Two Yoga Pants and a Sarong -- Devon, England

Yesterday was the last meeting I'll have the misfortune of attending at this house where honest communication is so paramount that sensitivity/tact are oft overlooked.

Michael and I walked down to the beach as the sun came up, flopping along in our wellingtons as munchkins whizzed past us on scooters on their way to school. The tide was in (the in and out can be a difference of up to ten meters here), so we shimmied up a cliff face and found a ledge where we could sit and watch the waves break beneath our dangling feet.

The ebb and flow of the tide... the swelling and dissolution of the waves... the tremendous crashing followed by the moment of silence. Foamy bubbles stretching fingertips along the sand, depositing shells, seaweed, driftwood, plastic (and the grapefruit peels I threw at it) on the ever changing beach.

The ocean helps me to remember that life is comprised of moments. Moments that ebb, flow, swell, dissolve, crash and then go silent just long enough for me to catch my breath and a split-second of reverie. There are days that bring me plastic bottles, days that bring me conch shells and days that dredge up rotten grapefruit peels and dump them around my feet.

Just take as much from this moment as you can. Pick up what's useful and let the ocean carry away what you don't need.
  
We spent half an hour drinking tea and psyching ourselves up for the quickly approaching hour of soppy tears, intense yogic breathing, drawing destinies and catastrophizing.

Harriet pointed out that there was a lot of conflict in the house.Which was causing negative vibrations and bad digestion.

"I'm not looking at you specifically, Aimee. Well, I am looking at you. I'm just," Harriet swallowed deeply and sent her eyes skyward. I sent myself out of my body and left a blank expression on my face. "I'm just feeling like the conflict we have isn't going to be resolved in the remainder of the time you have here. You've been a trigger for me in so many ways... the cooking, the... the way of eating. It's like, well, it's like you're pushing on my growth edge."

And she tearfully said something about rice, lentils and soup. I can't tell whether or not cauliflower reared its ugly, lumpy head because I was trying to climb higher and higher up the cliff face so that the violent waves blurred into each other and I had perspective of the ocean and not just how the water was hammering against the beach.

"Is there anything you want to say?" I heard from way up high.

"I just don't want it to be a big deal," I reluctantly sent part of myself back down to answer the persistent waves. "I don't want you to have to worry about  me. Eat what makes you happy and healthy and I'll take care of myself."

Why does this have to be epically important? Why does my desire avoid rice/lentils have to poison so much? And why does she seem to be pissed off at only me when Michael and I are doing the same exact thing? I don't want her to be pissed off at Michael... I just wonder what this is really about.

"I don't like the idea of you cooking eggs while the rest of us are eating," she dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. "We eat together here. That's what we've always done. It's part of my nature to want to take care of people -- I'm a provider. Anything else?"

"Yeah... it's hard for me to function when you give me free rein to make what I want for dinner and then change your mind at the last minute and tell me exactly what and how to cook. You asked me to come up with something for dinner tonight, so I spent an hour researching recipes that could work for ALL OF US. Which isn't easy. That's why I was frustrated when you then told me exactly what you wanted me to make after the guided meditation this morning. You gave me a task, I put effort into it, and then you took it away."

"This is what I mean when I said you're poking my growth edge. Everything you just said is what's happening. Thanks for that," she brought her hands to heart center and bowed. "Michael, what about you?"

"I don't have anything."

"Oh... ummm.... Tess? How are you feeling?"

"Just walking into all this, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. But I mean, people are dying out there because they don't have food, and -- "

"YES! Thank-you for saying that!" Harriet crowed. "And we have a full fridge, don't we? Waheguru!"

"Waheguru!" I thrust my fist into the air, not quite sure what I was guruing to, but happy that there seemed to be some sort of positivity floating around.

"Let's clear the air and draw our destinies!"

I drew a vineyard on one side of my paper and a single, floating vine on the other side.

"I want to let go of my need for structure," I said simply. "I've convinced myself that I can only produce when there is structure in my life. I think it's time I let that go."

"And what did you draw, Michael?"

For once, Michael's paper was blank.

"It feels like an empty day. I didn't draw anything." 

My host bit her lip, took a yoga breath, and continued the meeting.

Harriet apologized for singling me out in front of everyone when the Friday house meeting finally culminated (which took another hour in her office), drawing a diagram and explaining exactly how I was poking at her ego. 

