of healing, or waiting for healing.
Recently I have been posting various things regarding how to increase the flow of light in your body. This week, I want to talk about the blocked places you may find.
So, this week I am going to tell you some stories. The basic underlying theme of all this though is bringing care to some of those “Grunties” which they truly, desperately need and have been waiting for. And Grunties do disrupt the flow of things, so learning how to work with them can be helpful.
This is a story about a day in Mizata and what happened with me and my Gruntie.
I hope in the end, it may help you discover and relate to one of yours a little bit differently.
So, now that you know what you are in for, you can decide if you feel inclined, or drawn, to come along on the journey.
Sometimes, I think we learn a lot through stories.
So, let’s get back to mine.
I am sitting in Meaghan’s house. I learn later her French boyfriend, Luis, has a passion for building sustainably. So the structure itself is almost all wood, with a grass roof. Even the struts underneath fit together like Lincoln Log toys.
I glance through the open air, glassless windows with the breeze flowing through. It is a beautiful sunny morning.
My gaze passes over the spacious bed at the end of the room with a tiny blanket on it and I realize that even without air conditioning, the room must get cooler at night with the lovely breeze.
And then I wonder about the storms?
Here in El Salvador, hurricane-like storms often come at night. Lightening strikes the ocean. Thunder booms, often loudly to make sure no one ignores what the storm is speaking. Sometimes the lightening is quite close. The me that lived in Colorado for nine years has learned to be wary of lightening. To avoid being out and exposed to it.
But usually when these storms come, I am inside a place that is made out of concrete. I have realized these concrete structures are a lot like a cave. They don’t budge. There is a sense of safety in them that allows me to simply watch and savor the power and energy that rages outside. I like to listen to the torrential rain as it pours off my roof in sheets. I can, “Let it be,” as the Beatles so aptly put it and simply enjoy it from my tranquil oasis.
I wondered about this as I looked at that bed in the giant tree-house I found myself in that morning. I noticed a few of the glassless windows had burlap fastened over them. I figured that was to block some of the rain I was sure blew in sometimes during the storms.
I looked at Meaghan talking about Cacao, mostly in Spanish, as I thought these things.
And this brings me to the main thread of my story.
You see, this event was going to be in Spanish and English. That is what the flyer told me.
So far, I have become a closet Spanish learner.
I really, really want to learn.
It feels respectful to the people who live in this country. And it feels important for another reason I was soon going to discover that morning.
It also feels hard.
Dauntingly hard.
My straight A’s in school and my UC Berkely degree do not help me.
Long ago, I decided languages, along with learning people’s names, are very, very hard for me.
So I hide at home to study. I usually accomplish three lessons on Duolingo, one lesson on my free Language Transfer App I am going through for the third time, and on a good day, one chapter of a Spanish-learning book I bought in the US. The book involves me reading dialogue to myself in Spanish out loud. When alone, I find the activity funny and thus fun, and helpful to do with the silliest and most authentic accent I can muster.
All this is fine.
It is fine because I am hiding in my concrete cave and no one can hear me.
On this day, I figured I would stretch myself a little and participate in the bilingual activities. In fact, I thought it would be great for my closet learning. I could hear things in Spanish and then English and just let it all sink in with ease.
Carlos and some other people were kind enough to pick me up at the bus stop in El Zonte.
I didn’t know what to expect exactly. I noticed that on the group WhatsApp thread where people were organizing rides, I had to use Google Translate a lot. I didn’t worry about this. Google Translate and I are good friends. The flyer said the activities would be in Spanish and English. (I double checked when WhatsApp started to get to me a little bit and I felt a tinge of worry).
Carlos and his smiling face waved at me from across the street and I hustled over after assuring myself there were no cars approaching, stray dogs, or random chickens in my path.
I got into the back seat next to a young woman with liquid black flowing hair and chocolate brown eyes.
Carlos was clearly in the middle of a story with the other young woman in the front seat. I learned she was a chef and would be preparing an organic, vegan meal for everyone.
Carlos said he would start speaking in English when I got in his car, and I told him not to worry.
So he continued his chat in Spanish and I settled comfortably back in the seat to see if I could recognize any words. I figured this would be good for my brain and my quest to learn. All with no pressure to speak.
