Mahalo, Maui

 This is the path we walked up and down every day on Maui...

... while we lived here...

 ...the house of our friend Christine. She built it thirty years ago. Solar powered, the house has a compost toilet, an outdoor shower, and an open air kitchen.

The only noise you hear are birds and the rushing creek with waterfall, seen from the living room window:

Pineapple, avocado, banana and payapa grow abundantly.

There was a house cat named Dora...

a house gecko...

and a house spider ...

...who fortunately lived outside. A crafty arachnid, she spun her web in a spot where bugs flocked to our lit-up window at night.

Here's our generous host, Christine, with her boyfriend Kenny. We hadn't known each other well before coming to Maui. But now after spending two magical weeks together, they feel like our soul siblings. We also fell in love with Kenny's dogs, Lucy and Roxie.

Christine and Kenny are kick-ass strong. At age 68, they swim miles every week. Being a merman and a mermaid ourselves, Dave and I swam almost every day. At Twin Falls, we experienced this:

 

Other days, we swam and snorkeled in the ocean, floating around with fish and huge sea turtles. One day we drove the road to Hana and hiked out to this mind-blowing spot, Red Sand Beach...

...where Dave captured my synchronized swimming maneuver, a ballet leg:

We hiked through bamboo forests...

 ...and around the other-worldly Haleakala Crater...

where we were so high....

...we were above the clouds.

 It just so happened that Dave's college buddy, Craig, and his three kids were on Maui too.

 

We spent a couple of fun days with them that included swimming, snorkeling...

and the best fish tacos ever:

One day, Christine and Kenny took us on the ferry to Lanai, where we swam for more than two hours way way way off shore.

The water looks placid in this picture, but it was wild and wavy and infinitely deep--punctuated by serene, surreal ultra blue landscapes. Confetti of fish, sculptural coral.

At moments I thought, "What the hell am I, a land mammal, doing all the way out here? Will my feet ever touch Mother Earth again?" Salt water seeped into my snorkel. I wished for gills.

The fish swayed with the surges, reminding me to release to the ocean's power. I thought about the woman in Swimming to Antarctica who swims for days in the worlds's coldest waters without a wetsuit. I thought of Diana Nyad's amazing achievements. I watched Dave and our friends plowing through the surf, no land in sight.

I thought about how land and sea are yin and yang, overlapping like life and death, one not possible without the other. For hours afterward the motion of the sea stayed with us, a kind of dizziness not unlike my post-brain surgery vertigo. I thought of it like Mother Earth gently rocking us in a cradle. 

We are, after all, her children.

Goodbye, Hello

What's left.

For people who supposedly "got rid of everything" last year to live a life on the road, we still had lots of stuff. Our stalwart and kind friend, Mark, let us keep it in his garage. Who knew what our nomadic ways would lead to? Maybe we'd return to Northern California to nest again. Maybe our traveling ways would turn out to be merely a migration.

And now we are owners of almost nothing.

We have Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, our blue Subaru. Two suitcases of clothes. A mermaid costume. Shampoo. Skis. A partially-built casita in Mexico. And a few boxes of kitchen stuff for when we head down there.

It's the first time in my life that I haven't owned mountains of books--or boxes of old letters, journals and photos.

I have one task: To finish sifting through the last box of journals.

I started keeping a diary in third grade. So many words on thousands of pages! I'm taking pictures of some of the pages I want to "keep"--and tearing out one here and there, stashing them in a file. Then I thank that journal and release it into the recycle bin.

It's been a time-traveling experience for Dave and me as we've revisited all these things that have been with us for so many years. It's been profound, bittersweet and freeing as we've let go of everything: each letter, picture, object.

So many people's lives have touched mine in 51 years. As I read, I accept it all, bless it all: Words written to me (and by me) that are funny, kind, compassionate, perturbed, unsettled, angry, joyous, reconciling, affectionate, informative. All of it meant to connect. All of it is part of who I am today.

It somehow feels like the natural order to release these things on the heels of having finished my memoir. 

The memoir.

Every goodbye is a hello. At the yard sale, friends and former students dropped by. Since we've been mostly away from the Bay Area for a year, it was lovely to see everyone. We also met a bunch of Mark's neighbors.

Most everyone left with an object, a piece of us. I love how people are weaving into their lives bits of ours.

By the end of the day, when almost everything was gone, people stood around chatting and drinking cold beer, while little kids--wrapped our feather boas and Mardi Gras beads--raced around the lawn.

We stuffed the remaining odds and ends into boxes on the curb. I posted them for free on Craiglist, and within an hour a woman hauled them away in her truck.

