essentials ...

The first half of this year, I had been grappling with the concept of Simplicity and how to translate it into every day living.  A challenge for me as my natural tendency is to spin towards complexity. Even as I try to embrace less, I find ways to make that process, well, intricate.

My antidote to all the ills of modern living - especially energy draining distraction - is camping.  There is no other process that pares life down to the core basics: traveling, eating, sleeping, keeping warm (or cool or dry or shaded), potty matters, and most important of all ...

Clean water.

On our recent camping trip I was the camp water pumper. We were given a simple filtration pump which - while easy to use - was not the speediest process.  Filling pots for cooking, pots for cleaning, and our water bottles meant I was perpetually crouched down by the water's edge pumping and pumping ... and pumping.  (Note: after pumping your little heart out to fill a large water bladder, it would be wise to stay squatted just a wee bit longer in order to screw on that humble but essential cap on lest you knock the whole thing into the lake, thereby requiring the entire blasted procedure be repeated.)  It was refreshing to have one vital task to perform.  And once I took care of that chore, I found it infinitely easier to sit back and enjoy all the adventures happening around me.

The habit to create Home is fascinating to me.  Within minutes of setting up the tent, the area around it took on a feeling of intimacy and comfort.  The few things we brought with us were all that we needed to complete this transformation, motivating me upon return to tackle storage spaces well over due for some decluttering. (Over this past weekend, I spent 3 hours clearing and cleaning out the kitchen pantry - it is a thing of beauty. Now to dive into the basement!) 

I learned about determination from this fellow:

We found him on the trail to the campsite, quite a fair distance from water.  At the time we thought (foolish human thought!) he was lost and so Cowgirl carried him back to the water.  The next evening I noticed him bobbing in the water at the edge of camp, looking to see if anyone or anything was lurking about.  

A few minutes later, I was startled by his presence on the camp trail!  He was more peeved to find me and quickly turned tail, scuttling and sliding back down to the water.  He returned several times and we finally realized the space by the fire pit was his nighttime sleeping spot, so we hurried our evening events.  After all, it was His Home. 

Like turtle, I can carry and create Home wherever I go and it need not be overly elaborate or intensive.  It is more about intention and presence, rooting in and settling down, utilizing and appreciating what is available and honoring those gifts. Unlike my usual habit of working to create simplicity for myself, the way in is through nondoing: tapping into what is truly essential for well-being and opening to that. What follows is a relaxing, receiving  ... and enjoying. 

 

my Bali dream ...

Oh my, my Bali adventure ... where do I begin?  

It is my first morning back home and I am not sure how to move back into my life. I know my dreams last night were full of Bali's colors, memories, sights and smells. I feel a bit like Dorothy waking up in Kansas, back in a world of black and white after a long sojourn in full-tilt technicolor, surround sound and smell-o-vision. I am aware of the absence of the heat, the colors, the smells (frangipani mixed with incense) and the sounds of Bali.  But also I am aware of something tender and new within myself; a seedling sprouted and new roots making their way deep within my spirit and soul. 

Bali ahhhhhhh. How do I explain?  

I am remembering my last night at our retreat. Even though Kristina and I would be staying on for two additional nights, the sense of an ending was making me restless. It had been a full day with hiking down and then up some incredibly steep stairs to a series of holy springs. Factoring in the heat and humidity of Bali, I should have felt physically exhausted, but instead I was strangely rested and refreshed. It was the last night I would sleep in my queen's bed, in our private joglo compound. Suddenly, I realized I hadn't had a skinny dip in the pool! Knowing I would always regret missing the opportunity to swim serenaded by the geckos and frogs, I slipped out of bed. 

All was quiet as I made my way along the path to the main compound. I figured I  would sneak in and out of the water, my own private and final baptism in Bali. Then I saw someone from the group sitting at the main dining table. I was relieved to see it was a new and dear friend, my Aussie Sister and soul-friend. She too could not sleep. "It's my last night in Bali, why would I want to sleep?" She was beading at the 24/7 bead bar. Without looking up she asked "Want to take a swim?" Giddy with the realization that she too wanted a skinny dip, I also marveled at how - yet again - in Bali the translation of inner longing to manifested reality is swift and certain. 

Already spiritually cleansed by our holy spring experience, we entered the warm water as newborns, sharing heart-truths and promises - to ourselves and to each other - under the blanket of the night sky. After Bali, there is no going back to life as usual.

For Bali is Eat, Pray, Love all rolled up into one. While it is a feast for the senses, all that juicy beauty, celebration and joy pools into and nourishes the heart.  

