Maybe it was me

Raul talks in singing Spanish, seemingly not too worried whether I can follow him or not. Within a few hours we have covered natural medicine, shiatzu, reiki, energy alignment, the truths contained within pyramids, and a concise and accurate assessment of my character according to the alignment of the stars on my birthdate. Then he starts to write down the seven laws of the Egyptians.

Number three is, Como es arriba, es abajo. As above, so below.


This is enough to weave me deeply into the knit of his words. We pass the Saturday afternoon by the sunny square, parrying a consistent stream of beggars and children selling gum, drinking our way through a succession of expensive beverages. He tells me to go to a place called Tepoztlan, another centre of energy near el DF.


This is the message I was expecting.


At five o'clock he receives a phonecall from a friend, Luis, an Ecuadorian-turned-Mexican, well-known in the town for his money and his kindness.

Apparently he does not call Raul very often.

Luis invites him to the cinema in Morelia. I hear Raul explaining that he is with a friend from England. Hear Luis invite me along as well.


At first I say no. After an afternoon of gunshot Spanish I am craving the peace of my room. But the answer does not sit quite right and, a few minutes after he has put down the phone, I concede.


Thus I meet Luis Soria de Silva. Slickly dressed but humbly disposed, with a wide smile and humorous manner. He is only forty-one, but a hump in his upper back, and his resulting shuffle of a walk, makes him seem much older.


The evening passes easily, popcorn scents and flowing emotions of the cinema balanced by stone-baked pizza and late night shopping centre. At the end of the evening I drip from the door of Luis' white Mercedes, drained but satisfied.


I spend the next two days with Raul, by the end of which I feel depleted. He likes being around me a little too much. I feel him feeding off my energy. Now that I have spent time with him, I feel obliged to meet him again.

To combat this, I pack my bags to leave.


The morning of my departure, I meet Luis for the second time, at a pavement cafe. Raul is not there. I don't know Luis, but he seems harmless and he wants to buy me breakfast, so I happily chatter away in the sun, amidst mouthfuls of chilaquiles and freshly-squeezed orange juice.


He asks me a lot of questions, about my life in England and about my current direction. He laughs when I say I want to write a book about my experiences; apparently one so young cannot amass sufficient stories for a bestseller. Feeling the need to prove myself, I become confident and direct, believing myself to know secrets that he does not. Speaking in Spanish, I am able to separate myself from my words, saying things that would be considered rude or arrogant in English.

I feel myself getting into the flow, enjoying talking about myself. I unpack some of my mantras for him, laying them out neatly and savouring his reactions.


He doesn't seem surprised by anything - only committed to continuing my soliloquy. When I say that I believed someone in Patzcuaro had a message for me, he immediately asks me what Raul's message was.


I am not sure. It could be a number of things. I tell him about Tepoztlan. However, my usual credence on these matters is absent. Deep down, I know this means I was wrong.

Luis looks at me with deep eyes and says, with absolute confidence, "Do not go to Tepoztlan."

I am startled.

"Why?" I ask. He replies, "Now is not the time for you to go to Tepoztlan."

I nod. Not going to argue with that. Then he says something very strange.


"On Saturday, I invited Raul to the cinema. This is very unusual, but I received the impulse to do this and so I followed it. Raul told me he did not want to go. I started to drive away. There came a point where, if I turned left, I would be at the cafe where you were. If I turned right, as I was just about to do, I would be on the carretera out of town, and the moment would have been missed.


"When I was at this point, Raul called me and said you'd changed your mind.


He looks at me seriously, piercing my eyes.


"Thus I met you."


I look at him with new interest. "So... Maybe it was you I was supposed to meet?"

He nods, slowly, and smiles a quiet, knowing smile. "Yes. Maybe it was me."

As Above, So Below

I have been thinking about my tattoo design since 2001. I always knew the perfect design would arrive, and the key was not to put any pressure on it.

