Highway One

I spent my last two days after class was over exploring the Monterey Bay. I loved Pfeiffer State Park in Big Sur, Point Lobos and the butternut squash pizza at La Bicyclette in Carmel, the Hidden Peak teahouse in Santa Cruz, and Asilomar Beach and the aquarium in Monterey. 

I remembered the Hanuman temple I had visited on my road trip and how it overlooked the Monterey Bay. When I visited the temple two years ago it seemed so remote, a place I would never get back to. I realized from where I was now it was less than an hour away. I wanted to return and say thank you for the book on yoga therapeutics I found there, Anatomy and Asana, that brought me to Toronto. And to honor the journey that carried me, like Hanuman, over the obstacles of the last few years.

Next to Hanuman, at the top of Mount Madonna, I could see fog hover like a quilt over the ocean. I noticed from that vantage point how much space there is above the clouds. I thought about how much had changed since I last stood in that spot next to Hanuman, how I was on the way to start my internship then, and now, two years later, I was a running a private practice, specializing in yoga therapeutics and craniosacral. How it came faster than I thought because the need was greater than I knew.

I thought about this blog and how I set out to draw and started to write. When I first thought about becoming an OT I was afraid I was giving up on my life as an artist. I saw them as separate things. When I told Nick Bantock, years ago, about this concern he told me, "It's as if your interests are drawing up a mountain. You can't see yet because they're on different sides, unknown to each other. But keep going, keep feeding them because they are drawing upward and will one day meet at the peak." 

From where I stood at the top of Mount Madonna, I could see that he was right.

Lift Off

On our last morning of class we learned that Dr. John Upledger, who developed craniosacral therapy and whose work I was studying at Esalen, passed away the night before after a long illness. Both Gabrielle Roth and Dr. Upledger were pioneers in exploring the energy, waves, patterns, and rhythms  of the body. A dance of inner worlds and outer worlds whose transformative powers can only be felt by being present.

What must it have been like for them to feel something that was uncharted and go forth with that curiosity? How lonely and exciting it must have been. In the five days I was at Esalen, two of my most influential teachers ended their human journey. One who was an entry point, from whom I first heard of Esalen, and one whose work I was studying now. A full circle of sorts, with me in the middle. How strange that I was there at that very moment, in the most Western edge of the country where land turns to sea, for lift off.

Intention

I loved the plants that tumbled and swirled throughout Esalen. Our teacher, Eric Moya, pointed out how, as humans, we don't have roots or chlorophyll to keep us alive, we gain life from movement. Anything that makes it harder to move, makes it harder to stay alive. We don't grow old, we just stop moving.

He also talked about when something is at the edge of your skill set it can seem magical or mystical or impossible. Then you get on the learning curve, struggle for a bit, and once you learn it, what once seemed magical and mystical becomes your new normal.

I loved to get up early, sit with a cup of green tea, and watch the morning sun rise on the ocean. Every time I scanned the sea, I hoped for a dolphin or porpoise or seal, but I never saw one. The day before, in class, we talked about intention. It always seemed too simple to me, intention, and often got resistance from that Archie Bunker voice in my mind. But more and more I've been discovering that the more simple it is, the more effective it is, and in the work I do, I'm in awe of the huge shifts that come from subtle movement. 

So, one morning I sat at the edge of the sea and playfully set the intention to see a dolphin. Within seconds a fin poked out of water. And then it happened again. Altogether seven blue fins arched in and out of the shimmering pink water. A pod of dolphins swam by right in front of me, as if to say, ha ha, and yes, and welcome to your new normal.

Monkey Bars

Esalen reminded me of growing up in Vermont in the 70's, before growing and cooking and recycling was being Green, back when you grew and cooked in order to eat and you recycled because you needed that bag for other things. 

That, along with craniosacral and its unwinding of tissues, evoked a memory of monkey  bars, gym class, and first grade. We were all lined up, the rungs so high and the ground so low that the gym teacher, who was also the principal, had to lift us up to reach the bars. It was a hot, humid, Vermont day and the boys started taking off their shirts. I was hot too with a feeling, a rumble inside. 

So I took off my shirt. I knew it wasn't done, girls taking off their shirts, but our bodies all looked the same so I didn't know why. And if something didn't make sense then how could it be right? The teacher muttered "Women's Lib," as I passed by.

At Esalen, that long ago feeling came back in a flash. I knew, even at six years old, that what I had done was not an act of innocence but a great act of being fearless. The glint of sun on metal, the warmth of sun on skin, the feeling of power mixed with doubt as I swung high above a crowd of gasping girls and angry boys. How the only way through was to keep my body moving and trust that the next rung would appear.

Gabrielle Roth

She was on my mind so much at Esalen, though I hadn't taken a class with her for years. I remembered the workshop she held at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, how amazing it was to dance in the glow of stained glass on dark wood floors, and how Marissa Tomei was in that class. 

On my third morning at Esalen I walked past the office and saw a photo of Gabrielle Roth in the window where there hadn't been one the day before. It said "In Loving Memory," and that she had passed away on October 22nd, just the night before. 

Last summer, when I went to Wanderlust in Vermont, her class was the first I signed up for. I was so disappointed when it was canceled due to illness. I thought it must be the flu or something but it was at Esalen that I learned she had cancer. 

I walked, stunned, to the edge of the sea. The sun shimmered on the waves and I felt her fully. I heard things she said like "It takes discipline to be a free spirit" and "If you want to be fascinating, be fascinated." I felt other things well up from deep inside like "Never give up" and "This is your lifetime." And I thought about how hard it is to be brave, but how it is worth it, probably.

Big Sur, California

I recently returned from a Craniosacral 2 training at Esalen in Big Sur, California. It was heartbreakingly beautiful, both the training and setting. Morning light on the ocean, the view during breakfast, huge gardens, the walk down the path to the hot springs. I loved being in the hot springs at night, watching ocean waves crash under the light of the full moon.

I had a choice for this training. I could take it in Big Sur in October, or Albany, New York in February. Not a difficult choice, but I was also drawn to Esalen because I remembered Gabrielle Roth, one of my most influential teachers, had lived and worked there. She started as a dancer in San Francisco and, after an injury, was told she would never dance again. She fell into a depression, moved to Esalen to work as a massage therapist, and it was there that she discovered it was dancing that would ultimately heal her. It was where she perceived the 5 Rhythms of movement that she would later write about and teach all over the world.  

She was rock and roll and spiritual at once and it wasn't a contradiction for her like it wasn't a contradiction for me. I just hadn't met others like that. It was from her that I first learned about the power of the body's wisdom, how transformative movement could be, and how there is so much more going on than what we can see.

When she spoke about Big Sur, all those years ago, it always seemed so far away to me. Some parts of the world are like that, they feel impossibly far when you first hear about them. Yet here I was, here.