Letter from Costa Rica



Saturday, Jan. 28

This is the beginning of my three-month stay at the Choose-Again Center, which most of us call El Cielo because formerly it was a hotel by that name. Perhaps a two-hour hotel, according to lore. I get to be part of the rough beginning, no hot water in the room, no phones except in Diederik's room, no Internet except for Diederik's shaky phone connection locked up in his room. Our meetings right now happen in what used to be the restaurant. Wind (fortunately warm most of the time) blows right through the room and shakes the corrugated roof such that we can barely hear each other.

The Center is located on the north shore of Lake Arenal, some 80 miles from San Jose. Lake Arenal is the result of a dam built on the east side, near the volcano by the same name. The nearest town is Nuevo Arenal, only 8 km away but the supposedly-paved road is so full of potholes that it takes some 15 minutes by car to get there, more by bus. Nuevo Arenal is so called because the town of Arenal is now under water, having been displaced by the lake formed by the dam. From the porch, we enjoy 180-degree views of the lake and the far shore. On a clear day (of which there have been two in nearly four weeks, this being a truly stormy area) one can see the famous volcano. At night one can supposedly see lava streaming down its flanks, but I've yet to enjoy that scene. We can hear eruptions from time to time, sounding like distant thunder.

American Airlines flight number 927 landed on time in SJO, San Jose airport, on January 27th. Scott and I overnighted at the Adventure Inn in San Jose proper, which turned out to be an inconvenience because buses leave from Alajuela, not San Jose. After many anxious phone calls (the hotel Internet was down after a power failure) we downed a couple of beers, soaked in the hot tub, and went to bed. Next day we hired a taxi, really a minibus, to take us to Tilaran where Diederik picked us up. Cost: $100 after haggling. The road from San Jose to Tilaran was up/down, up/down. Stuck behind trucks that groaned at 5 mph on the uphill, it took us 3.5 hours to traverse some 80 miles. Diederik picked us up in Tilaran for the 25-minute ride to El Cielo.

Right now much of our time is dedicated to fixing up rooms, demolishing the concrete furnishings in the big house (see photos), painting walls, and sewing curtains (me). We have Course study from 7:30 to 10 am, and processing group 7-9 pm. I have remarkably little free time. Everything takes time in Costa Rica, and probably most of Latin America. We are on what's known as Tico Time, which means don't stew over the small stuff. Everything is small stuff.


Wednesday, Feb. 8

After two weeks' work at the Center, Scott prepares to fly back to California via Monteverde Park and San Jose.

We say good-bye to the group at 10 am on the 7th of February, walking our suitcases down the rough driveway to the paved road, where we plan to pick up the 10:30 bus to Tilaran. To our horror, the bus arrives early by some miracle, but happens to make a stop just beyond the El Cielo driveway. Great, I think, it's waiting for us. Can't walk very fast with this baggage, but the driver must have seen us. But, horror #2, the bus begins to pull off and its tail slowly disappearing. Scott shouts, "Alto, Alto," and the bus, by miracle #2, stops again to wait for us.

It's a remarkable drive that takes us to Santa Elena. Bus trip from Tilaran to Monteverde National Park, one of the worst roads in Costa Rica…2¾ painful hours on 25 miles of unpaved road with potholes big enough to swallow a cow, or in "better" parts made of rocks barely covered with dirt. Bus struggled mightily on the uphills, built up speed up to 10 mph on the downhills. It was packed (only run of the day), a decrepit BlueBird (those school buses we use in the States), crumbling polyfoam escaping from cracked plastic seats. But nobody complained. Ticos (as the locals affectionately call themselves) are cheerful and relaxed about discomforts that would drive a Yankee nuts. Bus driver spends his workday (10 hours?) running this miserable road, paying constant attention to people waiting to board on the side of the road, stray dogs planted in the middle, elbow turns with soft sides. Yet he greets with a smile and a quip the people who approach the bus with packages to be delivered along the way. The ride was a true Costa Rica experience that cost only two bucks, but I′ll hire a private car for the way back and shell out $40.

Staying at the Trapp Family Lodge right now, on the edge of the Monteverde rainforest, a welcome break from the extreme shortage of creature comforts at the Choose-Again center (guess I′m not built like Mother Teresa who ripped out the carpets from her room when she visited the States). Trapp Lodge resembles a luxury ski lodge, surrounded by 100' trees that sway in the (constant) gale. Wind has been ever-present so far. The sun streamed through our picture windows. This is a really upscale room, initially quoted at $95 plus 16% tax, then the people at the desk brought the rate down to $70 including tax if we′d pay cash and stay three nights.

Vegetation is almost painfully beautiful, I say painfully because so much of it has been replaced with fields and coffee plantations. Tall tree trunks covered with moss upon which grow orchids, creeping philodendron, lichens and ferns. Everything grows on everything else. The air sparkles this morning, like one of those glorious mornings at 10,000 feet in the Sierra Nevada.

The bus finally drops us off in Santa Elena, five km from Monteverde national park. The town can best be described as a chaos of SUVs, delivery trucks, stray dogs, blowing dust, tourists in Tevas and travel pants (overweight Americans loaded with cameras are the exception here), and the occasional bus stuck behind a pedestrian who chats in total oblivion to the driver's impatience. The coffee shop offers the decent cup of coffee we've been missing all these days—the Lake Arenal Starbucks is yet to appear. We visit the pharmacy/general store where we'll buy some medical supplies at one-third of Stateside prices. The Tree House restaurant offers free Internet with the purchase of a meal. Our first meal, however, is a mediocre slice of pizza from an empty restaurant. Word was out on this one.

Good night's sleep. On this stormy morning the clouds pass over the area like so many moving cars on the 405 freeway. What a good bed at the Trapp Lodge, and what a break from reheated rice and beans, no hot water, scarcities of milk and eggs. I would like to apply Course principles and get together and meditate and ask to see things differently. I don't think that our loving, ever-giving God wants us to suffer. Scott calls the Center the Gulag—"are you happy to go back to the Gulag?" Truth is, I'm not happy to go back to the Centre/Gulag, but the prospect of heading back to California and the depressing sameness of my life there isn't exactly charming either. I take that back. I am happy to come back to the group process, our working on our destructive beliefs and transforming them into paths to God. I am not happy about coming back to the old mattress and the stinky toilet and the reheated food.

Meanwhile, back to Monteverde. Trapp Family Lodge has a neat smoking room, complete with massive tables and surprisingly comfortable wooden chairs. The various cactus and ocotillos in pots are aired by high louvered windows that also disperse smoke. We occupy the best suite in the house, a $95/day corner room with a sitting area loverlooking the forest and the lawn below. We were prepared to move to a lesser room, but the hotel clerk volunteers to reduce the room rate to $70 per day, all taxes included, so we stay in the luxury suite. Perhaps we would have gotten a further bargain by a bit of hem and haw? We'll never know.

The Monteverde night sky has a startling deep and spacious quality, as if one could look forever and never reach a wall. Guess that's what sky is all about anyway, unless there's smog in the way. I had forgotten this quality of sky. It is downright cold in Monteverde on the second night. The room is not heated, so we go to bed at 9 to warm up.

