Love is all that matters: Why I offer therapeutic massage and yoga

Originally from the U.S., I left my successful teaching career five years ago to purchase an acre of fertile land and build an off-grid homestead in a rural area of southern Belize, Central America, where I currently live and work. As a published author, I am an active blogger: I regularly reflect and write about my experiences, particularly focusing on themes related to international travel, sustainable tourism, living off-grid, homesteading, health, wellness and spirituality. You can read more about my personal story here.

About my educational background: I hold a Master of Arts in Education with a minor in Counseling Psychology from New Mexico State University. I also hold a Bachelor of Arts with a major in Spanish and Multidisciplinary Studies and a minor in Health Care Administration from Stonehill College in Massachusetts. I am fluent in English and Spanish and have taught adults and children of all ages in a variety of settings in five countries for the past 20 years.

As my friend Guy has expressed in his recent blog post, there appears to be some interest in exploring the emotional aspect of how we as a collective humanity can support one another to process the at-once devastating, sobering and drastic life-changing predicament from which none of us can be exempt. In the end, what at else is left to celebrate, enjoy and live fully, but love? Love for each other … love for the dying planet … love for the species with whom we’ve shared this earth … love for ourselves.

For those of us who may be receiving this message for the first time or find ourselves in the early stages of coming to terms with our inevitable death, we must necessarily undergo a deep inner process of discovery, where we may experience a cascade of emotional reactions, ranging from shock to denial to fear to depression to what some may call “spiritual enlightenment,” which, as Adyashanti says, “Enlightenment is the crumbling away of untruth…. It’s the complete eradication of everything we imagined to be true”…. Through this process, we learn to be more honest, more real, and to live more fully today; because we understand, realize and accept that there may not be many more tomorrows left. The message of near-term human extinction can serve as an urgent wake-up call to embrace each moment, to live fully in the now and to awaken to our deepest yearnings, to inspire us to be the most excellent person we can possibly be.

For the past 10 years, in both my group workshops and my private therapeutic sessions, I endeavor to provide a safe, nurturing space in which my clients can open up to “feeling” their emotions on a psychosomatic level; where physical movement, therapeutic massage, breathing and music can become pathways to accessing our emotions, recognizing how we feel in response to the information, which then can open up a door to acceptance and, through mutual support, taking meaningful action in a way that is authentic for each one of us. And taking action will be different for each individual.

As a highly skilled therapist trained in a variety of modalities, I am honored to help individuals explore their unique “life mission” using a variety of tools and techniques to access the inner self, courageously exploring the important questions that we may have found many reasons to avoid or deflect, like “What do I love to do?… Who am I?… Why am I alive?… How can I live my life fully and passionately?”

As a dynamic educator and experienced workshop facilitator, I am a U.S.-Licensed/Certified Massage Therapist (License #MT-15237 from the state of Arizona, expiration November 2017) and Certified Yoga Teacher specializing in Thai Yoga Massage. I have completed over 1,000 hours of formal training in a variety of therapeutic modalities, including Swedish Massage, Deep Tissue, Sports Massage, Reflexology, Craniosacral Therapy, Pre- and Postnatal Massage, Hot Stone Massage, and Chair Massage.

For the past five years, I have lived and worked in Belize, Mexico, and Guatemala, where I have taught hundreds of classes and facilitated a variety of workshops on health and wellness; including yoga, live music, guided meditation, and therapeutic massage. Currently, I am the Manager of the Wellness Center and Spa at Cotton Tree Lodge, an ecolodge nestled deep in the tropical jungle of southern Belize, where I offer my services as a Certified Massage Therapist and daily yoga classes beside a pristine, emerald green river.

When I’m not busy working with clients at the ecolodge, I am cultivating a garden and building my thatch roof hut on an off-grid homestead located on the outskirts of the nearest town. As a single woman at forty years of age, I am blessed to be in robust health while I have made a conscious, deliberate choice to maintain this unconventional lifestyle of living as simply and frugally as possible in a third world country, where I can enjoy the privilege of owning my own land and growing my own food. As a full-time special education teacher in private and public schools for over a decade in the U.S., I could only dream of living with such freedom and simplicity.

As a published author, I have written over a dozen books (available here on Amazon). Two of these bestselling books describe “The Star Method” — a technique of therapeutic touch that I developed after publishing an article about stress management for educators in a peer-reviewed journal for my Master’s degree thesis. These books have been on the bestseller list in “Experimental Methods in Education” since their publication in 2015. The other books I’ve published include two poetry collections as well as a series of books featuring a unique form of personal coaching that I have offered to hundreds of clients to help them discover their life’s mission, passion and goals.

I have a contact list numbering over a thousand, including clients who have taken my yoga classes, workshops, and/or received my therapeutic services. I am dedicated to providing the highest quality service to my clients, as can be seen from the “Testimonials” page on my blog.

I’d like to include an excerpt from my most recent workshop in Belize, featuring live drumming to accompany yoga and dancing, where our motto is “Unwind, unplug and connect inward”:

In a capitalistic system that emphasizes productivity over personal integrity and authenticity, we can easily forget to value ourselves for just being alive — for simply breathing. We tend to focus instead on externally motivated goals that may not align with our true heart’s desires and dreams.

Together we will nurture, support and encourage each other to ask questions, reflect and “feel” what it is like to “just be”….

In this workshop, explore what you really want in your life, for you… What is true for you at this time in your life? What makes your heart burst with passion and excitement? What are the fears and limitations that hold you back from taking a leap into the unknown — into something new and exciting in your life?

Unwind, unplug and connect inward.

Now is the time to live fully and love passionately. I believe that as we collectively experience the drastic changes now upon us, we can all feel it and know it deep inside: Love is all that matters.

Parama K. Williams is a published author with a Master of Arts in Education and fifteen years of international experience as a U.S. Licensed, Certified Massage Therapist and Yoga Teacher. Five years ago, she left her career in the U.S. to purchase an acre of fertile land in Belize, Central America, where she currently lives in an off-grid, thatch roof hut. She offers yoga classes, therapeutic massage and retreats internationally.

Check out my latest published books here.

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What I’ve learned from old people about life, death and love

parama-and-patti-at-hearthstoneOld people often say that getting old’s a bitch. At the age of forty, I barely know.

Sensei Harvey Daiho Hilbert, a retired PhD professor at New Mexico State University and abbot of the local Las Cruces Zen Center, was one of my teachers in my early years of voracious study of Buddhist philosophy and avid meditation practice. When I went on a three-day silent retreat led by Sensei Harvey in the mountains of Cloudcroft, New Mexico, I did yoga postures on the scenic balcony atop the meditation temple. Sensei commented, “When you’re seventy, I want you to come back here and do yoga on the porch.”

