PaperMoth

I’ve never been a tobacco smoker, but I do find myself, from time to time, standing still around those who do. It brings me this sense of nostalgia, or latent affections for those close to me that ever have. It’s not something I talk about often- there is a strange sense of shame associated with this subtle fondness. It feels like a rebellion that isn’t mine, but does make me feel free, but sacred in this strange way (which is hard to pin down).

As I through my big yellow pack in the back seat of Morgan’s read truck, I skipped over the the passenger seat & buried myself into the adventure-stained seats. From the moment we said hello to each other, our adventure felt like it had already started. Morgan & I have a way of falling into easy harmony, both being carried off into the wind regularly, but with an ease that feel safe & natural. It’s as if we are 6 again- but with access to motor vehicles & our own money. He turned to me and said “so! where do you want to go!” My mom requested that I wait for her to get home from her night shift before I took off. Within that time, Morgan I brain stormed about a thousand different options. I’m not joking when I say we were legitimately looking up plane tickets to Dublin, among other outland-ish plans. Ultimately we reasoned to stay humble with our adventure. I’d never seen Morgan’s current forest home, or the canoe he had refurbished.

As we drove towards the parkway, we spontaneously turned off the road to climb into ravine. We found a quiet part and whispered under a hawthorn tree. As hawthorn is one of the fae trees, as well as the tree that corresponds with the month of April in the Celtic tree calendar, we thought it only appropriate to gather some thorns from the tree for spells & wishes we would carry-out later on in our adventure time. As we did so, we offered a prayer & some crumbled tobacco back to the land. We wandered deeper into the woods, trying to help a dog walker find her lost Labrador. As we walked, we collected large leaves. nuts & some small bits of healing plants that had stayed in tact over the winter. We laughed as we gave each other the storybook versions of how the last six months had passed for us. I stopped mid sentence, saying “oh look there’s a dog”, only to notice Morgan had stopped short on the path. He stooped low to the ground and said “I don’t think that’s a dog”. At second glance, that proved to be true- it was in fact the tail of a deer. There were three others babies that snuck out behind the full grown female. Morgan & I stood still for a very long time, watching them feed from the forest floor- sometimes pausing to watch us too. One little one looked up to us every once in a while to stamp his foot & bleep his tongue. It felt like magic- in the way that time stood still for us, waiting patiently as the world spun round. After a half hour we all heard an owl hoot from a tree, which broke the spell. The deer skittered out towards the freeway, so we moved our bodies away from the deer, so to make them feel obliged to take that route.

An hour or so later, after wandering down the country roads of southern ontario, we arrived at Clearwater farm. Clearwater farm acts as a centre for youth education; Morgan & his roommates live there, but also act as teachers/caretakers of sorts, engaging children in the stewardship of the land itself. Although there are certainly tensions there, because the management team are not actively living on the land (or really engaging it with any direct way).

Morgan lives there full time and is in charge of the children’s education programme. He has set up in yurt in the patch of woods, a small sanctuary on the otherwise (kind of) crowded farmland. It was imported from Mongolia. Each pole is painted with brilliant little colourful patterns, but mainly in bright orange. In the centre of the yurt is a small wood stove, with a mobile constructed of keep-sakes Morgan has collected from his travels around the world. It’s such a cosy den & I found myself asking a lot of serious questions about yurt ownership. It certainly has its difficulties in a Canadian climate, but does have a splendid way of connecting the dweller with the nature surrounding their home.

After visiting the yurt, we went to check on Megan, who was tending to the maple sap that was boiling in a large pot over a fire. Megan came up to me to give me a big hug. We don’t really know each other in formal terms, but were connected in a wildly witchy way. A way that kind of spooked both of us, but we were rolling with it.

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Around the new year I found myself thinking of Morgan quite often. It wasn’t for some psychic reason, but because I knew his father was passing away & I was thinking up ways I might be able to support him during such a tender time from afar. He is one of the people I feel most energetically connected to in the world, but we don’t often talk too much when we are apart. But best friends, when we are near.

One day in January, I was struck that I needed to reach out to him exactly then, and I turned to my co-worker & told her I’d be right back, sneaking off to send him a message. I got goose bumps when I lifted my phone from the pocket, because I saw that at that exact moment, He had actually messaged me. It was a group message between his friend Megan & I. In it he said something along the lines of “ Hey Zoe, my friend Megan is in Halifax for a short while & I think it would be wonderful if you two met”. He said we were both witches & would undoubtably get along really well. So I sent her a message inviting her for dinner, or tea or an adventure- whatever suited her best; “any friend of Morgan’s is a friend of mine.”

After I sent the message, I looked at her facebook profile & realized I recognized her. We had grown up on the very same street in Riverdale- gone to the same elementary school, and played in the same extra-curricular sports leagues. She was a few years older than me, but I remembered her younger brother & sister vividly. I sent her a follow up message saying “strange question, but did you do to withrow p.s. as a child?” When I realized that connection, I dug further, out of curiosity. On her instagram, I noticed she had just been to Sedona, Arizona- the place that I had just confirmed I would later be living (at the ashram). And then I saw something more strange still. It seemed she had just been in Victoria... with someone I knew quite well. My ex-partner, whom had become an ex relatively recently.

I had already sent the message inviting her over & I wasn’t about to revoke it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling she had come to Halifax following him after meeting him on the other coast. I figured the universe could only be aligning us for a good reason. Although, it was tricky territory.  So I stayed steady, in a time I could have easily been freaked out. I didn’t even mention it to Morgan, only to my closest witch sisters.

Eventually she messaged me back and told me she had had a dream of me the night before walking around on stilts with my father- and yes, she remembered me vividly. The synchronicities were hedged on- our childhood, Sedona, our shared interests, but the shared partner wasn’t. Our meeting wasn’t fated for Halifax clearly. Which was okay, as we both processed this strange occurrence on our own. She did invite me out to the farm “anytime”.

As it were, I was actually already on planning on visiting Morgan in Ontario if the opportunity presented itself. A week later, Morgan & I did have an opportunity to chat for a couple hours. It was clear then, that spending time with him, was important & was part of the quest I was venturing out on.

I did fell worried about the strange dynamic with Megan there, however, and certainly felt cautious of invading her space- especially considering the strangest element of our circumstances had still gone unmentioned. I very much doubted that she was still in the dark in regards to this too, but it didn’t feel good to be working in the shadows like that. So I decided to be brave and reach out to be clear that I knew & that I had no personal weirdness/bias towards her & genuinely felt like a friendship. I was merely spooked by the alignment. In her response, she eachoed the same sentiments- but it seemed she & him had just parted ways in a way that left her in some pain. She asked if I would be open to talk about it. As I had been spent reeling from our respective relationship too, (*And because in strangely similar spooky circumstances I became friends with another ex-boyfriends ex-girlfriend, a thing that had certainly been one of the other most strange/magical parts of my life to date) I agreed.

She changed her mind not long after sending the message, but I told her I was always open to holding space for her if she needed to talk to someone else about it. I decided to let it drop- whatever happened, or will, was bound to happen in whichever way it had to. There were, I suppose, still questions posed at the back of my mind. I have been working to let stories unfold with patience. That was the only way to fully live in peace of mind.

So I told her I would be coming to visit in a couple months. And let the story fall away, to the best of my ability. Although, as my coven knows, it did flash in my mind often enough. It just felt significant in a way I couldn’t pin down.

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Everyone that lives at Clearwater Farm, goes by a nature name- Morgan is Brother Wolf (or brother worm, or brother Winnebago... more jokingly), Megan is Wild Ginger, Annie is called Snapping Turtle (snappy for short). Alex is the newest roommate (she actually moved in when I was visiting) and has yet to receive a name. Megan asked me if I had a nature name, and I said that, yes, I happened to be nicknamed Bird. Morgan asked “which one?!” & I laughed and said it really depended on the day. Of course, most often it is the sparrow, chickadee or the hummingbird.

I could tell that Morgan had itchy feel & was keen for an adventure. Despite the fact that the sun was now sitting low in the sky, he mentioned wanting to go to Killarney- a beautiful national park a 5 hour drive away. I told him I loved that park more than most others (and I love most others), but suggested we go rock hounding a a rock quarry that was halfway between the two locations. So, we set out, still generally unhurried & enjoying the journey (more so than being focused on the destination).

It was a good thing we had that attitude, because there was no way we were going to make it there. We got lost several times, as a by product of us becoming lost in conversation. We spoke of loosing people close to us, and magic, and clowns. In fact, Morgan invited me along with him to co-facilitate a clowning in activism workshop in Montreal the following weekend. Which I laughed at at first- and then realized my life had perhaps given me some experience in this niche field- though perhaps not enough to run a whole workshop with him.

We pulled off the main road a few times so Morgan could smoke cigarettes, and other times, because our whims told us to. When we were leaving for our adventure, Morgan said we could go anywhere “even the moon!”. While on the road past Bobcaygeon, we passed a road called Moon Line, so we obviously followed it. There wasn’t to many exciting sights- but there was a lot of red dogwood springing up from the snow & muck. As casually as we could, we climbed into the ditch & cut as much as we could fit in the bed of the truck & resolved to make baskets later.

Like artists, clown people have a certain way of conducting themselves in the world. Artist look for poetry, and generally see life through romantic lenses. Clown people, see the world as ridiculous & live life in a way to high light those absurdities. It became quite a prominent refrain along our adventures- but we kept coming into contact with (what Morgan called) “Clown Angels.” They are the energies that create strange circumstances & are easily dared into making things magically happen when you think “wouldn’t it be funny if.” And let me tell you we were looked over by many clown angels along the road. I don’t think either of us had laughed that much (or felt so free) in some time.

We were far away from any place we aimed to be by time we got hungry. There was a small corner store filled with some of the most bizarre objects I’ve come in contact with… but more importantly it happened to have a pizza place at the back. We ordered, and waited while reading one of the most non-sensical story about a French rabbit. It perplexed both of us profoundly, as it really had no point to it. So we laughed about it & chalked it up to more clown angels. By time the pizza was ready, we were feeling dileriously silly, but still had hopes of having proper outdoors time. Unfortunately no one in the area could tell us where any trails were. We settled for pulling off into the ditch & wandering aimlessly into the woods with our pizza. We lay out on our winter coats & ate under the canopy of pines.

When we returned to the farm house, we were still quite silly. We tried to sneak in as calmly & quietly as we could manage- but we were like a pair of ten-year-olds that had been about causing mischief all day.

When we walked up the stairs, all we heard was the tail end of a story Megan was telling someone in her room. It was the story that we shared- how she had met that partner, and how we had been connected. Morgan looked at me nervously, and though I was too, I resounded to be okay. He knocked & she invited us in.

Megan had been talking to Heather- a friend that I’d known for several years from Halifax. And she happened to be living on Clearwater, in another funny circumstance.

We all talked for a long while, and then we went down to the kitchen and talked some more. Slowly, Morgan & I drifted off to the yurt, where we continued to talk (even when I fell asleep, curled up in my hammock by the fire).

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While I had been gone from Halifax, seemingly a lot had changed. One of my deer friends had moved to Ontario without telling me- because she said she didn’t want to “take me out of the moment.” I’m glad I found out though, because it meant we were able to meet up for breakfast.

Victoria & Todd asked if I needed to be picked up, or if I was able to meet them in the next town. Apparently Todd warned Vic that “Zoe is like a butterfly, if we are on a time schedule, it might be easier to go catch her.” I laughed, but told her Morgan & I would come meet them. We pulled up to the diner around the same time, and apparently Todd recognized me by the way my bun had been flopping around as I danced to the music we had been listening to in the front seat of the truck.

Todd & Morgan, it seemed, already knew eachother, at least vaguely. Slowly, the story was pieced together; Morgan had lead a “nature people” workshop & todd had been in his group. Anyways, it meant we all fell easily into conversation. After breakfast, we wandered over to a worksite where these giant (6.5ft) men were cutting down a tree in a really risky way. But was asked them If we could have the logs & we all took turns carrying them to the truck. Todd & Vic followed us back to the farm & we walked around the whole property showing them the basic elements- the mushroom forest, the children’s play yard, the chickens, the greenhouses, etc. I could tell by the way Morgan spoke of it, he was changing, growing away from his roll here. It was if, I could see the cogs in his brain turning, and him falling into realization that perhaps, he was ready to move on from the farm. After Todd & Vic left, I asked him about it. It seemed it was true, he had been actively thinking of all those things. He told me then, that he had resolved to decide what he was doing by time his birthday came around… which was the very next day.

He had many avenues he had been exploring- moving to B.C, looking for another job in Ontario, pushing for more change at the farm he was already at, or even moving to Nova Scotia. He told me how much he craved to be surrounded by “our people” & live in community again. Of course, I talk a big Nova Scotia game- but I am genuinely honoured & surprised every time I think of my friends back home. How much everyone cares for one another & pulls together when it’s important & pull off some of the silliest gatherings I’ve ever been to. Sometimes I worry it won’t be the same for others, or that they will be underwhelmed & then I will feel guilty. There aren’t that many jobs & it can be hard to “make it” there. I think Morgan has spent enough time there, however, that he knows what he would be getting into.

We joined Megan around the fire & we talked about our biggest fears. Mine was about not being able to grow to my fullest potential or feeling stuck. Megan’s was going crazy (like actually loosing her grips on reality). Morgan never said what his was. We riddled out where these fears came from.

There is a concept, I was introduced to during my hypnosis session with Mare, that speak of how trauma lives in different areas of your body. And that was can devine the reasons we feel certain aches & pains & illnesses through this form of analysis. When I told the story of my hypnosis- and how I had had illness of the lungs both times, Megan stopped to look it up. According to “Heal your Life” by Louise Hay- that exact feeling of “stuckness” is what is represented in illnessesof the lungs. Both of us, agreed that that was extremely on point, and almost a little spooky.