When I went travelling to New Zealand and the Pacific Islands in 2004, I was so taken with the Maori culture that I designed my own tattoo out of elements of various greenstone carvings that meant something to me. The design was beautiful. But I never got the tattoo. I couldn't decide where to have it and by the time I left the area it felt like the moment had passed.

A few weeks ago I watched my friend get her first tattoo in Puerto Vallarta. It was very small but it had a lot of meaning for her. I was as nervous as she. We got pissed on tequila and laughed the whole way through, before spending the rest of the night riding high on endorphins to take on the city.

I felt her liberation and kept the thoughts in my mind, circling slowly.

When I was in Vallarta the next time, I spent an afternoon in tattoo shops, looking at fonts. While I was there, a girl came in, about to have one down her spine. I asked her what it would say.

She replied, 'You have to lose yourself in order to be found.'


I left that tattoo shop with a mark not on my skin but on my mind - of that girl and her truth. It mirrored what was going on at the time. From the lost wilderness of my first weeks emerged the familiarity of myself. Shortly afterwards, I found myself sitting on the beach in Yelapa, wondering where the hell all this perfection arrived from.

Sure enough, my peace and patience paid off. When the coincidence occurred in the bookshop - the coincidence that led me to the Law of Attraction book - I knew the words As Above, So Below would soon be tattooed somewhere on my body.
Not only would it be a physical representation of that amazing memory of swimming in San Blas with the phosphorescence, but also a hats off to the techies up there that gave me the later coincidence.

On another level, there is the basic physical nature of it - that I am claiming my body as my own, maturing, changing, but in the same time recognising that it is just a body, and it is mine, so I can do what I want to it.
But more importantly, in those four words lie the truths I commit to. My beliefs in the unity of everything, the Law of Attraction and the ultimate connection of everything to everything else. The words represent it all for me.
Everything is the same. The things that you find above you are the things you find below you. That which is within, is also without. The stars are made of the same thing as the earth, the same thing as the sky, the same thing as ourselves. The physical manifestation of the world is exactly what is in your head.

Everything is made of the same energy - the omnipresence of consciousness.

All you have to do is tune in, and I feel like I have done that as much as I can for the age I am and the experiences I've had. I am at the stage now where I am truly feeling everything that comes along - seeing energy patterns in things and directing flows, or rather, flowing with them. I feel somewhere that this is a point in my life that will transpire to be very important. I am leaning against the proverbial milestone, catching my breath, darting my eyes around this new tierra to navigate the best way forward.

This is my journey, and these words express that perfectly.

And there is another reason. More and more, I feel like my purpose is to spread the word. The people I meet seem to be bringing me messages along these lines. In Mayan prophecies I am Yellow Rhythmic Sun, which means my life's purpose is "to enlighten". Even in Western horoscopes my charts tell me I am to "shine a light" in order to lead the way.


It is easy to be sceptical, particularly when I blush self-consciously at saying something so far-fetched and potentially arrogant. But what matters is what you feel inside. Without being daunted or condescending of this prophecy I feel myself shouldering it and preparing for it. My instincts tell me it is true. In stepping along this journey I know I'm stepping towards that purpose and I am in the process of submitting to it and simultaneously grasping it.

I say all this in a vain attempt to explain the reasons why I decided to tattoo my stomach yesterday. There are many reasons. Some much deeper than others. I am no longer going to bother postscripting my thoughts with caveats and excuses for those who think I'm being carried away with hippy nonsense. Take the one that most rings with you. I am simply being honest.

They tell me to be the change I wish to see in the world. A tattoo is a ritual, and for me this ritual comes in a poetically beautiful format.

To enlighten the self is to enlighten others.

As above, so below.

By the time I arrive in Guadalajara I have just a rudimentary blur where my tattoo should be, but I know, really KNOW that I want this. I have the words but no shape, the curve but no position. The intention but no artist. When I turn up at the Hostelito Inn, casually mention my fondness for the owner Frank's body art, it does not surprise me that he says he will do mine for free.

Ask and she shall receive. Who am I to resist a flow such as this? Of course I say yes.

