The Life Nomadic with Rachel Chase

No Words

It's funny how you can be so prepared and so totally unprepared all at once.

Welcome to my life.

I had carefully checked off all my "master pack list". I am no stranger to voyages, near, far, and everywhere in between. I've perfected the art of travel to narrowing down exactly which things are necessary and absolutely insignificant for each country and/or region around the world. some places you better bring your own sunscreen. and some places, for hell's sake, pack your favourite tampons.

I thought I had this one covered. A simple, and brief (by my standards; my walkabouts tend to always inevitably end up way overextended) journey to the UK, and nearabouts, with my best friend (for part of the duration). One suitcase, albeit a super large (thank you REI & sexy rugged ex boyfriend) and durable one. In a pinch, I could pack a dozen refugees safely inside, should my civic world duty call. But to this point, it had all my basic needs. And then my boots. My leather, designer, boots. What I was thinking when I packed those things, I don't know. Not only are they very uncomfortable, although damn foxy!, they are bulky and heavy to pack around. But somehow it was all ok, I could fit everything inside this very saavy large rei burnt orange aerodynamic rolling suitcase. Yay for me! or not.

Despite my highly decorated professional vagabonding experience and precisely packed suitcase, I was no match for something Londoners refer to as .. The Tube. Endless tunnels, stairs, finicky pay gates, walkways (like a 2km long!), corners, one way escalators, and worst of all-- ridiculously chock full of people. ALL the time. In a rush, ALL the time. and seeming to know exactly where they are going, ALL the time.

That's where He comes in. Who is "He", you ask? I don't know. I didn't know then, and I will never know now. If you asked me what I really believe, I would honestly report "He" was an angel. In disguise, of course, but nonetheless, a full blown, touch-me-I'm-real, life angel.

He came out of nowhere. Which to be fair, was a teeming crowd of English + etc folks pouring down into the underground like water down the street gutter after a heavy rain. It was ON. And there I was, paralyzed with the weight of my saavy bag amidst a swirling wave of city dwellers expertly navigating their way through and by the Tube. I wasn't sure, at that moment, if I would be swallowed by the Wave to disappear into London oblivion, or knocked to and fro and left in scattered pieces at the bottom of the stairs, missing my train, and ending up, nowhere, fast.

But there, He was. My shining white knight of the Underground. He wasn't white, actually. He was dark with mystery, like a character out of a story, a middle eastern robin hood, or prince who would be king. Out of the threatening wave I saw his hand on my bag before I even could focus on his face emerging from the crowd. He smiled at me, warmly and honestly, and without skipping a beat in this furious vein of passersby, he scooped up my bag and ushered me down the endless flight of stairs in his handsome wake. At the gates, he left me, also, without skipping a beat, as if he did this sort of gallantry all day long without blinking a dark beautiful lash. Before I could even whisper strongly "thank you" in my californian-esque american accent.

And then he was gone. Swallowed himself, in the magnificently labyrinthine London Underground.

No words.

I think I lost 8 pounds that week. Thank you Underground. What I gained in the end though, was learning a little bit more about what exactly should go inside your suitcase, and what shouldn't. And most of all, what to let go of, and what to hang on to, with all your heart. It's a bit like life, you see. You might not always pack the right bag, but you've carried yourself this far. And if even that becomes too great a burden to bear, "He" will be there. The One with No words, just a smile, and the grace of humanity, in all it's namelessness.