We did the evening forest walk, two spooky hours on a trail that was mostly soft forest floor, steep at times. The forest is alive with sounds, creaking trees in the wind, raccoons and coatis foraging, looking for mates, and seemingly just milling about. I have slept in the Sierra wilderness, but this is definitely different and I'd be scared to put out my sleeping bag in this noisy, inky-black forest. We were introduced to a strangling fig, apparently a major player in the rainforest community. It starts from a seed that germinates high up on a tree, probably in accumulated moss and lichen. With the benefit of sunshine high up in the canopy, it soon extends roots down to the soil and takes off in a big way, consuming nutrients that the host tree relied on. Eventually those roots grow to elephantine proportions, encircling the host tree and choking it to death over a couple of decades. The now-hollow network of fig roots creates spaces for nesting birds, an inner tunnel in which animals climb to the top, and all sorts of ladders and bowls that house epiphytes, mosses, vines in a remarkable micro ecosystem.

In the morning, the sun streams through the 200-foot canopy at 7 am. This is the loveliness I remember from Brazil, a resplendent quality of newness, emerald glow bouncing off leaves, the tree trunks covered with moss on which grow orchids, creeping philodendron, lichens, ferns. Everything grows on everything else here. The wind is a limiting factor. It can reach gale force, and it did last night. I thought it would tear off the roof. If you should come to Arenal or Monteverde, any Costa Rica parts other than the beach, bring a Polartec sweater, wool socks, and long pants.


Thursday, Feb. 9

This is our last full day in Monteverde. We marched up to the forest headquarters first thing in the morning to secure a space in the forest walk. They restrict tourist access to 120 people at any time. An excellent slide show preceded the 2-hour walk. Our guide is young Sara, a gorgeous expat blonde guide from Arizona. We hear the strangling fig story once more.

After lunch at the Tree House in Santa Elena, we went into the ticket office for $20 tix to the bridge walk at 2 pm. The ticket office is an experience in itself. We sat across from the clerk in secretary chairs patched with duct tape. I asked to use the restroom and discovered a room with a bed, showers, as well as a couple of toilets. Every bit of space is used here, apparently as a hostel.

The minibus was right on time, Ticos are good about that, at least when they are dealing with tourists (there is such a thing as Tico time, the equivalent of Mexico's manana).

In the afternoon, we did the suspended bridges, a unique contraption that allows one a view of the forest at mid-height. They are green metal suspension bridges that shake as you walk (don't keep step!), attached to metal towers or large tree trunks (the cables will eventually girdle the tree, but our guide didn't want to talk about that). The ground floor is some sixty feet below us, the canopy another 100 feet above. The clear rays of sun streaming through the foliage reminded me of our property in Espirito Santo when I was a kid, and how much I loved that bit of nature outside the dust of Porto Alegre. Our bored young guide repeated many stories we'd heard already. If I hear another strangling fig tale I'm going to barf. Read all about strangling figs in my post of February 8.

The tropical forest offers a startling variety of life. Life on top of other life, life around life, life under life. Everything embraces everything else, everything feeds everything else, and they all struggle for air and sun. We got to see the Resplendent Quetzal in the distance, flying from branch to branch, to the oohs and aahs of the birdwatchers in our group. I thought we could have spent half as much time on the quetzal. A pocket fact to show off your knowledge: If you want to see the national bird of Guatemala you have to come to Costa Rica because the quetzal is extinct in Guatemala.


Monday, Feb. 13

Monday outings are a freebie that Diederik treats us with, a welcome chance to decompress and reconnect with the less austere world. We've gone to the hot springs a few times, Scott and I opted to see spooky Coter Lake one time, and now we spend a day at the beach by popular demand.

Group trip to Playa Grande on this Monday. Such a change, from wintry rainy blowing gale to a warm tropical shore with caressing breezes. We conducted an ACIM session on the car, during the 3-hour drive, but on the way back we'd lost some of our dedication and the guys farted to groans and peals of laughter, drank the rest of the rum, and took naps. The instant we arrived at the Playa Grande parking lot there was a general exodus toward the sand and the water. I played in the waves a couple of times, sat in the sun for a while until my shoulders began to feel roasted, and for the rest of the time I sat at the quick-order bar or occupied one of the tables at the restaurant upstairs. Got to work with Sean, one of the clients (names have been changed to protect privacy), processing some of the old beliefs of his and working in NLP mode with traumatic memories. It was gratifying to my ego that he seemed affected by the work and that my work with him and his reports on it led Chuck to ask about his panic attacks and, this morning, that Deb approached me with her eating stuck places. Guess the therapist in me is not dead yet.

The beach was scruffy and a little dirty, Third-World like. When I read about Costa Rica, back in the States, and talked to people who'd been here, I visualized it as a paradise on earth, a clean, well-kept Central American edition of Carmel or Santa Barbara. The reality is different. This is the Third World. There is poverty, a lot of misuse of the land, the forest made into pastures and coffee plantations. The roads in the backcountry, certainly around Arenal and Monteverde National Park, are abominable. I chuckle at the ant-like processions of vehicles, moving around potholes at 5 mph. That's Costa Rica for me, right now. So I'm not really convinced that I want to buy property here. Life is slow and difficult at times. Half-way through a computer session at the Internet cafe, the power goes out and I lose my work, along with a loud "motherfuck" yelp from the attendant. Guess he sees nothing but trouble when eight computers blank out all at once.

Back to Playa Grande—the guys rented boogie boards and disappeared into the breakers. Our driver put in a 19-hour day without a word of complaint. He could have gone into the water, or drunk beer with us (we invited him), or shared in our dinner, but he was "on" the whole time. The drive time alone was three hours each way, time when he could do nothing but watch the road for leisurely-crossing dogs, bicyclists weaving with nary a reflector (we got back to El Cielo in the inky tropical darkness), and the ever-present potholes. The road from Liberia to Playa Grande quickly turned to very rough pointy stones that shook the vehicle and all of us into, respectively, crunching metal and Jell-o. Curiously, this road was paved every quarter-mile or so. The paved places would induce a sense of peace and elation quickly replaced with annoyance when the paved stretch turned again to stones, with a nasty dip where the pavement ended. I asked Jose, our driver, how come the road was intermittently paved. His response was that the government doesn't have money to do the whole thing, so they do it in bits and pieces.


Wednesday, Feb. 15

There's a crisis in Eden, or Gulag. Diederik got sick of the sloppy schedule, especially Jim who cuts up, goes into town, comes late to meetings. I am seeing Died as attacking Jim, although I'm sure he doesn't see it that way. His line is, if people break rules, they don't want to be here and they should go. Three strikes and you're out. What I am seeing is Died wanting to boot out Jim, in a replay of the Jewish ceremony of placing one's sins on a goat and chasing the goat out of camp. Meanwhile, I judge Died as being sloppy with the schedule, especially with running meetings past the agreed time. I was cold yesterday, hadn't worn enough clothing for that windy room and what clothing I had on was damp from the walk up to the meeting room. So I was suffering.

JC: The world you see is a form of vengeance.

MT: I know. I want to see it differently. I am here to be truly helpful. I am not here to judge. So help me already!

JC: To use the process you've learned from Died, this is not about him. It is about you. Having accepted that, and I think you have, what feelings came up for you as you sat, cold, tight back, in a plastic chair in a drafty damp room?

MT: For three hours. Don't forget the hours.

JC: Three hours. What feelings came up for you?

MT: I felt helpless, angry, judgmental, powerless, blaming, burdened, cheated, confused, cornered, disappointed, dismay, enraged, fatigued, invalidated, offended, persecuted, pressured, unfairly treated, rebellious, suffering, tortured, trapped, untrusting, worried and worn out. I think that invalidated is the strongest of these.

JC: Looking back as early as you can, when did you feel these feelings? When did you first feel invalidated?

