What A Long Strange Year It's Been

The year started rough around the edges, but smoothed as each month passed through the seasons, setting me on course and setting me free. 

Winter: Death and Rebirth

My year started with Death--the death of someone I'd tried to shake from my life for years, now shaken from me forever. 

Weeks go by and I speak to no one. I hardly leave my hut. Am I even real? 

From my windows, jungle vines strangle houses and trees and land. How can anyone breathe on an island ten million miles from anywhere? Even the ocean recedes as far from it as possible, leaving nothing but a barren, sandy landscape and a glassy mirage on the horizon. 

I hop a flight to Chiang Mai and gasp for new life. 

Spring: Sensorial and Experiential 

Sprouts spring from the decay of winter. My island days are numbered, and all I want is to feel, see, taste, and experience every bit of it. I immerse myself in cooking classes, hiking adventures, ukulele sessions, and as much human connection as I can get. Because I want to live. I want to live. I want to live. But the center cannot hold. It never does. 

Friends leave or ebb away, classes end, and the season winds down. After two years on this small, tropical jungle island, I pack my life and move back to the north of Thailand. 

Summer: Growth & Renewal

Back in Chiang Mai, all the things I want to be here waiting for me aren't. It lures me back and only gives what I need, never what I want. This time, nature. Lots of it. Mountains, waterfalls, fertile ground, lush growth. Miles of land in every direction. Motorbike adventures and exploration fill my days. 

Stifling heat gives way to thunderstorm downpours, misty atmosphere, and a sense of renewal. I jog up the stairs to Wat Doi Pui and gaze over the rooftops to the expansive valley beyond the village. A cool breeze cuts through the heat. On top of a mountain, on the brink of change, anticipation stirs in the air. Smoke curls from the distant homesteads and thick clouds darken the sky. Thunder sounds. My cue to take action. If I linger any longer, I'll never go anywhere. 

Fall: Liberation

I ride the Mae Hong Son Loop, and I suspend in a timeless freefall of darkness and stars. I lose my job of the past five years and relief washes over me--a kind of relief I haven't felt since I left California. I shed the complacency that has grown in me like a disease over the years. I've all the time in the world to take mindful steps forward. And so with intention and vision, I do. 

In midst of stepping in new directions, Ted Chiang flips my literary world upside down. Most of my favorite writers have. Breaking rules and changing the way I think and see the world through story structure and experimentation. If we cannot turn what is known on it's head so that we can peer between the lines to see the unknown, what is left? What else is there to live for in this world? 

Spiraling back to winter, one foot in front of the other, I walk onward from where this year started. I have no expectations for what the coming year will bring or how it will unfold. But I have a direction and that is all that matters. 

What did you shed in 2021? How do you plan to show up for 2022? 

All Things Sacred

"So I pack my things, nothing precious, all things sacred." ~Alanis Morissette

I. Some Notes on Stillness

It's Tuesday night and the wind is blowing viciously and the waves are crashing on the boulders that line the cove. Quite the contrast to the glassy stillness that had been encompassing this island for months--the kind of sweltering energy that stagnates everything, the kind of energy my life had slowly dwindled to over the past few months. When the air and water stop moving, so does everything else. 

My friends and I sit at the ocean side restaurant and talk about the strange lingering energy and how it's manifesting into folks breaking down, dissociating, and mentally collapsing. One of them is a trauma therapist, fully booked and taking emergency sessions on the regular lately.

As the world around me stilled, so did I. Cultivating stillness calms the mind, clears channels, strengthens intuition, and allows steady movement through a world of chaos. It allows softness, the rise and fall of all things without such intense gravity attached to them. Perhaps, with the stillness of the island, comes an inner stillness that many are resisting, and instead of harnessing it, it's pouring out in erratic and strange ways. 

II. Some Notes on Staying

When I first visited Koh Phangan back in 2016, I knew I would live here one day, and for the past two years, I have. My original plan was to stay one year, but when borders closed last spring, I stayed. Life here has been an incredible blessing, and I'm beyond grateful for the experience. 

For the past two years, I've been living in a small house on a hillside in the jungle. And if you've ever lived in the jungle of a tropical location, you understand that walls are an illusion. The jungle encroaches on you until you are one with it. It takes some getting used to--the heat, the wildlife, the thickness, the rugged landscape that led to my front door. 

