It is a delight to know creatives and activists and shit-disturbers and political outlaws who everyday roll out from under comfy covers or piles of rubble and begin again to paint beauty, research truth, write change, and share from their mobile hearts and inquisitive minds.
When ya live alone, in the jungle, there is an expanding and overwhelming sense of how fertile and omnipresent is a power greater than one’s self. To be geared for positive feedback, to offer a thumbs up, to make a quip, to have one’s breath stop for an instant because something is so remarkably simple and awesome is what solitude instills. . . yet, we are social beings, even in our introversion and contemporary fascinations.
Some wrinkle third eyes and blurb the matrix is make-believe. Yet, for me, over the years, i have connected with incredible human beings from every nook and cranny. These sparky connections are emotive, enduring, and sincere. Certainly, a few are overly intellectual and lack affection, yet the majority (including the cyber nerds) are spirit dancers – people I have no problem inviting onto the hut’s veranda for a spot of highland organic tea, or an iced cold tropical fruit juice.
The power of the unconsciousness is pulled into the collective if we are mindful and willing to regularly negotiate peace within ourselves. I am learning everyday and the roaring Scottish lion shares its soul food without prompting. Crap-ridden Netizens, are micro blips in the vanity of a dying twilight.
We only get three weeks on this glorious spinning orb. I am not a survivalist, or a nut job who ran off to the rainforest out of paranoia. We searched far and wide for a serene place of wonder and beauty. Alfombra was the winning ticket. Did I ever consider I would be the lone survivor of a fabulous marriage? No, actually I did not. I thought the robust shockingly astute, communitarian, totally pro lawyer, and way too witty man I was married to would far outlive me even if he was much older. Maybe he put a spell on me?
Anyhoo, it is not a wee challenge to live on Finca Vigia, it is a privilege. My family does not get it, although at times i prefer to believe my only bro (older) does – I mean he has known me all my life. The family are not nature freaks or garden obsessives or politicos. They relish art, music, beauty, decor, shopping for elegance, travel, sports, research, and pursuits of the mind but Finca Vigia never seems to come up on their cultural wheel. No idea why not.
Sure, at morose bent moments during the day, I lament it would be swell to once again share life with a sensitive bi-ped and then a flock of siren parrots go over, or an eagle screams, or I get buzzed by a pissed off hummingbird and the maudlin Bon passes into the ethers. I am a grateful former Maggie cat on a hot tin roof who today dozes in the bright light or rainy mists of latitude nine.
The grand scheme miraculously unfolds, with or without my radicalized 1,000 colones (more or less $2) comments – fortunately for revolutionary me, kindly you, and the big Kahuna in charge.