Fly Bye

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Last day:

It sometimes takes getting away to a new place to go through a process of huge transformation or mini transformation or even no transformation. Instead, just thoroughly enjoying my own company and transforming back to good 'ol self is good enough. Always lessons learned though in travel. Especially when in camper lady mode. From metaphysics to insects.  I think of how bug eyed I was (literally) when a flying scary insect kept me up and freaked me out on my first night in camp land.

Here's the cool thing though. Last night I was sitting under the gazebo doing some writing in my little travel notebook and it started to rain really hard and the water was sprinkling my way, so I lifted my hoodie over my head and out jumped a little critter that was hanging inside my hood.  I brushed it off and it wasn’t until I finished writing the sentence that I was writing that I realized I was completely unaffected by it.  On top of that, earlier that day, I was walking under a tree and heard some movement above my head only to see a family of iguana’s climbing from one branch to another. I watched with awe, smiled, and simply walked on. I had even begun to miss the gecko that slept by my bed.  What happened to this non-camper lady between day one and my last day? Everything.

I naturally began to see what a privilege it is to share a beach and a national park with all walks and creatures of life.  We take the scary with the beautiful. Every morning I was visited by this little brown bird. I'd feed it some walnuts and it became my morning companion. I watched it closely and was grateful for my presence in it's forest.  I’m fortunate to love the solo travel thing and to have had peaceful solitary time as well as meeting some awesome travel warriors along the way --- and to get just a bit better at this thing called camping. 

On top of it all, I’m sitting here at the airport really early (unlike the drama of my departure), peaceful, more than on time to land back home to my man picking me up at JFK and my familiar and wonderful world above sea level. I'll miss Maho and the many unique pleasures it handed over. So, until next time.. if there is a Maho Camp next year, I'm there.

Suki Yoga

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I heard all good things about her, this woman named Suki who does massage and teaches the morning yoga.  After a little stroll on the beach, I scooted way up to the yoga studio overlooking all of St. John. I was just a wee bit late.

No one was there. Oh well, I figured I’d put yoga with Suki on my blossoming future St. John to-do list.  I stretched out and did my own yoga which is extremely modified and far from challenging. 

I heard light steps behind me, and in walks a glowing woman in the 60’ish age range dressed in a bright pink tank and comfy yoga pants and about 5 sets of beautiful beads around her neck that I later found out she threaded herself.  Oh, and a flower in her hair. I knew it was Suki.  Not only did I get to meet her, I got to have a private class with just the two of us.

She was running late due to a meditation she was leading on Trunk Bay beach bringing in the new age of Aquarius.  Yes, this is Suki. I didn’t expect less and couldn’t be happier to have a private lesson.

From one sun salutation to another, some planks, chaturanga's and long standing balance poses, I enjoyed the space and the silences. I never had one-on-one yoga before and I found it very interesting to notice that my mind still lacked some compassion for my yogini limitations even without other students to measure myself up against.  What it comes down to is that it’s my work always to stay on my own yoga mat and meet myself exactly where I am.  Where I am is just beautiful. 

Suki started the practice with the phrase, “we are the ones that we are waiting for,"  and ended it with the same passage and with a Sanskrit song. No music necessary for this class, the silence was perfect and allowed for intermittent exchanges about who were are and what brought us to where we are. She’s lived on St. John and has been teaching at Maho for 17 years.  She's raised 3 kids, the oldest being 29.  At one point she was, as she said, going to save the world as a social worker.  She worked in prisons and with kids and after some burnout realized it was just too much and that her work in the world, and the most important challenge and gift would be to simply take the time to raise three consciously aware kids. 

As I lay there in shavasana with one hand on my heart and one hand on my belly, I sighed a big sigh of hopefulness for the next 50 years of my life that will likely be sweet, sometimes bittersweet, surprising and, no doubt, an adventure.

Suki promises to keep me posted of the evolution, revolution or maybe even demolition of Maho Bay Camps.  Let’s hope the new owner has the highest level of consciousness required to keep a beautiful thing alive.

