By Cara Amy Goldthorpe | Featured Contributor
It’s a misty dawn, the ocean and sky merging together as one in the distance, behind the ethereal golden glow of the rising sun. I’m in my hammock sipping coffee and flicking through an old journal I bought at the end of March last year, when I was settling in for “lockdown” in Costa Rica. Back then I thought I’d be flying to London in late April, when the borders were originally forecast to reopen.
Now, I’m still here and contemplating putting every penny I own into purchasing land. It’s just raw land: no structures on it. I’m not quite sure how I’ll make the purchase happen, let alone the project I envisage, and how I’ll have money for basic sustenance when I’m done. But I feel a pull, deep inside me. A voice is telling me that I have to make this happen.
So I’m summoning the courage to let go of everything I think I need: to take a complete leap of faith into the unknown.
And this poem, dated 30 April 2020, jumps out at me:
I don’t need no clothes
When I’ve the sun to warm my body
I don’t need no roof
When I’ve the shade of the swaying palms
And oh, if you won’t give me your love
I’ll get on by
With the waves to wash my body
And the breeze to kiss my skin
So here I’ll play
Here I’ll dance
A captive in eternal
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