Yard Sale.

Jean. I miss you tonight. It has been such a very long last few days. So much processing. So much work. I miss you. I hurt.

The garage is empty. Mostly anyway. Some gardening tools. Our dining table. You have finally moved out. We have finally moved out. Clearview is empty. We are there no longer. You are there...no longer.

So many things.

I finally got your text on Saturday night. It shook me. It shook me quite a bit. Jean. Why? How? I know. I know and I understand, but I don't. I can't. I miss you so. There are so many conversations I wish we could have over. I wish I could hear differently. You were trying to tell me. You were trying to tell me that you loved me. That you were leaving. You were letting me go. You were letting everything go.

Jeannie. I am not the same. I could never be the same. I would never want to be. When you stepped off, the way you did. My universe dismantled. The world exploded in a blast of 1,000 suns. You blew through me, and away. Into space. 1 million stars. And you. Nothing else can compare. Nothing ever could. Even before, Jean. Nothing ever could.

So now it's done. Our life together. Your life prior. It's gone, Jean. All of it. Most of it. I've kept some things. But so little when compared to all that we had. The possessions any way. The stuff. It's just stuff. I have you. Your memory. Our time shared. It's a mixed bag Jean. You know it. We had our times. We were passionate about each other. Good and bad. It got completely fucked Jean. So, so badly. You are in me. My DNA. Your impact is there Jean. I will never be the same.

I got your text. Finally. Over a year ago. I imagine you wrote it in the car. After you had texted me "Hey" and gotten no response. After you had texted Sonia an apology for "everything", asking her "to take care of her". Did you mean me, Jean? I always thought you did. But I still don't know why you would ask that of Sonia. It doesn't matter.

I got your text on Saturday night. Suzy had charged up your phone with the rest of the electronics. We had gone through your pictures together. She checked your email. She checked your voicemail. There were a few I hadn't listened to. A couple were from Judith, the mediator, asking where you were, expressing concern. And then there was one from me. I asked you where you were. I said it wasn't like you to just not show up to our appointment. I said I was concerned. I asked you to call me. - Jeannie, you were already gone.

I wanted to go through it one more time before we wiped the drive. There was a text from me to you. November 1. 9:30 a.m., "Where are you?". Jean. On the iPhone, your iPhone, I could see what I had written. The preview. It was unopened. You never received my text. You were already gone. I had never opened it. I didn't want to. I didn't want to see that unanswered question hanging in the conversation. Never to be answered.

I was clearing everything out. I was going to let your phone go. That thing that never left your side. That was such a part of you. I was going to wipe the drive and let it go. Just like everything else. It was my last time, my last text to you. The text you never received. I opened it. There, on your phone, in the composition bubble, was your message. You wrote to me. Jean. Even there. Oh god Jean. It overwhelms me. How could you tell me you loved me? You were so kind. So sweet. So simple. Jean. No pain. No recrimination or regret. You just wanted me to know you loved me. You would always stand by my side. - You will always stand by my side. Jean. It is a lot to hold. I am so humbled and overwhelmed. I miss you so. I am sorry that you chose to go. I understand. But I do not. Jean. You. Were. Spectacular. You still are.

Everything else pales. Moving. Moving. Moving. Starting over. Letting go. Letting go. Starting over. Letting go. It means so little. It means so little compared to losing you. And I don't mean my personal loss. I know the weight of that Jean. I was ready to let you go.

I was certain. We had our time.

I mean that we lost you. When you stepped off this earth we all lost. And I miss you Jean. I miss you with every cell of my being. I will never be the same. I wouldn't want to be.

***

I'm confused. I'm tired. I'm tired of hurting. The relief is in letting go. But that too is a process. Truly let go and there is no suffering. But I am not the Buddha. I hurt. I bleed. I am doing not doing, not being reactive. I am being still and listening. I am moving forward. But...there is so much loss. I am growing. I am becoming more of my true self. But, there is so much loss. How do I not grieve these things? People I loved, who no longer make sense in my life? It hurts to grieve, but how do I not?

Winter

I made it to the beach for my meditation this morning. Since arriving home, I've been trying to keep up a practice of waking, feeding the cats, and then placing myself in the middle of my living room floor (a comfortable distance from the heater) to sit in stillness. I'll be honest...it's been tough.

Without getting into too much detail, it's just easier to meditate when outside in a beautiful place. The beaches of Santa Barbara are definitely that. Inspired by my friend Alison's words, I made the crack of dawn drive on this first day of winter to the beach to sit by the surf as the sun came up.

