This the second to last of the blogs I wrote about our trip to Abadiania.
I sit in my room transcribing my first journal notes to the computer and waiting for Bill to finish his second twenty-four hour resting period at 3:00 pm. We will then walk over to the Casa get a coconut drink and watch the sunset before dinner with Kelsie.
Fresh Coconuts
I say that these are free days because these are non-Casa days. We will use them for more rest and meditation. After all, that’s what we are here for. It is a very strange spa sort of experience. Bill says that it seems that there is nothing going on but there is never a dull moment and I find that to be true, I have not been bored for an instant, but it certainly isn’t a recreational frenzy we are participating in here; it’s healing and renewal.
During the afternoon I am drawn to the sounds demanding my attention outside of my room on the front side of the pousada and across the empty field. There are many loud sounds that come from the brickyard over there; a large machine, squeaking and growling is working very hard. I wonder if they have ever heard of grease and a little mechanical work on it might subdue the hesitancy of engine; it sounds as if it might stall at any instant. There are also very large trucks transporting materials in and brick out along a very bumpy dirt road just beyond the trees. The smell of the machines waft to me across the field along with smoke from various fires both pleasant and unpleasant that seem to come and go all the time. Somehow I think I expected something a little more romantic.
There is a sound like a racetrack coming from a little further away. Over and over vehicles (motorcycles???) start up as if in a race and continue on as if on a track. The only problem is that it happens over and over at all times of the day and evening every day. I can make no sense of it until I talk to a couple of Englishmen who live over that way and they tell me it’s not a race track, it’s the highway from Brasilia which passes fairly close and the sound is from drivers having to come to an almost complete stop after one of those massive speed bumps and accelerating with enthusiasm after negotiating it. Especially on the weekends young men, well probably all men, indulge in this pastime as they ride their motorbikes and cycles as if in a race. We call the highway sounds at home—The Great Race—and here is a wonderful example of it; it must happen all over the world.
After dinner it’s off to bed again, tonight we stay in the same room and it’s wonderful to have my friend there with me again. We have our Saturday night treat of potato chips and ginger ale, a traditional Saturday night at home.
As I look back over what I have written I notice that I have avoided mentioning how emotional I have been feeling. There is no doubt about it—I want a miracle, a big one. I find myself crying whenever I am alone and / or quiet—in the crystal beds, in the Currant room, going through the line to see the Entity, during the surgery/intervention, at the waterfall, and in the middle of the night. I’m not sure exactly why this is happening. Of course I’m scared, I want my desires fulfilled, I don’t want to be left alone in this world—this was not in my plan for growing old. So there I’ve said it. It’s all pretty selfish; I’m mainly worried about me. We were aware when we made this trip to Brazil that not everyone is healed exactly as they want, so it’s still a matter of taking this whole thing a day a time. I’ve noticed that that’s the way life is whether I like it or not.
On Sunday morning there is a sing along service in the Assembly Hall at 9:00 am. We are there and here I am crying again. It’s very difficult to sing and cry at the same time—impossible! We sing “Let it Be”, “Imagine”, “Down by the Riverside”, “Amazing Grace”, “It’s Wonderful World”, “When the Saints Go Marching In” and many more old favorites. I love it, but I wonder why I always have the same reaction to singing. I make it absolutely impossible for myself because I’m all choked up…why? Well, part of the reason may be that I have a low pitched voice and have never developed much breath capacity. I seem to do just fine singing when I’m in the car by myself, especially singing along with Bob Dylan and Hank Williams, I am a star. I remember when I wanted to join my Fifth grade choir and was refused. My mother marched in there and demanded that I be included and I was but I believe I always knew they didn’t want my voice. I remember having a great time singing but evidently I wasn’t very good. This didn’t do much to develop what little singing ability I might have had. I always had a fantasy that I should have been a rock star but like becoming a fighter pilot I felt it was closed to me and instead of inspiring me to work harder, I just gave up and became the victim. No wonder I feel like crying.
