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.