Leaving the Island

Another ride,
another venture,
sunrise from another shore.
Goodbye beaches of shell and tide,
goodbye caminatas on dirt roads
and skittish Brahmins in the night.
Goodbye hills and trails and people
Joyful people.
More to live on in the memory.
On to the city, the mountains, the fields,
on to the unknown
To ideas and connections yet unfurled,
to another day
another month
of learning
living
discovery.

NEWS FLASH: An Over-Abundance of Abejones

Altamira, Biolley. Dozens more abejones sacrificed their lives last night in the pursuit of light, or so it appears. Still more lay helpless on their backs this orning, alive but incapable of regaining footholds. Likely due to the unusual amount of rain this dry season, one local speculates, entire populations of the large, brown beetles emerge confused from the earth each day, doubtless wondering what happened to the colder air of the more familiar month of May. Grace Montoya said, "The may beetles entangle themselves in your hair, and you have to keep a sharp watch on your food." Can humans and abejones coexist peacefully, or do we have a problem on our hands, or rather on our counters? As the bodies of these "fearless fools" accumulate on our doorsteps, only time will tell.

the audience

Today
as dusk came creeping,
I saw a twinkling star
though a window in the fingers
of a tree above me.
Then I saw a second
a third
a fourth
and I thought,
Here I am
the audience
of the audience
of the universe.

a greater glimpse

With the warm radiance of sunset to the West and the full, white moon rising in the East, I love the mountains and the water, and think of this third globe whose ocean we're riding on in a fiberglass hull with an outboard motor as we bask in her beauty. And I realize that's all I can do. I love her and the sun and the moon and yet I don't really know her, and I can't say that the sun tells me the time of day, or that I live by the cycles of the moon. As I walk over her squishy, life-bearing mud to the shore, on my thick rubber soles, I can't say that I feel herbeat beneath my feet. Maybe I've felt it once or twice, but I can't say that I really know her. I feel harshly in these moments a painful separation from the real force of life, as I witness Gaia's turning as it happens every day. And I think that what I've known as God--in the moments on mountaintops, in treetops, and by riversides when I'm totally lost in life and its mystery--is only a glimpse, a slight, ever-so-generous glimpse, of that force. I hope someday I'll know her, I'll feel her fully and my life will revolve around her and depend upon her. It might start with more of those glimpses, gaining frequency and strength, but someday, the separation will be less and less, and no more. Someday, my life will be her life, and your life too. My place will be rocks and trees and fresh water, not a house or a school or a town, and I will know my place and those who share it, and I will know how my place fits within its place, and how I fit within it.

monkey friends

Oh, I wish I was a monkey. To wrap my tail around the finger of a tree and tiptoe along its forearms, up there in the wind and the weather, swaying, swinging. Come down and hang with me in my hammock. I see you eyeing it, or me. But where did you go, so soon? So far, so quickly. Talk to me again. I wish I was you.

running, running

The pitter-patter of my trail runners on the dirt road. The easy morning air. The engagement of muscles with every stride and step, stride and step. The bright, gentle sun over teh fields and the people coming and going with water, tortilla dough, and other errands. Jewelle supporting me with her simple presence, whether she knows it or not. This morning's thirty minute run was infinitely more enjoyable than that of a few days ago. Not because it was any shorter, or the terrain was easier, or I was in better shape for it. Rather, because of a different mindset. This time, I didn't give in to the anxiousness when nearing the close, or the out of practice tire. This time, I finally accomplished what I've been hoping to: I'm beginning to run int he moment--that is, to love every moment of the run and every aspect of every moment. Here's to future runs!

floating the canyon

The canyon's rocks rise up into the sunshine. Happy green plants spring from their contours, waiting for the rainy season. Clouds pass int he sliver of bright blue sky above as I float on my back up the cool river that long ago and ever since has shaped the seats and pockets that we climb on and jump from. Endless adventure lies past every curve, but we only make it so far. Still, this is incredible: swimming and jumping and laughing like children, eyes open to every detail. I wish I could float eternally here, watching the sky change and the spiders pass. From June to October, they say, the water churns and reels far above where we swim now, and people ride the rapids in rafts and PFDs, but I am content here on my back, here in the Rio Coco, here in the canyon in Somoto, Nicaragua.