But now the decision is made, more decisions arrive. Where to have it? Do I want it to show all the time, or do I want it private? Do I want just the words, or do I want a shape as well? I have toyed with the idea of having spirals or circles, for these too hold a heavy meaning for me. Everything is cyclical, the world moves in circles. I slip round the corner of one.

I even meditate whilst hooping in a blurred cylinder of blue glitter.

A circle is notoriously difficult to draw, and on the wrong body part could end up missing the point. But I want it, so badly. I need those words on me.


Up until the day before I have it done, I struggle with indecision over where to have it and what it should look like. Dan shows up, a welcome addition to the pack and with artist's eyes and comforting presence helps me to find the perfect font. I know it is the one the moment I see it. Words looping in circles and spirals, letters emerging from the swirls shyly but firmly. And with that comes the decision to have it on my side. Partly on the front, partly on the back. Above, below, across my core.

I drink a couple of tequilas and lie prostrate on the bed upstairs, a crowd of well-wishers having a party in the sun outside the door, shouting encouragement.

I am scared.

I'm not sure quite of what, because when I think about it I am not scared of permanently marking my skin. I know it is going to hurt, but I want it to be a journey and it wouldn't be a journey if it was easy. I trust Frank and I know that the words are exactly what I want. I come to the conclusion it is just the energy of the event infecting me.

I breathe through the nerves and ground my fears.

There comes a point when you just have to let go. Trust the hands you are in. That point comes as I am examining the stencil. I could stand in front of the mirror for hours adjusting the position, but in the end I just hold my hands up and submit to the charge of Frank. Frank of the single braid and spiky hair, Frank of strange Mexo-Anglicisms, Frank of morning singing and afternoon doobies. What a legend that man is. Despite knowing he'd only done 40-odd tattoos, I trust him completely. I know this is going to be good.


So I plug myself into music fit for an imaginary world of light and inflection. Close my eyes. Lie back to feel the burning pierce of the needle.

It hurts. A lot.

All across my ribs, down the side of my stomach, to the scarred remnants of my appendix, just inside my right hip. They did tell me it was going to be hard.

But because of the significance of the words, I want to really feel what is going on. This is not just a branding of my skin, but a branding of my life, my persona. It is a declaration to the world of my beliefs and my vow to commit to those beliefs for the rest of my life. It is a declaration of my story, of the path that has led me here and the core trust in the synchronicities I've experienced.

Instead of having a body as the physical means by which the mind is transported, I am bridging the two with a physical manifestation of what goes on in my mind.

I want to etch the deep ink of my beliefs into my tattoo. So I focus on them.


I meditate, for five hours, on the meaning of those words, the significance of circles and spirals. The endlessness of life, symmetry, the journey in and the journey out, the double helix, getting young as you grow old, everything as one. I etch my intention into my skin.

All at once I feel both the unity and the difference between my physical body and my mental body. On the physical level, I lie on the bed, helpless at the hands of my artist, pain stabbing deep into my being. I feel the vibration inside my rib cage.


On the mental level I am a hum of energy, with an apex of intensity over the needle into which I pour all my positivity and awe at everything I've experienced. Those five hours take me to places and experiences usually only achieved with the aid of psychadelic substances. I am in a trip of the highest form, rushing off the exhilaration of the physical and the challenge of the mental.


It is a five-hour long, full body physical and mental orgasm.


I enjoy every minute. I am by no means exaggerating when I say it is one of the most monumental experiences of my life.

I become the music and I become the needle and I become the ink deep inside my skin.

In having the words branded forever, I experience first hand what they mean. As above, so below. As within, so without. What may be outside is also felt inside. My mind is all around.

When Frank taps me to signal the end, I feel a wave of disappointment that this moment, this perfect moment is over. But then I stand up and take my first look at my new body.

I didn't know what I wanted, but when I see it I know it is perfect.

All over my body my skin tingles, like I've been scrubbed.