MT: Can't come up with a memory.

JC: Give it a try.

MT: I am sitting in the church, in a hard Baptist sin seat, listening to Father's sermon, or not listening to it. My mind wanders a lot. I judge Dad as cold and unfeeling and persecuting. I wanted to please him, I wanted that really bad. But he was impervious. If you did something to please him, he would tell you to do it twenty times twenty, like once or twice was only the beginning, my mission in life was to please him, "it's about time you got it."

JC: Based on those feelings and on seeing the world through the lenses of those bad feelings, you made a decision.

MT: Yes. The decision was, I'm out of here. This doesn't work for me. I'm going to go to the States someday to start a new life.

JC: What erroneous belief did you make up about yourself?

MT: I made up the belief that I knew better than anybody else what was good for me. If these benighted people want to invalidate me, I'm outta here.

JC: You decided that if nobody else would validate you, you would validate yourself.

MT: Yes, that marked the inception of the brittle pride I carry.

JC: You now know that your worth is established by God, not by your father, not by Died, and not by yourself. Thank God you do not need validation!

MT: My worth is established by God. I do not need validation. Thank you, JC, brother, friend.


It's 1 pm now. I did a session with Dana, the new person here, Carl and Sean. Dana seems very secure in her understanding of the Course, even if anxious about her dog, that it might get loose and get lost, or chase the goose. Sean was concerned about the upcoming trip—tomorrow is his last day—and the support system, or lack thereof, back in Vancouver. So we talked about these things and did a bit of processing.

The sun came out at last.

Morning group went better and I no longer feel like leaving. I sullenly not-participated for half of the time, then Gary shared some of his preoccupation with the girlfriend he left back at home. His depth of feeling, surprising in one so young, softened my heart again.


Thursday, Feb. 16

My mood changes from moment to moment and day to day. Being here with this group, any group I guess, brings up all sorts of projections, anger, elation, judgments ranging from ecstatic gratitude (Sas's magnificent sushi dinner last night) to annoyance (Dana's dog's hair adds to the mess in the common room) to outright anger (Jim feeling he's the scapegoat who's being chased out). All of this is appropriate material for processing, the same process that I did with myself the other day. The goal is forgiveness, open communication, owning our very active role in generating these feelings. It's always about me, there's no one I can blame. I am constantly making up the world I see. If I truly get this from my stay here, I will consider myself well rewarded.


4 pm—I would like to connect to the Internet and send out a few emails, but the server line was busy yesterday in ten minutes of futile attempts. Power fluctuations are worse than they were two weeks ago. At times the lights go on and off like a strobe. For me, the inability to communicate is the worst aspect of being here. The only phone on the property is locked up most of the time in Diederik's room. I do not dare to plug in the laptop, especially because I didn't bring a surge protector. So I write in my room, on battery, and send emails off whenever I can. Last email went off on Monday, four days ago.

Olin got hurt demolishing the concrete beds in the big house. Diederik took him to Tilaran to stitch up a gash Olin got when his chisel slipped. It's dreadful work, to take apart the multiple built-in furnishings made of concrete. They look totally crude but are reinforced with rebar. Pieces of broken concrete fly around like shrapnel, a pall of dust hangs over the place. The boys like the work, I think, but it looks like the salt mines to me.

Our rebirthing, scheduled for four pm, got postponed until 5:30 or whenever Died and stitched-up Olin get back.

Sean leaves tomorrow morning. A new person, Julie from California, arrived this afternoon. New people will be here tomorrow. I'm glad— it helps Died pay the bills.


9:30 pm—did rebirthing, or holotropic breath, for two hours. Awesome experience. I became angry at first, then felt a surge of power, the ability to say no to what I do not want. As the rebirthing drew to an end, I felt God's presence and love for all those around me. They are family. Everybody is family.


Saturday, Feb. 18

Yesterday was an eventful day. Here's the sequence:

7 am. I ask Sean (who is leaving today for San Jose and home) if I can hitch a ride in his 11:30 taxi to Tilaran. He says that Diederik offered to give him a ride in his rental car, but that he will let me know.

10 am. I check with Sean again. He reports that D. is indeed giving him a ride. I proceed to ask D. if it's OK for me to ride along and he says yes, of course. I ask what about the time, doesn't Steve need to make the bus to San Jose? D. replies that the San Jose bus leaves at 2, so if we leave here at 12:30 that leaves plenty of time (the ride to Tilaran takes approximately 35 minutes by private car).

11 am. Carl mentions to me that he's getting a ride with D. to go buy a bike in Tilaran. I tell him, great, I'm coming too.

11:30 am. D. knocks on my door—my daughter left a couple of messages. I thank him and ask if we're still on for 12:30. He says yes, we are.

12:15 pm. I pick up my daypack and head down to D's room.

12:20 pm. D's car is gone. Where ARE the guys? Oh, they left some four minutes ago. They LEFT?!!! Here I am, pack in hand, ready for Tilaran and the Internet and shopping and perhaps a good meal, and now I'm stranded. Smoke comes out of my ears.

Sas seems mildly concerned. She says I can always hitch a ride into town and perhaps even get there ahead of the guys. I get a key to D's room hoping to download my messages and upload stuff with his slow connection. But I check the bus schedule which is stored in my jump drive, and there's a Tilaran bus at 1:00. So I lock his door and head down to the corner, with lots of time to mull over how horrid people really are.

I get back to El Cielo around 5:30, having blown half a day on buses, very minor shopping, and 80 minutes at the Internet cafe. With a lot of time to think, I remember that "I can see peace instead of this." What are my options? First option is to change my ticket and head back to California after telling D. to f— off. That would feel really good, to go home with righteous anger clutched to my chest. But, do I want to be right, or do I want to be happy? That is one of the several mental zaps of the the Course. I can go home and be right, or I can stay here and be happy despite whatever behavior (outrageous behavior is one of my triggers) that may come my way.

In the evening, D. comes to my table to apologize. I mutter a grouchy "thank you." I want him to continue feeling guilty. I get to tell my story to the evening circle. Dear Olin speaks to it when his turn comes. His is a totally rambling share that renders us into helpless laughter. Besides telling us that he feels naked without his beard and feels fat at the moment (he's not much more than skin and bones), he muses on the Kabuki play of personalities and how the mind blows casual events into major catastrophes. His share softens my heart, and the laughter helps too. Perhaps there is a "different way of looking at this."


Sunday, Feb. 19

Sean left, Carl leaves tomorrow. Three new clients are here, Mary and and Mina who are sisters, and Alice, Mary's daughter, diagnosed schizophrenic and other psychiatric epithets. Alice reminds me of my long-estranged daughter Laura. Her modus operandi is to spend all night on the Internet and sleep during the day, and the psychiatrist obliged by prescribing anti-anxiety drugs to help her sleep and some form of uppers to stay awake, as the case may be. They arrived near 6 pm. The two women came to dinner and group afterwards, Alice locked herself up in the room with her laptop. She was in for a shock—no Internet connection! I think she tried for hours. She eventually made an appearance at our (staff and newcomers) candlelight seance around the fireplace, asking about the Internet connection she'd assumed (or perhaps been promised). She sat in the group for a half hour or so, mentioning the Web on occasion, otherwise silent. Jack, Dana's Jack Russel mix and one of the nuisances of the place, played with the beam of her flashlight in a touch of life. I was amazed that we, as a group, continued to talk with this silent apparition emitting anger and despair. But, dog or no dog, Alice eventually stood up, threw something over the wall or jumped over the wall, I'm not sure which but there was a loud crash, and disappeared into the night, screaming obscenities. This was her only appearance, otherwise she's locked up in her room and reportedly hasn't eaten for two days (I suspect she's got a stash of goodies in her suitcase).