By now I had decided that young children get to do this for two or three years before they learn to speak. Charles Wallace, the main character in A Wrinkle in Time, didn’t speak until he was five years old. People thought he was stupid, but he wasn’t. I think I heard somewhere that Edison or Einstein did the same thing. (Don’t quote me on that). But I was thinking those things as I sat back and relaxed. My language challenge might just be a “smart” thing. My brain just needed time.
Native speakers talk FAST, so mostly I had no idea what they were discussing. If you are old enough to remember that little Mexican cartoon mouse, Speedy Gonzalez, from years ago that would fly across the TV screen in a cloud of dust speaking rapidly, you will get a sense of what I mean. And if you are not old enough, I hope you catch the feel of it from that description.
They were talking like that.
I think there was something about love, relationships and Carlos Castaneda and his book, The Four Agreements. (When his name was mentioned, the woman with the charcoal, fountain-water hair next to me smiled knowingly).
I realized I was recognizing a few words. I could tell where some pronouns were put. I could translate a verb tense now and then. I told myself to be patient with myself; I was making progress. This was just a thing where the natural learning curve required time.
A week before an acquaintance had given me and my friend, Mafer, a ride to the city. I had once again, attempted and failed to take the bus. Mafer is a fashion designer who video chatted with me while I was waiting at the bus stop. She was waiting at a stop further down the road and our plan was that I would catch a bus, and then she would join me.
Catching the bus here is not like it is in other countries.
And we won’t go into it today. Suffice it to say that I have past traumatic experiences with riding a bus as a child that has caused me angst. I think I have mostly worked through that.
But here in El Salvador, I have learned that you have to actually catch the bus by flagging it down. They have built bus stops in El Zonte. My assumption was that meant the busses would stop. But they don’t. Not unless you jump in the street and pretend to be a dog that may run the wrong way. Then, if they feel like it, and if they are not full, they MAY stop and pick you up.
Mafer had told me I could do this thing. And I was ready with my $1.50 exact-change in my pocket.
All was well until she distracted me.
She was wearing a sleek little black dress for our outing to the museums in the city.
I had almost worn something similar. I even had it laid out on my bed and half on my body before I decided a little black gauzy outfit was not a bus-riding thing.
Mafer heard my chagrin and remorse when I saw her in her little black piece.
“Terra, take a selfie and send it to me,” she said to me kindly.
I did my best to comply.
It wasn’t easy to capture my khaki Prana skirt and speckled tank top while holding my phone. It took a couple of tries. But I succeeded rather awkwardly and sent it to Mafer. She called and told me I looked fine.
A few minutes later she called again and told me I had missed the bus.
She reminded me you have to Flag the thing down.
But I knew that.
I had been watching.
Mostly.
I figured it was the selfie that did me in and had distracted me.
The busses only come every thirty minutes or so and Mafer told me not to worry.
She really is very kind.
That is when Alex showed up.
(And God, seriously, please help me because now I have left the cacao ceremony to tell you about this bus story…but they are related so I am going to trust it is good to include it for you here…that is also a theme of what I am writing to you about today…including things… so keep that in mind please).
Ok.
Back to story number two.
Let me tell you about Alex.
Alex is a large surf-god who owns a hotel here in El Zonte. I rented a room from him for four months. He has strong feelings about many things. He cares about his children passionately. He cares about the community. Alex doesn’t like Bitcoin. He isn’t a fan of the Bitcoiners who come here and try to indoctrinate him.
He is a native.
And he thinks if you are going to live here, you need to learn Spanish.
A large white truck paused next to me and someone rolled down a black window I couldn’t see through. (In general, all cars here are encased in black windows where you just have to wonder about what or who is on the inside. I think it is a sun thing and a British friend who bought a used Mustang told me he tried to drive it home at night after purchasing it and couldn’t see a thing. The front window was coated in black film. He had to get it removed the next day.)
On the other side of the now open window was Alex!
He was headed to a meeting about the river here that the government has been dredging in a well-intended project to add an adjacent sidewalk and a bridge. Unfortunately, the government neglected to consult with the local community and the surfers here. I heard rumors that the work on the river could affect the popular surf break here. Alex was headed to talk to them about it.
