You Cannot Rescue a Sinking Heart

It happens again today. With no warning.
My heart sinks.
Plummets.
Straight to the bottom of my belly with no warning.
I had all the intention in the world this morning to be of service.
To be positive.
To be a good neighbor.

And certainly I will. In just a few more minutes.
In just a few hours.
Once I can pull my heart up off the bottom of the floor of my stomach.
Ugh.
It's much heavier than I thought.

And it's not like I'm not trying. I am!
I'm pulling and pulling.
But it seems it's found a nook down there
In between droppings of past hurt
Past heart-breaks
Little pieces are still down there
And now this big, enlarged, heavy heart of mine is getting cozy down there with the past pieces.
"How could you do this to me, heart?!"
I want to yell at it.
Now I'm getting angry. Frustrated.
And it's pulling back harder.
And the little pieces of the past are gripping their claws into my passionate heart.

"I thought I got rid of you guys?"
I say in frustration.
"C'mon. We made a deal in those meditations. In those yoga asanas."
"Don't you remember those journals? Where I flushed you out? Each and every little heartbreak.
Where I filled the holes that came after with gratitude?"
Ugh.
I thought you were gone.

And yet there you are.
Betrayal.
Sin.
Shame.
Cradling my inflamed heart with your claws.

Ugh.
You guys are strong.
And I'm not a good fighter today.
I cannot pull you up off the floor of my belly.

And when it comes time to read something
The words that I need to hear appear in front of me
And my eyes fill with tears
And my body starts to shake
And suddenly a tsunami lifts my heart
From the bottom of my belly
And carries it
Heaving
Up into my chest
And I begin to choke on the waves in my throat.

You cannot pull a heart back
To where it belongs
You cannot rescue it.
You cannot fight it
Or deny its right to be where it needs to be
You need to give it time
Acceptance, and understanding
And it will come back.
As always do
The tides of the ocean.

People Don't Leave Rooms

People don't leave rooms.
If I sit on the spot on the couch that I usually sit in, there's a big gaping hole across from me that looks awkward and uncomfortable and too barren to bear.
It's not an empty space, though.
It's a hole with something lingering.

The silence is louder than usual.
You can hear things, now, like a fly land on the drainboard.
Even putting music on doesn't help.
It knows I'm trying to cover something up so it doesn't sound the same.

Even eating inside has been weird.
It's like the food doesn't want me to make it.

You're holding on in places I didn't think I'd find you.
A t-shirt I stuck back on my shelf that I must have worn by you and didn't wash because it's your smell.
The sounds of motorcycles going by that we used to cringe about.
Geckos on my ceiling.

When you let people in
sometimes you don't know it's going to be forever.

The thing about living alone
is that every entrance leaves a strong mark.
Every sip of hot coffee
on lonely mornings thereafter
is loud and dramatic
And every nighttime
is a lullaby you must sing to yourself.

It's beautiful, in a way,
to live with yourself alone
for so long
keeping yourself company
And getting to know all the levels of your craziness.

Letting people in
sometimes carefully and cautiously
sometimes with corners tidied
and meals prepared with recipes...

And sometimes,
spontaneously
No second-thoughts
No house sweeping or bed-making
crazy salads and smoothies

Those ones
stay forever.

Everyday I Cry a Little Clearer

I used to think crying was a weakness.

I didn't ever want people to see me this way. My tears were shameful. A symbol of demise.
A wet, watery, streaming-down-my-face
Weakness.

Actually, I was perturbed by the whole notion of tears in general.

Tears of sadness.
Tears of joy.
Tears of onions.

Tears when I watched TV commercials of abandoned animals that I never knew, besides through the cold, distant colors of my television screen.

Why tears?
What are they? Where do they come from?

Whenever I started to feel my eyes welling up, the internal dialogue would begin.

Oh no, not now. Why am I crying? Seriously tear ducts? 

Confusion quickly turned to shame.

Please. Fuck. Who is looking? Play it cool. Swallow them down. Blink. Think of something else. Open eyes wide - dry them out. Fast! Deep breaths. Not too deep. Don't want sister to turn and see. 

What is wrong with me?

Someone once told me, "Don't be so emotional."
Okay, not just someone.
Many-ones.