In the release of the old, space is created for the new. What's up next, world?

Where It's At

Eight-year-old Olivia's drawing of me on book tour.

I sent out the first draft of my memoir to several writer-friends who will generously provide feedback. One already sent me a message that so far she thinks it's "fan-fuc*ing-tastic."

That's encouraging!

I'm sure my friends will have suggestions that will improve it. That's how much I trust this group, my tribe. I've read a lot of their work over the years too, in unfinished and finished forms. I've taught some of their work in my classes. It's a wonderful thing having a tribe.

Dave says "first draft" is a misnomer because I've re-read the whole thing a few times, smoothing out the sheets, adding and omitting and refining. Plus, I read it aloud to him.

He was very helpful. He could hear when I'd repeated a word, or used a clunky one. He also corrected some details and asked me questions that helped me dig deeper.

I wasn't sure he'd want to hear the whole book because there's some raw stuff in there.

A friend of mine asked him if hearing so much about my past bothered him. He said, "No. I have a past too." In fact, we are grateful that the past made us what we are now. 

Besides, he's proud of me. He thinks it's a good book.

My friend said, "He's a rare guy. Most guys wouldn't want to hear all these things." I wonder if that's true? I wonder how others have felt about their spouses' memoirs?

Dave has given me a gift, encouraging me to be true to myself . My mom gave me a similar gift years ago, telling me to never worry about what she might think of my writing. That's in the memoir. My working title is: The Footholds Will Appear: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit and Travel.

Soon we will be back in the Bay Area briefly, sorting through the remains of our things. I don't know what to do with the two boxes of journals--written from ages 8-51--that have been sitting in the dark for so many years. Now that I've written the memoir, they feel superfluous. I'm not a fan of re-reading my journals, anyway. Writing stuff down supports my creative process. I don't have to revisit them.

As I wrote the memoir, I combed through last year's journal--and now that journal also feels like old news. I've thought maybe I should ritually burn them to set the past free. Or have a party where everyone reads pages aloud at random before I toss them.

I've already started a new journal. It has a purple cover and beautiful, blank pages ready to be filled with the future.

Thank You for Everything, Tahoe

Once again, the end of an era nears. After four months in Tahoe, we leave soon. That's the life of nomads: embracing change.

Even though it's the end of April, this morning looked like this:

 And it's still coming down. Who knew we'd be gifted a few more ski days?

During our time on the west shore, I finished the first draft of my memoir. It's tentatively titled The Footholds Will Appear: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit and Travel.

The title comes from these lyrics by Hot Buttered Rum, words about trusting in the journey:


We could fall away from here 
But I have faith that the footholds will appear…


Speaking of that band, they played a free show at a local ski resort. We danced for hours in the fresh air with our friends.

Those friends were among many visitors who have come to stay with us. We had a blast teaching our friends' kids how to ski.

Dave and Johnny

I became fast friends with eight-year-old Olivia. We skied together, and she drew a charming array of pictures of me involved in a zillion different activities! Although if you look closely, you can also see one of Dave swimming with dolphins.

In addition to lots of skiing...

Steve

Scott and Nikki

Kelly & Terry

Elise, Steph, Nevin & Daddy

 ...everyone enjoyed the hot tub...

...and walks in the forest and along the lake.

Mel and me

Nevin, Lilly & Jimmy

Dave demonstrating the fine art of rock skipping.

Several times, we took the hike up to Eagle Rock. It was a great family adventure.

K-Shak family from So Cal

MO-minksys, also from So Cal

In Tahoe I've also been coaching writers online. After years of being a writing teacher, I'm especially enjoying giving feedback without grades!

One of my clients is a doctor. She has a great way with juicy details. Nothing like time in a hospital to gather great material. Recently she wrote this to me:

I appreciate your kindness in delivering constructive tips. I think I was a bit terrified to open the files and read your response. In fact, it turned about to be enjoyable and totally pain-free! I found myself comfortable hearing your advice and even wanting more! The suggestions are fantastic and leave me with much to think about and practice.

I smiled over the idea that someone who regularly deals with life and death situations had been "a bit terrified" about my feedback! I think that means she cares a lot about writing. It's a pleasure to work with her. I'm certain her work will be in book form in your hands one day.

I'm sure mine will be too--hopefully by next year. Soon I will be sending out my manuscript to five writer friends. I know they will all give me great tips for revision. For at least a month, I won't look at the book so I can come back to it with fresh eyes.

In the meantime, I will cherish these last days in the mountains. Next up: California, Hawaii and Utah National Parks. Keep shining your light, everyone!

with Lola

Winter Writing and Living

We just stepped out of the hot tub where we sat with snow falling onto our faces like confetti. This hot tub is one of the many reasons we're loving living in Tahoe.

