Feel For You

I saw my first V of geese today. They stopped me in my tracks while I was running this morning in my neighborhood in Southern Shores, North Carolina. As I looked up tears welled in my eyes... I’m not sure if it was because they looked so beautiful flying in formation in the clear blue fall sky or if it was my longing for the promise of warmth further south. I remember last year around this time my husband Dan and I were headed to Hatteras to transport visiting Israeli musicians performing in the schools down there and as we were crossing the Oregon Inlet Bridge, a long and controversial span that connects us to the southern most part of our county, we witnessed thousands of birds making their way south. The sky was almost blackened by them. Today was different though, because it was only a single formation and because I cried. I stood there looking until they were out of sight then I picked up the pace of my run and tried to let the sounds of Chaka Kahn motivate me. Running for me can be as meditative as yoga sometimes. I run listening to music, but my mind has no problem wandering as I go. I often come back from a run with insights about my work, life and creativity. Today, as Chaka’s song “I Feel for You” was streaming into my ears, my mind began to turn the words around- I feel for you- and I thought about how much more I “feel” these days. There is so much sadness and beauty in the world. I know it has always existed, but I don’t think I was really awake to it all until my heart was broken. When you’re heart is broken and you are looking at the possibility of losing everything you believe in, everything becomes so much more important -so dear. I can feel the pain of a friend who just lost her mother. I feel the sadness and extreme gratitude of a friend whose child’s life hangs in balance. I feel the pain of people suffering far from here and I cry tears of joy looking at the face of my husband across the table from me. Music brings me to tears, and so will geese flying south. Sometimes I just cry and wonder if I’m shedding tears for someone who may not be able to-someone who has not had a broken heart or suffered a loss in their life- someone who has yet to plunge the depths of their emotions out of unknowing or perhaps fear. I cry sometimes and wonder, in this crazy world full of so much madness, beauty and pain, how can I not?

Home with More Questions

Ever since I returned from my two month retreat, sabbatical, escape in Nosara, Costa Rica, I have been engaged in an inward battle to balance the elements of my life. It almost seems like a dream, another time and place those two months of solitude, of simplicity and wonder. Coming home, all of the patterns and habits of daily life here on the Outer Banks of North Carolina continue on like they’ve never stopped- almost as if my old habits and patterns conspired to faithfully carry on without me, reserving my place on this wheel of dysfunction so I could easily jump back on to it upon my return. Right now I am on the beach, lying on my belly, a thin blanket between me and the sand, feeling the cool dampness beneath me as the sun warms my back. What I see are rows of steely gray waves capped in white crashing continuously on the beach, the northeast breezes from hurricane Igor meeting the waves in an explosion of white spray and foam. Seagulls, their gray and white feathers almost the same colors as the sea, sit facing the wind occasionally pecking the sand for something to eat. There are people, walking, mostly clothed, but not many. I can feel the end of summer. It is one of the most beautiful times of the year here, but at the same time I take in this beauty surrounding me, I am acutely aware of the emptiness I feel. I left here to take time to answer questions I was asking myself and now I find myself, back here at home asking the same questions and them some! I started reading a book called, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning" by Chris Hedges. He is a war correspondent writing about his experiences covering wars throughout the world for the last decade. In his introduction he writes, “The enduring attraction of war is this: Even with its destruction and carnage it can give us what we long for in life. It can give us purpose, meaning and a reason for living. Only when we are in the midst of conflict does the shallowness and vapidness of our lives become apparent.” When I read these words I immediately related them to the chaos of the past several years of my life as I was desperately fighting to put my marriage back together after my husband’s affair. Although peace has been in my house for almost three years and my husband has done everything in his power to make things right, I feel a void. The passionate fight for what I wanted, for what I believed in is over, but I remember the feelings invoked when I was faced with the possibility of losing everything I built my life upon- they were intense, painful, and bewildering but at the same time exciting, powerful, dramatic and urgent. This "fight" gave my life a purpose at the time, it gave it meaning. Looking back I can see why so many are addicted to “drama”. It’s a perfect diversion from the emptiness of our lives. So I question myself. Am I clinging to the past in order to escape the triviality of my life today? What is my purpose, my reason for living? Obviously these questions were not answered in the tropical paradise of Nosara.