And so I practiced...time and time again....year and year, again...how to suppress my emotions.
Because I was told not to be that way: emotional.

Yea well...You all know where this story goes.
By this day in age, we've all read the articles, blogs...seen the Ted Talks.

Emotions are cool and meant to be expressed. 
Just be you!
Don't change for anyone.
You're perfect as you are!

I get those things.
I believe them and I almost always, sometimes, mostly, live them.

It's just that I am 27 years old and I spent 21 years living the other way, listening to the other things... so it takes a bit of effort to create a new mindset around crying. And create new habits...

...A habit of embracing my emotions and gracefully enduring the typical response that comes from those around me when they see me cry.

I am an emotional person.

This doesn't mean I'm irrational. Well, not always.
This doesn't meant I don't have a grip on my life.
This does not mean I am weak.

It means, I need to be expressive. Always. In all the different ways I can be.
I need to experience my emotions and recognize whatever they are trying to tell me.

The truth is, now, I love when the tears fall.
Let me clarify... I don't always love the discomfort I see on the faces of my family members and the awkwardness of people around me when they are present for this...

But I love the release. I love the sensation of something in me that wants to come out...emerging in such a beautiful expression as that of water.
I love tasting the salty drops as they make their way into the corners of my mouth. I love watching them splatter on the pages beneath my face. I love feeling it all. come. out.

And I love the calm after.

Once it has been released...felt...experienced, I have a much clearer understanding of life, my place in it, and what I need to do next.

So my tears are not a weakness.
My tears are an expression of something that needs to be felt.
And I want to learn to live more and more in this space
of not-holding-back.

Yesterday, once the rain calmed, I took my dog and headed to the park. We were the only 2 there. It was a chilly morning that was much appreciated during a humid summer in August. As we were entering the park, an exuberant wind blew, shaking the branches of the tree above me and sprinkling me with water. I smiled. My skin woke up.

G ran ahead, excited to be off the leash, occasionally stopping and turning to look back at me. I decided to run and catch up.

As we made our way running down the long, windy and hilly trains that traverse Rockwood park along the Hudson River, I felt myself forgetting about my jog. I was so enveloped in the world around me that I didn't notice my own physical being - I had become part of everything else.

We turned a corner, and G took off from the path and ran straight into the field of long grass that was an island amongst the manmade trails. The energy of his sprint took over me and I found a surge of energy pulling me forward. I used everything in me and sprinted. Feet pounding the Earth, hair blowing, heart racing, breath heavy...

The sprint felt so fucking good that I felt all of my cells dancing inside of me.
I felt new and fresh and whole again.

And sure enough, like a moth to a flame, there came the tears to my ducts.

G's goofy smiling and floppy ears came bounding towards me and we all met - my sprinting legs and beating heart, G's drooling grin and muddy paws, and the beautiful energy of the morning hours - at a little shady spot beneath a tall tree.

I squatted down to grab G's head and we looked at each other, panting for a moment, before he trotted off to a nearby puddle of water to quench his thirst.

I stayed there, squatting close to the ground. Falling so in love with mother Nature. Like so many moments of my life in the forests of Costa Rica.

My breath was loud and my heart was pounding itself against the inner walls of my chest.
My hands touched the soil.
And my soul was so, so happy.

As I stayed there, legs bent and eyes close to the ground, I suddenly realized what was before me.

In the blurry canvas of browns and greys, distinct forms began to take shape.

An unearthed cemetery of Earth worms.
Worm after worm, exposed and unmoving above the gravel.
Hundreds of them.
One after another. Limp and lying.

My first reaction was sadness. All of these lifeless creatures splayed out on the ground.
Ready to be prey to the harsh sun and predators of the day.

And then my reaction turned to wonder. How did this happen?
Had the heavy early morning rains washed them out and up?

And I'm no scientist, nor Earthworm-tologist
But it was all so clear in that very instant

Water comes
always
in the natural flow of life
sometimes fresh, sometimes salty, sometimes sweet
Bringing to the surface anything that needs to be recognized
all the things that have been life-full
and life-giving in their years of existing in this form.

Once recognized
we surrender to the moment
the heavy waters subside
leaving before us
A moment of clarity.
And whatever is left there before us
in whatever state we find it,
we must make sure to use
these are gifts
given to us to create again.