Checking Out

It seems I'm often up at reception.  I've been here a long time, but I like to check in now and then and say hi to the staff, but also I keep changing my plans, which means they keep changing my room.  I haven't been fighting for control or territory because I like to change.   I like the different vibration, or energy that comes with each new move and room.  Especially the change of scenery.  Like today, when I checked out of my latest room.  I was standing at the desk waiting for them to organize the transition, elbows resting up on the counter, and fingers drumming mindlessly on the wood, as my eyes drifted and wandered around the room, and then outside to anything that was more interesting than what was in front of me.  Timing is a beautiful thing.  There he was.  Up through the window above the doorway leading out of reception, I could see him, perfectly framed by the glass, almost too perfectly, standing on his second floor balcony,as if this was a show, and he the star, brushing his teeth.  Shirtless, tanned, unbelievably toned and cut, I blinked twice to make sure it was real, he was real.  He was.  He was really brushing his teeth too. And it was really  really hot.  brushing teeth...what is it about a virile raw beautiful man that he can simply brush his teeth in the morning sunlight, shirtless and strapping, standing next to potted tropical flowers, and I am fawning.  I think I could have stood there for hours waiting for another room, watching him brush his teeth, or comb his hair, or pack up his surfboard, or whatever else he fancied doing.  Turns out my new room, on the ground floor, directly faces and looks up into his, on the second floor. I suppose you take the stairway to heaven to get to him;  My god of dental hygiene.   Maybe it's true what they say... Location Location Location.

 

*composed in some guest house, on some island, far far away, once upon a time. 

Kissing Hugh Grant in Temple Square

(The first in a series of my memoirs affectionately titled)

"The London Files"

I don't remember his name, the color of his eyes, the way he smelled, or anything we talked about in the crowded noisy pub that night really.  I do remember he looked like Hugh Grant, a younger version, and he was English.  I remember he had a reserved and mysterious way of regarding me as I chatted with all his friends, and was one of the last of the lads in the group to actually address me directly.  The night wore on with many rounds and much laughter and amusement..
He later led me around the Temple Square district of Dublin by the hand, refusing to let go..always holding on to me, as if the second he dropped a physical connection to me, I would vanish.  He had offered to help me find someone I had, earlier in the day, arranged to meet in some pub..Another man.  Maybe he had hoped by holding on, and being a gentleman, I would forget where I wanted to go, and stay with him instead.  He kindly and determinedly, and amusingly probed and queried every barman, or gatekeeper, at every turn as we tried to track down this certain pub, asking for its whereabouts.  I was content for awhile, to be escorted through the wild streets of Dublin on a weekend night full of foreign and local revelers and drunks and pick up artists, and grateful for his amusing and abrupt English way of getting to the bottom of our direction-less quest.  I was a bit enamoured of his accent, and his British words and manner of speaking.  So I continued to entrust my hand, and my path to him.  At last we actually came upon this so called pub with the so called man waiting inside for me.  We stood outside, in the middle of the intersection and pedestrian streets, under the amber glow of the antique streetlamps, with the rain soaked cobblestones gleaming beneath and around us in no certain order.  We were two, among many.  Many others all carousing and merry making in their own directions and groups and coupled-ness, all of us lost in or encircled by a mischief filled night and unspoken agendas. 
He stood there, still holding my hand, still hesitant to let go, staring into my eyes with a silent wonder.  Time seemed oblivious to us, and rushed on past and around us but not touching us, just like every other body in the streets, but here we were in our own circle of magic mysterious encounters.  I met his eyes, but I didn't answer whatever question he was asking.  I had other places to go, and things were already in motion, I couldn't back out now.  I began to pull away, and turn toward the entrance to the basement club.  He quickly reached for my other hand, so now there was even less distance between us, and it became clear that was what he intended all along.   Before I could pull away, He leaned in and kissed me, gently, and softly, and if kisses could be forms of questions, he was still asking, but without being pushy or arrogant.  I resisted at first, caught off guard, suddenly self aware that there were so many people around us, probably watching us, and maybe the truth is they didn't care, it was all part of "the scene". 
When I set out earlier that evening, alone, and unsure as to what the night would reveal, I never imagined I'd be standing in the middle of Dublin, in the middle of Temple Square, kissing Hugh Grant.  But here I was, with him, suspended in an ethereal sphere, late in the night,  in the middle of a romantic bewitching kiss.  So I let go, not of his hands, but of my inhibitions, and agenda, and worries about what happened next, or what it all meant.  I just surrendered to the feeling of being sweetly kissed underneath a dark Irish sky lit by amber lamps.  It was tempting, to stay inside that magic circle, stay locked in his undefined imploring soft lips.  But something held me back, kind of like that in between stage of waking and dreaming, where you have unfinished business in the dream, and could carry on with the story, but you're really not meant to stay there in the dreamworld where there is no guarantee of returns.  So I let go, this time of his hands, and backed away from his still silent but questioning lips and eyes.  We just gazed at each other, wordless, as I continued to back away slowly toward the club.  I tried to answer his questions with my own silent eyes and lips.  but There were no words, nothing that needed to be said or explained, the night was..what it was.  And he watched me, resignedly, silently,  still standing there inside our enchanted space, walk away.  And then I turned out of view and disappeared into the building without him. 
As I walked down the stairs the loud thumping bass and flashing strobe lights quickly broke my street light reverie and started to overtake where I'd been.  I paused abruptly in my tracks, and stopped descending the stairs,  I took a deep breath, and closed my eyes for a brief moment.  Remembering not his name, nor where he came from nor where he was going, but what it felt like to be deliciously and surprisingly connected in an entrancing and lovely sweet kiss with a gentle handsome stranger on a magical Dublin night. 