The Day I Learned To Swim

I remember at a very young age, my father taking us in the winter to an indoor swimming pool at a local high school in Milwaukee, Wisconsin so we could learn how to swim. I have vague recollections of jumping off of starting platforms into the water and swimming in the lane back to the platform. I was six and by summer I was swimming like a fish. My father was a swimmer, a water lover. I’ve seen photographs of him as a young man, lean and happy posing with friends and at family gatherings held on the lakes so abundant in my home state. He was also a merchant marine and relished his time on the great lakes. I lived in Milwaukee until I was nine years old. In the winter we would frequent indoor pools at nearby schools, jumping off the diving boards, flying out of our dads arms as he tossed us in the water, swimming back to him for more. In the summer we swam in lakes and fresh water quarries with crystal clear waters surrounded by rocky cliffs that we could leap off of into the crisp cold water. Soon there was a pool in our back yard that could barely hold our family of seven (my brother wasn't born yet), much less all of the neighbors and cousins who clamored to join us. “Just put your foot down child, the water is only waist high. I’ll let go of you gently, so you can swim to me.” These words from a Kate Bush song remind me of those times. I never feared for my safety in the water, my father’s strong presence and encouragement emboldened all of us. We became expert divers, back flippers, strong and capable swimmers who never tired and who swam outside even in the cold until our lips were bright blue. When we moved from the city to the country we scoured the vast landscape surrounding our humble farmhouse looking for bodies of water. It was a different time and place and though we were quite young we would explore our pristine surroundings unsupervised for hours emerging from rivers and hidden ponds glorious and dripping wet sometimes with leeches between our toes from the muddy bottoms. In high school I swam competitively on the school team. Although I was not a much of a disciplined athlete I loved the water and can remember my dad coming to my local meets after work smiling as I stepped out of the water following a race-never winning, but not losing either. “I’ll let go gently, so you can swim to me...” Learning to swim brings to mind that scary moment, that place between the fear of letting go and letting go, that moment before jumping into the water for the first time or off of a high dive, those choices that involve the risk of facing the unknown as opposed to the safety and comfort of what is known. Contemplating my time away, my “space” I am now faced with the challenge of integrating the lessons of my journey into my reality. I feel it is time for bold action, time for me to pursue my dreams and goals and I pray for the strength to take the first steps trusting that the universe will provide everything I need.

Exodus

I couldn’t sleep. The driver was coming to pick me up at 7:30 so I could be at the airport for a 2:30 flight. The sun rose at five and I followed close behind making tea and finishing my packing. I left three umbrellas- Lord knows they will need them more than I will. I also left a half a bottle of Flora De Cana rum, my beach towel and a spare suitcase. I did manage to fit all of the shells I found on the beach and both pairs of boots-my Dingos and cowboy boots- in my suitcase! I took one last look at the beautiful backyard at Casa Del Ray, the sloping hill going down to the pool, the ocean in full view in the background, all the beautiful tropical foliage. I thought about how much I will miss my nightly "skinny dips” in the pool before going to bed. I walked through the apartment to the front porch where I got into a hammock and swung lazily, listening to the sounds of the jungle, trying to memorize as much of it as I could. The monkeys were howling, the birds were singing, squirrels and lizards scurried about. I thought about how much I have grown accustomed to their exotic sounds and how much I appreciated being witness to such amazing diversity in this jungle. I started crying and then realized that my ride should have arrived. I called Victor at Harbor Reef, who arranged my travel plans and he said I should be seeing my car and driver in minutes. One half hour later after frantically calling Victor again, I was running down the road trying to find this lost van driver. I live in the “middle fork” of three dead end roads; surely he could figure it out! When he did, he was frantic, spitting out harsh words in Spanish through his toothless mouth. We drove up the hill to grab my things and we were off. We did not get very far before we came upon road construction. Road work in these parts consist of dumping truckloads of dirt and gravel down on the existing excuses for a road and trying to smooth it out as much as possible, then cross your fingers that the rainy season will not wash it all away. I was starting to panic because we sat there for what seemed to be at least a half an hour. I did not want to miss my flight. I fought back tears and the driver was cleared to move forward, yelling and cursing and looking at me in the rearview mirror. Meanwhile I’m wiping my tears that are now mixed with sweat because he has no air conditioning, or he won’t turn it on. After a few more miles we approach yet another construction zone and this time my driver loses it and springs from the car running to the man holding the flag. I start crying for real knowing there is no way I will get to San Jose on time. The driver returns and calls Victor. After a brief conversation he holds the phone out to me and says, “Victor”. Victor tells me we will be through this road block in ten minutes and that I will still have plenty of time to make my flight. Slightly reassured, I hand the phone back and soon we are traversing the perilous twenty plus kilometers over the flooded, muddy, bumpy terrain until paved road. Once on paved roads, I tucked a small travel pillow under my head and tried to sleep. I awoke when the van stopped thinking that we might be at a gas station and how I could really use water since my body was sweating buckets of it in the oven-like van. I sat up and found myself looking at a woman staring at me through the window. She gestured and I shook my head and said “No”. She knocked on the window and I realized that she was a police officer. Two other heavily armed officers stood by. Another delay. I handed her my passport and told her I was a tourist. She reached in the van and touched my backpack and motioned for me to open it. “You want to look in my backpack, really? It took me twenty minutes to fit everything that it is in it inside. It’s a mess.” She smiled and waved for me to show her. So I showed her my Laptop, cords, magazines, notebooks. She pointed to a small brown bag. “It’s my new bikini” I said. We did not understand a word we were saying to each other, but I could tell she wanted to see what was in the bag. When I pulled it out to show her holding it up to my body she said, “Sexy”. I spent the rest of the ride between trying not to be a backseat driver-he was so slow- doing deep breathing to relax and napping. I woke up to my driver shouting “Aero Puerto!” He swung around and approached the departing flights terminal, looked at his watch and rejoiced holding out his hand for me to high five.

