29 March 2025
As so often happens after deep emotional shifts, the happy, heart-high I floated on last night had all but disappeared by morning. I woke up drained, groggy, and grumpy—desperate for silence, my sketchbook, and zero conversation.
After breakfast, I was ready to continue my mural. But the universe (and India) had other plans. The owner tried explaining something to me, but the language barrier tangled it up. Eventually, I pieced it together: he had finally realized how bad the old paint job on the wall was and decided it needed repainting before the mural work could continue.
On one hand, it made perfect sense. On the other, when I had pointed this out earlier, I was told to “just go ahead.” In my current mood, it took everything in me not to snap. Whether it was a cultural difference or simply poor planning, I’ll never know. But for an A-type like me, these moments feel like nails on a chalkboard.
Still, I’m here as a volunteer, so I bit my tongue. The hunt for wall paint began.
Down in a dusty storage room, we rummaged through rubble, cracked buckets, and ancient cans of paint. My heart sank. Most of the wall paint was completely unusable—split, rubbery, dried out. After more “discussions” between staff and owner, I was handed one semi-usable bucket and told to try. I already knew it wouldn’t be enough, nor was it the right color.
Frustrated but determined, I tried anyway. It became obvious within minutes that paint wasn’t our only problem—the wall had water damage too. I finally stood up, took a deep breath, and said I couldn’t continue. They needed to properly prepare the wall first. Only then could I paint the mural.
As fate would have it, right in the middle of all this, a fellow Worldpacker I’d chatted with previously messaged me. She invited me to a Cacao Ceremony & Ecstatic Dance happening that evening in Tapovan—and offered me a place to stay overnight.
I didn’t hesitate. I leapt at the chance for a change of scenery and spiritual renewal. It felt divinely orchestrated. After all, I had just been moving through massive heart-space healing, and here I was, being called to a cacao ceremony—cacao being a sacred heart medicine.
Arriving at the 12 Monks Hostel, I felt it immediately—the energy was alive, vibrant, welcoming. Musicians played Indian flutes, a tattoo artist greeted me with soulful conversation, and every corner buzzed with that rare frequency you only find when you’re among true kindred spirits.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, we circled around a fire. A beautiful Guatemalan woman led the ceremony, her voice wrapping around us like a warm blanket. We sipped the steaming cacao from clay cups, feeling it melt into our hearts.
All around me, faces lit by firelight felt achingly familiar—strangers who somehow mirrored friends from back home. As the music rose and the night deepened, we danced barefoot under the stars. We laughed, we sang, we connected without barriers.
At 1:30 a.m., I found myself still awake, heart full to the brim. My spirit, which had felt so battered and bruised just days before, was now renewed.
The universe knew exactly what I needed.
And tonight, I’m just so, so grateful.