Years later, I still haven’t forgotten his comment. I took it to heart. I’ve used that idea as a rocket fuel to propel me further into the space of my daily yoga and meditation practice.

I would like to think that I could live to be seventy; and if I do, I would like to think that I will still be dancing and doing yoga.

Geshe Michael, founder of the progressive, tuition-free Diamond Mountain University in Bowie, Arizona and one of my favorite teachers of Buddhism, talks a lot about death. He says that we should think about our death on a daily basis, because it makes us happier people.

(Say, what? Thinking about my own death is supposed to make me happier?)

At first I didn’t believe it.

But then, all kinds of crappy things started happening in my life … all at once: My grandma died; I was told I might have cervical cancer; I got a hemorrhoid; I almost got murdered; I had to move twice; I twisted my knee; I broke up with the most gorgeous, amazing man I’ve ever met after he told me he didn’t love me….

All of this crappy stuff happened all at the same time; like, within the span of a few months. It was a living hell. I almost killed myself over it.

I think I could have killed myself, were it not for a few kind-hearted doctors I consulted and were it not for my having listened to Geshe Michael’s dharma talks about death meditation: “Don’t pretend you’re not gonna die someday. Just be honest with yourself. Pretend that today could be your last day.”

After all that crappy stuff happened, I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I knew I could die any day, at any time.

Maybe if I knew that at a younger age, I’d be an even happier person than I already am. But maybe not. I don’t know.

I’d like to think that I’m about halfway through my lifespan. Maybe I have a few more years to go before I’m actually at that point. For all intents and purposes, let’s just say that at forty, I’m halfway to my death, but that’s just according to statistics on the average modern human lifespan. In making this assumption, I fail to consider a whole host of factors which are completely out of my control.

Let’s consider all the factors that could cause me to die unexpectedly, any day or at any moment:

 

(1) I live in the tropics of Belize, Central America. I could contract and die of dengue or Zika or malaria … or all three combined.

(2) Every day I go swimming in an emerald green river in the jungle. I could get eaten by a crocodile.

(3) One my favorite geeky scientist friends predicts that climate change (melting glaciers, anyone?) could lead to near-term extinction of the human race. Like, within the next decade. Bummer. Human extinction includes me. (Damn it).

(4) Not only do I live in the tropics, but I also happen to live in a jungle with a lot of wild animals (jaguars and venomous snakes included). Any one of them could bite me or eat me… any day, at any time. This could cause my unexpected, unplanned death.

(5) I could get run over by a bus. That could happen pretty much anywhere.

Reading this list back to myself makes me laugh out loud (lol)…. It’s somehow funny to think about all the ways I could die. Yet I’ve spent most of my rather enjoyable, uber-privileged young adulthood in a state of ignorant denial that I could die on any given day, at any given time.

Sorry to point out, dear reader (Hey, thanks for reading!): You could die too. On any given day, at any given time. But how often do we really allow ourselves to seriously think about that undeniable fact of life? (That fact that we all have to die, I mean).

Let me remind myself, just in case I forget: Someday, I’m going to die. That day could be today. At any time.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve already died hundreds of times in my life. I suppose, in a way, I have. I’ve experienced innumerable losses, as most people have. And each loss is like a mini-death.

Let’s consider all the ways I’ve died already:

(1) I’ve quit too many jobs to keep count. Loss of a job is like a death. It causes loss of money in the wallet, relationships, status, respect, and lots of other things that lead to grief, sadness and possibly depression and suicidal ideation;

(2) I’ve gone through three or four divorces and probably dozens of break-ups. (I can’t keep track.) Losing a beloved partner, for any reason, definitely feels like what I imagine dying could feel like;

(3) I’ve moved in and out of dozens of funky apartments and even a few tents. Once I took up residence in the trunk of my own car, not because I was too poor to afford my own place (I had a fulltime job with a decent salary), but just because I wanted to see if I could live in my trunk for a week. It turns out that I could. Living in the trunk of my car was like dying, because I killed my need for a bigger apartment.

By the way, I’m not mentally ill or retarded. I just like living life on the edge and taking risks. Calculated ones.

(4) I have almost been deliberately killed by other members of my own species for reasons that are not worth mentioning here. If you’re curious, you’ll have to wait for my novel to be published. Novels are good for telling stories about almost being killed. Stephen King does it all the time and makes a killing off his books…. so, I assume people like to read about death.

 

What was my point in making a list of all the ways I’ve died already?… Oh, yeah. To point out that death is a part of life. Life and death always go together, like eating beans and farting.

Older people are generally less apologetic about basic bodily functions and the fact that their teeth have fallen out. They seem to be more honest than younger people. I suppose there’s a reason for that. Experience and wisdom seem to go together, like old age and dentures.

Talking with older people has helped me learn a thing or two about life and how to live more fully while I still have the chance. I used to try having deep conversations with my grandmother, but I could never seem to get beyond superficialities. I guess some people just don’t really like to go deeper than what’s visible to the human eye. That’s okay. Grandma’s dead now. I loved her. She was a kind, generous woman. And she baked the best oatmeal cookies.

Some older people are actually capable of accepting the fact that they are going to die soon instead of denying it or complaining about it incessantly. Some older people are actually willing to engage me in an honest discussion about what it’s like to get old. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting a few of them and enjoying meaningful conversations about a wide range of interesting topics like marriage, jobs, finances, illness, diet, adult diapers, and dentures.

I assume that people who are older than I am might be pleased to offer me advice about how to avoid making the same mistakes they did.

Recently I had the honor of meeting one such refreshingly forthright older gentleman whom I’ll call Gary. I saw him sitting alone in a rocking chair looking rather sullen and somewhat lonely. He was on vacation with his wife at the eco-lodge in southern Belize where I live and work as a Certified Massage Therapist and Yoga Teacher.

Gary was part of a tour group that had left that morning to go on an excursion into the jungle. He thought that the trip would have been too physically challenging for him, so he’d opted to stay at the hotel and spend the morning sitting in the rocking chair by himself.

As an ardent student of life, I’m compelled to seek and find teachers in everyone I talk to and in pretty much every situation, not excluding this crotchety old dude in the rocking chair. I approached him and asked with the utmost sincerity how he was doing.

