Monday, November 18, 2013

Backtrack 3- Eagle's Nest



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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