We paced around the fire, keeping warm & stirring our thoughts. Morgan said he felt bad that we hadn’t really gotten up to much, but I told him, that I quite like the slow pace of farm life. Each moment of calm soothed the anxiety that had built up in my body over the excitement of the last few weeks. I was finding myself in a certain state of unremarkable bliss. Surrounded by people who live open and honestly. Walk with love in their step, hopes for the future, and care in a way that in scare among more scared people.

I suggested, that perhaps we could go bowling, if he really wanted to do something. Morgan said “oh god. I think you just made a best friend”. Megan gasped and told me she always asked Morgan to go, but they never did. So we all got ready to go bowling. Morgan & I leaned on the hood of the car for a good 20 minutes, waiting for Megan. We went into the house, to see what she was up to. There she was, curled up on the living room couch. In the exact opposite stance of a human looking to go anywhere. She said she was feeling sick suddenly. And so, we came over & sat on the couch, and spent the rest of the evening chatting again. We exchanged baby pictures & talked about our childhoods. Megan said she felt bad that we hadn’t gone anywhere. I could sense her shame, and wasn’t about to make her feel bad- after all, I was speaking honestly in saying, it was fine for me to just hang out.

The night slipped by, quicker than we expected. Morgan and I crawled into the yurt- bellies empty. I fell asleep on the bed, only to be woken much later. Morgan had slipped out & picked us up some thai food. So we sat & ate & laughed, much like we did over the rest of our time together.

There is a scene in Big Fish, in which Edward, the main character, explains the old cliche “Time freezes when you meet the love of your life”. He muses further, saying “what they don’t tell you is that it has a nasty habit of speeding up after, to make up for lost time”. Being one of my favourite films, I think of this moment often… and often find that it appears in similar ways in my life.

It happened first in Mexico. I looked at a calendar and found myself more than halfway through my trip. Of course, it is a glass half-full, half-empty situation. But time is like water, the more we cling to it, the more it slips through our fingers. The only way to enjoy it, is to jump in- head underwater, for as long as you can. The times I checked my watch, a calendar, it was like taking breaths- necessary, but also stole those moments of subversive bliss. The more I breathed, the more I wanted to never leave the moment. And with that, my writing practice faltered too.

For the sake of my future self, who undoubtedly as just as flimsy as a memory of myself at the present, I find it important to reflect on the two weeks that have flickered by since the last I wrote. They are mostly about Ontario, even though I find myself currently in Amsterdam (with an ever-expanding mind-ramble).

So I shall start where I left off:

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When it comes to my own story, I doubt there is anyone that is more surprised by my path as myself. The biggest part of healing my emotional wounds came in the form of delicately unraveling my own narrative. Re-evaluating what I gripped onto as “me” or what I “like” or, more so what I didn’t. Toronto cleansed me in that sense, freeing myself of my ego, and changing my mind, about how much change within a person is really possible. (I, others, the “stationary” memories I had of this city previous to this visit).

I found myself reflected back to me in different facets of the city- version that I recognized, but abstracted from the forms I thought I knew. I lingered around Kensington market, more times than I expected too. On the first few days I did so, I took my brother out to help him pick out shoes & new clothes. He is a senior in high school now. As we shifted through clothes on the rack, I found my mind flickering with memories of myself in the same spot, at the same age. I remembered how I felt & thought. Those parts still sit in my mind, but like some strange film that I once acted in. I am not ashamed or disappointed, in anyway, of the teenager I was. I am, very glad to be changed now- by experiences both bright & darker. The ghosts of my former selves followed me throughout the city- and then the countryside.

Though I really wanted to go see Homeshake with my brother, I decided to let him go with his friend instead. I remember Ali & I going to every concert we could get our hands on in high school. Though Isaac doesn’t seem to get into much trouble, I figure it best to at least give him the opportunity to if he feels the need ever. So I stayed at home and chatted with my mom about ordinary things. While we spoke, I cuddled up to our (now quite elderly) dog Harley. My overalls quickly became covered in blonde retriever hair, which I have not yet been able to get all off. As I drifted to sleep on the dog bed, my mother & I mused about the day we adopted him. How strange it is, that that was 13 (nearly 14) years ago now.

I often borrowed my mother’s red flannel hunting jacket, as I was without a coat & Toronto was still to host a few more light snowstorms. As I didn’t actually experience much of ‘true’ winter, I was glad to see the snow. I could tell those that had been in the city over the winter, were quite finished with it.

Though I grew up there, I always feel at a loss for who to reach out to when I am in town. I’ve fallen out of touch with many of my old friends there- mostly because many of my friends were friends of circumstance, and without our shared context, there is not much tying us together in conversation. Toronto, in my mind, was always more about family than friends. That being said, I did hang out with a few friends in the city.

I even hung out with an old lover of mine. There was a funny tension certainly, but it was a pretty nice hangout. Mostly, he just showed me around his studio space & all the projects he’d been working on since we last saw each other a couple years ago. It was nice to see a friendly face, especially a friend that could remind me of who I am in my adult life. We talked about a lot of things, but one that we shared is that we were both processing deaths of people close to us. It was nice to talk about, not that I needed more people to talk about it with, more so, because it gave me a huge sense of perspective. I was able to witness how far I’ve come in grounding & processing those deaths.

The days following, I found myself deep in introspection. My Aunt Jeannie is a ceramic artist & she invited me to play around in her studio to keep her company. I was more than happy to keep her company. With a head so full of thoughts, it was nice to able to translate them into molded forms. I built pots & bowls for my new apartment, and less practical things too. I built lace- inspired vases to host dried flowers in the fall. And most excitingly, many faces & hands that I hope to make into dolls when I am able to finally get them to Halifax. It was nice to spend one on one time with Jeannie as well- family gatherings can quickly become so loud & hectic; it’s hard to have a properly threaded conversation.

When I got home, my brother & I had our picture taken (quite formally) by my mom. It was kind of goofy, but nice. I’m starting to realize how important it is to actively capture memories (with a memory like mine)- yes, in ways, it’s true, it is kind of an act of “un-presencing”, but one for posterity’s sake. In a way though, also helps celebrate the present.

After another long day at the studio, I did end up making plans with another friend of mine. I met my friend Rachelle at work, but we have quite a bit in common. She just moved to the city from Halifax to pursue a career in Costume design- which is actually what I was studying when I first moved to Halifax. I did my best to help give her insight into Toronto, and what area she should look at moving to. We met up in the west end- the area that she was looking at. A friend of my sister’s, Eliza Nemi, just put out a really awesome EP called ‘Vinegar’. Eliza was playing a show at the Monarch Tavern with another friend of a friend called Luka. I’ve loved his music for so long- His song ‘Oh my heart is full’ is one that is pretty permanently stuck in my head.

Being at the show was, again, strange but lovely. A space between two worlds. Two different versions of my own past, combined. It was very quiet at first, but that made it easier to find Rachelle, who had brought along her friend Jaya. A few other girls from costume studies met up with us & it quickly became a conversation exclusively about that. I honestly didn’t mind, because by that time many people rolled into the room. There were, surprisingly enough, a whole bunch of familiar faces from my Halifax world. I chatted with my sister’s friend Nicholas, then Peter. Not long into it, I also spotted my friend Allie, who I haven’t seen since university. It was nice seeing everyone, but I also found myself seeking moments alone, to just feel the music & keep my own company. Eliza’s set was as if an elf had come experience city life. Before her, was another talented female songwriter Le Ren- who did some country-pop tunes that I was actually very impressed by.

During the tail end of Eliza’s set, I pushed my way towards the bar to grab a glass of water. There was a woman in front of me who, herself, was getting a glass. She spun around to offer me the pitcher. It was quite comical how we both did an over-dramatic triple-take. She shouted over the music “I know you! I know your hair. How do I know you?” I have always been rather good at names and faces- and it didn’t take long for me to shuffle through circumstances to figure where she fit in. Last fall, she had come down to play a house show in Lunenburg with an old boyfriend of mine. We quickly fell into conversation & she told me she was about to leave to go on tour with Tim Baker & invited me to the show they are playing in Halifax. I do hope I am able to go, but I am unsure of the timing & how that will work with my schedule. Regardless, its funny circumstances like that that give me comfort in the workings of this tiny world we have. (something I have been learning A LOT about recently).

There were more familiar faces still lingering around the bar- but I felt it was the time to leave, so I did. It’s good I did too- because, as it happens, I somehow drained both my prestopasses without realizing. By sheer dumb-luck, or rather a startling act of kindness I’ve never experienced in Toronto, the bus driver just waved me in the street car without any form of payment. I’m not entirely sure why, but I didn’t ask questions and ran to the back to make myself as small as possible- as if hiding in case he changed his mind.

I was quite tired by that point, and missed my stop somehow.

By time I found myself getting off the bus I was terribly impatient to be home and so I ran the rest of the way. This impatience echoed the feeling I was getting about the city itself- a general restlessness. As if I had come to the city to accomplish something, despite me not being specifically clear what that was. These thoughts raced through my mind as I ran down the dark of the avenue I grew up on. I lay on my parent’s front porch for a moment to still my mind & heart. When I walked through the door, my brother was sitting on the velvet couch singing a song that was so familiar I teared up instantly.

As kids, my cousins, siblings & I watched the movie Dan in Real Life whenever we had the chance- and notably on every thanksgiving since it was released. Sondre Lerche wrote the soundtrack, and we’ve listened to the album more times than I could possibly count.  So, my brother sat and played ‘Modern Nature’ over and over throughout the evening. We worked on harmonies until the early morning hours. It was so lovely to work creatively with my brother in that way. It is not often we find moments to do so.

When asked where I am from, I have varied answers. Not, because I am confused, but because mind my races with what is true for the version of myself I am speaking from. These days, I usually respond with Halifax, though that is not strictly true. I mean, it is true, when speaking to people from outside the province. My adulthood, my current nature, is a direct result of having spend the last 7 years on the eastern coastline. For someone who has come-from-away, I have sunken pretty thoroughly into that identity. Alas, I wasn’t born on the coast. 

I was born in the big city of Toronto, Ontario- an east-end girl. The Danforth, Riverdale park, the farm, the beaches. That was my childhood. I experienced a lot of trauma growing up (which I won’t go into here) which has always stained even the happiest memories associated with this city. Making it extremely difficult for me to come back here. I haven’t been home for Christmas in a couple years, I really haven’t been back for more than a week in 6 years. And yet, there it is, I still call it home- though in a very small voice that rarely escapes these days. That concept is so utterly wrapped in fear for me- the centre of capitalism, the place where I am triggered the most, the place where I had always felt most small in the world. 

It was in Mexico, that those thoughts started to unravel. Katie stopped me in the midst of a thought spiral about “going back to Toronto”. She said, something helpful for me, might be re:phrasing my travels to Ontario- “Stop saying ‘going back to’, just saying ‘going to’”. It’s true, the words you unleash on the world act as spells. They create our reality in the fundamental way they fill in the narrative that we (whether we realize it or not) are writing about our lives. And, I found my own narrative become undone, by a simple shift in prospective. 

Suddenly, I was going “to Toronto”. A place that was big, new & held the possibilities any other one of the cities I recently visited carried. Instead of dragging my feet around the places I knew, I was determined to remind myself of the places I’d forgotten, and the ones I had yet to see. For as much of the city, I have met, it has changed & is filled with so much more that is still strange to me. 

The same, could also be said for the way I am able to interact with my family. I could see them as the same as always, or I could keep my eyes open to the ways they are trying to evolve. Though, not naively. With confidence in my own ability to discern what I can handle in any given moment & being able to assert what is good for me. 

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My first day in the city, I found myself practically skipping down the street. My mother & I walked around the Danforth- a street that I’ve long felt I knew every inch of. It was strange (but not altogether shocking) to see how much it had changed. The Tim Hortons that had me the local hangout for those too young for bars was boarded up. From what I heard from my sister, it was still the same high school haunt as of last summer, and suddenly it is no more. It’s strange how much it stirred me. A few weeks ago there was a fire, that burned the local dinner to the ground too. And yet, there are things that are still the same. Unchanged, in the way that small-town institutions can be sometimes. Alchemy, sells the same Nag Champa-infused hippy clothing. Mikes music, still smells like the old stuffy record shop it has always been. The display in the front, faded with age, but unchanged otherwise. We stopped for lunch at the cafe my mom loves best- Mocha Mocha. The art on the wall had changed, the menu prices a few dollars more than I remembered. I ordered an Orangina to drink while my mom ate her veggie club- the same way we had since I was three. But we spoke about more adult things, how our lives had changed in the time I’ve lived away. All the good, and some of the worse. I hummed along to the memories of 70s roadtrip music my mom had been playing that morning as I hunted for treasures in our old tickle-trunk. 

I braved the deeper city & called Mia to join me. The stink of the subway evoked an alien fondness, that I’m sure will subside again soon. I was filled with a rush of what it meant to be in this city again. All the times I had come home late from parties in the east end. The times we roamed around aimlessly in the west end. The half-complete project Ali & I had set out on to collect a transfer from every station on the subway lines. 

I found myself re:routing a few times along “secret paths” between houses that no longer existed outside of my memories. But, I also found myself doing things out of long standing habits I had entirely forgot about until I was in the moment again. I brushed my boots on the edge of the escalator, I whistled softly along to the subway chimes and  held my breath over the bloor-danforth viaduct. It was if I started playing a game with the ghosts of my former selves. Repeating the same behaviours, because I saw myself doing them before (with more specific, superstitious purpose then). 14-year-old me stuffed into the seats with my friends from high school. 11-year-old me “surfing” in the aisle when I couldn’t get a seat. 5 year-old me jumping dramatically over the yellow line, into the car, because I thought the yellow was bad luck.  I laughed to myself, as if I was playing along with the games my former selves motioned through. 

