Burning of the Sigils

It starts like this:

Sign up for a seven week yoga course that turns out to be more akin to a mystery school

Make sigils 

Fall in love with them

Don't burn them

Lose them in the chaos of moving

Forget they exist until a friend triggers the memory

You must burn them, she says with vigor. You must!

Take this as a direct message from God

It takes half a day to find them

On the night of the first full moon of the year, burn them.

The next day an unexpected thunderstorm hits the city, clearing the atmosphere and cooling the air

Notice more stars over the city than ever

Magic seems to seep from seams unseen

Catch glimpses of it in the spaces between blinks, breaths, and dreams

Bust through another round of novel edits

Complete draft 7 and love it more than ever

Editor unexpectedly writes to check in, expressing her excitement, sending encouraging words

Count personalized rejections from agents as wins 

Stay focused and diligently moving forward

Expand agent list, let intuition and new doorways guide the way

Approach the next novel from a different perspective--let it get speculative, strange, and magical 

Revisit old short stories and create a plan for them

Brainstorm creative ideas for the new job

Read magical stories for inspiration

Writers are kind of like magicians, invoking creativity and inspiration and giving it to the world.

My path as a writer has always been pretty direct despite the many twists and turns my life has taken. But it's been all the twists and turns that's helped me see through a lens of magic, that's helped me alchemize the not so pleasant into something otherworldly and magical. 

The burning of the sigils was just another way of remembering to surrender and trust, to stay true to my path.

And so here I am--weaving magic and writing stories, as I always have. That's my only responsibility in this world as long as I step out of the way and allow the Universe to take care of the rest.

How do you invoke magic? How do you see it showing up in your life?

At the Still Point

"Why in the world did you do that?" My friend sat across the table from me, her eyebrows raised in bewilderment. It wasn't the response I was expecting from her, but it held a higher truth. After several months in isolation studying mysticism, she had rejoined the world with a kind of clarity that startled me. 

"A lapse in better judgment." I shrugged and sipped my coffee. "I was too busy." Excuses I told myself for simply making a careless move. 

It also occurred to me that maybe I unconsciously make rash decisions because on the other side of the mistake is where wisdom hides. 

After I gushed about all that had transpired in my life since I'd last spoken to her in October, our conversation meandered to meditation, lucid dreams, astral travel, and extraterrestrials. Sharing esoteric wisdom and all those things that light us up, that help us navigate and exist in this mysterious and vast universe. 

⧝

The weeks leading up to the New Year were nothing but chaos coming from every direction. Deadlines, visa madness, and some hasty decisions--my foundation was shaken in ways that hadn't been in quite some time. I don't find myself in these situations too often, but when I do, I know it's time to step back and get out of the way. 

2022 opened the door, and I arrived fashionably late. But at least I made it. It wasn't until the evening of the first that I finally finished all my end of the year goals. And finally, on the 2nd, I got around to celebrating with friends in Chiang Dao. After midnight, under the new moon, wrapped in every warm piece of clothing I had, I looked up at the star filled sky and saw my first meteor of the year so I made a dozen wishes.

Back in Chiang Mai, week one was full of catch ups with friends near and far--emails and messages, phone calls and meet ups. Knowing that I have friends from all walks of life spanning across the world who listen and guide me and lift me up is really an incredible feeling. 

⧝

But it wasn't until I met with another Chiang Mai friend over the weekend that I was brought back to the still point where everything and nothing happens at once, where we can tap into the pure potentiality of Source. We had been sharing our experiences about traveling through India, when it happened. I had told her that I stayed at Amma's ashram for a month and she gasped with awe. "What was it like to hug her?"

"I didn't feel anything," I said. "People were lapsing into fits of hysterical joy and tears and devotion and then there was me, awkwardly sitting there watching it all. There was so much chaos surrounding her it was dizzying." 

"And in that moment she hugged you, what happened?"  

"The chaos stopped for a few seconds. I closed my eyes and tuned it out and everything got really still, but that's it. I didn't connect with her or feel anything. And the minute she released me, I was tossed back into the chaos." 

She squinted at me and nodded. "That's it. That was your gift." 

"What?" 

"The still point. Do you know the poem?" 

As she shared it with me, moments of stillness lodged in my memory rushed back. Don't get caught in the washing machine, Gurmukh's voice echoing through the meditation hall in Rishikesh. Precariously balanced in bakasana at the peak of Triund with the stark, snow-capped Himalaya behind me, the world stood silent and still. Lying on a stretcher in an Indonesian hospital as my head was stitched back together. Lying on the ground in the middle of a gravel road somewhere in northern Laos with the many faces of the village women surrounding me, pure blue sky above me, a voice from somewhere floating into my ears, life is but a dream. The moments stretch further back, to other times and places. All the lives I've lived stacking together into one moment.

