After three months of longing, I have returned to Tárcoles, in Costa Rica’s Pacific lowlands. I have come with Rumi. I found him where Love placed him on my shelves, and I asked him to come along.
Here in Tárcoles the austere, yellowed landscape during the driest, hottest months has passed. Now the rainy season has started. The land is moist, and the almond trees and oaks are budding. The myrtles’ white flowers have bloomed, and the air is rich with their fragrance.
The rufous-naped wrens (Campylorhynchus rufinucha) and clay-colored thrushes (Turdus grayi) are singing their melodious tunes. The orange-chinned parakeets (Brotogeris jugularis) converse in their shrill voices on the highest branches of the cenízaro tree.
Across the dipping and rising hills from our land, the guanacaste trees look magnanimous as they extend their canopies over the greening pastures.
And in the distance, to the east, the conical peak of Cerro Turrubares is hidden behind a white-gray curtain of drifting, puffy cumulus.
The beauty of the landscape expresses the truth and goodness of Natura Naturans. It soothes my heart which had been aching for the comfort of Nature.
As I stand still under the wide sky here, so near the Pacific Ocean, I am reminded of Rumi’s verses in the poem “Body Intelligence”:
“Observe the wonders as they occur around you.
Don’t claim them. Feel the artistry
moving through, and be silent.”
Overtaken by the perfection of the present moment in this place, I do fall silent.