I met Mia in Kensington market, one of my all-time favourite spots in the city. We sat in Jimmy’s coffee and talked about transitions again- shifting of perspectives & the things that brought up there. We picked through racks of our favourite vintage stores. Dreaming up occasions to wear the excessively-fringed outfits, or the lace ball gowns. We laughed about the fact that we had both already bought wedding dresses for occasions we never intended to follow up on. 

Courage My Love has long been my favourite shop in Kensington. The walls are drapped in strings of bead, silk scarves & victorian undergarments. I found a postcard that reminded me of the moment we were in. As I wrote on the back of it, I fell into reverence for the wonderful nature of this city. All the colour, and all the different kinds of people that made this city their home. All the joy I had had walking around San Francisco, was met here too. I hadn’t allowed myself to stay curious with Toronto, and so I had fallen out of love with it entirely. Mia & I walked along Dundas for a long, long while. My eyes, your rather mind, opened to witness everything as brand new again. It was like falling in love with an older lover all over again. My difficultly with Toronto was about many things, outside of the city itself. It was a comfort I could find myself lost & in love with it again. 

The next morning, I woke early to make pancakes for everyone. It was even more strange to find myself lost in my parents kitchen. All the reflexes that had long been programmed, needed re-orienting. It allowed me to be more present & objective with my visit, something I hadn’t realized I needed so badly until just then. 

Over breakfast, my mother & I fell into heavy conversation over our mutual love for the radio. I supposed, that to highlights our mutual eagerness for nostalgia. A funny thing in itself - and a marker, in part of our shared difficulties in being fully present. The conversation had a different flavour, by the end of it though, as we both became so filled with optimism for the future. As I watched my mother move through her house, I saw the reflection of my mother in me- one that long scared me, but one I was becoming more comfortable with. My mother’s fondness for pottery from the 70s. Her love for old, rusty farm tools. The pile of gorgeous wool sweaters she has along her shelves. But also, her habit of telling stories in a thread of tangents, and the way she reaches to put on a record, as soon as we are back home. 

That night, my younger brother Isaac had a show with his band ‘Roovs’. He asked me to help him pick out an outfit. As we played dress up, we talked about our lives up until now. Though all my siblings are close, my brother is by far the most difficult to keep up with. Not because he’s really quick moving, but more so because he is a super quiet character.  Isaac was 10 when Ali & I moved away. Even outside of the fact that he’s grown almost two feet in height since then, he’s changed a lot. He threw himself into music in a fairly quiet way, but it is much of his life now. His primary instrument is the bass guitar- but he can pretty much figure any instrument out by now. In his high school band he plays trombone, tube, sousaphone & some piano. The ironic thing is, that Isaac is the one member of my sibling group that never took music lessons. He is entirely self taught & has a profound musicality that can’t be bought.  He’s really quite about it though and is pretty critical of himself. It’s good while he is still striving, but I worry that he can’t appreciate the things he’s achieved so far. 

We settled on him wearing the light brown velvet shirt I bought in Nashville. Subtle, but special. He went to go meet up with his band, and I went to meet up with Mia. We had been dreaming of a craft day since I saw her in California. We scrambled around her house, digging out all the re:purposeable bits we could find. I fell feverishly back into an embroidery project (with the limited amount of thread I managed to salvage). I am happy to be able to keep my hands busy again, in a midly-escapist way. 

Both of our mothers met us for dinner & we indulged in a large spread of Indian food. It was actually refreshing to hear our mother’s talk about mental health stuff & see they are both slowly chipping away at some of their traumas. I suppose progress doesn’t always keep a steady pace, but it seems both of them are taking mental health a little more seriously these days. I suppose they would though, after Ellie’s passing. 

We worked our way over to the beaches, where Isaac was performing. By the time we got there, the pub was already past capacity- which did not stop us from pushing in. I was actually amazed at how many people were there (I think Isaac was too). Before the show, he kept saying “oh I don’t think anyone is gonna show up to this one”, but it was so nice to see that wasn’t the case. It seemed like a lot of his classmates were there- even the ones he isn’t friends with. The boys all met at music camp the previous summer- though Isaac and Matt have been playing together for 4 years now. They are loud, and all of them so terrifically talented- I’m not just saying that as his sister. All of them (but Isaac) switched around instruments like musical chairs. There originals are fun & heavy & so full of energy. I only wish there had been more room to dance- especially during the improvised blues songs. I was getting itchy to swing dance. They clearly have a wide reference range (jazz standards, daft punk, zeppelin, the velvet underground). It was really impressive on a musical level, but further still, was the fact that the band feeds so well off one another. It was so nice to see them all so full of life & expression. Especially Isaac, who can be so stoic. He was hiding his smiles, but I could tell how proud he was & how hard he worked for all of it. I was beaming.

I flashed-backed briefly to my own very mediocre high school experience. I think mine was what it needed to be- nothing more, nothing less. I was glad to see Isaac was having a good one though. He’s always been pretty firm in his boundaries and not down for any of the bullshit that teenagers part take in. It seems he’s around good people & feels a part of something though, and that’s all I could ask for. When the gig was over, I could tell there were stirrings of an after party. Though I obviously wanted to fan over the show, we all decided to give him his space to be with his friends & went home. 

As Katie, Celeste & I sat at the bar one night in Tulum, she laughed at the characters we had taken on. Celeste with her dark winged sunnies, was Dianne, a serious business woman on vacation. She’s a bit of a mom type, but knows how to party. Or maybe a model with a business brain. I laughed and agreed that there was a certain quality Celeste had about herself here, she was definitely a Dianne. Every time the humidity mingles with my hair, it grows like a 80s hairband groupie. Since the villa, Katie has been calling this character that accompanies it, Donna. From what I can tell, Donna seems like a bit of a mall rat, with questionable aesthetic tastes. I’m pretty sure it was Donna that picked out the leopard print bathing suit I’ve been wearing here. She was probably the one that picked out the ripped t-shirt I’ve been favouring too. Between all of us, Dianne & Donna have been welcomed guests in the friend group. They’ve mixed it up a little bit & added quite a bit of humour. Especially as we met new people and they started calling us Donna & Dianne because they thought those were our real names. 

The last few days in Mexico were certainly slow moving ones too. In the heat, there is something more difficult about motivating yourself to do something more than just eating cold things and hanging out on the beach. I tried to channel that lacks attitude towards doing some internal work- diary writing, and a lot of reading. I finished two books over that time- which felt really good. 

Overall, I have kind of felt like I already have one foot out of the door of this trip. I don’t want to say I am bored per se, because I have been able to fill my time with things that have certainly entertained me. Things I do not normally have time to work on, but I when I stay put, I want to be able to to crafts, which isn’t easy to source out here. I also have become so used to my alone time, I feel myself dissociating when I don’t get enough of it. Spending more time of my phone, my eyes glazing over, tuning people out- not on purpose, but as a symptom of not practicing what I now know about myself. I mean, I’m glad that I am learning these things about myself now. in the past, it was always very alarming when I felt myself dissociating and not being aware in the slightest as to why that was happening. 

I am trying to be both honest with myself about how I am feeling, and productive with the time I have. I am learning I am not so much a beach-vacation kind of person- or rather, it just is not something I find stimulating or relieving at this moment of time. I want to read and be in cultural hubs. I want to meet people that are hustling and doing interesting things for themselves and their wider community. I want to see weird community theatre & support musicians who are still finding their footing. Maybe I’ll be ready for a vacation like that when I’m older and need a break. Right now though, I am sitting very comfortable with my life & am enjoying the momentum I feel in my life. I don’t need a break from my life! I love my life! I want to keep living and growing. 

Celeste & Katie & I decided to watch “The Dirt” which is the new MOtley Crue Biopic. It was gratitous and crude in every way you can imagine. It was humbling in the way that it reminded me of all the things I am committing to cutting out of my life. And all the ways I am happy without those things. Yet, there is the smallest part of me, that still has this tiny crush on Tommy Lee. I think it’s just residual from my persistent love of drummers. 

We expanded out food choices beyond just tacos finally- eating a soup dish called pasole (sp??). It comes in two varieties- green and read. The vegetarian version is basically just made of these giant corn kernels that are an ancient crop here. Eli was telling us that I may be a have originated from this really ancient mayan dish with a dark back story (that involves human sacrifices) but I am not entirely sure if I buy it. There is a little female chihuahua that lives around the corner from us that we named after the soup. Katie has been going back and forth in her mind as to whether or not she wants to adopt her and bring her home to Canada. I keep tell her that I’m pretty sure she has a family. There are just so many dogs in Mexico & most of them don’t wear collars. These stray dogs are honestly one of my favourite parts of Mexico. My craving to own a dog is becoming more and more real. I am starting to feel as if I finally may be ready to settle down enough to handle that amount of responsibility too. 

Speaking of dogs- I have been trying to embrace the dog days attitude. I only really go to the cafes to drink fruit juices and lounge around reading. CoConAmour has been a really good spot for that. It’s a little more of a gentrified cafe- but has a very relaxed bohemian vibe about it. The seating area is outside & full of couches and comfy chairs draped with tapestries. The menu is centred on fresh & healthy vegetarian options. The little store out front has all kinds of health foods. They also run all kinds of dance & excersize work shops during the day & evenings. There are some other little cafes that encourage this really laid back attitude- but this one was the best for it. No one is in a rush there, which is admittedly a relief. 

The funny thing is, that a few of the real locals- the ones who are from this area- jokingly apologized to me at several points about Mexicans moving at such a slow pace. This joke is familiar to me, as we say the same thing amongst the Mediterranean side of my family. In my experience, however, I haven’t felt Mexico being a particular laid back kind of place. I am positive it is because of the driving tourist industry. The whole area depends on it and because of that, everyone is trying to hustle as much as they can. In doing so, many are literally just trying to rip you off as much as possible, preying on the fact that tourists don’t have a full grasp on the currency & the language. It’s been breaking my heart in a few different ways (and Katie has notably been upset by it too). I mean, I understand it all and why it happens like this,. It just reminds me how how nasty capitalism is- how much it divides us, how much it is used to oppress other people. It’s hard to be around, but for that reason I’ve been trying to really process it, instead of looking away from it. 

When the group wanted to go out dancing, I have stayed home. I’ve been enjoying being low key more and more. Celeste’s last night- I did end up going out though. And I was definitely glad I did. The bar we went to was a little more low key. I had a couple virgin cocktails with real sugar cane. So I basically sat there, chewing on cane getting up to dance when they put the Talking Heads “This must be the place” on over the PA. *That song is one of the songs that has been following me around along this trip* I slipped out early with Eli- as I was getting pretty tired at the point that I felt everyone up revving up for the night. Katie’s new friend Ross was ordering multiple drinks at once, and I could Tell Zeus was also keen to stay out as late as possible. We did all make plans to go on an adventure the following day, however. (Besides Celeste, of course, who was leaving early the next day). Zeus was heading into Merida, the state capital. Ross & I were pretty keen on seeing the huge Mayan ruins in Cabo. 

The next morning, Eli & I both got out of bed at our regular early hour. Celeste came in to say a quick goodbye & departed for the bus stop. Katie took much longer to even begin stirring. Of course, what they said was going to “for sure be an early night” ended up being quite a long, drunken one. That’s fine by me too, I think the both of them were keen to have that kind of night at one point. I was just glad that I decided to go home before it escalated too much. Ross came over, and we picked up Zeus. By then, it was the afternoon, and we didn’t really have all that much time to get to Merida- especially if we wanted to explore the towns along the way. 

We decided to stop in Valladolid where Zeus could get out and take the bus to Merida. As soon as we saw the quiet little town, we decided to stay for a least a short while. The building were all low and painted in pastel colours. They reminded me slightly of some of the houses in San Francisco. The streets were all cobble stone & pretty narrow. At the centre of town, was a beautiful square with a huge spanish church at one end. We decided to eat lunch & then walk around some more. As we did, we feel more in love. Katie was so relieved to be experiencing this side of Mexico. The people were much more genuine, and must less pushy & ready to joke along with you. Ross & I picked out a few post cards as we exchanged travel stories. 

Ross has told us so many stories about his adventures in Kaui, it has really planted a seed about going there. He described it in such a magical way- as a place filled with such magic & stillness & spirit. He shared a really difficult story, about coming across the body of a hiker under a waterfall. It broke the spell of the magic of travelling- but only enough to remind us all of what a privilege it is to be able to visit these places & explore these spaces. More than that though, what a privilege it is to be alive & be able to simply live our lives. 

Again, we got caught up exploring the town. As the time ticked by, we realized it was too late to get to the pyramid (because we were on the boarder of two different time zones, so confusing!) We embraced it & ventured over to the Centote at the center of town. We didn’t have high hopes, exactly for it. I mean, it was at the centre of the town! And there were so many cars around. We walked through the small market place past the brick walls & paid the small entrance fee. To enter the Cenotote, you have to walk through this underground tunnel. In the tunnel, there are usually a few men dressed like animals- in the ways the Mayans did in ceremony. 

When you finally break through to the light on the otherside, the view is breath taking. it was like something out of Ferngully. The Centote (Zaci) was such a piecing pure blue. Not to mention the fact that it was absolutely huge. It is half in a cave, but the sun drips in past the vines. Further back in the cave, it is cool, and those who are not swimming seek shelter there. There is such a family feeling there. Though so many people are there, it never feel cramped. There is just enough reverence held for the place, the magic remains. Even as everyone jumps of the cliff edges into the pool of water. It was without a doubt, the highlight of the trip for me & am go grateful to be able to experience. Especially knowing that this was such a sacred space for the indigenous people of the area. (.... and probably the site of many sacrifices).

We made our way back to Tulum slowly, enjoying the time we had outside of town. As we ate dinner in the little taqueria, we watched the most gorgeous plum sunset drop down behind the lake. I was so content to be in the world, be there, but alone in my head. It fuelled a lot of fodder, but in a healthy way. I found myself coming to centre again. It was such a relief. 

