I just returned home from the Maya Riveria on the Yucatán Peninsula of Mexico. I had the privilege of joining my husband for an all-inclusive resort rewards trip that he earned with his company, which is made up of a group of stellar people. Very grateful.

The resort, Valentin Imperial Riviera Maya, was a beauty, but Dylan and I adventured away from it quite a bit in search of some culture and magic, which is rarely found, in any authentic sense, in an all-inclusive resort. Relaxation, paradise beach cabanas, and pristine landscape design? Affirmative. Culture and magic? You’ve got to venture beyond the security gate.

This is a short (decidedly spiritual) story about the day that we ventured out to Tulum (about an hour + away from where we were north of Playa Del Carmen) to meet up with a free spirit named Ricardo Sommers, a water man whom I will never forget. The plan: ATV through the jungle, swim in several cenotes, eat a local Mayan lunch, and trust that my heart-opening prayers to Tonantzin, the deity within the Virgin of Guadalupe, would be answered.

For those who have never seen or swam in a cenote, they are mineral-rich, water-filled sinkholes, often in caves, that are embedded in porous limestone rock. They were formed when the “dinosaur killer meteorite”, as my husband calls it, hit the Gulf of Mexico 65 million years ago. There are 1,000s of cenotes, vastly different from each other, all connected by an underground river system in that area. They can also be found in other countries.

The Mayans considered them sacred symbols of the cycle of life and death and used them for everything from human sacrifice to fresh drinking water, often performing rituals to unite and honor the lower world and heavens. In the Yucatan, they represent gateways to the world of the dead: the Xibalba. In Mayan tradition there are 13 Gods, 12 of which exist above ground and in the sky, but one who holds court below the earth known as Kimi (God A) or Xibalba. Journey into the underworld to look into the two eyes of Xibalba? Sign me up…but only every time!

On the way to Tulum to meet our guide, our private driver, Nelson, gave us a local history lesson that rivaled something you’d watch on The Discovery Channel. I could feel his cultural pride peel open my heart as ancient history wound through me like a song. I’m always looking for signs of life opening to its deeper meanings, so as he schooled us on the peoples of the Yucatán, I sensed this was the beginning of an inner journey, as much as an outer one.

We arrived in Tulum, with its bustle of travelers and locals, and wound through the steel and cement, patchwork, backstreet neighborhoods to find Nelson’s friend, Ricardo, and his little dive/ATV shop.

Ricardo came into the street, flashing a wide smile with a scarce amount of teeth. He appeared to be in his late 50’s or early 60’s, though also seemingly ageless, lean, and leathered by the ocean and sun. He reminded me of salty dogs I have known throughout my life who choose a life of perpetual freedom, simplicity, and less societal b.s. on the coast over the buttoned up, overly domesticated one many of the rest of us agree to. I instantly liked him. We were directed to relax in the small, open-air shop with his more conservative coworker, Carlos, while Ricardo got us ready to go. Carlos told us how he has never cared to leave home and probably never will. All I kept focusing on was how perfectly combed his hair was. I wondered if it had anything to do with how self-limiting his perspective sounded. But I smiled, none-the-less, and focused on Ricardo.

He packed our gear, along with a hemp sack stuffed with fresh tortas Carlos had made, onto the front wrack of his ATV. He quickly showed us the five basic steps of driving a quad, and said, “Ready to go?!”

Unsure, but not one to give myself over to timidity while traveling, I said, “Of course!” He put me in the middle of himself and my husband, who is always stoked for GO, and off we went. “Vamanos!”

Five minutes later, we exited town with its rudimentary storefronts mixed with seductively hip, bohemian cafes, and merged onto a major highway. Me: “I guess we’re doing this.”

So, there I am, driving an ATV down the bike lane of a major highway for 15 miles with trucks speeding furiously by and the whole curious bit. With the sun aggressively kissing my shoulders, I let a sense of reckless abandon light through me. I started talking to my deceased father: “Yep, I’m riding an ATV down a major highway. I know this would piss you right off. But you know what, Dad, I’m inviting you to see this adventure through my eyes. You might learn something.” I released a few tears behind my sunglasses as we pulled into the jungle park where Dos Ojos Cenote (meaning “two eyes”) and a handful of others are located.

