A Night to Let Go

The night invites me out for a walk and I go to meet Alexander down town.  We’ve been trying to connect but missing each other.  Apparently we missed again.  After waiting for too long, I give up and walk.  I run into another friend I met a few days ago, Agostine, and he is just getting off work and joins me to go for some salsa.  As soon as the music hits me I forget everything else, my body takes over, the medicine takes the pain.  I am happy again.

Agostine as it turns out, is a great dancer, suave, smooth, skillful and strong and again I feel divine grace moving.  Throughout the evening he continues to become more intimate, first holding my hand, then squeezing me, then tenderly squeezing my body as we dance like lovers would and I don’t fight it, nor do I say no.  My lover is leaving and has abandoned me in Cuba, I need the affection and I take it gratefully.  In the space between the dances, I let him know that we are just friends, and to please respect that boundary.  I tell him my heart is with someone else and I know that he understands.  He is totally respectful and I feel safe.

After dancing, we take a walk to the Malacon.  He is easy to be with, light and playful.  We are laughing and slapping each other on the back nearly falling over in the fun wandering thru downtown Habana. 

My phone rings and I answer.  Manuel's voice greets me with some agitation, “Where are you?  What are you doing?  Who are you with?” 

When I tell him I am taking a walk with a friend, another stream of questions comes, “Who is he?  You replacing me already? You should go back to the house right now.”  I smile at his jealousy and find some pleasure in it.    

“Come back, I want to be with you,” I say.  “I miss you baby.”  Then he tells me he’s not coming back until the night before he leaves and I want to scream at him.  I want to say “God dammit.  I busted my ass to get here to spend time with you and you can’t give me one fucking day before you go?”  But I say, “Please come back tomorrow.  We only have two days, and I miss you.” 

I know he won’t.  I know I will barely see him before I leave and that probably it is for the best.  I hang up the phone and feel a combination of being happy and touched by his jealousy, frustrated by his absence, and angry that I was such a fool to plan a trip around the possibility of having time with a man who is just not available nor willing to prioritze me in any way.  I also know he is here to be with his family and that his family is his priority and again, I understand in spite of my own selfish desires.

I return to Agostine who is waiting patiently for him and let him put his arm around me and hold me in my grief.  I sink into him and feel comforted, but my heart wants only my lover, the man I am now in love with.   “When you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with,” runs through my head and I surrender to accept what is present for me in the moment rather than wasting any more tears on a man who won’t give me what I want and need. 

The city is so beautiful at night.  The majesty of the buildings comes to life even more in the darkness when you can’t see the flaking paint and broken windows.  Something of the magic of the past comes alive and you can almost feel the ghosts whirling around the place haunting it with the zillions of lost dreams and hopeless desires.  I love it.  I am happy in spite of my grief.

We spend the night laughing and strolling the Malacon.  He is a total gentleman and never crosses any boundaries or disrespects me in any way.  He is a good and true friend to me and I am grateful for some safe sweet company.  He teaches me to curse in Cuban Spanish and we yell and curse through our laughter at my pathetic pronunciation, and I try to not let my thoughts wander to the hole that is growing in my heart.  I have to let go. 

Baile d'amour

It’s hard to not feel wary that I may be acting like a crazy old fool.  It’s even harder to stop myself and harder still to have any real idea of whether anything my mind is thinking makes any sense whatsoever.

I’m falling in love with a man who likely will break my heart and leave it in Cuba with the millions of other lost broken dreams that have faded here.  Undoubtedly one of the most physically beautiful creatures I’ve ever touched or shared my body with and perhaps one of the strongest men I’ve ever known or been with in mind, body and spirit.  I keep telling myself to stop the train, get off and run the other direction as fast and far as possible, but the reality is I can’t resist him, nor do I want to.

Our first whole night together and I can’t remember if I slept or just stayed awake all night feeling him next to me just to feel him next to me. I only remember the moment he turned over and pulled me close and held me early in the morning as being a moment I wanted to last forever. 