When we woke the next morning, Katie & Ross were again, so to rise. We again ran out of time to make it to the ruins with enough time for me to catch my bus to the airport. It was okay with me, though, as I was actually becoming so excited to go to Ontario. A feeling that was utterly foreign to me, and relieving in a way I can’t quite pin point. Katie & Ross decided to go on their own. I again said some quick goodbyes (quick goodbyes are preferable) & got to packing. I did my best to clean up the air b n b & said my final goodbye to Eli. I hadn’t had to lug all my bags in a long time, and I was again humbled, by the effort I had to put in to keep up a good pace. I kinda laughed at myself though & the fact that every time I thought my bag was the absolute fullest it could be, I managed to fit more things in it. 

I got to the bus station with ten minutes to go before the next bus. The line was quite big & I was becoming nervous I would miss it. I started to sweat for more the heat. The next bus wasn’t for 3 and a half hours. As I got to the booth & handed her my card, she informed me that I could only pay with card more than an hour in advance of the bus’ departure. I cursed under my breath as I had gone pretty much the whole trip without much cash- only using card. I picked apart my bag, looking through pockets of pants I had worn in my travels through the US, knowing I had shoved ones into some of them. I had also paid for dinner the night before & Ross had given me some Pesos in return. After my frantic search, I put the crumpled pile of notes on the counter- I literally had just enough, by some wink of the universe. I ran onto the bus & allowed myself to breathe out finally. 

I got to the airport extraordinarily early, which meant I was able to spend a lot fo quality time with my book. The Cancun airport is kind of funny- it’s so american. All the food. All the prices. So purely targeted at Americans. I got stir crazy & ended up getting myself a whole pizza which I ate at the quiet end of the airport. I became so wrapped up in my book, I hardly looked up at the time. When I did, I realized that my flight should be boarding any minute & I hadn’t looked up my gate yet. I ran to the board, then to the gate, just in time to board. I guess that was my cardio for the day. I’ve never been so restless on the plane. Most often I manage to sleep, this time I couldn’t manage it though. I was hardly able to meditate either. And I had finished my book. I was so excited to get off the plane and see my family. 

As I sit in the kitchen of this small blue house, I’ve found joy watching the shadows of the palms dance about the windows. In my lonesome observance, there is no need to quantify or qualify the experience of this ordinary magic. And so, the magic of the moment remains. 

Throughout my life, I’ve thought myself an overshare-er; I talk things out, I easily open up & readily open to be wrong. I’ve never been ashamed of those qualities, even when met with people who are affronted by them. See, though I didn’t know always know it, I think I’ve always been brave. Upon reflection, perhaps I did always know it, but being brave came along with the baggage of other qualities. Brave, in my mind, was a thing bossy & arrogant people were. And I did not want to be those things. So, I adapted timid qualities. I chose to be shy, to hush the chatter box that was bursting to share my thoughts and fantasies. Others, were not always ready for that level of energy. 

My mother especially, was not always ready to hear those persistent joyful thoughts, as she swam through the depths of her life long depression. I longed to relate to it. To the sadness. I longed to understand her better and prove her wrong when she shouted at us that we didn’t love her. Of course, in my adulthood, I understand this voice of depression in a different way than I did then. How is a young girl to know how to navigate with light through such darkness. None of my siblings did, and so, we too submerged ourselves in the darkness, to understand the circumstances of our mother’s condition. 

Our childhood was complex- a tangled ball of string to be pulled at clumsily. Only now, are we beginning to unravel the layers of intergenerational trauma that affected us so throughly. Through which, we’ve uncovered all the ways we act in love. In all the ways we are ourselves. In all the ways we love each other. It’s as if we are all slowly waking from this strange dream. Realizing the rivalries that were projected upon us like a shadow puppet show. The healing of our sisterhood came in such tangible ways, that seem impossible to pin down when asked for specifics. When friends ask me how my sisters are, I find it hard to say. They are themselves, and more so everyday. They are growing, they are healing, they are becoming more light everyday. So am I. To try to quantify or qualify such matters peels away at their essential emotional natures. More importantly, in doing so, the modern mind, that works in logical was, (or perhaps more so, ways of fear) scatters tiny seeds of fear. For the mind, it is dangerous to live on faith & magic.

Faith, is the kingdom of the soul. In a car ride through Cape Breton, a friend once asked me why I always sing. “I sing to remind myself of magic”. It seemed like a logical enough thing to say. Music, or art, is hard enough to qualify in the ways it is special & magical. It is undoubtable so; for all the the ways it pulls together a community, and fills the heart even in an empty, lonely room. “What does that mean to” she asked. I shrugged and said “I believe in magic” fairly plainly “and because I believe in magic, magic follows me pretty readily”. It is true, and not in a extraordinary way (although.... some very magical things have definitely appeared in unexplainable ways). Magic appears, because my soul, despite my conditioned mind, consistently searches for the magical. The simple acts of magic- like laughter or golden sunlight. To try to explain what makes those moments magical- to take a picture even, borrows from their sincere essence, and makes them appear ordinary. And then we brush them off, as if they truly were. 

I’ve said for a long while, Magic is the science we haven’t put a more distinct label on yet. Magic is a vague vision of how extraordinary life is. It is for the emotional, the feminine- The Romantics. It is a holistic vision of the persistant goodness in the world, despite the quantifiable chaos that exists. It is, perhaps, uncomplicated in that vision, but I would argue, not naive. Everyone that walks in magic, does not turn away from the darkness offered by this existence. Instead, they choose to study the way darkness bring about understanding, how it shows us the other side of joy itself. If your mind is keen, through darkness, there is the most beautiful light. The light of having had, and the light of love itself. The dance with death and darkness shows us gratitude in the most humble ways. This is said, not to under mind the reality of how hard it is to keep up your footing when doing that dance. Surely everyone will lose the way at some point. The key is, maintaining that magical faith that concentrates that joy exists despite sadness. That there is space for both in this mysterious world. 

I’m sure I am not alone in my experience where, at times, another persistent joy is a source of profound irritation. That itself, is another complicated dance to navigate. The irritation, of course, says much more about our internal turmoil than another acting in any way that is inappropriate or objectively disdainful. The problem is, bliss cannot be taught or shared. Bliss is an act of internal magic. In my conversations with the wise people I’ve encountered, I’ve brought up my distress over this fact over and over. The replies are versions of the same: no, it cannot be taught. The answer is to listen to others, be there as they shed their layers of darkness. Just as you are able to, all others have the same bliss a part of their essential nature. Treat them as such- talk to them as if they are wise, and beautiful and capable of anything- not to fill them with delusions, treat them as such because they truly are. 

Magic is an act of love. It is a state of mind, a state of self. God is another word for it- and I suppose could be used rotationally here. But the word God is a prime example of how trying to quantify acts of magic removes the mystery, and then perverts its essential nature. See even now, as soon as someone mentions “God” people get all freaky. Flashes of imagery of a personified being, and then holy buildings, and then bigotry. The message is lost in all the symbols, all the darkness that clings to it. God is a romantic idea, it isn’t meant to objectified. Perhaps that is why imagery of God, or even the prophets, are prohibited in Islam.  It’s not meant to be picked apart, removed from its nature- it is a part of everything, and everything is a part of it. We will drive ourselves crazy trying to chase that thread. It is experienced in it’s most pure essence, only scarcely in moments. 

Most people I have known to have experienced this, were on drug trips. As I write that & it is read, the same happens again. The nature to judge the experience, to qualify it, to objectify it. “It’s a misfiring of the brain!” “It’s a chemically induced experience!”. So what? Does that really make it less real? Who are we to judge what is real, what is truth. In everyday conversations, we understand people have different points of view. Different perspectives exist, does that make all but one invalid? We are so intent on understanding life, we forget to enjoy it. The french, I suspect, understand (or at least understood it at one point). I say this because of the very nature of the word itself; “Enjoie”. In joy. Moving through life in joy. Like the hummingbird. Like every moment is magical and fleeting, because it is. 

In a recent love note from a friend (a simple act of magic in itself), she wrote “I am so proud of you in all the ways you are Brave”. The words washed over me & filled me with a love & knowing I hadn’t particularly experienced before. It  transformed my former perception of those words. I was not afraid to call myself brave anymore. Brave, is no longer a term tangled in with words like “bossy” or “arrogant.” The darkness has been striped out of it. Bravery is not the lack of fear, it is being aware of the fear, but keeping composure, despite the fear. Bravery is finding joy in every heartache and moment of darkness. Not because you have to be, but because it is the loving thing to do for yourself. 

Time has blurred here; going in and out of focus like vision in the early morning. It is slow moving & full all at once. I stick by what I’ve always said about time- it is fictional. It is a beings way of trying to quantify change in small units, but it is an incomplete measurement. Sometimes time moves quickly, sometimes it ticks by, it is clinical and empty of the emotionality that fills real moments. Being in a moment requires no distractions- not a worry about time, or of change, or of any other scientific thing. Only then, when you are in observance & reverence- can you ever really be in a moment. It’s like capturing smoke. You can never hold it in your hands, but you can certainly be surrounded by it. 

Time has come back into my awareness this morning. Yesterday, Kluane left for the airport to return to Winnipeg. We were slow moving, but we did manage to gather our things on time & 10-second-tidy the house. Katie, Eli, Celeste & I have now moved into a small house in town. The decor is very well coordinated- all aqua & sunshine yellow. The roof top terrace has the most beautiful blue decorative tile. It is cute and just right in size. Big enough that there is space for all of us, but small enough to encourage us to actually leave the apartment this time.

We are also getting used to hearing each other properly- which is a trip. The mansion-house was so big & echo-y no matter where you were, or how loud & clearly you spoke, it was always kind of a guessing game as to what the other was saying. We still did manage to talk a lot in the big house. Mostly, though, it seemed like we swam & we lay in various places & ate a lot of tacos. And fruit. And smoothies. And smoothie bowls. 

On a few different occasions, we did go into town. Katie went back to the place that I got my contact lenses & got herself a pair of glasses. Another time, we ended up walking around the markets. They are full of leather goods & colourful felts & pompoms. I’m feeling very inspired by all of it- but looking out for the only the most perfect mini backpack- it’s the only thing I’ll allow myself to buy from here (besides a postcard). Katie did buy a bright pink Giraffe for Grayson. Okay, Actually now that I’m thinking about it... I did buy myself the most beautiful little gold & turquoise bird... which I probably didn’t need. But it was a bird! and it was in all my colours! We tried a few different taquerias & discovered the best gelato I’ve ever had. It won a bunch of awards for the best in the world, apparently. All I know is... Hazelnut is the best flavour of all time. (Even though I mayyyyyyy be allergic). 

Tulum itself is a really cute place in the world. Like a few of the other places I’ve found myself in recently, it too seems to have attracted lots of new-agey type people. For such a small place, it certainly has a lot of vegetarian restaurants & health food stores. The people that have settled here (meaning the ex-pats) all have a certain flare to them. They have tattoos, wear flowy clothing of materials like organic cotton or bamboo, or are wearing flowing slik robes. There are lots of feather earrings & leather sandals. The houses are low & humble. Many of them are simply white, but others are bright blue or sunshine yellow- recalling the colours that adorn the local pottery. The streets are lined with various floral trees of red or purple or orange. The stores smell like leather- and they do indeed stock a lot of leather goods. As they do numerous amounts of colourful pompoms & woven tapestries. White woven hammocks and hanging chairs hang near the entrance ways to stores- tempting me, every so often. 

Klu & I got to spend a lot of time together. Mostly, I think, because we were the ones that felt like staying home. Eli & Katie (& Celeste when she arrived) went to a few different ecstatic dance events. While we were home, we talked through our own evolving emotions. Including romance, leadership & non-profit work. Kluane had the wisdom to bring her Tarot deck- which was a relief, because I decided to leave mine at home, which was throwing me for a loop. A friend of Danielle’s developed what she called a “grief spread”. So, we decided to do a couple readings to help process the feelings & lessons we were each flowing through. As always, they were super pointed & helpful. Especially Klu’s was pointing to some capital “L” lessons about burn out. Of course, the burn-out talk was super helpful for me too. 

I’ve been feeling a shift and a strong one at that in terms of my internal structure. Gopala had made an inappropriate/preachy comment. Instead of really worrying about it, I messaged him directly and really asserted myself & my boundaries in a way I am really proud of. Even in the ways we navigated each other in the house, felt weird, but more boundaries in a better way. I mean, we got sticky at points there, for sure. I think those things things arise when there are shifting power structures. With that comes more personal responsibility, and speaking up for myself. Still exploring what that means for me in depth. I struggle with coming off as impatient or bossy when asserting myself, and so overtime, have put effort in just being okay with whatever is happening. 

I am still trying my best to stick to a reasonable budget, but Mexico has definitely been the most expensive legs of the trip. Largely, because we are staying in relatively fancy places (in comparison to the couches I’ve been crashing on for the last while). Katie & Klu have “always been fans of the finer things” as Katie put it. A friend from Tulum, named Anna, came over to give people massages & this special water meditation treatment if they so desired.. which I ended up passing on for a few different reasons. Mostly, it came down to the fact that I’ve become fiercely protective of my own energy. In doing so, I am really starting to take it seriously in regards to who I let treat me when in comes to energy work. Kluane especially wanted to go out for a fancy dinner before she left. We went to this really cute Spanish restaurant that was a little expensive, but had really good tapas. It pretty much comes out in the wash though, when considering how inexpensive tacos are down here. 

My favourite moments in Tulum, however, have all been free. Laying out in the sun, talking. Dancing on the roof top naked with Celeste during a big storm. After which we lay out as the sun dried us- talking about magic & manifestation & what it is to sit in our power. Later that evening, we semi-organically fell into a very long & enthusiastic Karaoke session featuring everything from Nat King Cole to Fleetwood Mac to Bruce Springsteen. It was exactly what I needed to help me move some of the feelings that had me feeling stuck over the past week. I sang so hard, my voice was sore the whole next day. 