It Will Be Soon

Today I woke up to another rainy morning, went back to sleep and dreamed of a huge green snake, woke up, dozed off again and when I finally dragged my body out of bed, I made a cup a tea and booked the first flight out of here. My time in Nosara has come to a close and tonight when I sang my final song at the Guilded Iguana, I cried. Being here has meant more to me than I ever could have realized and now with a few more weeks before I have to officially re-enter my world, I am feeling the need for a change of scenery, an energetic shift. I think I need a “middle ground” between Nosara and my life that is chomping at the bit for me to return to. So this morning when I woke up and found it was so easy to rearrange my plans, I did. I had imagined that my departure from here would be dramatic with a celebration that would incorporate all of the wonderful people I have met along the way, but I’m leaving the way I came, quietly and I am so grateful that I was able to see my friends who were out tonight and to hug and kiss them- until next time. I know it will be soon.

Transparency

I’ve been thinking about transparency a lot lately. It is a word that has surfaced over and over again in my recent journey to heal my marriage after my husband’s affair. At first the word transparency seemed to apply only to him. When we were in the middle of working through the pain and lost trust it was necessary that Dan become as transparent as possible in order for me to regain some comfort-trust, in the relationship. At first this was pretty uncomfortable because before the affair, we were used to quite a bit of autonomy with all kinds of things going on in our individual lives that we had no need or time to share. But after the affair, I needed to know what Dan was doing, who he was doing it with, what he was thinking. It also felt like I cared more, I wanted to know. It was hard, especially for Dan, but somehow he understood how the importance of being transparent was in order to come full circle with trust again and to heal. It was hard for me too, because I never considered myself the kind of person who “keeps tabs” on her mate- I always just trusted him. Now that we are well on our way to closing that chapter in our lives, I started thinking about transparency in relationship to my own life and how I move through the world. I don’t want to have secrets. Secrets feel like fear and lying. I don’t want to hold back or be ashamed of anything that I do or have done. By shining a light on my life and being transparent, I hope to invite others who share some or any of my experience to share their experiences with me. In doing that I don’t feel so alone. In fact I know I’m not. Before doing Kundalini Yoga this past Saturday night the instructor talked about transparency and how much our world has changed with social media and modern technology and communication. We know an awful lot about each other and we can use this knowing, this transparency to bring us closer; make us feel like the human family that we are. The instructor said, “Transparency equals freedom” Tonight at a lovely gathering of new friends over food, passion fruit margaritas and drumming, I spoke with someone who said everything we do is all out there anyway. Do we think that nobody sees us? Even if you don’t believe in god or a higher power, our highest self always knows. So this transparency to me is a calling to bring forth my highest self, to move in this world as if everyone can see what I’m doing, to be the kind of person I am aspiring to be, unashamed, alive and free.