Dance of glass

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Most people might find the nearest awesome restaurant in Cruz Bay and the best bottle of rum or music or a place for a rocking Caribbean dance on their last night in St. John.   I was more than happy to put my feet up and read.  Tree frogs filled the air with easy listening music and a cool time to begin to catch up with home and call the momma and poppa and man and check in on my life that awaits. 

Dinner of tofu, risotto and mixed veggie while hanging in the dining hall was a happy meal for me.  The choices for the night’s activites were both so good that I couldn’t make up my mind. Movie? BBC’s Earth narrated by David Attenborough or  sitting on little benches in the glass studio and watching the creative dance of the two glass blowers creating a shiny blue and orange vase made of the discarded glass beer and rum bottles.  I chose a little bit of both and was perfectly satisfied.

I didn’t think I’d dig on the glass blowing as much as I did since it was one of those "been there done that" mindsets. Living in Beacon, NY by Hudson Beach Glass and watching the pros, on top of the other end of Main Street we have Niche Modern where I got to watch a friend who works there in her glory and expertise. I figured nothing could beat that. 

Well, I was wrong. This dance between the two young glass handlers was memorable and sensual and an artistic delight to watch them in their unassuming manner and their passion for the art. I dig the creative vibe of this place, from the ceramic studio stuff to woven arts.  I feel like I am Maho Bay's public relations manager, so I’ll stop here.

Oh, dare I mention a book idea though? I’ll plant the seed.  Maho Bay Camp experiences is a book unwritten. The trip advisor blurbs are not sufficient, so there should be a compilation of stories from the guests through the years. Maho Bay Chronicles or Maho Memories. Something like that.

Okay I’ll stop.

Sunshine Sandwich

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It poured in the morning and the sound of a Maho Bay rain is the right kind of alarm to wake to. It’s gentle, and it’s even more inviting when it wakes you to an unplanned last full day by the bay.

 

I went to bed relatively early, so when the rain woke me I wasn’t the least bit put out.  I did hope for some sun in the afternoon for a long sweet swim. 

That’s where the sunshine sandwich comes in. Lots of rain in morning. Sunshine. Lots of rain in the evening.  It rained pretty straight until about 1pm, so I just lounged with my book and then went way up to the yoga studio to stretch and hang out. I also got the keys to Harmony Studios, the more high end luxury accommodations here on the campground.  I have to say, even with the 500 count sheets and the bathrooms with hot showers, I’d stay in the little E10 hut again in a minute. Harmony reminded me of my little magical shack apartment up in the North Berkeley hills with a panoramic view of the entire San Francisco Bay in my Berkeley days.  It was a treehouse and a mini little chalet.  I’ve never stayed in a little wooden hut before, so E10 will remain my fave.

Okay, so how can I make a weather report interesting? Not quite sure yet, other than the fact that it stopped pouring at about 1pm as if the sky never shed a tear, the entire sky smiled a big sunny smile and the sand was dry and warm in minutes.  I swam my last swim and floated my last float (for now and it felt luxurious. I love these waters. 

There was plenty of time before I was to board the Heron at 3:45 for a sunset cruise past Great Thatch and into British waters toward Jost Van Dyke and return around the tip of Tortola at Sopers Hole.

Sigh.  You know how the weather story ends. A downpour at exactly 3:45pm – hard rain, and not the kind of rain that is a tease, the kind of rain that pours down after holding our for 7 perfect days.  So, with that in mind, I took the cancellation well and remembered a philosophy that is one I like to follow: always leave wanting more.  Yet another something to look forward to on my “yet’ list. Especially, since the Heron, and the family that built it and live on this 65 foot Schooner live in Rockport, Maine so it’s not impossible to seek them out for a ride. I mentioned it to John and he’s game.  I’m also have on my list to visit Brooklin, Maine to check out the wooden boat building school to scope it out for my dad since he’s been building a wooden boat in his doodles for decades.

Hike toward Honeymoon Bay

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There is a hiking trail from Caneel Bay straight into Cruz Bay.  I wandered along the trail past the secluded little Honeymoon Beach. It’s tiny and because it a about a 40 minute hike from town and it costs money to park at Caneel, I’m told it’s hardly ever crowded. The water was vivid, vibrant blue, and there was just one little shack to rent the gear you need. I made a mental note to come back someday with John.  No, not for a honeymoon, but for a full moon, or a perfect sunset.