My genuine concern for his wellbeing was met with a sullen expression and a mumbled, gruff reply. He kept his head down, staring into the dim glow of his tablet device. Apparently, he was busy reading something, so I turned and walked away, pretending I had somewhere else to go, feeling somewhat spurned and justified in not wanting to talk to him ever again.

But then I remembered the wisdom of always trying to find the teacher in every situation. Despite logic and reason, I returned to the man’s side, reached out my hand to gently touch his shoulder, looked straight into his eyes, smiled and asked him, “Sir, is there anything I can do for you?”

I was prepared for any one of several possible responses: He could have spat on me or yelled at me to leave him alone. But he didn’t. He slowly shut off the hand-held device, took a deep breath and looked up at me. His pondered his words carefully before he spoke in a deliberate, calm manner:

“Well, thank you for asking, young lady,” he said. His face softened. He went on to explain that he was in severe pain from nerve damage to his spine.

I could have said, “Oh, I’m sorry,” or “I understand,” or any one of several possible responses, but I didn’t. Instead, I opted to invest some of my precious, valuable time listening to this old dude in a rocking chair.

There were hundreds of other things I could’ve opted to do instead; like do laundry, go swimming in the river, write my novel, eat chocolate, or wash my hair. Instead, I spent an hour chatting with Gary. He told me he was seventy years old. I told him he had thirty years on me, so I should probably listen to him for a while.

He laughed. I guess he thought I was funny.

We never even bothered to ask each other’s names until after we’d talked for an hour and realized neither one of us had ever asked.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to get old or be in constant pain,” I told him. “But I’d like to know what it’s like, for you.”

“It sucks,” he said. “You lose things. All the time. Your friends start to die. You get sick. You can’t do as many things as you used to be able to do.”

I listened. I didn’t say much. Again, I’d deemed that he was the wiser one of the two of us.

He wore a collared, button-down blue paisley shirt and tan shorts. He had a full head of white hair, wore wire-rimmed glasses and appeared to be in good physical shape, with a slim waist, athletic legs and smooth, tanned skin. He didn’t move while he talked, maybe because moving caused him pain, or he was content to simply stay still. I suspect both could have been true for him.

A former university professor with a PhD in molecular biology, he was well-read, articulate, thoughtful and intelligent. He and his wife traveled the world together.

“One thing I’ve learned about getting old is that you lose your concepts about what is true. You realize you don’t know anything.”

I smiled. I wanted to hear more, so I kept my mouth shut and listened.

Gary rocked the chair slightly and continued, “I was trained as a scientist. I used the scientific method. I’m a show-me kind of guy.”

He looked off for a moment. His speech was frequently filled by brief moments of pregnant pauses during which he’d look up toward the ceiling, ponder and collect his thoughts before he’d reply in an articulate manner.

Unlike the entertaining stimulation of a YouTube video, listening to Gary required some degree of patience on my part. I was willing to give it a try. I determined that listening to Gary was better or at least as good as the best YouTube videos I’ve ever come across. Unlike most online media, at least Gary was willing to be honest with me.

“I can’t prove there’s a God using the scientific method,” he said, looking up and going quiet again for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he mused, “Faith is beyond science.”

Then Gary turned to me and asked, “Is there a God?”

I followed Gary’s lead. I stayed quiet for what seemed like an eternity while Gary waited patiently for my reply.

Then, I said, “I don’t know.”

Gary laughed. Apparently, he thought I was funny.

“Well, I don’t know either,” he offered. “But I try to meditate a little every day,” he said.

I was pleasantly surprised to learn this about Gary. It was the last thing I expected, since my first glance at him had given me the impression that he was a crotchety, old man better left alone. I was glad to learn how wrong I’d been in judging him so superficially.

I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t need to tell him that I too meditated every day. I wanted to learn what he had to say about it first.

“I learned to meditate with a mantra. The mantra is meaningless. It focuses my attention away from the other thoughts, like the argument I had with my wife, that I have to mow the lawn, that I have to go walk the dog,” he said.

I listened. He continued, “I don’t know what happens or what to call it, but sometimes when I meditate, I get to a place where I lose all thoughts.”

Gary had completely sucked me into some kind of vortex. I suddenly felt like I had entered an alternate reality in which Gary was the only thing that existed in the entire universe.

Maybe he was. At that moment, anyway, and only for me.

“I used to be an avid runner,” Gary said. “I ran sixty miles every week. I wouldn’t listen to music. I would listen to my thoughts.”

He looked me straight in the eyes and asked in his deliberate tone, “Do you have a goal when you meditate?”

I gave myself ample time to pause for reflection before I responded that I didn’t think it was helpful to meditate with a goal in mind, because, I said, I’m probably not focused on meditation if I’m busy thinking about a goal.

Gary laughed again. I realized that he really did think I was funny.

Then I realized that I was genuinely enjoying our conversation. It was the first time in weeks that I actually wanted to spend time talking with someone for more than five minutes.

Gary said, “I try to think about what I am about to do before I do something or say something.

“I try to analyze my motivations for what I am about to do before I react. In my experience,” he said, “I find that it helps me avoid saying or doing something hurtful to myself or another person.”

Then, he said, “Am I boring you?”

“Well, yes, maybe a little bit,” I admitted to him.

He laughed. I laughed too. We laughed together.

“I like to talk,” he said.

“I like to listen,” I said.

“I think you would be a good meditation teacher,” I told him. Then I corrected myself and said, “I think you are a good meditation teacher. I’ve learned a lot just by sitting here and listening to you. I think I can honestly say that I love you,” I told him.

He chuckled and his face softened even more. He paused for reflection, looking skyward.

“I don’t know what love is,” he said. “Is it hormonal? I don’t know. I mean, I know I love my wife. I could explain to you why I love her, but if I did, I would only be telling you about character traits and behavior.”

Then Gary shared that he had been divorced twice before. He said that he has learned not to share his opinions all the time, because he’s noticed that opinions usually start arguments.

“I’ve learned to be comfortable with the idea that I don’t know anything,” Gary said.

Later that day, as I reflected on my conversation with Gary, I thought about how most of the time, we humans seem to prefer believing that we know something. Somehow I am supposed to feel more comfortable with the idea that I know how something works or that I’m in control of whatever is going on.

When I went to visit a few old people in a nursing home last year, I noticed that many of the old people had lost control of their bowels. They required regular diaper changes. Yet, most of them still had fully functioning intellectual abilities. They could talk to me while knowing that they smelled like piss, but it didn’t matter because they knew they were going to die soon anyway. A lot of things seem to become unimportant in the face of death. And a lot of things seem to become more important.

