Answering the Call

“If a person has had the sense of ‘the Call’ – the feeling that there’s an adventure for him — and if he doesn’t follow that but remains in the society because it’s safe and secure, then life dries up. 

If you have the guts to follow the risk, however, life opens, opens, opens up all along the line. I’m not superstitious, but I do believe in spiritual magic, you might say. If one follows what I call one’s bliss — the thing that really gets you deep in your gut and that you feel is your life – doors will open up. They do!” 

~ Joseph Campbell

Each morning I would double step the three flights of stairs of the co-living villa up to the tower room.  Laptop folded beneath my arm and a mug of tea in one hand, my crystal, a stick of incense and an oversized glass of water balanced in my other.  I would arrange my goodies on the humble, white, Ikea desk, flick the lighter and watch the thin stream of nag champa spiral into the air.  I plopped on the purple pillow, (the Mallorcan design oddly resembling a 1970’s American western pattern,) and settled in meticulously like a cat would do.  It was starting to smell like a temple, something devotional– an almost edible, faintly sweet aroma.  Opening the computer lid, fingers on keys, the ritual began…  Eyes closed, focused energy, 5 breaths with awareness, and I entered the door to my story’s created world.  Oblivion.  I climbed through onto the earth, honing in to the scene where I’d left off.

As I sipped my tea, I’d often be pleasantly distracted by the atmosphere of the elements teeming around me.  The tower room was nothing but windows which begged to stay open. Thick dark wood, weathered and warped, they would creak and moan when I tugged them open.  The cool late spring breeze sent across Mediterranean Sea, harmonized the space with blessed codes of tranquility.  I would watch in delight as the breeze snaked through the granddaddy eucalyptus tree poised in front of me, shaking his slender leaves like dangling pom-poms sparking whispered cheers, into my ears.  The whimsical, partying leaves would catch the golden light, casting a display of greens mingled with surprises of once shy, red backsides.  It always dazzled my eyes, capturing these timeless moments into my poet soul.  I was loving living here in Palma de Mallorca.

The story flowed, expanding and contracting amidst figments of images bursting and birthing into an output of words.  What a spectacular feat to be creating, doing the thing I loved.  Each hour the nearby church bell sounded out, signaling one more hour of success or completion.  Its sound was something ancient, moving through my consciousness and likely that of the collective– even if unaware.  Indeed, there was something communal in the essence of these ringing bells– agreement, anchoring, a dominance.  The words continued shaping, and I would often feel like a sculptor.  The base clay was there.  With each inkling, one stroke would refine a shape, an edge, a line, again and again and again and again, until the piece took its form and resembled something recognizable and transferable– much like cooking process for a great meal.  More often than not, I don’t have the final goal in mind.  It starts with an idea or inspiration, and resourcefully and creatively turns into the final dish as I add each base ingredient, spice after spice, and then finally taste-test for salt.  So too, was I formulating the images in my mind into sentences, building, and refining them again and again for flow and coherency, then finishing off with a pinch of my personal seasoning.

It was a compelling, productive time, full of rich appreciation.  Beloved confirmation that I was where I was supposed to be with this risk in leaving my old life behind to live abroad.  So too, were my days enhanced by the new friends I had made within this co-working villa.   All from different countries and all bringing their unique spark, and who all easily adapted to speaking English as their second language.  What was equally inspiring was the culture of the “digital nomad.”  It’s not common in the States and before this living experience, I never knew of its existence, however it continues to popularize throughout Europe, Asia, and South Africa.  It was so refreshing having found a network of individuals, like myself, who work remotely, that love travel, that enjoy experiencing different cultures, and or, just simply yearn for a different lifestyle apart from the conventional paradigm.  More and more companies are giving their staff allotted days of remote working, enabling just such work-travel existence.  This kind of culture is medicine for the “joie de vivre.”  I feel so fortunate to have lived this experience with my flat mates and together, with this joy for living, we created a supportive, unique vibe for an unforgettable time.  I was savoring a different flavor of satisfaction here that I wasn’t used to tasting.  