Sacred Spaces

I'm back from my magical mystery adventure in England and Ireland!  I didn't have time to post or upload my stories and pictures while I was away, but I intend to start sharing soon.  thanks for stopping by!

sparkles, starlight, sunshine, freedom, and joy to all~

(The Cliffs of Moher, West Coast Ireland)

Brothers and Sisters

Greetings, from San Francisco! Which is actually where I grew up, so it feels Delicious to be here again.  This is where all of my four brothers were born (and my sister).  speaking of..

I have a new brother!  We don't really look anything alike, except that we are both short.  or as I prefer to see it, "travel size".  He is quite older, and we don't even speak the same language!  Except we do.  You see he is from Mongolia and his name is "Otgon".  He very carefully taught me how to pronounce it yesterday.  I appreciated that because it didn't just slip off the tongue.  In return he wanted me to explain to him my perspective on what I thought he was calling, "fables", but later I realized he was actually saying "pebbles".   He speaks pretty good English through a very thick accent and I of course speak absolutely NO Mongolian.  Despite our age difference, and cultural and language barriers, and all the rest of the seeming dissimilarities, we felt an instant connection and camaraderie with each other when we met in class yesterday.   I turned to him as I sat down in a random seat and I smiled into his broad wrinkled face where dark eyes peeked out with an energy of sincerity.  My smile fell naturally into the space between us and was met instantly and easily by his own.  And that was pretty much that. 

We didn't actually speak or become related until a bit later.  When we had a chance to chat more he recognized Utah from my name badge and said he knew many people from Utah doing service work in Mongolia.  I think he was talking about missionaries, but I'm not sure because he said they teach English and build things.  He is a doctor.  and I think a bit of a scientist.  We had a broken but earnest discussion about "fables" and pebbles and energy and the distances between two points.    We were intent on assimilating this idea that anything in your life you are not totally keen on, you can shift or release, just as you would a pebble into a pond.  It could be some tension in your neck, it could be a nagging feeling of fear or incessant program of worry.  It could be a limiting belief about yourself or a relationship pattern that does not bring your soul ultimate joy and harmony in the learning process.  It could be that maddening stretch of traffic that is plugging up your route, or a mobile phone that all of sudden stops working. 

