sailing with dolphins in Greece... weeeeeeee!

Equinox

The Earth
is neither
Toward
Nor away from the sun
Equinox
Equinimity
Balance
Harmony…
At least within
The earth
Today (Sept. 22)
And then there it goes again
A little off
One way
or another
In this case,
In the fall
We descend into darkness
Cold, snow, dark
Fun
Though
A little more serious than
Say
Summer
When one can run around in flip flops and a bit of fabric here
And there
And that’s it.
Now we must take great care
Wear shoes with laces and jackets with snaps and
Hats with flaps and
Scarves that wrap
And keep out
the cold
and dark
Of another winter.

I love the seasons,
the changing of weather
and clothes.

Welcome to Fall of 2009
Now, and never again
The light falls
Just like that

Two Birds

Two birds dancing on the wind
The are white
In flight
Mesmerizing as they
Rise and
Fall. And I think of you
And
Me and how we rise and fall
And dance and
Soar and ignite
And delight
Each other
But rarely
Do we find each other just like this
Like these two birds
No thought
No plans just a
Chance meeting in the sky
And a dance
Gorgeous
Unscripted
Improv
Twisted and tangled in
A quiet quarrel
Descending and rising
up up up
just to plummet once again
why?
for the feeling
nothing else
and to share it
with another
and then
to
just
fly away.

It was 6am
It was two minutes
It was you and me
And
Infinity
And never
Again
Just like that
On that bright, dark dawn of that unusually cold
September day
When I woke up,
I don’t know why,
Just in time to watch something that was meant
only
To fade away…

I closed my eyes
again
And slept the best sleep –

Like I always do after I’ve woken up
quick and too early
to make sure the sun was going to rise again (what a gift!) –

Falling deeper and deeper into unconsciousness
Into that Beautiful
Two-birds-flying
Oblivion

Did you see it??

The Wind in the Trees

Let go
Acquiesce
Allow
Become
Merge
Engulf
Absorb
Delight
Invite
Astonish
Dance
Explore
Emerge
Acknowledge
Adore
Construct
Create
Smell…
See…
Feel…
Embrace…
The
Love that is all around you
Listen
To the wind
In
The trees
Realize there are no answers
only steps
A journey
You are on it
Now
And it never ends
I’d like to share that with you

“you have absolutely no idea what is to come,"
I hear.
"You will see, the life that you can envision for yourself is nothing… NOTHING, compared to what the universe has in store for you
if you just
Let
Go
And listen.”

OK,
I accept,
And gracefully
Softly
Quietly
But, assuredly
Place one foot in front of
The
Other.

This time
Though
I have no
Idea
Where I am going

The map is gone
The compass broke
The directions from that girl the other night
All
Gone.

All I have now
And all that I
I’ve ever had
Really
Is:
My intuition
My strength
My faith
My self
My love
My…
Perseverance
My two feet
My Heart
My hands
My
slow and steady gait
My joy
My enthusiasm
My Excitement…
And wonder

The inspiration
Of the great mystery of everything…

Of you
Of me

Of forever…

Let go.

You Will Soar…

Why does the desert speak to me??

The desert speaks to me and tells me, "Do drugs. Do lots of psychedelic drugs."
I don't know why the desert says this to me, I think maybe I need to ask my friends recently back from Burning Man; I think they get the same message. The difference here is, I don't listen to the desert, not this time. I've had enough of her telling me what to do, and we've had a very, very good and elastic time together. I stretched my perception a lot. It was always FAR OUT. But not this time.

I spent Labor Day weekend in Joshua Tree, a little town in the middle of the California desert that defies time and place. And screams, "I am weird, I am quirky, I am unique... you may want to alter your consciousness so you can figure me out..."

But, we don't need to go there again, right? No drugs in the desert, instead a steady stream of movements and focus and concentration at the Tensegrity workshop "As Above, So Below" held at the barely-still-standing Joshua Tree Retreat Center. Tensegrity, as I've recently learned, is a way of being created by the mystic writer Carlos Casteneda from the teachings of the shaman Don Juan Matus. There are followers of this type of awareness from all over the world. I would say the goal is very similar to Buddhism in that practitioners seek enlightenment. But, instead of meditating in a cave, with Tensegrity there are thousands of different movements called "Magical Passes" that one learns and performs to increase awareness and energy.
This may sound weird and woo woo, and it is. But it is also a very interesting study, one that can take you deeper into consciousness and perhaps, for some, FAR OUT. So, I have been seeking this far out feeling ever since I did travel to the desert to enjoy the thrill of melting fuzzy cactuses with sunglasses on and brilliant colors of light emerging from the earth and the night sky.
Those days it was easy to get out, far out, but I was cheating. Now, in my old age, I am finding the same things that I discovered on mushrooms or LSD just by being still, quiet, deep, and, in the case of Tensegrity, by moving fluidly throughout the atmosphere.

