Insights on Coronavirus

One thing that is certain about the Coronavirus is that it is
especially threatening to the elderly - 70 and beyond - and
those immunologically compromised. I recently interviewed
Stephan Rechtschaffen, M.D., who founded the Nosara
Longevity Center at Blue Spirit and has researched aging and
health issues since the 1970s, who has some important
insights regarding aging and immunity.
Dr. Rechtschaffen notes that the Coronavirus is a respiratory
illness and the focus should be on the lungs. Aerobic
exercise such as tennis, his favorite, and breathing exercises
such as those developed by Wim Hoff or yogic breathing
exercises strengthen and clean the lungs and make them more
resistant to lung-based illnesses, he says.

The lungs provide oxygen to cells to create energy, and he
draws an analogy to the fires consuming forests in the
Amazon, Australia and California. “We are burning the lungs
of the planet. Covid-19 is a disease of the lungs. People are
dying because they don’t have good lung function.” With low
functioning lungs, viruses or bacteria can be trapped in
mucous and fester.

He also suggests Vitamin C and zinc supplements to help
boost immune protection against respiratory illness, and
intravenous administration is available at the Wellness
Center, for anyone seeking a boost prior to travelling. The
Center has been open to the public for two years and offers
a menu of services and strategies to promote healthy aging.

The level or dose of exposure to virus is a factor in who gets
sick, as well as the body’s immune function, he points out.
The Chinese doctor who died was not old, but his exposure
was very high, he said.

He recommends intermittent fasting, and skips breakfast, to
confine eating to a 6-hour window of lunch and dinner - with
no dessert or sugars after dinner. Another approach
to consider is fasting up to two days a week.  “The aging
mechanism is turned off in the first stage of fasting.” He views
grains as generally pro-inflammatory, and also stays away from
sugar.

The body uses inflammation to fight disease, but steady
inflammation promotes the diseases of aging. He explains
the seeming paradox by describing inflammation as a
‘mechanism’. “Intermittent fasting reduces general
inflammation and saves it for when you need it.”

The Center is tucked away behind the gates at Blue Spirit but
is open to the public. The menu of services offers diagnostics,
treatments and recommendations for supplementations,
under the directions of Rechtschaffen and Dr. Adriana
Galeano. 

“It’s not about living forever, it’s about living as well as you
can. Vitality lasts a lot longer, with less inflammation, less
oxidative stress and toxicity,” he explains.

If you’ve ever taken one of those Facebook tests that promise
to tell you your true biological age, the real thing is offered at
the Center, based on analyzing oxygen use and related indicators
to determine your cellular, or mitochondrial efficiency.

Additional information and a PDF catalog of services is
available by contacting the Center at longevity@bluespiritcostarica.com or
calling Blue Spirit at 2656-8300 or 2656-8228. Week-long
longevity retreats are planned in June, July and August.

Visiting Antigua, Guatemala

My visit to Antigua, Guatamala, to attend language school over the New Year was an excellent way to welcome a new decade. The historically-preserved colonial-era town is at the same time cosmopolitan and rich with restaurants and cultural activity.

Antigua is a 45-minute drive from the airport at Guatemala City on a modern thoroughfare that is at first marked by bright signage from the major fast-food franchises. Access from San Jose may not be the easiest, but an evening flight let me take the late afternoon Sansa from Nosara, and arrive at 10 pm at the modern and generic airport where the driver arranged by the language school was waiting, late on Christmas day.

My sister arrived earlier from the U.S. and was waiting at our boutique hotel. We were attending different language schools, with private instruction over the course of the next 9 days. The altitude of approximately 5,000 feet made the morning walk to class brisk, and I wore a long-sleeved shirt that could be removed for the afternoon sun, although it never got out of the 80s F. I had registered for four hours of morning class, and spent part of the afternoon exploring one of the local craft markets, where the famous Guatamalan textiles and clothing were displayed in endless stalls. Street food is in abundance and the volcanic soil ensures a variety of the freshest produce.