After all of our traveling last year--not to mention my great, big medical adventure--it's been sweet to be rooted in a house. And since so many friends hosted us, we've been thrilled to be able to do the same. People have been cycling in and out of here, bringing energy, stories, wine, and groceries! And more are scheduled for March and April.

Together we ski, play games, chat, watch videos, read, cook, hot tub, hike, and snowshoe. Oh, and sometimes break out into hysterical laughter.

We've been with friends to two great shows so far: Karl Denson and ALO. Still to come are Railroad Earth, Galatic, and Leftover Salmon.

I've still found time to write. In fact, I write 2-4 hours most days, whether or not we have visitors. It's been powerful to watch this book unfold, as though I'm freeing the angel from the marble.

Crazy sychronicities are occurring, which to me is like getting a thumb's up from the universe. The other day I decided to stay home and write while Dave went skiing. Turned out that at the very moment I was writing about the adventures we had last year in Noosa, Australia, Dave was sitting on the lift with a family who were from, yes, Noosa, Australia.

Just today Dave looked up from the book he was reading--Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil--and said: "We should go do some exploring in the South. It's the one part of the U.S. where I haven't spent much time." Just minutes before, unbeknownst to him, I had been writing about how there's so much of the South I haven't seen.

I like how writing a long project requires patience and presence. Every day before I write I open myself up to the great mysteries, inviting them in to inspire and delight. I see it all as a grand adventure. Even if something I'm writing about is making me cry, I'm relishing the journey.

Sometimes the critic in my mind insists what I'm writing is shit or a masterpiece. It's humorous to watch my ego scurrying around trying to make sense of this sensual, visceral, chaotic splash of words designed by the unconscious.

I feel like everything I've ever lived, written, taught, learned and known is jelling into this book. It's the most exciting writing experience I've had. In two months I've written 75,000 words. That's not far off the length of a complete book but the words keep coming. I may end up cutting a lot. Or I may end up with a long book. Or maybe two or three!

I like to write in the morning when everyone's sleeping. When our friend Debbianne was here, I dug the vibe of two writers in the living room, pecking away at our laptops before the roaring fire.

Sometimes I write in the afternoon. If people are here, I'll write with my headphones on to the Pandora jazz station. Wynton Marsalis and Frank Sinatra keep the juices flowing. I started doing yoga with that station too. Nothing like being crooned to by Bing Crosby as you're bent in half in the plough.

It was fun to check in. Now the blog goes back on hiatus for a while. I plan to return when I've completed a full first draft of the book. So let's hope I return soon! Love to you all.

What I Learned This Epic Year

Swimmable water in Cerritos Beach, Baja California Sur

Breathe in the precious moments and love fiercely.

This has become my mantra during an epic year--a year in which I stared down life and death.

It was a year that reminded me how way leads onto way. How everything is a catalyst. How what we focus on blossoms. How it's not about what happens--but what we think about (and do with) what happens.

Funny how I thought retiring after spending my whole life in schools would be 2013's "big event." But then my mentor, friend and "other mother" died. I was blessed to witness her profoundly graceful transition.

And then months later--when I myself was perched on the edge of dying during my seizure--she visited me. She told me that the veil between this world and the next is thinner than we think. She said if we look closely, we can penetrate the mystery's deepest beauty. She said never to be afraid of death. There's nothing to fear. Even from the next realm, she continued to teach me.

Even though I've been witness to the death of many beloveds--including my parents--the thought of my own death seemed theoretical. But 2013 brought me this gift: a deep, bodily knowledge that I'm transitory in this form. That everything changes. That I will die.

So what to do with this gift? Breathe in the precious moments and love fiercely! I was already on this path in August when my brain tumor was discovered. Months before, Dave and I had packed up everything we owned and traveled to Australia, Southern California, Boston, Cape Cod.

And then the experience of brain surgery and healing--enveloped in vast love and support from family and friends--intensified my desire to live my most authentic life. I launched Operation: Seize the Day!

Living your truth is not for wimps. It involves taking risks: emotionally, physically, financially. It involves being comfortable with spontaneity, with unknowing.

It requires loosing the moorings. When I let go of my job, my house, my neighborhood, my town--indeed, my identity as a Santa Cruzian writing professor--I plunged into a free-float.

I decided to embrace the fertile void.

I decided to reside in a rich space of unknowing.

In this space, I watched my monkey mind. It scrambled around like a kid desperate for a parent's attention: Hey! What are you doing? You're no longer a teacher, you're not a parent, you're not anything! What are you contributing? Aren't you being aimless and irresponsible?

