Esalen

The magic that is Esalen is lingering. This time last week, I looked up into the sky and saw millions of brilliant stars. The mist of the Milky Way trailed away into space, far above the horizon. The bright moon that shone a shimmering path across the ocean last year was not visible this time, but it scarcely mattered. The stars were more than enough to satisfy my sense of wonder. Deep into last Saturday night, as I warmed my body in a womb-like hot tub, I saw shooting stars and made wishes.

I spent two blissful days at Esalen, participating in the same writing conference I attended last year, the conference where I met Theresa for the first time after corresponding with her for a year on line. The conference where I met my fellow readers of "The Sun." The conference where I felt utterly comfortable to say whatever came into my head, without the need for editing or censorship. The conference where the life I have now suddenly opened up to me. The conference where I felt I had come home.

This year, the experience was not so new, but it was oh so much richer. I met old friends, I made new ones, I re-acquainted myself with the workshop presenters, and I relaxed into the unique delights of Esalen. The Esalen of Carl Rogers and Aldous Huxley. The Esalen of warm baths and cool nights. The Esalen of freedom and happiness. The Esalen of self-exploration and safety. The Esalen where you can breathe freely. The Esalen where you can talk to anyone and find kindred feelings and views. There were hugs and smiles and tears and silences. There was joy and pain. There was fullness and emptiness. And throughout it all, we wrote. We wrote and we wrote. I finally found my pen moving across the page and making some kind of sense.

My life now is fuller than it has been in years. Much of that springs from what and whom I encountered last year. The magic lingers. And I am bathing in it the way I floated in the hot tubs. And it is good and warm and embracing.

It's late...

... and I have to be up in less than five hours and I can't sleep and my mind is full. So I came to write. Yet this busting mind seems incapable of spilling any meaningful content onto the page. What's up with that? asks the ever-present inner editor. Any words that do squirm out look like those baby rats I referenced a few months ago, so there appears to have been little progress. Puling they are. So I stop again, but I know this is not the way. The way is to punch through it and keep writing until it does develop some meaning (and maybe grow whiskers and a long tail). But not at 12:40 a.m when I have a 7:00 a.m. meeting tomorrow. Today. Oh my, I do find good excuses not to write, don't I?

But I am to attend my writing workshop next weekend. Miracles will happen. The floodgates will be flung open and a torrent of prose and poetry will gush from my hitherto locked loins. Or something like that.

I'm off to hit the hay again, in the hope that the birthing of the baby rats was enough to quiet the mind.

Oh my -

- how long it has been since I wrote an entry. I feel almost shy about re-posting and re-entering the community here. I have not read blogs, I have not written blogs. I have been Absent. I have my excuses, but they would all sound kinda lame once I made them show their faces here, so they shall lie low, huddling in the back seat of the car as I drive back into the daylight.

I have been reading. Reading a lot. Right now, on the recommendation of my 20-year-old son, I am reading "On the Road," a book I never quite got round to when I was his age, or any age for that matter. "It changed my life," he announced, "my way of thinking about things." As someone with a tad more to change than he does, I am not finding it quite so metamorphoric (if there is such a word), but the ease and fluency with which Kerouac writes, quite apart from the wonderful content, is a joy to experience. This book is FUN to read. I am caught up in his excitement at the beginning of his travels. Of course, as a newcomer to the book, I have no idea of whether or not the fun continues, but right now I am enjoying myself in his colorful prose.

Greetings to those of you who might drop in again. I shall be back to say hello to you on your respective blogs. I've missed you.