The town is fairly small and completely walkable, although abundant tuk-tuks will take you over the rough cobblestone streets if you don’t mind a bumpy ride. When we were told that the tuk-tuks were regulated to charge a flat rate to take you anywhere in the old town, we realized we had been overcharged, but it was still just a couple of bucks.

Gretchen had signed up for 6 hours of conversational Spanish, while I thought I needed more structure. She and her young teacher spent much of their time touring the sights and restaurants. A couple of large earthquakes had toppled some cathedrals and monasteries, and their ruins contributed to the ambience, along with a large inactive volcano to the south.

The schools were closed for the weekend, so we booked a day-long tour of Lake Attitlan, from one of the ubiquitous tour offices. Options included the Mayan ruins at Tikal, which involved a plane-ride, and an overnight trip to an active volcano. The van picked us up at 5 am on Saturday at our hotel for the two-hour ride to the lake. After a hearty Guata breakfast we  were packed off to a tight-fitting boat for a ride across the lake to the first of three villages on our itinerary.

At the first village, San Juan del Lago, we trekked up a steep road, lined with craft shops, to visit a women’s cooperative where we were given a demonstration of fabric weaving, starting with the spinning and dying of cotton. These villages are populated by people of Mayan ancestry who still maintain their traditions of craftsmanship. There are also many art galleries with beautiful, coloful depictions reflecting local life.

Back to the boat, where we filed in sardine-like for the trip to the next village, Santiago. Somewhat larger, we toured the town square and where given a history talk by our guide. Of course every town has historic churches or cathedrals and a mix of Mayan and colonial influences, with all manner of shopping and eating experiences. Our third and final village, the largest on the lake, included late lunch and more of the same. The high-altitude lake is surrounded by volcanoes and the streets are accordingly steep. 

There are many other traditional villages along the lakeshore, and countless tour groups such as ours. I think we paid $70/pp, a bargain as is everything in Guatemala, and I heard that it is easy to arrange more personalized tours as well. We had about 15 in our group.

Walking the busy holiday-week streets of Antigua one evening, I heard my name called and there was Elizabeth and Vytas and their two girls from Nosara, also visiting for the holidays. They raved about the overnight volcano tour, with a spectacular night-time view of the sparking volcano. Truly a Nosara moment, in another country.

New Year’s Eve is a big event, as you can imagine, with crowds, street music, firecrackers and fireworks all night.

Nevertheless, we had our choice of restaurants, bars and entertainment all night without the need for reservations. We did pay a cover charge at a nightclub but snagged a windowside table that let us watch the festivities on the street below. Other nights we found a microbrew with a sampler flight and a lovely singer from the US, a restaurant called Samasati with a vegan-yogi style menu, and plenty of international options. One night I ripped it up at a karaoke bar with a local guy on harmonica doing Piano Man.

My sister and I have a long-going tennis rivalry which we fully
indulged at an excellent tennis club there, with a ballboy to
chase after all our strays. We didn’t even get to the dance
lessons at night, but that can be another trip. All in all, we had
an excellent trip and hope to do it again. Now, I just have
to practice those verb tenses.

Two Weed Stories

I bought my first weed from the guy who sat next to me in high school biology and he also invited me to a John Birch Society introductory meeting hosted by his parents. Out of curiosity I attended and watch a filmstrip outlining their beliefs, basically that the US government leadership was heavily infiltrated by communists in league with the Soviet Union.

This seemed preposterous on its face, but it got much weirder as they added additional conspiracy theories such as the use of fluoride in drinking water to soften minds to communist doctrine. I took home a handful of their far-right brochures and some bumper stickers and tacked them to my bedroom wall to irritate my liberal Democrat mother. I was 16 and quite the asshole at the time. In recalling this story today, I realized this was the first instance I was to see a link between drug use and conspiracy theories.

