I attribute much of my spiritual journey to the chance meeting of an American freelance photographer deep in the equatorial rainforests of Belize in Central America, in a time long before the internet and mobile phones were available.
I was flying supplies by helicopter into an Army base called Salamanca, a delightful, sunny zone cut into the primary jungle in the South of the country, not too far from the Guatemalan border. A place known for its amazing curries that the resident Gurkhas provided, and the amazing dances of huge butterflies known as Belizian Blues that fluttered around in clouds of colour near a refuelling point by the helicopter landing pad.
I flew in one day with supplies, having arranged to eat in the Officers Mess. Clara was there too on a photographic assignment and we hit it off quickly with lots of banter and fun. She was bright, open minded, attractive, single, well-travelled, well-educated and fascinated me in her superior knowledge of the arts, of new age thinking, of modern writers, of psychology and consciousness. I had no idea what I had to offer other than a mind ready to soak up her knowledge like a sponge, a clear disdain for unnecessary authority, and an outrageous sense of humour. She was a learned, sometimes introverted, but generally enthusiastic, recovering, budding type A personality that also shared a dislike for authority. We got on well once out of the sight of too many interested eyes and wandered the area in search of exotic specimens as we talked.
I’d been trying for years to get a handle on what my life was really about, trying to gain better and more educated perspectives, better ways of thinking that would help me solve my problems at home and find ways to greater happiness without sacrificing my belief in not using another’s soul for one’s own.
In our short time together, Clara introduced me to many book titles. Carlos Castaneda’s journey into Peyote and becoming a shaman, Eric Bernes creation of Transactional Analysis, the psychology for the normal man, “To have or to be” by Erich Fromm, the forerunner to the modern concept of living in the present, “Games People Play” an understanding of the unconscious scripts that we write as young children as to how we’re going to be in life or to survive life.
They all became lifesavers for me and started both my spiritual and psychological journey of healing and understanding. Reading them wasn’t easy with a poor capacity for assimilating information, but it wasn’t that difficult either; I was fascinated, enthralled, and because much of it made sense to me, it hit my brain in a different place. It all brought me understanding and ways of connecting with a kinaesthetic world I already understood but wanted to know more about. Some of it pierced deeper emotions inside me than I could ever remember; learning how to live in the present wasn’t a thing then, but I knew there was more and this was the start of me truly unlocking the parts of my brain that were aching for exercise. Self-Hypnosis, bio feedback, psychology, psychedelics, ancient culture, relationship dynamics, they all stemmed from that chance meeting in a haze of beautiful Central American jungle butterflies.
Clara lived at remote location in the rainforest, somewhat mistakenly called “The Belize Zoo”, situated almost centrally along the very straight, but undulating, forty mile road that ran between Belize City and its capital, Belmopan. “Mistakenly” because there wasn’t enough of a collection of animals to call it a zoo, instead it was more a token collection of local animals used by a photographer for his films.
I took great delight in flying past Clara’s bunkhouse at ultra-low level to mark my presence that it became known to my aircrew as “Waypoint Six”, a reference to the now archaic GPS system used in the Puma helicopter for navigation. I probably made it to Waypoint Six every week on our return flights from sorties in the South, threw in a low-level orbit, waited till she came out and waved, then blasted back along the road to base. Bearing in mind that phones didn’t exist, let alone mobile phones, and letters were impossible to send, there was an empty space of waiting and guessing as to what was happening in each of our lives during my two month tour in the jungle and my opportunities for literary education. I was always keen to meet up with her and learn more.
In one my few visits to the zoo, Clara introduced me to one of her favourite big cats, an elderly Mountain Lion called Mya.
Mya had been at the zoo for too many years and depression showed in her deep dark eyes. I soon understood why Clara loved her. She longed for human connection and affection and she would gently howl when she knew a human was coming and press herself into her cage bars, strutting along the edge of the cage nearest to her welcoming visitor, looking lovingly and hopefully into the eyes of her admirers for expressions, for sounds, waiting for touch, for strokes, for loving, and maybe a treat.
Mya was easy to be around. There was so much love and happiness in the air, but there was also a profound sense of loneliness that must have run deep through her existence. Rare visitors, trapped, caged, bright eyed but sad, great company with a mane of strong hair, she was the animal kingdom avatar of Clara. She was also the epitome of the Type A personality; caged, suppressed, lost, wanting to be out but not knowing how, trapped by circumstance and events beyond control; freedom dreamed about but never tasted, under the control of her dominant male keeper and events that caused her to become entrapped in the first place.
Clara was an Aries child; strong, independent, a crazy mane of hair, eager to be understood, wanting to be loved, determined and single minded, yet she was very much herself a struggling Type A trying to free her chains but finding it difficult to disentangle from the authority of strong male figures. As a result, Mya and Clara had a symbiosis and though they couldn’t speak the same language, I’m sure that innately understood each other’s pain. No wonder they talked to each other so much when all was quiet and night had fallen.
I met Clara just a handful of times in Belize and once in the UK. Though we connected instantly and shared a huge understanding of each other, we knew it wasn’t to be. I had a career and a family; she had her work too and we lived thousands of miles apart, divided by more than the Atlantic Ocean.
Together we were three Type A’s, connected by our shared sensitivity and a yearning to escape to a better life. I managed it, I know for sure that Mya would not have, and as for Clara I have no idea, but I suspect that her ambitious nature will have seen off many an admirer in her aspirations to become a thriving empress of her own jungle. Whether she made it to true happiness I will never know.
In the years to follow I would meet many Type A’s, the lost souls looking for comfort or importance or their place in the world. Some I would get on well with, some just the opposite: it all depended on where we were in our lives and how our needs met, or not, and how big the egos were and where we all interacted inner own little drama triangles. I personally was always on the search for truth and greater kindness, riding on a horse called “Rebellion”, galloping up a dusty path called “Trouble”, being chased by a horde of angry natives, and loving it. That didn’t always fit in with others.
Love is an Action 
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