Reflections From My True Self

Remembering Who I Really Am


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Always Home

Today I was home again, with my child-heart open and feeling as free as I did when I spent the entire day away from people, wandering in the forests and fields of La Finca without concern about when I’d return or who knew where I was.

I didn’t take an airplane and rush to catch a connection. I let Reiki take me, allowed my consciousness to flow with the energy, and I found myself again in the hidden bower I went to as a child to quiet my mind. I found myself looking up into the sky through the fuzzy leaves and bright fuchsia flowers of my favorite tree there, a tuno roso. I could smell the little brook that runs only a few paces from the tree, and the warm moisture of the earth rose into my body as I lay there, basking in quietude.

Mountain view

As I lay there, I became aware that Casquito was with me, my horse companion who died so many years ago. She was standing in the shade, not grazing, just looking me over gently. I ran to her and embraced her, my face against her soft red neck. Inhaling her warm, familiar scent, something in my chest loosened and crumbled, fell away and opened new space within me.

A timelessness came over me, a sense of absolute expansiveness, without borders, without edges, just space spreading outward. It was like breathing deeply inward, filling myself, and discovering that my lungs had no end, just more space for more nourishing air.

Then I was simultaneously running through the grass, pushing my shins through its gentle resistance, and floating on the wind, like a feather caught in a breeze, passing over treetops and dropping onto branches.

I understood then, with parts of my Self that are not in my head, that this is home, this place that is there and nowhere at once, that I am always home when I choose to be. I understood that I can be earthbound and flying at once: that I am always free.

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The last day of summer vacation

It’s the last day of summer vacation. The weather is inviting, warm and breezy. Chiqui and Golondrina have got the idea that they want to build forts, they are giggly-excited by the prospect and they gather explorer packs with binoculars and magnifying glass, notebook and pencil. Chiqui prepares sandwiches and Golondrina packs fruit.

We head for the woods, for a secret place in North Park Village Nature Center that no one ever goes to, where there are no paths and we don’t feel we are destroying preservation work by playing among the trees. When we arrive, in the dappled sunlight, the children gather armloads of long, dry sticks and twigs and lean them against a low, horizontal-growing tree branch.

I sit a little distance away, on the slightly damp ground, with my back against a fallen log. I watch tiny, fat, ridged bugs run away from me, then settle into another piece of the rotting wood. The faint smell of deer mingles in the air with the low chattering of the kids. I am free, to sit here and breathe without thoughts, full only of appreciation and gratitude. I am so luxuriously rich in this freedom.

After a (rather hunched) picnic lunch under the shelter, we take our leave. On the way into the clearing, we run into an elderly Asian man picking leaves off a tree. His English is difficult to understand, but he tells us he’s lived in the senior homes here for 13 years and picked them all along. The tree is called “Pinong,” he says, and the leaves should be dried and boiled to eat. The children pick a handful of leaves, thanking the man and the tree for this new culinary adventure. Now they are excited to go home.

We are so blessed, I am so full!