I wait to see if this place is suitable for someone like Alice. My fear right at the moment is that she'll walk out and disappear—after all, there are no locks or fences. I'm concerned what will happen when Died goes to Vancouver—he's due to be absent for five days in another five days or so. I don't want to be held responsible for Alice's well-being and physical safety.

Carl bought a bike to use while he's here, a generous gesture. He will leave it as a community gift when he goes. Coffeemaker broke down this morning, or was started wrong, but it wasn't brewing. That was a minor crisis, except that there are no minor crises here.

So what else is new…group process continues. I have learned to speak up about the most minute of annoyances. I agree with Died that annoyances simmer for a while and pile up and finally one's tempted to blow up, and by then the out-of-context explosion seems totally crazy. Died will be scheduling two days off from now on, no circles or work, we are free to do whatever we please. Don't know what I would do—check into a hotel somewhere? Perhaps Dana or Julie would like to share a girls' holiday with me.


Monday, Feb. 20

Julie and Dana, with Olin at the barbecue and Chuck helping out in the kitchen, cooked a spectacular meal—colossal shrimp in garlic, barbecued fish, rice with mushrooms, tomato/greens/avocado salad. Cookies! We had cookies and watermelon for dessert. I was happy that Alice showed up, ate dinner, and participated in the evening group. She spoke up at some length, but nobody, myself included, could make out more than a word here and there. But the fact that she participated is huge progress. We're going to the waterfall today, our usual Monday trip, and she gets to spend an hour on the Internet. I want to do a bank withdrawal today. The $100 from Monteverde is down to about $20.

Group keeps happening. Julie facilitated one group. She has a kind, quiet way of just being there with someone's tears. We don't do anger to speak of, which is OK with me. I thihk that the hydraulic approach to therapy, that anger is held behind a dam and needs to be released, just leads to practicing anger and making it real and supposedly necessary. The approach of reworking faulty beliefs seems much more effective to me—that God did not create us inferior or inadequate or unworthy, and that belief needs to be replaced with truth, "I am as God created me." When I accept my magnificence, my behavior and feelings change accordingly.


Tuesday, Feb. 21

Yesterday was "off" day with a trip to Tabacon and the hot springs in the afternoon. "Off" is a relative term, because Died, Julie, Dana and I did a long therapy session with the M&Ms and C who was leaving later in the day. T'was good work—I think they are coming around to seeing themselves in a better light. Alice remained locked up in her room. Right now she still has the look of a concentration camp inmate, down to squinting sleepily when she comes out from her room into the daylight. But that's changing by the day.

I enjoyed the trip to Tabacon, perhaps because we didn't stay so long in the water. Alice who came along for the ride (lured by the prospect of a long Internet session in Arenal), sat on the banks pecking at the computer, after crossing the creek in her sneakers and long jeans. Our computer session in Arenal was frustrating for me, again, initially on a very slow machine that eventually crashed and went completely blank. I never had a computer do that! It was like pulling the plug. So I didn't get to the reworked files I'd planned on uploading. I am changing names on the website posts because of confidentiality issues. Wish other people would add their journals to mine, but they seem to think I'm the expert.

We took a detour to the volcano on the way out. First, let me say that it was a remarkably clear day and the volcano appeared in full regalia, offering all sorts of photo ops. We walked closer to the foot of the mountain and got to watch lava flowing down in a shower of glowing rocks. It's an eerie place anyway, this road to the volcano, very flat with high reeds swaying in erratic warm wind, quiet and deserted because the park was closed for the day. So we were lucky this time. I'm glad we got acquainted with the famous, largely invisible Volcano Arenal.

We ate at a neat little restaurant of the Ecology Women. Died was at his funny best, trading quips with everybody, especially Julie across the table. He even got a smile from Alice.

I may be leaving via Liberia instead of San Jose, but it's a long story. Spent an hour at the dentist, a gentle lady who treated me with TLC.

Anyway, I uploaded a few new photos to a new gallery, Costa Rica 2 (to shorten login time). Including the vulcan!


Wednesday, Feb. 22

We just took two days off, Monday to Tabacon Hot Springs, and Tuesday which I spent in Tilaran doing errands and visiting the dentist. It's a change in the routine. To me it feels a bit unsettling, to spend a day without doing the large group. We met with the clients morning and evening.

People seemed to enjoy the days off, but my feeling is that two days in a row remove us, me at least, from the spirit of the place.

The dentist is a lovely woman, circa age 35, with a very delicate touch. She took at least five minutes, perhaps ten, slowly injecting anesthetic. She also used minimal anesthetic. I'm still numb an hour later, but nothing like the sledgehammer approach of American dentists.


Thursday, Feb. 23

On break from morning group. Died is gone for a week, the inmates run the asylum, so to speak. I'm glad to say that the first part of circle (7:30-9) went well for me and I believe for others as well. Our projections on Alice were the main topic. Alice was absent and yet a very strong presence for everybody. We're on a 20-minute schedule, throughout the work day, of knocking on her door and inviting her out, for group, to play with the goose, to watch the clouds, and so on. Each of us does this for one hour, then we pass it on to the next willing or able person.

Doug arrived yesterday, a lanky young fellow from Canada. He comes as a volunteer. Died told us a bit of his story—that Doug developed a secret language as a kid and has had difficulty communicating in plain English ever since. But IMHO he's doing fine so far. Somehow, he made his way here.

I asked Dana to work with me a bit on projections I have on Died—the "ungiving father" (sounds kind of mythical) projection. Died has a phone in his room, as well as (sloooow) Internet connection. He doesn't want to make phone/Internet available to anybody because the kids would hang out on in his room all day long. So officially we have no phone or Internet connection. Even for changing a reservation, we are told to walk into Rio Piedras, some 6 km away on the road, to use the pay phone. Died makes exceptions for himself, Sas, Robert and me. I feel uncomfortable about the special relationship and decided to abide by the same rules as everybody else. But it's hard to contemplate a one-hour walking time to a pay phone that may or may not work, and I do want to keep in touch with people back home.

One goes through twenty different states of mind in a day here. Goes to show how many pieces of unfinished business I have in my life.

11 am. I'm on coffee break now. Did a gyro session with Doug. It was a totally new experience for him, I believe. He's amazingly apt in some ways, such as hip rotation (probably from doing lotus) and moves stiffly in other areas. One of us "lucky stiffs."


Friday, Feb. 24

Good circle this morning. The lesson we were working on was, "My mind is part of God's. I am very holy." At Olin's suggestion, we split into dyads and worked the lesson in pairs, taking turns to look at our self-image (whether "good" or "bad") and following that mind search with the topic of the lesson. Eventually the process led me to reveal parts of me that I've held secret, been ashamed of, for a long, long time.

Went into Tilaran on the bus today, with the M&Ms and Dana. Waiting for the 10:15 bus we had the strange experience of hearing rocks hit the corrugated roof of the bus shelter, apparently coming from a group of teenagers in wait for their school bus. The noise scared us. I wanted to attack them, and for a moment I found myself wanting them to see them get run over on the road. I think I look for outrageous behavior to feel rightfully offended. Later it occurred to me that I could have walked up to the kids and engaged them in conversation. I might have done that, had I not felt threatened and fearful.


