It's so beautifully quiet.
It's Saturday. It's 16:19. The nine guests of the second retreat have packed up and been ferried back to Split, the villa has been cleaned and dinner has been made.
Now we're simply waiting for the new guests to arrive.
This is the longest period of time I've had to just relax in two weeks. I'm not accustomed to having so little free time... these full working days with little privacy are definitely taking their toll.
But I'm so happy. It's an adjustment, for sure, but I'm totally happy I made it. That I'm capable of making it.
This week was another new experience.
As most weeks tend to be.
I was thrilled that I had the opportunity to connect with a few of the younger girls who wanted a practice more vigorous than Domagoj's.
I was ecstatic that Milda, Mario, Jurate and I all grew a lot closer as friends and more efficient as a team. It took me about a week and a half to adjust to Croatian sensibilities and to fit into this 7/11, 24/7 lifestyle, but I feel simply fantastic right about now.
Croatians are a very direct lot, just so you know. When you visit this region of the Balkans, prepare yourself to experience delicious food, spectacular beaches, and people who tell you that you're behaving like an idiot if you are.... well, behaving like an idiot. They don't worry about offending people, but neither do they ever really take offense. They say what they feel when they feel it and then they let it go.
No personalization. No internalization. It's magic.
But I'm not magic yet and for the amount of traveling I've done, I'm still absurdly sensitive. So Milda was kind enough to brew a pot of tea and set aside some time to explain things to me.
"We are so thankful to have you here," my new friend said as she sipped her steaming, fruity tea. "And please don't take it personally whenever we say things in such a straightforward way -- it is just the culture."
That's all I needed to hear. Oy. Maybe it would be a good idea for me to live in Croatia for a few months. Perhaps I'd lose the unnecessary bits of my sensitive nature.
I didn't particular enjoy participating in Domagoj's classes (my back is still recovering and I'm still trying to rein in my riled up inner bitch), but I did learn bits and pieces of Sacred Geometry and how to touch my forehead, then my nipples, then my genitals while chanting sanskrit.
The funniest part of this was how proud Domagoj sounded when he remembered the English word for nipples.
I completely, totally lost my shit. Ellie and Emily and I giggled and gasped all over his sacred geometry.
We took our sacred geometry drawings to the beach on Thursday to paint. As mine wasn't finished (I'd fled the room under the pretense of having to help with lunch), I chose to paint cute yogic symbols on rocks instead. I was minding my own business, having a grand old time, when Domagoj approached.
"What is this paint?" he picked up my cheap, red acrylic paint.
"It's acrylic," I continued to paint a simple sign for harmony on a smooth white stone.
"Yes, it is acrylic. You don't need water or oil or anything for it," the dark-haired teacher sniffed at the paint. "And this is totally toxic. Cheap. Not as good as what I usually use for my paintings."
"Well," I dipped my cheap paintbrush in the cheap jar of free water from the sea. "I'm a poor traveler. It's the best I can do."
"Let me show you how to paint a real OM sign," Domagoj grabbed my brush from my hand as soon as I'd finished washing it."This is how it is truly done. Most modern interpretations are corrupt."
"Ah. Well, thanks for showing me."
"Painting on rocks is a good idea," Domagoj stood up. "I will now paint yogic symbols for everyone to take home."
As long as you don't write, "this is how it's REALLY done" underneath, people should like it just fine. Sweet idea.
Domagoj wandered back with a few rocks held in his spindly hands.
"Would you give me the red paint?" he gestured towards my paints.
"Actually, these are my paints," I tried not to smirk but definitely failed. "The group paints are over there," I gestured towards the even cheaper washable tempera paints used by Jurate and the guests.
"Ah. I see."
Domagoj left me alone for the rest of the afternoon. But I was alone in being left alone. He hassled Jurate about what color to use in her painting.
"You must use red in the center -- not this bright green. Red is the sign of the goddess. It is blood, the sign of menstruation."
"I don't like red," Jurate applied another stroke of green.
"But it is not correct," Domagoj persisted.
"I don't like red," Jurate insisted.
Domagoj gave up on Jurate and went off to harass someone more harass-able.
"You see how perfect my painting is? Does anyone have a painting this perfect?"
I asked Jurate to paint something on my foot. She chose the koru, a symbol for new life in New Zealand.
"I think my foot painting is perfect," I said to Jurate as Domagoj strutted his perfectly menstruating painting.
The new guests will arrive in a few hours.
Milda, Mario, Jurate and I will meet them.
It will be a week of providing them with a space to explore. To feel the freedom to find what works for them.
Not to tell them to use the color red because it represents the menstruation of the goddess.
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