When that happened, I'd gently turn toward my larger self, the sky mind, the god-voice in me who is always deeply present when I open my heart. It always says:  No need to worry, no need to fear. You're valuable, just like everyone else, because you exist. And the more you're YOU, living your truth, the more you inspire. Don't set out to have an effect--just be it. Trust that the fertile void will reveal your answers.

Because we no longer had a house, I was curious what my experience with "home" would be. My deepest realization so far: my home for this lifetime is my body. If I want to be truly alive, I must unconditionally love this marvelous, self-healing spacesuit.

Especially after having my skull cracked open and resealed with glue and staples, I can feel myself reaching new levels of bodily appreciation. While I don't have this love-thy-body-thing totally in the bag, I find it easier and easier to release criticism of my body. To relax into myself and feel life from the inside out. As a result, I'm experiencing new levels of sensory bliss (as well as relief from my occasional claustrophobia).

And wow was that infinite intelligence right-on when it said to trust that answers will appear. In late August, a thought popped into my head:

I want to live within walking distance of swimmable water.

That thought wasn't a conscious creation of my construction. It was a fully formed object like a stone, a heartbeat, a breath.

I have always loved water. I'm a spiritual mermaid, a former synchronized swimmer, a snorkeler, a lover of boats and kayaks and plunging into seas and lakes.

When I pondered my "swimmable water" revelation, I found myself wrangling with it: Did this mean when we decide to settle down again that I'd want a swimming pool? Did I need to join a gym with a pool? Was it a call to buy a place in our beloved Hawaii? But we'd have to win the lottery to afford a Hawaii pad within walking distance of the beach!

I decided to let it go. To trust. To allow the answer to appear as easily as the desire did.

All I have to say is this: releasing to the universe is magic!

Organically, the perfect opportunity arose: to buy an outrageously affordable casita in El Pescadero Mexico (near Todos Santos in Baja California Sur). Yes, it's walking distance to a lovely, swimmable beach. And it's in a small resort that has a swimming pool and a jacuzzi. Water, water everywhere!

The icing on the cake is that some close friends have bought the place next to ours. Built-in community.

We don't know if this will be our temporary or permanent residence. We don't have the details nailed down. We are trusting our guts. We want to ride the wave of the unfolding.

As 2013 comes to a close, we are back in California after a trip to Hong Kong, India and Sri Lanka. I'm looking forward to processing that transformative adventure while I focus on writing in the new year.

It looks like we will be headed to Mexico in May. Before that--for the first four months of 2014--we will live in Tahoe. We are thrilled we can host family and friends there who have opened their homes and lives to us.

In a cozy house sheltered from the Sierra cold, I intend to write the first draft of my memoir about transformation. During that time, this blog will be on hiatus, and I will be less of a presence on Facebook.

I will also improve my skiing and yoga, practice my Spanish, work online with my writing clients, judge a book contest, and allow whatever else rolls my way to perfectly unfold.

Happy New Year to all of you. May you breathe in your precious moments and love fiercely.

Sri Lankan Serendipity

Hikkadua, Sri Lanka

When you stumble upon something wonderful, that's serendipity. And it just so happens that "serendipity" comes from "Serendip"--an old Arabic name for Sri Lanka. And guess what? Serendipity was the name of the game for us on our Sri Lankan journey.

Dave and I had plans to travel to Chennai, India when he noted that nearby lies the island nation of Sri Lanka.

"Hey, we should go there!" he said.

"Okay," I said. Sometimes I play hard to get.

A few of my California friends expressed concern: Wasn't there a civil war raging there? I asked Dave if that was a small detail he overlooked.

"No, the war ended in 2009," said Mr. Encyclopedia.

Okay, I was in!

It's just an hour flight from south India to Sri Lanka, but nevertheless the flight attendants (dressed in gorgeous peacock print saris) serve drinks and a spicy Sri Lankan meal. Before take-off and at landing, a catchy little tune plays over the loudspeaker with the refrain: "Sri Lankan paradise."  

Paradise is a personal thing. It's also a well-worn travel cliche meant to entice (and bilk) tourists with notions of perfection. And yet, after ten days in Sri Lanka, it's hard to argue with the airline song.

For us, Sri Lanka was truly a serendipitous experience. We knew it would be cool, but it was an unexpected windfall of amazement. Here are the main reasons we loved loved Sri Lanka:

1. The Animals.

I'd thought that our experience watching kangaroos box and run right toward us on on the beach in Australia was the ultimate wild animal encounter. But that was until our "spotting" of a magnificent leopard in Yala National Park. We understand that it's rare to be able to see one of these big cats as up close as we did--and for as long (at least 30 minutes). But don't underestimate the power of Dave's (aka Dr. Doolittle's) intentions.

