Non-Tica Chica

Once Upon a Summer in Costa Rica

  • sunday morning

    out of all the nails, the most exasperating to grow is the thumb. if you’re a nail grower by aspiring trade, you understand well that nails seem pitifully short until some indiscriminate length that they seem acceptably long.

    you also probably understand, then, that the more you don’t think about it–the less you think about it?–the faster they grow.

    this morning, i’m drinking hot things – rooibos tea, chicken broth. i don’t even know what rooibos tea is. i’m also considering time – the slowness of it, the quickness, the passage, the ignorance, the wasting, the welcoming of it. the spending and buying of it, the observation of it and the being in it. having love/hate relationships with everything makes sense, as we live in the world and the world is one of polarities, though ideally, i prefer the middle way, if i can make it there.

    if at the end of the day, i don’t wish to have changed a moment of how i spent it, i’d consider it a success. but if i find myself longing to have done differently, well, the gentle noticing of that makes it a success, too.

    i’m remembering again, perhaps from lifetimes past, how powerful my outer words and my inner thoughts are, and how they really can shift my reality.

    take surfing, for example. it’s been a journey, riding waves (pun intended and not) of the alternation between fear and fun. in this moment, i’m neither here nor there, which is perfectly fine with me. there is no push or pull to achieve or quit forever, a pressurized cycle i was in the midst of up until a day or so ago. i suppose what moved me more to the middle was the release of my resistance. as it always is, and as one of my clients always says with a scoff and a smile when he has a realization, “god damn it.”

    i released my attachment to my fear, which is not at all to say that the fear is gone. i’m just not hugging it to the point of paralysis anymore. i will write more into the journey through the waves, but it’s time for yoga.

  • things i miss

    i miss writing. this is my attempt to squeeze myself back into the regular space of words, even though there have been words that accompany my daily paintings, which appear to be out of order below, though life here feels like it’s in fine order: i wake up early, go to yoga, have free time before work (2 clients max – ideally) in the middle of the day, and then time to reflect, relax, chat, do nothing (perhaps my favorite thing to do), do nothing productive (perhaps my least favorite thing to faux-do).

    life feels easy, and the days seem to fill up on their own, or maybe that’s every day for everybody, whether or not you’re looking at it that way. i’m not manifesting a lack of work, but i do miss more of nothing, days of nothing. maybe that’s simply part of growing up – one can have lots of time for play, but work is an inevitability to ensure the lots of time for play.

    i also miss pacquito. i hope he doesn’t think i’m dead and that he knows somehow that i’m returning. i wonder if he’d be happy here in a new place, or if he’s more like the part of me that finds comfort is the forever tried and true.

  • jungle rain

    there’s something so magical about the rush of jungle rain.

    even in its torrent, it soothes the soul, and in its loudness, it quiets the mind.
    it has a melody all its own and an unpredictable cadence that forces me to fully surrender to its existence – there is no other way for us to coexist.

    rather than being a nuisance or a barrier to “doing,” the rain permits me to turn all my senses down and simply rest in being. at least, i know this is what it wants for me.

    as much as i love the sun and its warmth, a part of me wants the jungle rain to last forever. my true “work” here is to accept its invitation to unclench my jaw, relax my shoulders, close my eyes, exhale, and let myself fall freely into each moment like drops of water onto the earth.

  • Some Days

    I wanted to post some things now so that the next post won’t be overwhelmed with pictures! More to come.

  • slowing down, again

    i’m reflecting on how different i am here, or maybe how different here is, which in turn affects how i am.

    the rawness and untouched nature of the jungle landscape inspires me to be the same, without ever forcing me to adapt to its pace. here, if my feet collect specks of dirt from walking around barefoot, i don’t rush to wipe them off. insects i’ve never seen fly towards me during yoga and i simply close my eyes or gently wave them aside, which is markedly different from the reaction i have at home, where i’ll run screaming (at the very least, on the inside) into the house if i hear a bee buzzing too closely.

    the points on my body that tend to hold stress feel softer, more relaxed. my mind feels more still. maybe not as still as i’d prefer, but still, stiller.

    i think about the bumpy dirt roads upon which we trek to a waterfall or drive (necessarily) slowly, and the purposefully easy ryme of this retreat, and i am reminded of how everything in this kind of place serves to slow me down. this is not the space or the time for rushing through anything, in body, mind, or speech.

    i think about the sterility and sameness of the city and the suburbs, and how the world in such places was shaved down to form grids of cement as an intentionally sturdy foundation for existing, yet how alternatively, the closer we can be to the earth without any such densely rigid barrier, the more grounded (literally and figuratively) we can so easily be.

    i am reminded that this must be how we were always meant to “live.”

  • silence = noise

    there is no such thing as silence in the jungle.

    there’s not an inch for it to live upon, no air for it to breathe life back into itself.
    all of nature’s sound converges to relegate even the remote possibility of deafening silence to far beneath the ocean, only steps away.

    it’s been over two years since i’ve been out of the US (not so united, these states), and as always, every time i leave “home” (with all that should feel familiar) to enter a new land, i return to a version of myself that feels nearest to the one i most adore and am inspired by.

    these particular smells and sights and stickiness on the skin always feel like home – like places i’ve been before and remember well, that bring to me (and me to) a place within myself of peace, surrender, calm, reflection.. like places i have yet to meet but i know deep down are patiently waiting for me to one day arrive and sink gladly into all of the noise within its silence.

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