Urgent Post for Nicaragua
Nicaragua and I have a long love story. When I was 7 years old I won a book at a birthday party raffle. It was blue, square, tiny and with the most amazing illustrations I have ever seen, it was called A Margarita Debayle, a poem by Ruben Dario (Metapa, Nicaragua 1867-1916). I started reading, learning and writing poetry. I sucked at it, but I did it anyway. Margarita is the one, to this day, I still remember in full.
Then there was the song Cancion Urgente para Nicaragua (Urgent Song for Nicaragua, 1982), by Cuban Silvio Rodriguez written during the Sandinistas time. Despite the fact my current political views do not support communism, I still remember those hours I spent hitting the play/pause button on the cassette player writing down the lyrics. It was cool to think I was a left wing kind of girl who listened to revolutionary music.
Finally, a random conversation I had in December 2008, my friend JC planted the seed: "Mary you must go to Nicaragua and go diving". I remember how I felt, where I was and even what I was wearing. His words had a huge impact on me. So I promised myself I will go one day. Eight years later I was crossing its border from Costa Rica.
Emotions were running high at the time. When I felt sadness in the past, I couldn't be around people and felt very lonely. I saw similar feelings coming towards me and chase me like a nasty Cookie Monster. So I thought Nicaragua was going to cheer me up, make it all better, be amazing and where a miracle was going to happen.
That first night in San Juan Del Sur, the moment my head hit the pillow at the hostel I thought: "What the f@ck am I doing here? I want to go home, I feel lonely, this sucks!". I didn't like anyone, everything looked rather grim, I rolled down the Hill of Sorrows and sat down in a pit contemplating how crappy this whole thing was.
Feeling blue is a bitch, let me tell you. Everyone experiences it differently. I usually would have turned my head 360, a little like Linda Blair. I would have changed my flight, called everyone on my contacts list until someone answered, sob or get drunk. Or all of the above. But such choices aren't available for me anymore.
I knew I had to climb solo out of the hole before I was allowed to move anywhere else. And in case I was tempted, because the Universe has a quirky sense of humour, the day I felt like taking my backpack and running away, I twisted my ankle surfing and could not walk properly for two weeks.
On top of that, I was practising sobriety so I couldn't take the edge off by drinking. That sucked even more! I needed a plan of action, a crane to get out of the mind f@ck. And some painkillers too. I did what I felt would work. I went through my Tony Robbins' notes like a desperate little sod searching for Alka-seltzer on a hangover day. One short line popped up: Fake it until you make it.
So I smiled even when I didn't feel like it. I spent my days hoping from guesthouse to guesthouse chatting and making friends. The more I spoke from my heart, listened to other people's stories and practiced silence the better I felt. I was just being. And times flies when you just are.
I tried flirting once, but I failed miserably, mainly because I am not interested in one night stands nor travelling affairs. I know full well that falling for a fellow traveller is risky and I couldn't fake it that much. Sarah says I am too slow, but I don't think it is a speed issue, maybe I am too picky? Or just a hopeless romantic? (read my next blog entry for an update on this).
I repeated my mantra: if God is with me I am never alone. I sounded like a broken record. I stayed in tune with the shitty feeling of sadness. I didn't ignore it. I knew it was there. And that was OK, but I wasn't going to allow the Mind to terrorise me and make it worse.
On my birthday, we went to Mag Rock hotel by the shores of Popoyo beach, when Animals from Martin Garrix came on I literally ran to the dance floor and went berserk. I danced like no one was watching; I jumped, rocked my head back and forth and screamed the lyrics at the top of my lungs. I danced with a bunch of randoms until my foot hurt too much to stand.
I was full of joy and energy. Less than two weeks after the fall my mojo was back.
Instead of running away I stayed, when I felt uncomfortable I found somewhere I was at peace with my thoughts. When I felt lonely I talked to someone, when I was bored I engaged with my body and did some poi. I found in Nicaragua the perfect venue for my healing graduation. I wore a nice long black dress for the prom and even got myself a hot date (again, more on this on the next post).
There is a thing or two I have now learnt about being in the right place: it doesn't exist as such. There is no right or wrong place in a spiritual sense. Sadness lives in pretty locations too. There are just states of the Mind I carry with me from hostel to hostel. We have all been there, down in the pit, looking above us, waiting. For me getting up, going to the top and celebrating when I am out is what matters. My heart is like a 4x4 that always gives me a lift to peaceful grounds. Sometimes is more like a chicken bus, but anything that gets me out of there I will use, even Martin Garrix.
Cancion Urgente de Nicaragua