He wakes and within minutes he’s inside me again making love to me the second time, his delicious voice over and over saying, “You feel so good, god you feel so good,” and ending with “I want to fall asleep inside you,” as he fills me with his release and passes out inside me bringing warmth and comfort to my whole being.  Time here stands still for a moment.  I wish it would stand still for a week.. or a lifetime.

I wonder if he knows what he’s doing to me or not.  I wonder if he is falling in love too or if he’s just having some good sex with a willing woman and enjoying some moments in Cuba away from his wife with a woman who is eager to take his beautiful black body for hours of pleasure.  There’s no way to know, part of me cares, part of me doesn’t.

I know it can’t last.  I know there’s absolutely no chance of a future with him, yet I couldn’t help but fantasizing today of someday coming here together and fixing up the finca where his parents live and running a drum and dance music camp. 

He’s just such a good man, and the more I watch how he communicates, how he connects with people and his easy way of being with others, the more I fall in love with him.  He has this sexy suave tenderness, not just with me, but with everyone he talks to, that is so inviting and so attractive. Seeing him here, in his home country, so comfortable, confident and absolutely undeniably sexy is such a turn on, I just want to keep him here in my arms as long as I can.

He feels so good falling asleep and going soft inside of me.   I wish this moment could last all day, but slowly he awakes and rolls off of me and I feel his semen start to ooze out of me, warming me once again.  When he gets up and starts to dress, my heart sinks a little.  I want him to want to stay here with me all day,  but he’s ready for his day, well rested, well loved, double sexed in the night and off for a day to help his family in every way he can while he’s here.  I totally get it and admire the fact that he is a man who prioritizes appropriately.

I find myself reacting pretty intensely to his disappearance without a proper goodbye when I’ve just been out pounding the pavement and getting soaked in the rain to find food for a good healthy breakfast for him after his run and that alone tells me I’m in trouble.   I spend an hour or so fighting back the desire to freak out.  I cry then convince myself he’s not worth crying over.  I start to fall into the pit of depression that once again I’ve fallen for a man who is sure to disappoint me, who already has more than a few times. 

I work hard to convince myself I won’t answer his calls and won’t sleep with him anymore.  It’s done.  I don’t need this shit after all, and it’s just a heartbreak coming and nothing more anyway.   I write myself out of it, pull up my big girl pants, remember that he will be back, and that he left to take care of his family which is admirable and noble and I let it go and walk to my drum class.

He calls while I’m gone for lunch and I head out for music for the evening hoping he will call in a moment where I can actually hear the phone ring.  He does and we make a plan to meet for a show at the Casa de la Musica.  He shows up dressed head to toe in white and I am sure I’ve never seen a more handsome regal looking man in my life.  I want to devour him, but he’s with the family and I know tonight I have to be just a friend, not his lover.  I wish I had taken time to change clothes to look nicer for him, but this is Cuba after all so what ever.

He makes a point to remind me early in the night that we can’t be “hot for each other” because he’s with his family, so I try hard to ignore him and spend most of the night dancing with his cousin and uncle.  I feel him watching me carefully, and I get totally turned on by the fact that he and I have this secret between us, but also a little worried that truly anyone with eyes can probably see it anyway. 

After several dances with his cousin, he gives me the nod and extends his hand to me and we dance salsa, the only two on the floor and I feel like a queen with her king.  He is such a beautiful dancer, so suave, so strong, so clear, and the smile on his face shows me that he is enjoying me too.  I know his whole family is watching and I do my best to stay on point but not over the top.  We dance three dances, his smile touches my heart deeply.  The whole time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him so happy. 

I notice that we dance together much better now after so much love making, our bodies know each other better, we trust each other more, there is more freedom, more love, more of everything good between us and the chemistry is magical.  The dances end and I float back to my chair to ground down for a few moments. 

Later in the night, he shows some jealousy and I am touched by it. I begin to realize perhaps something is happening for him too when, after dropping his sister off at her house, he casually drops the line, “What are you doing to me?” and all I can say is, “I don’t know but I think it’s happening to me too.”  We are silent for the rest of the drive back to my place holding hands and the energy in our fingers comes directly from our hearts.

