Earthbound

The last time I wept was as I was leaving the Galapagos Islands.  I was there a month ago for a yoga retreat, and the tears flowed freely as I sat in the back seat of the bus headed for the island airport to go home.  I had spent only a week on those enchanted isles, so the depth of my emotions surprised me. Over the last two and a half years I've had extraordinary experiences in some spectacular places, but this was the first time I cried when I left.

I've wanted to visit the Galapagos ever since I first learned about Charles Darwin's five year
voyage of discovery on the  HMS Beagle, which set sail from England in 1831.  It was on these volcanic islands, with their distinct and unusual fauna, that Darwin began to formulate his theory of evolution.  The pristine and wild nature of those islands has always fascinated me, so I booked myself a yoga retreat on the island of Santa Cruz.
My travels to other lands in the last few years have been to discover the civilisation and culture as much as the strange and magnificent geography.  This was not the case on the Galapagos.  My desire to visit those islands was all about Nature; raw, pure, and unadorned by humanity.  I had two wishes for myself for this journey, and one of them was to connect with Mother Nature and some of her most extraordinary creatures on a profound level; to touch and be touched by the place I call my true home, Mother Earth.  I had imagined it would be easier to do in a land where I could watch animals just being themselves, unconcerned by the strange bipedal hominids who gawked at them in wonder.  I wanted to go to a place that has remained (mostly) free of human influence, where animals behaved just as they do when humans aren't around hunting, herding, eating, petting, or exploiting them in any way.  The Galapagos gave me exactly what I wanted - big time.  And that's why I cried.  I was leaving a place where I'd felt the purest connection to the natural world that I'd ever had.  But it took me a while to realise it.
As my legion of followers know by now, I'm always looking out for signs and messages from the Universe, especially when I'm visiting new lands and seeing new things.  I did the same in the Galapagos, as well as Ecuador, where I spent a few days before and after my stay on the islands.  The signs came fast and furious, as they always do.  The most furious of all signs appeared the day before I left the mainland for the islands.  An annual storm which lasts only a few hours but blasts the capital city of Quito every year in mid October caused a mud slide that created a traffic pile-up for miles.  I was caught in that traffic jam with my very patient driver and guide, Edu, a native Quitoker.  While we sat in the car and watched the streets fill up with mud and water, Edu informed me that the storm is known as the Belt of Saint Francis, after the patron saint of the city.  Saint Francis, who's also the patron saint of animals and the environment, had whipped up a storm on the day before I left for the Galapagos, telling me I was about to get just exactly what I wished for - a big, wet, wild, whopping dose of Nature.
Every day on the Galapagos was filled with wonder and happenstance.  My first big sign came from a mighty messenger during a snorkelling expedition on the rocky shoreline of South Plazas Island.  Shortly after my fellow yogis and I began swimming, our guide spotted a white-tipped shark.  Suddenly everyone was very excited.  Oh wow! A shark!  How thrilling!  Since everyone else seemed enthusiastic about having a shark nearby, I was too.  And since no one else seemed to think that their health or safety was threatened, neither did I.  I couldn't see much anyway.  I'm very myopic and without my glasses I don't just miss detail, I usually miss the big picture as well.  So I just let the shark cruise by or underneath or wherever she was going while I minded my own business up on the surface. (And yes - I've decided she was a she.)

