A Melancholy Transition -- Lake Atitlan, Guatemala

Anna and Nele have left the Forest. And I'm pretty devastated about it. Those two contributed so much laughter, love, sass, and snark. It was hard to not see them at breakfast this morning, Nele with her bright red scarf and Anna with her perfectly tied bandana and tamed lioness hair. Both with morning hugs and smiles for everyone. 

"It's okay, we'll meet again,"  Nele tried to comfort me as she hugged me goodbye

"Yeah, but... but I love us now," I stubbornly refused to be consoled. 

This group is just so perfect. Nele, Anna, James, Blue, Tammo, Maile, and me. I don't want us to change. I don't want to look forward to meeting at another time in another situation with another dynamic. I just want more of this. 

 

People come and people go, Bourget. Life is an exercise of constant flux, change, transition.

Some transitions are just much more painful than others. 

And this one sucks. Sucks. Balls.  

I'm going to let myself be sad about it. I like feeling sad. Sadness means that these girls meant something to me. That this group meant something to me. And that kinda makes me want to cherish the sadness I feel.

Nele. I'll miss your artistic touch. How everything you happened upon became more beautiful.  

Anna. I'll miss your sincerity. Your ability to speak your mind. All the time. And how you could make anyone, everyone laugh at the drop of a hat. Again and again and again.

We all sat around a small bonfire for our last night together, and Tammo and I played songs we'd written for Nele and Anna. One to the tune of "Hallelujah" (because Nele hated when I played it on my ukulele), and one to the tune of "I Hope that I Don't Fall in Love with You," by Tom Waits (because it's the only music I know that Anna actually enjoys).

Yup. This is why I'm learning to play the ukulele. So I can serenade my friends with sentimental roasts. This will be my specialty.

I wrote many, many verses for my two volunteer buddies. The verses came easily, as these two women possessed personalities which made space for ample writing material. One of the many verses for Nele was:

We all loved your yoga classes,

'Cos unlike Aimee, you didn't kick our asses.

With gentle grace and skill you have inspired us.

Your warm heart made the Forest sing,

As through the leaves, your voice would ring,

While belting Justin Bieber from the shower... 

Nele. I'll miss how you always spoke to me in German. And how you'd keep speaking to me in German, even when I would interrupt you with, "Nele... I don't speak German." 

You just wanted me to feel included. And maybe after I learn Spanish (if that ever happens), I'll learn German. Just for you.

I'll miss how you were the glitter goddess, sharing sparkles with everyone in the Forest (I loved your glitter, even though James said it wasn't biodegradable and got stuck in the floorboards of the yoga shalas).

The Forest won't be the same without you. Of course. That's a given. But I struggle to think I'll enjoy it as much without you, regardless of how "awesome" the people are who step into your abandoned shoes (also, the red sneakers you forgot are still hanging by the washing station).

You've carved out places for yourselves in the Forest and in our hearts. Or, my heart. I can't personally vouch for the hearts of the other volunteers and staff.  

But I'm pretty sure we're all feeling your absence. And already pining for your return.
 

"Aimee, send Anna a message," Tammo said on our way to town this morning. "Tell her that she's played with our emotions long enough and that she needs to come back already."

"I wish."

These are the pros and cons of staying in one place for a long time. Getting to make these meaningful connections with people, and then having to watch them go. We'll see how long I can watch people like Nele and Anna go.

Hiking a Volcano with a Sinus Infection. As You Do -- Antigua, Guatemala

Tammo and I have a bet. Well, maybe not a bet so much as a fierce competition. We've both decided to make 2018 "the most adventurous year of our lives." 

(which... uh... might be tough for me. I've had some pretty adventurous years, as of late)

So far this year, I'm winning the bet/competition by leaps and bounds. Not only did I get my nose pierced, but I had to re-pierce it myself with a rather dull instrument (which gives me equal badass/idiot points. But we're not keeping track of the latter). I've also gotten giardia twice, been stung by a scorpion three times, and have eaten more brownies than any sane human being should eat in a lifetime (this might not equal adventure points, but I thought I should mention it anyway). 