Sunday, Feb. 26

Lots of thinking this morning—"let all my thoughts be still?" Hah! But I got perspective—I hope it is perspective—on what I should be doing here. I should be doing more therapy sessions—Alice especially could use a daily session. She came to dinner last night and participated, with something other than monosyllables, in the conversation. A session or two, just hearing what she has to say, would probably make a huge difference. It's like I'm waiting to be told what to do, but by whom? I'm IT right now. In Died's absence, I am the most qualified person to take the lead here. Not in administration, that's Sas' and Dana's task, but in leading groups and scheduling individual sessions.

I am beginning to use group process more, as in doing the lessons. Yesterday we studied Lesson 35, "My holiness blesses everything I see." We did dyads first, at Olin's suggestion, and then I had the inspiration—why not go around the circle, look everyone in the eye, and say, "my holiness blesses you, [name]"? So I did, and other people followed suit. It was mind-blowing to do this in a group. The Course is such the personal path, but nowhere does it say not use group process.


Monday, Feb. 27

It's fifteen after seven am, and the gang left for the beaches. I excused myself this time. It's three hours to the beaches, part of it on a dreadful bumpy road, and then one has to do it all over on the way back. But I'll miss the company. I've gotten attached to this "family" and enjoy my time with them. Sometimes we double up in laughter, at other times we are stone serious.

Yesterday's evening group, led by Olin, was a totally new experience. He had us access a feeling, then make it into a sound, a movement, and then a sculpture (Sas served as the clay for the sculpture).

I made contact of sorts with Alice. We talked for half an hour, or mostly sat together. I feel a huge generation gap between us. She didn't go to the beach, a shame I think because a day together with the young people would do her more good than many hours of therapy.


Steve's Lentil Soup

Start with 2 1/2 packages of yellow lentils in a large pot. Remove stones and black or bad lentils. Add water, filling halfway. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat. Simmer lentils and water for 3 to 4 hours.

Finely chop 7 medium onions and add before boiled. Once boiling, simmer for two hours. Two garlic heads. Separate and poke holes in each garlic piece so that flavor slowly disperses.

Stir every 20 minutes or so, scooping gently so lentils aren't mashed or broken.

Add:

1 cup red wine vinegar
1/3 cup olive oil
Tomato paste or make paste from 7 tomatoes
1 head garlic finely chopped for taste
5 bay leaves, if available, for aromatic effect

Add 2 or 3 potatoes, washed, peeled and quartered, to thicken the broth, and mash to be part of broth.

Gradually add salt to taste, about 5 tablespoons—gradually so you won't ruin the batch.

To make extra tangy, add 1 extra cup of apple cider vinegar.

Add 4 boiled potatoes for chunkiness.

Makes 20 servings.


Here's the schedule here at El Cielo:

6:15 am: Wakeup call (the last person to the circle the evening before gets to do wakeup call). The juice crew gets to work making fresh juices that are optimally ready at 7. The coffee urn gets plugged in, hopefully set up the night before.

7 am: Breakfast: eggs, cereal, juiced vegetables and fruit.

7:30 am: Study circle. We study the lesson for the day, participate in the discussion, air our questions, doubts, appreciations and gratitude.

10 am: An hour of activities to choose from: art, yoga, gyrokinesis, individual sessions, individual Course study.

11 am - 4 pm: Work crews go to their respective tasks finishing the guest rooms—painting, repairs, installation of vigas, plumbling, sewing curtains. Self-help lunch from 1-2. This is a temporary assignment until the rooms get done.

4-6 pm: Free time. Shower, take photos, walk down to the lake, walk up the hill for a view of Lake Arenal.

6 pm: Dinner & clean up kitchen.

7-9 pm: Circle. We bring up issues, work on our stuck points, work on group process.

9-10 pm: Free time.

10 pm: Lights out.


Tuesday, Feb. 28

Rain again this morning, with occasional downpours. A sunny day is scarce, one a week whether it's needed or not. Dana and I spent the day in Tilaran with Alice, who is coming out of her shell very nicely. The three of us ate lunch at a local eatery off the main square, a place with airs (green tablecloths with embroidered gold crowns). Why is it that little holes-in-the-wall feel the need to give themselves grandiose names, like Royal Manor? Do they think it makes any impact? Lunch was pretty good. I ordered a BLT which would have been fine except for the over-generous slather of mayo. We spent a good five hours in town, don't know where time goes here. Tico time. I tried to negotiate the taxi driver's quote of $12 for a ride to El Cielo, but he wouldn't budge, and in any case the bus arrived and bus it was. This was a newer BlueBird, with a driver who fancied himself a racer. At times I wonder that we stay on the road at all.


Thursday, March 2

Happy birthday, Scott!

Good circles lately, a lot of energy. Robert led last night, with a couple of trust exercises, a looking-in-the-eye exercise, and a gratitude list (I hope to post Sas' poem of gratitude if she'll let me). Alice participated fully yesterday. She reported that her eyes hurt when looking someone in the eye, but then she went ahead and did the exercise anyway. What a change! I spent an hour, probably ninety minutes, with her at the pond. She brought the goose under the arm—goose is remarkably willing to be carried—and we sat watching it bathe and preen itself. It loves company and it looked very happy paddling about in the pond, but I bet it wouldn't have stayed if we hadn't been there. Later, Alice helped Jim sort out photos in the computer.

We're using my laptop quite a bit, glad I brought it.

I make myself available for therapy sessions now, worked with Deb in addition to spending time with Alice. One way in which I think I can contribute is by helping with body awareness. We spend a lot of time working things out in our heads, but I find it useful to connect with the energy body.

Walt left yesterday, got a ride into San Jose with M&M. Jim leaves today. Especially poignant to see Walt leave, since he was one of the original gang that arrived on the 15th of January. Two new clients will be arriving with Died, late Friday. We get pretty cozy with each other, and to me at least it can feel awkward to integrate new people, especially the first day or two. Then they too become family. But it would be easy to just be a dysfunctional family, self centered, isolated.


Friday, March 3

Great group this morning. Tension was building up, everybody trying to hold back, and finally we decided to yell together the equivalent of "shove off". What a relief that was.


Sunday, March 5

Haven't posted for a few days. Three members of a Course group from San Jose visited here for the weekend. They arrived on Friday, during a power outage. We ate by candlelight, washed dishes by candlelight, and did without clean dishtowels because we couldn't run the washing machine. Power did not come back on until about 11 on Saturday.

The oldtimers reported being a bit agitated about visitors, but as usually happens the newcomers soon became family. I was sorry to see them go this morning. They were an expat, his Tica wife, and a young man from their ACIM group in San Jose.

I went into Tilaran with Alice on Friday. Trip back on the bus was so totally Tico, down to a chorus of chicks peeping the whole 45 minutes it took us to get to El Cielo. I think they were a shipment from a farm supply store. I asked one guy whether he could sell me a chick to keep the goose company. He said que lastima, his chicks were counted and he had to deliver all to a farmer. Otherwise I would have adopted a week-old chick.

Neat to see people change, open up, become funny and spontaneous and free. There is a camaraderie of young and old, men and women, black and white, all walks of life.

We go to the hot springs tomorrow, with time for a trip to the foot of Volcano Arenal. I write after a long walk to Rio Piedras with Dana, another counselor here, and two clients who are recovering from eating disorders. The intention of the trip was for them to buy water, but Dana and I had to say no to all the sugary junk foods on the shelves of the market. If you totally don't do sugar, there's very little to eat, an experience not unlike that of a convenience store in a gas station Stateside.