We talked about healing, and endless possibilities.  We mused about dimensions and parallel worlds and the Realm of the Heart.  You see, we did actually speak the same language.  We were actually speaking it the second I sat down that morning and took a moment to acknowledge his presence, and he echoed mine, and we weren't even speaking at all!  We found a translation for similar notions of what this life or living is really about and we easily communicated to each other the deepest truth of all and that was Unity.  It showed up as friendliness, and openness, and trust (as I later experienced when we traded turns doing hands on healing sessions), and happiness.  We seemed to be on equal footing from before we were even aware the other existed.  When we finally did make an actual intersection of physical realities in that seminar room, it all melted together as if it was always meant to be that way.  It was effortless between us.  Not like a lot of interactions with strangers, who later become slightly less than strangers.     Before I left the room for the evening we hugged and said good night to each other.   He held my hand strongly, yet gently in his own, and he looked me in the eyes and said, "You are my sister."  Just like that.  No explanation, no leading up to it, no embellishment.  Just a simple confirmation in his own words of the union he felt between us.  I liked him, a lot, but I was still a little surprised to hear this.  Your sister?! I thought to myself, as if for a second I wanted to deny it or feel unworthy about it.  But just as instantly I knew exactly what he meant.  I could feel it.  And I smiled broadly back at him and quickly agreed, "Yes.  Yes, I am." 

I am an American pixie and he is a Mongolian doctor.  We don't even speak the same language.  Except we do.  The only real language that ever really exists on the planet  is what we had been experiencing and practicing and talking about all day in class.  The distance from one soul to another is actually no distance at all.  We are all one.  Our heart fields, the literal physical and energetic space around us is always engaging at all times with everything and everyone we come into awareness of.  The only trick to understanding each other is to recognize this field.  All we have to do is open up to it, embrace it, and let the soft echoes of love and joy of living and presence of being fill up that space around us, between us, and inside of us. 

I have a new brother and now I have 6 total.  I have a feeling if I really counted all my brothers and sisters the number would keep climbing and climbing.  Stars in the sky seems an appropriate metaphor here.  Many stars among many universes.  All infinitely and gloriously expanding and shifting all the time. 

That's pretty darn cool.   

being magical

it all started with a cigarette.  and I don't even smoke.  but sometimes there is a "thing" that gets you to the "thing" and it is not the "thing" you think its going to be. 

 

to be continued...

Offshore

This morning I ate breakfast on the curb.   yes, that's right. sitting on the curb, with my feet over the gutter.  all by myself.  and if you think that's weird, you wouldn't be the only one.  two gossipy ladies jogged by with a dog, and they gave me a strange look.  We're in La Jolla after all.   perhaps eating grapefruit on the curb on a bright Sunday morning is not posh enough.   I smiled, but I wanted to yell after them saying, "in the cirlces I travel, YOU would be the weird ones..hahaha," with a fading snicker.  cuz its true, back home in SEAsia,  people who jog around would be stared at, not me; sitting on the curb, alone, eating breakfast.   

I woke up today deciding it was time for some shifts.  time to do something new. because where I come from, we all know that the only way to create different results, is to try something new.  Take some risks.  and I'm all about taking risks.  Every time I step into an airplane and head off to a different country I am taking a risk.   Every time I slow down and engage a stranger along my path, I am taking a risk.  but cool things happen to me because of it.  so I'm ok with risks.   and I'm sure as hell ready for some cool things to happen to me right now.  that is why I'm doing things different today.  like eating in the gutter. 

It had rained all night.  lots. I stood outside for awhile last night, just marveling at the torrent of water rushing down the streets and flooding the gutters.  so this morning I was a bit surprised it had all but disappeared, and the sky was quite blue and clear and the ocean in the distance was calm and smooth as I stood on the sidewalk watching it all.  another strange thing was that there were no cars parked on the street in front of my friend's house.  so it seemed to be just waiting for me to sit there.  I didn't think twice, more like automatically I just sat down and resumed eating my grapefruit and cinnamon raisin toast.   I decided to eat grapefruit because I wanted to feel fresh and spicy. I decided to eat bakery raisin toast because I wanted to feel grounded and whole.  and apparently I decided to sit down in the gutter because I wanted to feel like I was connected to all life around me, and the environment.  it just goes to show that sometimes the wiser part of us knows just what to do when we're feeling crappy and ready for better ways of being.  all you have to do is surrender to yourself.  don't ask questions if you're directed to lounge in the gutter and people stare at you!