So in order to keep 2018 adventurous, Tammo and I decided to hike Acatenango, a dormant volcano with a breathtaking view of Fuego, a remarkably active volcano. 

We left The Yoga Forest on Monday morning at around 7:30, boarding a lancha bound for Panajachel at 8:00. 

"We won't have much time for breakfast," I noted as we huddled on the cold benches of the boat with the lake breeze whipping at our sweaters and hair. "We probably won't get to Pana until 8:45, and then we have to book the shuttle and be on it by 9:30." 

"Maybe a quick breakfast." 

"Yeah, we'll see." 

Feeling rushed and slightly frazzled, I booked our shuttle to Antigua with the first tour company we happened upon. Which grossly overcharged me, but I really couldn't be bothered. 

It's only an extra six dollars, in the end. I'm not going to throw a tantrum over six dollars. Even though being ripped off isn't the best of feelings... 

In the spirit of adventure (and hunger) we pocketed our ticket, promised to be back at the agency by 9:20, and then speed-walked to the main drag of Panajachel. Where we found an average restaurant serving average breakfast. 

We so do not have time for this, I chastised myself as we sat down, watching the kids jumping hurdles in the school across Calle Santander. 

A meager plate of plantains, beans, and eggs graced our table at 9:17. And was unceremoniously inhaled by 9:18 and 8 seconds (give or take). 

"Necesito pagar ahora, por favor," I stumbled through a Spanish sentence as paltry as our breakfast. 

"Bueno," the waitress agreed, bringing me la cuenta and accepting my hundred quetzale note. Which I naively hoped she would pocket and then immediately produce some cambio for me. 

But in Latin America, there is never any cambio. Ever. Cambio in Central America is a myth. The waitress at this average restaurant serving an average breakfast couldn't muster my Q35 in change. To my dismay, she walked out the door and down to the tiendas below. Presumably to ask around for this fictitious phenomenon.   

"We can't wait," I checked the time on my phone and groaned. "Guess we'll just have to leave the extra Q as a big tip." 

So we abandoned our cambio at the average restaurant serving an average breakfast and jogged back to the shuttle.Where we clamored into the  back row seats, and I experienced yet another moment of intense gratitude regarding my short legs. 

Haha, I snickered to myself with great empathy and understanding. Tammo has to scrunch up so much more than I do to fit here. My knees almost have ROOM. This shuttle be spacious. I might not be able to reach the yoga blocks on the top shelf in the Shiva Temple, but this girl won't have aching knees by the end of the journey. Take that, tall people. 

In the midst of my satisfying snickering at the expense of tall people everywhere, I began to feel a modicum of dread trickle into my thoughts. The all too familiar sensations of tingling around my eyelids, of pressure in my forehead, of pain in my teeth, of burning in my eyes, and a comprehensively blocked nose started to surface.  

Damn... am I really starting to get a sinus infection right before hiking a four thousand meter volcano? 

Well. Poop. 

Our shuttle driver dropped Tammo and I off in Antigua's city center. Where Tammo ordered a smoothie at a creperie and I used the wifi to check Whatsapp for messages from Pancho, our couchsurfing host. 

Super, I thought, as I saw the notification for a couple new messages. I love when communication with hosts is easy.  

"Hey, how are you? tell me when you arrive to Antigua, because I'll have to go to the city at the end of the day." 

"Hi Pancho! We just arrived and are sitting at Luna de Miel. We can meet you wherever you want. :)"

"Excellent. If you could come to the house could be nice." 

"Would you like us to come now? We could be there in about twenty minutes." 

"Perfect." 

... 

"Tammo," I reluctantly told my poor friend who had just received his smoothie. "I think you have to get that to go. Pancho wants us to head over now." 

"I think this is a theme for today," my tentmate commented good-naturedly. "Not being  able to relax and enjoy the things we order." 

We did not make it to Pancho's in twenty minutes. We made it to Pancho's in forty minutes, as neither Tammo nor myself possess anything akin to a sense of direction. Even Google Maps couldn't save us from finally calling Pancho and admitting abashedly, "Hey, sorry we're late. We... uhh.... we can't find you." 