I told him I too needed to go to the city and had just missed the bus. So, he offered me a ride. He was willing to stop for Mafer and he told me that he was in a hurry and late for the meeting. He stopped anyway. Alex is that kind of guy.
Mafer and I were now in a large truck with AC and Mafer smiled happily in the back like a Cheshire Cat.
I knew she felt we had scored a win despite my “selfie” mess-up. And not once had she resented me for it. (You can see why Mafer is definitely on my list of close-friends-who-care-about-me.)
Both Alex and Mafer speak English.
I felt something change in the car though when she got in.
Alex switched from English to rapid Spanish with Mafer.
I could feel the agenda in it.
He wants me to learn Spanish. He thinks I should learn Spanish. He is a native and I am not. Another reason I should learn Spanish. People in the city were messing with his river and he was upset about it. Some of the upset was unconsciously directed at me and my not-speaking-Spanish-yet non-local body next to him.
Now, as a sensitive, energetic practitioner, I was aware of all those things. I did my best to center myself and breathe. When I felt energy directed my way I didn’t like, and my jaw was tightening, I did my best to offer myself some care and love and to not take any attitudes in the car personally.
It was an opportunity. A “regalo,” which means gift.
It was actually a little relaxing that I didn’t have to speak or offer my opinion.
And I could feel that despite not being able to follow what they were saying, I was making progress. I was recognizing some words here and there.
I told myself he had no idea how much I was practicing (and practicing includes talking with taxi drivers and various people when I felt relaxed enough to try things out).
God doesn’t mess around though and a week later I was in that car with Carlos listening to more Spanish (this time with no opinions or agenda directed my way).
Then I was in the Cacao ceremony.
I think I heard Meaghan say something in Spanish about how she liked the local language better than English. That hurt a little bit. There were other English speakers there, but they knew how to speak Spanish. I was the only one who didn’t.
I was uncomfortable and sad at what I thought Meaghan had said about my native language, and I could be 100% wrong that she said it at all.… But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I thought she said she preferred to speak Spanish.
And it soon became clear to me that this was the case, as much was said in Spanish, followed by a few sparse, dewdrops of words in English that I grasped at like water in the desert.
My idea that I would hear a sentence in Spanish and then in English, and how helpful that would be for my learning, flew out the window and shattered on the street far below.
And since I couldn’t understand much, my mind was wandering a bit during the cacao ceremony.
I had been in cacao ceremonies before and I could discern from what was said that we were to wait for a message from the Cacao. Meaghan paused to say something to that effect in a few words of English.
I looked at my little cup. And a lot of information came to me. Scenes from all these challenging things around learning Spanish. The tension I was feeling in my jaw that wouldn’t go away. My frustration. People who told me how I “should” learn Spanish. The two teachers I had hired to teach me in person and how that didn’t work well and how I was finding my own way with things. My grief that Meaghan had said (in my mind and perhaps not in reality) that she preferred not to speak English.
That was when I felt a little shift and something started happening.
I sensed all those situations swirling around me and something about that felt soothing. They were just that. Situations…things…
I took a sip of my cacao and thanked it gratefully. It was teaching me something. I wasn’t sure what yet, and I could feel it.
We were still in a circle when I could see that we were starting another activity.
Meaghan continued to explain a lot in Spanish and then would look over at me and offer a short sentence or two in English. Her kind eyes glanced my way as she informed me we would now say our name, the “word” the cacao had given us, and add a movement to go with the word. The group would repeat these three things and imitate the movement.
This is a lovely activity.
I had done something similar when I was in a group visiting the Findhorn community in Scotland.
The problem was, my mind had been wandering and I had felt a lot of things just now. The cloud-swirling vision of information…something around bringing kindness to myself in this Spanish-frustration issue…there may have been a word in there? I was feeling a little sweaty.
That is when words from a Beatle’s song came to me.
“Let it be”
Was that in that cloud of information I had just received? I wasn’t sure and it was almost my turn.
All the Spanish-speaking, transformational-work inspired participant’s faces turned towards me. They had been offering their words and movements. Meaghan hadn’t translated much. My lack of understanding frustrated me.
Honestly, I was triggered as shit and it was my turn.
I took a breath.
I said my name: “Terra.”