I kept walking along this trail and dug into the silence and the fact that I was the only one on the trail. As I came closer to town and heard the music and the noise of this little Caribbean town, I realized how used to silence I have become. I go back to Manhattan tomorrow. Can you hear the grown in between the typos? @$#*&^)$$@!!

Vitamin Beach

I take all my necessary vitamins: my omegas and my women’s daily and definitely my B12 and more.  I believe in them. What I don’t get enough of is my Vitamin Beach.

On a recent trip to St. John in the Virgin Islands, I did.  For days I did nothing except read and lounge by the crystal-clear waters of Maho Bay Camps – an incredibly unique eco-resort in the US Virgin Islands National Park.

There is lots of do do on St. John, but it’s also a great place to do nothing.  After my nada days, I indulged in a rigorous hike to Ram’s Head—one of the best I’ve ever taken—and the next day I scheduled more nothing. When I wanted a bit of of luxury, I headed for the Caneel Bay Resort for massage and lunch.
In the course of our everyday lives, it’s hard to break away from our busy mind and lives.  On weekends we often cram in errands and bookend social plans. I sometimes make a do-nothing day on a weekend, but it’s not easy because there’s stuff to do—and that stuff is right around me in the sink or in the laundry pile or in my computer. It’s when I’m on vacation that I have the kind of time required for indulgence and huge doses of the right kind of nutrients.

At Caneel, there was no need to rush, so I had a three-hour lunch of veggie sushi and the best seaweed salad I’ve ever eaten as I sat overlooking the beach.  When I moved on to the Cabanas, I had what was called a “Bee-utiful” massage from Christie using the honey from the local beehives. My cabana was set in front of the beach, and the doors were wide open to let in the waves. 

Then it was back to the awesome, comfy and fun campground at Maho for more adventure. I simply adored this rustic camp with it’s unique tent cabins tucked away in the forest.  Mine had a view of the entire bay.  I did a little Maho travel blog post-trip, so feel free to peruse.  The only place to rush too would be Maho camps because sadly they may be losing their lease and closing soon. I might have to rush back!

Yes, we live in a rushing culture, and it’s much easier to take care of other people than to take care of ourselves. But I know the importance of putting away my gadgets and my busy mind, and once in a blue moon, I give myself the gift of time. Hanging on a beach and looking out to an endless horizon makes time and worries fade away.

We don’t really have to get on a plane—in a pinch we can step aside and visit the nearest shoreline in our minds—but scheduling some beach time isn’t a bad idea. 

Ram's Head and my fellow travelers

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I got lost. It’s not surprising. In my mind, I remembered hearing that Ram’s Head is short and quick and that’s all the info I had. I was told it’s a must – so I musted myself along the trail solo and it was a beautiful trail. It felt like it was going on too long, and finally I came across two hikers coming toward me and they looked all tuckered out, but happy.  The dude said, keep walking and you’ll see the trail past the rocky beach at the far end.  He gave me no markers – just the far end. Well, I went to the far end over big boulders. I listen to instructions too literally sometimes, and I realized at the end of this rocky beach is water, and I walked all the way to the end getting a bit scared and cranky –but once I get a destination in mind, I don’t stop, rocks or not. Rough waters though at the end put an end to my pursuit and I turned around.

Disappointed I began my walk back, looking all the while where on earth I could have missed the trail.  I saw two hikers coming toward me and they couldn’t find it either so we were all going to give up, until these two dudes came and confidently led us to an unmarked trail head that we never would have seen.  I noticed something and that is that all I need to know to feel peace again is my way. I just have to have a sense of direction and the angst goes away. Knowing I was being guided took away any worry and gave me the strength to do what I think was quite a challenging hike upward.

Okay, but of course, I have to say something here. Oh my was it amazing. In some ways it reminded me of my fave trail right off the Palace of the Legion of Honor, but without anything like a big orange bridge filled with people or a museum and a golf course. When all 5 of us reach the peak and the main dude from St Croix who led the way turned to us right before we reached peak and said “You are about to see the most beautiful view in all the world.”  I could tell that for a young guy –he’s been places, so it made me feel excited.