"Okay, I'm coming out," Pancho's easy-going voice assuaged my flustered nerves. 

Pancho is an architect and organic farmer from Guatemala City who's been living in his stunning home in Antigua for four years. He introduced Tammo and me to his rescued dog, Alpha (who is comprised entirely of springs and enthusiasm) and his three house rules. 

1) make the beds

2) wash the dishes after using them

3) Leave a note on his wall

     3a) write a recipe in his recipe book. If what you cook is good enough to earn a place in the recipe book. 

Pancho gave us the keys to his home, suggested a cafe and told us that we could leave most of our belongings in his home while  hiking Acatenango. 

"Okay, so, if you're going to the city tonight, we'll both probably be asleep by the time you get back," I mulled over what our opportunities to actually hang out with our host would be. "So... see you Thursday when we're done with the hike? Maybe we can cook you dinner that night and we can have a nice evening together?" 

So Tammo and I left our host and his enthusiastic dog and returned to Antigua's colorful, colonial city center.  To hunt down lunch and tour tickets and extra food for the next day's hike.

 

My night in a cozy bed in the warm room passed slowly, miserably, mournfully.

It's okay, Bourget. It's okay to feel crummy. It's okay that you're not at the top of your game. You don't have to have the "perfect" experience hiking Acatenango tomorrow. You just have to show up. And be grateful for whatever experience you have. 

I mean, you're in Guatemala, for the love of all things dairy. How lucky are you already? You don't need to let a sinus infection get you down. 

The next morning, my body still felt objectively miserable. 

This is what I'm given today. The universe, life, whatever (probably a lot of my own poor choices) have conspired to deal me this hand for the hike today. So. I have choices. I always have choices. I can a) give up and stay here until we go to the Forest on Friday. I can b) do it (the volcano) anyway and feel really bummed and unlucky the whole time, or c) embrace this as a challenge life is offering me. See if I can keep that same feeling of softness -- of distance -- I did while walking up the stairs at the Yoga Forest whilst on San Pedro. 

This is what life is giving me today. So. I'm going to work with it. See what kind of growth can be find in it. 

Also, if I hike Acatenango with an out of control sinus infection AND an infected nose piercing, I'm totally beating Tammo at the bet/challenge. 

... 

This is a secondary motivation, but motivation nonetheless.  

"Aimee, we don't need to do this," Tammo said in response to my cough of death. "We really don't. Don't feel pressured to do the hike because you're afraid that I'll be disappointed if we don't. We can just hang out with Pancho in Antigua and then go back to San Marcos on Friday."

"No," I stubbornly slung Ellie onto my back. "No, I think this is just what life gave me today. And that I'm supposed to work through it. So I'm gonna. But thanks for taking the pressure off me," I added quickly. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course."

So my tentmate and I shouldered our packs and strolled into the city center at seven on Wednesday morning, stopping at Cafe Barista to grab a quick coffee before heading to our tour company. After picking up about fifteen excited trekkers, the shuttle left Antigua and catapulted down windy roads towards the base of Acatenango. On the way, we stopped to pay the Q50 entrance fee to the park and to pick up our food for the rest of the day/the next morning's breakfast.

"Is this one meal?" a fellow on the shuttle looked at the scant portions in utter bewilderment.

"Two meals?" another trekker fumbled through her bag.

"Nah, I bet this is all three," I grimly announced.

A banana. A tupperware of dry spaghetti. A piece of bread and some chicken. Some yogurt and some powdered chocolate. 

I'm so glad Tammo and I came prepared with an abundance of bread, cheese, bananas, and pastries. 

We pulled into the trailhead parking lot sometime before noon. 

Here we go, I blew my nose. And tried not to curse as the infected nose piercing and the sinus infection collaborated to create a cacophony of pain in my face

Blurgh. 

The air at the trailhead was cool and crisp, made colder by a slight breeze. I braced myself as took my first breath, expecting the brisk air to hit my aching sinuses with all the softness of a freight train.

But... this actually feels good... Huh. 

Tammo and I were bombarded by young girls peddling walking sticks.

"Stick? You need. Very important."

