Following My Feet to Argentina

I book the flight a few days before it takes off because that is my style - to leave room for the unknown, to be with impulse anchored in long term dreams.

I stopover only once and enjoy the trip having been upgraded to business class because I am a ridiculous manifestor. Checking into my place is as simple as they told me it would be and I fall back on the bed feeling like heaven.

I awake to the bitter snap of coffee tickling my nostrils, and as I blink alive, my eyes catch a sparkle on the water of the Lujan river. I am booked here for a week and will take adventures in the country side before surrendering to Buenos Aires and meeting my man.

At the end of university, I was in love with a boy. I cannot call him a man because of the way he played me, coming over and making me dinner, biking around the neighborhood, and thrift shopping together for months before finally telling me he was already in a relationship. Prior to that he told me he was drawn to me but that it made sense to keep a distance because he was taking off for Argentina as soon as school was over.

In my heartbreak, I spent a lot of time googling Argentina and this is when I came across Xul Solar, surely a soulmate and a romantic at that.

I looked forward (electric butterflies in my belly) to landing on the steps of what was once his house and is now a museum that displays his inventions and paintings. I am nearly crawling out of my skin to get to that moment where I am breathing in the same place that he and his wife once stood.

I am sitting with a glass of perfect wine, my feet up, writing outdoors in the evening, the sound of sizzling meat still ringing in my satisfied ears. I am sore from horseback riding and mushy in my giddy crush on the charismatic trail guide.

I am also thinking of my family and smiling for them that they survive without seeing my face for days on end. I am deliciously drunk on the joy of living beyond guilt and shame thanks to my proficient Existential Kink practice and ever-expanding conscious relationship with synchronicity.

Much earlier this year a woman had approached me in town one day while I was looking at my Xul Solar book at m y local cafe - one of very few on the subject of this completely fascinating man who was BFF with Jorge Luis Borges. He was too strange for Alleister Crowley's society but was permitted to linger on the outskirts accepting assignments from the occult genius.

Solar, aka Oscar A Schultz-Solari, invented languages. He reconceived the mundane. Why play soccer with one ball when you could play with six?

He saw the world from limitless angles and found ongoing ways to express his own infinite personality.

I was writing a story on Solar as a freak of nature the day this woman approached me and boldly put her hand on my left shoulder and said in her thick accent, "Come see me when you visit him, darling." She gave me her card and the best smug smile I've ever seen.

As I approach her estate in the car she sent, I question for the first time if I am safe. The grandeur of her residence is beyond my mentality and I am completely and utterly stretched as I do my best to strut through the massive iron gateway to her inner circle.

I am grateful to have very conscious openness and conscious boundaries with my partner, otherwise, this woman's energy would be completely shattering. I am able to hold my own and meet her potency with mine.

The next day her car delivers me and my bags to the bustling corner of my next pad, a few streets over from the museum.

I bike around Buenos Aries and sometimes take the train just for fun, but my feet keep leading me back to the museum - the land on which they thrived in their very own way. He wanted to unite the peoples around him and live in the harmony of soul.

My fingers purr again and again over the 3500 books in his library and I read also about the re-designing of this space, his home now a museum, as a reflection of common themes in his artworks and musings.

Stairs that lead to "nowhere" is my favorite to ponder. Led Zeppelin and Bowie often humming in my head, seemingly unprovoked, yet also evidently the soundtrack to my love story with this human.

I am allowed to have animated facetime calls with my three-year-old, having, of course, become fast friends with the custodian of the museum - the keeper of the legend that was our mutual friend, Xul Solar. He is an excellent storyteller and offers me so much of his vibrant energy.

I bleed myself onto pages filling the notebook I brought and invigorating a fresh mission for the next day. I will drift between shops and follow the sounds that feel inviting, itching at my curiosity. I buy flowers for my room, and small kits of art supplies to fill my early mornings with color (as well as immaculate croissants).

This is how my second week functions. I visit and I wander. I reflect.

I have one coffee and one glass of wine per day because I pushed myself this year to see what my life would look like with strengthened will power.

I celebrate each sip and I spend a few nights dancing with nice people that I never even ask their names.

I feel whole and I melt into my seat on the last leg of the journey home. After three flights, a Skytrain, and a bus, I am back on the ferry and will be scooped up on the other side by the people I build life with every day. I am thoroughly exhausted and yet there is a cathedral of space inside me for every ounce of their stories.

Like walking away from a lover never knowing when you'll see them again, I am stinging in all the right places. Having been pinched by life, roused onto the razor's edge of pleasure and pain, my partner receives me, kisses me, so refreshing and relaxing.

I am a tightrope walker and my eyes look deepened as I stare at myself foaming at the mouth brushing my teeth before curling into my familiar sheets. My cat vibrates beside me and I am as content as I have ever known.