I am having trouble writing about this trip I took. This trip that I put some expectation on, and
it did, and it didn’t live up to the expectation.
Through the cancer, through the treatments and the recovery
that doesn’t seem to fucking end, I have found a bigger and bigger empty spot
where spiritual stuff used to be. The
wonder and joy and comfort and self-confidence I took from that is an
incredible loss for me.
And what compounds the loss is that I had built my life on
this bedrock. And now its not there, or
I’m denying it, or whatever the fuck it is, I now feel like I need to explain
myself. Like there is an expectation
there for me to find the meaning, the silver lining on the fucked up life I am
now leading. So, even though I disappointed
by not becoming one of those ‘cancer was a reaffirmation of life’ assholes, I
could go away by myself, have a revelatory epiphany, and come back right with
the world, the light come back to my life, and things would right themselves
because I was righted. And all I needed
was solitude, communion, the chance to reconnect.
Oh, rapture.
Breitenbush was the first place I was going to go to- a
spiritual retreat center with natural hot springs, yoga and meditation rooms,
vegetarian food cooked for you, and beautiful, beautiful grounds in the middle
of nowhere- so much so that phones don’t work, and any electronic device is
discouraged.
This was immersion for me.
Who knows if I would go completely bonkers, but I just needed to get
away from everything, and get back to zero.
Get back to me. Get back to some
sort of reason to continue to exist in this world.
Weeks after my reservation, they informed me that my stay
was going to be full of construction and thinning out their natural wooded
setting.
This was a deal breaker for me. I certainly could have gone, and resented
every fucking minute of it- how folks went there and had revelatory
experiences, and I got to listen to a fucking chainsaw… one of my least favorite
sounds of all time.
So, I found something else.
The Eagle’s Nest. A cabin on the
side of Nehalem Mountain, overlooking Manzanita. The far window, especially at night, you could
see the Manzanita coastline, and the small community lit up against the greater
darkness that can only be experienced in lesser populated places.
It was small, but it was space. And the kitchen was wonderful. So wonderful, I found myself putting it in
order, showing off the better pieces left there for guests to use. Red yellow and green brindled Fuji apples in the
cobalt blue hand-thrown bowl. The
avocadoes in the purple-grey dish, both placed in a prominent place, like
flowers, like I was waiting for a guest.
This could be the place, right? This could be the place where I would be able
to leave the grief and anger and depression and anxiety and any iota of bad
feeling streaming behind me, and I’d come out clean and happy and ready to face
the world again. I mean, it was all put
together by hand, and was used as the place for the energy worker to see her
clients- specifically, the womb-like bedroom, with its walls festooned by
images of possible spirit guides from every culture. And if that wasn’t your thing, both
nightstands were bookshelves, the one to the left of the bed filled with books
on tantra and divine sensuality. Nothing
overt or too provocative. Or gay.
I feel like I’m setting this up to be another fiasco. It wasn’t.
I’m glad I went. It was just a
mixed bag, and that, in itself, was disappointing.
I keep on holding out for some sort of supernatural
intervention, some sort of deus-ex-machine to happen that would give me a
kickstart into believeing into myself and my life again. To make me believe I am special, because I
sure as shit don’t feel that anymore.
But I still have some sort of tiny glimmer of naivete that
waitsandwaitsandwaits for the moment everything is just fine, and better than
before.
Why not when I’m alone, when no one but me would have to
believe it.
Here’s what happened- I spent a mostly pleasant time
there. Very pleasant.
But by myself, I found a new thing staring to make itself
known—crippling anxiety.
The first full day was great. It was great because I was able to shut up
that “you should be” voice in my head. I
did a puzzle the whole day. I loved
doing puzzles, and I said ‘fuck it. I
don’t have to do anything but this puzzle today.” Although it was a meta day, putting together
a puzzle of a picture taken on the beach of Manzanita looking towards the very
mountain where I was in a cabin putting the puzzle together.
Every night, a cup of detox tea, and a light over the small
dining table, with another light coming from the stovetop. By myself, listening to the waves outside,
and feeling them as well (Nehalem mountain is that type of place, made up of
metal or something, so you can literally feel the waves.) Sitting there, feeling bored, lonely, but
free and uncramped.
Then off to the bedroom.
Now, the bed was memory foam. No
problem there. Really, no real
problem. I had a few issues the first
night getting used to an odd rhythmic scratchy chirp that would happen in burst
of call and responses. I assumed it was
frogs or insects outside, and let it lull me to sleep.
First night, sleep.
Second night, less sleep.
Third night, nightmare.
Fourth night, before going to bed, found ants crawling in
the room. This spiked my anxiety, even
though nothing happened to me the first three nights. What clinched the sleepless night was this
rhythmic sound I heard was coming from inside the room. Small, but distinct. The ants? Who knows?
I couldn’t figure it out.
I finally went to sleep on the futon in the main part of the
cabin, but felt like someone was trying to prod me awake all night. And that was the time during the trip that I
began to question my sanity. The anxiety
was so intense, I wondered if I really heard any of the sounds, or just
hallucinated them. I then had this
moment of thinking maybe it was all a dream, and someone with a british accent
was trying to wake me up.
This overshadowed the whole trip. I had so much space, so much time just to
be.
And I have some doubts if I spent it well. Because I came back tired, and confused.
But fuck it, I’m glad I went. And if everything was brilliant at this point,
maybe I would be completely insane.
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