I am staying at my friend's house, she lives on Marine Street, which I think is a sign.  and you can see the ocean at the end of her street to the West, another bonus.  I once dated a guy that lived on Island and Market streets.  at the time, I thought that was a sign as well.  turned out it was only a sign that he was a big jerk.  and there was only room on his island for one ego and that was his, but I forgave him for that.  I'll never forget being passionately kissed on Island street as huge aircraft flew past on their way to landing at the nearby airport.  I remember feeling carried away in those kisses, just as those passengers must have felt, and excited about where this journey was taking me.  It is risky to give my heart away to a dashing handsome sophisticated man on Island street.  but he was the best kisser I've ever known so at least I have that as a souvenir.   

Today I changed my clothes and wore a skirt even though the sky loomed gray in the horizon.   "To skirt or not to skirt, that is the question."  What is the big deal about a skirt you wonder?  Wearing my pixie skirt (picked up in a Thai market for $2), made me feel free, feminine, brave, and summery.   However there is danger in wearing a skirt.  Sometimes it might not behoove one to be wearing a skirt, but today, I was taking risks.   I was deciding to do things a little differently than I had yesterday.  and it has made all the difference.  I was able to wade through the waves and tide pools and find really cool rocks, because I was wearing a skirt.  The Sun spent a lot of time warming my face and legs because I had willed it into sticking around just by being a walking prayer, immersed in gratitude for it.  The Surf was clean, small, and slow, so the surfers seemed relaxed and open today.  I am always around them so it is nice when they smile or pass by me with a soft energy intertwined with the connection and communion to the Sea.

Today I feel bright, fresh, whole, and intriguing.  A huge shift indeed from yesterday, when I felt alone, uncertain, and gray. 
and it all started with giving into the magic of a grapefruit.  Which is really just a metaphor.  On the outside, grapefruit isn't flashy and exciting. but cut it open, dive in, and let yourself be carried away by the experience of it.  sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, sometimes juicy, sometimes structured.  separated within itself yet connected overall to the whole. ..and there's the the yin/yang thing, it can be split in two creating dual energies. 

It was a little risky to step into a new space and eat breakfast in the gutter.  but I think about those ladies jogging down the street doing things exactly the way they always do and where is the adventure in that?  Now it is me having the last laugh, because I know what it means to create something different by surrendering to the magic that is always with me, always around me, and always within me.   

Yesterday was onshore...and Today was an offshore day.  If you surf you know what that means.  If you don't, I'll explain it quickly.   Onshore means all the elements  are against you.   Especially the wind.  It makes your waves, (and life), messy, unpredictable, and generally challenging.  Offshore wind generally creates ideal surfing conditions because it holds up the face of the wave so you can catch that perfect barrel. 

The cool thing about Wind is it really does a great job at shifting...changing direction...keeping its integrity.   

I am grateful for Wind, for waves, for surf, for freedom to change directions, and the ability to shift my consciousness and experience in life.


"All of us are in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.."  -oscar wilde

I am also grateful for sunshine, grapefruit, sidewalks, and stars. 

   

The Art of Peace

Out beyond ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing there is a field. I'll meet you there.   -Rumi

He looks over at me and smiles, gently, easily, serenely.  He must have felt my eyes fixed behind him, gazing out the small window, on the crimson reds and burnt oranges that line the sky with a high altitude sunset.  From here, all I can see are clouds and colors.  Nothing else, just these simple elements stretched across the horizon as we fly toward another country.  For a minute I am lost in this beauty burning away with the departure of the Sun.  And then its gone.  Just like that.  The darkness engulfs our aircraft and I reluctantly turn my eyes back toward the seat in front of me.  Not speaking, just breathing. 

