The Basket Weaver
Randy and Alana head out to the Yucatan to, hopefully, enjoy another environment, relax, and get their relationship back on track. Here is an excerpt of the beginning of their vacation in the Yucatan written in my book, The Basket Weaver.
In the morning we board a badly dented bus headed for the ancient ruins of Tulum. The bus is filled with local people and a handful of tourists and starts down the road negotiating around
large potholes in the dusty road. I stare into the bronze faces of
passengers squeezed into a humid and muggy bus that smells of sweaty skin and hot food from plastic grocery bags that pull their bodies over from their weight. A young boy tries to hold
himself up as the bus jerks back and forth by gripping onto his mother’s skirt. She holds two chickens by the neck; their freshly dead bodies dance to the bus’s movement. A small man clutches a rooster in his arms, like an infant, relying upon the closeness of other passengers to hold him up.
We have been on the bus almost an hour without any grocery stores or houses in sight. But tourists rarely know where
the locals do their daily shopping, and I have a travel book about the Tulum ruins on my lap that I intend to read during the ride. But, as yet, I haven’t opened it. I am more interested
in the faces of the local passengers. Without warning, the bus stops in the middle of seemingly nowhere and steals my attention. I look around, check the time; we have another hour to go before we reach our destination. Randy asks me why we have stopped; I have no idea and simply shrug my shoulders.
No one gets off and no one gets on. The bus remains caught in the heat with its doors open, waiting; there is no movement
from anyone. My first thought is that there is something wrong with the bus, and I wonder what we will do in the middle of the jungle with no public anything in sight. My imagination
goes wild. Perhaps this is a holdup by terrorists. I look around. There is nothing happening; no one moves. Foreign countries raise my paranoia. We sit and wait in the daunting heat. A few minutes later, a small Mexican man walks towards
the bus holding the hand of a thin, petite woman. They are both smiling into the thick air. Then it becomes obvious that we were waiting for them. She is as pretty as he is handsome, and I try to understand where they might have come from and how the driver knew to pick them up. The couple boards the bus and squeezes the already closely knit passengers closer together while the driver hits the gas pedal and forces everyone to sway forward, then back to stay upright. Black smoke spews out the tailpipe leaving a black cloud behind, evidence of where we had just been. I move my head from side to side and try to get a better look at the couple.
I feel called to watch them. They stare into each other’s eyes. It doesn’t seem to matter that her shoes are worn and slightly ripped along the sides or that his shirt has tattered seams with
the third button from the top missing. No, they look deeply in love with all the warmth and sexual tension of first-time lovers. Their clothes are old but clean and neat. Seams are pressed,
and there are no wrinkles on the old cotton. They reek with the hopeful effort of new lovers. I can’t take my eyes off them because they have pulled me into their energy and it renews me.
(end of quote) P.15,16
Ever go on a vacation to heal a relationship? Although this is a novel, this scene actually happened when I went to the Yucatan years ago with a boyfriend. Much of this book is true although I have put it in fiction form to add creativity to the story. I do hope you enjoy it.
If you want to read more about the way Alana finds forgiveness, resolution, and her own healing powers through sessions in which she explored past life experiences with a Mayan healer, you can order it at www.createspace.com/3553668
For anyone trying to sort out pain and unresolved issues about relationships, this book offers a process to consider.
In the morning we board a badly dented bus headed for the ancient ruins of Tulum. The bus is filled with local people and a handful of tourists and starts down the road negotiating around
large potholes in the dusty road. I stare into the bronze faces of
passengers squeezed into a humid and muggy bus that smells of sweaty skin and hot food from plastic grocery bags that pull their bodies over from their weight. A young boy tries to hold
himself up as the bus jerks back and forth by gripping onto his mother’s skirt. She holds two chickens by the neck; their freshly dead bodies dance to the bus’s movement. A small man clutches a rooster in his arms, like an infant, relying upon the closeness of other passengers to hold him up.
We have been on the bus almost an hour without any grocery stores or houses in sight. But tourists rarely know where
the locals do their daily shopping, and I have a travel book about the Tulum ruins on my lap that I intend to read during the ride. But, as yet, I haven’t opened it. I am more interested
in the faces of the local passengers. Without warning, the bus stops in the middle of seemingly nowhere and steals my attention. I look around, check the time; we have another hour to go before we reach our destination. Randy asks me why we have stopped; I have no idea and simply shrug my shoulders.
No one gets off and no one gets on. The bus remains caught in the heat with its doors open, waiting; there is no movement
from anyone. My first thought is that there is something wrong with the bus, and I wonder what we will do in the middle of the jungle with no public anything in sight. My imagination
goes wild. Perhaps this is a holdup by terrorists. I look around. There is nothing happening; no one moves. Foreign countries raise my paranoia. We sit and wait in the daunting heat. A few minutes later, a small Mexican man walks towards
the bus holding the hand of a thin, petite woman. They are both smiling into the thick air. Then it becomes obvious that we were waiting for them. She is as pretty as he is handsome, and I try to understand where they might have come from and how the driver knew to pick them up. The couple boards the bus and squeezes the already closely knit passengers closer together while the driver hits the gas pedal and forces everyone to sway forward, then back to stay upright. Black smoke spews out the tailpipe leaving a black cloud behind, evidence of where we had just been. I move my head from side to side and try to get a better look at the couple.
I feel called to watch them. They stare into each other’s eyes. It doesn’t seem to matter that her shoes are worn and slightly ripped along the sides or that his shirt has tattered seams with
the third button from the top missing. No, they look deeply in love with all the warmth and sexual tension of first-time lovers. Their clothes are old but clean and neat. Seams are pressed,
and there are no wrinkles on the old cotton. They reek with the hopeful effort of new lovers. I can’t take my eyes off them because they have pulled me into their energy and it renews me.
(end of quote) P.15,16
Ever go on a vacation to heal a relationship? Although this is a novel, this scene actually happened when I went to the Yucatan years ago with a boyfriend. Much of this book is true although I have put it in fiction form to add creativity to the story. I do hope you enjoy it.
If you want to read more about the way Alana finds forgiveness, resolution, and her own healing powers through sessions in which she explored past life experiences with a Mayan healer, you can order it at www.createspace.com/3553668
For anyone trying to sort out pain and unresolved issues about relationships, this book offers a process to consider.
No comments have been added yet.