He is already asleep when I get to my bed.  I curl myself around his perfect black body and pray.  He wakes me in the night and makes love to me so sweetly and so deeply that I know it will be a long time before I will want another man after he leaves.  Dawn will come too soon as always.  Only 3 days left before he has to return. I don’t know how I’m not going to break down when he goes.  I don’t know if I will last that long even.

Global Citizen

I have heard it said that what we teach and bring to the world is that which we need for ourselves first and foremost. I believe it to be true.  My work being that of working to support, create and foster a sense of culture and community wherever I can, I can’t help but recognize the reality of the relevance.   I am so rich and so blessed in so many ways, with so many friends around the world, yet, in moments, I feel like I am the most lonely and alone person on the planet. 

My heart longs for something that feels always fleeting: a feeling of “belonging” with others that can really only come from family and culture.  I see it here everywhere.  The people know who they are, they know where they come from, they have a connection to their roots, to their community, to their families. They have roots that go back hundreds of generations that they are still in touch with every day.  Most of us in the good ol USA, simply don’t have that.  Many of us don’t even know where our grandparents came from, how they got here and what their roots were.  Often our grandparents don’t even know, the chords were cut and little was revealed. 

Add to that my path as a visionary and a lover of adventure and travel as a global citizen, and it’s as if somehow my path, as beautiful and noble as it is in many ways, also isolates me from the very thing that I seek.  My journey of exploring culture and community takes me away from mine.  My desire to experience the cultures of the world and to witness how they work somehow keeps me just on the outside of full belonging to any one particular and the one I was born into and raised by is not resonant with my soul, heart or mind really in any way. 

I am a loner in this world:  a self proclaimed, fully discovered lost, yet totally found, soul.  Enlightened in many ways, and fully connected, yet longing for something that “normal” people in the most poor of places seem to have that I can’t quite touch or grasp.  Something that I know I will never have, that is not mine to have and that I can only witness, borrow and admire in others.  

Somehow, being a woman, single, solo and carrying the torch that I do, with the passion for experience, knowledge and wisdom that I have, I have become a citizen of a different kind of community.  I am participating in the community of the entire world.  I wander, I watch, I listen, I am like a ninja warrior priestess in the city of the world on a lifetime quest for understanding humanity as a participant of many cultures.  I am, indeed, a global citizen.  I have home, friends, community and love everywhere, and yet at the end of the day, still I am alone.

My instincts are sharp, and I know how to take care of myself and others.  I can literally go anywhere in the world and feel like I can survive, thrive and find my way.  I’ve been described as brave, courageous and fearless and I know it’s all true.  I don’t have a lot of inhibitions.  I say and do as I please, when I want and I’m grateful that I was blessed enough to be born into a culture that does grant me, if nothing else, the freedom to create myself and my life as I please.  Even in my lonlieness, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Yet, in quiet moments, like now, sitting by the Malacon at sunset listening to the surf and watching the day come to a close, the tender soft place in me, as a woman, wants nothing more than the sanctuary of one good man to lean on and to take my hand.   A man who can let me collapse into him when I am sad, tired or just fed up with the whole crazy illusion we call life.  A man who can feel what my heart feels right now, and show up to pick me up, dry my tears, hold me and know exactly how to nourish me back to my source, quietly and with great strength and softness. A man who can stand up to my fire, but melt me with his tenderness.

I’m beginning to think he’ll never show up  and that the reality of what I must accept in this life is that indeed, I am here on a solo journey to touch the hearts and lives of many, but to walk always as one woman with a mission to find ways to offer to the world that which she doesn’t have in her own life.

Two faces: one people

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November 18:  Day 6

People here wear two faces.  One is tired, worn and hopeless.  The other is friendly, tender and always welcoming. Walking the streets of Havana these past few days, I’ve seen so much of both.  There is an undeniable sense of hopelessness here matched with a spirit of acceptance for what is that allows the people here to find peace and enjoy a rich life in spite of their circumstances. 