 

 

A friend has asked "Can you trust that your path is being prepared for you?"  Yes, I can. My path lead me to Bali. Every pivotal transition in my life has come about via a flash of an idea and saying yes quickly before the questions or doubts arise. Studying abroad. Yoga teacher training. Adoption. And then Soulful Escape to Bali.

This is not to say doubts and obstacles don't arise. As I prepared for the 24-plus hour journey, I was filled with fear and dread. I am not normally squeamish about traveling, but venturing half way around the world from my girl, that bothers me. I had made it to the West Coast when I learned that our trans-Pacific flight was delayed due to a typhoon pummeling our first stop, Taipei.

A typhoon?!

I spent the night in San Francisco and we departed 12 hours later with no idea when or if our connecting flight to Bali would happen. Waiting in line at China Airlines customer service at 12:30 AM in the Taipei airport we were groggy and foggy from the 12 hour flight, but trusting and hopeful. Miraculous, the airline agent turned to the counter behind him, picked up our connecting flight tickets and informed us that flight would be leaving in less than 2 hours.

When you say yes and move forward with an open heart, all manner of miracles happen. This is one of the lessons Bali taught me.

We arrived in Bali the next morning, giddy with relief. The humidity hit us while still inside the airport. Exhausted from travel, we staggered towards immigration where we were greeted by the first of countless palm leaf baskets - Canang sari -  containing a daily offering expressing gratitude and prayers to the gods. Bali is a Hindu country and everywhere you find these colorful expressions of thankfulness and celebration. The trick is not to find them, but rather not to step on or squash them!

If there is a single concept that describes the landscape and the culture of Bali, it is Beauty. Not simple, surface beauty - or glamour as John O'Donohue explains in his work on Beauty - but richly layered, complex, multifaceted Beauty. The beauty of dismantled sidewalks decorated by offerings; the beauty of crumbling buildings watched over by festooned statues of Ganesh, the elephant-head god who is the remover of obstacles, whose round belly holds past, present and future while also representing generosity and the fullness of life. Everywhere there is color and music and horns honking and incense burning and a pervasive attitude of gratitude, playfulness and joy.

 

Over and over we encountered the beauty of the Balinese people, expressed through heart-felt welcomes and wide smiles. In Bali, one feels seen and received. As our retreat leaders, Nicole and Em, would say over and over, Bali is a heart-centered culture. It is impossible not to be touched by the generosity of the people, never mind the lush beauty of the landscape. 

The retreat itself was an amazing opportunity to learn about the crafts and culture of Bali. Just like our morning breakfast, our days were overflowing with inviting activities: traditional batik process, indigo dying, silver jewelry making at a silversmith's shop, sewing prayer flags, and making numerous beaded bracelets from recycled glass beads. 

our batik classroom with Pung who taught us about natural dyes and traditional batik process

Nofel, a.k.a. The Blue Man of Ubud

indigo dyeing and shibori

We also took trips into the countryside to see rice fields, and were invited into the home of an old friend of Nicole's to learn about traditional dance, music and how to make (well, maybe!) the beautiful palm leaf baskets that figure so prominently in the daily offerings. We were surrounded by family who laughed gently at our jerking attempts at Balinese dance and cheered our musical efforts. 

  

Nicole & Em's beautiful friend, Seni, who welcomed us so warmly and generously into her home

We also were invited - through Nicole's endless contacts -  to attend a wedding celebration which we learned was truly a royal wedding. Even though we had not packed appropriate attire, we were graciously told to come "as is", Nicole explaining that the Balinese people are both incredibly generous and tolerant. We didn't know, so no worries!

The first night of the retreat our group gathered in a circle. We took a moment in silence to breath and arrive fully in this moment. The dream of Bali was now a reality. Thinking of all the people who made this trip possible, our hearts were already swelling open. Each of us was asked to offer a word, our intention, for this trip.

I had said Yes to Bali almost a year ago. I said yes right after the death of my mother. I knew then that this trip would be my way of honoring her and marking the year anniversary of her passing. My mother had loved to travel and she passed on to me her passion for learning about other people, other cultures. I wanted to celebrate her life and the many gifts - of spirit, of thinking, of loving - that she had passed on to me.

So I shared my word - celebrate - as I added my flowers to the growing mandala the group created. 

What I did not share - what I did not fully grasp myself - was that this trip would be equally about release and letting go. Clearing my heart of sorrow and sadness so that I could make room for full, heart-open living and joy.