Right now, having finished my second shower of the day (one gets really warm walking around here, despite the wind), I sit in the dining hall, looking out on Lake Arenal, perched on a bar stool because the regular chairs are way too low for comfortable work at the laptop.


Thursday, March 9

Took the 6:15 bus into Tilaran for another session at the dentist. I figured out one thing: they are as slow doing your teeth as they are building a house or repairing the road. Four visits down, at least one more to go before I get my bridge. Tico time.

Tilaran was sunny and very quiet when the bus dropped me off at 6:50. I had a cup of coffee (by and large tasty and fresh CR coffee, brewed on the spot) and a plate of fruit. With 90 minutes to burn before my 8:30 appointment, I read a book in the dentist office (Heart and Soul by Gary Zukav, I highly recommend it), half hoping to be seen sooner. No such luck. Wandered over to the Internet cafe around 8 but it was still closed. The other day they opened at 8, but today they decided to sleep in. Nice to get in early because then I can grab one of the faster computers.

Will be going into San Jose on Friday. Dentist will be away for two weeks, it takes two weeks to finish bridgework, and that's cutting it too close to my departure date of April 14. So I'll be hiring the usual driver who takes us to the hot springs, at the rate of $110 for the day. I think it will turn out cheaper than public transportation and a motel in Alajuela on Friday night, not to mention the door-to-door convenience.

We now have three clients, five staff and four working volunteers. It's a nice breakdown, I think, even if it seems outrageous on the face of it. We (staff) are scheduling at least one session per day with anyone who asks, Alice being an exception—she's now mandated to have a session a day.

I am nursing a cold—cough, watery eyes, sneezing, the whole upper respiratory syndrome. I think that being damp and never totally warm except when the rare rays of sun come out is getting to me.

So today I don't feel so hot. Perhaps from being physically ill, I'm just tolerating being here, counting the weeks to get back to dry California. We now take two days—Monday and Tuesday—off from circle and spiritual study. I think it's too much and will take that up with Died.


Friday, March 10

Rebirthing today. It's always different. For me it involved a great deal of purely physical release of tension, especially in my neck, and the shoulder that bothered me in the past few days no longer does. When I thought I was finished, when I stopped pushing the breath and lay in dreamland enjoying the music, an ancient memory overtook me—longing for the God that I left so long ago. I so wanted Him, or It, to take me back. The Course talks about the longing we all have to return Home, and now I can say that I have experienced it, or remembered it. One never knows what's there, buried deep in the mind.

Processing the experience afterwards is the next best thing to doing it. Everybody has a different story to tell. One of the guys, a new arrival a couple of days ago, described what sounded like a near-death experience, where his life and especially people he knew long ago and had forgotten, presented themselves.


Sunday, March 12

We are in a rush today and tomorrow, new people arrive, staff will move into the higher level, Rooms 8-11. I helped paint yesterday. Lissa offered me a session and AFT experience. That alone took 1.5 hours out of the day.

AFT, I learned, involves playing with the energies of chakras and meridians by tapping the body in a number of places—outer edge of the palm, chest, forehead, temples, crown of the head, ankles, and many other points. The tapping is intended to "smooth out" the energetic field, and I can say that it induced an altered state of consciousness. It makes sense that feelings of loneliness, worthlessness, anger, sadness become lodged in the body, and that direct physical intervention can be more effective and long-lasting than talk therapy. Talk therapy, after all, deals with the most superficial aspect that a client offers.

It was a superb session. Lissa has a depth of understanding and a natural right-brain feel for how people get stuck and what needs to happen for them. As a woman, I find that we are often discounted by therapists, even female therapists, and I was surprised and pleased how Lissa honored and respected my womanhood. If I lived in Vancouver, I would use Lissa as a resource for myself and as a referral. In one session, she offered clarity and reframing of some of the ways I get stuck, such as procrastination that is followed by eating and playing computer games to fill the void.

Today was another workday, but we can see the end of the remodel of Rooms 8-11. I helped paint this morning, after making a couple of phone calls home. Alissa helped paint for a couple of hours, perched on a stepladder. She's a really neat kid who seems more open every day that goes by. At one o'clock we stopped for lunch, which was leftovers from last night, lentil glop on rice and vegetables on the side. Alice took one look at it and left. I thought she'd gone to her room, but she had gone back to finish her painting job. Meanwhile, we had finished lunch and I was in the process of cleaning up the kitchen when Alice walks in, gets out the fry pan, and sets out to make french fries. I got a taste of what an eating disorder is all about: she must have fried potatoes for a good 45 minutes, then refried some because they weren't crisp enough, then rearranged them on the plate, small pieces neatly stacked up around the edges of the plate, the large slices in a mound in the center.

I had asked her repeatedly why she wouldn't eat her fries while they were hot. She said she was eating some, but I didn't see that. I had long since finished cleaning up and I wanted to get back to the painting, but didn't want to leave her alone with a frypan of hot oil. So I stayed and got to watch the unfolding, or glacially-unfolding, lunch drama. Eventually I took the frypan, poured out the hot fat in the garbage, wiped it for the next user, and left. Alice soon came down to the work area to give the work crew the french fries she'd so painstakingly prepared, saying she'd had enough. However, she did accept my gift of a Gala apple from my secret stash, and surprised me by saying it was the best apple she'd ever eaten and where did I get it? I feel so badly that Alice won't let herself eat (other than a Gala apple), but I'm not up on the mechanism behind an eating disorder, except that it must have to do with abysmally low self-worth. So being here and participating in every aspect of the community, will be of immense value to Alice and the rest of us.


Monday, March 13

One month from now I will be boarding the early bus to San Jose and home. How do I feel about our Intentional Community? The people are great. The young guys have been an example to me of what the power of love can do. No teenager ever needs to be called incorrigible. Even Jim, our "black sheep" who managed to infuriate everyone, including me, with his lovable sociopathy—I think he could have been handled differently, if we had engaged the whole group in the process. But we are part of an evolving process and there's still a lot to learn.

I see Alice evolving and unfolding, despite psychiatric labels, medication, and God knows what early formative experiences of failure. She arrived in a rage, now she participates and speaks up in group. I think that for Alice the group interaction is crucial, and the young volunteers have been wonderfully supportive and patient.

The venue, on the other hand…it is a hardship to make it here, even from the Liberia airport, and a hardship to do anything, whether it be shopping, phoning, Internet, or medical attention. Renting a car might help, but then it would sit idle here on the property because on most days one stays put. Something that can't be helped is the abominable Lake Arenal weather, downright cold at times, cloudy and rainy ninety percent of the time, stifling hot when the sun comes out on a rare day.


Wednesday, March 15

Trip to Tabacon Hot Springs yesterday, with a detour by La Fortuna. We used a pit stop next to the dam, and consider yourself warned: don't patronize Tico pit stops. I loved La Fortuna, nestled on the west side of the volcano and surrounding hills. The vegetation is quite dense and green on that side, like that of the steep mountains of Tahiti. The sunny day probably gave me a false view of Fortuna, but I must say that for the first time I felt I could live here. Died says that the area is touristy, but I liked the creature comforts such as fast Internet and a lovely groomed central square.

I made the mistake of allowing Alice an ice cream treat after lunch, as well as a couple of packs of gum, and I suspect it brought up the sweet memory of sugar in a big way. After the hot springs, she tried to get away several times to visit the gift store, ostensibly to buy gum, acting insulted that I followed her. Robert and I thwarted her third attempt, but her fixed stare directed at the candy counter spoke volumes.

