"A little knowledge withheld is a great advantage one should store for future use....It is a game of secrets in which one must show and never tell." ~Amy Tan
I fall into a deep fever dream on a Wednesday morning. The kind with restless images, indecipherable codes. Somehow, by late afternoon, I'm completely recovered. My teacher here on the island invites me to a private resort for yoga class, dinner, and sauna detox. My last night of normal.
The fever returns and it lasts for days. I sleep and sleep and sleep. Oddly, around the same time each evening, I lapse into a moment of clarity and energy, just long enough for daily Sadhana. I move my body and gently raise my energy. Pranayama, mantra, meditation. Powerful techniques that existed long before humanity. I've carried them through lifetimes. Like second nature. Even sickness cowers away.
And each night, I crawl back into bed where the fever dreams live. I don't eat for three days. On the second day, I wake with a craving for a spicy chicken noodle soup from an Asian restaurant over 8000 miles away. Nothing else will do. So I ponder the irony and go back to sleep.
I dream I'm falling through realms. The seer back in Chiang Mai had told me to be careful of this. That I had a bad habit of slipping. Pay attention, he warned. I awake in this reality, on a tropical island, in a hut in the jungle. Everything is so quiet at certain times of the day. Years before I moved here, I told a past life regression therapist about this vision: I'm lying on my back and staring up at palm trees. No one can find me. My safe place. Perhaps there's a connection. How do I know what's real?
Early morning drive to the Thong Sala Pier. Fresh air in my face, I almost forget where I'm going and just want to drive and drive and drive. Then I remember. I need to get to Koh Samui to extend my visa. I sit on the upper deck of the ferry, close my eyes, and let the cool morning wind remind me I'm alive. This is real.
I've never seen the immigration office so crowded. It's never taken so long. Sweat drips down my back. I'm so hungry I might pass out. After an hour, I step into the small air conditioned office. My retired friend, the one who lives down the hill and across the road from me, beach front, calls to lament. I'd rather be on the island than anywhere else in the world, I say. You're right, he says after a pause. We really are fortunate.
Over a week later and I'm fully recovered. And in some mysterious twist of luck, I'm sleeping better than I have my entire life. Long deep sleeps where I wake well rested and light. Where have you been my whole life? I say to sleep. Sleep doesn't answer.
I catch up on Gigi Young videos. She speaks a truth no one wants to hear. I digest her messages and stare at the stars from my hammock. How did I get hooked on this channel again? Oh yeah, research on those bouts of sleep paralysis and thrashing I use to have as a kid that lasted well into college. But that's another story.
Days pass and I binge watch Sky Life and make a list of all the experiments I want to do on my body and mind that I've not yet tried. Some of them will have to wait. Others I start immediately. How is it that my body and mind seem to always know what they need? Like a memory trigger set long before I was born, they just know what to do and when.
The world has slipped into strange times. Some places far worse than others. Some call it upended. Some call it an awakening. Some people are going mad. Some are dealing with life just fine. Some people are being productive and experimental. Some sit with anxiety and fear of the unknown. And all the extremes and everything in-between. Ignore anyone who tells you that you're doing it wrong or that you are in denial. We are not all meant to have the same experience.
Throughout my unconventional childhood and life thereafter, I've gained this ability to adapt to the insane, to process life and emotions at an alarming efficiency that leaves me feeling suspicious. Like secrets whispered through thin veils that aren't really for me. Like a forbidden blessing I shouldn't question. I fall to my knees in gratitude. When I look up, all I see are palm trees.
Days tick on. Sadhana, reading, editing, walks in the jungle, swims in the ocean. Surprise calls from friends. I sit on the beach and watch the sun dip below the horizon, spreading colors and rays of light. I snap a picture. An illusion of stillness. The rhythms of the earth never stop. Effortless and magical. It whispers its secrets all around us, always. But who is paying attention? Stop, it says. Be present. Tap into the infinite. Eyes wide open. All the secrets you've ever wanted to know are right here.
