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Dana Da Silva Biography

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“I was in the prime of my time as the maiden, the magic of the middle – not yet the mother and far from the crone. My supple, small breasts were not yet deflated from years of nursing sweet babies. My strong, smooth stomach hadn’t expanded in the mysterious, magical way it would, to grow another human. My skin was yet to be speckled in white spots, ravaged by too many summers. As the years passed, my looks would fade, the lines around my eyes would grow deeper, and I would become a different kind of beautiful.”

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“His face started morphing into different people, shapeshifting into wise, old, Indigenous men, as though he’d lived hundreds of lives and I was seeing him as he was in each one of them. I met many different people coming through to help with healing – shamans from centuries before – and I studied creases across their faces, wrinkle lines worn like badges of wisdom, markings of lives lived.”

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“I kissed him, throwing my arms around his neck. I didn’t think twice about it. I didn’t hold back my love. I wanted him with every part of my being. His energy pulled me down to earth and sent my legs growing into the ground like the roots of a tree. He spoke about us having 'vibes' and tried to explain it to me as though I wouldn’t know what he was talking about, like I didn’t know the language of souls, like I hadn’t noticed that when we sat next to each other the air buzzed between us.”

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“The village was kissed by a kaleidoscope of colour – on the facades of restaurants, hostels and hotels, boutiques and bars. Fresh seafood was the star of every menu, of course, with the lobsters basically walking up the sand and straight onto the plate. But for me, the star of Caye Caulker wouldn’t be the sun or the sea, it would be him.”

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“I chose to trust him when he said that the sharks were like the “dogs of the sea” and took aim, plunging into a shark-less patch of ocean. The water stole all my senses in a second, then a tail called them to attention, whipping my legs as I surfaced among the bubbles, my heart pounding.”

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“Our conversation was deep, so he lightened the mood in a second, finding an easy distraction in front of us – taking the call to join in with the cheering, and I followed. A Mexican wave got too big to ignore, pulling us to our feet, popping us out of our bubble, reminding us that we were not alone. But back down in our seats, our Gemini souls found more words, our minds unable to stop.”

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“I knew I could get help and, more importantly, get better. Because suddenly I wasn’t bad, it was bad. It was no longer me, it was something else. I wasn’t schizophrenic, or psychotic, or any of the other things I thought I was. I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD. In that unforgettable moment, I took back some of my power – chunks of it flooding into my psyche, called in from afar, returning home to me.”

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“At the Chinese restaurant, I stared out the window overlooking a tranquil garden with water features, ponds covered in lily pads, and koi fish. Amid the serenity and smell of dumplings, I struggled to breathe. It seemed the walls were closing in, and everyone was looking at me. Words danced around on the menu. I didn’t want the waiter near us. I wanted to shrink until I popped and disappeared.”

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“In only a few months, I acquired an arsenal of weapons to help me combat my OCD. I became a strong opponent against the enemy. Some days, I was still left bruised and bloodied on the battlefield. But other times, I was victorious, guns blazing, blowing heads off, brains splattered across the sky.”

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