The flight attendant and cart move on past our row and he turns to me and holds forward his new cup of ice and apple juice.  I regard him quizzicly.  He still doesn't speak, and nor do I.  But then I realize it is because he probably can't speak.  English, that is.  I'm still unsure what his intentions are, but I continue to look at him with open eyes because he is continuing to hold out his hand with the cup teetering in my direction.  "For me?" I decide to ask him, because I can't figure out what he really wants.  He nods "yes" and gently releases the cup into my own hands.  I'm a little shocked.  Why is he giving me his apple juice he just paid for?  and why am I having so much trouble accepting it?  I set it down on my tray and look over at him.  With a slightly suspicious nagging in my head, I quickly remember to thank him sincerely.  He just smiles again, gently, again, and returns intently to the sheet of paper on his own tray, spotlighted by the overhead light above him. 

I sip my juice, gratefully, but thirstily.  How did he know I was dying for liquids, but didn't have any cash to buy airline food...?  Why did he give me his juice?  I still wonder.  What does he want from me?  But still he doesn't speak.  And nor do I.  He doesn't even seem to be waiting for a chance to speak, or an angle to take to chat me up.  So I begin to relax back into my chair, staring down into my already emtpy apple juiced cup.  "Thank you..." the thought I don't say but drifts slowly through my head and sinks down into the place where all other errant thoughts go. 

After a bit he finally speaks.  He asks me a question, about his immigration card, the sheet he had been staring at.  "What this mean?" He asks timidly.  I peek over and translate for him.  He smiles and nods, and returns to marking it with his pen, carefully, very carefully, I think, considering I always scratch those things out in 5 seconds letting my penmanship fly all over the paper in barely legible scrawls. 

Again, we sit with the middle seat between us, in our respective silences.  I stare at the seat in front of me, then wander my vision across the aisle, and up to the ceiling.. and I run out of things to look at.  So I decide to be polite.  I speak, and I say, "Where are you from?"  Because he looks like he's from the Middle East.  "Iraq" he answers, gently smiling again.  I feel surprised, but not really, like I said he looked like he was from over there somewhere.  But I don't meet many Iraqis.  And I am American.  He is Iraqi.  We are at War. 

He is young.  He is dressed neatly, and semi-casually.  He is clean, and quiet,  Well-mannered.  He seems serene, and simple.  I continue to consider him, quietly from my own seat, and my own country.  He doesn't seem tortured, or conflicted, or angry.  Not even a spark of recognition or judgment flickered in his eyes when my speech revealed my nationality.  How is that possible, I wonder. 

by now I realize, and can sense, that he doesn't want anything at all from me.  Not like the other men who approach me all the time, because I am young, and genuine, and traveling alone.  I can sense he is just quietly living his life without any ulterior motive.  His Iraqi life. Again, the space between us fills with silence.  There is no tension.  No fear.  Just kindness.  He gave me his apple juice.  He gave me his apple juice.  This fact keeps tumbling over and over in my mind, I just can't let it go.  He gave me his apple juice just because he is a nice person. 

It is then I almost start to cry.  Not because of the graceful kindness of a stranger, but because I realize there are probably hundreds more like him.  Other men, and women, and children out there, Iraqi people, just quietly living their lives, quietly and easily giving to other people.  or trying to..Except we are killing them.  We have brought war and terror to their streets, their homes, and their families.

I grasp the empty cup tightly in my hands, staring down into the melting ice,  willing the tears to stay un fallen.  Its as if by letting go of the cup this experience will shatter and disappear.  And I want to hang onto it.  I want to hang onto him, who is teaching me that it is simple, and easy, and sweet, to quiet the battles all around and win the war from the inside out.  There is no war inside of him.  Only peace.  So that is what he lives and demonstrates in his quiet actions.  Is it possible that we could stop the raging Wars around our fragmented World if every chance we got, we demonstrated peace and a little goodwill? Instead of selfishness and hate and ignorance? 