Along the way he picked flowers off this cactus plant and let us know it was safe to eat, and they were sweet and looked like pink chile peppers. We climbed and climbed and I was thinking Big Sur meets Mt. Beacon.  When we reached top, it was so amazing. Truly one of the most beautiful views I’ve ever seen.  We sat silently for a bit, and then our leader handed me a piece of a veggie burger and we all sat and got to know who we were just hiking with.  These two dudes who knew their way work at Ridge to Reef Farm in St. Croix and have such environmental consciousness in their young minds then I’d ever have.  It made me feel hopeful that our young are looking to train our young. 

We all walked down close together and then parted when we hit Salt Pond Bay the way that strangers part ways after spending an important piece of their lives together on top of the world.

Hamilton the Taxi Driver

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He’s been with Maho since the 70’s and helped build the place. He’s much loved.  I kept hearing Hamilton this and Hamilton that. It's all about Hamilton Taxi.  So I know I had to meet him and that I would since I scheduled myself for the Salt Pond Bay and Ram’s Head hike. 

When I told him I’m from New York, he said… “New Yorkers always worry.”   Then he shared his little wisdom of the day: “I tell people, do not worry about people that don’t worry about you.” He then shared that in the little town of Cruz Bay there is just one hospital with 8 beds and that they are always empty. He attributes this to the fact that people here just don’t worry.

Maho Bay Camp... the scoop

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The place is so unique and has the coolest vibe. There are 114 tent cottages and 12 eco-studios  perched in the forest surrounded by national park.  What makes the place special is endless. The unique boardwalks, the feeling that you are perched in a tree in a cabin tucked away with the birds and friendly forest creatures, cool people, cool vibes and cool cats. Some cabins with views, some not needing them because they are embedded in a far away spot with breezes and walls of greenery. 

 The visitor’s center with the friendly kick back camper concierges dressed in shorts and the famous tank with the green Maho tree logo.  The adorable store keepers always willing to chat it up and give advice like how to protect your electronics and ordering special veggie sandwiches from the kitchen. The registration folks ever so tolerant of camper naive questions. The swap spot where you can leave stuff you no longer need and check out the book exchange shelf. The social thing going on is awesome. If you want to chat it up or be chatted up, it's there for the chatting. If you want to hide in a book or in your hut or under a tree on the beach, it's all good. All very good.

 Overall, St. John is about 19 square miles and about two-thirds of it is national park.  Thanks to Rockefeller who purchased and donated unspoiled forestland back in the 50's.  I never fantasized about the Caribbean, but always heard that St. John is beyond typical Caribbean with the ancient rock carvings, hiking trails and sugar plantation ruins.  

Maho Bay hangs out between Cinnamon Bay and Francis Bay on St. John’s North Shore.  During the 35 or so years that it has been in business it has this big fat reputation as one of the first eco-resorts. Solar power and all. All of St. John is pretty expensive. I'm not a resort type, there is no place that is decent in St. John for under, say $400 a night. Maho isn't one of those $25 per night cabins.  High season for a basic hut is $165 w/ tax and that doesn't include any meals. Off season it's $85.  Everything adds up in St. John too -- transport and food. At least in camp land, one can bring their own chow if desired. It's all relative, as they say. We aren't vacationing 12 months out of the year.  Now wouldn't that be sweet.

The saddest news is that this is very likely the last season for Maho Bay Camps.  Built and founded by Stanley Selengut who has reported that the negotiations to extend their 37-year lease has been unsuccessful so far unless the owners of the land decide otherwise, Maho will close before July of 2013.  They have stopped taking reservations past May of 2013.  If you have an extra $23 million dollars in your pretty purse, put in an offer please.  Mainly if you want to keep the same vibe so that the many travel peeps can continue to return year after year after year -which is the story of the majority of the folks I came across. 

 I’m so pleased that I got to experience it.  It’s been around since the 1970’s and it has so much and has housed families and, now I’ve come to learn, has been the gathering place for the winter workshop seekers from Omega Institute for many a winter before they built Blue Spirit in Costa Rica. 