Sharks have a history of really bad PR, thanks to Hollywood and urban myth, so I simply went with the flow established by my fellow yogis, which was relaxed and inquisitive.  At the end of our little swimming expedition we found ourselves in a small, shallow cove.  People stopped swimming and stood in water that came up to mid-thigh.  Someone spotted the shark again, hunkered up against a rocky overhang in the shallows.  I heard cries of "Oh look!  It's the shark!  There it is! There it is!"  Everyone expressed their enthusiasm without creating a ruckus; no point in upsetting a large fish with sharp teeth.  At that point I was the closest person to the shark, mostly because I had been blundering about trying to see her. Being blind renders me stupid as well.  Meanwhile, everyone kept pointing to the shark and saying  "Over there!  Over there! Can't you see the fin?"  Well, no, I couldn't see the fin.  So I put my mask back on and dunked under the water to get a better look, because a thick layer of water has some kind of magnifying or vision-improving effect.  (Forgive me for not having done the research and offering a brief explanation for it.)  I looked again for the shark, this time underwater, but I was facing the wrong direction.  I was barely underwater a few seconds when I felt the firm but gentle push of hands on my upper back.  Julie, one of my fellow yogis and a seasoned snorkeller, had turned me in the right direction, which propelled me a few feet closer to the shark as well.  That's when I finally saw her; sleek, long and lean.
She must have been about twenty feet or so away, and I had a good side-long view of her.  I remember thinking "Yup.  It sure looks like a shark."  At that moment the shark turned to face me and began swimming right to me (or so I thought), giving me a full, head-on view, at which point I observed "Sure looks like a shark from this angle, too."  Fortunately, thoughts flash by in nano-seconds, and I quickly realised that the shark probably wasn't too happy about my proximity, and was telling me to back off.  So I did, right away and very carefully.
I didn't thrash about or lose my cool.  I simply swam backwards, still looking at the shark, whose eyes sure looked as if they were fixed on me.  As soon as I moved away, so did the shark.  When she finally disappeared from view, I stood up out of the water.  Julie was apologetic; I was wonder-struck and just a tad puzzled.  How was it that I felt absolutely no fear?  I've seen and read enough scary stuff about sharks (much of it scare-tactics and misinformation) that I thought I would have had some sort of adverse reaction to seeing a shark swimming directly at me.  Instead, I felt only curiosity and awe.  But boy oh boy, did I pay attention.
I connected with that magnificent creature on a primal level.  I felt as if we understood each other.  Well, at least I understood her, that's for sure.  But whatever mysterious communication happened between us has left me with a fascination for sharks and shark medicine - and I don't mean the kind of medicine that requires killing an animal.  I'm referring to the lessons one learns when encountering a fellow creature of Mother Earth.  They're the spirit guides, or totems, of the native peoples of the Americas, and that big, beautiful totem taught me about protecting the sacred, i.e. protecting Life.  The shark as spirit guide also teaches us to meet life head-on and master our emotions.  Encountering that elegant animal has made me less fearful of an uncertain future, and encourages me to keep moving forward, despite my fears.  (Sharks must remain in continual movement, or they die.  Google it if you want to know why.)
I certainly didn't have to worry about drowning in my emotions during my stay on the Galapagos.  (That particular lesson was meant to be applied when I went back to work in a large, noisy store at the busiest time of year upon my return home.)  But for the entire retreat I felt only wonder, joy, and lots and lots of gratitude.  It was oh so easy to do, because I was in the company of gifted, generous, soulful people.  Whenever I'm "emotional," it's usually because there are too many of the wrong kind people around sucking  the life out of me.  This was so not the case on the retreat.  Despite the fact that we were all such different people, we found common ground on the Galapagos, and we felt communally blessed to be a part of it.

I was as grateful for my companions as I was for the time and place we shared together.  In fact, I have never expressed my gratitude as much as I did on this vacation.  I silently said grace to myself before every single meal, three times a day.
A couple of years ago I had made a New Year's resolution to do just that; I even wrote about it on this little web of mine.  I'm still doing my best to say grace every day, but I don't remember to do it all the time.  But for my entire time away, both on the mainland and the islands, it came as naturally as breathing itself.  I didn't have to make an effort to remember, because I was living completely in the moment, thanks to the exotic beauty that surrounded me.
Living in the present is much harder to do as we go through our day-to-day lives, where most things are habitual and familiar.  Going to a strange land  provides the opportunity to see through the eyes of a child again, fresh and new - which brings me to the other wish I had for my vacation - I wanted to present the best possible version of myself  to whomever I met, which was a lot easier to do with strangers who had no preconceptions of me.  So that's what I did, and I guess it must have worked, because I was validated and appreciated over and over again every day I was there. I received an embarrassment of emotional riches.  The giving and thoughtful folk I met and grew to love shared kind words and deeds with me daily.
At the first yoga class, Jenniferlyn, the lovely lady who was our yoga instructor, spoke about one of yoga's many benefits.  "Yoga," she said, "helps us to be the best possible version of ourselves."  I can't remember what pose I had assumed when she said those words in almost exactly the same way I'd been chanting to myself, but it was all I could do to not jump up and shout It's a Sign!  Aside from the fact I would have disrupted the class had I followed my impulse, I figured not broadcasting the inner workings of my mind all the time and all over the place would be good thing.  Mystery can be attractive, so I pretty much kept the signage business to myself all week.  I still marvel at my restraint.
There were signs aplenty for the whole time I was away, and it's been difficult deciding which ones I should mention here, lest this blurb become an unwieldy, not-so-magnum opus. Nevertheless, I'll describe just one more...
It's about my feet, and what I wore on them.  I'm very fond of my feet, because I use them to walk, and as my long-time followers know, walking is one of my all-time favourite pastimes, right up there with breathing, eating and sleeping.  (It makes me wonder why I've ever been depressed, because I've been doing all my favourite things almost every day of my life.  But I digress...)