But it has been in the ever morphing experiences and connections that have made these two years unforgettable and eye-opening--the Koyopa community, kirtan nights on the beach, Osho dynamic meditations, rebirthing breathwork, Mooji satsang, early morning self-inquiry meditations, write nights, improv nights, cooking classes, and of course, all those incredible jungle hikes, night time rides, and ocean swims. 

My first post after moving to the island was how I'd reached some kind of pinnacle of existence, and I think, at that moment in time, I had. I mean, how can moving to a tropical island to finish writing a novel not be a pinnacle experience? But that novel is finished and entering into its next phase. And so am I. 

III. Some Notes on Change

When the pull to leave began back in the fall, I knew the end was near. I fulfilled what I came here to accomplish. With that project complete and new ones on the horizon, the need to immerse myself in new energy and surroundings grew. 

If you're into numerology, you might have guessed, my life path is five--a path of change and freedom. My soul number is four which represents stability and discipline. My life is one of finding stability and discipline within a world of constant change and, at times, chaos. I don't struggle or fight this way of life; I thrive in it. It takes discipline and stillness to understand how to move with the energy of change, to know when it's best to move on from whatever place or situation I've temporarily grounded into. Without the stillness, the change and movement would devolve into a kind of chaos, a compass without function. 

The world is quietest just before sunrise, Amrit Vela. Your channels are clearest, your senses are sharpest. It's the best time to explore the places between, where the biggest mysteries lurk, and where, when all else falls away, the unchanging, undying part of us can always be found, ready to move with this sacred life and all its magic and wonder. 

How do you find stillness in the chaos of life? How do you find equilibrium between change and stillness? Do you have a tendency for one over the other? How do you see them reflected in your life? 

And on that note, island life is a wrap...for the time being anyway. I've been back in Chiang Mai for two weeks, and I'm already spilling over with stories and insights to share. Because without contrast, life would not be near as dynamic or interesting or surreal. 

Experiential Moments of Wonder

I.

As I desperately clung to the boulder for my life--steep drop offs on either side of me, blood running down my leg, tears stinging my eyes--I became paralyzed with fear. My friend glanced back in my direction. "Don't be afraid," she said. "You're not going to die. You have so much more to accomplish in life." This was not a comforting thought. When I asked her to take me to the viewpoint that over looked a remote part of the island, I was not expecting such an extreme experience. But these are the moments that change us forever. They are the moments that ultimately define everything on the other side of them. 

II.

It was after we crossed the rickety bridge, walked through a cluster of abandoned, dilapidated bungalows, and ducked through a rip in a barbed wire fence, that I was sure we were on the right track. We wandered aimlessly through a grove of fallen coconuts and dead palm fronds until we saw the path that squeezed between two half-standing, graffitied structures. Roots tangled at our feet as we made our way down the ridge to the beach to meet our friends--the most tucked away, hidden beach I've yet to find on this small island. Waves crashed against boulders, the sun warmed our bodies, my heart exploded in awe that places like this still exist in the world. 

A week later I went back to the hidden beach cove. This time the water was glassy and smooth and quiet. A fisherman sat perched on the ledge of one of the abandoned bungalows balanced precariously on stilts over looking the ridge, his fish spread over the rocks, drying in the sun. What a life. My friend and I waded out into the water as far as we could go. When I turned around, the most surreal, tropical scene popped into focus--the beach, the coconut palms, the abandoned huts, the fisherman on the ridge. Years ago, in another era of my life, I had written on a scrap of paper how I'd one day live on a tropical island and write books. Words are magic spells. Use them wisely. 

III.

At the edge of the entrance to the barren, dirt road, the desert like landscape stretched around us in all directions. The jungle, the ocean, the lushness of the tropics fell away. I didn't know where I was anymore. We cut through a property of makeshift shacks and low voices hidden behind walls. Drug dealers, my friend whispered. Information probably better left unsaid when traipsing through unknown, desolate land. 