Then I said: “Let it be,” as I moved my hands gently in front of me like I was smoothing wrinkles out of a bed sheet.
The group in unison echoed me, “Terra….Let it be…” as they smoothed various invisible bedsheets out in front of themselves.
Ahhh….
It was rather soothing.
Soon after, Meaghan began describing the dance part of our activities. I could tell she was talking about Contact Improv. This is a kind of dance where you touch other people. I had done this at a small house in Sedona with a group of people soon after my divorce. It had been quite healing for me. I didn’t even know what we were doing together was a “thing” that people did all over the world.
At the time, it had required a lot of trust and respect. I was playing with boundaries.
Now I was here with a new group of people asked to do Contact Improv. I was still triggered. I was still working to live the words: “Let it be”
But the people were kind. No one felt creepy. Carlos was the only man in the group and I am not sure if women were even his thing. They might have been, and he was on the far end of kind and sensitive spectrum when it came to men I meet. At times, when people were speaking, Carlos would chime in and translate things for me. He wasn’t brief. He was thorough. He was giving me just what I needed and it felt like care. His words soothed me. I realized I actually felt safer with the one guy in the group than with anyone else. They were all lovely. But Carlos seemed to be really feeling me.
So, for a time, he and I danced together. The instructions were to imagine a feather between our body parts that were touching and to not let it fall.
With Carlos, this was fun.
We continued different movement practices.
video thanks to Carlos…my slow, centered breathing at the end looks humorously frantic here…this is the moment before Tanya came and sat against my back
Eventually, I found my way to the floor where I sat and closed my eyes.
A scene had come to me around all this.
Something I hadn’t thought of in years.
When I was five years old, my family spent nine months traveling through the US and Mexico. My parents were looking for where to settle and what they would do for work. Many of my memories of that time were of listening to them play 8-track tapes of musicals like Paint Your Wagon and Jesus Christ Superstar. There was also some Johnny Cash and Neil Diamond I think.
My younger sister and I would relax in the overhead cab as my parents navigated an older camper that sometimes broke down, two little girls to care for and feed, and a life that I am sure, must have faced them with beaconing opportunity and also held a lot of uncertainty.
At one point, we were somewhere near Guadalajara in Mexico. I remember the campground, the pool there, and I remember a beach. I don’t know if there is a beach in Guadalajara. But if there isn’t, we had been to one recently. I can see a smiling-faced man who maybe was missing some teeth, coconuts and palm trees.
It was at this time that my parents decided Spanish immersion would be good for me.
My mom was a trained Montessori Teacher. I was a compliant over-achiever who had already learned how to read and could tie my shoes.
My parents had heard how “easy” it is for kids to pick up languages.
So they decided to offer the gift to me.
They enrolled me in a school and dropped me off (my young perspective: left me there on my own in the middle of Mexico with not a word of Spanish in me).
No one in this school spoke English. There was a kind teacher. I remember the crayons. I remember how alone I felt sitting there and not fitting in at all.
The scene is brief in my memory. I think that was the only day I was there and I can’t be sure.
It is a painful memory.
It came back to me.
I could feel my five-year-old self with some compassion.
And then I remembered something else.
It was that same year a few other things happened that were very difficult for me. Very challenging things. Private, stuffed-under-the-carpet-things.
Two things specifically.
I had worked on these things in many ways.
They both would fall into the category of CPTSD (“complex” PTSD) type of situations. It is funny as my heart pounds a bit typing that and I can feel some fear arise in me.
Now, what I want you to know is that I really feel I have processed those two things pretty thoroughly. I have done it in many ways. Some were helpful, and some were learning opportunities to see what is not as useful as I imagined it to be.
What came to me as I was remembering and reliving that scene at the school, was that my day in Spanish immersion class happened pretty close to the same time as those other things.
I had never thought about that.
I felt a lot more compassion for the young me that felt so lost and alone that day in that class.
I could see that the other things I experienced back then were confusing, and that I had to hold them on my own. I was a kid with CPTSD who got dropped off with the best of intentions, in a Spanish immersion experience and it had also, covertly, traumatized the shit out of me.
As I was seeing all this, for the first time ever in a broader context, and bringing kindness to the five-year-old me who went through those things and was sitting in that Spanish class right then (in my imagination, which is more powerful than most of us think), I felt something.