It takes me a while to gather my mind from the corners of the room. I pull myself together just enough to stumble downstairs to bed.

I am exhausted.

January's gifts - leading to a rant on possessions, Faith and Choice

1. Book about 2012

2. Underwear

3. New backpack, huge

4. Clothes, various 

5. Obsidian crystal, iridescent, heart-shaped

6. Wire, to make obsidian into a pendant

7. A painting (left - entitled Hula in my honour -
see more of Dave's pics here)

8. A pair of poi

9. A tattoo

Most of the above followed me saying (largely to myself - thus most are coincidental) that I wanted that particular thing. On every occasion I have found exactly what I need. I am possessed with a confidence that everything is borrowed and there is no need to become possessive over possessions. They are just possessions. In Dan's words:

Everything we have achieved in this life, everything we've acquired, all the things we've lusted after and obtained... eventually... we have to give it all back.

Worrying about them not being there simply manifests insufficiency. I know that I will get everything I need, in time. I simply need to relax about it.

Everywhere I go I receive the help that I need. Even today, I am trying to make new hula hoops to give away to Frank and Tracey, at every stage of the operation someone has either done it for me or given me the help I need without me having to ask.

I feel myself mentally putting my hands up in surrender. I am letting go to whatever forces affect life and seeing where they take me and what they bring.

Travelling has given me the time and space to observe what is going on and also to take me away from the pulls and pushes of daily routine, necessity, time deficit. By observing all of this I find a new peace, knowing - not just believing, knowing - that I will get what I need.

People describe me as 'lucky'. I say wholeheartedly that it is not luck that brings me these things but faith and choice; in combination: intentionality. I choose what mental state to maintain and what to listen to, and I have faith that my choice, because it is a product of my intuition, will bring me through.


When I left England, the vast majority of people said something along the lines of; "You're so lucky and I'm so jealous! I wish that I could do what you are doing." All the time, I was thinking; How is it 'luck' that takes me from my well-paid job and 'secure' surroundings to the other side of the world, with no plan, no idea of the future, no guide, little savings? I put my whole being into this. I didn't go out for months. I didn't buy myself a thing. I wound my friends up by refusing to even pay a pound for the bus across town.


I have nothing to go back to. I even gave away most of my clothes. I remember the look of my boss when I told him I was leaving to 'go travelling'. There was no way he could hide the incredulity and condescension over my decision. 'How irresponsible, to leave, in the middle of a financial crisis and just when you are getting somewhere?!' He didn't even try to argue, for in my declaration I had simultaneously demonstrated myself to be just the sort of person he didn't want in his straight-jacket of a company.


Luck is the easiest way we can describe the visible pattern of someone doing well. I believe we use the word luck to label the events of a person's life when that person is in their flow. It is inconceivable to many people how one person can have so much 'luck' and another can be stuck in a seemingly everlasting series of misfortunes. The reality is the mental state. When things go right, the person grows into the mindspace of things going right, thus elevating them to an energy space that attracts good things. When things go wrong, a person feels like the world is against them and consequently attracts more misfortune.


I do not mean to say that people deserve misfortunes, but that by changing an attitude, you can change your life.


It is choice - choosing to buy a plane ticket instead of a new iPod, choosing to live from a bag, eat sporadically, experience poverty, exist in transience. Choosing to listen to the intuitions I receive.

And with the choice comes faith - knowing that I was right, knowing deep enough to really let go.


I knew the world I was in was stifling my spirit, and that I would find what I was looking for, as long as I made myself free to be steered by the winds of the world. A position where I am able to listen to the clues that have been provided, and do what I need to do to follow my instincts, instead of hemming myself in with constraints brought on by the need for a routine, for possessions, for security.

It can be hard to do that. Of course I am in the fortunate position of having no ties. Or rather, I was able to cut myself off from everything. My family is self-sufficient and exists in separate worlds to me, and my friends have their own agendas. I did not own a house, a car, a husband, a child.