Mary at the desk eager to help and share her story of living at Maho and getting paid just a little to help guests. This is how she and her husband have chosen to spend their retired years. No children and all the freedom in the world. She shared with me the things to do in the time I’m here, never pushing anything, but hinting at things that I might not enjoy just based on instincts. I think she knew that I didn’t want to get trapped in tourist land and I just wanted rest mainly. Everything she directed me toward so far was exactly what I needed.

I ended up falling in love with the boardwalk and steps.  162 to the beach.  63 from my little hut to the dining hall and bathroom. When considering this place, the idea of the step thing in the middle of the night made me pause, like a very long perplexed pause, but who knew that I'd end up loving every step I took with my flashlight at night with the sound of the tree frogs leading the way.  It's hard to explain loving these board walks and steps... but it happens.  It goes with the essence of the place and wouldn't be the same without them. 

Carribean Chow

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On some little side street was a recommended Caribbean restaurant.  There is nothing too beautiful about the view, but I had to have a plate of traditional Caribbean food.  It  was a plate of  vegetables with a special sauce that I guess was Caribbean.  Place is called Sogo.  It had yummy zucchini, carrots, plantains, rice, mashed potatoes and Fungi (fungi is cornmeal with okra).  It was crowded which is a good sign, and the woman that served me was also the cook and she was super sweet.  I felt peaceful sitting there listening to fast paced Caribbean Christmas music.   The only sign that it is a Caribbean Charlie Brown Christmas tree across from the ferry station.

The food overall this trip has been just fine. Knowing that I’d be in camper girl mode, I packed my oatmeal and walnuts for breakfast and have been boiling water and making breakfasts on my little propane stove. I brought some of my healthy bread to make peanut butter sandwiches for lunch occasionally and some energy bars.  I’ve been having dinner in the main dining hall and there is  always have a veggie option which is quite yummy.  I’m not into the whole dining out thing while I’m here. I remember Italy solo, and it was all about that dining out and I loved it, but this is about fuel and people and nourishment and rest and so much more.  I have to say though that at the little general store on grounds I had this awesome wrap of tofu, pineapple and veggies and it was so amazing.  Oh, and after a day of a nice long hike and swimming at Salt Pond my body was so hot and Hamilton the friendly driver took us all to this little local place in Coral Bay and I had an island favorite called Johnny Cake which is just warm dough packed with whatever you want, cheese or tuna or meat of some kind – but plain is scrumptious – so that and the best diet coke in my life. I was so parched and the warm water from my bag wasn’t doing the trick. It was the best combo at that very moment in time.

Cinnamon Bay

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So I walked to Cinnamon Bay which is the closest destination to Maho. There is a loop hike around the what was once the most prosperous sugar cane plantation on the island. 

The campground is flat and the beach is really beautiful with the outline of trees that set the frame beautifully.  It’s small and perfect. It’s a different vibe than Maho and I was chatting with a couple who have been coming to St. John for over 17 years and the have a tent a stone’s throw away from the beach.  The woman was about 4 feet tall and a smile as wide as the bay. Her short gray hair was spiked and efficient and the lines on her face were from squinting in too much sun. She said that her husband promised to never take her on a cheap vacation so instead they moved from Boston to St John.  They gave me tips on what to do before I leave, hiking to Rams Head being one of them. We talked apples and oranges of Maho vs Cinnamon and the price and steps were the deal breaker for them.  It’s far more expensive to eat and taxi here than in the big fat capital of the world, NYC, but worth it, it seems, even if your in a tent.

I said my farewells to them and ventured to the main road to attempt hitchhiking, with their blessing and assurance that it’s commonly done. Not with the thumb though, never with the thumb, just point in the direction you are going and you will be picked up.

Sunset Yoga

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The yoga studio is perched high on a mountain in a circular structure.  I walked in to the beaming smile of Joelle the teacher who immediately came over to me beaming and shaking my hand welcoming me with his Australian accent.  He wanted to know if I had practiced before and I always say that I’m a beginner, because for me in yoga I’ll always be a beginner.  The students in the class were far from beginners and mostly, but I felt so peaceful and stretched beyond my norm mainly because Joelle invited all levels and gave modified poses along with advanced. More importantly for me the setting inspired my body to open more expansively and generously. It was just so beautiful to be in this setting as the sky opened up to orange and we looked out at the bays and felt the breezes in the open air.

