Heart Magic

Colombia is considered the heartland of the genre Magic Realism. It’s where real life is infused with fantastical elements and treated as if normal. The magic exists alongside ordinary life. The magic often emerges from our inner life, emotions, fear, longing, desires, grief, and love. 

I was invited to spend a beautiful 4 full days in central Colombia to attend my best friend’s Heart Magic retreat. I have known and been close with Lillian since we were 14 years old. Let that sink in. We remained friends, close friends, this entire time! Our 26-year-long friendship keeps evolving and maturing, as we keep experiencing more seasons of life and big moments together. Lillian is also a master trauma healer and emotional alchemist. (Check out the book she published, and I helped edit: Treasure Hunting in the Underworld)

This blog is not chronological, logical, or traditional, but rather a stream of consciousness from my notes and journal about feeding my heart a healthy dose of healing love in a magical country with glorious people.

Cacao dripping into my veins like an IV. Cacao is the sustenance for my heart. It is the taste of my childhood and the cure-all for any moment. Rich, dark, hot, barely sweetened, raw, life-giving. A cup of warm cacaito always in hand, all day, all night.

The people of Colombia are so beautiful, polite, sweet, and full of heart. Everything is with pleasure and expansiveness. The language is infused with generosity and kindness in the syntax and vocabulary. I am at home. I am at ease.

Time. Is it even real? I don’t think there is “time” in Colombia. I instantly transition to patience, expansiveness, and timelessness; being here soothes my nervous system. Why can’t I reproduce this in the U.S.? Colombian culture is void of the addiction to being enslaved by the clock. Natural rhythms still rule here in anti-colonial ways. Nothing is urgent. Grateful for spaciousness. Lack of a rigid schedule and tuning in to the cadence of my heart.

Waking up to the songs of birds SINGING! Not chirping, real songs with melodies and harmonies and chords. Their songs lay a score for my morning dreams and welcome me to the day.

Magic realism feels so real and alive in this rural mountain-jungle. The pitter-patter of the rain vibrates in my body and soothes my nervous system. I am more grounded and connected to the wildlife, sunshine, air, people, and roses.

Bathing in the petals of 1,000 roses made me feel high or drunk. The energy of the flowers, their softness on my skin and face, playing in the petals, and just handling them over and over, feeling the rich, silken, sweet-smelling endless pile of softness baptize me. Saturating my skin and senses in rose petals made me giggle with giddy joy and feel connected to the divine universe. Soft pink and orange hues felt like the tender soft skin of a baby (like little LouLouBird!). The innocence and tenderness the box of petals held reminded me to never grasp the most blissful things too tightly. If handled too aggressively or with conviction, the petals (symbolic of that pure love a baby holds) would wilt and get creased. Death grip is never a good idea in anything, but especially with the rose petals. I felt myself melt into my feminine spirit, and my hands felt like they were graceful ballet dancers while handling the roses for what seemed like hours. I let the vibration of their buttery smooth texture and essence inebriate me, blissed out and harmonized with an innocent and playful, childlike part of my spirit.

The community and people all had lessons to share with me. Each person fully radiated beauty and humanity. The duality so tender. The humanity so raw. The beauty overwhelmingly forgiving to the humanity. I’m full of gratitude to have spent time in deep community with this special group of people.

The food! For four whole days, I was fed whole, delicious, healthy, vegan, Colombian food. Fruta, ensalada, plátanos maduros, and berenjena relleno! I felt nourished and nurtured by others cooking me fresh food multiple times a day. Absolute luxury.

My heart wound:

Will I have a family of my own in this life? What about my fertility? It’s too late. I might not get to be a mom. I’m too old. Something is wrong with my body. Something is wrong with me.

This last message brought me all the way back to my appendicitis when I was 16 years old. Something WAS wrong with me. People didn’t believe me at first. I could have died.

Then, having a baby in my marriage wasn’t safe. I wasn’t safe. I could have died.

But now... I am meant to be a mother. But what if I’m not meant to be a mother? I’m too old, and something might be wrong with me. I’m too much.

But… I’m not “too much” for some people. The right person. I can have safety with another person. I don’t have to only feel safe when I’m alone and doing everything by myself. Safety can exist with other humans, even a romantic partner.

Tapping, I’m not alone. I don’t have to do everything alone. Look around me! The support of the other beautiful people while I dug into caves I haven’t looked inside of before to examine old, dusty information, touch the filth, let it sting, making contact with the raw pain and its roots, dislodging it from its dwelling in my body and letting it move through me, and out my eyes in the uninvited soft tears rolling out of my eyes like a soft stream.

Now, I made space by cleaning out the basement. There is room to add what I desire. What do I want? I want safety, peace in the stillness, a loving husband, a baby. Why? To expand my love. To grow in my love. To be at ease with the quiet.

And that is a glimpse into heart magic with Lily. Dessert for the soul. Rolling up my sleeves to excavate and breathe all the way to my toes. To let the sticky pain I crave to stop clinging to leave me, and not confuse it with a desire I’m not ready to let die.