The path gave way and spread over rocks full of giant tide pool like crevices. I'd never seen anything like it. We're at the top of a waterfall, she said and pointed into the distance where boulders gave way and disappeared over the horizon. A chill ran up my spine despite the heat. I glanced up at the cloudless sky. Threat of a downpour would mean certain danger, I was sure, but not today. With no clouds or shade of any kind, the only escape from the scorching sun was to immerse ourselves into the pools of water. Tiny fish nipped at my skin. An eerie silence filled the space between our words. Water, Sun, Rock, Dry Heat. All the elements fell on me, heavy and fierce. 

IV.

We were on the mountain, somewhere in the jungle, halfway between Coral Bay and Bottle Beach when the thunder clapped so hard I swear the earth shook under us. It had been rumbling in the distance since the moment we hit the trail. We all picked up pace. The last thing we needed was to be caught in a jungle downpour full of muddy trails and slick rocks. The sky remained ominous, the air muggy, but the rain never fell. Eventually, the trail dumped us onto the beach--clear, blue sky, and cool stormy water. One scene gave way to the next like an artist painting a landscape of emotion. 

V.

I might have turned back had I not already made it so far, had I not been so determined to make it to the top. Ukulele strapped to my back, bright sun in my face, I gripped the boulder and pulled. My exposed skin scraped against the rough surface. At the top, I crawled along the rocks until I reached the cliff edge where the fear dropped away and the world expanded in shades of blues and greens--sky, jungle, ocean, remote and terrifyingly beautiful. 

VI.

Throughout April, old and new friends filtered through Koh Phangan whisking me away on adventures, lively dinners, and nights out. Though life has slowed and stillness settles over me again and I fall into a steady rhythm, the lingering energy remains. This life is an exploration after all, and to fully experience the world around me, I need to keep my sense of wonder alive. I continue to explore through writing and daily practices, through reading and learning. I chase dark sky and full moons. I dig my feet into the sand, listen to jungle sounds, and feel earth energy move through me. I weave stories from experiential moments of wonder. 

How do you fully experience the world around you? How do you keep your sense of wonder alive?

Prolonged Island Life: A Reflection

One year ago today, on January 28th 2020, I entered Thailand for the last time. Little did I know that I would not be traveling through Vietnam and the Philippines and the US over the spring and summer as I had planned. Little did I know I would still be here in Thailand a full year later. And aside from a 3 week trip to Chiang Mai back in November, I've not left Koh Phangan at all (day trips off island to deal with my visa don't count). My first post of 2021--a full year reflection of this prolonged island life. 

February: Synergy. Tuned in and dancing with life. Kosmic Nesting at Jai Thep Festival in the northern mountains, meeting up with friends visiting from the US for island adventures, hiking to remote beaches to watch storms brew and feel lightening charge the ether. I catch wind and let the sweet energy of life around me sweep me up and carry me away. 

March: Unravel. Heat waves and rumbling thunder. I attend lively writing sessions and esoteric workshops. I find belonging. But the center does not hold. I fall ill with dengue on a Wednesday morning. Days later when the fever dreams subside and I crawl out of bed, I emerge to a world come unraveled. 

April: Stalemate. Locked in place. Trapped on a tropical island. Life takes on a surreal quality. I meet friends on deserted beaches where we share otherworldly secrets and traipse through thick coastal jungle. Nothing looks or feels real anymore. There could be worse existences. 

May: Wisdom. I accidently join a mystery school and spend the next 2 months studying ancient mystics and practices. Of course, wisdom gained never comes from others. It always comes from direct experience, using discernment, and integrating awakened memories of knowledge lost. 

June: Ground. I integrate back into community through grounding group meditations on the beach and attending cozy, close knit improv sessions in the jungle. The alchemy of human connection is an ephemeral gift that I embrace for as long as I can. 

July: Anchor. Along with a mass exodus of island dwellers, communities burn out and energy dissipates. Online, I reunite with friends spread across the world. I anchor to their presence, their wisdom, their guidance. 

August: Retreat. I take long, late night drives across the island to see dark sky, bioluminescence, and fireflies, to untangle thoughts, clear channels, and gain clarity, to immerse myself in the magic of being. I retreat to the tri-bay to walk the labyrinth and watch the sunrise.  