I was told as I entered the desert and heard that familiar calling from far out that I would be able to find that same feeling without drugs. And i did.

I never liked to cheat.

And for those who would like a different version of enlightenment there is "Jesus House of Prayer", or JHOP, right there on the side of the road. Hallelujah!

Sisters in Spain

The last time I seriously hung out with my sister Danielle was the summer after my 16th birthday and the first time I ever got a speeding ticket. There we were, two teenage girls careening across the vast red rock desert of Utah’s canyon country in our red Dodge Shadow convertible. I was driving, a new thing for me, going 90, another new thing for me (the road was so wide open compared to the 5 freeway in Southern California!) I felt like I was making a red streak across the red landscape, I remember. It was thrilling. We were singing Blondie and having a blast; our parents had sent us on this trip as a graduation present to my sister. I actually think she got to choose who she took with her. Now that I think of it, I can’t believe she choose me, her lil sis.

It was more than 15 years ago that we were so young and free, on our way to fall in love with some of the world’s hunkiest men. Our parents had sent us to Idaho to go rafting down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. The scenery was amazing (pushing those oars all day makes for some nice biceps…) the waterfalls and hot springs weren’t bad either. On our road trip, back in the 90’s, I remember taking a picture at the Virgin River Gorge under the sign that said “Virgin”. I was smiling proudly and pointing at myself with my thumb. That’s right, I was a Virgin back then, even after the river trip!
Needless to say, it had been a long time since my sister and I, just the two of us, had been on a trip together. In those 15 years we both moved out of our parents house, went to college, got married, I traveled, she had three kids, me, I had two dogs… we basically had been watching the world turn from drastically different perspectives – physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally.

But, heck, we’re still sisters.

I had the opportunity to invite my sister to come out and visit me while I was traveling in Europe in July. I hesitated to even call her; it was a great opportunity for sure, but she has three kids and a full time job in the summer. There is no way she will be able to come, I thought. It was an all-expense paid trip, I might add, but still, how could she ever get away?
“Are you fucking kidding me,” she screeched into the phone when I presented the idea. She immediately started scheming about where to put the kids and how to get out of her job; I was impressed.

“I’ll go!!!,” she screamed into the phone sounding like a winning contestant on Bob Barker’s “The Price is Right.” I was almost as shocked she said yes as she was that I called her out of the blue to invite her to come to Europe.
OMG, Gina Bo Beana and Dee Dee Dunkin Heimer are going on a road trip!!! What will the Mommy group say?
Danielle got to choose where we went in Europe and because she only had a week she only wanted to go to one place and that place was Spain. Neither of us had been there before and we had not traveled in Europe together since my parents brought us there in a VW van as little rugrats in 1987. Now we were on our own. I couldn’t actually believe that I would see my sister, who I hardly ever saw anymore, at the Barcelona airport. I waited. There she was!!! I was so excited.

We went about getting to know each other for a few seconds and hopped into a cab into the city to our hotel, the lovely historic Casa Fuster on Paseo de Gracia. I personally had no idea what was in store for me in Barcelona, but Danielle, being the-ever-more-prepared-older-sister, had a list of things to do and sites to see, but she admitted, she didn’t care what we did. At that moment, I realized my sister was going to be a very good traveling companion.

Just for old times sake and not actually on purpose we got drunk within the first hour of our trip. We wondered the streets a bit commenting on the architecture and the cool red city bikes they have on almost every corner and found ourselves at a sidewalk café reminiscent of San Francisco off Union Square. It was almost siesta time, so we were all alone out there. I had just come from Greece and was very used to drinking chilled white wine for lunch with my tomatoes and feta cheese. I ordered a glass, Danielle said, “what the heck?” Three glasses of wine later, some gazpacho and a salad and we could barely make it up the stairs to the bathroom. We started giggling and realized no matter how different we were we still had a lot in common, like the fact that we were completely smashed off a couple of glasses of wine and it wasn’t even three o’clock. Lightweights!