It is beautiful this morning, clear and crisp. The tide is high. There is no wind. The water is smooth and glassy. The slap of surf comes in at steady 8 second intervals.

Sitting on the sand, the sun warming my face as it rose above the horizon, it was a joy to close my eyes and just be. Present. Quiet. Still. It feels good to be here. When my iPhone iQi chime went off I was (for once) surprised at how quickly the half hour had gone by.

I opened my eyes to a pod of dolphins right in front of me, 30 yards offshore, twenty or so fins, revealing themselves in intervals. Large and slow, their bodies surfaced and dipped, beautiful, weighty, blowing their breath into the low morning light. I followed them with my gaze as they moved their way east along the coast until they were lost as silhouettes in the bright sunrise.

Nusa Lembongan Morning

A storm came in last night. From the beach we watched lightening in the mountains of Bali and over the water. The rain woke me several times during the night. The thick showers fell in blankets on the thatch roof. The thunder echoed across the sky and shook our small raised hut.

Now, we are sitting on our deck hoping the sun comes out soon. I've snorkeling plans. We are watching the fishing boats launch and eating the last of the mangosteens I bought from the open market in Ubud.

The hotel staff arrive with the sunrise, completing their daily commute across the small sandy beach. The trees are filled with doves. We listen to their cooing and the soft lapping of the waves. Our hostess waves hello as she begins to open the small cafe. Two Nescafés coming up.

Relocating

I'm beachside again. Thanks to the wonders of antibiotics Suzy has made a rapid and complete recovery. Yesterday afternoon we made the one hour drive and half hour boat ride to Nusa Lembongan. We've landed at a place called Mula Mula House. It's a hut on the beach with a beautiful view. I can't wait to get in the water.

This one is for Greg

Yesterday was the last day of our training. Our class has already scattered - Thailand, Japan, Australia, Germany, the US, etc. Suzy arrived here last week, but has been been feeling under the weather most of the time thus far. She's got a great attitude, but it has to be frustrating.

Bu Oka in Ubud specializes in Babi Guling, whole roasted pig spiked with herbs and spices. On my last visit here the infamous Greg Hughes insisted that we go. We went. It was good. Very good.

It will probably come as no surprise to hear that many of my yogi classmates have dietary restrictions. Pork is pretty high on the list of things to not put on their plates. Thankfully, I'm not so evolved. I was looking forward to taking Suzy to this place, but with time winding down, and her travel stomach out of commission, another plan was hatched.

My friend Khem was only too happy to be my Babi Guling accomplice. Khem lives in Toronto, but is from Thailand. About ten years ago the show "Survivor" was filming near her hometown. They needed someone who could speak Thai and English. Khem ended up being that person. She's been with the show ever since as part of the infrastructure team. She secures local contracts to build crew housing and facilities, sets up lines of communication, supplies, etc. Then, once the show starts, she makes sure the right things arrive to the right place at the right time within budget, etc. How cool is that?

She and I have had a bit more time to hang out since arriving in Ubud. In part because she took on the task of creating a slideshow of our training. I've rejoiced at the fact I'm not the one responsible for it, but have had a great time talking with her about it and filling her photo requests. (She put together an awesome slideshow too.)

Just after noon Khem and I grabbed a cab into town with Elissa and Laura. The day was already hot. We got dropped at Ubud's primary intersection, Monkey Forrest and Main. The other girls headed in one direction in search of a less protein-centered meal. Khem and I walked about ten meters north on Jalan Suweta to Ibu Oka.

The warung was unassuming enough. At the entrance was a counter filled with every part of the pig. Behind the counter half dozen women moved around one another like bees, filling orders for Babi Guling: rice, succulent shank meat pulled off the bone, caramelized skin that cracked like candy brittle, and spiced blood sausage heavy with aromatics. Plates were quickly filled. Orders "for take away" stuffed banana leaf cones. The entirely outdoor seating space was already quite full.

"How about this?" Khem gestured to two squat stools at a bar built into the short front wall. A broad tree above cast deep shade, and the seats faced the street, giving an easy view to the city's activity.

"Perfect."

Within minutes, a cold Bintang in my hand and a house special on the way, we were toasting to whatever is next.

My New Digs

Ubud has such a different pace than Balian. Alicia, our teacher, told us repeatedly - enjoy this time together in Balian, Ubud will be completely different. From my previous time here it was hard to wrap my brain around. I recalled the peaceful rice fields and drifting gamelan music. How could Ubud not be even more serene than the surf alcove of Balian?