It was unnerving and electrifying to be in a car--windows rolled down--with this guy walking along close by, clearly aware of our presence. His graceful feline movements were all muscle and power. We are still in awe.

We also saw many other animals and are grateful that they are protected in the national parks. Here are some pictures Dave took:

water buffalo

jackal

She's on national park land behind an electric fence, which was why I was able to get this close.

croc

red-faced macaque

monitor

Lots of peacocks...and we were happy to finally see a full display!

spotted deer

mongoose (mongeese?)

grey langur

At the Kosgoda Sea Turtle Conservation Project, we learned there are five types of sea turtles in Sri Lanka. This project buys turtle eggs and turtles from fishermen who might otherwise eat them. They hatch the eggs and set the babies free. They rehabilitate injured turtles. Those that can live in the wild are released. Others are cared for the rest of their lives--which can be up to 100 years.

rare albino turtle

getting ready to hatch

2.  Our driver, our friend

Talk about serendipity: the only part of our trip we hadn't lined up was a driver. We happened to mention this to a woman in India who promptly picked up her phone to email a driver who had just taken her around Sri Lanka! This turned out to be Krish--a remarkable person.

Krish is fun, professional, knowledgeable...and we have become friends. To introduce us to local foods, he took us to small restaurants where we wouldn't have ventured on our own. He was able to navigate the roads in ways we never could have. He helped us find some great lodging. He filled us in on Sri Lankan history and current lifestyles.

We laughed a lot together and talked about spiritual things. Despite being from different sides of the planet, we connected on a deep level.

A highlight of our trip was meeting Krish's family and enjoying a delicious dinner cooked by his wife, Shali. Outside of Colombo, the capital, he lives in a rural area where he grew up. It's a family residence comprised of his wife, daughter, parents, sister, brother-in-law (who is also a driver) and their baby son. It was an honor to be invited into their home.

Krish with his daughter Sunishma, age 6.

heartwarming hospitality

Grandson in the arms of Krish's father.

3. Colorful surroundings

We especially loved the colorful fishing boats...

..and streets...

...and stores and stalls...

4. The food!

We'd never heard of king coconut--but they are for sale everywhere for less than a buck. They are HUGE, and the water and meat are incredible. We had one every day.

the king of coconut

All the tropical fruits are delicious. We ate a lot of papaya, mango, pineapple and small creamy bananas but also tried some new ones.

typical breakfast

Fresh seafood is abundant. On the beach in Mirissa, where we stayed several days, we enjoyed feet-in-the-sand meals. Restaurants line the beach, displaying their catches of the day.

Surfer checks out chef on the beach.

Mullet fish...so good.

The curries are very good. You get a big plate of rice and five or more bowls of different meat and vegetable dishes in a variety of sauces. Locals mix it all up and eat artfully with the fingers on their right hand. We stuck to forks and spoons.

We also tried kottu rotti--a true comfort food. Most tourist restaurants don't sell it. Krish took us to a locals place where a chef chops it up ("kottu" means chopped) on a grill out front.

Krish also introduced us to hoppers, a crunchy-on-the-outside, soft-in-the-middle treat eaten with hot sauce. My favorite hoppers had an egg cooked inside.

hoppers

5. Beach massage...need I say more?

6. No crowds and good prices.

For a tropical place with a lot of warm-water beach and a good tourist infrastructure, it's quite uncrowded and inexpensive. As Americans, we were a rarity. Most of the tourists were speaking French, German, Russian, and British-accented English.

Dave enjoying some solitude in the warm surf.

Inexpensive hotels and "guest houses" (B&Bs) abound.

7. The history and ritual

Many of the historical sites date back as far as the 3rd century BC. History is kept alive through the ongoing use of ancient Buddhist temples, some of which are embedded in ancient caves or carved out of rocks.

Huge reclining Buddha in a rock cave.

Ancient cave paintings at Mulkirigala Raja Mahavihara.

Being blessed by a Buddhist nun in Kataragama.

Ancient city of Situlapahuwa (ca. 2nd century BC) with an active Buddhist monistary.

Given the beauty of Sri Lanka, and the ease of being a tourist there, it's hard to believe a recently-ended civil war raged for almost 30 years--and that the island was hard hit by a tsunami in 2004. Clearly, this place is resilient. If out of difficult times such beauty emerges, that's serendipity to the core.

tsunami memorial