I was recently in Yelapa, Mexico.
Never heard of it? Yeah, many people haven't and that's part of why I said a resounding, "Yes!" when I was invited a year ago. Yelapa is an island off the coast of Puerto Vallarta. There are no cars and horses are often a preferred method of transportation as are boats or walking. Yelapa is an experience in and of itself, a charming town seemingly untouched by time with tight streets and even tighter families and the kind of food you only dream of, but even so...you shouldn't drink the water.
I drank the water.
During 2020 the majority of North Americans have been in quarantine, which has led to a lot of self reflection. This can lead to incredible realizations and devastating "OH SHIT!" moments that cause the course of life to be reevaluated and changed. Change is hard. Change requires us to confront our human natures in the mirror and realize that, "Going with the flow" sometimes means the "flow" has to change. What does this have to do with drinking water on a remote unknown island in Mexico? To be frank, a veritable shit ton.
But this post isn't about Mexico, it's about shit. The shit. The unprocessed hard shit that I came face to face with upon my return to the United States to the point where my entire body was wracked with the processing of both resistance and years of trying so hard to go with the flow.
"You can't work hard at going with the flow Master."
My slave gently reminds me of this as I'm being forced through the trials of Montezuma's Revenge and can't leave my bathroom for a week straight insisting that, "It's all Good" and "I'll be fine. I just have to wait this out." It wasn't until I was on my way to Instacare screaming at the bowel gods that, "I am processing just fine. Thank you very much!" that the realization of my addiction to resistance had long outstayed it's welcome.
My body was purging and not just physically. The mind was ready to give way as well.
Three days into my medication treatment for what the doc called, "Traveler's Diarrhea" I'm once again attached to my toilet reading, 'The Tao of Pooh.' Now this irony is not lost on me.
How can I be knee deep in 'The Tao of Pooh' with the worst bout of gastrointestinal pains I've experienced this far in my short lifetime shitting myself silly and not being able to fix it for a week straight?
Funny universe. REAL funny.
Now Pooh just is. Pooh doesn't worry or wonder or fret or calculate or pontificate...Pooh just is. As I'm reaching the part in the book about the "Bisy Backsons" aka "Busy Back Soons" it dawns on me mid abdominal lurch that I am currently unable to Pooh while simultaneously Poo-ing too much to the point where I needed medical intervention. What a strange state of affairs to be caught in...even for a clown.
Coming home was a hard landing in realizing how much simply doesn't matter. Helping others matters. Being in community matters. Loving matters. Joy matters. Celebrating connection, life and nature matters. Being matters. Everything else is just...well...SHIT.
And not very well processed shit at that. I came home from a paradise I only dreamed existed and my body couldn't take it, it purged everything in me and my mind is still playing catch up.
I desire to Pooh. To be and to allow life to flow through me with ease and joy and with a deep understanding of the natural ebb and flow of all things...including myself. This takes trust in the process and obviously I was resisting the process to the point of making myself sick or over processing to the point of dehydration. Neither is a choice I desire to make anymore. I desire to Pooh.
Therefore I am now meditating on Pooh and Poo and processing the ebb and flow of life in attempts to mediate my rampant diarrhea from my trip to Mexico. But, it goes beyond this. Mexico was just a catalyst for my unprocessed pain and now it has to be looked at, realized and taken care of, but it doesn't have to stop everything...I just have to accept it as a part of life and remember that if you work hard to go with the flow...chances are you'll just wind of constipated, afraid of change and unable to remove yourself from the shit show.
As my slave said, "You can't work hard to go with the flow Master." I don't intend to.
I intend to just Pooh.
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