My tooth fell off late Tuesday evening. My two front teeth are fancy technological imitations of the real thing—a lifelong story for another day. Suffice it to say that they are both porcelain crowns mounted on titanium implants.
I was staring in the mirror as I flossed aggressively around the titanium post between my tooth and my gum. Astonishment momentarily washed across my face as I watched my left front tooth suddenly fall from my mouth, ricocheting noisily off the vanity, bouncing aimlessly on the floor, and coming to a stop on the tile near my feet.
Bending over, I quickly located my missing treasure, grabbing it between my thumb and forefinger. I was surprised by how small the tooth actually was. Standing up to study myself in the mirror, I was greeted by a huge gaping hole that stared back at me, right where my left front tooth was supposed to be. In place of my tooth was a tiny hollow silver post sticking out less than a quarter of an inch into the empty space between my other teeth. It was quite the squeamish site—not one that I especially desired to share with others.
A large grin formed on my lips as I considered the humorous nature of my predicament—the absurdity of it all. Instead of worrying, I was actually laughing. I could just imagine myself walking around Mexico City with no front tooth, scaring everyone I see.
“My friends here know a good dentist,” I pondered, “but will I have time to get in to see her? And even if I do, will she know anything about cementing in an implant?”
Taking matters into my own hands, I examined my mouth and my tooth—everything seemed to be whole and unbroken. Carefully positioning the tooth over the implant post, I pushed it snuggly into place. My tooth fit tightly and securely—no wobbling, slipping, not even the slightest feeling of looseness.
“Problem solved for now.” I reassured myself. “The tooth seems to be solid. I can take care of this when I get back.”
Peace and calm were my companions as I dropped into a comfortable night’s sleep. I deeply trusted that all would be well as I simply turned the issue over to the universe.
Early yesterday morning, I prepared for what I expected to be a beautiful and productive day in Playa Del Carmen. My tooth was nothing but an afterthought—still feeling quite snug in my mouth. I was filled with happy thoughts. I was on my way to connect again with Rafael, and later with Michiko—plus I was again stretching my limits. Soon, I would be taking my bicycle on the ferry for the first time, and I had plans to explore all over the Playa Del Carmen area.
But something was different yesterday. All day long I was carrying around a little annoying voice, like a two year old throwing a tantrum, kicking and screaming for attention. Perhaps I am exaggerating a bit here, because the voice was really a silent feeling of judgment and expectation that continuously attempted, in very subtle ways, to convert me to an old way of thinking. A few times, the voice came close to succeeding.
One of those times was during my morning ferry voyage. I was on the upper level of the ferry, peacefully waiting for us to pull away from the dock, when I noticed a young Latino couple sitting near the front of the upstairs section. On this particular ferry, the upstairs cabin has removable windows constructed of heavy plastic. The windows are in sections that zip together. Each section can be individually raised or lowered, and is attached at the bottom with rope and Velcro.
I noticed that the young woman wanted to see out the window, and the young man decided to take matters into his own hands. A sense of judgment began to creep into my mind as I watched him untie the rope and undo the Velcro straps holding the windows in place.
“He’s not supposed to do that!” I mumbled under my breath. “That front area is where people sit that don’t want to be impacted by the wind.”
As I continued my observation, I noticed that the young man walked to one end of the window section and began to roll it up. He asked the young woman, who was still sitting by the other end, to help him. He was working quite hard on his end, but the young woman did not even stand up in her seat. She just sat there holding the plastic with one hand in the air, acting helpless, making a less-than-half-hearted attempt.
Suddenly, I found myself thinking “Oh, Isn’t she Miss Prissy! She is too wrapped up in herself to stand up and take ten seconds to help her husband or boyfriend.”
I froze immediately, as if someone slapped me across the face. I had caught myself in the act of uncharacteristic and critical judging—feeling mean and spiteful thoughts.
“Wow,” I puzzled, “where the heck did that mean spurt of self-righteous judgment come from?”
This was the most judgmental I have felt in eons, and my silent behavior shocked me. Quickly checking myself, I almost instantaneously shifted into the role of impartial “observer” of my thoughts and behavior—rather than actually buying into the reality of the judgment.
Past experience has taught me that whenever I slip into such a state of judgment, such behavior has absolutely nothing to do with the outside world—that is just a symptom. No, the real cause is always somewhere deep within me—something that is simply being projected outward.
Within seconds, I was asking myself “What is going on with me … I have been so loving and peaceful for months … why am I suddenly lashing out in such a harsh way?”