I did meet someone after I bought the ticket but again he, like me, has made the choice to follow his intuition and join me. He arrives in three weeks. He has chosen to redirect his life and abandon himself to the flow, because he felt, even though it is a huge and terrifying change, that it was the right thing.


And as if to encourage these theories, the synchronicities are already rolling out the red carpet for him too. Ever since he made the choice to come, information, gifts, inspiration and business fortune have come his way.


In short, he has become very 'lucky'.


I'm not really sure where I'm going with this as I hadn't really intended to write about this in the first place. For those of you looking for another episode of Julia's nice story book, I apologise. I merely wanted to thank the world for bringing me all the things I wrote in the list and all the other blessings I haven't.


But I guess on reflection I am not-so-subtly trying to encourage everyone that reads this to have faith in their instincts and the courage to make the choices they need. It may not be travelling. But it will definitely involve tuning in to the 'greater power,' i.e. whatever your guts are telling you. The more you resist it, the less malleable you will find your situation. The moment you abandon yourself to the flow, the "coincidences" will pour out of you and you will draw everything you need to you like a magnet.

Abandon the self, and there you are.



1 was given by Taylor following the coincidence described in Breaking Boundaries. It is siezed upon excitedly by companions everywhere I go - Dan has even admitted to wanting to follow me travel or as long as it takes him to read the book.



2 was given shortly after a private soliloquy of frustration at not having what I needed



3 was given by Dan. Bag packing had become stressful enough to reverse even the most loving of moods, my bag being at least 20 Litres too small for all the things I'd collected. I know I am a true traveller when fitting my camping pan and hammock actually inside my bag is enough to keep me flying high all day.



4 were bestowed on me by a variety of people. Dina wanted me to hula hoop in her dress. Dan watched me break my shorts and released his favourite, beaten jeans to replace them with. And Carrie gave me an entire outfit to wear after she told me to remove all my clothes and throw them in with her laundry.



5 is an iridescent gold/black stone that is meant to absorb bad energy. It was given to me by nomads who spread out their collection and told myself and Dina to pick one each. Just days before, I'd commented on a piece of obsidian on a friend's neck and said I'd like some. I wanted to put it on a pendant but did not have the means to, so Catia, a girl at the Hostelito Inn, bought me 6 when she saw it in a shop. This was immediately taken out of my hands by Frank who just happened to be trained by artisanos, who after several 'chinga mi perro, hijo de putas' strung it neatly on a necklace.



7 was painted by Dave from Seattle, an artist who stayed in the Hostelito Inn for a month to exude his creativity in sprays of colour and strange form all over the hostel. Each one was an explosion of different mediums - paint, pen, dripped, sponged, sprayed, splodged. I've never really thought about buying art before but if I hadn't been trying to conserve money, and if I had a place to hang it, I would definitely have bought some of his. I asked him if he would do me a doodle on a piece of notepaper. Instead he gave me a beautiful canvas that will forever remind me of the vibrancy of that place.

8 was given to me, bizarrely, by a shaman. He saw my hula hoops and asked me if I could spin poi. I said no. He gave them to me anyway. Now I have to learn.

9 was undoubtedly the most emotional, the most significant and the most life-changing of these gifts. So significant in fact that it deserves its very own blog entry.

N.B. A NOTE ON FOOD. Food is something very important to me. It is received with shiny-eyed gratitude, always. The day when I just don't want to cook, someone offers to cook for me. The day when I'm ill in bed, someone delivers me pills, water, a meal - whatever I want. And then there is the food that amusingly and sometimes unnervingly follows my cravings. The day I wished for grilled fish, the world's response being that I was invited to a free house with an enormous Sarandeado Red Snapper cooked on an open fire. Eva and I looking at our dinner of crackers and maizena and saying 'what we need is a rich old man who gives us a free dinner but doesn't crack on to us'. Few days later being given a free dinner and cocktails in the best restaurant in town by a rich old man that treated us like daughters (thank you for coming, safe travels, go separate ways) with the bonus of being incredibly interesting to talk to.