September: Explore. Follow the pings of curiosity--discover hidden bays, the wisdom of Mooji, and the serendipitous magic of manifestation. 

October: Celebrate. Another solar return, and this year I ask: How will I go about seeking more questions? By digging into life more, by celebrating each moment of this precious, fleeting human life. 

November: Dream. I head to Chiang Mai and fall into a lucid dream. My days are full of reunions and laughter, hiking and waterfalls, astronomy and goats. I've stepped through a portal where the illusions of the world fall away and all that's left is the beauty and mystery that surrounds me.

December: Boundless. Back on the island, I find vortexes, faeries, planetary conjunctions, and meteor showers. I come unstuck in time and connect with the stars and planets and all the wonder of the cosmos. I tap into their vastness and energy and expand into the boundless universe.

January: Hermit. Circumstances have pushed my Chiang Mai trip back until February. Now all I have is time--a gift not to be squandered. Divine timing working it's magic. I ground the cosmic energy of December and withdraw from the world. I revisit old practices to keep my channels clear and open. I become hyper-focused. In three weeks time, I've completed the fifth and final draft of my novel. Time to take the next steps, to move forward, to accept everything rushing toward me at incomprehensible speeds. 

I am beyond grateful to have spent 2020 on this little tropical island in the south of Thailand. I lost nothing this year and gained so much more than expected. As long as I keep my curiosity alive and align with the seasons of my soul, I will continue to thrive and create and experience magic.

Reflect on the year: How did you work with what 2020 presented to you? Were you able to gain knowledge and wisdom and understanding from it? How will you move through 2021? What will you do differently this year? 

Liminal Space

Between sunset and complete darkness, the half moon hiding behind clouds, Jupiter and Saturn were the first to pop out of the darkening sky. Planets always are. I sat on the beach and witnessed their paths cross so close they looked like one big, bright object in the evening sky. 

I swear this happened back in July, I told my friend. You probably did see it, she said. You probably time jumped. There you have it folks. I have come unstuck in time. 

Upon my return to the island, I kept having visions of this café--open air, precariously perched on a steep cliffside hill, overlooking the ocean. It popped into my mind on my flight back, and I couldn't stop thinking about it for days. How strange. It's not even a place I go often. Not even back a week, and within two days, I met up with three different friends at said café. Like a vortex, they each chose the place, pulling me back again and again and again. 

And then nothing.

Fires burnout too easily here, I told another friend. Nothing sticks. Never have I lived so long in one place and witnessed so many communities rise and fall, catch flame and burn out. And I have lived in some pretty transient places in my life. Too much air, she said. 

And so I recede, and I continue down my path.

One of my cards for 2021 is Temperance. Balance. Alchemy. Being grounded here in the present, yet still allowing myself to live in the liminal space--where I'm unstuck in time, where vortexes form, and where the stories I write live. I'm on a mission to create, and I cannot lose sight of that. The unseen forces guiding my life will not let me lose sight of that. I am always presented with who and what I need in every given moment. To accomplish what I've set out to do, I need to keep myself in both worlds. 

I can't ground myself in air. Friends and communities will come and go as they always have. But I can walk bare foot in the sand, swim in the ocean, and ground stories to this plane. I can remind myself that life is a beautiful unfolding. I call friends and remind them too. I send them pictures of planets and tell them to watch for meteor showers. 

Colors of sunset fill the sky. Jupiter and Saturn drift apart. The full moon rises. The year ends. 

Mid-December. Sprawled on the dark, desolate beach at 2am, no moon, no light pollution. Just me and the beams of light shooting across the sky. Time has taught me that the most magical moments are never the ones I chase, but given as unexpected gifts.  

Many unexpected gifts came out of this year. And I welcome more of them as we shift into 2021. 

This year was also full of unexpected chaos for many people. Perhaps that's an understatement. But hidden in the unexpected, buried in the chaos of life, is where many gifts and blessings are found. What unexpected gifts or blessings did this year bring you? 

Seeking Answers, Finding Questions

This year for my birthday I fully intend to live the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. In other words, I will probably come out the other side of this year understanding far less than I do now. And with a lot more questions. Perhaps that was Douglas Adams's point all along. 

