Lost Memories Found

You know those certain times in life--weeks, days, moments--when everything feels just right? You wake up feeling energized, glide elegantly through the day, your inner smile shining brightly outward, continuously whispering quietly to yourself how wonderful life is, and then finally end the day in peace as you lay your head down on your pillow, still smiling inside...

This is how I felt for weeks straight while in San Marcos. I was happy and content during my travels both before and after these three-ish weeks, but there was something different about the pure bliss I was feeling during this time. Maybe it was the magic of Lake Atitlan; after all, a total of four weeks is presumably plenty of time for the magic to begin seeping into my soul, transforming my energy and inner state of being. Or, perhaps it was something less elusive and more tangible like the nine hours of sleep per night I was averaging. Or, maybe it was my lack of obligation and responsibility that allowed me to slow down the pace of my life immensely and do things like sit on top of a large rock for an hour of silently staring out at the surrounding water and mountains. Or, I could even attribute it to the indescribable connections I was forming with a handful of people in this little enchanted lakeside village.

The irony in these feelings of perfection that I so loyally and lovingly describe above? Times weren't always so easy and peaceful. I exchanged some emotional words with a person whom I'd grown very close to in spirit, experienced true feelings of loneliness, and every now and then felt like my life in San Marcos was stagnant, any and all meaning obscured by another day of just going through the motions.

Yet, despite all of this, life was good. And I truly miss those days in San Marcos...

I miss waking up in the early hours of the morning feeling refreshed and well-rested. Eagerly getting out of bed, welcoming another blissful day in my newly found paradise. Immediately slipping on my yoga pants and taking a few drinks of water before heading outside into the fresh air made fresher by all the green surrounding me.

I miss feeling my body and mind gradually awaken throughout the sun salutation, the way my muscles would simultaneously relax and come alive, buzzing with a renewed energy. Feeling healthy, vibrant, full of life.

I miss the breakfast that always followed: a massive bowl of mosh de avena, a sort of oatmeal cooked with milk, topped with raisins, bananas, cinnamon and honey. Learning how to sit silent and still for 30 minutes turning all my focus inward during morning meditation, followed by indulging myself in lessons on chakras and life after death and interpreting dreams. Eating lunch, going for an afternoon swim, or writing emails home.

I miss evening meditation at the Pyramids, the way we would enter into the pyramid in broad daylight, and exit in total darkness. Sensing the darkness come upon me as I sat there, again silent and still, trying to dig deeper. Eyes closed, hearing the wind start to pick up as it ruffled the leaves in surrounding trees, blowing the windows of the pyramid shut with a long squeak and quiet bang. Then hearing the rain. First soft, gently caressing the trees and roof of the pyramid before picking up intensity, until my mind itself was full of raindrops. Awaiting the familiar voice of a young woman to echo through the village, perhaps just a girl, who sang over the town's loudspeakers every night; same time, same song. Being awoken by the soft sound of the gong, pulling myself out of the purely relaxed state I had only just entered what seemed like moments before.

I miss, in the weeks that I was not at the Pyramids, breakfast and coffee with dear, dear friends. Together taking walks, swimming under the sun, sitting for hours on the couches of La Paz drinking hot chocolate after hot chocolate while listening to the rain falling and talking endlessly of the beauty of life. I miss dinners out and dinners in, observing each new San Marcos passerby on her own journey through a new land. Sitting in the Mayan sauna in candle light, my body releasing toxins through the beads of sweat that gathered all over, rubbing salt and aloe to exfoliate and smooth my skin, then rinsing it all off under a hard stream of ice cold and frigid water...

I miss the green, the lake, the mountains. I miss the people, the greetings, the smiles. I miss the laughter and singing of children at the school. I miss the narrow stone pathways that wind through San Marcos under a canopy of banana trees and corn stalks. I miss the little store with the giant tree trunk in the middle and its little plastic case of chocolate cake with coconut shavings on top. I miss the dogs and cats that became familiar, even friends. I miss the women who sat along the paths selling their bananas, peppers, avocados and onions. I miss the young woman who sold freshly baked loaves of bread, whose voice still rings in my ears--"pan de banano, pan de coco, pan de chocolate..."