halfway tripping

it's been 10 days since i've written. & i don't feel peace right now because i am not alone. & it's very hard to write deeply when you feel eyes on you. it's like mary oliver's poem. about the mockingbird. who couldn't sing his true birdsong, "copying nothing," until he was alone...

as though his subject now
was his true self,
which of course was as dark and secret
as anyone else's
and it was too hard --
perhaps you understand --
to speak or to sing it 
to anything or anyone
but the sky

but i need to write about the argentinian shop in la punta and ordering endless empanadas to satisfy our bottomless hunger. vegana, con carne, jamon y queso, and alfajores for dessert. and my neck has a crick in it thanks to sleeping 2 people 1 pillow. & that night, after stuffing ourselves full of authentic sweets, i was so enthralled and then shortly left feeling deeply lost. for only being able to understand a few words, and not being able to contribute a single thing. and it's like everyone i see i think i should be more like them. the dramatic canadian actress in zipolite who dances like she knows exactly who she is, the argentian surfer, skater, and part-time trimmer who sleeps in her van on the mexican land she just bought with her boyfriend atop no mattress because "it's good for the back," or the french canadian hippie who is fluent in spanish and built her own house from the ground up on the land she bought herself in guatemala. or my part-time comedian, full-time handyman aunt who seems to see the future, and has the best clothes. and i'm left so confused when it comes to my style, where i come from, where i belong, what i'm good at. and should i be the type of woman who rides a motorcycle with ease, baby on her hip? or be able to fix a dishwasher, conquer tools, speak another language, or make things happen for herself?

& this is what all came crashing down on me as i was riding in between highs from a very mediocre at  best LSD trip. & i dropped it on my tongue on a deserted beach & we didn't take enough at all, but we were the only ones there and we were surrounded by rocks and the sea, and i was lying naked eating fruit and getting far too much sun. and i kept the tab on my tongue until we both agreed to spit it out and i didn't feel high at all, save the hollow feeling in my stomach and the buzzing in my head. & i was always on the brink of tears for the most hopeless and helpless puppy i have ever seen. whose hair had all fallen away and all that was left was raw, dripping skin. whose ribs showed she either couldn't find food, or it simply went right through her. and she wanted love so desperately but she was so timid. i can understand that. how can you possibly trust when your life has been withered down to skin and bones? and we left her there, probably to die, but at least she had her mama. at least there's that. 

& we swam in an ocean so clear we could see our toes and i felt i was part of the tide. & as we bounced through the dirt roads coming upon a view so epic & expansive every time we popped up the top of a hill, we eventually stumbled on a port town called puerto angel and each building was a different bright color, and the sun was almost setting, so it gave that special glow that i find myself chasing. and we ate the best ceviche i've ever had and sat on the edge of the marina, with it's many ships docked in place -- children climbing and diving from boat to boat. & we met this woman, her accent gave British, who was sterilizing street dogs. hundreds of them. i had never seen so many sedated dogs and cats, one quick glimpse and you'd be sure they were dead. and she raised the money and she got the entire neighborhood to come out and contribute and should i be like her too? and we stood on a hill where our motorbike was parked, the bike that had become home, and we looked out on the water and i wanted to cry again for the beauty of a town so simple but so special. and then we rode down more switchback hills to catch the sunset in zipolite, life unfolding before our eyes: a woman sweeping, a boy laughing, a man making his daily commute, the most simple activities, and yet seemed sort of magic. reminding you that life happens all around, whether you stop to witness it or not. and we finally arrived at the beach just in time for that old familiar glow, where we were affectionally told "Chicos! Can you move you're blocking our view" in oh so many words. and it was probably the loveliest sunset i have ever seen. 

and even though i still wasn't feeling "high" exactly (i barely even took half) but i don't ever want to mix it with anything else again. and they say on this kind of trip, you're confronted with so many things that you cannot hide from. and so that's why it should remain pure. and sometimes i worry about whether i can ask the deepest questions and reveal the way things make my empath self feel. to be a deep human is a gift and a curse, to be a human who feels things so deeply. especially if you're not sure how you will be received or if they'll even understand. 

and so much more happened like meeting the two couples from canada who had no inhibitions, and finding the best veggie street food from this guy and his girlfriend who set up shop every night "to feed the drunken munchies"  and feeling so overwhelmed and so wide-eyed and confused and lost and free all at once.

and it is all okay. all will be okay. it will all be okay. as long as you continue to face yourself and question the things around you and remain curious. and feel open & vulnerable & not numb. and don't be so stubborn. all these things you "wish" you could be...they take time, and they take effort, and they take looking at yourself and confronting yourself and loving yourself. and for sure they won't be easy. so it's time to get the hell over yourself and keep going.