At that age I was still planning a career in medicine, because those were the plans my mother had for me. However, with the advent of weed, something was going on that I wasn't aware of at the time. I decided that I didn't want to spend the next 10 or more years in school to become a doctor. I might have been high. It came to me as an epiphany and I have never had any regrets. I was writing a lot at the time, for the school paper and an 'underground' sheet, and eventually determined to make my living somehow as a writer. Journalism seemed to be the safest career path.

Congressionally Challenged chapter 2

Rick Slackett entered the roadhouse on Kentucky Hiway 68 just outside of Murkin, and dropped a tightly bound stack of tabloids on the bar, near the Pabst Blue Ribbon tap. "How's business, Rucker?" he said to his old chum behind the bar.

"Well, look who's here," the young barman grinned in the slow, thick twang that characterized Central Kentucky. "How ya doin', Rick? You been scarce as union jobs around here." Rick engaged the blade of the long, thin knife he had pulled from his pocket to cut the plastic binding that secured the papers.

"The July issue of Kentucky Rhythm, personally delivered to your doorstep by the new Associate Editor. Now that's service." The windowless clapboard lounge was dimly lit by a broad assortment of cheesy neon beer signs given away over many years by the local wholesaler. It was not yet very crowded at quarter past eight that summer Thursday night.

Rucker pulled a copy off the top of the pile and turned to the table of contents on page three. "You're doin' good. You get to write the top story and be chief paperboy. That six years you spent in journalism school has finally paid off."

"Hey, I'm photographer and ad salesman too. I told you I'd make it big someday." The barkeep tossed two beer glasses in the air, making them do double back somersaults before landing bottom first in his hand in front of the PBR tap. He handed the first full glass to Rick and toasted him with the second. "Here's to hanging out in bars gettin' wasted."

"Same to you. I'm glad to see you keeping your chops up. I remember how many beer bottles you used to break. You know I've been thinking about getting Green River Day back together," Rick tapped on the bar for emphasis, his slim body leaned at an awkward angle, "and I'll need you back as my drummer."

 "Right. It's been seven years since you broke up the band to go to college, and every time you're back here you want to get it together again. Some of us have real lives, now."

"Just remember, when I make it big, Rucker, I'll make you eat those words."

"You just might do it, pal. You just might do it." Rucker thumbed through the Rhythm, which covered an eclectic mix of music, theater and lifestyle-oriented features. "What's this piece you wrote here about this Coatsdale guy? I thought you only wrote about music."

"What a piece of work that guy is. He's running for Congress, like he's some sort of revolutionary. A Republican revolutionary, if you can believe that. Kevin Taylor -- he's the editor - he likes to have the occasional political piece. He thinks it gives his rag more class, like it's Rolling Stone or something. This guy Coatsdale's puffed up so full of smoke that I was wheezin' half way through the interview."

"We could use a revolution around here. I should own this joint. Power to the people. Yeah!" Rucker unscrewed the lid from a two gallon jar of pink sausages floating in murky brine. He skewered a couple with two long toothpicks and offered one to Rick.

Congressionally Challenged, A Political Satire

1994
 "Thank you for taking the time to do this interview with me. You must be very busy on the campaign trail." The young, denim-trousered man tried hard not to reveal his lack of experience in political reporting.

 “The pleasure's mine, son. You know, I think it's especially important for young people to be involved in politics. A lot of people your age don’t even vote, you know.”

 "Yes, sir, I'm aware of that. But you seem to be making change the centerpiece of your campaign, and that’s why my editor wanted me to do this interview. A lot of young people want change.”

 “Do you think so, Rick? Well, like the Beatles song says, 'A Change Is Gonna Come. Or was that Bob Dylan?”

 “I think it was a Sam Cooke song. My brothers used to listen to him when I was growing up." Rick examined the candidate for visual clues about his background. Pushing 50. Doesn't look like he was ever a rocker. Not highbrow enough for classical, yet pretentious enough to keep some Pavarotti in his collection for when his high-powered friends came over. Probably ‘Pavarotti Sings Broadway' from Time-Life.

 “Why do you think a change has got to come?" Rick scribbled notes, with a tape recorder as backup.

