It's the 28th. I've been at The Yoga Forest for two months now, and have witnessed three volunteers say goodbye and continue on their respective journeys. Rachel is probably gallivanting around the US mid-west. Blake might be on his way up Acatenango, camping out and waiting to watch Fuego erupt. And Bre (like the cheese)?
She could be in New Zealand by now.
Kayla leaves the Forest tomorrow morning, bound for three days of partying and yoga-ing in Santiago at Cosmic Convergence.
Yes.
There is a festival across the lake called, "Cosmic Convergence."
I'm not going.
I will abide by the excuse that someone needs to hold down the fort (or Forest, as it were), but the real reason is that I'm thoroughly uninterested in Cosmic Convergence. I've had it up to my bushy eyebrows with hippie shenanigans, and believe that a festival full of ecstatic dancing, cacao, and probably other... umm... plant medicines, would push me a bit beyond my edge.
Maybe one day. I think I would like to go to a festival like Cosmic and enjoy it. But I'm not at a place wherein I'd enjoy such a thing now. Now, yoga and meditation a few times a week is perfect. Maybe I'll throw in some Kirtan next month. An ecstatic dance every now and then. You know. Work myself up to a place wherein I'd be happy to go to Cosmic. Instead of half-terrified, half skeptical of it.
It's the 28th. Not only have I been at The Yoga Forest for two whole months, I've made it through yet another Christmas away from home. And I'm happy to say that it was one of the best. By far (although it is hard to beat spending Christmas with Santa in a Nepali village).
Because The Forest is chocked full of Germans (I swear, I hear more German than Spanish these days), we exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve (which is real Christmas, for Germans). As we're a rather large group of penniless people, we each drew a name from a hat and picked an inexpensive gift for that person. I'd drawn Jonas, so I painted him a giant spider, got all the volunteers to sign the back of the painting, and promised that I'd try to squash fewer spiders in the future.
I also gave him a certificate for a totally transferable massage. So that his very pregnant partner could annoy him about it. Because I'm a horrible human being.
Anna, Jonas, and Nele brought wine to German Christmas. Tammo and I brought local cheese and some bread that tasted like sawdust. Nele also filled the table with candles (Nele is the resident candle lady. Wherever there is Nele, there are also candles).
Anna had been the one adamantly insisting that we have Christmas Eve dinner together, so we unanimously dubbed her "Christmas Fairy," and she took charge of passing out presents.
Tammo had drawn my name for Secret Santa duties, so I, of course, received a bottle of wine from my perceptive tent-mate. And some tabs for a happy song on the ukulele.
I don't know if it's possible for me to play a happy song on the ukulele... I don't think me + ukulele + happy go together.
American Christmas was just another normal day at The Forest. Morning yoga, papaya for breakfast, no cups for our tea because they were all being used for the retreat-goers to drink salt water. So they could force themselves to vomit in order to cleanse their systems before taking rapé. You know. As one does on Christmas.
(Rapé is not unwanted sexual contact. FYI. The accent over this particular "e" proves that accents are, in fact, very important. Rapé is a kind of tobacco so strong that it has mind-altering effects and has been used in the Amazon basin as tribal medicine for centuries)
The day after Christmas was beautiful. It was bursting with wine, cheese, and happiness (which might be redundant).
"Oh my god, you guys!" Anna gushed. "This is amazing!"
Just wait, I thought with a smile. You think THIS is amazing... just wait for the cheese.
I'd reserved a table for ten, and they'd set us up in the same place Nacho and I had dined on cheese and charcuterie a month before.
Miss that guy. But he's off having fun in Australia somewhere. Talking to everyone. Telling ridiculous jokes. Doing things that people will never forget, like reserving a table at Cafe El Artesano with a sign that reads, "Best Yoga Teacher and Cheese Lover Ever."
While we waited for Jonas and Ira (Jonas' childhood friend) to return from buying vomit buckets in San Pedro (yes. Vomit buckets. That's how we do at The Yoga Forest. Although, for once, people are not vomiting due to parasites. They're vomiting due to ayahuasca), we explored the cafe grounds.
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| As the Forest Frenchwoman, Kayla expressed her cheese enthusiasm appropriately. |
Jonas and Ira arrived (and hid the barf buckets behind the bamboo fence). We told stories, we drank wine, we ate cheese, we moaned over cheese, and I took many, many pictures.
We finally trudged back to the dock at around four o'clock, all feeling incredibly full, immensely happy and moderately tipsy.
Which is a wonderful way to feel.
Because Kayla is a) helpful, b) crazy, and c) super buff, she carried most of the vomit buckets up the mountain to The Forest.
On her head.
And because she is d) a ham, she had me photograph the event.
We spent the evening around a bonfire, drinking mulled wine and savoring the final holiday moments together.
I'm gonna look back on this Christmas next year... the year after... and I'm going to remember this feeling, I thought as I stared into the glowing flames. This warmth. This satisfaction. This twinge of melancholy because, well, I'm NOT home. But this overwhelming gratitude, because I'm with people who've made me feel at home.
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