Living in the energy of El Sierra Nevada, I fully understand why magical realism was born here in the town of Aracataca where Gabriel Garcia Marquez was born. The spiritual veils are tangibly thinner.

The trees speak to me in a language I’d long forgotten since childhood, yet I hear them again.

The leaves lean down to whisper their secrets in my ears and the branches stretch to give me a hug.  The ocean sings me to sleep at night, and my heart re-awakens to tell stories of love. All around me the invisible world vibrates with the drama and magic of life. Of course this is so, as the world is made of stories not atoms.

It’s re-adjusting my lens and intuitive awareness to “see” the world around me. Giving birth to the raw feelings I have so readily stuffed away living in the hustle and bustle of modern life. Coming home to myself.  Pachamama has a way of reminding me of my heart.