“Son, you see, we've had Democrats controlling the Congress -- especially the House of Representatives -- for the past 40 years. And today, our country is almost bankrupt. We have a staggering national debt, and someone your age -- you look to be about twenty...."

 "Twenty-five"

"Someone your age -- every child and young adult in this country has been endowed with an $18,000 share of the national debt. $18,000." He paused until Rick stopped scribbling, “I put balancing the federal budget at the very top of what I'll do when I'm elected to Congress.”

The November 1994 election was fast approaching.

 "But didn't the Republicans cause a lot of that debt? Didn't it start in the Reagan years?" Rick tried not to sound argumentative. After all, he had a journalism degree.

 “Son, I know your memory doesn't go as far back as some of us, but when Ronald Reagan came into office, the Democratic President before him, Jimmy Carter, had just about run the economy into the ground. You couldn't even get a tank of gas, things were so bad back then. Let me put it to you this way. Republicans want to cut back the government and cut taxes so you'll have more money to put in your pocket. Democrats want to raise taxes." Don Coatsdale stretched out his thin lips into a big smile. He exuded warmth and sincerity, but in a practiced way.

 “So I understand you've recently returned to Murkin to run for Congress?”

 “Rick, you know I've never really left Kentucky. I've carried Kentucky in my heart wherever I've been. When you're born and raised in this rich soil, in this heartland, when your forefathers and your kin chose this land and worked it for generations, you never leave it. You're never far away. And when you're needed, you're here. I love this land like no other."

 "That's very...well said." Well rehearsed. Rick remembered why he didn't trust politicians.

 "Thank you, son. I grew up listening to my daddy preach. He was the preacher at the First Baptist Church of Murkin, you know. The Lord's word just used to roll off his tongue."

 "Sir, you've made a big issue in your campaign about being anti-Washington, but you've been criticized by your opponent because you've lived there for 25 years and are a lobbyist for the tobacco industry.”

 “Yes sir, now I'm real glad you brought that up, because I have a few things to say about that. When you say my opponents have criticized me, you mean the cronies of Congressman Cal Hubble, and yes, they're trying every mean political trick in the book. You know, Hubble has been in office for twenty eight years. That's longer than your entire lifetime, son. When a Congressman has been in office that long, he completely loses touch with the people who sent him there. He becomes a part of the problem, and the problem is that government has become too big, and taxes are too high, and the Congress isn't listening to the people anymore."

 "But, uh, doesn't being a lobbyist make you a Washington insider too?"

 "Son, I've looked out for the interests of Kentucky citizens my entire career. I went to Washington to work for Senator Earl Mayfield, may his soul rest in Heaven. He was a great friend to the Kentucky Farmer -- he was a friend and benefactor to every man and woman in the Commonwealth of Kentucky. And I’ve continued to represent the interests of Kentucky every way I know how. And if you think… And those who say I'm an insider -- when I'm fighting for the very livelihood of the farmers and thousands of jobs in Kentucky -- well, they just don't know how outside of the politically correct mainstream of Washington politics that puts me. But I'll fight for the people of Kentucky no matter how unpopular that makes me in the halls of Congress. You can bet on it."

Second life, second retirement, March 13, 2019

It’s time to fire up the blog, I have a fresh shot at retirement!

I have signed a contract that gives majority ownership and management responsibility for Organico Deli-Market to Derek and Anja, who have been running the kitchen for a year and a half. Running the store for eight years on my own has been more than enough. With seven days a week and little time for travel, I reached the point of burnout and exhaustion.

The challenge now is how to use the extra time in a meaningful and purposeful way. I spent the first week of March, after we signed the contract at a lawyer’s office in San Jose, at a retreat facility called Samsati just overlooking Puerto Viejo on the Caribbean side of Costa Rica, collecting my thoughts about how to go forward.

Puerto Viejo is a refreshing change from Nosara, especially its climate this time of year, which is rainy at night and cooler at elevation on the side of a mountain. There was only one other participant in the Second Prime Renaissance retreat, a Swiss man, Xavier, who consults to banks on change management and is a former Iron Man Triathalon competitor, but we spent more time talking about his ayahuasca experience in the Amazon.