 In spite of old, decrepit, falling down homes they smile. In spite of the incredible stench of piss and filthy streets that they have to navigate every day to get to the food stalls they smile.  In spite of the knowingness that it is unlikely that anything will ever change for them in their lifetime and that their government has effectively made them prisoners on this island they laugh and enjoy moments with total joy.

The contradictions here are difficult for a foreigner to understand.  Last night, walking home with my new friend, Salvador, I had an AHA moment.  The whole system is so different than what I’m used to in the US.  The way the people think is so different.  The laws and considerations that are created around that way of thinking is often very hard to grasp. 

This is an entire governtmental system that thinks not for the individual but for the entire population and for preserving a certain balance that preserves the whole.  The people think likewise: they don’t think of or just for themselves as individuals but about and for how their community and family is affected in every moment.  It’s almost as if there is no “I” but always and only a “we.”  It’s beautiful, and tonight suddenly so much more made sense to me.

The balance the government is holding them in isn’t necessarily one that all of the people want preserved, nor is it one that is always the most ideal place to exist, but the reality is that in spite of it’s many many problems, people here are surviving and existing in a certain surreal security, of sorts, that we in the US absolutely do not have and can’t understand.

The woman of my Casa Particular explained it to me the other night when we were walking the streets of Havana for hours under the guise of looking for someplace to dance.  “Cheri: Mira.. here, we no pay for nothing like you do.  My house, I no pay rent.  If I get sick, I no pay Doctor.  Lyposuction, I want to get, free for me.  I no pay for electricity, or water. Food is very cheap and some of it free. You understand me?  In your country, you pay rent no?  Doctor is very expensive. You no money, you no house. You no money, you no have food. For you, is very hard. Me, I prefer Cuba.”

And it’s true.  In spite of all the problems, and there are plenty of them, there is a certain stability for the people.  A certain security of at least having the basic needs more or less provided for them.   When I walk these streets all day and all night absorbing the energy, I understand that to be the source of the general feeling of peacefulness that presides here, also perhaps it feeds the apathy and maybe some laziness too if we take it far enough.

People get along well, they are willing to share, and to help each other out, they enjoy the company of each other.  The level of intelligence and savvy street smartness is incredible.  They are always thinking creatively to survive and to find little ways around the system that can benefit them or someone else.

My Aha moment last night was so profound it’s hard to yet put into words.  It was a recognition that somethings here, some “regulations” are put into effect almost to protect individuals from their own human nature or poor judgement, but of course, as with most things in government and systems of control, it is taken too far.  My western Americanized mind defaulted to the “personal responsibility, independent” argument, but then I realized, “wow, this system is saying to me, “Yes, but your personal judgement or mistake can impact the whole, and so we are taking that into consideration, realizing that you can make poor decisions.”  

It’s such a different way of being in the world, it’s a model once again of community, of limited shared resources and a need to consider that one individual can not be permitted to wreak havoc on a whole community, and so regulations are created to avoid this, and perhaps more so to maintain control and keep people disempowered to make change in a system that keeps them down.

This is truly a fascinating culture and system.  I am learning more every day.  My love for this place only grows, and my compassion for it’s people with it.

Preserving Mental Hygiene

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I am filled today with an incredible sadness.  Maybe something of the despair of the city has gotten into me.  Maybe I’m just tired.  Maybe it’s both.

I find myself looking deeply into the eyes of the old people I pass on the street to feel what they might feel.  I enter their window of hopelessness and despair.  I walk the streets today allowing myself to experience what it might feel like to live in one of these filthy little alleyway apartments with rats scurrying across the floor, and the smell of piss and sewage everywhere knowing that this is all I will ever have. 

There is no way out.  This is it.  I don’t have opportunity for anything different.  I can’t make enough money to even buy food or clothes, much less to get a passport to get out of this place.  There is no change coming here.  Nothing will ever be any different than it is now and my whole existence is simply to try to survive another day.