After yoga with just the light of my little light, I walked down the hill to dinner and sat near a woman who had been coming to Maho since the 70’s with her family and now her kids are in college and would be joining her in the next few days. She’s travel worldwide and she’s knows all the luxury places on the island and I get the sense that staying high end wouldn’t be an issue, but here she is at Maho in the little tent cottage. She has no desire to be in one of those big resorts and when it’s time for dinner wondering what to wear. 

What I love about being away, and especially being at a place like this, is that my eyes thank me for not coating them with dark lines and mascara. My hair thanks me for giving it a break from the heated objects. My skin thanks me for the moisture and for letting it be all natural and my body thanks me for wrapping it ino lose clothing and giving it some rest.

After dinner, me and my flashlight walked up the steps to my little hut so my body could thank me even more for an evening of reading and going to bed by 9:30. Yes, 9:30.

Floating

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After a long stretch of morning and breakfast in my little Gilligan’s Island hut, I moved myself down the stairs slowly. I have entered the no rush zone.  My only agenda was to go to the beach with a book.

I parked myself in a little spot that allowed me to hang stuff on a tree and stayed on the beach for hours. Some swimming, some lounging with me, a book and sun block on little Maho beach.

The water: Not only is it a turquoise color, but it’s not too chilly to just get in there. One reason I don’t love swimming in the ocean is because it’s usually such extreme cold to the contrast of a warm heated body.  Not to mention the roughness of it all. I like calm waters. I like floating. I like no currents dragging me to the other end of a beach and I have to force myself back. I like playing dead and when I come alive again being in the same happy spot.

I swam, I did back stokes, breast strokes and doggy paddle. I chose where I wanted to go in the stillness of the water. I swam out to this little yellow sailboat and back, and then I worked my way over toward Big Maho Bay which was just a contour away and a bigger stretch of beach.  I passed the exotic fish and turtle seeking snorkel people who looked all disappointed that they didn’t see what they were seeking.

As I floated, I thought about snorkeling.  I’ve snorkeled in the past and I’ve attempted to get certified for scuba because that was what everyone was doing once when I was at Turks Caicos. This trip I figured I’d be snorkeling like most people do.

Until I thought about it as I floated above the water. I thought about the purpose of this water on earth and how it is used to transport vessels from one part of a country or city or bay to another. I wonder though, is that the purpose for these waters? Or is it a world in and of itself that existed before we found a use for it? Bingo. All of a sudden we humans began to see it as a means to transport goods and beings and we began to pollute the waters with our fumes and our missions.  We began to fish in it for food and dive in it for recreation.

I decided that I am not going to dive in it as a voyeur to watch the underworld and how they live. There are enough people doing that. I decided to believe in the mystery of it all and to leave them alone with me and my snorkel gear.  I know there are sea turtles. I know what they look like.

I’m sure there is some beauty under me as I swim in these waters, and I’m grateful that the beings in these waters allow me to swim and float and move my body in the glory of it, but I don’t need to put on a mask and fins and gadgets and goop at them living their lives undersea.  It made me think of hunters going in the woods as if it’s their right and shooting animals for sport. It made me think of the hooks at the end of fishing poles being toss into a peaceful sea or bay teasing these mammals with enticing food only to hook them, kill them and slice them up or throw them back because they are not good enough.

I won’t fish. I won’t scuba and I won’t snorkel.  Just like I don’t want anyone peering down on me for recreation or far worse coming into my home and shooting me so they can brag about it later.

Now, on a lighter, warmer note about swimming:  it’s just so good for my body and I love the weightlessness of it. I used to love my swims in the UC Berkeley pool and the gym at Equinox and I’ve let that all go because of the busy factor of life, and frankly, because it takes time and I get all wet a sticky and can’t just go for a swim at lunch hour. Nevertheless, I do love it.  I still have the little medal I won at Kiddy Beach and remember my mom cheering me on as I swam from raft to raft and won that race.