I played piano for an old lady at a nursing home where I volunteered last year. I knew that I wasn’t the best piano player, but it didn’t matter, because she knew she was going to die, so she could fully enjoy my company and the fact that I was there, playing the piano, even if I wasn’t all that good at it.

Age seventy seemed to be the theme of the day I met Gary, the old dude in the rocking chair. Later that night, I facilitated a singing circle and African dance class accompanied by live drumming by my friend and neighbor Emmeth Young. We had mostly older people dancing with us. One of the most enthusiastic dancers happened to be a woman who was celebrating her seventieth birthday that very night.

When the staff of the eco-lodge served her a birthday cake, she cried. I don’t know if they were tears of joy or sadness or a little of both. I think she liked the cake.

I think age helps. I think getting old means going through a lot of loss, which I think facilitates acceptance of one’s death.

I think about death every day. I would like to think it helps me be a happier person.

I don’t know.

Discovering a nest of baby mice in my yoga mat

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When you visit southern Belize for vacation, or in my case, when you come here to live and thrive, you join the lives of jungle animals and plants in this lush, vibrant habitat — where biodiversity can be seen, felt and heard every day by anyone lucky enough to come in contact with it. Close encounters with species that make this jungle paradise their home are common experiences for guests and residents of the Toledo district of southern Belize.

Five years ago I left my career in the U.S. to move to Central America and purchase an acre of land in tropical Belize (a tiny country just south of Mexico with coastline along the Caribbean Sea), where I’ve launched myself into the adventure of a lifetime building my own off grid home with the company and help of my neighbors and friends, many of whom are also ex-pats like me who share the common dream of living unconventionally and sustainably in a place where we can grow our own food year-round amidst fertile soils and a pleasant, laid back culture of beautifully diverse animals, including the people.

house-from-inside-copyWhether it’s a blue morpho butterfly fluttering from tree to tree, a turtle slowly making its way across your path, or a fuzzy tarantula lumbering across the walkway, I am thrilled and fascinated every day to see and interact with teeming jungle life. I think the local Mayan villagers, who are my friends and neighbors, agree that Belize is unique for its pristine, intact natural resources.

We lucky residents of Belize are accustomed to finding enormous spiders, rodents of unusual size and frighteningly large insects taking up residence in our thatch roof homes made of wood from trees harvested locally and sustainably. Forget about hermetically sealing your home in layers of toxic paint, sheetrock and wallpaper: Here in the tropics, the houses are made of natural materials that can breathe, which means here we let the air in and by default, the animals and insects often find their way inside and share space with us. I can personally attest to this common, everyday occurrence, as I am currently in the process of building a 16 X 16 foot thatch roof hut in the middle of second-growth rainforest on the edge of a mangrove creek.

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Yesterday morning I awoke to find a gargantuan spider inches from my face. The day before, I absentmindedly pulled on my leather cowgirl boots without first shaking them out, only to discover that a spider of similarly gigantic proportions had found a comfortable haven in the dark coolness of my boot, and luckily I spared her life by feeling her wriggling against my foot, swiftly removing the boot and sending her on her hopefully merry way.

Back to the spider in my bed… Since I’ve lived here for five years now, I was unfazed. (I’ve had stranger bedfellows, namely a scorpion inches from my nose)…. I greeted my eight-legged arachnid brethren with a hearty “Good morning!” and calmly proceeded to corral him into a jar, which I then sealed and carried outside, where I promptly freed this exquisite creature to continue living. Why should I kill a spider? He eats insects that could bite me. I am thankful for the intricate web of life that naturally stays in perfect balance (well… if it weren’t for the cumulative detrimental impact of humans on the natural world, but that’s another story)….

Parama hugging tree at Palenque copyAs the Manager of the Spa and Wellness Center at Cotton Tree Lodge, an eco-lodge located deep in the jungle of southern Belize, I offer therapeutic massage and unique spa services in a thatch roof spa overlooking an emerald green river as well as daily morning sunrise yoga in a charming riverside gazebo decorated with the large carved wooden faces of the Mayan ancestors, in honor of Belize’s history as an empire of the Maya heartland. While you’re visiting, you can visit the nearby Mayan temples and ruins, which I highly recommend: Here in Belize, there’s little regulation or restriction on how close you can get to the actual stones and sacred sites. Here, you can immerse yourself in the beauty and wonder of the land, the people, and the thousands of other species that share a home in the rainforest.

img_0907At 6:00 AM this morning, a pleasantly warm and refreshing breeze beckoned me to my yoga mat, and just as I entered my riverside yoga studio, I heard intermittent squeaking noises emerging from … somewhere. I searched the room and discovered that the sound was coming from a wicker basket that holds my yoga mats. When I opened the cover of the basket, out popped a rather large and frightened gray mouse with round, black beady eyes and a look of terror. She leapt out from the basket, pounced to the floor and ran away faster than my eye could see, disappearing from sight.

img_0906I can imagine how reluctant Momma Mouse was at that moment to have abandoned her brood in order to save her own life: I peered into the basket to discover the family she’d left behind. There were three newborn baby mice nestled in a mound of shredded material–some of which consisted of yoga mat bits–at the bottom of the basket. Upon closer inspection, I surmised that Momma Mouse must have spent hours diligently nibbling away at not only my yoga mats, but also the basket itself, to construct a plush and comfortable nest for her babies.

I could have let myself fall into a state of upset at the inconvenient loss of a precious yoga mat, not to mention the urgent clean-up job left to my hands, but that would not have been very yogic-like, nor could I blame Momma Mouse. I would have done the same thing if given the opportunity. I had been out of town and away from my yoga studio for four days, giving her a perfect chance to find an ideal birthing place and nest for her new family in a quiet, undisturbed place. What momma wouldn’t want that?

In anticipation of the imminent arrival of humans wanting to take my yoga class, I quickly set to work on the important task of removing the tiny bodies of three terrified baby mice from my yoga mat basket, all the while wondering where Momma Mouse had run off to, and if she would ever return to retrieve her now very vulnerable babies. I thought about the plethora of predatory snakes and vultures surrounding us, eager to find such tasty morsels for breakfast. I contemplated whether it would be compassionate (and therefore yogic-like) for me to kill them with a fatal blow beneath a heavy object, but I instantly opted to spare their lives, assuming that their mother would run back to them and carry them off to another safe nest as soon as possible. It was my hope and morning yoga intention, anyway, to give three baby rodents a chance to live.

img_0905So, I carried the yoga mat basket outside the yoga studio, tilted it on its side, and carefully reached in to extract the three squealing creatures one by one between my fingers. Their hearts were beating rapidly, their eyes still unopened, a thin layer of gray fuzz just forming over their bodies. I put the nest their mother had made for them on the ground beneath the nearest walkway (out of the sight of hungry birds) and tenderly deposited each one of them in hopes that Momma Mouse would run to their rescue as soon as I was out of the way.