Xavier helped me realize that my immediate mission is to take the things that I currently enjoy doing, devote more time, and fine tune them, like I tune the strings on my guitar. One of those strings is Health, so I will focus more on tennis, biking, yoga and working out, as well as my diet, which has been vegan for a few months already.

 A second string is Music, which includes more practice and lessons on guitar, singing, which encompasses the weekly Karaoke gig that I host, as well as getting out occasionally for a night of live music or dancing to a DJ. I never miss Open Mike Night at Beach Dog Cafe, which can encompass all of the above.

Another string is Writing, which includes picking up this blog after an absence of about seven years. I also include my work as Secretary for the Nosara Civic Association, and by extension work on behalf of the community. My background in journalism and public affairs seems to want to be put to better use, so I will be tuning up this string in ways that are not yet fully focused.

A fourth string, or note, will ultimately make a chord. That is Love and Relationship. This may be more challenging than the others, although the community here is full of friends, and I can’t go far down the road without seeing one of them. When these notes are in tune, the resulting chord will help me align with the universe. At that point, I have to be careful what I wish for, because anything can happen!

Yage, a Separate Experience

I closed my store a half hour early, hoping no customers would drop in, so I could be on time for the ceremony with the Taita, or shaman. I arrived by 7 to Vista Del Mar, the beautiful hillside B&B that was again the site of the ceremony. Unlike the earlier experience, the spacious poolside room was filled, and there would ultimately be 15 of us on this journey. The faces were familiar, 3 of us from the previous experience and a lot of other friends from the community. After I created a comfortable space for myself with cushions, blankets and pillows, I settled in, noting that there was no evidence that the shaman was present. It was not long before our host announced that there would be a delay of at least two hours because the shaman and his party had run into travel delays and were still in Liberia, more than two hours away. It was about 11:45 when I finally received my cup. The shaman did some extended chanting every time someone approached to drink, and I was number 13 in position out of the 15 of us. I dismissed any significance of that number and waited patiently for another half hour or so for the vine to have its effect. A few people started to vomit, and I was starting to feel a little sick inside. This time, I fasted two days and was hopeful that this would limit the severity of the sickness that is so much a part of the plant experience. The affects started to come on, first in the form of geometric patterns, an intricate weave of sacred geometry. This was similar to my first experience, when it had been followed by visions of snakes. However, this new experience soon proved to be quite different from before. It appeared that I was seeing some form of extra terrestrial presence. I’m not talking about spaceships or aliens in any way that has been presented in the movies or popular culture. What I was seeing was different and essentially indescribable, and it was not friendly. It grew in intensity into what I can only describe as partly reptilian and partly like the strangest creatures from the bottom of the ocean, perhaps cross-bred with insects. These visions or hallucinations were very unpleasant and threatening. Vomiting into my bucket had the affect of intensifying the experience. This was a bad trip and it kept getting worse. I tried to keep my eyes open as this helped keep away the monsters that were trying to engulf me. These visions were nothing like I had on my first experience, it seemed to be all bad, dangerous and profoundly threatening. I wanted it to be over, and I wanted help. There is no clear vision that I have of any coherence or form to what was threatening me, but in retrospect they were evil spirits of some ineffable nature. And it was just me, and I could not surrender to them, although it was taking every bit of strength I had. I remember wishing that I had a crucifix to arm and strengthen myself. It was around then that I had an insight about the nature of self. I was on my own, and I needed the integrity and strength to prevail against these unknown other-dimensional forces. Prior to the session I spent time considering what my intention would be for this second ceremony. I wanted to understand better the nature of God and the spirit world, as I had expressed to the shaman on my first journey. ‘Be careful what you ask for’ was part of that first lesson, as the experience had been overwhelming. I wanted a watered-down version that I could remember and understand more clearly. But after a lot of thinking, I decided that I ultimately wanted to know more about myself. The lesson from the first experience is that God lies within. The weird visions