She's really feeling her oats now. She first waded in the warm water, then walked up the creek by herself, setting off a general Find Alice movement. Then, with Robert's encouragement, she had a full hot springs experience including diving under the waterfall. Then, on the way back, with an hour to spare back in Arenal, I told the driver to drop me off to visit the Internet cafe by myself, intending to join the group at the restaurant a bit later. But the group disgorged from the minibus and scattered all over Arenal. The result was that Alice found her way to a grocery store and purchased candy. She�s now on a strict one-on-one watch during field trips.

We came back to a meeting room full of mattresses, Died's shopping trip to the furniture store in Liberia. Our poor meeting room gets used for everything. When Scott and I arrived back in January, it was full of dismantled beds, now it's full of mattresses. Hopefully not for long.

Shana, a long-term client of Died's, arrived yesterday. She presents with coiffed white hair, dignified posture, self-assurance. We know nothing more about her at the moment, but that will soon change, I am sure.


Thursday, March 16

Not exactly a boring place. Caroline (names have been changed to protect privacy etc etc.) apparently got hold of some controlled substance in La Fortuna (how does one find drugs in a new place, new language, new currency? I'd be at a total loss if you gave me the assignment), was pretty wasted when we pulled in at El Cielo around 9 pm. Next day she went into emotional meltdown during a meeting, walked out afterwards ostensibly to mail a letter in Rio Piedras, parted ways with Jerry, another client who had accompanied her, hitched a ride with a Tico man, and wasn't seen again for 24 hours.

She returned in one piece yesterday, still obviously high, racked with guilt, self-blame, remorse. The pickle here is that we're here by sufferance of the Gringo community, a number of whom want to shut us down for—guess what?—supposedly being a "rehab center," far from a fact, but they don't know that. So the word will most likely get out that a client of ours was out buying drugs. At least she didn't die or get her beautiful face mashed in, but every one of us spent many hours and emotional capital worrying about her and about our future here, and Died had to notifiy the police after futile searches of Tilaran bars and hangouts. If she'd died or disappeared for good, it would be not only lamentable but would sound the death knell for Choose-Again. It may still be so—Caroline's escapade gives the perfect ammunition to the Gringos who fear infestation by Vancouver druggies.


Sunday, March 19

Fun and games this morning. We (staff and volunteers) met to discuss Alice's program. One month after arriving, she is still mostly holed up in her room until one or two pm, doesn't attend morning circle and sometimes not evening circle, and is unbelievably difficult to extract from said room. Anyway, we decided, as a group, that she needs to room with someone else, and that the best place for her is the residence, affectionately named Animal House, where the young volunteers sleep now. There it will be totally obvious if she's not asleep by 10 and up at 6:15. We gave her 10 minutes' warning to come up and meet with us. When she did not, we went as a group to her room and parked ourselves in front of the door. She finally came out after some 15 minutes' wait and several calls, but bolted back inside when told of the purpose of the meeting. More calls and knocking on her door. We finally opened the door with the spare key and went in, a group of six, and sat on the bed. She was furious at the "invasion of privacy," and more furious still when told that she had to move. After slamming the door of the bathroom several times, she scratched herself all over arms and face, and as we left we heard a huge crash. She'd broken the mirror and the toilet tank, sending water spewing all over the bathroom floor. In a way, it must be nice to be labeled crazy and to break stuff with impunity, and control the whole community.

I write at 3:30 pm and things have quieted down. Dana and I helped move Alice into her new digs, and she is now immersed in homework at one of the dining tables. She has amazing powers of concentration. I got the privilege of watching her for the next hour, but she no longer seems inclined to rage and destroy stuff. She's by far the most difficult client we've got here.

Deb was away (with permission) to attend a Tico horse show and an overnight with the Tico family who cooks and cleans for us. She reports that the show consisted mostly of riders drunk enough to fall off the horses. Right now, Died is playing tennis with Chuck, Robert and Deb and Darrence are making dinner. Garlic is a favorite spice. Too bad I don't really like garlic. Chuck's parents arrive tomorrow for a five-day visit, and we're in a whirlwind of Get Room Ready activity.

I'm doing well but missing home…


Thursday, March 24

Content and Process. I've found it valuable to understand the distinction between content and process, a distinction that wasn't clear to me BC (Before Cielo), even after years of training in psychotherapy. So here it is for all posterity: content is what we call The Story—shops I visited today, the TV show last night, how I managed to grow up with those dreadful parents of mine, how I've been wronged, and, most noxiously, who did what to whom. Talking about "who did what to whom" is Gossip and leads to Collusion. If you and I agree that "ain't it awful what they do to each other" we may experience a sort of ersatz togetherness for the moment, but absolutely nothing has been accomplished. The illusion under which we sweat and puff, live and die has not been touched, in fact it has been reinforced by the power of two minds in temporary agreement.

Process, on the other hand, is my experience of events: how I feel right at the moment. There is a solidity about process, an inherent rightness that stems from a totally non-judgmental approach. If I am angry, well, I am angry and that can be dealt with and transformed through the power of love. If you feel sad, homesick, pissed off or humiliated, it only means that you've been "triggered," and triggers are like gold nuggets hidden in the sand. Triggers can be traced back to false beliefs, often acquired very early in life. For example, let's say you turn your back to me while I'm in the middle of a sentence. My feelings associated with this "offense" may be anger, discount, separation, isolation, righteous indignation, to name a few (there are always at least a dozen). How we work with feelings here at El Cielo is radically different from run-of-the-mill therapy. The latter would suggest confronting the wrongdoer, while the Course model works exclusively with the owner of the feelings, leaving the offending party totally out of the equation. Using feelings as a guide, we go back in time to the earliest event that triggered the same feelings, and then uncover the decision I made about myself: that I was unworthy of attention, perhaps unloved and unwanted, a discard of the Family of Man. The last step of this work is to question the reality of that decision, and here is where the principles of the Course come in: would a loving God say that love is for everybody except for me? Did God create me unworthy? Does God say that I am a discard? Thank God that is not the Truth.

This work takes a hefty dose of humility and a willingness to look at oneself. Our tendency to blame the outside world for our internal state is pervasive and quite unconscious. A love-based approach is essential to dig up the roots of noxious beliefs. However, the effort brings priceless rewards. Because beliefs are so fundamental in running our lives, a changed belief ripples out to the edges of experience and makes for profound change. No longer can I, with imaginary impunity, blame someone else for my feelings, situation or condition. Everything that happens becomes the stuff of evolution and growth.


Chuck's family arrived Tuesday night. What a gift to see a family transformed before your eyes. Circle work left nary a dry eye in the house. How I would have loved to share such an experience with my parents, how happy I am that Chuck had this opportunity.

I asked Alice to show me the way to the lake yesterday—after all, I should really visit the lake once before I leave! She did a great job of guiding me down the road. Not a lot of talk, but we shared what was for me a pleasant experience, not to mention the exercise. For those of you who don't know the place, a trip to the water involves about a 600-foot drop and minimally a 45-minute walk down and an hour back. I loved the open feeling around the lake, that profound quiet and vast spaciousness.

More wildlife around the place as summer moves on. Howler monkeys wake us up with their roar (they are the size of dogs but sound like full-size lions), toucans fly before the window, and bugs of course are everpresent.


Received a list of 10 Secrets to Unhappiness & Happiness today via email from a friend. He mentioned that he had received it from a rather random source, which later turned out to be somebody involved with the Course—a bit of synchronicity for him, as he's been considering studying the Course himself.