My heart sank when I realized at that moment that there may have been a better way for me to have extracted the babies: Maybe I should not have handled them in my bare fingers. I remembered the time my father found a nest of baby robins that had fallen from our oak tree in a quaint New England suburb, where I was born and raised. He had donned gloves and attempted to return the nest to the tallest branch, informing me that if he touched the nest with his bare hands, the mother bird would reject her babies because of the human scent left behind.

img_0913I wondered if the baby mice would be abandoned by Momma Mouse for the same reason and berated myself for impulsively lifting their tender, fuzzy bodies in my fingers. I could have used a tool or a large leaf … but maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference. The jungle can be harsh, life isn’t fair, and babies don’t always get to grow up to become adults. Many obstacles can be found along the way. Most of them fatal.

Being a yoga teacher, I found myself softly chanting a mantra, not only to soothe the baby mice, but to honor and appreciate the precious gift of life, its vulnerability, the opportunity I have to be alive, here, right now…. I breathed deeply and listened to the baby mice squealing, imploring their mother to come for them….

I did my hour-long yoga practice, occasionally stepping outside to see if the babies had been rescued. They squealed softly the entire time, their desperate cries an ambient background noise for my morning yoga and meditation routine, which took on a new dimension in the context of this life-or-death situation: I was steadily reminded that everything is temporary, including my body and my life upon this Earth… that I can be deeply thankful for being alive in this moment, to be breathing, because it can all be taken away at any instant.

img_0910Deep breaths. Deep belly breaths….

As usual, I ended my yoga routine with several minutes of seated, silent meditation. When I opened my eyes, I looked down and noticed a tiny lady-bug-like insect with a polka-dotted exoskeleton sitting at my feet, as if waiting to speak with me.

I spontaneously composed a poem:

 

I was born into this world tender and vulnerable

Every day of my life, yearning for the same things:

to eat, to be clothed, to be soothed, to belong

to be well fed and taken care of

to know someone is there to hold me and keep me safe

to make a soft nest and be close to the warm body of another;

To love.

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Parama K. Williams is a published author with a Master of Arts in Education and fifteen years of international experience as a U.S. Licensed, Certified Massage Therapist and Yoga Teacher. Five years ago, she left her career in the U.S. to purchase an acre of fertile land in Belize, Central America, where she currently lives in an off grid, thatch roof hut. She offers yoga classes, therapeutic massage and retreats internationally.

Check out her latest published books here.

Join Parama on the next wellness retreat (March 11th, 2017) on a white sand beach overlooking the Caribbean Sea in tropical Belize!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Guided meditation for the new year

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img_4233In this morning’s yoga class, I led my students in a guided meditation for the new year.

Studies show that a regular practice of quiet meditation provides many benefits. Check out this article with some fun infographics about what will happen to your body and mind if you start meditating today…. Try it and see for yourself!

Join me daily at 7:00 AM at beautiful Cotton Tree Lodge in southern Belize for an hour-long class — before your jungle adventure begins!

At the end of every yoga class I teach, I invite my students to join me in a guided (or sometimes silent) meditation to bring closure to our practice, to integrate the benefits of the active poses, and to end with internal reflection.

meditation-om-2Meditation is ideally practiced in a seated posture that allows the chest to be open and the spine long. As a certified yoga teacher for the past twenty years, I include seated meditation in all of my classes, because according to the ancient yoga classics, it is one of the eight “limbs” of the complete yoga system, which is comprised of eight branches.

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Sit with your spine tall and straight in your preferred meditation posture:

  • Easy cross-legged pose (Sukhasana)
  • Half lotus pose (Ardha Padmasana)
  • Full lotus (Padmasana)

Lengthen your breath. Try to breathe deep into your belly and exhale fully. Do this a few times.

Focus your mind on the sensation of your breathing. Notice the inhale and exhale, the sensation of the air as it passes through your nostrils, the expansion in your chest and belly as your diaphragm moves. Let yourself be fascinated with the mechanics of your breathing.

Reflect on the past year. Let your mind review 2016 in a movie-like sequence. Maybe images will appear in your mind’s eye. Maybe feelings. Sensations. Whatever arises, let it come up as you think about the past year.

Notice what is there.

Now imagine that you can gather all of these experiences–the people, the places–into a bundle. Imagine wrapping it all up in a golden-colored wrapping paper and surrounding the bundle in pure, white light. Really see it glowing in bright light.

Now imagine that you can physically place the bundle in a special place. Make it a specific place, whether real or imagined, where you know it will be safe, valued, protected. See it there.

In your mind’s eye see a passageway–it could be some kind of doorway or an opening–and see it opening for you. You can walk through the passageway into the new year.

Walk through and notice what is on the other side, in the new year 2017. You might see images, or feel sensations, emotions, peoples’ faces, maybe specific places. Whatever you perceive, just let it be there for you.

Now send a radiant beam of white light straight from your heart into the new year 2017. Imagine that this light is surrounding and blessing the people and places you will experience. Keep sending this light into the new year.

Take a few deep breaths. Feel your body from head to toe. When you are ready, open your eyes.

How do you feel?

Parama K. Williams is a published author with a Master of Arts in Education and fifteen years of international experience as a U.S. Licensed, Certified Massage Therapist and Yoga Teacher. Join her on the upcoming wellness retreat in tropical Belize!

 

Farm to table freshness and food security in Belize, Central America

IMG_9122 copyWhen you go on vacation, or (if you’re lucky enough) to live in the tropics, you will discover an impressive variety of unique, delightful fruits and vegetables that cannot be found anywhere else but (ah, yes!) … the tropics. Cassava, the starchy root of a shrubby tree, is among them.

Cassava root, being high in carbohydrates and nutrients, has an illustrious history as a major staple food in the developing world, providing a basic diet for over half a billion people. Extensively cultivated as an annual crop in tropical and subtropical regions, cassava (also known as yuca, manioc, and arrowroot) is starchy and rich in vitamin C, phosphorus and calcium. When dried into a powdery, pearly extract, it is known as tapioca.