Moments of stillness are the most potent because that's where love and forgiveness and chaos have the power to transform into the most incredible art. 

And just like that, my faith in all I believe, restored. 

This year is coming together, the pieces falling one by one in place around me as I stand in the center, at the still point of the turning world. 

What helps you center and stand stronger when life tries to push you from your foundation?

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? 

Kismet

It wasn't long after we met that you told me you had dreamed your entire life as a child. Well, how did it turn out, I'd asked innocently. I don't remember, you'd said, with a prick of irritation in your voice, turning your head away. 

At the time, I believed you. 

I don't anymore. 

I'd first heard of Ted Chiang on some NPR radio show back in 2013. I don't remember the story or conversation around it, but it must have struck me as significant because every time I'd go into a bookshop, I'd look for his book. Not once did I come across it until this past August. And I didn't just find the one book, but a second book and a movie adaptation to boot. 

After reading the book, I tracked down the movie. I was curious how they turned such a mind-bending literary story into an academy award worthy film. There are few books and even fewer movies out there that have impacted me as much as this one. Spellbound and speechless, I watched it twice. I've not been able to stop thinking about the book or the movie since. 

"The physical universe was a language with a perfectly ambiguous grammar. Every physical event was an utterance that could be parsed in two entirely different ways, one causal and the other teleological, both valid, neither one disqualifiable no matter how much context was available....We experience events in order, and perceived their relationship as cause and effect. They experienced all events at once, and perceived a purpose underlying them all." Ted Chiang, Story of Your Life

Not long ago while clearing out some old messages on my phone, I came across one of the last ones you ever sent me: Remember to thank yourself for seeking and finding you. I don't recall receiving this message at all, sent just after my last birthday. But seeing it now, a year later, I'm haunted by the thought that nothing is avoidable. 

Much like language, the perception of time is slippery at best, dangerous at worst. It can work for you or against you, completely relative to your perspective. In Story of Your Life, the perception of time is tightly woven into language. It plays on the idea of linguistic relativity--that the language one speaks informs ones thoughts and how one perceives the world--how language shapes our reality. But Chiang's story pushes this theory one step further--language determines how one perceives time as well.  

It's not lost on me that our story began at a place called the Catalyst and that one of the first tips you left me at the bar was a gift certificate to the very place where our story would end. Clearly, the clues were there the entire time. I just wasn't attuned to seeing them. 

Perhaps things turned out the way they did not because of all the specific causes, but because they were kismet. All those unlikely miracles unfolded not because any specific event caused them, but because they were already interwoven into the underlying purpose that is the story of my life. And the story that was yours.

Of course, this opens the entire can of worms that free will is only an illusory byproduct of linear time. The book and movie touch on this. I will not.  

Despite the fact I am human and hardwired to experience time as linear in this life (multidimensionality aside), I, like character Louise, do not believe in beginnings and endings. Life is far too mysterious and beautiful and interwoven to think it only travels in one direction, from point A to point B. But like Chiang points out, the universe is an ambiguous grammar, both views are valid regardless of context. 

At the end of the movie, Louise tells us: "Despite knowing the journey and where it leads, I embrace it and I welcome every moment of it." 

If you knew your entire journey and where it would lead, would you want to change any of it? Or would you embrace it and welcome every moment of it? 

Winding Roads

It's the first week of October, and I'm standing on a ridge that overlooks a small village somewhere in the northern mountains of Thailand. The sun is setting behind the distant peaks and the evening chill pricks my skin. I pull my beanie down over my ears and put on another layer. We are still a couple hours away from the next village where we plan to stop for the night. 

Riding the winding backroads to the outskirts of Doi Inthanon after dark--the cool mountain air, no moon, and the milky way cutting through the sky--the world falls out from under me and the lightness of being is all that is left. 

I conjure memories of crisp air, pumpkin patches, smoky bonfires, and an electricity in the ether that is unmatched by any other time of the year. Marked by Scorpio season, my birthday, Samhain/Halloween, thin veils, and witchy vibes--autumn has been my favorite season for as long as I can remember. 

I conjure memories of winding roads into the past--winding roads down the PCH to Big Sur for a midnight soak in the cliffside hot springs at Esalen, winding roads up through Napa and Lake Counties, where Konocti looms over Clearlake and small vineyards and quaint wineries scatter the landscape.

