March 2007 initiated a period of pivotal shifting for me… and maybe for more than just me. I finished installing and holding a reception for my second art show of the year in Portland, Ore… then quickly turned on my heals and flew to Mexico. The Yucatan peninsula, Tulum, Mexico.
It was my first trip south of the border and I was ready for some serious sun. I was also overdue for deep relaxation and energetic renewal. If you’re wondering, yes, the Yucatan is the perfect place for such a transformation of physical and psychic consciousness. It is another world, satisfyingly ripe and on fire compared to the hollow gray damp of a Portland winter.
Caribbean turquoise transmits magic. I sat beneath a thatch-roof cabana on the beach sipping margaritas, nibbling empanadas and peanut butter banana sandwiches and just stared at the sea. Color as you may know is filled with energy. In fact it is energy. When you live in a gray and wet biosphere long enough, your energetic power starts to shut down. It’s like the electrical juice feeding you dims and quivers from lack of movement. Since color and energy are about movement, I needed to fuel up. I needed some deep blue.
Luckily the tropical rain forest I found myself in also included rich hues of yellow, pink, crimson and green. Not only that, it is steeped in ancient Mayan history and ruins. Our bicycle ride down an old crusty road to the Walled City, formerly called Zamas, Mayan for “to dawn,” was hot and wind-swept. Sandy spaces scattered between jungle and new rustic resorts tempted us in to their oases of tequila and foot baths and platform bungalows. We kept riding. The ancient ones were calling.
Aside from a touristy entrance line, short enough on a Monday, and heat so intense it licked the hairs on my neck dry, the ruins took my breath away. Crumbly stone edifices told stories of a civilization wed to land and sea, circumscribed by ceremonies, politics, sacrifice and rough survival. What’s left is nearly 1,500 years old.
But what got to me was how the sun bathed the ruins in gold then blew out as wind full of darkness, thunder and rain invaded the eastern flank.
Ominous is a word for the power of the dead. I felt it there, sheltered inside a dried up cenote – a cave carved out by the sea – as the Mayan rain God descended his wrath. My friend and I watched hail the size of quarters cut through plantation leaves. We waited with 3 young French guys, harboring our shared amazement, watching the downpour of gifts delivered by el Dios del Viento, God of the Wind. Just as quickly as the storm blew in, it flew out, painting the sky back to blue. We climbed out of our protective cenote like knights returned from battle… or better, like mystics bathed in epiphany. The walk back to our bikes was quiet and haunted.
Since returning from the giant palms and turquoise waters, my energy burns hotter. I have visceral memories of not just seeing but feeling the deep teals and greens and touching the velvety hot sand. Iguanas sat like buddhas weighing their balance of shadow and sun. I wanted nothing but to gaze at them and ask them what it is they know. Healing begins with letting go.