When I first came across an actual, in-the-flesh cassava root (before it was ever processed, packaged, and displayed for sale on the shelf!), I had just moved to tropical Belize, a tiny country just south of Mexico and east of Guatemala, with coastline along the Caribbean Sea, where cassava grows abundantly year-round, as the climate offers ideal growing conditions.

img_0789I was volunteering and living with a host family in southern Belize, where my friends have been cultivating fruit trees, corn, rice, and vegetables on their sprawling organic farm for the past thirty years.

As we were working in the garden one (hot, humid) day, my friend Jack said to his wife, “Looks like the cassava is ready….” He bent forward, grabbed onto a branch growing low to the ground, and in one forceful heave-ho, extracted a dark brown, foot-long tuber.

“You can eat that?” I asked, bewildered.

“Aaah, yea, mon,” Barb replied in “Kriol” (Belize’s unique variation of English), as Jack pulled up a few more roots and handed them to her. “It’s delicious,” she assured me.

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Later that night my host mother showed me how to prepare the cassava, and we enjoyed a nourishing, satisfying dinner together. From that day on, I’ve been hooked… It wasn’t long before I bought an acre of fertile land, became a resident and started planting my own garden of fruit trees, herbs and vegetables. (Thanks, Jack and Barb!)

The beloved hero Robinson Crusoe of the 1719 novel by Daniel Defoe, in a desperate attempt to survive on a tropical island after being shipwrecked, sets out first in an earnest search for the cassava root, as he describes, “which the [indigenous], in all that climate, make their bread of, but I could find none”….

Cassava is the third largest source of food carbohydrates in the tropics, after corn and rice. Cassava is a highly productive tree with roots that grow faster than other staple crops, making it an important survival food in developing third-world countries, including Belize. Cassava is a traditional, staple food for the indigenous Garifuna, who use it to make flatbread, sweet pudding, and hearty soups.

Parama Williams with Garifuna drummers in Punta Gorda 2016A couple years after I became a proud land owner in the Toledo district of southern Belize, I discovered Cotton Tree Lodge, a special place where I would become the Manager and Certified Massage Therapist at the Wellness Center and Spa. Nestled deep in the jungle beside a pristine, emerald green river, Cotton Tree Lodge offers visitors all the rustic authenticity of an environmentally conscious eco-lodge, including tours to local Mayan ruins, waterfalls, caves, and snorkeling in the nearby Caribbean Sea.

As a guest at Cotton Tree Lodge, you get the pleasure of meeting a staff of friendly, helpful locals who take pride in both their work and their unique culture. My friend Maria Cal, one of the most dedicated and experienced members of our staff, has worked full time at the eco-lodge for eight years as the Food and Beverage Manager. She is a notably detail-oriented, conscientious and experienced manager and chef, having honed her craft over the years, carefully planning the menu for each week and serving up a noteworthy array of international fare.

img_0808Maria is a resident of San Felipe, a Mayan village just a few miles down the road from Cotton Tree Lodge. Early in the morning, like clockwork, I hear the rumble of the motorcycle as Maria’s husband drops her off daily at the Lodge to start preparing the breakfast buffet at 6 AM.

This morning Maria greeted me with a smile as she donned her apron, tied her long black hair in a neat bun and said, “Today I’ll be making cassava pudding.”

Maria Cal, mother of three children, was born and raised in San Felipe village in southern Belize. Her mother is of Kekchi Mayan descent and her father of Spanish descent, originally from Livingston, Guatemala.

Belize, for such a tiny country, is surprisingly diverse in culture. Like many residents, Maria speaks four different languages: her native Kekchi Mayan, Spanish, Kriol, and English. Unlike the surrounding countries where Spanish is primarily spoken, English is an official language in Belize and all the locals speak fluent English, making international travel to this tropical, sun-kissed paradise comfortable aimg_4506nd convenient for North American tourists.

“I started cooking when I was thirteen,” Maria says. “My friends taught me in the village and I also taught myself how to cook because I really wanted to learn.”

The village of San Felipe is one of a cluster of tiny Mayan villages where residents live mostly in simple, thatch roof huts and learn from a young age to grow their own food, raise livestock, chickens, and cultivate their own gardens. Located in relative isolation, these villages offer few job opportunities beyond selling produce from one’s own farm in the local market.

Maria takes pride in being one of a handful of fortunate residents who enjoy a steady, reliable income from her work at Cotton Tree Lodge, which is dedicated to sustainable tourism and supporting local families by providing opportunities for talented, hard-working people like Maria.

“I love working at Cotton Tree Lodge. It’s a nice place — an eco-lodge in the jungle, in nature. Here we serve fresh food from our garden….”

img_4529As the Manager of the Wellness Center and Spa at the Lodge, I enjoy helping out with the planning and preparation of healthy, delicious meals for our visitors and guests. All of the meals at Cotton Tree Lodge feature fresh, organic fruits, herbs and vegetables from our very own garden and fruit trees.

“We have a great staff,” Maria says, “We all get along and work together to make the best meals possible for our guests.

“Cotton Tree Lodge is a nice place to stay,” Maria says.

eating cashewAlthough I am originally from the US, five years ago I chose for many reasons to abandon the modern conveniences and privileged lifestyle in which I was raised to embark on the adventurous journey of homesteading in the rural tropics of Belize. I am at least attempting to blaze my own trail here, deep in the jungle. It’s… not for the faint of heart.

Instead of shopping in the climate-controlled, fluorescent-lit aisles of a commercialized grocery store like the vast majority of my fellow Americans, I enjoy the unparalleled satisfaction of frequent forward-bending and getting my hands dirty in the wet, fertile soil as I harvest fresh food for my daily consumption from a garden that I am learning to cultivate….

Today, Maria was generous enough to patiently teach me step-by-step how to make sweet cassava pudding using fresh cassava tubers from our organic garden at Cotton Tree Lodge.

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First I accompanied Mr. Marcos, our gardener, outdoors to harvest cassava from a shrubby tree that is native to tropical America and cultivated throughout the tropics [for you ethnobotany geeks: Genus Manihot, family Euphorbiaceae].

After Marcos and I filled a bucket with a bunch of fresh cassava tubers, we delivered it to Maria, who thanked us and immediately set to work scrubbing the soil off of the long and tapered roots. She chose three of the largest ones for today’s pudding.

Cassava root has a white flesh on the inside, encased in a detachable rind that is rough and brown on the outside. Maria showed me how to take a knife and score the outside rind and peel it off to reveal the starchy, firm, white interior.