Danielle and I spent three days in Barcelona packed with sightseeing and touring this amazing city. We both fell in love with Antoni Gaudi, the Spanish Catalan architect famous for his incredibly unique and courageous designs. His influence is scattered throughout the city in various buildings and parks such as La Sagrada Familia, Casa Batillo and Park Guell. Simply amazing!











And we tried our best to act like locals dining at 11p.m. or midnight and waiting till the clubs opened at two or three; honestly though, we couldn’t hang.

Next, we traveled by plane over to the island of Mallorca, a tiny island, I assumed. I was wrong. Mallorca is huge, or hugely over populated and big-feeling. In July and August all of Europe in their tight, bright Speedos is in Mallorca, or at least all of the Germans on vacation. Luckily I happened upon a tiny quaint farm-like accommodation called San Blai on the southern tip of the island. Surrounded by gigantic windmills in red, blue and green, we were two of a handful of guests at this tranquil agroturismo -part farm and part hotel – featuring “Pepper” a donkey who Twitters.











Danielle and I ventured to a few crowded beaches near Punta Negra on the south side and decided we’d rather stay “home” and hang in hammocks. The next day we ventured into the historic city of Palma and spent the entire day cruising around on the free bikes they give you when you park your car underground in front of the massive Palma Cathedral, another Gaudi masterpiece.

The green, low-rider bikes worked, but not well, and after several hours peddling up and down and all around we were ready for another fantastic meal. We didn’t find one in Palma, but we made it home alive and that’s saying a lot when I am driving a speedy turbo diesel rental car around the island. Varoom! Varoom!







Our best day, we both agreed, was the next day when we arose naturally with the sun to a lovely homemade breakfast at San Blai. Next we drove an hour or so to Santa Maria and hit up the spa at Reads Hotel (also known for arranging bike tours). After a few hours of soaking and getting ourselves rubbed we could barely imagine moving on and just about called it a day and headed back south but something told me, “Go north young lady, go north.” I think it was my friend Anne who raved about Mallorca and told me “Deia, you must go to Deia.” So the turbo took us north on a mission to catch Deia, at sunset, which we did.






Once we started heading north we both realized we needed much, much more time on this side of the island, but it was too late; we had to leave the next day at 11 a.m. We went about absorbing as much beauty and culture and colors and smells and tastes and architecture as we could in just a few hours.

Deia is a stunning old town amidst the towering green mountains and ocean-side cliffs. We almost didn’t even make it to Deia again because we passed by the cutest most medieval town of Valedemossa where a tribute festival to Santa Catalina was happening and all of the villagers were dressed up like a Renaissance parade and we didn’t want to leave. And, we almost missed Deia again because we drove through it so quickly looking for the sunset over the water that we almost drove all the way to Soller, another gorgeous, quaint town on the coast. It was a race against time on the north side of the island that looked like a cross between Yosemite National Park and Big Sur. We finally stopped to eat just as the sun was sinking into the sea. I promptly ordered a glass of wine and told Danielle she was driving home.

Never enough time to explore and always running late, this seems to be the motto of my life. Back in Barcelona we had only one day left on our whirlwind tour. Danielle was finally sort of missing her kids and husband; I was missing my boyfriend who had been with me during the previous three weeks. It was time to wrap it up. We spent our last night wishing we were better dancers. This is a feeling I’ve had before, many times, but never as much as this as we watched these beautiful toned, tanned women stomping their feet across the stage in one of Barcelona’s best Flamenco shows. We ate paella, we drank sangria, we clapped our hands; we felt like we did Spain. When the curtain went down we hugged each other, it was an embrace that had much more feeling than we had just a few days ago, when I first saw my sister at the Barcelona airport and wondered how she got there and who she really was. Just a few days, a few glasses of wine, another country and it was just like old times… minus the virgin part.

Sailing the Cyclades Islands 7/09

We arrived in Santorini, Greece after a quick trip to Croatia for only one night in Pula... not bad, but kind of a let down after Italy. Who really knows, Croatia definitely deserves more than one night. Though if Croatia was a guy (or a girl), I'm not sure I would have gotten their number.