And how will I go about seeking to understand less and finding more questions? By digging into life more. 

Since my last update, I have started playing ukulele again (ask me to play you a wildly out of rhythm rendition of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah), driven to remote areas to eavesdrop on conversations in languages I don't understand (laughter and emotion never lie), and started attending Mooji Satsang on the veranda of Grace's beach front bungalow (watching Mooji's face flap in the wind on the projector sheet never gets old, plus the message always relevant to my life in eerily specific ways). 

Each week after Mooji Satsang, I walk home along a dark stretch of beach where lightning strikes out over the Gulf and the warm air sticks to my skin. The season is changing. 

Monsoon has finally hit the Gulf islands full throttle, and everyone is fleeing. Sideways rain, high tides, and crashing waves move in. Pleasant sunny days give way to overcast sky and muggy, humid air. I've just finished the 4th draft of my novel and sent it off to an array of beta readers. It's time for an adventure. And as we all know, adventures are the best ways to seek answers and find questions. 

Next week, I head back to Chiang Mai--my first venture off island since January. All those traffic lights and stop signs and people and bookshops. Imagine the possibilities. Meetups and road trips and book buying are on the horizon. I hope I don't short circuit. 

What sort of adventures should I dig into this year? What sort of answers should I seek to discover even better questions? 

Until next time friends. Stay mostly harmless. 

Equinox Mood

5am and curled in a ball on an old freighter ferry making my way to the mainland to see some officials about my long term stay here in Thailand. The air so frigid, my body so tired, I'd forgotten what it was like to make long uncomfortable trips. The glaring sun, the bitter taste of instant coffee, an ache in my foot from an old injury. Mix in some unforeseen chaos involving lots of paper and confused people and hours of waiting and waiting and waiting. One mad taxi ride and sixteen hours later I'm home, and I'm unsure what it was I actually accomplished, if anything. 

I trudge up the path to my hut and collapse in a pile of elation and comfort that I never want to end. 

In the weeks that followed, a few significant days have come and gone--one year since my Ubud accident (scar faded, bangs intact) and 4 years since Thailand became my home base (from city, to jungle, to island). And, of course, the equinox and the shift in season (autumn, my favorite). Each of these days slipped by nearly unnoticed. My mind light-years away, in a fictional world with fictional people having all kinds of strange experiences. 

That's when Angela's text came through. I met a guy who works in radio astronomy. He's interested in reading your book. This is what happens when you live in make believe worlds. They start to come to life. 

Trust me, Maura said, and I followed. We drove north past Chaloklum until we could drive no more. Then we walked down a cliffside, along the beach, and over boulders. Weathered by north coast storms, the huts that sit on the rocky cliff seemed from a dream. And in front of them, a painted sign somehow precariously wedged into the rocks: 0 miles to paradise. Boats bobbed in the bay. I'm going to live here one day, I said as we wandered back down to the the bar to drink coconuts and pet the giant pig lounging in the sand. 

I've tapped into something, and I want to hold onto it for as long as possible.

But I know that I can't.  

In these moments that feel so magical and surreal, all I want to do is grasp and hold tight, like fireflies in jars. The reoccurring theme in my life (and in this blog). Life long lessons that remind me surrender is key to magic. The only way to keep these moments alive is to release them. 

Tell me about a moment, an event, a thought that once released took flight and unfurled into something amazing! 

Midnight Sky

Mid-July, after dark. On the hike up to my hut, the brightest night sky object I'd ever seen caught my eye. Brighter than Venus. Brighter than Sirius. Could be Jupiter, but why did it look so huge? I pulled out my star tracker and saw it was not just Jupiter. It was Jupiter and Saturn nearly aligned, creating what looked like one massive glowing orb to the naked eye. And for the first time on this island, the dark, moonless night so clear I could see a faint, dusty brush of the Milk Way band stretching across the sky.

Not too many days later, the night sky still clear, I crossed the island on the single two lane road that cuts through the jungle hills. No lights near the peak, only stillness. My eyes locked in wonder. As above, so below. The axiom, an ancient echo, a whisper of truth. I continued down the winding road to a beach on the far northeast side of the island. One of the few remote beaches accessible by road. Faint, unrecognizable music drifted from one of the seaside cafes. A few dim lamps lit the beach. Empty and dark. And much like those nights I spent on that beach at northern tip of Borneo staring into the darkness above me, the world fell away. 

