Gypsy Warrior Princess

By Reece Gesumaria

Journey through the Middle East, live in the caves of Greece, move into a forest in the south of Spain, let your hair grow wild and untamed. Feel the freedom resonate through your bones, and if you hear the call of Home, return with a heart grown, inner-self more known. Jump into your old Cabrio named Bunny and cross the country, fall in love again and again, make real friends, learn the diversity that exists on this earth, we deserve to live a life of true worth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499035735

Reece Gesumaria

Reece Gesumaria is a wanderlust spirit, a gypsy of the modern age. Enchanted by the world and its inhabitants, she lacks a certain fear to explore which many describe as courage. Her background is in microbiology labs, dance, modeling, hair-cutting, and road trips. The University of Life broadened her knowledge into languages, djembes, the magic in a plant-based vegan diet, cave dwelling, eco-village living, hitchhiking, yoga and meditation. Bursting with positive energy and a passion for life, her adventures have only begun-- the depth of this planet and its breathtaking diversity to be discovered yet.

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Copyright © 2014 by Reece Happy Gesumaria.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014910465

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4990-3574-2

                Softcover        978-1-4990-3575-9

                eBook             978-1-4990-3573-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Photography by Thea Fischer

Rev. date: 06/10/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

Preface

Introduction

Part I

Part II

In Later Travels … Fire and Air

Afterword

Preface

Circle of Life

I t all started in the womb of my mother’s mother. A warm, safe cave, the belly of my Bubby nurtured the clump of cells that grew up to be my mother. The egg that was one day fertilized to become the zygote—later named Reece—was formed even before my Mommom entered the world. So I guess it all begins at the birth of creation. The message of Life passes on as stars explode and create even more stars, shining light into the great abyss of Space. The Universe is one big womb. Traveling through the cosmos, experiencing it all through two eyes, a nose, a couple of ears, and a whole bunch of phalanges, we coexist. We tickle our world, and it tickles us back, vibrates into our eyes through waves of light, color, energy constantly vibrating and sharing expressions of … Love? Is the essence of Life just Love?

I come from a long line of gypsies—colorful traveling peoples with healing hands and dark, pretty eyes. My heritage was reclaimed when I began my first Euro trip. I sliced through generations of gypsy blood that got lost in the system, drowning in the American Dream. I rediscovered my birthright to explore this planet. Born with legs, I learned their deeper purpose: to dance and play, to live the sweetness that is life, to thrive while I’m here on Earth, my Home.

This is a book of stories, poems, and collections of experiences that tickle my heart. Like a child collects precious seashells, I gather together bits of my life and reach out my hands to show you what Beauty I have found. I wish to express deep gratitude to those that have taken a moment to be a part of this journey. Thank you for being there. To my family, both blood and universal family. Rainbows and Burners. Fancy pants and those that dance. For those that haven’t had an opportunity to scoop me up on the side of a road, share their warm home, or teach me how to grow my own food, thanks for being here Now. I mean it, dudes. Thank you for picking up a piece of my heart, my expression of art, for reading stories of personal growth, and for the moments that changed me the most. I hope my words touch your soul and connect our existences into one great big whole. As they say in España, disfrutalo! Enjoy. In. Joy.

Introduction

Good Morning

W ake up! Wake up! Wak e up!

Snap out of the nightmare!

Your worst fears, darkest images, gruesome violent skibadige—shmorgus borgus of terrors rack your brain.

You think you are in pain, but the only pain you’re in is what you’ve made.

The hands around your throat, if you hold up a mirror and look close, they are yours!

You stand there, choking yourself!

Killing your dreams.

Your murderer is self-deprecating.

So wake up! Wake up!

Take responsibility for your thoughts!

The dark, hateful mantras need to be stopped by being observed.

This is all a dream, electrical signals of your nerves.

Propaganda, mind control, Commercials coercing images in your head.

It’s enough to rouse the undead.

To brainwash our children and keep our elders half alive.

Brains are fried, rational thought desensitized.

What happened to your drive!?

Your zest for life?