After a pit stop at the ticket office, and an explanation from Ricardo about the old-fashioned, once monthly, business meeting where the 100+ Mayan families who own and steward the land come together on it to split up the ticket proceeds after costs, off into the jungle we went. The trees on the sides of the white, gravel roads were cloaked in chalky dust, making it look more snowy than dusty. That, in itself, was a kind of unexpected magic, like we could have just as easily been adventuring through Aspen. As we bobbed and skidded over the off-road terrain, we passed a few jungle tree houses and thatched roof huts, and a group of children ranging in age from around five to fifteen, wiggling around gleefully on the edge of the road in front of their Mayan schoolhouse, eating suckers and waving at us. A couple of them even had the head shape of ancient Mayans where the cranium is artificially deformed and flattened through binding. They were all beautiful.

We arrived at the Dos Ojos cenote after about 20 minutes or so. Realizing I needed food in my belly, I asked Ricardo if there was a place to get a bite. “Of course! No problem!” he said. We were across from his friend Jaunita’s family restaurante, a large, thatched-roof dream of a place with open-air ambiance and swings hanging from the rafters. There were just a handful of foreigners in there and a couple half-naked scuba divers. I ordered a plate of fruit so fresh and sweet it that I would have happily chosen it as a last meal on earth, even more so because of the Mayan honey I poured over it, which was liquid gold, an actual nectar of the gods. They brought us fresh guacamole and fish tacos that made us hum and dance with happiness. I ate blissfully and tried to memorize every detail of the moment, including the family banter and joking I overheard about the “hardest working family member” who was zoned out in a hammock swing by the entrance. I watched their children run and roll around the wood floors while baby sister, in her bouncer, soaked in the activities and promises of future play. Ricardo visited with each member of Jaunita’s family as if each was an old friend. I sat there recording the present moment in my mind with “How did I get here?” on repeat in my head. A part of me was still aware of keeping time, his time. Ricardo noticed and reminded me, “No rush. Manana time. Slow rhythm.” I recalibrated myself more than once to this offering.

When our stomachs were full and minds close to bliss, we headed off across the empty parking lot to Dos Ojos cenote. Ricardo carried the wetsuits, flippers, life jackets, and snorkels and we followed the path to the mouth of the cave.

The water was chilly and crystal clear and when you put your snorkel under you got a sense that a little bravery was to be summoned within. Looking into the darker corners where I understood we would pass under tight openings into larger, semi-open spaces and again into closed, cavernous holes, I decided on following Ricardo closely. My consistently “ready to do this” husband was already off on his own exploration.

Ricardo swam in front of me like the water was his first home. He was a graceful fish, diving deeper through tunnels between boulders, and surfacing again to tell me highlights in a mixture of Spanish and English, which I fully understood. Imagine spacious, above ground, stalactite caverns that you have walked through before, but flip them upside down and fill them with water; that’s what was below us.

I could see scuba divers underwater in the distance. They were following guide cables drilled into rocks on the riverbed. Flashlights beamed here and there. My eyes tried to adjust to the unknown and the vastness of a mysterious beauty that words fail.

We swam past the Western and Eastern eyes of Xibalba, two rock depressions that glowed turquoise-green underwater from openings that allowed light into them. I stared into them and asked the Underworld God, Kimi, to show me what I needed to know.

We entered into the rotunda of the cave, where we found a boulder to rest on, and made company with hundreds of bats overhead. I later found out that boa constrictors also live in the overhead, limestone holes, where they dine on small fruit bats who can’t really see their levitating heads arriving for dinner.

After more than an hour, we emerged back where we started, somehow renewed by the underworld. By this point, Ricardo and I had bonded with great ease, and we all enjoyed a moment relaxing on the ATVs in the sun as he smoked a cigarette before hitting the gas and yelling “vamanos!” again.

We headed back onto the Mayab jungle road to reach Cenote Nicte Ha, a pond-like, open-air cenote with a sunlight, underwater garden of lime green, burnt orange, and fuchsia plants, small catfish and guppies, and lily pads that bloom white lotus flowers. This cenote is home to an ancient, sad love story about a killed princess, Nicte Ha (the lotus), and her heartbroken lover-prince. Ricardo cut a deal with me that he would dive off of the 20 ft stone platform headfirst if I would just jump in. It was the second highest platform I jumped off of that day. While in the water, I watched as he met with yet more friends and helped one polish his diving skills off the same platform. Ricardo’s diving arch was like a rainbow, weightless and as elegant as a paintbrush stroke. Our visit there was brief, as it was a quaint swimming hole. On the way out, I said to him, “I saw you teaching your friend to dive. You are a beautiful swimmer, just like a fish.” He laughed and exclaimed, “I am a fish! I’m a Pisces!” I grabbed his arm, “I knew it!” Pisces and I often befriend each other on life’s path, as we tend to be intuitive, heart-centered mystics who beat to our own our drums. It was all making sense.