I have close to 700 photographs from my trip! Taking the time to look through them and process my experience through writing is helping me seal in the medicine and fully integrate the gifts of this experience. There is much to share and I hope you don't mind if I take my time parceling the juicy bits out over the coming weeks.

new chapter

As you read this post, I will be at the end of a great adventure.

the night before departure: the lunar eclipse

 I know, I am sneaky. You didn't realize I was away, did you? Actually, as I type I am hours away from starting my adventure.  You see, I am headed to Bali.

When I first read about Soulful Escape to Bali I never dreamed it was something I would or could do. But here I am, bags almost packed, almost ready to walk out the door and begin the 36 hour journey across land and sea.

Unlike other trips, I really haven't done any preparation. I have read very little, I have no expectations other than it will be magical, it will be tropical, probably hot and humid but wonderful none-the-less because, well, it will be Bali! 

It is a trip made with money my mother gave to me just days before she died. My mother loved to travel and she loved to hear about my traveling adventures. So I am making this trip in part to honor her memory, to celebrate her life and her gifts to me. I am going to Bali to wind up a year of grieving. 

Right now, it is all ahead of me. I am still in my robe, I have changed all the bedding and am doing laundry. I've cleaned out the refrigerator and made lists for the Husband. I am feeling the anxiety expressed through all this compulsive doing right before I leave. (oh yes, I sewed that fucking quilt in the week before my departure!)

And yet, as this publishes, I will be packing up all the memories to bring home. 

There have been so many endings this past year, I feel I have shed so much of myself in grief and in change. But now I understand how I have emptied in order to fill anew.

I have packed what is essential and I carry with me all that I will need, both coming and going, emptying and filling.

See you on the other side!
 

 
 

a lightness of being ...

Somehow, I ended up booking three trips to three coasts in one month's time. Hence, the travelog nature of these postcards from the edge. While Cowgirl and I jet around, the Husband has been tending the home fires - or rather, the garden and Moose boy - for which I am ever-so-grateful as leaving home is bittersweet for me. I love travel but ... I love the rhythms of homey summer days. Early mornings watering the thirsty plants in my garden boxes, my pots of herbs and flowers needing pruning and deadheading; and then there is the dog who is even more a creature of habit than I am and that is pretty immense.

So recent travels took the girl and I back East to Cape Cod to bring my mother's ashes to be buried with my father's. Things started off comically: do I pack or carry mom on the plane? I packed her and then warned the Delta agent "Don't you lose my mother!" He wasn't quite sure how to respond to me. 

 

Cape Cod is a place that holds many memories for me. My parents bought a home there when I was in college and it became the summer retreat. Later, when living in Boston, the not-yet-Husband and I would travel out there every weekend to get away from city living and our tiny, one bedroom closet of an apartment. Twenty seven years ago we were married on Cape Cod and when Cowgirl joined our family, it was to the Cape that we took her for the first five years as a family. 

It has been three years since I was last on the Cape and while I have missed it, I hadn't realize just how much it is part of who I am and what I love: the gentle wildness of the landscape; the wide and long beaches; the rough and unruly Atlantic ocean and the icy cold water that shocks and invigorates me; and the wildlife that is visible if you know to slow down, be quiet and pay attention. Seals, otters, turtles, egrets, herons, hawks, fox, coyote, and many vocal and riotous birds.

Traveling to the Cape, I was returning to my heart's home. I love the openness of the prairie but my soul aches for the ocean. And not just any ocean, but the crashing tumble of waves that is the Atlantic. The pulse and rhythm of the earth is most present for me when I stand ankle deep in the frigid waters of Nauset beach, stones and shells tossed unmercifully against my feet and shins, skin turning fish belly white from the cold. The rawness of life apparent in this place of sea, sky and sand.

While I was surprised by these feelings of homecoming, I was even more unprepared for the sensation of weightlessness, an unbearable lightness of being and deep and tender vein of grieving that opened up with what I now understand as the completion of a journey.  This trip back to the Cape was the bookend to the trip made between snowstorms 5 1/2 years ago when I brought my mother West to live near us. Now I was taking her home and, after a lifetime of so many travels and adventures, this was the last trip we would make together. 

Having fulfilled so many daughterly duties over the past few years, the weight of responsibility has been lifted off of me and while yes, there is a sense of relieve and ease, there is also an unfamiliar and disconcerting emptiness or lightness. The space that was held by my mother is now gone. I stand again on a stark edge: there is my life that was - as a daughter, caregiver, friend - and the life that slowly pools around me, the tide turning from emptying of grief towards the filling of what I cannot yet know or name.