The morning before Klu left was a special one. We rose quite early (Eli ensured we stayed awake too by playing Chumbawumba super loudly). We made our way down the beach. As it was practically sunrise, it was the most still we had seen it. Kluane drew a circle in the stand & our group gathered round to hold a ritual. It was Ostara (& a full moon & was to mark Danielle) and we wanted to hold space for the shifts that were coming along with that. We passed an egg around, fusing it with our intentions. I said that I wanted to focus on boundaries & maintaining my understanding of freedom. Klu had hoped that we could have gathered flowers, which proved a tiny bit difficult. Until, Zeus came over & asked if he could add items to our altar- which Klu & I smiled at each other after he lay them out. It was perfect & exactly what we needed. After we closed the circle, I started to walk the log length of the beach. Celeste eventually joined me and we walked along singing gospel songs we vaguely recalled, but fleshed out impressively as we gave them life. 

From the time we started planning this trip, we had been discussing the cenotes- which are underground fresh water sources. Many of them are actually cave-like formations. Ancient Mayans used to sacrifice people in certain ones. It happens that there were a few Cenotes just next door to our house. Later that day, we walked over to Casa del Tortugas to go for a swim. Even though we had to go in a bigger group, it was still a pretty magical experience. The waters were a striking blue- the colour of the sky or turquoise, depending on the lighting. The caves were low in many spaces. Some times we had to crawl around the caves, instead of swim. Even though there wasn’t room to be fully reverent in the way I wished, it stirred some magic in my heart. I know I will reflect on that adventure in the future. 

I’ve never related more to being a person of Baltic bloodlines, than I have being in Mexico. Between my pale skin & the heat-- I have to take super extra precautions so I don’t exhaust myself. Even though I am doing my all time adult-best at wearing sooo much sunscreen, I am clearly not drinking enough water. Yesterday I kinda paid for it & was feeling quite ill. Man, I feel like I constantly have to have water in my hand just to keep up. I do realize I’ve never really been to a climate like this, and so, I suppose there are some adjustments to be made. Especially having lived in the Maritimes for over 6 years- where it rarely reaches temperatures close to 30. The remedy for me has been fruit- any and all fruit- as much as I can at all times. 

Katie & I spent our first few days taking it easy under the scorching heat. Both of our hair grew so big in curly, It would have stirred jealously from any 80s hair band. We ate at a cute little taco place the first nice. There was a man with dreads who pulled up right beside us and started loudly serenading us as we tried to eat. It was kinda funny in the end. For some reason I decided the thing to do was get a margarita- because “when in mexico”. With one sip I now fully realized any remaining affinity for alcohol had vanished from my system entirely. I am simply not interested in any kinda way. So I gave the massive thing away. 

When we got back to the apartment, Ramin (katie’s friend that we were staying with) was home. Ramin is like this big, tan, German Aquaman type human. He works as a scuba diving instructor, and so, has moved/traveled all over the world doing so. Katie & him had met in Guatemala years ago, and managed to reconnect in a few different locations over the years since then. He is friendly and open minded- yet still intimidating in the way Germans can be sometimes. 

The next morning we woke to Eli making his strange little cat noises at us from outside the window. We had to go get him because the apartment has like four different key/lock situations to get into. A bit excessive- we decided. On a side note- there seems to be so much fear mongering in/about Mexico, specifically geared towards tourists. It really is difficult to tell whether that is warranted in any kind of way. I tried not to listen too much, knowing how fear works & spreads. That being said, I was being safe & cautious & paying attention to my surroundings always. If not for “stranger/danger” purposes, certainly for the fact that drivers here are absolutely chaotic (although maybe not as bad as South America). 

Eli & I went to a cute little cafe called cafe choux choux, eager to get out of the house. We stayed there a long while partaking in many breakfast items & some fancy lemonades. Even the fancy places here and still affordable, even for someone on a budget like me. The cafe was clearly the place that a lot of ex-pats gravitated to. The group that sat beside us flickered between speaking spanish, then english, then french, then german, depending on who came up to greet them at their table. We stayed for a long while, basking in the atmosphere & playing on our computers.... and mostly waiting for Katie. We wandered over to another cafe called BiOrganico & had some lunch. Katie & I then wandered off to explore the market area of Playa Del Carmen.

We were in search of a few things neither of us had- sun glasses, sun screen, shorts, sandals. OKay- I know that seems like almost everything you need for a trip to Mexico, but to be fair I had absolutely no idea when I left for my trip that I would end up here. Happy that I am, but my bag was not packed according to that. Actually even looking at the wool sweaters in my bag gives me the heebie-jeebies. I can try my best to set the scene of Playa to the best of my ability- but I should perhaps preface it by saying that at one point, this was a natural paradise. First there were small rental houses, then hotels, then bar and bars and bars. These days there are McDonalds & Subways & Forever21s. Which feels weird, of course. It’s one of the most rapid & evident gentrifications I’ve ever witnessed. But in many ways, I realize my complicit behaviour in all this- I probably wouldn’t have ended up here without it. Although it’s probably what I least enjoy about it. As you walk down the street everyone is trying to sell you something- of course they are- Tourism is basically the only driving industry out here. Especially being a woman, you get all kind of weird comments like “You need this” “don’t get lost” and the most classic “Do you need a Mexican Boyfriend.” Katie was obviously quite angsty with all the comments. I tried my best to tune them out & live in the happy little peaceful world in my head.

The plant life is beautiful & so too are the birds. In playa del carmen, however they are groomed & tamed in a more manicured way. Woven in amongst the huge heaps of concrete jungle that has been superimposed on the jungle paradise of the Yucatan Penninsula. I won’t say it truly overwhelmed me, having just spent so much time in much bigger cities. I understand how it could, though. Especially with the added trickiness of the language barrier (though many folks do speak english). Katie & I continued to stroll around, stopping in to buy water at many points. We dared not sit down, mostly because the public benches were metal (WHY). We wandered over to get groceries and ate more tacos. Eli & Ramin both joined us- all of us sweating profusely, slowly stripping down into half-dressed states. Not in a sexy way. In a very, very sweaty way. Which was especially pleasant considering the extremely feeble water pressure in the apartment that made showering a challenge. 

We woke early in the morning on the 3rd day. The early morning is the most reasonable time to go out, without a doubt. By 10am it is already quite hot & doing anything other than chilling out, is less appetizing. We walked over to the beach to greet the rising sun & went for a swim. While wading in the growing waves, Eli told me all about the cheap healthcare here. He said loudly that I should try to get contacts here. I agreed- that would be great! Not two minutes later, as we laughed about something else, I suddenly got hit in the face with a big, aggressive wave. I felt my glasses fly off my face & over my head. The water was particularly thick with grey & seaweed. Though we combed through the water. There wasn’t much hope. It seemed the comments earlier about contacts had been taken as a dare from the universe. So I bumbled around without glasses back to the apartment to fetch my extra pair. 

Eli and I went to the glasses store later that day- he speaks Spanish which made the interactions a bit easier to manage. Although the two places we went to didn’t have my prescription in stock. It would take five days to get them,  so we decided it was best to wait until we got to Tulum to get them. But I have to say- I didn’t quite realize how much more affordable medical treatment is in mexico. For my contacts- the exam was FREE and three months worth of lenses were 48 dollars. I now understand medical tourism. It isn’t like it’s sketchy either. All the places we went to were clean & professional & so so friendly. Despite my blindness, the whole experience wasn’t stressful in the least. 

I will say I could feel Katie getting stressed. I mean I think it was a lot of things. Her personal life as of recently, has been super emotionally complicated. As she also had a bout of skin cancer not long ago- the sun has been stressing her out. She’s been staying in the apartment a lot as to how avoid it, but also I think she still feels overwhelmed by the “spring break” vibes in Playa. The apartment is small, and so at a certain point we certainly started to bug eachother in ways. It came to a head when we were supposed to go down to the beach for Danielle Moore’s ritual. She had wanted me to take more leadership in regards to it. I wanted to give her her space as she had clearly been in a grumpy mood all day. On top of that she refrained to the fact that she felt weird about the ritual all day. It resulted in us being entirely cross with each other at the beach, ducking between tipsy strangers & me eventually crying out of frustration. We decided it didn’t feel right to do a scared ritual in an emotion state like that. On top of that, we clearly had some stuff to talk through & so we went home and did that. We came to a place that felt nice, which was relieving for sure. Katie & I have never fought like that. I’m really glad we can still talk through it. We decided to do it in the morning- the beach would be empty then & we would both be cooled off (physically and emotionally). 

It did actually feel like that was the way it was supposed to go. We were mostly silent throughout the whole ritual, though we started it with a prayer- one we learned from the ashram. We made a mandala in sand with the flowers we bought & other materials we found on the beach. Then we sang a few of Danielle’s favourite songs. Doing the ritual felt so private in an internal world kind-of-way, but connected to all the friends & communities that knew her & loved her. Being a way from the physical communities felt difficult. I did what I could to stay connect & support the effort. I spent some computer time a talking to others organizing & fencing some tech-difficulties when the page went down. It was powerful & healing to feel connected in the small ways during this time. And to see so many talking power & inspiration to making the world better after such a terrible event. Mostly though, my attempts at support were done out of love- for Danielle, but also for Kluane. I wanted to be able to do anything I could support her in the ways she was grieving & working through that grief.

Earlier that morning- even before the sun was a a light deep in the horizon, Katie woke up to call Klu as she boarded her plane in Winnipeg. Klu herself said she was surprised she found it so difficult. Kluane has always been an avid & regular traveller, but I too of course understand that the circumstances of airplane travel have changed so much. Especially considering Klu was leaving from the Winnipeg airport, the same Danielle had left from only days earlier. My heart ached for the situation- but I knew that she was well taken care of. The flight attendants all knew & supported her throughout her journey. Katie went to the airport to pick Klu up, after we ate breakfast together at a downtown cafe. It was good for us to take time apart for a few hours & also I knew Katie would be there for Klu. Apparently when Klu came out, she was wearing a big Christmas sweater complete with Reindeer & Holly, as well. I love that through anything- these two women in my life still find anyway to make us all laugh.

After quite a bit of waiting, tidying & other bits and bobs on my end, the crew eventually returned to the apartment, ready to move onto Tulum. They picked up a fellow traveller named Geoffroy from Montreal & so we all piled into the car with all our luggage, cranked the AC and headed for the highway. 

On the drive we all talked about love & life- of course. And caught up with eachother in the ways that aren’t always easy over technologies. We listened to country songs on Katies phone between checking directions- as the sux cord wasn’t working in the car. When we finally got to Tulum, we spent a lot of time in the grocery store, where Eli eventually met us. I am still amazed at how inexpensive all the food is here. I thing that Eli kept reminding us all of was that Mexicans love their sugar. I guess I didn’t really realize how much until I tasted some of the items. I was desperate for a bit of ice cream in the car and so we Mcgivered one out of a lid & I ate pretty much a whole pint to myself. 

We rode around for a short time trying to connect with a few friends before getting to our house. There were some funny moments that involved various chain reactions of annoyed-ness. “I think he’s annoyed I’m annoyed at him” Eli said as we chased after Alex’s speeding car. As we sat waiting for Eli, Klu and I got a little over excited about a particularly lovely old chevy truck that we enthusiastically jumped out of our car to take a picture with, before realizing the owners of said truck were right there. We share a love for this one particular Femme-Queer instagram account called @Truckslutsmag. One day, we said we will be on it. That day is not now however- haha. Later, on our way to our house at long last, this truck full of Mexican tradesmen speed alongside us on the highway, pointing at us & the car. We didn’t know what the heck was happening, until we finally put the dots together that Katie’s phone was not in fact in the car, but instead on the roof of the car as we speed down the highway. We agreed something strange & silly was in the air. It seems there seemed to be a resistance that had built up, that hadn’t been there until this week. I suppose mercury is in retrograde, but I’m sure there is more at play for whatever reason. 

The house we are staying at it so beautiful. The outside is the most perfect eggyolk yellow colour. The rest is painted in warm oranges & reds, with details or light blue, white & dark wood colours. The main room is open concept (although it doesn’t carry acoustics well). There is so much space- we almost immediately went on to plan how we could come back & stay here with more friends in the future. Every room has a balcony. The roof top is easily accessable & oh so perfect for dance parties. The property has pretty flowers & desert plants nestled in beside the pool & house itself. When sitting by the pool, all sorts of birds come swooping in- especially these beautifully delicate flying swallows. Swiftly after dropping our bags in our respective rooms, we jumped in the pool naked. ...Only to later discover the owner of the house has security cameras all over the place. We laughed for a second, but promptly messaged him to see if he could turn them off while we were here. 

So far, I have managed not to get burnt. Which is a win for sure- seeing as I tend to burn extremely easily. I haven’t spent that much time in the city of Tulum itself, although I did go into town to get my contacts. The town of Tulum already feels much more low-key (in the SPRING BREAK kinda-way) than Playa del Carmen felt. The vibe is much more bohemian- health/healing type-people & shops. I mean it is strange though, it has that gentrified feel to it too though. Fancy pantsy, tourist/ex-pat places sit right next to little shacks held together with ropes. It’s an interesting experience in that way.

That being said- at the house at least- I haven’t felt more “I’m on vacation” feels since starting this trip. It feels weird to do nothing. I guess I’m enjoying it- but not more than I do doing stuff. I worry that I will loose my motivation to do anything at all. The heat has made me groggy & I’ve been falling a sleep in various places. That being said, I’m feeling more reclusive- Katie & Eli have gone to various ecstatic dance events- but I don’t feel terribly social. 

Early morning in San Francisco, might be one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever experienced. Especially in the quite of the Sunset district, which is the more “boring” part of town in which a lot of immigrant families have settled. The houses, though more simple in decoration than the Haight-Ashbury district, are still painted in all sorts of beautiful colours- many of them pastel tones; pinks, baby blues, pale greens & yellows. Walking in the empty streets of the region alone in the warm reflection of the houses has to be a version of heaven. At the very least, it would be an excellent location for a Sophia Coppola film- or girl gaze photo shoot (looking at you Ali).