Minutes later, I believed that I released my judgment, but I was still very unclear as to its internal source. As it turns out, the entire day seemed to be a constant reminder of my unsettled internal state. I have yet to fully pin down the origins. Perhaps that is why I am writing.
Just a few minutes later, I was feeling annoyed because a young man who works for the ferry company was standing right behind my seat, blocking my beautiful view of Cozumel as it gradually faded into the distance. Feeling annoyed, I decided to change seats, moving toward the front section. Then, a sense of frustration hit me as a strong wind from the now-open windows was blowing stiffly into my face and hair.
“I need to remain presentable.” I lectured myself. “I’m going to see Rafael in a while, and I’m going to a meeting tonight. I can’t have my hair all windblown and scraggly.”
Soon I had settled for yet another seat, one that didn’t speak to me at all—this seat had no wind and no view.
To make matters worse, my left brain was churning away with “What if they lose my bicycle, and I never see it again?”
My bicycle was in the ferry’s baggage compartment, and the young man who took it from me never gave me any kind of claim check to verify that it is mine. My silly fears were easily alleviated when we reached the dock at Playa Del Carmen. By the time I was off the boat, my bicycle was already laying on the pier. I spied a young man who was checking people’s claim tickets, then handing them their suitcases. Not being sure of the process, I walked up to him, pointed at my bicycle, and said with a smile, “The bicycle is mine.” Seconds later, I was eagerly walking up the pier with my bicycle in tow.
Riding straight to Rafael’s restaurant, I was pleased to see his car parked out in front. Rafael was on the phone when I entered. As he ended his call and came over to hug me, he placed his hand on the front door handle, a signal that let me know he needed to leave.
Giving me ten minutes of his time, Rafael and I again connected as if we had never been separated. I eagerly shared plans for my upcoming trip to Mexico City, and he excitedly coached me on things I simply must do when I am there, places I have to go, and sights that I just cannot miss.
“How I wish I had some vacation time.” Rafael exclaimed. “I would love to come with you, to show you all of the sights. My family lives there. I know the area very well, and I would take you to many places that most people do not even know about.”
As I discussed my desire to participate with his Teacher on the evening that I fly back into Cancun, Rafael readily volunteered to pick me up at the Cancun airport. My puzzling morning seemed to have shifted to the positive; things could not have been going better.
As Rafael excused himself to run his many errands, he queried “Are you going to come back to the restaurant this afternoon so we can talk some more?”
“If that is what you want, I would love to.” I replied hesitatingly, “I know you are busy and I don’t want to be in the way.”
“I should have time to talk this afternoon.” He reassured me. “I’ll call you when I am back at the restaurant.”
This simple shift in plans set me up for the rest of my day. I became emotionally attached to the idea of spending more time with Rafael, and spent my entire day trying to make that possible. I worried about riding my bicycle too far away, and fretted over whether or not I would hear my cell phone ring—constantly checking to see if I had missed a call.
Don’t get me wrong, I had a beautiful day—yet my morning judgment experience continuously returned to taunt me—letting me know that there is definitely something inside that I need to look at. That little two-year-old in me was still fighting for attention.
Ten minutes after setting out to explore the southern Hotel District of Playa Del Carmen, a torrential cloud burst soaked the city. Getting somewhat wet, I had managed to find shelter through the strongest cloud bursts. When the rain began to thin, I pulled out my trusty umbrella and continued my journey.
Soon, the rain had stopped completely, but every tree seemed to create its own localized rainstorm as I passed below the dripping branches. Normally, I would have simply surrendered to the joy of the storm—but today my ego was pressuring me to remain presentable as I realized that I had no place to shower and clean up.
As the sun returned, I became aware that I was sweating profusely—my face was dripping with moisture, and my pants felt embarrassingly wet, especially around the seat area. I could just imagine people’s reaction to the wet, sweaty, stinky, frazzled monster I would be as I walked into the study group later that night.
Over the next two hours I passed by beautiful white sandy beaches, and even a few small Mayan ruins—but I didn’t stop much to enjoy them. The whiney little voice inside was trying to tell me that “It is too hot … or too wet … or there are too many mosquitoes … or this will take too much time.”
It seemed that nothing was quite good enough for that little tantrum-thrower, and unfortunately, I listened and gave in.
As I rode back toward town, I was caught in yet another wild downpour. Luckily, I found a small covered parking area, but my backpack and body still came away somewhat saturated by the rain.