It’s a good practice and an incredible window to the reality that is here.  I let myself spend some hours in this space walking back and forth to my little room throughout the day until finally I come across some music and I stop there for relief from my thoughts.

A very handsome couple stands next to me chatting.  She is a beautiful young woman and he’s a very handsome tall man.  She gives me his hand, “Baila.. baila, el es mi hermano.. baila..”  I am ready to dance and happy to oblige, but apparently I don’t know this dance or I’m just nervous, and I feel like a dork with two left feet.  He is gentle and kind and helps me, and she is my cheerleader. 

The three of us end up spending the whole night together walking, talking, laughing, and sharing our hearts, stories and strangely our astrology.  I am in love with them by the end of the night, perhaps more her than him.  She is so bubbly, so adorably cute, so sassy and fun, so like me that I can’t help but enjoy her wildness. 

On the way back to my place after sitting at the Malacon chatting for hours, we come across a guitar player who serenades us and somehow entices me into some freestyle hip hop over the top of his Latin grooves.  We are all singing together, laughing and falling in love.  The guitar player and my new girlfriend kiss in front of her brother, and I can tell he is not impressed with his sister’s openness, but she is an untameable wild woman and she just laughs at her brother’s scowls. I find my mind wandering in the midst of this comical drama unfolding. 

Perhaps one of the most fascinating contradictions to me here is this sense of hopelessness and surrender that seems to create also this ability to shift into gratitude and appreciation for things that we in the US often take for granted.  Albeit it is indeed a sort of resigned acceptance here, but somewhere in it, Cubans have found an ability to be at peace in spite of their challenges, to find innovative solutions and to learn something from it that we in the US would be wise to consider: the willingness to stop complaining and find acceptance and peace regardless of the external conditions.  To appreciate the good things and focus on them rather than wasting a lifetime complaining and being pissed off about what is. 

I’ve been reading an incredible book, “Havana Real” by Yoani Sanchez, a woman here in Cuba who started a blog called Generation Y.  It’s a fascinating read and has been giving me deep insight into Cuban life from the perspective of someone who shares her story fearlessly in spite of her oppression.  She puts it this way, “A widespread call to inaction, in the name of preserving mental hygiene, has taken over Cubans’ ability to act.  The person who complains or demands is seen as “some kind of weirdo.”” 

People here have learned to find gratitude even in the midst of a pile of shit.  That to me is perhaps one of the things that makes this island so special. 

Life is to Live

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November 17-Day 5

I’ve been looking all over Habana for something that feels authentic and Roots connected that’s not stupidly commercialized and degraded.  I’m frustrated that I’ve spent my nights walking endlessly in search of that which feels authentic, juicy and exciting, and the best I can find is a disco with reggaeton or an overglamorized tourist scene with pasty plump whitey’s who just took their first salsa class this afternoon in the hotel lobby.  

There is Casa De Musica which is good, but at $10-50 a show, the value isn’t great.  The shows are short and it’s disappointing to think it’s a set break and then see everyone starting to leave as the DJ comes back on bumping the reggaeton.   It’s a lot like a Cuban sandwich, mostly bread with a wispy thin barely visible piece of meat inside and overpriced for it’s nutritional content. 

Today my heart is low.  I think I am in the wrong place, the city is not for me.  It’s too crazy, too many people moving too fast and with only one thing on their mind: making a buck.  It’s not so different from any other city.   Cities are cities and I’ve personally never found them a satisfying or soul fulfilling place to spend much time.  Get in and get out has always been my city philosophy and Habana, even with all it’s magic and beauty is not the place I want to be for much longer.

I find myself wondering about my intentions for this trip and deeply questioning everything I came here to do.  I feel a fear of failure surfacing then  find myself laughing at my own western neurosis of thinking too much as I pass a little old toothless lady dressed in a ridiculous red dress with a weird looking shaved dog in her lap waving at me joyfully.  I am reminded that there is nothing to fail at.  Life is to live not to achieve. 