My friend Asa’s friend Carolina lives in the sunshine district & that’s where I ended up staying on my second night in San Fran. The area has plenty of Chinese restaurants- that I wish I could say I went to, but alas, I didn’t. Apparently it’s some of the best Chinese food outside of China. I’ll have to make a point of going next time I’m in San Fran.

When I awoke at the hostel, I moved pretty quickly- packing everything away & hurrying down to get breakfast. Honestly, I loved the hostel & would be totally keen to stay there again. It’s the right amount of people, so you can be as social or as lonesome that you’d like without it being weird. It also just generally has good vibes. Plus the breakfast was included- so you know I tried to eat a days worth of food all in the morning to save monies. Although it is in the Tenderloin- which is where all the homeless people got pushed into when aggressive gentrification came and swept the city. After breakfast, I decided to check my bags there & pick them up later since I was already downtown. I left the building without even glancing at a map- happy to exploring in the way of getting terribly & wonderfully lost. Over the course of this trip I’ve become so comfortable & confident in doing so. I think part of my previous distress with the city is being inherently nervous there- so many people, so much to pay attention to in order to navigate it properly/safely. In working through my personal anxiety, I’ve also been able to inadvertently mend my relationship with cities themselves. That being said- I think I still have a country heart & will always crave place that don’t require shoes. Spending time in cities has been really good for me in a way I didn’t expect. I am happy for it.

I wandered through much of the city- first starting off conservatively in the flatter neighbourhoods; the mission, the Castro. Kluane said one of the things I must do is visit the Tartarine Bakery- one of her favourites in the entire world. By happy coincidence I stumbled upon it during my wandering. The line up was around the block- so you know it had to be good. Like everything in Sa Fran, it was a little expensive- but I got some small little bits in a box & took it with me to eat in a near by park. My favourite little bit was the raspberry meringue with cacao nibs. SOOO good. Not too sweet, wild texture. In the line, I heard some pretty funny conversations that showed the heart of San Francisco. The lady in front of me spoke loudly about the tenants of Eastern European Clowning. Others spoke about the odd theatre projects they hoped to get off the ground somehow. There was died hair & texture & wild patterns in the get-ups. I was starting to feel really good about it all.

After I finished eating (& drinking my Komboucha—which I promptly sent a review of to Ryan) I wandered over to Ashbury Heights.  Hands down this is the most famous part of San Francisco. Complete with colourful “painted lady” Victorians, winding hills & people wearing outfits straight out of the late 60s. Haight street is the main hub of the area. I have to say, Haight probably has some of the best vintage stores I’ve ever been to. I’m not gonna lie.. In one store (that was gathered like a library of vintage, sorted by year) I had tears gathering in my eyes. The clothing there were each individual works of art. I spent a good chunk of time studying the hats stacked high to the ceiling, and then the beaded gowns from the 20’s. Again, all these things inspiring so many ideas for future themed parties & White Rabbit. I don’t have much room in my pack (or money for that matter), but I couldn’t leave without buying some beautiful silk scarves- so I could play the part of 50s femme fatale. I also found some really beautiful old postcards from San Fran, which I added to my collection.

The area is also home to some really fun cafes & great record shops. I partially wished I could have spent more time there, but I was craving the park. I wandered over to Golden Gate park which was near by. As I basked in the sun, looking at the fresh tree blossoms, I heard bongo drums carrying over the wind. In those moments, I felt the echoe of the 60s in such a real way. I picked some pear blossoms & stuck them in my hair, nestled under by new blue silk scarf & found a low twisted tree to settle into. I sat in the tree for what felt like forever, looking out over the hills towards the Spanish church steeples & the Golden Gate bridge peeking out over the city haze. I breathed deeply, basking in my peaceful lonesome thoughts. It felt so good to be my myself again. I thought of friends & home, and what it would take to make me feel more grounded there going forward. I feel so much more prepared to be steadfast in what I wanted in my life, the things I would no longer tolerate because they would not allow me to live in the peace I crave. I learned a lot about that through my inner turmoil in the Gopala situation. I talked to my friend Stephanie (who had just been in San Fran a few months back). We talked about the beautiful Botanical gardens in the park, but also exchanged some brief life updates.

Not long after that, as I wove on down the path from the hilltop of Beuno Vista park, the sole of my shoe (on my favourite fringe-toes boots) fell off. So I hobbled along with my sole flopping around like cartoon character. Despite my slight distress over the situation, I still had some stuff I wanted to do, so I continued wandering- albeit at a more manageable pace for my failing footwear.

I got myself back over to the mission area in search of a burrito. For some reason, there seemed to be a lot of pumpkins about- sat out on front porches of the colourful houses. Don’t know entirely what that was about- maybe its pumpkin season insanely early in Cali (doesn’t entirely seem sensicle to me), maybe they thrive in the zeitgeist of Halloween?? Anyways, I found the section that is the capital of burritoville. I chose taqueria Cancun- both because it’s supposed to be one of the best & I am heading to Cancun too.. so might as well get prepped. Despite it being massive, I ate the burrito in about two minutes. I have to say- it has got to be one of the best burritos I’ve ever had & I mean that. Pure & simple & perfect little baby sized wrap. After I polished off that baby off, I stumbled over to get my pack from the hostel.

In a series of unfortunate mis-understandings, I accidentally took an uber over to perhaps the sketchiest parts of the whole Bay area. Two hours later though, I found myself at Carolina’s in the quiet of the Sunset district- ready to crash on that basment couch. I had some quick conversations with the roommates- queer artist types- and then went to bed.

I woke in the early morning, before anyone else in the house. I went to the downtown area to a place called Mel’s diner to meet an old friend I knew in High School. My partial motivation for this, was to get more content for my friend’s diner instagram account. Seeing Monica was so nice. We were not particularly close in high school, but took all four years of visual arts together. She’s been living in California on and off for the last 5 years or so. Originally she was living in the mountains of Santa Cruz & found a really lovely community out there. Eventually, San Francisco lured her in. She told me of the awesome non-profit she first worked for, but eventually the astounding living costs forced her into the tech sector. She enjoys her job at a video game company, but after studying art history & global development, I think her heart still craves work in that area. We talked about how San Francisco’s tech boom is making it impossible for artists to stay here, creating work. Most of them have been pushed out to Oakland, but even Oakland is seeing such rapid gentrification, it is making it quite difficult for artists to stay- let alone continue to show their work. The same is happening in many other west coast art hubs like Portland & Seattle. Of course, once the artists leave, San Francisco will die in the ways it was. Which is terribly sad- confirming it is no longer the city of love it once was in decades past. For the moment, there are still glimpses of it though, and I hope to be back while it still exists in this manner.  It was nice seeing Monica & see her doing so well now, even though she will likely soon have to leave San Francisco too. She definitely inspired me to go back to Santa Cruz for longer next time- there are some cool land projects & anarchist communities out there she thought I’d really jive with. She also told me about some cool farms in Big Sur. I can’t wait to get back there with my sisters. Monica was bullied in High school and it makes me so happy & relieved knowing that she found peace and acceptance away from Toronto. Giving me added hope for love & harmony around the world.

I walked Monica to work (she often has to work 7 days a week to make enough hours to get by- which is insane to her too). After that, I wandered by myself again- as it is my very favourite activity. I walked along the piers- that is to say for a few hours. I slowly made my way towards the golden gate bridge. I eventually got to the park just past the maritime museum in the fisherman’s warf. It was there that I got a message from my best friend Kluane. “Is it okay if I call you” she said. Of course, we often try and chat on the phone, but I had a feeling in that moment it was something important. I crossed my arms & called her in Winnipeg. She picked up right away & hurried into it. It echoed a call I had with my father last fall. She asked me if it was a good time to hear some difficult news. I mean I was in public, but once hearing that sentence it’s hard to delay hearing it anyways. Plus, I heard in her tone she needed to talk about something really important too.

----------------------------------------------------------

Danielle Moore.

As I looked out over the Golden Gate Bridge, Klu gently let me know that our friend Danielle Moore was on a flight heading to Kenya for a UN conference. She continued that the plane had gone down & there had been no survivors. I could hear the shock in her voice still. I didn’t even really notice that I had started crying. After a relatively short chat, we hung up the phone & agreed to talk soon. I spent the next half hour crying in that park alone- trying my best not to full out sob loudly- I don’t know how effective I was in that effort.

I met Danielle in university. In second year we had been nextdoor neighbours- living in twin houses Victorian houses. Due to the fact that they looked exactly the same, we our separate friend group inadvertently often waltzed right into the other’s apartments. Once, Danielle’s partner so far as walked into my roommate’s room, only then realizing he was in the wrong place. During warmer months, both of our house hold would spend days drawing in chalk on the sidewalks outside & strumming ukelele’s & doing crafts. We went to eachother’s house parties. A year or so later, we found our paths crossing even more often, trading often on BUNZ & finding ourselves at a lot of the same events. Danielle had some of the most brilliant optimism & energy I’d ever witnessed. She tirelessly worked towards making the world a better place- widely diversifying her causes. She was honestly so inspiring & hands down one of the friendliest people I’ve ever met. I know a lot of people say that about people that have passed away. I can’t emphasize how true it was; Is. If Danielle was still here, the same things would still be said. I am in a state of absolute shock. I know the wider community is too.

As Klu said, it just seems so wholly unfair, that something so horrible would happen like that- especially to Danielle. There is no making sense of it. Kluane & Danielle had become really close over the last year- as they had both been living in Winnipeg. When Leon, Klu’s brother was to visit after Klu returned to Winnipeg (after meeting us in Mexico), they had made plans to go skating all together. My heartbreaks for her in such a really way too. She’s been doing her very best to honour Danielle in anyway she can & has been spearheading a ritual for all of Danielle’s loved ones across the world. I am doing my best to support that goal, despite my physical distance.

After my good public sob-fest, I called my sister on the phone to tell her. I decided to by my ticket back to LA there & then. I wanted to be around someone I knew, even just to be there quietly next to them. Having family near-ish felt like a good option for me. I soon texted Mia that I would be coming back earlier than expected.

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I still owed Gopala money from our roadtrip up the coast. I met up with him & tried my best to be brief. He told me he had been worried about me. I told him I was sorry, but that I had really needed to be alone for the past day & had purposely not been looking at my phone. I also briefly mentioned the news I had just learned about Danielle. He said some swift thing like “Well remember what Krishna told Arjuna, when Arjuna expressed his fear of his friends dying”. The thing is I knew. I still know. I haven’t lost that picture. I have better tools now, and do not feel the urge to fall apart like I did when my cousin died (although even then I managed not to). Ellie’s death was perhaps the most difficult thing I’ve ever been through in my entire life. And I am surviving that. It has prepared me for so much, including Danielle’s horrible death. I kinda wanted to smack him… just a little. Okay, maybe just pinch him a little. I just feel huge resentments towards people who speak to me like I am being some overdramatic-woman-type creature. As if being upset at my friend’s death was an overreaction of some sort (I had resolved my composure at this point).  As if I was some person that needed to be lulled back into a rational state of mind. In fact, I think I am quite good at that- the key being that I allow myself to fully feel my feelings through a purge of emotion. I guess it’s not my buisness what other people’s opinions of me are. Their opinions are only a reflection of their own inner psyche. So, I learned in that moment not to give single shit about what he thought & do whatever I needed to do to feel okay.

Danielle wasn’t in my everyday anymore, though, I suppose she had been for a few years. I cannot imagine the heart pain of the people that were so deeply intertwined with hers. For Kluane who did have her in her everyday. For her partner Colby, who had had her in his everyday for so so so many years at this point. I have such fond memories of Colby & Danielle doing goofy sung duets- Colby occasionally pulling out his Kermit the frog puppet. They had hosted countless potlucks gathering the community throughout university & beyond. My heartaches for her family. How absolutely horrible & out of the blue. She had flown so many times- travelling all around the country with her job. There is just no making sense of it, even though I am still trying for some reason.

I got myself to the bus stop & climbed onto the bus feeling partially numb. I did a pretty good job of not crying- though I still welled up with tears on a semi-regular basis, trying not to freak out the girl that was sitting next to me. I checked in on Klu, who went ahead with performing in her Hip-Hop dance recital- which I am so unbelievably proud of her for. Katie told me that yesterday, a letter arrived for Klu from Danielle. From what I know, the letter contained fairly ordinary, but non-the-less lovely thoughts & dreams. I can’t imagine what getting a letter like that would be like. I do remember how scared I was went they first found Katie’s tumour though. How precious it was to have time to process all of it. With Danielle’s passing, there was non of it.

I got into LA & after a rather fumbly uber ride, I found myself on the couch of my uncles house yet again. In the morning, Tom woke me up & asked if I wanted to do yoga on the  beach with Mia & him. Of course I said yes. I feel more grounded now that I have the tools do deal with all these emotional difficulties. But I can’t help have my mind wander over to thoughts of Danielle quite often.

So too, were my thoughts wandering over to the imminent flight I too was supposed to be boarding in order to travel to Mexico. Mia & Tom were both flying out the following day too- and we tried to keep our fear to the minimal, by not talking about it too much.

We were gentle with out last day in LA. We rode those uber scooter’s back and forth between Venice Beach and Santa Monica. I’m glad I finally got to find them- they are so fun. More importantly that gave me that same wholly free feeling I had in riding that rusty old bike around New Orleans. I had a rush of realization with how much I loved LA. Venice Beach in particular. I have such gratitude for the laid back warmth this area provides. It was like a really soft cushion to fall onto after a challenging week.

We ate at swinger’s diner & talked about family dynamics, Danielle & Ellie & about what we would all do in Toronto when we got there. Of course, my thoughts flickered to the fact that that meant more plane rides. I had only extremely recently become completely comfortable with planes after all this time. My flights are already booked though, and I am determined not to have fear steal my wanderlust. Anyways, I miss my sisters. And seeing them means going to Europe.