And so my tears
have become my closest allies.

Subway Nights

Late night alone on the New York City subway.
Suddenly, I don't feel so comfortable in my short-shorts and trendy black boots that I found in my Mother's closet.
Ironically, I'm not worried. I just don't feel this is the best decision I've made.
Anyways, no one seems to care.
I look at each of them individually. Transporting myself into their world for a few seconds.
A woman, half-asleep/half-awake, holds a baby basin on her lap.
Her hair is pulled back tight and the baby is quiet.
It is after midnight on a Wednesday night.
I wonder where she is coming from. Traveling so late with her sleeping baby.
She doesn't look happy.
She doesn't look restful, despite her sleepy eyes.
It doesn't feel good to see her like this.

Two men are standing. Each of them are holding canes.
They are a bit older.
Neither of them are looking at anyone or anywhere.
They are just staring.
Occasionally fidgeting with something or tapping their fingers upon the cane.
They don't make eye contact with anyone.
They don't look happy, necessarily.
And the quietness of their face tells me 'surrendered'.
And I'm not sure if that's good or bad.
But they both seem like the type of people who could use a good sit and a good conversation.
They are alone, just themselves and their canes.
It's 12:05am on a Wednesday night.

A man in the far corner is staring at me.
An almost entirely uninterrupted gaze from an acceptable distance from my zone of comfort.
I wonder if he is doing the same as I am.
Taking a trip inside my mind, my world.
Wondering where I am coming from and where I am going.
I'm not thrilled about the staring
But it doesn't really bother me either.
We're just two people, who found ourselves in the same place,
alone at night on the New York City subway.

And when the bells rings and the doors open
Louder than usual
Interrupting the outer silence
and the inner noise of my thought journeys
I step up and with a slight smile
Say goodbye to my new acquaintances
No eye contact
Not sure anyone of them really saw me.

And the walk feels lonely back to my sister's apartment.
It's dark and bright simultaneously
The lights everywhere make me wonder
Who is awake and who is asleep in this world?
Cars speed by fast
and then I don't see another one until I get to the next big avenue.
One man is taking his garbage out.
The buckles of my shoes make a jingle with each step
And I hear each one, loud.

And just before I cross the last street to my sister's place
A garbage truck turns
And flashes it's lights at me
And I smile
Because for some reason that acknowledgement
Helps me feel less alone tonight.

Mushrooms Talk

Have you ever had a conversation with a mushroom?
No, not that kind. Not the kind when you eat them. Not the kind when you're tripping and you're not sure if its you or the mushroom talking...or if you even are the mushroom.
I'm talking about a different kind of conversation.
The silent kind. The conversations that happen in between all the talking.

I went walking yesterday through the wildlife sanctuary. A quiet place in New York.
No, not that New York. Not the city place with the buildings and the Times Square.
Not the New York everyone thinks about when you say New York.
I mean the other parts.
The parts that are still green and rocky and full of soil and
mushrooms.



Almost immediately upon the walk I fell in love.
It was a purpleish red and slightly tipping over. As if at any moment the next gust of wind would take it.
Take it and transport it's future generations all across the big green forest.
I wanted to touch it. Hold it. Feel in beneath my fingertips.
A part of me wanted to taste it too. I wanted to travel with it. I wanted to go where it was offering to take me.
Although I knew, it wasn't placed there on the forest floor beneath my feet for that reason.
So I just looked at it.
Snapped a photo.
Enamored.
And kept walking.

Before long another colored fungi popped up.
Pushing its way up beneath the fallen maple leaves.
Blanked in brown.
A cave of rusty colors surrounding it, as it made its way up towards the free air.
This one was orange. Bright orange.
A flat top.
A tiny sun amongst a canvas of different shades of darkness.
This one called to me, "Look at me!"
And I did.
Snapped another photo.
Stared at it, wondering, so many things.
Wanting to know more. To understand. To be a part of it's world.
And I kept walking.

As if you didn't know already, the mushrooms kept coming.
In all shapes and all colors and the conversation kept growing. The questions began multiplying and I found myself in a place I had never been before.
I wanted to know all there was about mushrooms.
I wanted to read books about them. I wanted to write poems about them.
I wanted to paint them.
I wanted to talk to mushroom experts. Mushroom lovers.
Mushrooms, themselves.