I remind myself that I have to accept the reality that intentions and plans aside, the journey will reveal itself to me as it unfolds and that what I think I’m here for and what I’m really here for, may, indeed be different realities.  I know I have to be open to what is present rather that stuck on an agenda.  I remind myself that my project is a lifetime of unfolding not something I am going to have some completion on in 3 weeks with one trip to Cuba and I remind myself that everything already is perfect just the way it is and if I do nothing at all, that too is perfect. 

Here in Habana, modern culture is most definetly finding it’s way in thru the cracks in the crumbling walls of this city.  I can see the difference in just two years here.  Fancy stores with new modern store fronts, expensive clothes and even a few “brand” name store fronts have found a place in Old Habana now. 

The youth are displaying an ultra hip city vibe that I remember seeing a little bit before, but now it’s common to see young people with tatoos, piercings and cell phones glued to their ears.   Here they are ready, and ripe for the change and again, understandably so.  A few people are getting illegal internet, cable TV and US programs in their homes.  The system here is so out of control and in explicably complicated and still  Habana is already well on the track to modernization. 

The shift is in process here in Habana, and I sense, in myself as well

Visiting Ishmael

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We pull up in front of my good friend Ishmael’s house and he comes rolling out with a huge smile on his face when he sees me and takes me in his arms!  My gentle giant.  The father and brother I never had by blood live in this tender sweet giant of a man.  We are both so happy to see each other again and tears are coming from our eyes as we embrace and look at each other in love!   

Jesusicto, my drum and Santeria teacher from my last trip, is on the roof of the house next door and hollers down to me with a huge smile on his face.

I look back at the car and introduce my friends to each other. I can tell Manuel is a little jealous.  “He’s a good man,” I think.  I  know he needs to be on his way.   When we were leaving Habana, he at first said he didn’t have time to take me from Havana to Cojimar, but when he watched me try to get on the overcrowded bus, his big heart came calling and I heard him beep the horn and he waved me back to the car, “Get in, I’ll take you.”  I smiled the whole way.

I am sad when he leaves and wish that he could stay by my side every minute and truly share this journey with me, but I know he is here on his own journey and needs to tend to his family.  I kiss him gently and say goodbye, “Be careful. You OK to get home from here? I care about you, I don’t anything bad to happen to you here,” he says and I am touched by his concern.   “I’m fine, I’m with friends. See you soon,” and I turn to put my attention on reconnecting with Ishmael.

Ishmael tells me that Sunday he’s having a party at his house, a ceremony to celebrate the birthday of his being reborn into Santos.  His 8^th birthday.  The bliss and contentment between us is so sweet and pure as it always was, and so easy.  His house is a disaster.  I don’t remember it ever looking so bad when I was here before. 

We walk to the market and I buy some food for us, knowing he probably hasn’t had fresh vegetables in some time.  Being with him again is pure comfort and a reminder of true friendship and we walk the blocks to his house laughing and chatting and catching up on 2 years of not seeing each other.

I make him a big salad with fried green tomatoes and do my best to work in a kitchen and space that is so deeply in need of cleaning that it’s hard for me to be present and prepare food there.  It reeks of animal shit, piss and just poor care.  I put my mind to the task of making a healthy meal for us in an unsanitary environment and pray that I don’t get sick.  

His whole house has gotten worse.  It’s falling apart.  I hear water running and I ask him about it.  He shows me that his fixture on his shower has broken and tells me it costs 50 CUC to fix.  Obviously, he doesn’t have 50 CUC.  I know that I will help him with that.  I have to.  It’s my offering back for all that he has given me.

A few hours together, and it’s almost sunset.  He gets me a ride back to the city for 5 CUC which is a pretty decent deal from what I remember paying before up to 20 CUC, but a far cry from being a fair price knowing that the Cuban price would be one tenth of that.  I walk home along the Malacon reflecting on the incredible contradictions and concerns that this culture exists in.

I wonder if anything I thought I came here to do will actually happen on this trip.  Somehow, it feels like the direction has shifted, but I’m not sure yet where it will land.