listening.

Not new, but more consistent. A ringing in my right ear that comes with a thought that.. rings true.
A confirmation. Nod from the heavens. God.

I still ask, pray (beg), for my purpose. My reason for being. A question my mama came to dread. I was relentless.
The happiest saddest child she could imagine. She would say, Why can’t you just be. ~Rest your thoughts and heart.

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All these things on these pages have been coming to me like wildfire. No thought or hesitation. No hemming and hawing. They come and I do.
A face serum? Never was that in my plan.
A friend and a long hot day of walking the Camino was the inspiration. Too tired to move in the hostel that evening, Sunday (yes her name. Great right?!), my first friend I met on the Camino, led me to the bathroom with a tube of something and instructions to wash and apply to my face. I listened when Sunday spoke. My guardian angel right from the start. A sassysmartFUNeverysecond girl from Mexico. If you’ve seen the movie Wild, her pack was That Big. Anything you could ever want or need, she had. And if it wasn’t in there, it was in a suitcase somewhere in Spain. AND she spoke Spanish!
We would come together on the trail and then loose each other for days. Only to meet again. Thank you God.
One day I walked into a bar ..sounds like the beginning of a joke (an eating drinking place..as they are called) and there she was all dressed up! Head to fancy shoe toes, in fancyyy clothes! Can’t remember details but something about a suitcase arrival and things she bought in Madrid before beginning her walk. Amazing that girl! Not a day goes by that I don’t giggle with thoughts of her and other cRaZy, not so fancy, get ups 🙂
The face stuff was heaven and I slept soundly for the first time while away.

This past Christmas laid up on the couch remembering that tube of magic, I ordered supplies and mixed some up. Pretending to be an alchemist imbuing every bottle with loving intentions and the vibration of Gold. Giving it away to friends and strangers on the streets. Due to a crazy convoluted happening in my life, too long to explain, one of my favorite companies may private label it this fall. Still too nervous to put an exclamation mark on it. !

Always a fan of gorilla art, art abandonment, and magical little come upons of creativity. A lot of it on the trail. Delightful and unexpected.
Another inspiration. To leave my milagro earrings in secret places for meant to be finders.

I’ve been making art with Mexican milagro prayer charms for a long time. The stories of their miracles are quite special to me, so I made a pair of earrings to wear while walking. Jesus on my left ear and a leg on my right.
I wore them every day up until the end when the pain got bad enough for even my ears to hurt.
The night I came home I was sort of a wreck. Dazed and weak. My hair was matted and my clothes ripped and dirty. It had been four days of travel and many days before trying to stay alive. It sounds so dramatic and I hate that, but it’s the only way to understand the potency of what happened next.
While undoing and sorting my pack, checking for bedbugs, I pulled my earrings from the small white pillowcase I had put them in. Held them in my hand and said,
No matter what happened I wouldn’t change a thing. Not one thing. There were so many miracles. Miracles come in least expected ways.
I opened my hand, it was hard to focus. Something was different. Three pieces instead of two.
The foot had broken off of the leg milagro at the ankle.
Where I fractured mine.

On Instagram (cynthiamilagro) I sometimes post a photo and hint of where I am leaving the milagros that day. #littleleavings until I think of something else to call them. They are tucked in tiny decorated match boxes with Frida Kahlo images (..always loved her strength and wildheart!).
A ringing told me to do this. Share miracles.

I’m not sure I’ll ever stop searching. Asking.
Able to just be and rest.
Still the happiest saddest child.
But oh so very grateful for everything and All. Especially now for singing ears

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fruit.

I did not know my ankle was fractured until I came home from the Camino. The only thing I knew was that the pain wasn’t getting better, only worse. One doctor I went to said it was a sprain and just needed rest.
Using two sticks for support, pack on back, I hung a medicinebag from my neck. Pilgrims, as called, would see me struggling and offer pain meds. And in desperation, no mater what language the directions were in, I’d take them. Everything I had been taught about doing that stuff, I unlearned.
I rested in hostels a few days at a time. Sometimes having to plead my stay in the only Spanish I knew, tears. Most hostel rules were one day only. Sometimes they had no choice but to keep me because I was unable to take a step. Not being able to respect and follow the rules was emotionally difficult.
Realizing after my infection with bug bites (another story) that no matter what I had heard, I really couldn’t suddenly be wheat tolerant in Spain. In order to heal I needed to eat clean again.
My limited mobility made it difficult to get food. Which made taking all the pain medication I was taking even more dangerous. Somewhere along the way I found out the sharp piercing pain in my stomach was maybe leading to a stomach bleed.
In the medicinebag were medicines and creams, a bag of potato chips, half a bar of chocolate, and an orange. Because of weight I’d only carry a tiny bit of water, a couple of inches in my bottle; just enough to take my pills. Such a huge mistake I didn’t think about at the time. How could I possibly heal with dehydration. But how could I drink and then not be able to make it to a bathroom, or tree.
Because of my fear of a stomach bleed I rationed my food. 10 potato chips, a square of chocolate, or an orange section with a pill (or three). No longer eating for hunger, only for pain management.
One of the last few days I was able to walk the trail it was very hot and I was very hungry and thirsty. My thoughts went only to fruit. Every fruit imaginable. I could feel, see, and taste them all. I kept thinking of the different ones I had in Brazil. The colors and creamy textures and sweet juices. Debating whether to eat my whole orange and get it over with, I looked up and saw something ahead. A table to the right of the trail with a figure standing behind it. How could this be. I was in the middle of nowhere. Fruit.

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