These days I have been spending outdoors. Mostly.
It is here that my curiousity grows. My inspiration thrives. My soul is happy.
My ambition to live life becomes hungry.
And the ego of my being becomes humble.
Because here I understand both my power as an individual and my collective place in the greater world.
This is what I need to feel more often.

It was the mushrooms' turn to communicate this to me.
Yesterday morning on our walk through the sanctuary.
The world has so much to tell you - if you listen.
There is so much out there to learn - if you follow what calls to you.
You can be happy - forever exploring the things that make you question, curious, and committed to understanding.
Understanding
Something we may never really know for sure
And that is why we have all of life to do it.

It can sometimes be called
Interest - induced learning.
I learned this yesterday.

No forcing you to digest textbooks.
No someone telling you wrong or right.
No schools bells to say 'times up'.
You go out there. You see what calls to you. And then you fully immerse yourself in that world.
Until your heart is content.
Guaranteed you will remember those moments
And that information forever.

That is what makes beautiful people.
Intelligent beings.
Caring souls.
The kind of people we need to take care of the future of our planet
The health of our own bodies
And the safety of our community.

I May Be A Little Bit Gay

I may be a little bit gay
in high school I had that dream once about a girl...
but I pushed it out of my memory, my reality.
I wasn't ready then to explore.
I've never been with a woman
not in the sexual way
What is the way that defines one's gayness?
I've just been with women
in the intimate way
Sitting side by side or face to face
Fully present with each other
eyes lighting up
walking alone through the rainforest
Passing oranges
Smiling quietly
Sharing our deepest desires and most heart bleeding stories
I've fallen in love with women this way.

I spent one full academic year
studying alongside some 80 of the most fascinating women I have ever experienced in my life.
I say experienced because they brought me with them on their journey
when they told tales of their history
when they cried with me
when they stood out in the open challenging the mainstream, the majority
I couldn't help but be with them
I fell in love with a few of them more deeply
quietly, from afar
Never told anyone. Never wanted anything more
Just to watch her from afar
In her grace and her glory. In the brilliant way in which she expressed herself
In her words, in her clothing, in her
Being.

I may be a little bit hippie
I like to wear whatever calls to me in the moment
Different earrings. Airy pants. Braided hair.
I love to love
I love to sit in fields of grass
I love to smile at cows, to say no to war.
Indulge in the taboos of life
from time to time
with a smile on my face
Loving women. Loving cows.
Loving trees.
I may be just little bit gay
and a little bit hippie.

I may be a little bit Latina-esque
Can I be that? 
I like to curse in spanish
Eat tortillas and pay no attention to time
Hitch rides in the back of pick-ups
And bathe, fully clothed, in the river.
I love to dance bachata
and rock out to Calle 13
I love to yell at chuchos in the street
And take them home with me at night.
I love to give 'gracias a Dios'
various times throughout the day
Eat breakfast with my neighbors
and not give a shit what time my meeting was supposed to start
Family is more important
always
I may be a little bit gay and hippie and Latina-esque.
That's just how I feel.

I may be a little bit autistic
I can sit for undefined periods of time
plucking leaves off trees, as the sky maintains my gaze
I become overly excited by simple things
I quiver at the way the light shimmers between the leaves.
I am enchanted when people can sit with me, quietly.
I am nervous in large crowds
At times I find it hard to connect with my family
I don't always know where home is
And yet I can find it anywhere.
There's a deep level of pain and confusion
That I didn't create, yet its with me from a former life
I feel the Earth's suffering
It's a part of me.
I love my alone time.
Taking me away from my solitude, my book, my safe place
is a process. A risky one.
Chances are I may not see you, if you don't look me straight in the eyes
if I cannot sense your utmost genuine care
I probably won't be with you
On a level where anything authentic can happen.

I may just be a little bit
gay
hippie
Latina-esque
autistic
book-worm
revolutionary
white
environmentalist
spiritual
alternative
feminist
radical
introvert
cynical
crazy...

I may just be. Often times I feel.
I'm not quite sure.
I don't fully understand or relate or belong to any of those labels completely.
Not biologically
Not genetically
Not entirely
Not for you to judge.