"No, gracias," I said to the seventh person who'd approached me with a walking stick.

I'd rather have my hands free to take photographs. And who needs a walking stick, anyway? Pshaw. Not this Colorado girl.
 

Turns out, this Colorado girl needed a walking stick. The hike was... uh... not flat, and the trail was mostly made up of loose dirt and rock. Or slippery mud. Both of which are terrifically compatible with this Colorado girl falling head-over-heels-onto-ass. 

This... hurts so much... I thought as I trudged up the treacherous trail. But work on finding that distance, Bourget. Feel that softness. You can do it. 
  

"Aimee?" Tammo turned around, worry in his voice. "Do you want me to carry Fat Ellie?"
 

"No, it's okay," I huffed, aware of how much effort it took to blurt that short sentence, but not troubled by the effort. "I can do it."

"Just let me know."

"I will."

I wanted the first rest-stop to be the final destination. Desperately. 

Alas, we recommenced our slippery, vertical journey after about ten minutes of blissful sitting.

You got this, Bourget. You do. Feel the pounding of your heart. Acknowledge how heavy your breathing is. Be present to the insanity of your raging sinuses. And don't resent any of these things. Don't feel like anything should be other than what it is. Work with what your body is giving you today. Search out a smidgen of gratitude, even. 

We stopped for lunch a couple hours into the trek. The tour company lunch consisted of bland rice, fried chicken, a slice of lemon, and a few pieces of lettuce.

Yup, this is why the fellow at the tour company told us to bring extra food.

Eventually, the trail led us up and into a cloud. And as visibility dramatically decreased, the feeling of somehow stumbling onto a magical movie set increased.

This is mesmerizing.

After an interminably long time trudging through the cloud, we emerged into warm sunlight. 

And saw Fuego for the first time.

"Twenty minutes up, forty minutes flat," our guide consoled his weary trekkers with how close we were to our campsite. 

Only twenty more minutes up? My god. You're almost done, Bourget. 
 

 When we finally arrived at the campsite, I felt on top of the world. In more ways than one.

I did it. Holy bananas. I just finished a pretty tough hike with a sinus infection and an infected nose piercing. And I managed to enjoy it. Which is the most important thing for me, I think.
 

 
The rest of the evening was mostly spent with gazes glued to Fuego. Watching in awe as the volcano erupted over and over and over again.

This is an experience I never even dreamed I could have. That my life would lead me to. 
 

But here I am. 
 

As we watched Fuego, wisps and walls of clouds floated in and out, framing the volcano and creating a breathtaking, whimsical, dynamic spectacle. 

I could sit here indefinitely. Be mesmerized eternally. 
 

The sun finally set and Fuego revealed the color hiding behind the puffy pillars of smoke.

...

Here I am. 
 

 We spent the evening witnessing the wonder of Fuego, drinking cheap Guatemalan rum, and trying to keep warm around a small, smoky fire.

"Tomorrow, four o'clock, we hike to the top for sunrise. One hour and half," our guide told us before all of us exhausted trekkers climbed into our tents. Exhausted trekkers and stray dog who crawled in through the broken tentflap and curled up on my feet.

"Aw, he looks nice," Tammo protested as I attempted to shoo the stray from the tent.

"He's a strange dog. I don't know him. I don't want a strange animal I don't know sleeping in my tent on my feet," I said, dog trauma rearing its ugly head.

But the stray refused to vacate the tent. When I gingerly pushed him towards the tent flap, he simply went limp, becoming a cold, stubborn, immovable lump of fur.

Guess this is another challenge from life. Oh goody. 

I spent the whole night awake with a burning fever and pounding headache, tossing and turning on the sleeping mat (which seemed harder than the ground beneath it) and listening to Fuego erupt in the not-so-distant distance.

At four am, the tour guide tapped on the tent.

"We're ready to go up!" Tammo scurried to the battered tent door.

"No, we're not going," they replied. "The weather..."

I poked my head outside, shining my headlamp towards Fuego.

And saw nothing. 

I walked a couple meters away from the four person, bright yellow tent and then turned and shone my headlamp on it.