That Halloween we drove to Oregon because I thought we were visiting your dad. That Halloween we moved into the cliffside studio and I kept having out of body experiences because my so called real life felt too much like hell. All the haunting Halloween decorations around every turn didn't help. 

Coastal pumpkin patches, apple cider, and flannel jackets. Hot chocolate whiskey on the hood of my car watching for meteors. 

Our group stops to rest near the entrance of a desolate temple, ornate and silent. I shake the cold. I shake the memories. Where am I?

It's well after dark before we pull into Mae Chaem. I shower and try to finish the piece of writing I'd started that morning--our third day on the road, our third day of winding through mountains. My friend Monika is outside the room with our other traveling companions and I hear her laughing and laughing and laughing. I have no idea why she's laughing so hard, but it doesn't matter. Joy, in its purest form, cannot be contained.

My birthday falls exactly one week before Halloween. I've never been able to separate them, nor do I desire to--birthdays full of chilly mornings, early sunsets, and fallen autumn leaves, faeries and witches and Ouija boards, costume parties and pumpkin carving, an effortless magic.

Effortless magic. Sometimes I forget how to surrender. 

Back in Chiang Mai under a waxing crescent moon on the rise, gliding past Venus. The day settles over the horizon, spilling out in tones of burnt orange. My gratitude spills out too. What an experience, this life. 

What a month--two road trips, a birthday, and lots of hot cocoa. And it's only mid-autumn. What does autumn mean to you? What memories does it conjure? How do you surrender to its magic?

Glimpses of Enchantment

Mid-June. I arrived in Chiang Mai on a Wednesday evening and accidently fell into a fast. I awoke one morning unable to eat so I simply drank water all day...and continued to do so for the next three full days. Now on day 70 of a new combination of breathwork, energy work, walking/hiking, and lots and lots of water--more veils lift. What is this strange new experience?

With a new clarity and eyes wide open in wonder, it hits me that I'm back in Chiang Mai. Each time I return to this city, it takes me by surprise. What arises is never what I imagine, but something entirely new. All those things I thought would be here waiting for me this time around faded away in misty light. But that's the nature of this city. I should know this by now. It never gives me what I want. It gives me what I need--for growth, for peace, for creativity and the path I follow. 

Monsoon season stirs up mist and bubbling anticipation, that something exciting lurks just beyond the fog, over the ridge, on the other side of everything that I cannot see. A familiar feeling. I disappear into the mountains on the regular lately to hike fairy tale jungles where a surreal wilderness of wonder explodes in greens and blues and muddy tones of earth. I'm grateful I've found friends eager for adventures and connection. Adventures and connection, whatever those mean to you, are what make this human life worth living after all. Or maybe that's just me. 

When I'm not off on hiking or kayaking or exploring adventures with friends, I take long drives up into the mountains to Doi Pui to explore the quiet village, wander the garden trails, and breath cool, refreshing air. I sit in my favorite coffee shop that looks out over the vast valley to write and watch the children play in the streets below. Smoke plumes rise from small fires. Distant temples and villages seem to float above the low valley clouds. An overwhelming sense of enchantment catches in the wind and moves over the land. It brushes against me and lingers long after I've said my goodbyes and make my way back down the winding, mountain road. 

Back in the city, hints of it still surface. I catch glimpses of it walking through my neighborhood at sunset, listening to the voices and laughter of passing strangers. It swirls in the air, dances over the city, and expands in every direction over the horizon. 

Two months have gone by since my last update, and I almost abandoned this project completely. Life is quite a bit different than it was back in 2016 when I was updating every ten days. Over the past (nearly) six years, I've revisited many of the same themes over and over again. There are so many posts for readers to visit and explore I don't really need to keep driving in circles. And as much as I've wanted to take this blog in a new direction, nothing has really stuck. What to do? 

Here are some new questions that I've been asking lately: How does literature/fiction play a role in one's mental health including my own? What would it be like to teach at a University? How would daily ukulele practice change my relationship with music and creativity? What could I learn from taking up a new hobby like astrophotography? And where would it lead me? 

What stories would these new endeavors spark? What glimpses of enchantment would they bring to my life and those near me? And what kind of ripple effects would they move through the world? 

What are some new themes or ideas you'd like to see me explore here? 

Of course, travel and adventure experiences are my favorites, but I'm open to exploring more esoteric and mystical/cosmic topics too. Send me your ideas!

Other Honorable Mention Adventures from the past couple months: Adventures in querying agents! Adventures in condensing a complex novel synopsis to 500 words! Adventures in structuring a new novel! Adventures in being a beta reader! Adventures in planning road trips! Adventures in planning future research travels! 

Take care, dear readers. Here's to a new era of inspiration and enchantment!  

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.