While I was swimming and feeling the warmth of the sun as I floated on my back I went into this place of imagining the womb. It was just so beautiful. So safe and I thought of how awesome it is that we start our lives this way.  We float around in this warm fluid as we are connected in the deepest and most profound way possible to another human being. As I floated, I felt such deep gratitude for my mother who nurtured five of us this way. I thought of pregnant women and how this nine month period should be a time of being still and just experiencing that, and nothing else. Learning about this life, rubbing their tummies and speaking softly to this growing human floating inside their bellies. I thought of how it must have felt to be there. I felt the sadness that comes from time to time that as a woman with this body that is capable of such an experience, didn’t have one.  I didn’t get to feel that sensation and bring a child to life and no matter how I mask that with all of the justifications and rationalizations and understandings, there are times that I enter a realm of deep sadness that I missed out on something so profound that words only minimize it, I’m sure.

Still, I float and feel the sensations, honor my choices and keep swimming and remember how much I truly do adore my freedom. 

Maho Morning

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It was okay in the morning post roach. More than okay.  I awoke to the sound of light rain and darkness and it felt so safe in my little dry hut that I happily rolled over and went back to sleep.  I woke in the sunlight with my little bedroom curtains flowing in the breeze and hearing the sound of the waves from the bay.  I sat up and looked around at the lush green trees around me swaying.  I saw the blue and white sky and  gazed out at the openness, I lost count of the butterflies swarming around me.  In spite of the bug phobia, I still had my limbs and no infestations under my pillow.  My geiko friend was still around, very close to my pillow and I looked more closely at it and after a night of sleep I noticed the beauty of this little creature from the Geico commercial.  Harmless and eyeing this big human that entered it’s home. Little green eyes staring me down.

There is no time to rush today. No time to rush (thanks Tara Brach for that phrase).  My tendency is to have an agenda and have some place to go and things to see.  Instead, I stretched out on the bed and did some yoga moves and boiled some water for some oatmeal.  Walked my 63 steps to brush my teeth and happily walked back. I lounged with Caroline Myss’s Anatomy of the Spirit, a book I’ve shelved for years and felt like I read, but as I get older, I love re-visiting teachers and authors.

Knowing the pioneer that she is and how groundbreaking this book was at the time in 1996 I come to realize that certainly at that time I was too busy at The Sign of the Dove. Too busy on the verge of a new adventure to California that came from the closing of nine years at this cool place.  If I picked up a book like this at that time, I don't remember.  I was into other stuff at the time,  like moving and laying on top of my roof in my new found mountain top home in North Berkeley reading Do What You Love And The Money Will Follow and exploring the possibilities of continuing my education at that campus that I could see from my rooftop with it’s campanile concerts at noon and 6pm daily.  All I did was read and relax with my two kitties who came from the brick of Manhattan to their new treehouse in the sky. 

A few relationships later and a degree from UC Berkeley, I came across Caroline Myss’s book while dating Chris the yogi.  He was reading Sacred Contracts and again I was too busy in my mind with other things and in my heart with other spiritual practices and pursuing my massage certification and my this or that.  I had no real time for the message of intuitive healing, I guess.  I remember when I broke up with Chris, this book was one of those things that I had of his and loaded it up in a big shopping bag for the stuff exchange. I never cracked the book. 

It’s not as if I haven’t gotten it similar messages through other teachers and felt it in my soul. It’s not as if I haven’t honed my own intuitive skills through the years, but now as I read these pages I feel like I have circled back to the original source of this knowledge. 

Some quotes from her book that have reinforced my knowledge of intuitive healing:

“biography becomes our biology”

“Talking does not heal, taking actions heal.”

“Our relationship to our power is at the core of our health.”

“We are biological creations of divine design. Once this truth becomes a part of your conscious mind, you can never again live an ordinary life.”

“Again and again the sacred texts tell us that our life’s purpose is to understand and develop the power of the spirit, power that is vital to our mental and physical well-being.  Abusing this power depletes our spirit and siphons the life-force itself out of our physical bodies.”

Enough said. 