And saw nothing.

yup. Probably a good idea to not trek another hour and a half straight up. Not only would it be super dangerous, but what would be the point? we wouldn't see anything at the top anyways. 

So I went back to bed, took an Aleve and experienced yet another moment of gratitude for my sinus infection.

It means I can't smell myself right now. Which is EXCELLENT. 

At eight o'clock, we gathered around the small fire, and breakfasted on our yogurt, bananas, and powdered hot chocolate (which, given how unbelievably cold I was, tasted sublime). Then we packed up and began the long slog down the slope.

I'm so glad we're not walking up today. The poor trekkers who start this afternoon probably won't see anything...

We made it back down to the trail head around eleven. Back to Antigua by twelve. Back to Pancho's by one. Where we immediately took much needed showers, then trudged back into town to enjoy our final afternoon in Guatemala's old capital city.  

After eating a nutritious lunch of frozen yogurt parfait, Tammo and I headed into the local market to buy food for the dinner we'd planned to cook for our couchsurfing host.

Tammo fried up a delicious batch of potato pancakes with chorizo and cheese. I made a dessert of bananas foster (as I do. Always). And, regardless of how exhausted we were from our volcano adventure, we stayed up with Pancho until well past midnight. Drinking, laughing, and just enjoying the sensation of being in a home again. Enjoying the warmth. The music. The comforting knowledge that we wouldn't have to put on our shoes and find a headlamp to use the "toilet" that night.

"If we come back again, I'll cook dinner and Tammo can make dessert. It can be a competition," I laughed while sipping my... err... third (?) glass of wine.

"I would be happy to host this competition," Pancho smiled. 

Wonderful. Now we have a friend in Antigua. A wonderful man we can visit when we want to relax and savor the experience of being in a home. Not to bash the Submarine in any way, but the heart of a home is in the kitchen. And neither of us have been able to experience that space in a while. 

Once a month weekend trip to Antigua to cook with Pancho? Yes, please.  

I left Antigua the next afternoon feeling sore throughout my legs, still a bit sensitive in my sinuses, happily full in my belly, and positively bursting with confidence. The confidence that comes when life presents you with the gift of a remarkable challenge, and you choose to explore the challenge, regardless of how much or how loudly your body is saying, "Eh, I'd rather stay in bed and watch netflix."

You explore the challenge and in doing so, discover that maybe your edge is a bit further along than you thought it was. Maybe you're capable of a bit more than you thought you were. Maybe you can say yes to a bit more of life than you thought you could.

The Keys to Heaven -- Lake Atitlan, Guatemala

It's 12:30 on Saturday afternoon. Michelle sits to my left, typing lickety-split on her macbook air, probably quite eager to finish her work and hike back to her cabaña at the tip-top of the Forest. 

I still can't believe this woman is seven months pregnant and HIKING up about a hundred stairs every time she wants a freaking nap. Michelle is a superhero. If I ever made a baby (which I never will), I would hope to be half as active and awesome as Michelle during the pregnancy.

Maile (a new volunteer from Switzerland) will be ringing the gong soon, summoning all us Forest dwellers for lunch.

I wonder if I'll start salivating when I hear gongs after six months at The Forest. I wouldn't be surprised. 

I'm not heading to lunch today, regardless of how delicious the smells wafting through the office window are. I will do my best to resist the urge to taste whatever magical meal the kitchen ladies have whipped up. 

Bourget. You ate breakfast two hours ago. Calm down. You do not need food again, I glare at my belly, already pleasantly bloated with pineapple, papaya, and french toast. 

Hey. Hey you. Calm the hell down. Nobody wants to listen to your grumbles.

Breakfast was late today because Tammo and I decided to take a morning jaunt into town. So I asked James to set aside food for the two of us, grabbed my bathing suit, sarong, mountain of Spanish flashcards, and meandered down to Del Lago.   

Sometimes I still have trouble believing that this is my life...

I've tried valiantly to settle into something resembling a routine at The Forest, but I've had to give up the idea of routine for my sanity's sake. Routine will never happen in Guatemala. Routine will never happen at The Forest. So I simply set priorities these days and occasionally try to meet one or two. 

