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Jet Lag Junkie: Unfiltered Tales of a Compulsive Wanderer

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Jeff Johns

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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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“As Rosa rolled the hard boiled egg across my forehead I wasn’t as disturbed as you might think, even though I was sitting on a plastic table in a five star hotel bathroom in my underwear, being chattered at in Spanish by a lady I’d met only the day before in the herb and flower market. The truth is, I’ve probably done stranger things in hotel bathrooms.”

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“June 1, 2015 “I’m on the airplane going back home. Everyone is speaking English. It doesn’t feel real. Like I’m living a dream. I don’t feel it in my soul that I should be going home.”

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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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