Then, we grated the caimg_0815ssava into a large mixing bowl. (This is hard work! I started sweating!)

Next, toss the grated cassava into a blender until smooth.

Mix ingredients into a large bowl:

  • 2 eggs
  • 1 cup brown sugar
  • 1 1/2 sticks melted butter
  • 1 1/2 tablespoon vanilla
  • 1/2 cup Carnation cream
  • 1 teaspoon cinnamon
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • Optional: grated ginger root

cassava-puddingGrease baking pan (14″x10″)

Bake in oven at 250 degrees for 45 minutes

(Serves 12 people)

Cassava pudding is sweet with a gooey, gelatinous texture… When you are in Belize, enjoy our farm to table goodness…

Nourishment that’s been here for generations. Thanks, Maria!

 

 

 

 

 

Why I moved to Belize, Central America

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When I left my thatch roof bungalow early this morning for my daily workout, I noticed an enormous snail that had suctioned itself to my front door, lazily plugging along, its delicate fingerlike antennae searching the warm, moist morning for something, a sign, a vibration on the air….

snail-on-doorI noticed him there all day long, as I welcomed my three clients into the “riverside spa” … (“We have a gorgeous view of the river!”) … (“Hey, wow! This is great!”)

And so I rubbed three people and discovered the magic of whatever that snail must have been searching for, his sensitive membranous skin like the moist surface of my drum when it got wet from the rain after this morning’s yoga class, where I chanted the mantra to Ganesha, the elephant God who removes all obstacles.

“This mantra,” I told my two ladies in class, “is from the ancient tradition of using sound vibration to heal the body and mind and to harmonize the energy around and within us.”

I think the snail could hear me and was swaying his antennae to the rhythm.

At the end of class, I suggested, “Feel your connection to the Earth. Then take a moment to consider your connection to the plants and animals in this jungle. It’s a special place… feel the presence of the river, the trees, the insects, the birds… Breathe.”

As the snail breathed through its thin layer of skin….

jaguar-on-trail“What made you move to Belize?” was the resounding question asked by all three of my clients as they first laid down on my massage table today. I notice myself bracing for the answer, not quite sure how I should — or if I even want to respond. I get the question often enough….

These friendly, “getting to know you” kinds of curiosity-motivated questions have become a daily ritual, albeit slightly annoying (only because I feel obligated to answer, and usually my answer is not so simple. It required a thoughtful response….)

After dodging a few of the more superficial niceties so typical of human interaction, I learned that one of the women I massaged today happens to be a schoolteacher with the very school I recently interviewed for a teaching position that would start in September of 2017.

“It’s nice to have options,” I found myself writing to a friend. “Most women down here don’t even have the choice to work anywhere but at home or doing the dishes at some local restaurant for very little pay….”

(I remind myself to be grateful for what I have, for where I come from, for what I am able to do….)

“You should be thankful that you have fully functioning limbs,” one of my too-smart-for-his-own-good friends told me with severity, after I had lamented to him all the ways I feel so sorry for myself. “You don’t have any problems compared to a lot of the people I know.”

I suppose it’s all relative. The teenager living in the garbage dump.

I asked one of my clients, a middle-aged man from Anchorage, Alaska, about his opinion on climate change. “Are the polar bears wandering into the towns and terrorizing people?”

He had the conservative viewpoint that in the grand scheme of things, we really don’t know what is causing climate change (“Is it just natural cycles or is it manmade? How can we really know?”) … rub, rub … I think he was reeeeally relaxed by the time he made that comment. Like, hell, what do we have to worry about? We’ll all be fiiiiiine. 

I know other scientists and researchers who hold a very different opinion on climate change. Like, we’re all gonna die in 10 years. That kind of urgency.

That’s part of the reason why I decided to move to Belize. Maybe my then-husband and I could have a shot at survival while the shit hits the fan and everyone living in industrialized nations are suffering from heat waves, natural disasters, unprecedented chaos and breakdown of society (especially the economy) … Was it a good idea to move down here?

Parama's houseNot a bad idea, it would seem. Food security, self-sufficiency, tiny house movement … These are all buzz words in the alternative media and the fringe communities of weirdos like me who want to take a shot at living an alternative lifestyle — Hey, why not? Before the shit really hits the fan.

The ceiling fan swirled and circulated the air in my thatch roof bungalow riverside spa while my clients received their massage, until a surprisingly pleasant and refreshing wind blew itself through the room, finding its way without obstacle through the screen windows and against the oily limbs, backs and necks of those three people, tourists from other countries, coming to the tropical jungle of southern Belize for vacation, to explore, to discover… to heal….

Just before bed, I looked outside for the snail. He had released his grip on my front door and was meandering across my Welcome mat. Welcome home.

Click here to see books published by Parama K. Williams

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Ablaze: A personal story of igniting my heart aflame

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My second poetry collection, Ablaze, sheds an honest light on my raging desire and passion to consummate the dream that beckoned me to abandon my home and blaze a new trail here in Central America, amongst rural villagers in isolated tropical jungles, amidst a backdrop of ancient cultures enriched by traditional customs for which I have deep respect. Having been forged in the fire of my heart’s desire, I am now faced with the opportunity to make choices that could determine the course of my life for many years.

Parama sitting on couchThe flames are burning bright, and I cannot escape the heat.

Five years ago, before I first arrived in Belize, Central America (a tiny country just south of Mexico), I was living and working as a schoolteacher in the U.S., when I had a vivid dream in which my Buddhist master teacher, Geshe Michael, appeared to me and told me that it was time for me to leave my home country, that it was okay to go… “The same thing happened to me,” he declared in the dream, while I extended my hand to touch a slow-motion panorama of tropical plants, flowers, and coconuts….

When I woke up, I recalled the dream as if it had really happened, and I was emboldened: I resigned from my job, booked a plane ticket, and packed my bags. Waiting in the airport, I earnestly prayed and (heard God?) tell me, “You will almost die down there. But you will be saved. I am with you.” … While this may seem crazy to my readers, perhaps it is worth mentioning that I seem to be endowed with a gift of clairvoyance, whatever that means. I honestly can’t explain it, at least not scientifically. I don’t know whether to consider it a blessing or a quirky talent that comes from a rare genetic mutation… or both.

bird of paradise flowerForewarned by the somewhat alarming message that my life would be endangered, I forged ahead nonetheless, bolstered by the support of the man who was then my husband, mutually inspired by our shared vision to purchase a small parcel of fertile land in a rural area where we would build a small-scale permaculture farm and develop a vocational education center for the benefit of our local community.