Wake yourself up from the murky depths and Fight! Fight! Fight!

College loans, home mortgage, cell phones, Tempur-Pedic luxury memory foam, a computer to connect you when you feel alone—lonely, lonely all the time … Wake up and fuck the daily grind! Free yourself from world hunger! You’re starved for love, beat down confidence, inner dialogue monstrous.

Open your heart and your BIG beautiful eyes.

Realize that you are hypnotized!

Think for yourself!

Take care of your health.

Honor your universal family, and you’ll never be lonely! Listen to the rain, climb to the roof, hop on a train—it’s time to buy that ticket OUTTA HERE! You’re free to go; nothing’s stopping you but fear. But the fear is just a thought … an idea of what is not … but the truth of what is, the real dealy-yo-biz, is that we have so much to be grateful for! And as soon as you tune in to Station Gratitude, Channel 3, DJ Trinity, you will hear the sounds of love, the birds, kind words, laughter, and children filling your ears. So remember to give thanks for the life you lead, the air you breathe, the experiences you weave throughout your day—you create your own reality—it’s as simple as this. So create something beautiful! Serve the planet, and mama earth will hold you tight. She’s got endless love to offer, while the sun is our father. But don’t worry about these details; there’s no right and wrong. Just different levels of genuine self-expression. ’Cause all we are are vVvVibrating bodies of pure light energy, reflecting back the world around us, filtering out the colors of our choosing like a semipermeable membrane that’s juuuust cruiiiising down this highway of existence …

We come from exploded stars! Parents from Mars and Venus, so take your 2-D life, dead and seamless, and tear open your world! Rethink your morals!

Every cell on this planet deserves respect, from the leaves on the trees to the bacteria in the soil, in the ground where you step.

Be mindful of your footprint, Your global effect!

Reduce, reuse, recycle are good steps.

Start where you can, and don’t stop.

Fight for the future generations that will inherit this planet; for the children of your children’s children may wonder one day why you poisoned their water and contaminated their food down to its DNA!

It’s not cool that public school wants to standardize our minds, burn down the creativity inside, set fire to our unique expression, put us on amphetamines, and suspend us for questioning their fucked-up system! It’s not working; we must destroy it from within by being exactly what we want to be! Free from the fear of money, credit scores, mass consumerism, corporate industry—go local, go vegan, go do what brings you freedom!

And the light that you are will shine onto your family your community.

Even your city country hemisphere will be affected, infected with truth, the timelessness of youth! Laugh, play, explore! Share a meal, do your chores! Participate in what you believe in! It’s the only way to win. Win what? What are we fighting? The war against terrorism is created to stimulate economic growth, like a tumor in the gut of Pachamama. She cries, screams, writhes in pain—careful, humans, it’s not a game! Like the moon waxes and wanes, she can purge our species like a passing disease. Diarrhea out our race. That’s what I’d do if my gut microbes were a disgrace.

Worry not, my mortal friends.

When we die, we live again.

The organisms that nom nom nom eat us up, yummy in their tummy.

We become their energummy continue to exist in infinite forms.

Our lungs may not breathe but … Inhale … exhale; all cells agree that change is constant.

Thus, the dance of life is your destiny.

This Now forever unfolding.

The universe never withholding the secrets of enlightenment.

Good morning, welcome to the present moment. <3

Part I

I <3 NYC

I t feels like a strong cup of coffee. The buzz of this city stirs something up inside, stimulates to the core—an edgy, capitalist-driven stimulant. If you can’t keep up, she’ll wash over you, drown you out like a spider down the drain. It’s a beautiful thing, this kind of energy. Always alive, always honking, filled with flashing signs, lights, Broadway, grimy streets, subway stops. Does this city ever sleep? The diversity that flows through this place is like a colorful flash flood through busy streets. Different languages chattered over distant screeches and clanging and banging. If Hollywood is the glamorous starlet wearing plastic tits and dripping with ambition, then NYC is the cutthroat businessman, old-school, fast talkin’, and quick wa lkin’.