How can someone be this self-aware, this obsessed with control and still be so out of control?

She then told me that I was free to make whatever I wanted that evening (which I took with a generous helping of salt) and asked about my schedule for the rest of the week. 

What can I do that will give me independence and be helpful/inexpensive/NOT STRESSFUL AT ALL to her? Yes!

"Can I record HD videos of what you do here? I can then upload the videos to your vimeo account and link them to your website, facebook and google plus accounts. I can record people drinking liver flush and an explanation of how it's made and what it's good for. I can take the camera up to the garden and Michael can talk about what he's growing. I can upload some footage from your yoga classes and -- "

Harriet enthusiastically agreed.

Win. Win, win, win. We are out of each others' hair, both happy with the task/product and I have to be left to my own devices because Harriet doesn't know anything about my camera. Win, win, win. 

The rest of the day went by smoothly. I uploaded several clips of yoga classes and recorded Amber and Tess making sauerkraut and an unappetizing manner of nut burger.

It was a similar feeling to successfully traversing through convoluted, congested Istanbul.

Then my sleeping bag arrived. I victory danced it all the way from the front door back into the kitchen.

"It's here!" I whooped with joy. "My sleeping bag made it here!" I danced and pranced and threw it into the air. After dozens of phone calls, 24 euros on shipping, message after message to Hanne and weeks of waiting, my luxuriously warm down sleeping bag had finally arrived.

"It's so big..." Tess looked at it doubtfully.

"Yes, but it's light," I tossed the feather bag at the Australian helper. "And I can always get rid of more clothes to create space for my sleeping bag. Yes. I will survive on two pairs of yoga pants, two yoga shirts and a sarong."

Simplicity. Freedom is found in simplicity. 

For once, the thought of leaving behind my possessions filled me with a sense of peace. No heartstrings were tugged, no sighs were heaved, no eyes were burned with stinging tears.

Sheesh, I would rather just be naked, anyway. At this point, the only reason I wear clothes at all is because England is cold and English people prefer not to look at my backside. So why be attached to clothes when their sole purpose is to keep me warm and socially acceptable? I can always borrow frumpy old sweaters and society will have to content itself with two pairs of yoga pants and a sarong.

Today was my final leisure day at the alien-friendly B&B. Harriet was thoughtful enough to allow Michael to take it off with me, even though he'd already had his allotted two days off this week.

She can be so magnanimous and kind, this little lady, I shook my head as cauliflower madness and sweet generosity tumbled, rumbled together and left me dazed and guilty. I feel terrible about writing those things...I mean, she's done so much for both of us. It's because of her that I have my sleeping bag. It's because of her that I am so well (although not without undue stress) fed. When she explodes, she always apologizes after and makes sure I understand her anger isn't really directed at me... that she's processing previous trauma and I happen to be in the way. But where is the line? Where is the line that says apologizing after the fact doesn't make it okay to explode? GAH. Does thoughtfully buying an abundance of avocados compensate for the fact that she made me feel so guilty about wanting to eat them? ARGH. Tumble, rumble, confusion.

Michael and I spent the afternoon rebelliously cooking bacon on the beach. It drizzled, hailed and sea-breezed all over our pig parade, but we merrily carried on in spite of the inclement weather.

 Bacon has never tasted so good.

We climbed over jagged, layered Devonian rocks, waded through frigid tide pools with meyer lemon colored snails and talked about the where people find their identities.

"If I were to ask you, "what do you do?", what would you say?" welcome rays of sunlight dried our spattered jackets as we sat on the beach with bellies full of charred bacon and beanies that smelled of smoke.

"I'm a nomad. I travel. I meet people. I experience places."

"Yes, now you ask me," I threw subtle fishing aside and just asked to be asked.

"What do you do?"

"I'm here. That's what I want to be able to say. Just... here. When I can say just that and not need to add, "I'm a writer and a yoga teacher and a traveler and, and, and -- " I think I'll be able to get rid of my laptop, my blog, my cameras... then I can truly be light. But I need all those identities now. Or I think I do, anyway."

"Don't rush," my possession-less, heart-full friend advised. "When the time comes to throw your laptop over the cliff and dance around naked and barefoot, you'll know."