Where is your mind these days? What is your experience in these strange times? Are you paying attention? What secrets are revealed when you stop and tap into the infinite?
I fall into a deep fever dream on a Wednesday morning. The kind with restless images, indecipherable codes. Somehow, by late afternoon, I'm completely recovered. My teacher here on the island invites me to a private resort for yoga class, dinner, and sauna detox. My last night of normal.
The fever returns and it lasts for days. I sleep and sleep and sleep. Oddly, around the same time each evening, I lapse into a moment of clarity and energy, just long enough for daily Sadhana. I move my body and gently raise my energy. Pranayama, mantra, meditation. Powerful techniques that existed long before humanity. I've carried them through lifetimes. Like second nature. Even sickness cowers away.
And each night, I crawl back into bed where the fever dreams live. I don't eat for three days. On the second day, I wake with a craving for a spicy chicken noodle soup from an Asian restaurant over 8000 miles away. Nothing else will do. So I ponder the irony and go back to sleep.
I dream I'm falling through realms. The seer back in Chiang Mai had told me to be careful of this. That I had a bad habit of slipping. Pay attention, he warned. I awake in this reality, on a tropical island, in a hut in the jungle. Everything is so quiet at certain times of the day. Years before I moved here, I told a past life regression therapist about this vision: I'm lying on my back and staring up at palm trees. No one can find me. My safe place. Perhaps there's a connection. How do I know what's real?
Early morning drive to the Thong Sala Pier. Fresh air in my face, I almost forget where I'm going and just want to drive and drive and drive. Then I remember. I need to get to Koh Samui to extend my visa. I sit on the upper deck of the ferry, close my eyes, and let the cool morning wind remind me I'm alive. This is real.
I've never seen the immigration office so crowded. It's never taken so long. Sweat drips down my back. I'm so hungry I might pass out. After an hour, I step into the small air conditioned office. My retired friend, the one who lives down the hill and across the road from me, beach front, calls to lament. I'd rather be on the island than anywhere else in the world, I say. You're right, he says after a pause. We really are fortunate.
Over a week later and I'm fully recovered. And in some mysterious twist of luck, I'm sleeping better than I have my entire life. Long deep sleeps where I wake well rested and light. Where have you been my whole life? I say to sleep. Sleep doesn't answer.
I catch up on Gigi Young videos. She speaks a truth no one wants to hear. I digest her messages and stare at the stars from my hammock. How did I get hooked on this channel again? Oh yeah, research on those bouts of sleep paralysis and thrashing I use to have as a kid that lasted well into college. But that's another story.
Days pass and I binge watch Sky Life and make a list of all the experiments I want to do on my body and mind that I've not yet tried. Some of them will have to wait. Others I start immediately. How is it that my body and mind seem to always know what they need? Like a memory trigger set long before I was born, they just know what to do and when.
The world has slipped into strange times. Some places far worse than others. Some call it upended. Some call it an awakening. Some people are going mad. Some are dealing with life just fine. Some people are being productive and experimental. Some sit with anxiety and fear of the unknown. And all the extremes and everything in-between. Ignore anyone who tells you that you're doing it wrong or that you are in denial. We are not all meant to have the same experience.
Throughout my unconventional childhood and life thereafter, I've gained this ability to adapt to the insane, to process life and emotions at an alarming efficiency that leaves me feeling suspicious. Like secrets whispered through thin veils that aren't really for me. Like a forbidden blessing I shouldn't question. I fall to my knees in gratitude. When I look up, all I see are palm trees.
Days tick on. Sadhana, reading, editing, walks in the jungle, swims in the ocean. Surprise calls from friends. I sit on the beach and watch the sun dip below the horizon, spreading colors and rays of light. I snap a picture. An illusion of stillness. The rhythms of the earth never stop. Effortless and magical. It whispers its secrets all around us, always. But who is paying attention? Stop, it says. Be present. Tap into the infinite. Eyes wide open. All the secrets you've ever wanted to know are right here.
Where is your mind these days? What is your experience in these strange times? Are you paying attention? What secrets are revealed when you stop and tap into the infinite?
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