Photography is a priority. I've been focusing on that.

Actively participating in Forest offerings has been another priority. There are so many opportunities to grow in this space, but I usually just brush them off and go to the hammock area to read a Jim Butcher novel.

Which is a very productive way to spend your time, Bourget. Props to you. 

But I did manage to catch a New Moon reading from Maile and Severin. Which, regardless of how much truth I believe astrology to hold, is a fascinating new world for me.

Priorities have also included hanging out with volunteers more regularly. So Nele and I escaped the Forest and tumbled down the trail to Shambala. To sit in their glorious hammock chairs and drink chai.

"Isn't it amazing?" Nele asked, gazing dreamily over the brim of her cup.

"I mean, I'm comparing it to the chai Ama made me in Nepal... so... it's not that overwhelmingly good," I said, trying to be honest, but also not sound like a jaded prick. Which can be quite the challenge, turns out.

Then Nele stole my camera and took her own photographs. Of me not enjoying the chai nearly as much as I'd enjoyed Ama's.

I'd planned to hike San Pedro (a nearby volcano) with my friend Joe (this fellow I volunteered with back in Germany four years ago. Who just happens to be in San Marcos), but I woke up Wednesday morning with giardia burps and farts.

Which is, quite objectively, one of the worst ways to wake up. For myself and for whoever is unlucky enough to share a tent with me.

"Tammo," I belched. "I was supposed to meet Joe and Simone at the dock at 6:30. But -- " I swallowed sulfur and grimaced, "-- but I really don't think I'll be able to go."

"Do you want me to go down and tell him?" Tammo groggily asked from his bed.

"That... that would be great," I grumbled. Then ran up a hundred plus stairs to heave into the composting toilet.

Fuckballs. I just had giardia two weeks ago. And now it's back? This must be a joke. A sick joke. 

...

hahaha...

So Tammo jogged down to the dock to tell Joe and Simone that I would not be joining them on their 4000 foot elevation gain hike to the top of a dormant volcano. Whilst I stayed snuggled under my blankets, barf bucket close to my face, trying my best to keep absolutely still.

This is where all these yoga folks would tell me to "surrender to it." 

Blurgh. 

Okay. Surrendering. Commence waving white flags. You hear that, giardia? I SURRENDER. I KNEEL BEFORE YOUR MALODOROUS FARTS AND EBULLIENT BOWL MOVEMENTS. 

Take that. Heh.

I spent the rest of the day surrendering on the cushions in the common area. Making the occasional, frantic sprint to the nearest composting toilet. But come afternoon, I gave up on giving up, and wandered over to the climbing wall. Where Tammo and Anna were scaling the craggy rock face like champs.

GAH. I wish I wasn't ridden with nasty parasites right now. Climbing would be heaps of fun. 

I felt much better the next day. Just weak, trembly, and a bit gassy.

Huh. Maybe there is something to this whole surrendering business. 

I briefly considered hiking San Pedro with Tammo, but decided that tackling a volcano the day after a giardia outbreak would not be the most prudent decision I've ever made. So Tammo and I just went to the town of San Pedro instead. Where we bought SIM cards, drank tea, explored some abandoned, gratified concrete buildings on the lakefront, and read our respective books at a lakefront cafe.

And Friday.

Friday, I did San Pedro.

San Pedro the cactus, not the volcano.

Jaya and Saraswati generously offered to guide all the volunteers on a San Pedro journey. As a way to thank us for our work at The Forest and as a way to connect with us.

This is exactly what I needed. To feel closer, more connected, more on the same page with the owners of this place. 

San Pedro is a cactus that grows in Argentina, Bolivia, Chile, Ecuador, and Peru. It has been used throughout the Andes as a ceremonial, spiritual medicine for 3000 years. The plant received its name when conquistadors tried the medicine, had such an intense, enlightening journeys, that they then named the plant "San Pedro." As Saint Peter is the one who holds the keys to heaven.

San Pedro was how one could gain access to heaven whilst on earth.

