Pixie in Paradise

I love to find patterns in everything – except my clothing. Patterns in human and animal behavior keep me safe, patterns at work keep me employed with less room for insanity to creep in. Though I’m not bad during an unannounced fire drill (aka dying patient) which is why I was good working in emergency care back in the respiratory therapy days, it’s not a sustainable way to exist.

I have no idea if the pattern thing is related to my HSP. I suspect it is. Patterns, sounds and lights bother highly sensitive persons (HSPs), in a similar but usually much more subdued way, than people on the Autism spectrum. I know when I’m drawn to a pattern it really does something for me. At worst, patterns and odd color configurations just agitate me a little – sometimes a lot. But, patterns on animals? All perfect and wondrous, some  just absolutely magical creations. (This is probably the same as when animals chew versus humans. I could listen to an animal crunch its food all day, but don’t get near me if you’re a human with a bag of Cheetos).

Typically if I’m drawn to a pattern or something multi-colored, it will have a schematic that makes me very happy or incredibly calm and grounded. Sometimes I hit the jackpot and it does both. I am fairly particular about the materials that things are made of too, furniture, dishes, fabrics and the like. I’m currently obsessed with linen. I mean, can you blame me? I was living in the Caribbean and am about to move back. There are just certain things you cannot wear there or have against your skin. I wore denim jeans once in the last year; they’re just too hot to wear when the humidity is near 90% and so is the temperature! One of the first things I bought when I returned to the desert, which was headed toward 90 degrees itself, was a linen sheet and duvet set. Quality linen is very expensive and this set was right up there. My rationale was that I had two strangers living in my house while I was gone, using my sheets and I wanted new energy in my bedroom: my energy again. And since my linen obsession was growing at a feverish rate, I could not help myself. For $300 I bought myself some goldenrod colored high-quality linen bedding and it makes me happy. That’s all that matters.

However, I’m still struggling with having more than two suitcases’ worth of belongings surrounding me, now that I’m back in my little house that contained the bulk of everything I left behind when I moved to the Caribbean a year ago. I was never happier than when I only had that luggage with all of my necessary belongings. Even though my little desert casita doesn’t have nearly as much in it as most people’s dwellings, it’s too much for me. It is stifling and I can feel it in the energy, but I’m having a hard time aggressively purging “just in case” I need something here that I wouldn’t have needed in Central America or for my upcoming move. The upcoming move is also going to be an exercise in “suitcase life,” as I’m only taking four suitcases with me. I took four to my island in Belize, two to Costa Rica and I’ll take four to my next island home. One of the suitcases will just be Pesto, the cat’s, stuff – don’t get me started.

Two of my very favorite items picked up in Costa Rica in the last two months before returning to the US, were a crazy pair of green patterned slides – sandals – and a big green bamboo stick. If you’ll recall, green is now my color, the lens that I see all things through, as predicted by DahRoot in Belize. The sandals called to me in a grocery store, believe it or not. I had been walking hundreds of miles in the same sandals I moved there with and they were starting to show their stress. I walked down an aisle in the store that had everything from shampoo to ponchos, and apparently sandals. These glorious, puffy green, black and white camo-print beauties spoke to me. There was one pair left and they fit me! They didn’t have a price tag on them but I knew they had to be under $20 USD. I had just been in a very tourist-y store and saw the same style shoes but they didn’t have any decent colors in my size. By “decent” I mean ones that would have made me happy, or at least not make me cringe. These puffy green patterned slides would do just fine for wandering around my property or down to the beach or the little gourmet grocery store close to the house. And, when I got to the checkout, they rang up as 6,000 colones – $12 USD! Yahtzee!!!

I brought the shoes home with the rest of my groceries, where my other cherished possession resided. It’s not Mo, he was never anyone’s possession. Mo was my obsession and his soul belongs to the love of my life in some lifetime or another, but that cat belongs to no one but the jungle. The other item I’m referring to is a gorgeous, thick green bamboo stick. This stick jumped out at me as I was taking a walk on the beach in late February. It was lying in the sand and by morning would have easily been washed out to sea. The stick wasn’t lying there that long, it was still bright green as if just broken from its root system. I was looking at the ocean on my left and as I gazed right, there was this gorgeous piece of nature. I picked it up and it immediately felt like part of me, an actual extension of me. Such an amazing feeling. This bamboo stick made me feel calm and powerful and whole all in one. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. 

Decades ago I did a lot of martial arts training, several different disciplines from American boxing, kickboxing, Muay Thai, Japanese grappling, Jeet Kun Do, a little Jiu Jitsu and Kali stick fighting. I did this at a place in Oklahoma City called Martial Arts International. Raphael Lovato Sr. was my trainer and mentor. I owe a lot to him in teaching me discipline, and for taking a chance on me as the first female martial arts student not in a womens-only class. His son is a Jiu Jitsu champion now; this guy was nine years old when I trained with Raphael Sr., from ages 16 to 19.

Kali stick fighting is a Filipino martial art and the two sticks used are made of rattan, which has a solid wood core, and bamboo is hollow. They are short and light but if you get hit fast and just right, it can disable you. The downside of being in a men’s class is that a few of them had something to prove because I was a girl. The majority were respectful and would still work me over but not try to take my head off. I got hit once with a Kali stick from what I consider a sort of creepy, odd dude once, and it dropped me. Mission accomplished sir, you’ve disabled a 16-year old girl. I hope your testicles feel bigger now.

My point in all of that is that it really felt like I knew what to do with this stick, practicing defensive moves, twirling, even stretching with it, even though it had been so many years since picking something up like this. I loved this natural inanimate object. Anyway, this bamboo stick went down to the beach and on walks with me in Playa Negra for weeks. When it came time to pack and return to the US I sincerely thought about having Armin cut it for me in three pieces, praying Customs wouldn’t bust me for it. But the real problem was, I knew this stick wouldn’t feel right once I tried to reassemble it with brackets and braces. It wouldn’t move right. If I tried to bring it back and declare it as a piece of sporting equipment, the fee could be anywhere from $80 to $200 USD. I didn’t have that kind of money at the time. 
I got as much use out of my beautiful bamboo stick as I could while I was there, and left it as I found it: in the jungle. That was the theme with many things I currently still struggle with from time to time: leaving behind Mo, people and creatures met and loved during those travels. I was forced to leave some things and beings behind in the jungle that I loved so passionately. Still do. Ultimately, I made the right decisions, but that doesn’t mean the fallout is easy on my heart. It’s true: the more we love, the more we have to lose. That is definitely not comfortable or easy, but I will love hard any day rather than risk a boring life without feeling genuine love or passion for living beings.