The present is all we really know we've got. The only time we really know is for real. And so, now that I'm no longer on Cortes Island, as I process and reflect on what was: all the smells, sights, touches, emotions and deep seeded universal nudges that were felt during my time at Hollyhock, it nearly feels like a great dream, my month at Hollyhock. The kind that you remember well, even though it was experienced in the deepest longest sleep.
It was a joyous dream, set in a magnificent location among age old trees, squealing eagles with 5 foot wing spans, where deer roam close, and apples fall from trees like the garden of Eden. Food is abundant and ever present, with much laughter, music and fellowship around. In my dream I learned to play the ukulele, I fell in love, over and over. I went within, I spread myself out. I meditated, practiced yoga, did selfless service, learned about Buddhism, stoicism, the hero's journey, the goddess and god in us all, the divine light, mindfulness. In this 'dream' I cried a bit, felt lots of feelings, and I laughed a lot. My how great it is to laugh.
After taking down and winterizing the entire Hollyhock site after the last workshop ended with the other volunteers and some staff, we hugged and waved goodbye to our Hollyhock family. I spent a few extra special days on Cortes with one of the other volunteers, cooking, eating, conversing and connecting, bike riding and walking near those beautiful big trees and that those beautiful and big trees. And then, I packed up my bicycle once again, loaded dear Poppy down. As I waved goodbye and felt tears spring to my eyelids, I let out a hoot and holler and cycled across Cortes Island to the ferry, and embarked on wards...
Breathing in and out and with flashing memories coming into my brain of the dream that was the past month, I slowly pedaled Poppy through the cold rain to Courtenay. I'm now writing to you from Nanaimo, where I'm playing with some Otesha friends. I spent a night camping out near Cathedral grove, a beautiful stand of 800 year old fir trees, and in the frosty brisk air of the evening, as my friend and I were the only ones at the waterfall campsite where we set up home, we built a fire, made some soup and reveled in the simple happiness that camping brings. Waiting for the rainy days to bring sunshine, I'll leave for Victoria on Wednesday to continue visiting friends and exploring Vancouver Island by bicycle.
A familiar head space; I once again am transitioning from one journey to another. I'm thinking about what my next months will bring, and largely, I'm still discovering what it means to listen deep; to tune right into my heart and speak my truth and make my decisions; for I do believe that listening to the heart centre is what will lead to happy life.
I'll leave you with a poem which I found buried in the depths of my entertainment bag (I've carried this ziploc bag of journals, pencil crayons, embroidery thread, glue, scrap paper etc. for the past year and a half - a necessity for me while travelling). I wrote it one stormy day in Sydney last January:
learning, growing
maybe
stifling energy, but greatly
free
move like the wind blows
across the barren field
move with bravery, courage
and to open
to listen deep
to what the universe holds
heart swollen
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