The active element in San Pedro is mescaline, a mild psychedelic. It's known as a grandfather teacher, a gentle, playful, wise medicine that sends people on extended (up to twelve hours) gentle, transformational journeys.

Jaya and Saraswati went all out, setting up the space for us.

 
We sat around in a circle, sang together, and then voiced our intentions.

"I want to receive guidance," one volunteer spoke up.

"I want to embrace the lightness of life," another volunteer chimed in.

"I want to explore forgiveness. For myself and for others. I want... I want to feel my past soften a little. To feel some distance from it," I added my intentions to the mix.

Then, one by one, we sat in front of Jaya as he prepared our drink, listening to Saraswati sing and gazing out at the breathtaking lake in front of us. We reverently drank a goblets full of bitter, slimy, grandfather medicine, returned to our cushions, and continued to listen to Saraswati's beautiful voice fill the shala.

It's hard to describe the sensations of San Pedro. I didn't hallucinate, but my senses were all heightened to a degree I've never experienced before. Time didn't lengthen like it did on mushrooms. It didn't shorten the way I does when I'm having a great time with friends and feel like the evening flew away from me.

Nope.

On this grandfather medicine, I felt so deeply present that time simply became irrelevant.

At three o'clock, Saraswati and Jaya released us high hippies into The Forest, asking us to take time alone, to receive whatever insights the grandfather had for us.

I grabbed my journal and scampered up to Lakshmi (where Michelle and Jonas live. At the tip-top of The Forest). I watched the tall grasses dance in the breeze, feeling deeply content that nothing was more important than watching the tall grasses dance in the breeze. Eventually, I opened my journal, took a few deep breaths, noticed the speckles of sunlight peeking through the leaves, and then began to write.

Living here at the Yoga Forest with so many people who are intensely focused on spiritual growth has been triggering for me in a lot of ways. I think that I associate spiritual growth with physical absence. With people so focused on this other plane of existence that they no longer invest themselves in the world around them. I associate spiritual growth with a close-minded search for the truth. 

Not with an open-hearted search for A truth. 

But do I want an empirical life forever? Or do I want to search for something sacred? 

Did I lose my sense of meaning when I lost my faith? Is that one of the reasons I've been hobnobbing around the globe for most of the last six years? Because if I keep myself this freaking busy, this stimulated ALL THE TIME, I won't be bothered by an absence of meaning?

Maybe that's why people stuff their lives with so much clutter. Physical clutter, emotional clutter, mental clutter. Because clutter fills the painful void created by a sudden loss of meaning, a devastating loss of identity. 

Is traveling the way I fill that void? Do I continually move from place to place, from life to life, so that I can't be bothered to search for new meaning? To actually feel the profundity of its loss?  

Maybe.  

My reverie was broken when Jonas tromped up the stairs, escorting a new guest. And I figured that the guest would rather not have her first moment at The Forest be spent witnessing a lady riveted by tall grasses. So I closed my journal, skipped down to the Submarine, grabbed my towel, some warm clothes, and headed to the shower.

Saraswati said to find our favorite place in the Forest. And my favorite place is definitely the shower. So I'm gonna shower, boy howdy. 

I practically flew back up the stairs. And on the way, I noticed the pounding of my heart. How laborious my breath had become.

But it feels distant. Like it's something that's occurring... outside of me. Or, more precisely, I'm outside of IT. 

Maybe that's how I need to feel about my past. It's still there. But I'll allowed to feel distance. Space. I'm allowed to be outside of it. 

Then I hopped into the shower. And it might have been the best shower of my life.

At four thirty, we all gathered together in Shakti for a late lunch, more singing, and sharing our experiences.
 

What a beautiful, sacred space these people created for us. I can now much better understand and appreciate why people use plant medicines. The feeling I experienced running up that hill... if I can just tap into that sensation whenever I'm feeling bitter... whenever I'm feeling angry or hurt... I think i can live a much freer, more expansive life. 

We closed the ceremony by sitting around a bonfire in the cave, making more music and sending offerings of gratitude into the forest.

And I loved it.

Okay, Bourget. If you don't cool your jets, you're going to be a full-blown hippie in a few weeks.