Is this the answer, right here in front of me on a budget airline way up in the Asian sky?  That an American woman and an Iraqi man, can sit side by side in complete serenity and unspoken friendship, with the same destination in mind, though different experiences when we get there?

My heart is still breaking as I feel the weight of death and destruction that fills that place far away, a place I will never be.  What can I do about it? I wonder forlornly.   I steal a curious and concerned glance over at him again; my simple and serene Iraqi angel of apple juice.  There is just something about him I can feel, and know, even in the absence of words or gestures or movement.   He is what  peace should look and be like...  I feel like I can trust him.

a gentle and warm calm begins to push the sadness away from my heart, because that tormented world is still far away, beyond my reach.  and right now his energy and kindness is filling the space between us, and around us.  It is making me forget about the blacks and whites in a gray world.

Right now, I feel like, together, we are winning the war.

At Home at the End of the World

I love where I'm at.

It feels really good to say that.  I love..where...I am...

That was the first thing on my mind this morning as I lay in bed watching the stormy Sea surge and foam outside my window.   Actually, no, it was the second thing.  The first was wondering who awoke me with a text.  It was a text from an ex.  that is fun to say as well.  He asked if I was ok.. how cute is that?

Last night I had wandered down a dangerous path..and stood peering over the edge of my reason into wild and dangerous things...and people.  People with beautiful and appealing eyes, but veiled intentions.  I ended up walking away, away into the dark and stormy night, alone..with the rain beading down my face and my feet slipping through the puddled dirt, I trekked uphill into the trees, making my way toward the jungle and away from the crashing surf.  Going home.  To my place, at the end of the road, at the end of the rocks, the edge of the Sea, at the beginning of the West, and at the end of the World.   

I slept soundly, even with the wind and water beating against my windows, and the imminence of danger lingering in my mind.  So when I awoke this morning to a slightly calmer ocean, and a slightly calmer spirit, and a text from an ex..I felt "ok."   I felt lucky to be sleeping and lying next to the Salty Sea, stretching out into the West in alternating sections of blues and greens.  and I felt relieved I had turned around at the right time last night, just as the storms came, and just as the portal to a dangerous path stood wide open begging me to enter.  Part of me wanted to join them, to follow him.."I'll take care of you." He said, his blue eyes igniting with levels of meaning.  "You can trust me." Said the other, his face dark and mysterious with history and experience.  But I didn't...trust him..or his eyes, or his experience..or their promises.  So I stole away, into the monsoon rains in the deep hours of the night.  That's why I got a text from an ex.  Because I asked him a question before I made it safely to my bungalow at the edge of the Sea.  He answered..and that was enough for me to hang onto, something familiar and warm until I could be back in a space where I felt somewhat protected and away from dangerous choices.

This morning it was he asking the question.."hope you're ok.."  And I was..and that felt good..and as I ate breakfast @ Zest with Sebastian, from Norway, and Claire, from Amsterdam, we smiled and laughed and talked about last night's adventures.  And they told me how they were ultra worried when they lost track of me last night and I disappeared down the dangerous way, all by myself..with strangers.  They were happy to see me turn up at breakfast, intact, smiling, and ok.  And then
we resumed pouring over day old newspapers reading up about the plane crash in Phuket, my Dutch friend carefully read down the list of dead, looking for Dutch names, commenting that there were no Americans, and no Norweigans, but many British, and some French, and others.  I had a hard time swallowing my toast as the weight and sincerity of Sebastian's next comment fell from his serious lips.

"This could have been us." he said in almost a trance like admission.  and Claire echoed softly, "This is so heavy.."  and I just stared at my eggs, trying to imagine the terror of being on that aircraft, and the horror of being a loved one walking the tarmac to identify a body, or also reading the list of the dead and finding their worst nightmare in print.   