Santorini is all about cliff-dwelling. We caved-out at the whitewashed cliff side Hotel Mistique and got deep into dreams. There is something about sleeping under the earth, or within the earth, that takes me to another dimension. It was dark as, (guess what?) a cave in our dwelling and blinding bright the moment we walked outside into the sun-washed white. Quite a contrast for the pupils to adapt to, and the mind. I felt like I was just floating around up there above the ocean, hovering above all those boats and people and the chaos of the cruise ships that land everyday dumping off pasty-white penguin like creatures that crowd the streets looking for something to buy, quick, before the next stop.




I saw the most brilliant sunsets from my perch and could not quite find the creativity to come up with anything more to do that to wander the streets checking out all of the different faces and hearing languages I've never heard and smelling for the best lamb and the freshest salads to eat. During our five days in Santorini we took a motor boat ride with Yanni (not the rockstar but definitely the star of Santorini). Yanni took us to the islands of Ios and Irakleia where we had the most delicious lunch topped off with a cool, crisp locally made white wine in this island of a couple hundred people. Yanni knows all of em. And they know him too, Speedo and cigarettes and not much else.



We have chartered a 62 foot catamaran to take us on the rest of our journey. We meet our boat Captain Shawn on our last day in Santorini after we heard from Yanni, a lifetime boat captain in the Cyclades Islands, that our plan to sail up to Mykonos is extremely flawed. We will be heading directly into the wicked Maltemi winds and we will be beaten and battered. Luckily, our boat captain has never been to this area before so he has absolutely no problem with sailing into the wind. He has no idea what he's in for. He is a little idealistic with that can do attitude which is nice when you are married to it, but not very soothing to a couple of strangers paying fat cash who think, "Hey! This guy doesn't know shit." That would be the thoughts of Jerry and I as we looked at our young captain, his young wife, and the beautiful vessel they were supposed to command for us/with us.

We decided to test Shawn out and send him and his wife Amy directly north to Paros to meet us - we took a plane (the wind was that bad.) Well, they made it, but a day late. And boy, they really couldn't believe it. By this time we knew we would have to keep a close eye on these two whippersnappers. We threw caution to the wind, loaded up ourselves and the most precious cargo - a box of wine and our road bikes - and we set sail to bike the Cyclades Islands.

Paros was a little rough on the road bikes, bumpy and full of screaming compact cars. I took my brand new very fancy Orbea bike on a lovely scenic sea-side dirt road on accident leading me to think, "I am the only person ever to take a bike this nice on a road this bad..." Perhaps that is true. I like to be unique. We avoided getting crushed, creamed blown over or otherwise mangled by the locals and tourists buzzing around laughing at us biking in the horrendous heat and wind. I actually liked it. We were told by the woman at the front desk of Astir of Paros (Star or Paros a "five star" dump) that it was HIGHLY recommended that we NOT ride bikes. But we survived, played some drunken tennis, had a heartfelt realization about life, and boarded our craft enthusiastically for the next seven days at sea.





Our first sail, directly east and about a 90 degree angle to the wind, rocked. We were flying in our huge two-pontooned tub at 12 knots, waves crashing and dolphins zooming and jumping along the front pontoons. I was exhilarated and so happy to be riding on the sea powered by only these big sheets of glimmering gold. The sails propelled us gently but with great force towards Amorgos Island, a skinny rugged mass of land where the French film, The Big Blue was filmed 20 years ago. We rode across the whole island in one grueling morning and realized, these islands are incredibly hilly and dry, and stunning. The views from the top of the goat-filled hills were stunning and forever!




After two blissful days on the seas and streets of Amorgos we headed to the tiny Island of Antiparos and then Sifnos. On Sifnos we encountered The Best Restaurant Ever located practically in the sea. We rode from one end of the island to another on our final day there and met our boat that had sailed into the wind to meet us. We then boarded for the most exciting Trip From Hell, a.k.a. 6 hours on the open seas getting pounded by 10 foot swells. It was really fun at first. Then it got dark. Then we thought about Shawn and decided we didn't really like him...







But, we survived, ended up at the cradle of Greek civilization, a tiny island called Delos.

We toured it, saw a bunch of artifacts and headed to Mykonos where we said goodbye to boat and Captain and wife and settled into a bed on land where we both swayed through the night. The next morning, while all the ravers and techno junkies were coming down, hollow eyed eating gyros and smoking cigarettes, I got up and boarded a plane to meet my sister in Barcelona for the week. I never knew how I would miss the water gently rocking me to sleep, and the arms of my lover, until I departed...