Soon, the dark cloud had blown over and the sun was again bright.
Being already well past lunch time, I headed back to Rafael’s restaurant. I secretly hoped he would finish his errands and show up while I was eating.
Again, just minutes before I reached my destination, yet another passing storm released sudden torrents of rain before quickly moving on. The idea of remaining somewhat presentable began to seem ridiculously impossible.
As I finished eating my salad, it was obvious that Rafael was not coming, so once again I followed my heart in a different direction. Thinking of some abandoned thatch-roof umbrellas in front of a few unoccupied buildings, I decided to ride my bicycle over to the beach. “I’ll sit in the shade, curl my toes into the sand, and spend a few hours studying Spanish.” I told myself as I eagerly rode on.
You guessed it. As I arrived, the whole area was occupied by about twenty local hard-hat-carrying construction workers who were taking a long afternoon break.
By now, I was almost laughing at how my day seemed to be going. Fully aware of the humor of it all, the absurdity of the day’s events, I remained the observer, completely conscious of the fact that none of this was external. “Something must really be going on inside.” I pondered, as I sat myself down calmly on a shady wall, taking a few deep breaths, attempting to center myself for the umpteenth time.
Twenty minutes later, the construction worker’s stood up, one by one, walked away and disappeared into a partially completed hotel just down the beach. The shady beach was now mine, and I eagerly settled in for a few hours of very productive studying.
As I grew tired of Spanish Grammar, I resumed my bicycle explorations, this time simultaneously enjoying an audio book on my IPOD.
Still having a hopeful expectation of connecting with Rafael, I made one last stop at his restaurant for a 5:00 p.m. snack. I was craving a delicious fruit-filled, chocolate-topped crepe.
At 5:45 p.m., I found myself standing in front of Michiko’s neighborhood, trying to remember exactly which home was hers. My cell phone seemed to be the obvious solution. Soon, after a few rings, she answered … and you guessed it.
“Brenda, I am so sorry.” She apologized. “I thought I had told you. I am working on a tour at Chichen Itza this week. We are not having a study group tonight.”
Before heading back to catch the 6:00 p.m. ferry, I gave Rafael a quick phone call to see what his plans were. “Just maybe,” I thought, “just maybe he will want to talk this evening.”
“Brenda, I am stuck over at the government building, taking care of business issues.” He began. “I would love to talk this evening, but I don’t think I am going to have the time.”
As I wheeled my bicycle up to the ferry ticket booth at 6:00 p.m., I fully expected to discover that I was too late, that I would have to wait two more hours. To my surprise, my bicycle and I were soon securely on the ferry.
As I prepared for bed last night, the ‘old me’ would have found it easy to feel sorry for myself, to slip into the role of victim, whining about my wasted day. By all external appearances, other than a ten-minute connection with Rafael, the entire day had seemed to be an expensive and utter waste of my time.
But no, I immediately began to search for the hidden treasures. Years of experience has convinced me that everything happens for a reason—reasons that can eventually be found if I dig deep enough.
Perhaps my tooth fell off now, so that I will have time to get it fixed before my journeys take me to places that may not have adequate access to dental care.
My experience with judgment on the ferry kept me humble, pointing out the fact that I still have issues to grow through, reminding me that it is time to seriously re-center myself—to refocus on my path.
My experiences with Rafael reminded me not to get too attached. Yes, I will have future spiritual encounters, but my path is calling out for me to remain flexible, fluid in my journey, not holding on too tightly to any one place or person.
The rain, the mosquitoes, the smelly sweat in all the wrong places, all reminded me that it is my inner state that matters—not the outer state. If I glow in my heart, people will look beyond the rest.
The people who “seemingly invaded my personal space” were reminding me that I have no personal space. We are all one, they are all me, and only served to point out to me that an issue of control is still unaddressed. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is all about surrendering personal control in my upcoming trip to Mexico City.
Who knows, the miscommunication with Michiko may serve us both in the future, possibly causing our relationship to deepen in some necessary way. I really don’t know—I simply need to trust.
After a great night’s sleep, I can only laugh at the bizarre occurrences of the past thirty-six hours—starting with my tooth falling out, and ending with a crazy day, that by all external appearances was a complete waste.
But things are never what they seem. I am never upset for the reason I think. I am the one that supplies all of the meaning to my perception. And I choose to see the entire day as a positive adventure of personal growth and insight.
Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved