Rooted Joy

Mayra,

The weekend prior, my plans shifted. Instead, I shared your rooted love with a dear friend over this past weekend.

He’s been walking through personal trials these last few years. Letting go of childhood trauma and the ego shell it built to survive.

We sat by a river, reflecting on where he’s at in life. I stayed mostly silent, holding space.

A woman approached. Someone I know from the gym. She sat down with us. Her name is “Joy”. But that afternoon, she wasn’t just herself. She became a mirror for my friend. She spoke at length about the challenges she’s facing.

I let that be the medicine for him. Not my words, not solutions. Just reflection.

Later, I noticed how all the trees in the neighborhood were shedding their bark. Like wise old snakes, slipping out of uniforms that no longer fit.

That evening felt like the perfect sunset for ceremony.

I asked him to pick his favorite piece of bark from the ground. He found one layered within itself: an outer piece, sheltering another.

We met again by the river, a candle lit, a fresh pot of your wonderful cacao. I asked him why he picked that piece.

He said, “Guess.”

I smiled. “Because it’s us.”

He smiled back.

I felt the warmth of what it really reflected: the soul within the hardened shell. But I didn’t need to say it aloud.

I lit the candle, poured the cacao, and told him why I love this ritual:

If you boil cacao, it burns. It must be brewed slowly, at just the right low, steady heat. Before drinking, when you smell it, the mind says “sweet”. But the first sip is bitter. Only through patience does the sweetness emerge. Not through the senses, but through presence.

I told him we were sitting together in a ceremony of “Joy”. Not the fleeting joy that comes after the fire, but the joy born from within it. The kind that rises slowly, steadily, like warmth from the heart.

He opened up again. I met him with few words. We drank the sunset. And that was enough.

Thank you for being part of that moment.

—Love.