Paradise, Not Lost

   

     An obscure Monday, which should have been the return day of my honeymoon, begins with a 4 am drive to the airport.  Leaving the comforts of familiarity, I boarded the plan from Miami.  Ring bobbles, and fake French nails fashioned the hands of young newlyweds all around me.  I mean, I was surrounded.  It seemed not one person was traveling alone, but had their new companion at their side, bright-eyed and ready for some more consummating, Caribbean style.  The voice of bitterness tried to make its play.  Heh, these honeymooners have no idea what they're getting themselves in to.  
     I began my stay at Cotton Bay Village, which was supposed to be the place of my romantic, turned solo honeymoon.  September is off- season, rainy, and desolated.  The arrival to my resort was like rolling into an old western, dust-bowl street scene with tumbleweeds blowing desperately by.  There was no one in sight, and the grounds looked unkempt and lonely.  The place was farther away than I had anticipated, and my plans of walking everywhere proved irrational.  Apparently, one cannot have their bowl of plump cherries ALL the time.  The bed at the resort was decorated with hearts and flowers and had two robes folded on display.  I fucking told them it was just gonna be me!  

     It took precisely 24 hours of grieving and frowning, until I snapped out of it to be present and enjoy my tropical paradise.

 Breakfast was served seaside, and I opted for the traditional Lucian-style meal of salt fish, with cucumber salad, and sweet plantain.  The wind blowing at my face, I inhaled grace and exhaled hope.  A gift came my way as a group of horses wandered past on the beach.  Horses are one of my spirit animals, and I took this as a positive sign.

     I decided to celebrate my freedom that night with a fruity drink down by the beach bar.  I was the only one present at the bar and restaurant.  Luckily the friendly man behind the bar hooked me up royally with a bowl-sized goblet of blended rum and fruits.  Apparently Amy Winehouse used to sit at this very bar!  I turned out at the sea and took in the massive wind.  The gorgeous full moon was hovering the surface of the water, reflecting a spotlight on the empty night.  The next thing I knew a kite-surfer blew on by!  How very exciting!  I'd always been intrigued by kiting.  I watched in awe, as he navigated the dark waters, forgetting my story, forgetting my past, sipping my dinner.  

     A few figures were seated on a lounge chair just down the beach, watching the show.  In desperate need for human contact, I didn't hesitate to go introduce myself.  To my surprise two of them were American, one Canadian, and one Argentine.  This was when the first connection was made, and their kindness generated a new friend, who became my island Momma, which led to a place to live once my resort stay had finished.  My island momma introduced me to yet another American, who was renting a room, and bam I was in my next paradise.

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Saturated sea, 

white foam water residue

 combing the heads of fervent rocks, 

the occasional clashing spray display.  

The soundtrack, 

a welcomed white noise 

strumming the soul in couplets dawning finiteness 

all is one.  

     This is center stage, the setting of the villa, Saltwhistle etched in the mountain side.  This is where I live?!  “Inhale, Exhale. . . freak the F out!  It’s still hard to believe.  Breakfast, Lunch, and work, are all done in this spot, and conditioned by the windy ocean air.  

  

No setting with such a view is complete without that of the tropical scenery lining these villas, with a mix of woody mountain terrain and palm tree.  Sunburnt, yellow- tinted palm fronds are wind instruments.  Stroked by the wind, play like piano keys, chords of this earth.  Plentiful varieties of bushes, boasting flowers, mangroves, juniper bushes and even cacti surround the hill side.  Beauty is in abundance . . . everywhere.

  The house itself is upscale with tiled, mirror- like, white floors, a modern, white kitchen with black granite countertops, and space shuttle-like cabinets that open like Lambourgini doors.  My room looked out onto a mountain.  Birds chirped everywhere.

     

Every morning I visit this view, the spacious balcony, looking out onto the water, in disbelief that this is actually real.  Too beautiful, really.  And every night I visit this spot, gazing up at the starry skies.  When was the last time I had been so present with these lights in the sky?  Too much time had passed, dismissing my passion for the wholeness I felt while admiring them.  


  

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The palms coquette to and fro.  

Their flirtatious fronds bat in the wind like a Spanish fan cooing out for its courtier.  

Husky ribbons blow like hair in the wind, 

    beckoning to be recognized, 

 enticing to be touched.  

I reach out my hand lovingly.

She laughed while I played with her hair…