Saturday morning. I was working in a bed & breakfast ran by a North American guy, whose humbleness and positivity I will never forget.
I was probably cleaning the coffee machine at that time. Too much caffeine had been served already, stimulating minds and accelerating heartbeats right away in the morning.
I was getting ready to make the juices for the day, whose fruits were as natural as their smell could reveal, when he arrived. I had a freezing little bag in my hands, when a tall, majestic, sacred figure got in and made me release it on a sudden movement. Something touched my soul. That deep look entered me and I couldn’t even choose it.
A cluster of thick dreads was tightened in the top of his head and a white cloth bag was accompanying him, placed on his shoulder. Books were all spread out over the table.
He came closer, each step a blinking eye, and asked for me, first, and for the juice, secondly.
If I was good, – he wanted to know. If watermelon and papaya would match, – also. His voice was a mix of words and whistles, his eyes were shining like if they had a varnish layer beyond.
- Where are you from?
- What about you?
- I was born in Ethiopia.
After this, Joseph started to state things about myself and my life which were impressively all truth. That I had a sister, that I was Aquarius, that I was 24 years old and the list was continuing. I suddenly realised how intuitive that man was, how wise, how gentle in his good manners, how gracious for the soft movement of his hands.
He kept seeing me every day, in my “new house” for that new period of my life, in Puerto Viejo, the Caribbean side of Costa Rica. No matter the time of the day, I would see him coming in his blue bicycle, not as rusty as the ones at our garden, for another moment of mull and introspection.
Our thoughts would converge. Our conversation would flow as the rain in the river. Our sayings would be pleasant to each other. 24 years old was my age. Around 60 was his.
One day, that day, the wise man I was building a respectful sentiment for, told me something that kind of disappointed me badly.
- Last night I had a dream.
- Uhm, uhm.
- You were there in my dream.
- Uhm, uhm?
- In my dream, you and me were… making love.
It was the knife in my chest and it was the sand on my wide-open eyes.
Time passed. I forgave him. And I learned that we, woman, especially from little ages as I was, should not open ourselves as sudden as we feel like doing in the moment. However, Joseph was very into tantric love and female energy as a sacred field, so he would never guess he could be letting me down.
I still love him, respect him, admire him. And we keep in touch.
“Thanks for your soul” – was a piece of the content of my dream the night before I wrote this post.