My World According to Zena

Sunday, Domingo, a day of rest. I started my morning with yoga at the Nosara Institute with Danielle and afterwards came home and decided to do a little nesting. I cleaned, cooked rice and beans, made a salad, caught up my correspondence and took dips in the pool. My thoughts of yesterday traveled through my mind while I enjoyed the quiet and rhythmic movements of cooking and cleaning. Yesterday I woke up feeling energetic and ready for the day. Morning yoga with Karl was fun-Karl is somewhere in his early fifties, but looking like somewhere closer to thirty with a compact, muscled body clothed in nothing but baggy board shorts for class. He’s a total Venice Beach California guy and his classes are hard. There were about five people in the class who had never done yoga before, but they hung in there and tried everything Karl dished out. There was a lot of laughter. Afterwards I headed towards town, my backpack packed for the day. I ran into Schlomo on the street in front of his organic market, Organico. He was excited,they had just made fresh ginger candy and he was also high on the discovery of some new music. Schlomo is a Kundalini yoga teacher and he sings and plays devotional chants with his guitar. He was in the street because the day was so beautiful and his energy to “big” for the inside of his small market. He reminded me that there was a Kundalini class at the Yoga Spa, a retreat center high in the hills outside of town. For twenty dollars you get a ride out to the spa, a Kundalini class and a family style dinner. I told him I’d see him at four and continued through town stopping at Café De Paris for a coffee and mini quiche, the bikini shop to get fitted for a custom made suit, and Body Works to confirm a massage for my sciatica. When I walked down the steps from Bodyworks, I noticed the building next door was a doctor’s office. Curious, I walked in and inquired about the possibility of getting a shot to alleviate my sciatic pain. My friend Brenda the boxer told me that is what a lot of the yogis do, because apparently sciatica is a common issue among them. Five minutes later I was laying on an undressed table with my shorts down, the very young doctor asking, “When was the last time you had a shot in your butt cheeks? “ Me asking, “Are you a doctor?” He was and for thirty dollars I received a non-steroidal injection for my pain-no paperwork-fifteen minutes later I was on the beach. The day was perfect, dry and sunny. I gathered seashells, swam, read and wrote a little. At four I went to Organico Market to embark on a Kundalini adventure. People started gathering and by the time we were ready to depart we had three big vehicles full of people. The Yoga Spa is past town and on a piece of property that appears to be the highest elevation in the area. After a steep climb we arrived at a gorgeous facility perched along a cliff, panoramic views of the ocean and jungle canopy surrounded us. The rancho that we were going to practice in was a massive wooden structure with a tall peaked roof made of tightly woven palms, the wood floors and supporting beams were all hand hewn made of dark gleaming wood. We settled in and sat quietly for awhile, some of us peering over the precipice to watch monkeys eat leaves and hang from the trees. It was a first monkey sighting for some. Schlomo started strumming light chords on the guitar and then led us in a chant with just the word Hari. We moved into the sensual practice and fluid movement while the sun set on the horizon into the sea. Afterwards we all gathered in the outdoor kitchen where long wooden tables were set with placemats, cloth napkins and beautiful flowers and we shared a tasty vegetarian meal and good conversation. I jumped in the first ride down the hill so I could shower- I was still sandy from the beach- and dress for Gabby and Francella’s birthday. The party started at Il Basilica and was to move to La Banana and then the Tropicana. I heard the belly dancing music from the street and hurried into La Banana to catch the end of an exotic looking woman in full belly dancing apparel coming to the close of her routine. From the reaction of the crowd it must have been good. I had fun dancing with the girls for awhile and then realized the belly dancer was reading tarot cards after her show. I waited for on opening and sat down for a reading. With the cards shuffled and spread out on the table, Zena said, “Oh my, how emotional!” I just smiled. The first card representing me was justice. Zena told me she could see I was a strong and fair. The card over me signified a young man who was apparently causing me much strife. It went on from there with Zena telling me that this is a karmic relationship that spans many lifetimes and the negative cycle needs to be broken. She added that, “It is too hard for you, too much effort in this relationship to keep your balance.” The good news is the future projections had all of the best “love” cards in it. “So whatever happens” Zena said, “ It’s all going to work out for you, you are going to have the love you deserve” I skipped home in the dark kicking up gravel with my cowboy boots thanking the stars for such a good day.