Actually, I felt someone.
People were still doing the contact improv thing and someone had moved behind me. They were sitting, with their back gently pressed against mine, supporting me.
I took that in.
“Let it be”
I took in that back then, I felt a lack of supportive energy available to me. I mean energy that was conscious and able to help me with what I was going through. There were good intentions. There were two parents who were trying to do their best for me. Yet, there was a lack of support.
I was providing that for myself right then in the class with everyone as I held it all more broadly.
But I was not alone.
God sent someone to provide a spine to be with me. I didn’t even know who it was. My eyes were closed. But I leaned back a little and let myself feel it. Ahhh….this was just what I needed.
When the activity ended I looked around and saw it was the girl from the car with the raven hair. She didn’t speak a word of English. But she had listened to something inside. She had felt me and provided the medicine I needed.
Soon after, we moved on to an art activity. I thought we would be given art supplies. I knew we would be making mandalas. The last one I made in Costa Rica took me days to paint. I figured since we only had an hour, this would be a pretty basic activity.
But no art supplies were in sight. Another slim, beautiful woman was describing the activity. Meaghan sat next to her listening and smiling to the Spanish words flowing beautifully along with gestures. Nobody was translating and I knew it was a gift for me. It was a gift to work with my Gruntie of frustration and aloneness that had been waiting for a long time to be seen, held, and understood with love.
I had some tension in my jaw.
I had done enough art and teaching to understand she was saying to not be attached to what we created, to hold whatever we made with care and acceptance…she was talking about the upcoming art project in a way that was kind and understanding to my Gruntie place.
Meaghan asked me if I needed translation and I told her the above.
She looked at me with “she’s got it good enough” eyes and a smiling face.
I wondered where the art supplies were?
Meaghan provided a little more explanation in English.
We would make the mandalas out of natural objects. The instructor said ideally, if there was time, we would go into nature and find things ourselves. But since we only had an hour for the activity, she had brought things for us to choose from.
Large plastic tubs of beautiful items were placed in the middle of the group. Seed pods, flower petals, stones…sticks from the beach.
We would create personal mandalas from these things.
I thought of little me on Spanish immersion day and the two other things I had gone through that had also affected me. I chose objects to represent those three events. Something about each object reminded me of a heart shape.
I placed those object-event-Grunties on soft, big green leaves in the middle.
I found little sharp thorny shapes to represent the parts of me that still get frustrated. The tension in my jaw place. The grief in my throat.
Those parts also inform me of situations that don’t feel good, or have some kind of information I need to pay attention to. I need those parts.
I put them on soft flower petals, with the thorns facing out.
There were some random bits of leftover things I hadn’t used. I sprinkled them around the edges to represent events or energies that were there, but less seen, still coming, or simply possibilities.
There were some fern-like, delicate green leaves. They fell into my hand as I pulled on the tiny branch they were attached to.
I sprinkled them on my mandala with the intention of offering bits of care to everything. Tiny blessings.
Then I looked down at it.
“Let it be”
All those things had happened for me.
How I learn Spanish doesn’t matter. If I learn Spanish doesn’t matter.
Not really.
What matters is the compassion and care I can offer myself and others. The understanding.
I can’t let anyone tell me what I should do or how fast I need to go.
Only I can feel those things.
A few days later I was prepared to wait for another bus.
My friend, Mafer had an art booth in a nearby town. She really wanted me to come. I wanted to support her.
Reynaldo, the owner of the property I stay at here, was heading that way with his friend and offered to drop me off.
The day was lovely.
I purchased a cropped pink T-shirt from my fashion designer friend that said, Living the Dream.
Afterwords, I was back on the street waiting for a bus again. Reynaldo was headed to take his friend to the city.
I found someone also waiting and headed, I thought, to El Zonte. I figured I would stand next to her. When I asked how long she thought we would have to wait, she said 20 minutes.
I knew this was an optimistic possibility.
I was in El Salvador and busses on a busy day outside El Tunco were highly unreliable. I had a bag full of heavy groceries and waiting for a long time didn’t sound as fun and adventurous as I wished it to be.
So, I checked my Uber app. For less than $5 an Uber would get me in minutes. My exact bus change of $1.50 was in my pocket again.