In the U.S., I had established over ten years of a successful career in special education as a consultant in public and private schools; in addition to earning certification and practicing professionally as a Licensed Massage Therapist and yoga teacher. I earned a Master of Arts in Education and gained a wide range of experience working with children and adults who were diagnosed with developmental and learning disabilities. I enjoyed working in the field of education, but I felt deep dissatisfaction with what I deemed to be a restrictive, top-down model that limited my creativity and freedom to design my own curriculum.

Parama w studentsI became disillusioned with the public school system in the U.S. and envisioned an innovative approach that involved outdoor, experiential education on an organic farm. I wrote and published my first two books that became bestsellers in experimental methods in education. When my husband suggested that we move to Central America and purchase land for our own school, I was forced to choose: Do I stay with what is familiar, or do I take the risk of trying something completely new? . . .

I chose to leave behind the security and convenience of my comfortable, middle-class life in the U.S. I took my innovative ideas with me on the road – south of the border. As I was about to expose myself to an entirely new life in a foreign country, I felt a high degree of anxiety mixed with a deep inner conviction that I was doing the right thing, and everything would work out, somehow, eventually….

Parama hugging tree at Palenque copy

We arrived in Punta Gorda, a small agricultural and fishing town in Southern Belize, Central America, surrounded by Mayan villages and ancient cultural ruins. Instead of falling into the typical tourist routes, we … blazed our own trail. We immediately focused on establishing community liaisons and connecting with local people who were living the way we had envisioned: off-grid with minimal resource consumption and growing food on their own land.

Parama harvesting bamboo copyFinanced by our own meager savings, my partner and I knew that we needed to secure an ongoing income to support ourselves. We discovered that we could work locally as English teachers, earning a small but adequate salary. We traveled and found temporary work assignments in Guatemala, where we lived and volunteered on an organic farm while simultaneously purchasing one acre of our own land in Punta Gorda, Belize, beside other neighbors who shared our passion.

At that time, I did not expect that I would soon end up alone, following through on our project, after my partner became too ill to continue living in Central America. After many months of trying the best I could to help him recover, I determined that he required specialized therapy which was unavailable in Central America – impoverished, third-world countries with limited infrastructure and resources. He refused to seek adequate treatment and suddenly left me while we were living in the mountainous region of Chiapas, the southernmost district of Mexico.

sunset at Kiki's copy

Heartbroken, devastated and discouraged, I almost returned to the U.S. and my previous career as a schoolteacher. Instead, I chose to make Central America my new home and community. I resolved that I would continue what we’d started, because I did not want to let anything derail me from realizing my dreams….

Parama at KikimundoNow a young, single woman in a somewhat dire situation, I had unintentionally become a “woman at risk” and found myself desperately seeking a means to support myself while living in the third world, where job opportunities are limited and rarely offer any benefits beyond a small wage.

My persistence allowed me to support myself by establishing friendships within my local community as well as creating my own work opportunities wherever I traveled, looking for safety and security while still recovering from the loss of my partner’s companionship.

I discovered the importance of resourcefulness in order to survive as a single woman in Central America. Looking back, I realize how much courage and persistence it took for me at the time to continue seeking and finding opportunities, and now I can honestly claim that I am grateful to my beloved former partner for leaving me with no choice but to dig deep within myself to find my inner strength (Thank you!)…. While I wrote and published a series of books, I worked in many different communities as a massage therapist, yoga instructor, English teacher, and house-sitter. I lived for periods of time with host families in Mexico, Guatemala, and Belize. This proved to be an extremely challenging opportunity to grow and learn while immersing myself in the various cultural traditions of Central America.

door colorful copyEven though I do have the privilege of a broad educational background and qualifications, I learned first-hand what it must be like for local women who have little or no formal education to become caught in a “cycle of poverty”, to be taken advantage of, and, unfortunately, to be abused. Although I could speak fluent Spanish and interact with the locals in the marketplace and at work, I experienced many incidences in which local men, seeing that I was vulnerable and traveling alone, tried to take advantage of me in different ways.

I gained a deeper understanding for how “at-risk women” find themselves in precarious situations where they are endangered and oppressed. In spite of many dangers and challenges, I persisted and continued to pursue my dreams, relying on my own skills, faith, as well as the help and support of caring friends, near and far.

Parama crouching at pyramid copyYears later, I am proud to have stayed true to my own heart, despite countless moments in which I just wanted to give up. Now, I want to believe that I am “living my dream”…. Yet, something feels incomplete, like there is some surprise waiting right around the corner for me, if I could only muster the courage to be vulnerable and open my heart, even as it still heals from the pain of my past….

Since I arrived in Central America five years ago, I’ve been an intrepid solo traveler, exploring and living alone in many different places in Belize, Mexico, and Guatemala. I’ve learned a lot about myself and discovered my own inner strength….

Like the “locals”, I have worked hard and saved up enough money to recently break ground on the construction of my new home – an off-grid, thatch roof hut (in process!) – on my one acre of land in southern Belize, where I would like to expand my infrastructure and… eventually… open an innovative school and community center for the locals.

Parama's house

For many years I have persistently held the intention for The Farm School project in Central America to help women achieve their dreams and goals, whether they are single, have intact families, or are struggling, single mothers. The Farm School is a vocational, experiential training center that promotes health and wellness within the local community, especially for women, while supporting them to become more self-sufficient by learning practical skills.

Butterflies training copy

My heart burns with raging passion to create something that has never been done before. I hold fast to my vision to help at-risk women in need of support, encouragement, and opportunities to make their own dreams come true. Yet, I perceive that I have arrived at a crossroads. My vision may need to take shape in a different form, for now…. I wait and wonder and marvel at the mystery of the fire.

sunrise in AntiguaFive years later, after countless adventures, meeting new and interesting people along the way, nearly dying at the hands of those who would wish to do me harm, I have survived many dangers, overcome personal challenges, and learned what it means to be a warrior dedicated to a mission that can only come from touching the flames of burning passion within one’s heart, enlivened and inspired every day to keep blazing the trail….

Fire must be fed to stay alive. The strength of the flame is derived from a dynamic interplay of elements. Passion can be recognized and shared between two people who are uncontrollably drawn toward one another in a mutual desire to burn in the conflagration of hearts united and ignited. The flames burn and rage, transforming the landscape of the heart, regenerating the soil, making it fertile ground for new growth.

Please click here to download my second poetry collection, Ablaze