of creatures, or whatever they were, subsided or shifted, but not the dread, or the desire to come back to normality. I strongly resisted the urge to vomit, because I knew this would greatly intensify my hallucinations or visions. But this was not possible. I was able to find the strength to move out of the room to the poolside area, although just barely. Now, when I closed my eyes I no longer saw the horrific creatures, just blackness. I would open my eyes periodically to regain a sense of my surroundings, and help ground myself, but seemed to nod back and forth between blackness and sight. There were distortions to my vision, but not strong ones. Some of the geometrical patterns that had greeted me at the beginning of the trip appeared, like having a bad set of eyeglasses. Before having the strength to rise, I felt the ground shake, like one of the many earthquake aftershocks we have experienced since our 7.6 earthquake last September. There also appeared to be some light, not at all bright, illuminating our room from the outside. This was all part of a surreal process that I remembered as part of the first experience a few weeks ago. I actually felt that the tremors were real, but after I had moved outside I felt several more, and concluded it was the ayahuasca. This was reminiscent of the first experience, when I felt ripped asunder and reborn, but now I just felt like I wanted it to stop. As I sat outside struggling with this ordeal, a good friend, Ashley, asked if I was alright and if she could do anything to help. She brought me a towel. A while later she came back to check on me again. This time I asked if she could bring me my water bottle, I was not feeling up to the journey of 10 feet to fetch it myself. Although not easy, I was able to rise to my feet periodically, reaching inward for the strength and fortification to stand up to the possibly demonic forces that were assaulting me. The intensity began to diminish, and I took a walk around the pool, still somewhat unsteady on my feet. It was a beautiful starlit sky with no moon. I was feeling quite a bit better at this point. I stopped where Ashley was situated on the pool deck, and thanked her for her care. We then started a conversation that was to bring the light and clarity that I needed. Ashley is a talented and dedicated astrologist, and excellent jewelry maker as well. She has been coming to Nosara part time every year, beginning about 9 years ago, and I had not appreciated her wisdom before, although her charm and femininity is hard to resist. I described my experiences to her. It is part of the lead-up to Dec. 21, just four days away, and there is tremendous tumult and intensity during this time, she explained. What I have been experiencing is a tremendous purging of everything leading up to this event so that I can begin this new era without the baggage and detritus of my past. This is important work, and furthermore it is intensified because I am doing the work for others as well. We had a long and deep conversation, where she led me to an appreciation of the significance of the upcoming solstice as a time of great shift. Certainly this is a time of upheaval, where the Connecticut school shootings are just one of a series of horrific events. If my intention was to understand the world of spirit better, then perhaps it is not so surprising that I would encounter dark spirits rather than light spirits at this time, so close to the solstice when the sun is approaching its shortest appearance. Ashley has suffered horrific personal ordeals recently, and she has come through it with greater strength. This was her lesson for me as well, that I am a warrior and that my work is not just about me but others as well. She said that the universe was giving her this information and I don’t feel that it would be wise to question it. During our conversation I was feeling steadily more grounded and well. I thanked her for giving meaning to my experience and we spent some time appreciating the stars above us. I rose for a little more walking, and the shaman was tuning his guitar so I retook my original seat. I looked at my phone and it was 2:45. He sang some healing songs in Spanish and his indigenous language with his assistant playing some percussion on a rattle like instrument, and I tapped out some rhythm on my belly, giving my internal organs a nice massage. My bowels had been active, but were pretty stable at this point. A number of people were requesting additional cups, because their experiences weren’t as deep as they wanted. Each of these cups was accompanied by rituals and ceremony, and then the Taita began individual healing ceremonies. These were quite extensive and involved much rattling of his dried leaf instrument, playing of his mouth harp, and laying his hand on the head. I was fourth up for this and eager for any healing that might be imparted. His ceremonies are customized and he asked me to take off my shirt so he could rub my back and arms with a liquid infused with aromatic herbs and perhaps a bit of rum or cane alcohol. I embraced him with gratitude