I just know I can relate.
I can embody, at times, the characteristics that fall into the category of all of those labels.
So, I don't know where one starts
and where one stops
being gay, autistic and spiritual.

I choose not to become blinded by the labels
Albeit, at times useful, for understanding one another,
More often than not restrictive, inhibiting and stereotypical, in nature
Causing us to be blind-sighted-
Limited in our ability to see clearly, accept fully and be naturally.

Who knows what am I
As of today, I have not tested myself with any conclusive results
I am still experimenting
Coming to know
Enjoying playing
Living
life

I have met many on my path
Who have awakened a side of me
That had seemed to have been lying dormant
For years before I knew it existed within me
This love for a female body
This ability to experience life beyond the constructs of time and space
This passion for living outside of my comfort zone...

I long to know more
I long to discover more sides of the human race
I long to get to you on a more intimate level
because I know that in this way
I am also getting to know more about me
And I really just love to be and grow in this way together

All labels aside
Or all labels together
Anyways they are all just labels that people invented
And if they make you happy or help you understand or allow you to be more free
Then paint yourself in all the words and colors and labels that you love

And in that moment that you're wearing your own labels proud
and you look at someone else in their very different labels
And it makes you judge or feel afraid or confused
Know that you are in the perfect place to begin
To see more
To find a way to get a taste of their world
To understand one another better
this is how the labels can serve
not to separate
not to fear
Instead, to recognize
"legally blind"
"physically challenged"
"diabetic"
You live a life that I do not know. I have never experienced your hardships
Your ways of happiness
Who you are as a being trying to exist in this world the way I am trying, too
Let me walk with you for a bit
So that we can create a more welcoming world
Together.

How Did I End Up Doing The Work That I'm Doing

How did you end up doing the work that you're doing?

How did I end up doing the work that I'm doing. It's hard for me to give short answers because I think my entire life is tied up in the work that I am doing now. It began from the time I was a child and was trying to make sense of my sister's illness within the confines of my child-mind and growing heart. Looking back, I was always curious about others who lived differently than me, from a really young age. As just a kid, I remember what it felt like to be working at my grandfather's hospice and being able to be useful to people who lost their sense of sight. I found a place for myself there and also in the world.

Then, working alongside 'at-risk' youth and in nursing homes in college- well, I learned very young that 'different' doesn't mean we have to be afraid nor impatient. I was drawn to these situations: living outside my comfort zone...and actually, just being there for people. It was all about finding a place where my strengths and personality could meet the other person's strengths and personality- though very different.  

Jumping a few years ahead, I felt drawn to joining the Peace Corps and the 2.5 years I spent in El Salvador changed the way I saw the world and helped wake me up to what I needed to do. It helped me break down (or start to break down) a lot of walls I had built up unknowingly. I felt freed, in a way. From this new place, I changed the way I made decisions- choosing my heart to lead and my head to follow from there forth. 

After El Salvador, I decided I needed to understand more about how we heal and grow as individuals, so I pursued studies in holistic health and healing academically, professionally and also spiritually. Some of that included spending time in an Indian-inspired yoga ashram in Thailand. I was there when I received notification that I was awarded a full scholarship to study at the UN Univ. for Peace in Costa Rica where I came to pursue a Masters in Environment, Development and Peace.

And so here I find myself today. Reflecting on how I go to be doing the work that I'm doing. And I realize that I have always been doing this work.

After all, what is work, but one's purpose on this planet.

We are given gifts- each and everyone of us and I truly believe that. These gifts come in different forms and some of us come to unwrap them at different times. Some of us come to share them at different times. They're always there. 

These gifts are our strengths and our personalities. Some of us can sing and bring joy to peoples ears and elicit emotions that are ready to be expressed. Some are patient and can just sit there beside us and bring us a sense of calm. 

We unwrap these gifts throughout our life and it is our duty to share them. 

This is how I come to do this work.

Tearing the paper, the wrapping down and saying yes to all that I was given. 

No more shying away. No more saying not good enough. Not profitable. No place in society. 

I'm doing the work that I have always been doing, that I am called to do, that I am most suitable to do.

I just need to keep unwrapping. All that tries to keep me in.