Greetings from Mexico

Driving down a narrow highway in the sprinkling rain, I’m keeping my tiny red stick shift car steady at 100 kilometers per hour.

By the time I arrive at my destination it’s dark and late. Inside my hut three flickering candles reveal a stone floor and stone walls with a thatched palapa roof. There is a sink, a bench, and a queen size bed with mosquito netting.

Everyone else has already retreated to their huts. They are sound asleep.

I brush my teeth, careful to use the bottled water someone gave me at the airport. Then I undress and crawl under the covers. The candles are settled low in tall glass containers and I decide it is okay to leave them lit.

The waves outside drop onto the sand, banging and smashing against the shore – the beach must be a few short steps away. It’s pouring rain now and the water hits the roof and rattles deep sounds through the night air. The candles throw bright yellow flames up and down the stone walls.

But the noise inside my head is louder than the waves and the rain and the fire. My thoughts pile up faster than I can keep track.

I take deep breaths and try to quiet my mind. Forcing stillness will get me nowhere. Better to just wait . . . listen and wait . . . listen to the water and watch the fire and wait until the waves and the rain and the soft light wash away the sounds inside me.