I caught up with some friends while I walked around Venice beach by myself later that day. Stopping to look at the deep fried oreos that were calling out my name, until I decided to ignore them. I hung out with Tom & Caroline in the apartment for the rest of that evening, as Eric & Mia went out for dinner just the two of them. I passed out on the couch a little cookie drunk. We had been watching Christopher Robin (after it became very clear that Blood Diamond was WAY too violent for me these days). Of course normally I would have been sure to pack my bag meticulously the night before, but in my altered state I chose to fall asleep instead. I resolved to wake early & do it then, meaning I knida rushed it, packing in the dim morning light of Mia’s still darkended bedroom. Tom Left early, then it was me, then Mia left an hour later- all at differet terminals, so I guess it didn’t really matter we weren’t able to hang at the airport together.

In my haste, I forgot to take my grohman pocket knife out of my purse…which I only realized as they searched my bag. The lady at TSA looked at me like I had done it on purpose & was an absolute criminal. She noted it down on my record. I cried. Honestly because that knife meant to much to me & was one of my prized pocessions. I reminded myself there was more important things in the world & that I could always eventually get a new one. But I continued crying a bit anyways- my thoughts drifting along other paths. Danielle. The coming plane ride. My knife. My frustration with myself. But mostly it became about the plane.

After that incident, I pretty well ran through the airport to make the flight, so there wasn’t that much to think afterall. When I got onto the aircraft I forbaid myself from thinking any bad thoughts. “not in here” I repeated internally. I closed my eyes once I was settles & chooed the thoughts out of my brain. Repeating my mantra over and over and over. Somewhere in there I came back into awareness enough to fill out my immigration form.

When I landed in Cancun I was exhausted & downed a whole bag on banana chips out of frustration. I took the bus into Playa del Carmen where Katie was waiting for me. The humidity here struck me immediately. Especially seeing as I had a huge pack & was still wearing my jeans- which seemed wholly reasonable in California, but ridiculous here. Seeing Katie felt unreal. When I saw her face, it was like I came into realization that I was really there- that I had survived my flight & I could enjoy the next couple weeks with my friends.

Katie had offered to stay on the phone with my as I boarded. I was relieved I didn’t need that, although I was grateful for the offer. The past few days we have been scheming ways of supporting Klu on her journey here. Not only is she sure to be exhausted, I understand the fear she is experiencing in getting on the plane. Anything we can do to help her, Katie & I are determined to carry out.

On our way down to Santa Cruz, we tried to take our time once again. That being said, we did take many of the look off’’s on the previous days’ trip. And, I will admit, there was growing antsiness in my inner world. I was about ready to be by myself again, and yet, I was still so far from that being logistically possible. 

We drove through Big Sur again towards Monterey, stopping to look at cows and flowers and water bodies. Gopala insisted he wanted to try to pet a cow- despite my “I don’t think they’d like that much”. As we rounded each bend, I imagined all the people who had ridden along these same roads. Kerouac, without a doubt, but so many more writers and artists & muses themselves. Not to mention all the people that had travelled this coastal highway that I’d never even heard of, and maybe wouldn’t ever. Each scattering their own thoughts into the wind as they passed along this road. Each of these people forming new parts of themselves here too. It did feel like a gateway of some sort to me. An unseen passageway- one that wasn’t so tangible, or perhaps concretely emotional, but one that I am strangely sure was there. 

The car climbed off the coast & towards the inland road. We came across a farm stand- one that had some of the best produce prices I’ve ever see- 3 avocados for a dollar! 7 kiwis for a dollar! I got myself a big bag of banana chips & a bunch of fresh stuff (including mangoes, blood oranges, avocados) all under 6 dollars. Gonna say that might be the bargain of the whole trip. I ate avocados & orange in the car as we eventually rolled into Santa Cruz. The thing about getting up at 5 is that your day complete already as you are still sitting in early afternoon. We waited for the Library to open so we could charge our devices. Gopala also wanted to print more photos of Gurus and Gods for his car. Once my phone was charged enough, I took the opportunity to taste independence again, if not for a short amount of time. I told Gopala I was going for a walk & vaguely waved that I’d be back in a bit. 

‘A bit’ turned out the be a couple hours later. Even that didn’t really feel like enough time alone. I knew what I really need, what I really wanted, was to be really truly alone & in control of my being- my schedule, my routine, my diet. Gopala had a bad tendency to judge absolutely everything I do. Only to follow up with some Vendatic reasoning if I showed any kind of indifference to the stuff he was telling me. What irritates me most about men, is that they seem to think “quiet & polite” means “weak & a push-over”, That alone really bubbles-up my inner demon. More then that though, I felt like my schedule wasn’t in my control either, I kept saying “I think I just need to get to San Fran and regroup”, but we found lots of reasons to delay.

Santa Cruz.

For what it’s worth, Santa Cruz is a really beautiful place and definitely has a really cool vibe about it. There were the most skaters I’ve ever seen in one area-- with the potential exception of Venice Beach. Driving down the streets you saw cool old cars with surf boards sticking out the windows or strapped onto the rook- waiting for the slightest bit of warmer weather. The beach was pretty nice, with a pier & bars like most Californian City Beaches. In addition to that, though, there is also a full blown carnival set up down there. Colourful rides & the like. Out of all the carnivals I’ve ever been to, this one genuinely had one of the best vibes about it- but maybe that’s because I walked through it alone (or rather on the phone with Kluane) due to it being the off season. The town is also filled with a lot of new-agey shops that smell like incense- although a little more gentrified than other places I’ve been. Overall Santa Cruz felt a little dream & half asleep. It’s a college town (a similar size to Kingston ON), that you can tell gets packed in summer with people seaking that iconic “California” experience. 

Like much of the coast, there are a lot of people in Santa Cruz living out of their vans, not by force, but by choice. At the library, we pulled up next to this guy with a long grey beard & dreads tucking into his trucker hat. The van had all kinds of sticker stuck to the sides- bands, places & funny sayings- but mostly bands. Later in the day, we struck up a conversation with him, when he heard us listening to Jerry Garcia as Gopala redecorated the inside of his mobile shrine. He passed us a flyer & invited us to a few shows for the following week. Gopala seemed interested, but The shows started at 9, which was definitely later than we were staying up at that point. Plus he might have seen the pleading “please let’s just leave” face I had on. The guy went on to talk about conspiracy theories of the California fires & about surfing & about the “hundred year bloom” that was about to happen in Death Valley. On another trip- perhaps with my sisters- I could really settle into the vibe & would have loved to stay and make friends like this, but this time, I knew, was not the time. 

Along with the distinctly laid back vibe, there is a really strong & healthy rebel vibe. We happened upon Subrosa (which, when I walked by before, drew me in too for whatever reason...maybe someone told me about & I forgot). Anyways, they were having a “Free Fair”, meaning everything there was Free- Nice clothing, massages, books, trinkets, homemade food, electronics & instruments. I myself, collected a t-shirt from an artist I think lives in New Orleans (because I recognize their work) & a couple ‘zines from their library which was about herbalism & making tincture. I kinda took a deep breath, because these people reminded me of my community back home. I overheard conversations like “oh, I’m teaching for two weeks at witch camp” & “yeah I was gathering a lot of pursulane recently”. I smiled to myself as the young girl whispered to her mom “look mom! There’s our farmer!” There was a guy also dressed up like a full blown pirate- like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean. I walked around the patio- looking a the lace & silk scarves hanging from the trees- talking myself down, because I knew I had absolutely no more room in my pack.

Gopala ended up getting into a Vendantic argument with that very same farmer not five minutes later. I snapped to attention- but there was nothing I could really do. The guy was pointing out that the bindi Gopala was wearing might be considered cultural appropriation, and Gopala went immediately into a schpeal about “well that only makes sense if you think you are the body”. To which the guy said “huh?” “you aren’t the body, you aren’t the mind, you are god”. You could tell the guy did not want to engage in that way and he about said as much, adding “I actually like being in my body & connecting to it” to which Gopala said something like “Well you are living in full ignorance then”. I wanted to scream out of embarrassment, but also on behalf of my allyship with this man. As we got into the car, I tried to explain to Gopala that he shouldn’t engage with people like that & why it might be inappropriate & how he is speaking from an opinion of the Truth, but that other people connect to Truth in a different way. He wasn’t interested in hearing me though, and pretty much accused me too of being “asleep”, to which he told me I’d feel better if I did some breathing excersizes. Instead I repacked my bag & held my breath (literally) for fear that if I let any of my breath out it would come tumbling out with curse words and further angry grumbles. He was reminding me more and more of a definite mixture of two of my least favourite ex-boyfriends and I was getting a huge urge to straight up run away. I was determined to get to San Fran, though and it was only an hour & a half away at that point. 

We paused again near the seashore- because Gopala suggested doing meditation at the beach- I think he was trying to do it for me partitally, but we couldn’t find cheap parking anywhere. Instead we found a lot further up & I hoped out the car & called a friend. And cried a little out of frustration. And then I cried a little more about Ellie- and what a hard ass she had been. And that she was the type of person to say exactly what she meant & what she wanted & stuck to her guns like no one else. If I learned anything from her, it was that. I felt better after that cry. I knew that I had all that in me too. And I was fully resolved to use those skills, I didn’t care about being sweet and fully polite at that point. 

San Francisco.

We got back in the car & finally drove onto the highway towards San Francisco. All the way, I was messaging friends who might have friends or contacts in San Fran- so I could ground with a friendly face of some sort. My friend Asa (who I stayed with in NOLA) used to live in Oakland (the city just across the bridge from san fran). He found a friend that I could stay with, which felt like a huge relief. She was out until late evening tho, so I decided to get a hostel for the night. I got Gopala to drop me off at the HI city centre & did my best not to full run out of the car. I didn’t think to look back though. 

The Hostel is huge- obviously an old hotel of apartment building or something. It’s old, but has all the charms that come along with creaky buildings- including an old-fashioned elevator & distinct architecture features. The walls are covered in Art that depicts witches & little gothic characters. The front desk people looked normal enough- except one girl who was a full blown goth, complete with pleather jacket with fur trim, shaved hair style & the most dramatic eyebrows I’ve seen in a long while. Gothy-girl band music played over the common areas. I felt immediately at home/calm. 

I went up to my room & decided the best thing I could do for myself was to re:group in simple ways- shower, meditate, read, check in with a few friends & write. I met my dorm mates- two girls from Germany on a road trip through the western part of America. We chatted for a while about travel & the Grand Canyon & the Coast of California. They leave today for the rest of their. I have to check out at 11 from the hostel & make my way to oakland with my big pack. Gopala already messaged me about coming to a Sivananda Vedanta thing, but I’m just gonna leave that message hanging a bit. I’ll have to get back to him eventually because I owe him gas money. For the mean time, I’m gonna take a breather & experience the city by myself. 

Yet again, it seems so much has happened in such a short span of time. I’ve seen as much as the coast as I could manage & landed myself in San Francisco. I will spend a few days here & head back to LA- and I’ve seen so much since the time I was last there. I am currently decompressing in the biggest way. I haven’t needed to this much the length of my whole trip. I am intentionally breathing ultra-deep to rinse myself of all the stress I felt building up in my body. It’s over now, I feel safe & in control of my life/story again. It was trying there for a second tho, but I’m learning the signs quicker & quicker these days, which can only be a good thing. Maybe I should speak chronologically tho.

Los Angeles.

I spent much of my days in LA eating a ton of ‘smashed Avo on toast’, as Tom & Caroline would call it. You know I’m not joking- I basically ate that for two days straight. It’s becoming increasingly apparent to me what a creature of habit I am. LA was really chilled out- for many reasons. Firstly, I think that may just be the vibe. Despite it being such a hustle city in someways, it’s like everyone got entranced by the soothing ocean & has constant dreamy eyes. There is a lot happening here still, but people generally feel very happy to be on their hustle in this arena. Anyways, the same dreaminess settled over me too. Most of the  day was spent driving around semi-aimlessly with Tom & Mia. Mia DJ’ing indie pop, trap, hip hop. I felt like a teenager again & remembered again what it was like to just be. Not to have any kind of agenda. That kind of freedom drives many crazy these days, I’ve noticed. I wonder why that might be- are we that uncomfortable with ourselves? does it speak to a lack of tolerance for our own minds or lives or something of the like? Anyways, perhaps that will be explored further later on. For now, I will say, I finally felt absolutely 150 percent okay with having had nothing planned for the day- but also having the confidence with keeping myself occupied constantly. Fully playing it by ear. I felt goooood. I felt in control of my life- in a manageable way. Those glimpses at freedom showed me what I really wanted to carry into my life- however I can manage that.  

As we drove around, the sunshined in. We rolled down all the windows, despite the slightly brisk air. We watched various photoshoots transpire (and there were quite a few of them) in alleys, on the beach, outside fancy houses. We went to Goodwill- as per Mia’s request- despite my adament “I CANNOT SET FOOT INTO THE DEN OF TEMPTATION”. And I should have listened to those instincts- because (no thanks to Mia & Tom’s encouragment) I ended up with a new sweater (but it has such cute little houses on it! it’ll match my cabin one day!). The same could have been said about the in & out burger that we ended up having that afternoon too. Mia talked me into the animal fries which is equal parts disgusting and delicious- catch me at a different mood & you’ll get a different reaction. It’s just fries, with melted american cheese, fried onions & sauce (which is like guck-sauce for the Lick’s burger fans out there). One of the “secret menu items” is the veggie burger- which I kid you not, is just a giant slice of onion in the place of a burger patty & then all the fixings on top of that. The best thing about it was probably just the strangely sophisticated 50′s nostaligia vibe about the In & out chain. And everyone was enthusiastic & nice- which I like to think is a quality everyone looks for in a burger joint. 

