Tall, lanky and built like a light-heavyweight fighter, Randy Gordon stops me on a narrow sun-filled Isla Mujeres street with a grin and a question.
“So what’s your book about?”
Randy had seen one of my posts on one of the Isla Mujeres Facebook group sites announcing our Mexican book tour for my latest novel, Weed Wine Magic. He had shown up after our Caribbean beachside reading but didn’t want to interrupt me talking with an expat from Dallas, Texas, who also owns a house in Isla and had come to the reading on this very windy day.
We shake hands.
Randy’s excited to talk.
A 53-year-old commercial diver in Prince Edwards Island in Canada near Nova Scotia, Randy says he wears a big bell diving helmet for his job and definitely needs time off to recharge each year after working on the underwater foundations of bridges, buildings and whatever else needs underwater work that requires people like him.
The job’s dangerous, stressful life and death focus requires heightened awareness and good training. Grateful for his two month vacation each year, Randy now dives in sparkling turquoise water among gentle colorful fish and green sea turtles.
Reading and meditation help him unwind in the Air B&B he rents behind the recreational dive shop where we stand. He’s been coming to Isla for about ten years, he says. He’s drawn to the island off the coast of Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula.
“I just finished a two-week meditation retreat here,” Randy says.
“We do Zazen meditation every day,” I say.
Mellow Randy looks relaxed and refreshed — another seeker hooked on the mystical Island of Women where the mighty spirit of Maya moon goddess Ixchel influences wise men and women who embrace her nature and lunar energy.
Randy wants to pay me for the copy of Weed Wine Magic I sign and give him. He says he respects the hard work writers do. I tell him just knowing he’ll read what I wrote is all I want. Our bond is respectfully sealed, I say.
He invites us to dinner but we have to beg off because we already made plans. Again we shake hands. Now I’m grinning, happy to make this interpersonal planetary connection on a busy Saturday afternoon street that smells of grilled fish tacos, limes and Nutella-covered churros.
Stephanie and I head up the street.
Randy Gordon heads down the street.
No longer strangers, we’re just worldwide wanderers brought together by our respect for the curative power of words – the way the good life on Earth is supposed to gel.