But I never would have been here if I did not answer the call…

The bright face of gratitude is often eagerly expressed when or after an experience of “contrast” has ruptured the surface in one’s narrative.  I mean of course by contrast, what our minds’ label as “bad,” or “difficult,” some struggle, out of our control or beyond what we would have wanted.  So much was my case, after only two months prior, life had turned itself upside down on my world.  The trajectory in which I was going was rudely interrupted, and the image of the life I had been living and moving towards was torn down and trashed.  A happy relationship, without error on either part, the home we had created together and the extraordinary experiences we had lived together traveling the U.S. in a camper van– memories solidified in our souls.  This shift was mind-blowing to say the least.  For all involved.  And reason?  Nothing concrete, only something merely imagistic and idealistic that I was now grasping onto.  Even though existing in the subtle field, the big change simply couldn’t be ignored.  I knew my path led on.  I could feel it in my heart; I could hear it in the wind…

And so ensued the grieving process…  Grace showed her face and planted me with a freelance chef gig on a beautiful, brand-new boat in one of the world’s most beautiful water destinations, the Exumas.  The work schedule was full-on and the body, mind, and soul take on a level surpassed by the average worker bee.  Alongside this intensity, ensued my healing amidst the clear waters and their shining hues of teals and blues­– truly so stunning, that at times incomprehensible.  Underneath all this, I grieved like I had never grieved before.  I am a brave person, and this was certainly not my first breakup; but this shit hurt.  My heart felt depths and levels it had never before experienced, and perhaps I had never allowed it to feel.  My partner had been the closest thing to me, traveling months together in a camper-van across the country and then living together, to all of the sudden having to go to zero.  Afterwards, even just one interaction with him via text would later spiral me down a trail of tears, ensuing a restless, interrupted sleep. 

But a bigger doorway was opening.  Europe had called me back and into its arms after fifteen years.  The opportunity arose, and I stepped quickly into its current.  I had answered the call– Joseph Campbell’s “the hero’s call,” which we all experience at some point in our lives, and for many– more than once.  My call had beckoned for years.  

Which leads me to Palma, ENTER GRATITUDE, which leads me to the co-working villa, to the tower room and to a new expansive bliss within.  Here, is where another important edit happened on my novel, Unforgetting, as well as the beginning of its sequel.  There is where I sat each morning in routine, in ritual, in my tower room marveling at the colors, sounds, smells, and feels of this foreign city that I now loved and wanted to move to.  I drank up every delicious drop of every moment and every sensory perception.  I can even remember remarking at one point, that although only two had weeks had passed, it had felt like a lifetime– an entire book, filled with gratitude for the present moments.  Not only for having felt blessed for having answered “the call,” to live in a place where I was thriving and satisfying my yearning for adventure, and culture, or all the creative work I had accomplished, but also for the new friends I had made that completed the experience in making the magic that we had all manifested together.  Magic truly is the reality when you answer the call.  

         

Winds of Change 

Oh, I heard you all right
 as I walked by the open glass door 
   stopping with dread 
gazing at the riotous palm fronds–
 those blustery trees–
  blowing soundly into the night
	    poignantly 
  pressuring their whisper 
   into a fitful spell,
  
	Listen… 

For I’ve heard it before, 
 you, winds of change.
For when your time comes 
 I sigh and submit my ears 
  to your ancient and holy timbre. 
Sonorous, oh mighty wind,
  fathom the duty that beholds your breath.
It’s that I hear, a sound reminiscent– 
foretelling there's something at play
   beneath the waters of paradise. 
Another song is destined to be sung. 

A fright you give me
 for I know deep down 
  the change coming.
Sudden–or so it seems–
 for divine timing nurtures seeds within us 
  long before the ache settles in.
The battle before us––
    no, this is just the next play. 

Settled, nudged in a corner 
 Come out!  she coos.
 This is your time...
You sparkle as you sing.
A voice too wise harkening 
 her message like solitary refinement 
 in a deafening delivery. 

		No!
I heave the door shut with a thud.
I was off to bed now, you see…
    But I pause once more
  before the door–
		a wall between us. 
           
I sigh . . .  
  No, 
 I'm not ready to listen, 
 and stubborn, feign deaf.  
 Even though deep within 
  the truth was reawakened, 
beckoning me onwards, 
  oh, whispering winds . . .