From here, nothing remains except the motion of stars across the night sky. Suspended in timelessness, tapped out and tuned in. I want to stay here forever, but I can't. 

Daylight breaks and I'm back in the world again. I maintain my practices and diligently stay focused on my work. The urgency to anchor and focus lets me know something is happening. To be here on this small tropical island, away from the intense energy and general madness of the world, is not something to be squandered. I write. I make progress. I breathe. I take steps in the right direction. 

Connect with the cosmos and anchor down. As above, so below. To stay vast and light in a heavy world is the only way I can exist--it's the only way I can write and connect and know. Uncertainty may reign (as it always has), but at least I have a compass. 

My posts are few and far between these days, and that's okay. I know this phase won't last forever. More adventures are on the horizon, but for now, it's a season for anchoring and focusing. 

What does as above, so below mean to you? Do you ever connect with the cosmos and anchor it to earth? If so, how has it served you? 

Untethered

Sitting on the beach waiting for my friend to return home, I'm hit with the sudden urge to start walking across the sand. The tide so low it feels like I'm crossing a barren desert. A post-apocalyptic world full of sand, abandoned huts, unnecessary bridges, and no people at all. Until I see him--a man hobbling over a bridge, cane in one hand, a small backpack slung over his shoulder, wearing nothing but a speedo. On the other side of the bridge, he makes his way toward the distant water and plops onto the beach, arms and legs stretched out, face to the sun. What a strange planet, I think.

Back at my friend's hut, we make smoothies and eat cake. This place brings me too much peace, she says. I've stopped thriving. What a conundrum. Like a zen koan. My mind can't figure out what to do with it. I've strived to create peace in my life for as long as I can remember. And once I had it, I wasn't letting it go. But was it causing me to become lazy, to not thrive, to perhaps even block things from my life? A wave of panic rises then fades to dark.

The next day I swing by Grace's house to say hi. I accidentally stabbed myself in the leg, she says and shows me the wound. Out of control art project, she explains and shrugs. We exchange stories of scars and accidents and the angels who helped us. And all I can think about are scars that can't be seen and invisible angels.

My phone pings. A friend stuck in another part of Thailand has sent me a picture. He's shaved his hair into a mohawk and tie-dyed it rainbow. Cabin Fever, the caption says. Stay wild moon child, I respond. Three weeks later he calls me from an airplane. I'm leaving Thailand. How do you feel about that? I ask. Bad, he says. I get the strange feeling people are going to start losing it very soon. Or they already have, but I've not been seeing it that way.

I social distance from social media, attend close knit improv sessions, and meet with friends to talk and write. The thing about Koh Phangan, someone says one night, is that no one asks questions. Leaving too much room for assumptions, I think. As intriguing as it is dangerous, I can't shake the thought for days.

Life on a nearly deserted tropical island in the strange year of 2020. I attempt to ground into it as much as possible. But the harder I try, the more untethered I become, unbound and tumbling into the ether. I grasp at fleeting moments as they slip away, leaving me longing for solid connection and questioning their purpose and lessons.

I call my friend in California at 3am. I'm losing it, I tell her. She sighs. She's been putting up with me for lifetimes. I'm supposed to be in Vietnam. Roadtrip around Ha Giang and Sapa. Head south, explore, research, open portals. I start to ramble. And....she says. I tell her more. And...she says again. She doesn't stop until I purge every last thought and confession. Then she fills all the empty space with wisdom. I'm taking a picture, she finally says. My eyes are bloodshot, I tell her. No way, your eyes are oceans. Yeah, oceans of blood.

Late night drives across the island through the jungle, starry skies above me, a quiet darkness surrounding me. I find my way to the beach--no people, hardly any lights, an empty tree swing, fireflies. Surreal. The lightness I've been missing. Freeing and impermanent. Releasing the questions, embracing the mysteries. Untethered and tumbling into the night.

How are you staying grounded these days...or are you untethered and tumbling? What's keeping you thriving? What's keeping you at peace? What fills your days and nights and all the spaces between?