Right after the sing-along Kelsie and I take a taxi down to the waterfall again. Bill waits in the sunset pavilion, I see him looking down at us as we pass below him. There’s absolutely no one there at the waterfall—what a treat. I get a chance to really look at the woods around me off the path. I can definitely say that I will not be going “off-road” in these woods. There is a funnel spider web a few feet away and Kelsie tells me that there are monkeys that sometimes share the waterfall as well as a black fuzzy caterpillar that is extremely poisonous to even touch. I realize I really know nothing about these woods and whatever inhabits them. When we return to the Casa we all have a fresh
coconut and shop a little in the Casa bookstore. After lunch, we decide to meet to have an acái berry pudding at Frutti’s, a small café on “Rodeo Drive” just a short walk away. As we walk up the street we discover that since it is Sunday during a rather slow 
Casa week, Frutti’s is closed so we make a U-turn to return to Kelsie’s house for our very own version of an acái smoothie. The late afternoon is lazy and warm on the veranda. We look out over the countryside where a herd of white cows have appeared moving slowly over the landscape. We discuss how white cows would make a perfect canvas for art. We could paint or dye them any color we want, with designs that would be constantly changing and moving. As we walk up the road after taking our leave, we reflect on our first week in Abadiania. It has been everything we imagined and more and less as well. The pace is slow, there is no hurry and yet time is of the essence. We must take the time to heal and restore. Bill is walking very slowly so there is time to look at the grasses and trees.
After dinner at the pousada, we look forward to Monday when Bill is scheduled for a massage at 9:45 am. A little ways up the street and behind a pink and blue store is a tiny building painted bright green with a tree portrayed on the front wall covering the whole front façade. It is delightful—this is the massage parlor. The masseuse is licensed and approved by the Casa. She speaks a little English, enough to understand where it hurts and what to work on. The price is 70 Reals (pronounced hey-ice), about $30.00 for seventy minutes of massage.
THORN TREE
While Bill is being worked over, I head up toward the highway again to visit the drugstore; we need some decongestants and a razor. This time I cross the highway to visit a different store and as I reach the other side I come upon a remarkable tree. It has no leaves (perhaps it is dead), but is covered with hanging fruits that almost look like Christmas balls. As I get closer I notice that the ground under it is buried in a fine white down, somewhat like milkweed fluff. And then the most amazing thing; the trunk and limbs are covered with huge thorns.
On the way back to the massage parlor, I decide to visit the grocery store. About two blocks off the main street there is no parking lot and it gets trashier and trashier as I get closer to it; I wonder if I’m on the right street. Oh, OK, there it is on the left, so I step in. There is one cashier just inside the door with a pretty modern computer system. I turn left down the first isle and it is dark; just a few very dim bare bulbs overhead. I see all the stuff you would find in a grocery store. There is the cereal, jams and jellies, cleaning supplies, then at the end of the isle around the corner is the produce, dairy and meat departments, taking up about as much space as a large closet. Then it’s down the second isle to find the cookies, bread, soda and housewares. To say that it’s compact would be an understatement but everything is there. I find a few things and check out. Then it’s back to pick up Bill and we walk slowly back to the pousada for lunch.
CARROT PEELING FOR BLESSED SOUP
It’s Tuesday and Kelsie suggests that we go over to the Casa to help peel vegetables for the blessed soup that will be served for the Casa week coming up. There are large bins of vegetables everywhere in the garden and many people industriously peeling and chopping away. We choose a bin of very large carrots and we finish in record time. Next we turn to help Alexander finish his bin of chuchu, it is taking him a long time to get through it. As we begin we discover why it’s taking so long. This vegetable is diabolically slippery and well as incredibly tasteless; it is found in Brazilian cooking everywhere.
After lunch it’s my turn for a massage. I’m really looking forward to it after Bill’s description of his experience yesterday; my chance to totally relax. First thing she does is wash my feet and after a week of sandals everyday on dirty streets I think they need it. Seventy minutes of massage is a luxurious thing and I am happy.
FRUTTI’S CAFE GARDEN
Now it’s back to Frutti’s to meet with Bill and Kelsie for that acái berry pudding that we missed on Sunday; the pudding is so dark, it looks almost black. The garden in the back is enchanting. There are bright colored birds and flowers.
Tuesday night is the Twelve-Step Fellowship meeting at the Casa. I found out about it on the internet before we left home and made a contact. We missed the meeting on the first Tuesday because I got the time wrong. Five people plus us attend and we talk about the similarities of the program to the Casa. We are all grateful for the miracle of the Twelve Steps in our lives.
We agree to meet for dinner to discuss the Casa days starting tomorrow.