Who needs sleep when the darkest night is lit up by city lights, keeping dusk alive until the sun draws out the early birds to feed on the blue-collar worms? Cabs swarm the streets like aggressive yellow beetles. They show no mercy, fighting over the tourists, eager to make a buck. Honk, Honk, war songs of our modern day.

New York is a city where your barista sings opera, your waiter dances for Broadway, and the homeless kid on the corner is the next Salvador Dali. Dark-skinned gangstas blast screamo, and prep-school teens beat box through insatiable traffic. The unexpected is expected when nothing makes sense. If you let her, the city will flood your veins with its stimulant. Concrete jungle, hear her roar.

I catch a plane from JFK to Tel Aviv, Israel, for my Birthright experience.

Flowers Grow in the Middle East

Pick a flower … dandelion. I find a bullet at my feet. Meadows of wildflowers. Bloodred patches of poppy. How can you be so beautiful at times like these? Numb from morphine, carefree from opium, are drugs your excuse for flourishing amidst the tangible hate? Do you cry for the orphans, the life, the death, or are you heartlessly flourishing away? Are you threatened by the heavy boots of soldiers? It must hurt growing around barbed wire. Perhaps, your beauty is selfless. You grow to give hope to the innocents. Blossoms blossom, reminding politicians of open land, healthy soil. We can live together, the poppies whisper. In peace, adds the wind.

Masada

I wake to 4:00 a.m. silence in my warm hotel cot. I can’t sleep. Don’t need much anyways, despite yesterday’s long and panoramic desert hike. Too excited. Fueled with the energy of exploration. Energy of the Holy Land.

I walk out of my room barefoot, eager to wander the hotel grounds. Down the hall, up the stairs, through the lobby, to the pool. I ponder a solo skinny-dipping session. The cons of getting caught enter my mind. I pick yoga instead for my morning exercise. Under the light of the moon, I stretch and flow, taking some time to appreciate the exact moment in life I find myself in.

I bid the moon farewell for now and head back to my hotel room to pack up. I have to get ready for the sunrise hike up Masada. What’s Masada? I don’t really know, but I hear it’s a pretty challenging incline up a rocky rubble-coated mountain.

The group, the wonderful bunch of thirty-eight, is ready to rumble. We emerge from the hotel, already at the mountain’s base, and follow Nirit, a tour guide and mother, up the winding, moonlit path. Round and bursting with majestic lunar light, I let its gravitational pull assist me up the incline. I forge ahead, alongside my partner in climb, Michael. He points east toward a large body of water sparkling subtly the way water will do in the light of the night. The infamous Dead Sea shimmers into view as we hike higher and higher.

It’s a ridiculous climb up the Snake Path, so many crumbling steps, rocky terrain. The frigid air is biting at my skin and instigating nasal drippage. But the intensity inspires me to push harder. I find myself gazing at Michael’s athletically round heinie for motivation, a pleasant distraction from my own tenderly tired tush. Last step, my feet reach the peak of the mountain. Sinking into my breath, my lungs fill and release the fresh, perfect air, scented with ancient royal buildings of stone and sand. A breathtaking two-thousand-year-old fortress persevering in spite of its former Jewish inhabitants. Existing to exist, rubble to remember the Siege of Masada, a relic of the mass suicide that occurred here. So this is the Masada experience.

I am overwhelmed with the historical earth beneath my feet, and a hug would feel divine. I am blessed to have someone to share this experience with. The deep connection I feel with this fellow human being, also in sober, speechless awe of his surroundings, fills me with such pure joy. Best hug all week.

We perch ourselves at the top of the ancient ruin, overlooking—oh wow—truly beautiful land. The sun has not yet risen, but its light is teasing the sky, informing the earth of its intention to arrive. The land is golden, filled with crevices, framed with mountains, and freckled by shrubs; a few proud palm trees surround the thirsty watersheds. Beyond the dry land glistens the glorious Dead Sea, free of complex life but alive with nutrients and benevolent bacteria. My breath is stolen from me, only to be returned by irritating sounds of nearby human beings. Another Taglit group is bellowing SWEEEET CAROLINEE … BUM, BUM, BUM