and returned to my spot nearby, feeling quite comfortable. I don’t think I fell asleep, and after awhile rose to walk by the pool. I heard some voices outside and there was the first faint light of dawn. It was about 5 and I laid down a little longer until stirring again a bit past 6 when others began to rise. It was a bit noisy and I wasn’t all that sleepy. I had been contemplating continuing my fast, so I passed on the oatmeal and fruit that our hostess had set out for us. I joined the people sitting at the table with their bowls. During the course of small talk, the shaman revealed that he had not had any fresh ayahuasca available, so had taken the remainder of an old batch and added water. Although I was hearing this through an incomplete translation, he said this had happened once before with a much larger group of people, and there were no problems with the strength, sort of like Jesus turning water into wine. It did make me wonder, though, if this might have been a factor in my experience with the evil spirits, along with the late start to the ceremony. It is now Wednesday morning, Dec. 19, and I am at my house smoking barbecue. I am continuing my fast into its fourth day and I feel good, although didn’t exactly jump out of bed. After getting ribs, chickens, beef and tuna loaded into my bbq pit, I decided I would take a couple of puffs on my pipe. Part of me wanted to stay pure and another part wanted to do some processing with the aid of THC. Following my tokes, I then remembered the advice of a customer yesterday who recommended getting in the ocean as part of my cleansing process. I threw a massive log in the pit and headed off to the beach. Arriving at the beach, there was the client with her child and another couple of women and children playing in the water. I thanked Amanda for her advice and proceeded out to play in some really big waves. There were lots of surfers out and conditions were great for those who could ride the waves. I contemplated my own failed attempt at becoming a surfer. I was feeling a lot of insights and mental clarity, and really enjoying myself in the water. While I try to get to the beach every morning for a walk and sometimes a run, I hardly ever get in the water to play with the waves. I resolve to spend more time in the water. I lost my stoke after an extended effort at surfing when I moved here five years ago, and while I don’t dwell on it, there’s a little part of me that regrets not having mastered surfing in my 50s. But it just wasn’t meant to be. But I can at least get out and body surf a few times a week, and I resolve that that will be something I do more of in the new era. Returning to my casita, I check on the barbecue and take a couple of chickens off. I shower off in my outdoor shower and having neglected to bring out a towel, air dry myself in the waiting hammock.. I’m feeling very comfortable and getting lots of insights into my life and business, when I hear my name called. It’s Jefferson, a man who makes pati, a Caribbean baked pastry filled with vegetables or meat, and banana bread. He works very hard just to get by, walking around in the heat peddling his products person to person. I buy his products to resell at my store, although it’s very little. I am happy to see him today and he is very happy to report that he is fully loaded with baked goods made for the first time with the oven that I am selling him. We brought it to his place Monday and he is excited that this will allow him to make much better money. I bought the used pizza oven at the beginning of the season and had been renting it to a talented baker who is the baker at Blue Spirit, the 160-room retreat center here. She bakes world class breads, cookies and granola and sells it on the side, and her cookies especially sell well in my store. But she no longer needed it as she was offered the use of the commercial oven at Blue Spirit for her side-business. I posted it for sale or rent, and while I had a couple of other inquiries, it was truly meant for Jefferson. He didn’t have the $500 cash that I needed to break even, so I worked out a financing plan for him. Once again, my previous career in banking has karmic ramifications. Since moving here I have made many small loans to people and most of the money has come back. It seems like I’ve been a non-profit Grameen Bank, and my sister even made me promise not to lend more money down here, because I’ve been such a soft touch, but I soon broke that promise. So once again I am playing banker, and feel optimistic that my new asset will give me a little profit. It feels like a win-win. I bought 8 pati, much larger than my usual order, and it occurred to me to put them in the smoker for a while to infuse them with a smoky flavor. I’ll find out if this was a synchronistic insight or just more product that gets stale in a few days. I’ve been continuing to contemplate my experience of two nights ago. The motto ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ resonates, and I continue to feel gratitude to Ashley for helping me create the paradigm for my experience.