There is a medicine man who works near a cold, pure flowing river.
It takes roughly 10 minutes or so to reach the river from the main road, and he may or may not live there amongst the rolling hills and prostrating trees, but when we arrived on that golden dusty road, in the sweltering Jamaican heat, outside the building that faces the various shops, one quick ring and he was heading towards us in minutes.
He had a slight rhythm to his walk and knowing and mischief in his eyes, and when I introduced myself I noticed myself shrinking in my chair slightly. I heard a lot about him and I was eager to see what he had to say to me.
The ride was relatively quiet - me glancing in the rearview every so often to steal a look. Him slumped in the back - unassumingly gazing out the window. Like he had done this many times before and we were a small part of the day.
The car shuddered to a slow halt and we were at the river. He lead the way, passing by a local bar, nodding at the people milling about out front and passing some excitable tourists. We headed a bit further in, my clumsy footing unfamiliar with the path, and I held onto his hand as he took us to a spot more intimate and less busy.
We eventually arrived at the river.
I was hesitant to get into a bikini in front of this man who felt like an elder, but without hesitation or an exchange of words from me he knowingly said ‘don’t worry - I’m a professional’.
I was tickled.
He led me into the river and placed me on a rock, so the water could properly flow around me, but safely enough so I wouldn’t get swept along.
My ex stood at a distance. The elder lit up, took a puff, said a few prayers and then stood next to me.
‘What would you like today?’
I shifted slightly; I knew what I wanted to ask; it was both a request and a question. Something I had been asking myself for the past 2 years, but I felt exposed. The question was also in the room.
‘whatever I should know’.
‘You need to make your own choices otherwise ….’
The rest of his statement (the part I’ve omitted) stopped me in my tracks. Without pause, he performed a small ritual and then it was over.
The quick ending felt anticlimactic - unemotional, even.
I’m not sure what else I was expecting then, but months later I would realise that I got the answer I came for.
Almost a year to the date of being in Jamaica, and several situations which have exposed my persistent avoidance. Persistent waiting for shit to hit the fan before a choice is forced to be made (‘my hands were tied’). Persistent choosing in fear instead of in courage, I think about the ability to choose, the energy behind our choices and the reasons we decide not to choose. Is there a part of us that feels no choice buys us time - that it keeps us standing still?
Today I am reminded that that there are choices even in our non-choices.
A choice is always being made, this is what life seems to be showing.
And things will happen whether we move or not.
What will your choice be?