I carried her all the way upriver in my young arms because I wanted her to see my house. I wanted to bathe with her in my secret place in the El Tuito river. I wanted her to listen with me the chorus of jungle birds outside my home which was surrounded by banana and papaya trees. Since her wheelchair could not make the journey up the summer time mud-path from the beach to our casita in the forest, I decided I would carry Lina.

I felt love for Lina before I met her. I was nearing the celebration of my 11th birthday in1991 when I first heard her muted wailing. My family and I vacated our tiny dungen-like apartment in Puerto Vallarta 2 days out of the week. Our place had an open-air back patio that was directly below her family’s open-air balcony, enabling us to share the same view of the Pemex gas satiation behind the barbwire fence. If positioned correctly, we the folk below, could hear entire conversations form above. Within Lina’s moaning I could make out a sound of innate loneliness and desire for connection. I wanted to meet her.

I began courting Lina’s friendship by tying up little presents of chocolate and small Mexican super-hero figurines in hemp string and tossing them from my place below to her balcony above. I had attached a note to the bundle that read, “Dear Kid of the House: I hear you and I love you. Do you want to play?”. After tossing up the gift to the balcony, I stood motionlessly and waited to HEAR: I excitedly anticipated the reaction to my gift. ”Lina! Tienes un regalo!” I heard. Lina, you have a gift! Silence. A few moments later, I heard a slow river of bubbly laughter from a child who was not-really-a-child. Laughter from a human who has known more suffering than joy; a human who has never walked on her own beautiful 2 feet.

I cried.

For reasons of safety and curiosity, Lina and her parents came downstairs to introduce themselves after a few more of my tossing-of-the-bundle-gifts to their apartment. Because of the design of the roof the divided our 2 apartments, we neighbors could not see each other directly. My mother had no idea I had been tossing the neighbor’s gifts and apologized for the hazardous acts of her spontaneous 11 year-old daughter.

It was then I discovered that my new friend from upstairs was bound to a wheelchair. A wheelchair, I might add, that hid from the rest of the world it’s magical heron-winged wheels. Lina’s hair was long, thick and unusually shinny black. Her head hung dramatically to the left, causing her bangs to cover her left eye. She had the most innocent stream of drool escaping from her full, 15-year-old lips. How could I have known that a Fairy Princess with a heron-winged chair lived upstairs from us, I thought.

Fairly soon, Lina’s parents granted me complete trust of wheelin’ her all around the sketchy walkways and un-even cobble stone streets of Puerto Vallarta. My favorite outings, however, where when her parents would push me along side Lina in her spare wheelchair around town. I would simulate Lina: drop my head to the left, make my arms limp and drool a little bit. I was fascinated to experience, if only for a few hours, the life Lina lived everyday of people staring at her. She loved being twins with me in public and being pushed together.. I loved seeing Lina’s world from her winged-chair.

Lina’s birth parents abandoned her when she was born lame. A sweet-hearted couple named Bruce, an American, and Adelina, a Mexican, adopted her as an infant. I made her my sister that year in 1991.

I wanted to show her my house in Yelapa. We could not bring the wheelchair on the boat from Puerto Vallarta to Yelapa because of the sand on the beach when we got off the boat and because of the muddy trail that led the way to my house. So I told Bruce, Adelina and my Mom that I would carry Lina in my arms from the beach to our casita.

I mean, I was an abnormally strong 11-year old. My daily house-hold chore was carrying water from the spring to our house countless times a day because we didn’t have running water. I was confidant in my carrying abilities.

And so it was. Lina, my mom and I went on the panga, or boat, to Yelapa. Lina was in giggle hysterics, so deep in joy! My own heart pulsed and glowed…

After having several boys help me get her off the panga on the sandy beach, I hoisted Lina into my arms like a newly-wed bride and began the 1o minute walk upriver. I stumbled on several different tree roots, sending us both into the mud and horse manure more than once. Lina laughed loudly with her eyes closed and I gathered strength and day-dreamed of lunch. I carried her first to my house, then to my favorite spot in the El Tuito river that snaked it’s was through Yelapa. We washed the mud and horse poo off our skin and I hunted the waters for crawfish to show her. Back in the city, I had bathed Lina countless times in her blue-tiled bathroom. She was 3 years older than me and already had small, pointy breasts and a soft patch of dark hair between her legs, both of which I still lacked on my own young body. Fresh and clean from the El Tuito river water, we allowed our skin to air-dry as I carried Lina back to my house where mother fed us a late lunch of leftover lasagna in the fading central Mexican sunlight. With a full belly, a happy heart and tiered arms, I drifted into a short siesta. After lounging on my incredibly tranquil hanging bed, I carried her back to the beach with less stumbling this time on the path. Mom, Lina and I boarded the panga to return Lina to the city, to her family and to her magical thrown with the great heron-winged wheels.

These photographs have nothing to do with Lina, and everything to do with Sacred Radiance. We all radiate beauty. I see exquisite beauty in everyone, making me passionate about photography. I had the honor of photographing this new young family last week.