Magic Of The Place
In the arms of Mexico.
This letter is a glimpse into the synchronicities that have woven through my life in connection to Mexico—how its land healed me, transformed me into a mother, and grounded me in the intuitive wisdom of my body and the mysteries of life. It is with deep reverence that I honor Mexico and share my journey through its landscapes. The beauty that unfolded in Oaxaca and Tepoztlán has left me in awe of life and the unseen threads that bind us all together. A personal journey I’d love to share with you.
It’s early morning in Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca. I get up sweating; it's not even 7 a.m., and it’s intensely humid in the palapa. Ben's asleep. The birds, roosters, and local kittens are all making a racket at our doorstep. Trucks are blaring; I feel like my bed is right on the highway. I'm seven months pregnant. Waiting for the local frame shop to open at 8am, I step outside in my bikini, grab two mangoes off the street that had fallen from the tree, and eat them for breakfast. At least 30 perfectly ripe mangoes are on the sidewalk; I feel like I'm in a dream. I can't believe I used to pay for mangoes before. I think about how I'll have to buy mangoes again one day and frown for a moment. I return to the present, get out of my head, and enjoy the blushing, juicy mango goodness.
As I go for a walk, the beach, a beautiful 10-minute stroll from the palapa, beckons. I cross the street, head down the hill, and am greeted by the biggest waves. I take my sandals off and start walking on the sand. I'm on Zicatela Beach, known as the Mexican Pipeline, with the world's biggest and most dangerous waves, reaching heights of up to 60 feet. Mornings are particularly popular in the surfer community. These waves trigger my anxiety and flood me with bliss at the same time—I feel fear but continue watching them with reverence and awe. But it's not bliss I'm after, it's experiencing the world with a boy in my belly.
After watching the waves and soaking up the sun, I head back up the hill and stop by the frame shop. My drawings are ready, impeccably framed by a local carpenter in light oak, all crafted by hand. The owner is there, and we connect over my war stories from Bosnia. He gifts me a book of poetry in Spanish about war and survival. I cry, we hug, and I walk back to the palapa.
I couldn't have envisioned a better place to experience my pregnancy than Mexico. Despite a few challenges—Mexico has been nothing short of extraordinary. Having lived through the war in Bosnia for nearly five years and navigating the post-war experience as I transitioned into adolescence, only to be completely uprooted from my homeland to a foreign land in Canada, has shaped the theme of my life: a quest for home and belonging. In Mexico, I found a sense of belonging that I had yearned for, a comfort and acceptance that made the challenges seem insignificant in comparison.
Starting high school mid-year as an ESL student was difficult. With cliques and friendships already established, being friends with a war refugee wasn't a priority for anyone. I naturally gravitated toward the ESL kids in my classes—those wonderfully weird, creative, quirky outcasts and nonconformists. We had so much in common, but the most obvious point of connection was that we were all refugees; we had experienced violence, fear, and poverty, and none of us spoke fluent English. We were all in a new land, frightened and excited, navigating a school system that felt so foreign—much like everything else in our new lives. Our shared experiences created a bond that transcended language and culture, uniting us in our journey of adaptation and growth. This is the first time I’ve made friends with kids from Mexico and learned about iconic Mexican authors and artists like Octavio Paz and Frida Kahlo.
Over the past 24 years, I have fallen in love with many Mexican people—lovers, partners, creative colleagues, artists, and friends—whose connections remain rooted and strong. In my early twenties, I eagerly devoured the works of Carlos Castaneda, immersing myself in his explorations of dreams, magic, and altered states of consciousness through The Teachings of Don Juan, Eagle's Gift, Magical Passes, and Journey to Ixtlan. At last, I felt I had found someone who spoke my language. Mexico enchanted me.
Growing up in a household where practical concerns took precedence, the spiritual, psychic, and mysterious were often seen as mere fantasy. I rarely had anyone to share my thoughts or visions with, and when I did, my imagination was often met with laughter or dismissal, as if my ideas were a waste of time.
But one day, while hiding from the scorching sun on Pratigi Beach in Brazil, I lay in the chill-out area of a festival I often visited in Bahia. I opened The Art of Dreaming by Carlos Castaneda, letting its pages draw me into a world of exploration. The man beside me started laughing and pointed at the book he was reading. I looked up, and we realized we were both reading the same book! For some reason—only known to those who believe in magic—we both began to laugh uncontrollably.
Then he glanced at my wrist and laughed even louder, showing me his necklace.
I have a tattoo of the triskele on my wrist, a Celtic symbol that reminds me of the cycles of life: birth, death, rebirth, maiden, mother, crone, and the journey of our souls. Because I was left to make meaning of my own life, often alone, getting tattoos symbolized initiations, passages, and ceremonies to mark the time. When I got married at 19, I didn't want rings; I wanted a symbol on my skin to activate and guide me through the many stages of my life.
The triskele appeared in my life repeatedly—through books, signs, and art. With little research and even less contemplation, I trusted the sensations in my body that this was the symbol for me. Much like my connection to Mexico and the writing of this letter, the triskele became a thread I followed simply by trusting my intuition, leading me to some of the most bone-chilling synchronicities in my life.
Fifteen years after getting the triskele tattoo, I learned that my ancestry includes Celtic roots. When I looked at Paul's necklace, I discovered it was, of course, a triskele.
A friendship blossomed instantly; the more we talked, the more it felt like we had known each other for ages. We were inseparable for the rest of the festival—sharing laughter and stories. Our partners, including my then-husband, blending seamlessly into our camaraderie.
Paul, a British man of tall and lean stature, exuded warmth and humor, captivating everyone he met with his profound curiosity about the consciousness of nature spirits. He invited us to Capão, Chapada Diamantina region, a small village in Bahia, where he was learning with sacred plants.
Reflecting on this connection, I remember Paulo Coelho's words: "Intuition is a sudden immersion of the soul into the universal current of life."
This suggests that intuition is not merely a fleeting thought but a profound connection to the universal flow, aligning us with the deeper currents of existence. Coelho's exploration of these themes underscores the belief that when we trust our inner guidance, the universe aligns to lead us toward our destinies.
While living in Mexico, pregnant with my son, the synchronicities leading me there came rushing back to me. I realized I had spent years immersed in Carlos Castaneda's words, envisioning a life in Mexico, dreaming of a place called Ixtlán, and a decade had passed since I lost touch with Paul, years since my life took on an entirely different path. In my journals, I had written about this inexplicable soul connection to Mexico long before ever stepping on its soil. There was no rational explanation for it—just a deep, unshakeable knowing that I was meant to be there. And then, in Oaxaca, a new life unfolded inside me, vibrant and alive.
Mexico nourished and mothered me. Of all the gifts it offered, the one I hold closest now, in reflection, is how it kept me safe. It allowed my body, nervous system, and whole being to exhale—to unravel from the grip of survival and tension I had carried for so long. Its people, land, and culture held me with a kindness that did not waver, even as a foreigner benefiting from the abundance it generously offered.
Living between Tepoztlán and Oaxaca for nearly a year healed me from the inside out. That season of surrender gave me the greatest gift of my life: my son.
Since leaving my ancestral homeland in Bosnia—a place rooted in spiritual and pagan tradition—I've been searching for a home. And yet, home has found me everywhere. Each place I've been has extended its arms longer than I expected, holding me for months and sometimes years. Mexico was like that. What began as a fleeting visit became a lifetime of belonging.
And though I am elsewhere now, Mexico lives within me—enduring as breath, timeless as the land itself—a place that is part of my story, my home.
With love,
Vanja
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thank you for sharing! love magical Mexico so very much.