We headed off to Cenote Jaguar, an open cenote of deep, dark water, with an island rainforest in the middle, surrounded by mangroves and iguanas. We were immediately suited up for the zip line, which ran the length of the cenote. Fun! I celebrated our guide by yelling his name over the trees. He laughed from the bank. There were just a few young, German speaking guys near us. The jumping platform here was 32 feet high and it took some encouragement from the guys for me to give it a go. My husband went first so that I could make sense of the distance. And after enough hemming and hawing from me, the ever-supportive Ricardo whispered in my ear, “The sooner you jump, the sooner you can fly.” These are the kind of magic words that make sense to my heart and so overboard I went. We braved the inky water for less than half an hour, as it felt more like iguana lake, and headed up top again for the homemade tortas lunch Ricardo had ready for us, replete with bagged salsas.

While we ate he told us stories of his life working in some of the major resorts and about all the stars and world presidents who came to their grand openings. He talked about moving his family around back in the day so that he could make a life. He mentioned a sister who lives in Kentucky but explained that he is more like one of the lost boys from Peter Pan. His life has been about finding freedom and doing it on his own terms. When I think about him saying this now, it makes me tear up. He was just so beautiful, self-aware, and true. Plus, I understand lost boys and have loved a few in my life. I have one who lives inside of me, actually. They have a way of knowing what is broken in the world and refusing to be imprisoned by it and sometimes fighting, at their own expense, against it. This can come with a host of problems, but none worse than selling out. I respect that.

By this point, we had been with Ricardo for around six hours. It was time to leave the jungle and head back onto the main highway. As we drove back, tears of gratitude streamed down my face. I began to have some realizations about my father and was overcome with cleansing emotion. Fact: you can ugly-cry on a fast-moving ATV and no one will ever know.

When we got back to headquarters in Tulum, I was sitting on Sommer’s ATV and asked him if I could tell him a quick story, but I said he couldn’t respond until I was done. He put his wrinkled, kind, knowing face right up to mine and let me speak. Have I mentioned he also has one glassed over eye that looks like glaucoma has taken it? He does. He listened with that eye too!

I said, “My father died just over a year ago. He was a tough guy, dominating, fixed in his ideas…and he and I often did not see eye to eye because he thought everyone should live and think like him. He was also a water man, a long board surfer, and sailor for a bit, who let his pursuit of money and success take him away from the ocean. And then he lost his ability to swim and walk, as he got multiple sclerosis. He died from complications related to that and it’s what finally totally separated him from the water. Today as we were riding out to the jungle I asked my dad to be in the experience with me and to see this adventure through my eyes. And I felt him with me. On the way back, I cried because I told him to look at me on the side of this road in the Yucatán of Mexico. I told him, this is my road. You had your road, but this is mine. This is how I do things. It felt empowering to make that connection and to say that out loud to him. And then I remembered that my father used to sometimes say that when he died, he wanted to come back as a fish. Maybe because he never got to be a fish like he wanted in life while he was so busy chasing money. Maybe because it was simpler. But anyway, Ricardo, YOU are the fish. You have some of the freedom he wanted in his heart, freedom he found on the water. I want to thank you for being a fish, and a lost boy, and the best tour guide ever.” His eyes flooded and he exclaimed, “Oh mi carino! Oh mi corazon! Muchas gracias!” And we embraced. He was a great hugger!

Nelson was there to pick us up to take us back to the resort. Dylan said his goodbyes and then it was my turn again. Ricardo squeezed me, heart to heart, and said, “We don’t say goodbye. We say see you later.” I will never forget him and how my father sent me a fish as a guide.

Since returning and piecing together the fact that there are some older, wiser, understanding and gentle men who are arriving in my life to reflect an affirm the unique magic within me, I think my father may be working with these kindred souls to give me the support and understanding that I always desperately wanted from him. This is in right time as I unfold and finally wholly accept my own unicorn nature as a spiritual, poetic soul who perceives and soaks in life on levels which many people will never know, either because they won’t slow down for it or they’re still somewhat asleep on the surface of consciousness, in a world far more black and white and flat than mine. Or maybe, just maybe, because they’re too busy chasing money and success or believing that everybody needs to live and think like them. Or maybe because this way of soaking it all in is not their way at all.

Never-the-less, I have learned that being awake to the sacred mysteries that hide in plain sight is the true adventure that never ends. Letting a fish disguised as a man lead you into the underworld to visit with your father and renew your spirit is medicine for the soul. If this is what Xibalba had in mind for me, I am here for it, but only every time!