okay, Universe, what next?

I feel kind of pooped.

I have been looking for ways to take a little time away from the Caravan, lovely as it is, but draining, too, now that our numbers have reached almost 30, and I am a-saturated with Community Spirit. At least, the Community Spirit of those that leave their dirty dishes for others to wash, those that have lots of enlightening ideas of how to improve this crazy lifestyle but don't want to actually put those ideas into practice. Those that...

Okay, I recognize I am getting a little judgmental, so I will stop.

I think I am realizing that my honeymoon period in Brazil has ended--'twas a blissful 5 months!--and now little things are starting to take their toll.

No matter what, I keep having experiences. For two days, I found myself supine on the stone floor of a two-hundred year old church, its one room filled with a collection of sanded tree trunks for chairs, altars with tiny statues of Jesus and Mary--their skin the color of molasses--and murals of banana-harvesting on white adobe walls. We had arrived at another quilombo, this one even more ancient and preserved than the one we visited before.

I arrived with tonsils the size of prunes.

So I rested. I think there was a small sliver of me that wanted to participate in the jongos, a traditional African celebration with special songs and dances, and the sacred circles of spiritual healing led by 80-year-old women, their hair plaited in braids, dressed in embroidered white dresses. The energy was overwhelming, though, and I am grateful that I chose the peacefulness of the church to rest. The Caravaners were great, making ginger tea and gargle rinses with salt and tea tree oil. I am discovering that there is not much space to be sick in the Caravan, and how important it is that we all take responsibility for taking care of each other.

Now we are back in Rio de Janeiro and staying at this very cool Point of Living Culture, an old train station/turned historic center. My tent is on the waiting platform, and there are rusted trains resting on tracks beside me, stray cats crawling through the glass-less windows and doors. The inside of the station is mammoth, a ceiling three stories high, and all is open and echoing. The night we arrived, there was a samba party and I fell asleep to dancing feet (to my chagrin, it was late).

Everyone went to the beach today, but I stayed back. I need clarity. I am feeling a bit conflicted about future plans, feeling called to stay, called to go back to the US, called to be confused and unclear. I found out about a unique project in the States that I could see myself involved in. I miss Tom's of Maine toothpaste. And my family and friends.

Then there is Barry Manilow singing, you've got to leeeeeeave, just get awaaaaaay in the Internet cafe at this exact moment. Is it a sign? I've never taken advice from Barry before. Is he a reputable source?