By Afternoon we were quite sleepy really. We lazily drove around musing about what to do. Tom shouted “Well let’s just go to the beach & dig a big whole”. Mia tells me this is a thing Tom often wants to do, and in fact, often does. Just digs a hole to sit in it. For some reason it kinda sounds nice, but I have no idea why. Again-another thing to muse about someday perhaps, but not today. When we got back to the house Mia & Tom took a nap. I, not feeling all that tired really, decided to venture out into Venice beach on my lonesome. I walked all the way down the venice pier. When I was walking back down the pier towards the beach, a skater came up behind me yelling “where is your board???” I yelled at him “I wish I had one!” And he stopped to chat. His name was Antony, he’d lived in Venice/Marina Del Rey all his life, been skating pretty much his whole life too. He let me ride his board for a short while & encouraged me to get back into it. I think perhaps I will- although I recently traded my longboard for my travelling backpack- which I maintain was a great trade. Antony recommeded I go down to the skate park down the way, and so I did. And then all the way down the board walk just as everything was closing. I pretty well made it all the way to Santa Monica, but decided to turn back as it was pretty dark by that point. When I was walking back I watched the weirdest phenomena- a storm far, far off in the distance. The weird part was that it flashed red- I think it may have been an illusion created by the last remaining sliver of sunset. Whatever it was- it was beautiful & weird & unlike anything I’d ever seen before. The storm continued through the night- drawing closer to the coast. Around 2 in the morning, it was right above us. It was the loudest lightning I’d ever heard. I jerked awake at several points, half-convinced they were actually bombs being dropped. 

I woke up at 4, to get ready to meet Gopala. That morning, before anyone else in the house was even thinking of getting up, I was at satsung with him at the Sivanada centre in LA. It was only us & Gopika, who lead the morning ritual. Turns out, Gopika knows Mare too (I think from the ashram in Grass Valley). We helped her clean up all the rose petals from the alter from the Puja the day before (or maybe two days?). Gopala kinda took off for a second, without me realizing, and so I waited around the yoga studio, checking in with various friends & families before I invetiably lost service on our adventure up the coast. He came back, and we did a quick Asana practice. We went to the teeny-tiny yoga apartment& ate breakfast there & prepared some kitcherie that we had for lunch later on in that day. There were a few mishaps in the kitchen that kept us longer than we intended. Finally, we were ready to leave the city, until Gopala remembered he wanted to go to the GIta museum in LA. So we drove over there & waited for it to open. I wasn’t supppper interested in going. But as I waited in the car, Gopala called me several times to make sure I was coming. I ended up wandering into the temple alone, which felt better. Eventually I saw Gopala & we wove our way over to the museum entrance- it was actually closed, in order to be re-painted. But we sat and chatted to the painter & the museum keeper. The Museum keeper allowed us in for a brief sneak-peak. The museum is a collection of dioramas depicting certain stories from the Gita. It was pretty beautiful- and obviously is super special for a lot of people. For me, like the bible, the Gita is just a story- a vague tale explaining the nature of love & kindess & truth in it’s various kinds. I’m into spirituality- without a doubt- I am not, however, into dogma, or religion in such a structured form. I find it restraining. I think people should be free to seek these wisdoms, not have wisdoms shoved down their throats- If people aren’t ready to hear things, they won’t hear them. I mean, they will hear words, but not understand the meaning. Dangerously, that creates confusion & people using religious jargon angrily towards people instead of loving people- which is really what it is all about. Anyways, I digress. After that, we headed for the coast. Into the beautiful coast line of Malibu & then beyond that.

The Coast

Much of the coastline wears scars of past fires. the earth & trees are still blackend, few of them leafing to their fullest potential. It makes for the slighest eerie feeling, in an otherwise Neverland-esque landscape. The 101 is the highway that runs in-land, the 1 is the coastal highway. It weaves & hugs the coastline. It takes longer to get from place to place, no-doubt, but it is that one you want to be on if your goal is to *see* California. We took some short detours- driving through the rollinghill/mountains of Ojai, and other smaller towns. We listened to a lot of Jerry Garcia- especially his side-project bluegrass stuff. Gopala is a huge deadhead & even has huge Grateful Dead tattoos. We talked a bunch about music- which he was into, until he was really not anymore. I mean I think we have the same taste in music really, at least in our “past lives”. AKA pre-ashram lives. I get that Gopala is in recovery, but sometimes he grips so hard to the religion stuff, all the other great parts of life get stamped out. At a certain point, he didn’t want secular music in the car anymore & so we went back to chanting mantra & singing along to Guru songs. On the occasion we took breaks to listen to Reggae. As the sun weaned, we stopped in Morro Bay to make dinner on the tiny camp stove. The sunset glowed pale purple behind the huge rock that jutted out of the water. As we ate, we watched a couple sea otters play around in the water. Eventually, we got back in the car & continued driving the highway- this time listening to Vedanta by Sadguru. We were trying to be ambitious, but when we passed our intended stop, Gopala said he wasn’t tired and so we continued on all the way to Monterey, California were we spent the night. 

We drove the car to one of the back corner’s of one of the many Motel Parking lots. We spent the night there in the car, sleeping in the reclined seats. This style of sleeping that never really bothered me, but Gopala seemed worried I was some kind of princess. Which kinda reminded me, that it’s true, he doesn’t really know me that well (nor I, him really). Anyways, it was fine. What was less fine, was having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I spare you those details. lol. 

Monterey & Big Sur

We woke without really saying anything & went straight into the ashram routine- 30 minutes of Meditation, satsung & reading from one of the books Gopala was given by Swamiji. We drove out pretty much right after that, as the sun was rising in that part of the world. Monterey is a cute little spot- with an old spanish-style monestary that I kinda wish I could have gotten a better look at. Not entirely far from Monterey, was our next stop- Big Sur. In between we took our time, stopping at several look off points. The hills were scattered with wildflowers- blue tistle-y ones, orange poppies, yellow canola looking ones. There was also an abundance of a very fragrant plant- that I think may be wild mountain thyme (like the song! *sigh*). I asked the plants if they minded being picked, and I got a good feeling they didn’t, so I gathered a bunch & bound them in hemp string for smudging (or a better/more appropriate word) purposes. 

Another beautiful view on the road was the Rocky Creek Bridge, which flickered passed far too quickly to take a proper picture. My mind’s image is pretty good tho- simple, but sitting on two points a stunning height from the ocean below. Round in it’s support, simple & quiet in design from the road-level. Maybe it’s weird to be so taken with such a small bridge, but I thought it was so beautiful. 

Eventually, we did roll into Big Sur State Park. The forest was dense with huge red-wood trees that blocked out much of the sun- leaving a hazy light on lower level of the forest. Red-woods have a way of making you feel like a tiny ant- insignifcant, but free in that way. Trees are great teachers & I count many of them as deep really friends. I hope to spend some more quality time with Red-woods in the future- I’m sure I will too. This time, however, the rain poured and poured, making it difficult to fully bask in their majesty. Many of the trails were closed. And so, we spent much of the time bundled in all our clothing in the car. 

I made a break for it to set up the tent in a rare 10 minute gap in the rain. It was good thing I did too- because turns out Gopala doesn’t know anything about camping. I set up a tiny tarp in the most strategic way I could manage. I sat thankful for my father in that moment- for teaching me through doing the thing over & over in front of me as a child. He planted some pretty useful tricks in this mind of mine. 

Halfway through the day, we wet for a field trip, hopeful that there would be a break in the rain & we’d find ourselves a good hiking trail- no such luck. We did, however, find the Henry Miller Library- which is really more of a bookstore. It was a really cute spot. Tucked amongst the red-woods just beyond a bend in the road. Someone had converted a huge blue school bus into a house (that kinda looked familiar? like I might have watched a walk through before on youtube or something). The path was lined with strange art- old tv’s, manquins with teeth- and a huge sign that said “art in progress”. The house itself was cedar siding & faded with the wet & with age. There was a cat that ran amongst the table legs, as my eyes flickered between all the novels, a poetic anthologies, and books about the area. Big Sur, as it happened, is a huge attraction for travellers & those who have wandering hearts/minds, when their bodies are more stationary. Many writers- Jack Kerouac, Henry Miller, Robinson Jeffers & musicians settled & were inspired by Big Sur. Henry Miller famously described the area as “the place where nothing happens”. In my mind, that speaks to a certain otherworldliness that exists outside of the concept of time. There are old 50′s trucks on the side of the road, ancient trees, and then a tesla zooms by- it’s bizarre. Through it all though, there is an unpenetrable peace about the area. Even if you happen to be in the company of someone who *might* be driving you slightly crazy.

We drove back & made dinner. I spent much of the evening trying to borrow in my own little world- which, for the evening, consisted of some of the last chapter’s of ‘Wild’ by Cheryl Strayed. Gopala later gave me a lecture about how novels spoil the path to enlightenment, but I kept reading, despite is aimed lectures of my ever behaviour. If only that was the most annoying thing- but he also managed to find many moments to not only explain that to me, but also the nature of periods & how to relieve that pain (bad periods mean you are eating unhealthy, so it would only be their fault). As well as making the comment “I’m glad you aren’t on your period, otherwise I might not have taken you” as he laughed. It was that specific moment that I felt my composure crack & a bit of bitch bubbling up in me. I was still in the middle of the woods, with no way out besides with him though. Instead, I decided to stand my ground firmly & short- without being specifically pointedly rude- although I was tempted to. *It’s a test* I’d remind myself. But ooooph, at moments was I ever fuming. I didn’t even pick at any of his dumb-dumb city boy outdoor-choices, which included a whole slew of strange choices (I will, however slightly dig them here, my safe, yet public, diary of sorts lol).

It rained all night. I love sleeping in the rain, Gopala not so much. I am used to Canada (which is colder for sure than Big Sur), Gopala is not. I woke happy, Gopala... maybe not as much. He went straight into meditation around 4:15 in the morning in the car- leaving it running with the heat on (which besides being obnoxious, also worried me in regards to the car battery dying. Around 5, I also got up to meditate. When we were done, I suggested we break camp early & get out of here. 1) I wanted to be able to get space. 2) hiking was obviously a bust at this point 3) I already had my sister trip ticking in the back of my mind, knowning that the rain wouldn’t make them all wonky in the same way it was making Gopala. I tucked the dream for the future trip in my pocket & decided to move on with this part of the trip. 

So, like we decided, we broke camp early & moved down the coast towards Santa Cruz.

When I decided to leave, I knew I didn’t want to have dragged out goodbyes (which kinda ended up happening anyways), but the idea was, I’d have a party & I’d get to say goodbye to everyone I wanted to say goodbye to at once... and then sneak out of Halifax. Not for any secretive reasons, but more so, because I wanted to be with myself & focus on what was a head, without worrying about what was behind me- who I hadn’t said goodbye to yet, what I was going to miss while I was gone. It’s one of the secrets of being able to stay present. Being happy with where you are, when you are there, because that is where you are meant to be. 

Anyways, It was also my friend Steph’s birthday around the same time & so we decided to collaborate on a party. Steph & I are a team of dreamers, and somehow manage to pull off these giant, elaborate events- admittedly she’s been pulling my weight in this area over the last while, because I’ve been feeling so burnt out. In our night of brainstorming (with Ol’ country tunes in the background)  we turned out the best theme ever: Space Cowboy. I mean, what’s more free than a cowboy with all of the universe to explore!? People were very excited about it & seemed so keen to wear costumes (which is all Steph & I could have hoped for). On the day of, Steph decked out Rosa’s house (who graciously allowed us to throw it there). Al dj’ed the best weirdo-tracks- digitally, country, Bowie- you know, everything you’d expect at a space cowboy party. Everyone was so happy to be there & enthusiastic about the happenings. It felt so nice. And I felt like everyone that was meant to be there, was there- expect perhaps Katie, who was still house bound at that time. It was so much fun & perfect in my mind. The day after was my last day of work, and so it really did feel like the end of a huge chapter. ...Expect the fact that Steph & I immediately went into planning our next party- this time for my birthday & her going away.

I mean, funny enough, it actually turns out there are songs written about Space Cowboys. Like quite a few. Particularly notable Au Moment is the Kacey Musgraves track “Space Cowboy”, which I wasn’t particularly into at first, but after following me around from state to state I’ve fallen into a huge understanding & love for it. The song is about giving an ex-partner space & letting them do what they want. I related to it for while, until I realized, that what I forgot to notice was my own experience in wanting space. I needed to be away from the things that reminded me of things & stories that were tied so firmly to my thoughts. So firmly bound in the narrative of own life. Telling myself how it was gonna go this time. I was so caught up in trying to figure out what other people wanted & needed, I forgot to check in with myself in regards what I needed to do to create peace in my own life. It wasn’t about giving other people space, I needed space so desperately I felt I was suffocating. I needed something simple. I needed to be on my own. Away from all the things people told me needed- to be, to do, to have. I needed to be surprised- by the world & myself. I needed to be a stranger in a place, to meet myself again. 

I wonder what it says about the world- this reoccurring space cowboy thing. Cowboys themselves represent a fairly specific image- Stoic, simple life-livers, free under the sky. They are not to be messed with, and yet, are still kind and badass in all the good ways. In the old TV shows- they are philosophers, gunslingers, lone wolf types- but live by a moral code. Which makes sense in the turn our zeitgeist- not that there is too much room to roam like in the days of the wild west. People are turning to more simple ways of life, untying themselves from the bonds of capitalism, and even more sinister, the things we are told we “have to do” in order to be free and happy. The new renunciate. The farm people. The wanderers. The tiny home builders- and not those trendy/fancy ones- the ones that try to fit as many worldly good in a small space as possible, with brand names, yadda yadda. I mean people that are truly looking to live in a way outside of expectations. In my mind, the space element speaks to a generally worry about the world itself. Not enough space on this planet to truly feel free at this point. To be outside of it, is more ideal. Away, from not only, earthly expectations, but all the fires (literally and figuratively) burning here. Away, away from everything. And happy doing so.