I splurged and called the Uber.
I figured the nice woman who was going to help me get on the bus could tag along.
I tried to confirm she was headed to El Zonte.
She replied in rapid-fire Spanish.
She wasn’t trying to be unkind. She was simply speaking.
I grabbed my trusty Google Translate App and hit the microphone button. I asked her to speak it again so the app would translate for me.
She complied, but the app didn’t.
We were on a noisy street.
The Uber came and I tried to tell the driver in rusty Spanish that if it was ok, and if she needed a ride too, I would like to take the lady in front of us to El Zonte.
He pulled his car forward to where she was standing; they both said things in fast Spanish and soon she was in the backseat.
The driver informed me she needed to go farther than El Zonte, but this would help her out. It would be easier to catch a bus in Zonte, where they are less crowded and more likely to stop.
He was learning English. He complemented me on my Spanish. Sometimes people do. It always feel kind and supportive.
As we drove along, I learned she had to go six kilometers past El Zonte, but he assured me she should be OK. The last bus came at 6:30.
It was around 5.
I thought about that. How hard all this bus thing was.
And I thought about my other practice of generosity and kindness. Not as a “practice” kind of thing. But simply because it feels good to me.
I asked him how much it would cost to take her the rest of the way.
She didn’t speak English, so I felt comfortable and pressure-free discussing this.
He said $5.
It felt like kind of a lot.
Then he said he would do it for $4.
So I said I would like to pay him to take her the rest of the way.
Then he told me another phrase in Spanish.
I don’t remember what it is.
I do know that it takes lots of repetition in general for me to learn such things.
But it doesn’t matter.
What he told me was that here, they have a phrase for acts of kindness.
I think he said something about heaven-points I was accumulating.
He told her I had arranged for her to get all the way home.
I pointed out he had a heaven point too for discounting his fare for me.
She chatted happily and I think said things about blessings for me.
As we approached my gate, she asked if I needed a cleaning lady.
I don’t, as Cruz cleans for me.
But in that moment I remembered my friend, Suez and her Air B&B. She was struggling to find a cleaning lady. She needed someone she could text, who could read.
We were at my gate and I knew the Uber driver needed to move on and keep making money.
But I gave her Suez’s number and she typed hers for me quickly so I could take a picture of it and share it with my friend.
Another blessing was happening, quite unexpectedly.
All of this is because she was kind enough to be willing to help me find that bus and flag it down in the beginning. My five year old self was going to hold her hand to get home. And she had been willing.
There are so many blessings in life.
So many moments to offer kindness.
When people shared about the mandalas they had created, I asked Carlos to translate for me.
I stood for a moment as I felt tears bubble up. I tried to tell them about the three things in the middle. I tried to explain that even Grunties were connected to other things in life that might have been happening.
Most of them only heard the part about my struggle with Spanish.
That’s ok.
The energy of it all was there with tiny leaves of compassion and flower petals and big, green leaves holding everything.
Messages and frequencies go beyond words and other people’s capacity to feel and hold what we may bring.
“Let it be”
They didn’t have to understand why I was crying or that it had to do with a lot more than learning Spanish.
The frequency was there.
The vulnerability.
The the five year old courage to speak, and to ask Carlos to offer his care to translate for me.
“Let it be”
May this week offer you a moment to love and befriend a Gruntie. To maybe see it in a bigger context, and even if you can’t, to hold out your hand willingly, even if you don’t speak it’s language, and let it get on the bus with you so you can help it arrive safely, somewhere where it can receive what it needs. It won’t have to be a Gruntie anymore then…those tight energetic spots can release, with compassion and care.
And this is funny, as I hadn’t listened to that Beatles song until I looked for it to add for you here.
Now I have tears again.
As it is a blessing from Mother Mary.
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be— The Beatles
Well that makes a lot of sense doesn’t it?
I left and Meaghan hugged me and thanked me for coming. She said she knew how much I liked dancing.
I hugged her back. She had offered me a lot of blessings.
Please note: Nothing I post is intended as therapy or financial advice. Please take care of yourself in whatever ways you need and make your own personal and financial decisions based on consulting with whatever professionals you choose. I am not a therapist or financial advisor.
What a beautiful share, Terra! I feel you in all of it.