Friday, March 25

We did rebirthing yesterday. No two rebirthings are the same, whether within one's experience or from one participant to another. My initial experience was very physical, scanning my body for tight or painful spots. Body scanning is much easier during rebirthing (as opposed to the awake state). Around the midpoint I repeatedly saw the image of myself as an 8-year-old girl in white dress, walking to Sunday school with Father on a sunny warm morning. The bells of the Catholic church are calling their faithful, must be the Catholic church because the Baptist church doesn't have bells. The feeling is profound love for my father, and for Mother who stayed home on that and most other occasions. That vision helped me see my parents differently, a glimpse of what might have been if we'd all known what I know now.

In the end, the music turned to Indian chants and synthesizer, bringing back the longing that lurks just below my consciousness, the longing for a connection with God. If only I could stay there, connected at all times! What a difference that would make in my life and the lives of those whom I touch. But it also came to me that to lament not having that connection perpetuates the lack. That I must claim for myself the connection, and that God will respond eagerly. Miracles are my birthright, and do not depend on time or effort.


Saturday, March 26

It is 7 a.m. on a windy morning, and I sit on the porch, overlooking the lake. Across the water, a hint of sunshine lights up the hills. Below, an occasional truck or motorcycle brings the road to life. The wonderful clouds of Lake Arenal rush overhead. We always have a double cloud layer here, seemingly stable high clouds and the low, misty, fast-moving condensation sweeping east to west along the lake.

On another tack, I would like to review the Course philosophy, as an addition to the Content/Process post. This because there are a number of concepts that help make sense of this work:

I am as God created me. I came from love, I am love, and everything else is an illusion and does not exist.

God did not create the world. We did (and really botched the job! :)

Perception makes up the world we see. Knowledge, on the other hand, is the direct experience of God. Perception maintains duality, knowledge erases it.

I am not a body. I am Spirit. Death is only a belief, because there is only life springing up in its many forms.

Sacrifice is not required for salvation. Salvation is merely a moment of recognition and does not hinge on effort, suffering, good deeds, or repentance.

The illusion of separation from God is the only mistake that needs to be corrected. That tiny error spun out the carpet of time. With the tool of forgiveness, we now roll back the carpet and return to the God we never left.

God Is. God is a pervasive and unseen Presence. We are ripples in the infinite God-ocean, pretending to be unique and special, but to God we inevitably return. God is Cause, we are Effect.

Sin does not exist and expiation is a waste of time. Correction of mistaken beliefs is our task as Sons of God.

This instant is the only time there is. When I think about the past or worry about the future, the mind is misusing the eternal present. It is hallucinating in the eternal present.


Saturday, April 1

Brief note today. My ego managed to cook up a huge dentist drama, with daily visits (each trip in town takes at least two hours, usually three or four), usually to reglue temporary caps that fall off. So I am getting removed from El Cielo, physically and spiritually, and I can blame the dentist! How come the work won't get done in two visits, as in the States (here I go, the Ugly American)? Do these Ticos know what the hell they're doing, or will I have to shell out four grand to redo the work in California, perhaps losing a tooth or two in the process? So, folks, I've lost peace. I could see peace instead of this, but naaaah… Guess it has to do with forgiving the medical profession, with which I have had a grudge as long as I can remember. Invited or not, God will be there. When not invited, He comes as Trouble.

We have parents visiting here, one set last week, another set this week. I like to see the families of the young people, it fleshes out the picture I make up in my mind. No surprises so far, though, no former monsters showing up as tiny meek little creatures as happened at Schick Hospital so long ago. That bespeaks maturity and integration.

For the benefit of arriving parents, the weather turned nasty, with pouring rain and near-gale force winds. Died scheduled a silent walk to the lake the other day, and people got soaked to the bone in several downpours, including Deb's parents who had arrived at noon. Dana walked down in a long skirt which, of course, wrapped her legs in wet compresses. With skies turning black by the minute, I had the good sense to refuse to partake the experience and curled up in my room with a good book.

Evening—everybody enjoyed a wonderful shrimp and pasta dinner with—guess what—fresh roasted almonds in chocolate for dessert. Courtesy of Deb's mom. For some reason, pasta is banned at El Cielo, not to mention chocolate, so scarcity alone would have made it food of the gods.

Right now I feel better about my dentist woes. Nothing has changed, but I let go of the struggle and agony. After all, if I decide to be happy and then a tooth falls out six months down the line, should I exclaim, "aw shucks, look what I missed, I could have been miserable all this time!"?

A bird flew by and perched on a tree branch outside my window this afternoon. It was black with a brilliant red chest, startling red in the waning sun. A truly magic moment.


Sunday, April 2

First thing in the morning, in the pale light of six-thirty am, Died drove three of us in his car toward Arenal, to check out the oropendula (that's a bird) nests. I uploaded a couple of photos. The nests are comical structures made of grasses and Spanish moss, hanging from the tree like overripe melons. I was equally interested to visit the condo complex (human condos, that is) where the birds reside—got to see how "the other half" lives. One drives down toward the lake on a long driveway, past a goose pond, arriving at a truly paradisical nook of manicured flowering gardens under majestic trees, the luxury houses sheltered from the constant Arenal wind. It's what $400K will buy, according to Died. The expat quandary: does one put up with squalor and ugliness like a Tico, or does one hide in splendor behind walls and gates with armed guards? I wouldn't want either choice, the first too uncomfortable and a hazard to health, the second isolating, disconnected and fearful. Relative social equality is one thing I really appreciate about the States and especially my small San Luis Obispo, a middle-class town with nary a pocket of poverty. Will there always be this dichotomy of rich and poor, or can we create a world that works for everyone?


Monday, April 10

I will be flying to California in four days, first a taxi to Tilaran, the bus to San Jose, a taxi to Hotel Canal Grande in Alajuela, and next morning the 10am AA flight to Dallas, LAX and peaceful San Luis Obispo. It's a long trek, from the boondocks of Costa Rica back to what we call civilization and home. The remoteness of this location is one of my bugaboos. It takes a major effort, one more full day after the international flight, and an additional expense, perhaps as much as $150, to finally arrive at El Cielo.

Dana and I will be spending tonight in La Fortuna, a couple of hours away by bus, past the dam and past the hot springs we frequent. Some of us will be going the other way around the lake, to visit the waterfall ten km from Tilaran. Another two of us, Olin and Chuck, will be spending the day on the bus to Liberia, in order to purchase tickets for their trip to Guatemala. Aside from the impediment of having to appear in person to buy an airline ticket (!), they are fulfilling the immigration requirement that one spend no more than three months in Costa Rica or to risk incurring a fine when leaving the country. So what people do is to leave, usually to Nicaragua, for seventy-two hours and then return to CR for another three months. The alternative is to travel to San Jose and spend three days there while the authorities incubate one's passport, after which period a semipermanent resident visa is hatched. I have no idea what the resident gringos do.

I guess one can be critical and make oneself miserable. I would like to have the same experience of love and connectedness in, say, the Sonoran desert, but Costa Rica it is. I've done a number of therapy sessions with clients and staff, and once more I am shown how much I need to be doing the Work, rather than hiding in comfortable boredom. I have resolved to connect with the Course in Miracles community back home, to see how I can share this experience.

Will I be returning in any capacity? I've been asked the question, and the answer will probably become clear when I'm back in San Luis Obispo, with the perspective of time and space. Meanwhile, my companions here have become Family and I shall never forget them. Guess I'll always have someone to visit in Vancouver.