It hits close to home; small aircraft carrying holiday makers to their paradise places.  Yeah, it could've been us.  But now, here we sit, the three of us, all ok.   The strange thing is that Claire had revealed to me late last night, as we walked to the next club, that Sebastian had not been ok.  Someone close to him had died a few weeks ago.  And then his own life  had been on the brink of ending just before he came away.  Claire had been in a motorcycle crash days earlier and three people have died recently in crashes on this island.  I left Indonesia at the precise moment the earthquakes started erupting in the Ring of Fire and flew south to an Island, just as the Phuket passengers had intended to, 2 days ago.  I guess I'm just trying to make sense of it all.  Why some people are ok and why others are not.  I can feel the sadness dripping off of  Sebastian's heart, though he doesn't know it.  I can feel the compassion emitting from Claire's soul, though she isn't trying to show it.  I can hear my own heart beating in my chest, "I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive", because that is what it is programmed to do, to say, to be.  But I can also feel it expanding and pulsing reaching out to those around me, "are you ok are you ok are you ok", and to those far from me, "I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry", for your pain..

I don't know what comes next, or why things are happening the way they are.  All I can do is say silent prayers inside, for anyone and everyone who is feeling pain, loss, or heartbreak.  I can also say silent words of gratitude, for being in the company of great friends in a great country eating great eggs and toast on a great and cloudy stormy day on a great island.  Right now I am just fine, and I am grateful for that.  Right now someone is sitting across from me that almost wouldn't be here had the coin flipped a different side.  And he is a great person.  Right now life has brought me full circle back to an island I love, an old friend I adore, and an old boyfriend who surprises me. And we are all ok. 

I love that this morning I woke up to an ocean in turmoil, and it is likely to stay this way until I leave the island, but somehow I am ok with that.  I love that the sound of my phone beeping with a message comforted me when the presence of danger still lingered in my mind from the night before.  I love that someone was thinking of me and wondering if I was ok.  I love that he, the Ex, bothered to send something clear across the seas.  I love that in this moment my power cord is working and so there is a slight chance I won't toss this computer into the sand for dying one more time mid post erasing everything I keep reinventing. 

Today, I see how turbulent seas, and smiling friends, and sobering news, and delicious breakfasts, and international texts, and finding my stray dog Chili, who still recognizes me after a year, as she does every time I come back, are all teaching me something.   

Life is precious. As are people, and animals, and water and everything and anything else that matters to me, and I feel connected to.  The ocean, though at the moment is messy and unpredictable, is still beautiful, giving, approachable and powerful.  As am I.   

What can I do with this power?  Because as my failing adapter is showing me so brilliantly and maddeningly, it could all end at any second.  Everything could change, or fall apart. 

so Right Now, I am going to keep breathing, keep writing, keep smiling at friends and strangers.  Right now I am going to be grateful for my life and everything in it.

I'm going to make sure I stop as much as I can today and notice the little things.  Notice people!  because I think that feels good.  I love it when I get noticed and I love it when other people feel good too, because then the world seems to be a little bit more ok. 

Tonight I'm going to go home early. No socializing or temptations I'm not ready to indulge in.   I'm diving on Nitrox in the morning with sharks, I want to be totally present for that.  I'm going to step carefully down my little hill, tread across the little beach and cove, climb up onto the boulders, and walk across the plank, and up the stairs to my little room at the edge of the Sea, at the end of the world, where all is ok, just the way it is.

Anniversary

Today, I am celebrating the Solar Eclipse...may the power of the Sun, moon, and stars harmonize us all!

Today, I am also celebrating all my friends here in Bali as I leave tomorrow. .parting is such sweet sorrow.

One year ago today, I completed my Divemaster training!   feels damn good to have that mountain climbed.    I am a Mermaid!  its official..

Six years ago today, I was still living in Germany, stunned and relieved I had missed my flight that morning back to the US. 

Looking back sometimes serves a purpose in moving forward...

love+light to anyone who finds me here!

I haven't had time to update this blog, but here is a link to some pics:

Facebook Indo 2007