Preparations for my trip included buying a sturdy pair of waterproof shoes.  I left that particular task to the last minute and ended up with a pair of bright orange sandals.  Orange has never been a favourite colour of mine, but they were the only shoes that fit perfectly, and even made me feel like dancing - so orange shoes it was.  I wore them home from the store, and by the time I reached my front door, I was, indeed, dancing for joy, although I wasn't entirely sure why.  But I had great hopes for my orange shoes, and they didn't let me down.
Orange is the colour of the second chakra, which is located at the navel.  The navel lies at the root of the umbilical cord, which provides nourishment to the unborn child in the mother's womb.  The second chakra, therefore, represents our connection to Mother Earth and all her plants and creatures.  I had hoped there was a deeper, more magical reason for ending up with orange shoes than the fact that they were the only ones that fit, and the Universe didn't let me down.  I'd been making direct contact with Galapagonian earth in my orange shoes. However, like much of the magic I experience, I didn't unravel the meaning of that bit of synchronicity until later, when I was leaving those enchanted isles.  No wonder I wept.
But the foot business doesn't end there.  On our last excursion, which was on Bartolomé Island, we were joined by a couple of lovely ladies from the Czech Republic.  One of them, Vladimira by name, wore a fabulous pair of socks adorned with spiders.  The spider happens to be my primary totem, and not coincidentally is known to be the writer's totem.  As we climbed up the steps to a lookout on one of the volcanic hills of the island, I commented on her awesome socks.  Without skipping a beat, Vladimira said she'd give them to me.  I demurred at first, because it certainly wasn't my intention to ask for them.  But she insisted, assuring me she wouldn't miss them.  A while later, back on the boat, Vladimira presented me with the socks, informing me that they were durable and well-travelled, having trekked all over the world with her.  Need I mention how moved I was?  Or that this was yet another signpost on my journey through life?
Receiving those socks, which look fabulously dorky when worn with my orange sandals, was a sign telling me that I was on the right path.  They'd already travelled far, and now I was taking up the torch.  Chances are I'll wear those socks to far away lands myself, but they also tell me that it's my journey as a writer, actor and yogi that's far from over, and that matters to me even more.  Self-expression is deeply important to me.  You wouldn't be reading this now if it weren't.
My journey to full and satisfying self-expression is far from over - well, at least I hope so - and I have the symbolic footwear to prove it.  Spiders and the colour orange represent creation and creativity, which is why I made a point of wearing my spider socks and orange sandals on my journey home.  I was still wearing them when I finally set foot on my home and native land.  It bodes well.
My time away was replete with wonder and joy, and all the signs that punctuate those feelings.  I learned more about the world and even more about myself.  My inner journey was greater than the marvellous trip I had the good fortune to take, and for that I'm deeply grateful. 
My Galapagonian adventure has made me more sensitive to goodness, joy, nature and beauty; that's the good news.  The bad news is I'm equally sensitive to rudeness, impatience and antagonism.  My job at the store can be stressful when I'm dealing with impatient, demanding, materialistic people, and the closer we get to Christmas, the busier and more stressful the job becomes.  Enter the She-Shark.  Her appearance taught me to protect myself and master my emotions.  That doesn't mean I should be devoid of emotion; far from it.  But if I need to express myself - and I frequently do for sanity's sake - I'll walk the magical path mapped out by my orange sandals and spider socks.  I'm following my bliss, and I won't stop spinning and weaving the big and little stories of my life whenever and wherever I can, including on this little web of mine.  The signs have always been there, showing me the way.  All I have to do is pay attention, and above all, be grateful to belong to the living miracle that is our glorious planet Earth. 
Viva Pachamama.
- G. P.