She was right though. Although the rice fields surround our hotel property and musicians sound out their art next to me as I write this, the city is here and alive. Our rooms are more spread out, karma yoga tasks have begun, and individual errands take us in different directions. It's not better or worse, just different. (I wish I could attach an audio file to this post. The music is really quite lovely, and will always remind me of Ubud.) My room is beautiful and quiet - save the ever present night sounds of cicadas, frogs, and the lively water running through the channel on its way to the fields.

Vinyasa Krama

• Be Still and Know •
Today is our last day in Balian. This afternoon our family of twenty-three yogis will pack our gear into three busses and travel about two hours inland to Ubud.

I've done a lot of yoga here at Balian. Perhaps as much as 50% had to do with the teacher training course. The more substantial portions were long conversations with myself and with Jean.

I have been better able to hear her here. Messages not (as) muddied by the constant reminders of our years together - The happy days and human missteps that made up the time we shared.

I can hear her - Jean. Sincere and gentle and telling me she loves me. Telling me she is free. She is as she is, as she chooses to be. And she is everywhere. In every wave and star and breath.

Jeannette, be at ease. Remember me, the True Me, with joy, compassion and love. I cherished our time together. Be happy. See the beauty in this world and notice. Pause. Live.

I can hear her, and I remember why I loved her.

• Lessons from Taurus: #1 •
Many nights here at Balian the afternoon clouds have cleared and the sky has been filled with stars. I walk down the beach a bit, away from the bright lights of the warungs, and gaze at the constellations. Here I've sat quietly, observing my life, considering ways I've been, how I've changed, what I want to move toward.

Taurus is evident in the Southern sky now, pressing into the night with his broad head and charging knees. My life has been filled with Taurians. As a group, they have proven to be my greatest teachers and my greatest heartaches. My faith in astrology is marginal at best, but it's fair to say I've developed a love/hate relationship with those born under the bull. Many lessons learned from them have been painful. I am thankful all the same. Jean was very much a Taurus.

The most important thing I've learned from these meditations beneath the stars' steady presence is this:
Speak my truth.

I serve no one when I do not do this. As time passes, and our lives unfold, remaining silent saves no one. At best it only postpones the friction I seek to avoid. Worse, these silences bury who I am and accumulate, building to a day of reckoning that eventually will come. It is inevitable. Taurus had taught me this.

All I can do is be myself. Doing my best is just that - my best. I can be no more. If my ego or the opinion of others finds that lacking, there's nothing for it. It is not a reason for struggle, conflict or anger. Either or both simply have to move on. My heart has broken a hundred times in the last year when I've taken on the disappointment directed toward me. My own voice has been the loudest and most acute. It serves no one. (That is lesson #4).

These are some of the lessons I've recorded here at Balian. Not all of them are new. Many have been taking shape over the years. Some have yet to sink deeply into my bones to become habit. They are all important.

• Step by Step •
Themes: processing, observing, creating. So, the last one: creating. What now? I've been still. I've felt the weight of sorrow, and elegant lift of grace. I've considered my path and made note of ways to move differently. But what does that mean? I know where I don't want to step again, but then where do I go? I want to move forward, but what is the path? What takes the place of the old ways in which I used to move?

In this vacuum, in yet another negative space where once there was something, my practice is but one thing- to fill that space with the sound of my own voice. My work is to hear that voice and be sure of it. To dare to listen to my heart and believe that what it says is true. And, when I see somewhere to place my foot, I will move forward, surely.

Back to the mat...the face to shin forward folds; the standing poses that go on for what seems like eternity while legs burn and arms become leaden weights; those crazy, twisting, legs-in-the-air arm balances... How is that possible? To be sure, not all at once.

Vinyasa krama: a step by step process toward a desired goal. Open the hamstrings. Know my strengths and weaknesses. Build endurance. Learn to play my edges. Trust, listen, discern, risk. Play. It takes patience, focus, commitment and forgiveness. Laughter always helps.

The reward is the process. Learning my body, how it moves, responds to stresses, opens, grows strong. How my mind drifts away, boasts, panics, returns. How my breath changes, guides, centers.

I am learning. May I never stop. I will fall out of balance. I will over effort. I will be lazy. I will perform. The ground will shift beneath me. I will return to my mat. Find my feet. Begin again. As far as i can tell, it is the best I can do.
...

I've been told that Balian means "healer." It is a good name.