My little hut

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I’m not a camper chic.  My first time ever camping was Burning Man and that was a complete shock to my system, until day two when I adapted to Black Rock City and the awesomeness of dirt camping and what we called Pamper Camp.  Three burning men later, I knew it was possible to camp.  My partner knows everything about camping, but we have never really been out there in the wilderness together, yet. I know that is on our horizon and the only time we have been in a tent is when he set it up in the back yard at the Vermont gatherings we attend with a group of our friends and there is no extra room for us in the house. I got a bit cranky having to get up in the middle of the night to enter the house to use the bathroom.  I still have a ways to go to become a camper cave woman.

Why am I talking camp talk? Because I am at one.  It is day two of my time at Maho Bay Camps and it’s not dirt camping and it’s not true wilderness camping with bears poking around outside, but it sure has some creepy crawly critters. 

After a nice dinner of vegetarian gumbo on the deck overlooking the night sky that I got to watch go pitch black with a sliver of a moon and stars that I know exist even in my Manhattan sky.  It was beautiful, and lovely to connect a bit with two gals from Georgia who were curious to know about the devastation of the two Sandy disasters (Sandy Hook and Hurricane Sandy) – and as I listened to myself talk about what I knew, it felt like a foreign language in this setting and like I was poisoning the air by giving it any time under the canopy of a Caribbean sky.  It felt good though to listen to the buzz of conversation around me and the clanking of the dishes and cook calling out the name of the guest to come fetch their plate of food.  So, you see it’s not true camping.

It’s pitch black here at night other than my flashlight guiding me up the winding and cool wooden elevated stairway with it’s 63 steps from the dining hall that lead to the tent camp E10.  162 to the beach, btw. I got freaked out by the darkness, but the sounds of the crickets helped soothe me.  Slept with a geiko looking over my bed and I figured, I entered the home of the geiko so technically I’m the intruder.  What I didn’t like is the blind roach that lost its way and was hopping all over my bed. I know that if I didn’t see it, it wouldn’t bother me, but once you spot a blind roach, it doesn’t make for a fun sleeping.  I’m sympathetic to the blind, but not the blind roach. If I ever see one in my apartment, I’m pretty much up all night.

One phone call from my man helped to calm me down and remind me that the morning it will be okay. 

Déjà vu at Maho Bay

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I had this feeling of déjà vu and I couldn’t shake it. Then I found out that Omega Institute used to have their winter workshops and retreats here at Maho Bay.  As I walked the grounds, I had this sense that some really rich and meaningful stuff happened here. After having met Stephan Rechtschaffen, the co-founder of Omega when I was at Blue Spirit, Costa Rica last year,  and seeing the similarities in the architecture of the yoga space and vibe of the two places, it just made so much sense. He built Blue Spirit. Prior to that, the winter Omega events were at Maho Bay Camps.  Even though Blue Spirit is a bit upscale in comparison, the sensibilities are the same and the energy is still here at Maho Bay. Same energetic thing going on. Déjà vu is so cool.

In route

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When I venture out on a trip, I like to jot a few things down for the sake of my memory and I don’t begin when I land, I usually begin in the prep mode, because travel has that scurrying around factor that is part of the experience. 

One of my main goals of daily living is to completely stop rushing and to get to bed early.  Right.

I have rushed to airports before and had the feeling that I might miss the flight, and I have had that Zen ample time and feeling the sunlight as I walked in the terminal vs taking the moving walkway.  One thing that has never, ever happened is sleeping through my alarm and waking, for example, close to 7am for a flight at 8:10am.   

So much for my morning routine of getting on my yoga mat, having my sitting time with Simba with my decaf and orange, peeled slowly. So much for my casual walk to the F train and $5.50 air train ride to JFK.  So much for making my bed.

If not for my confident cab driver, Kahn, $67.00 and the fact that most everyone in Manhattan and Queens were still in bed, I would not be on this plane looking out the window above all the chaos of the waking streets below looking out at the vast blue and white sky. 

I can vow that I’ll never rush when I’m traveling or when I’m just living my life, but I would likely fail because never is a long time. I can see about using this trip as a path to a little self forgiveness, minimum of 8 hours sleep and a louder ringtone on my alarm.