More on learning to be happy...it is not a destination, but a way of life

swimming naked, ice cream for dinner, watermelon for dessert, and receiving care

Ok. Ok. Maybe I need to write a poem?

How do you describe a musical note in words for goodness sake?

An A sharp. How do you write about an A sharp? Maybe some images might help? Images might evoke the feeling of it…? But an A sharp…simply has to be experienced. It has to be heard.

Frequency states are like that and I am trying to write about them.

I realized just now that I don’t have words for what I wish to convey.

And regardless, I shall do my best as little stories and vignettes, will perhaps touch strings in your own soul and evoke your own version of resonate states…that vibrate in your system.

I am going to see if I can do that today…but where to start?

I will avoid swimming naked for a moment as that is harder and more edgy to write about.

So, you will have to wait for more on that topic for now. Instead, I shall start with care and receiving it, which is a lot easier to write about.

You see, I have realized that there are places in myself that have felt isolated and cut off from God and thus, also have felt that there was something wrong with them. That they were at fault for those feelings of aloneness. That if they had done better, known better, they wouldn’t feel cut off.

And what I want to point out, as I write of my places, is that I believe we all have such places, hidden away, waiting for love, compassion, understanding…and another reason for why they have gone through whatever they have.

Such personal, soul places often get labeled with a word that sounds like a disease. “That’s Trauma, that is,” people are quick to point out. Then of course there are cures and reasons for it. Ways to fix it as we are a culture that likes to fix things. And things that can’t be fixed…well we tuck those things away, push them down, until the beach ball is too hard to hold under the surface anymore. Then we shrug with embarrassment when it pops up in the form of some rogue, unexpected emotion or reaction. Often, the easiest thing appears to be to shove the ball back under again and pretend it isn’t there. ‘Cause it doesn’t take long to learn that if people see it, they will be happy to point to it with a sickly-sweet sympathetic gaze and call it “your trauma” in order to distract themselves from their own beach balls which they tenaciously, and often unconsciously, continue to shove under the surface. That’s why “trauma” feels like a bad word to me now. A very inadequate word that gets perhaps more focus than I wish it to have. A word that can easily keep one stuck trying to “heal” oneself and feeling like a victim. Other people like to see things that way. It’s one technique to keep things wrapped inside beach balls.

So “Healing” is another word that has become a problem for me.

People say things like: “Oh, that sounds so heeeallliinnnng,” as they look at you like a sick person in a hospital.

“I am swimming naked.”

“Oh, that sounds so heeeallliinnnng.”

“I am traveling full time and my suitcase is kind of heavy.”

“Oh, that sounds so heeeallliinnnng.”

“I have these meditation practices I do…”

“Oh, that sounds so heeeallliinnnng.”

“I don’t meditate anymore, I just like to dance by myself in my room…”

“Oh, that sounds so heeeallliinnnng.”

—You get the idea.

I recently told a friend I signed up for three weeks of breathwork training. I always learn from trainings and I find certain forms of breathwork to be very conducive to talking to my higher self, subtle beings and the divine. Breathwork is another way for me to pray and get answers. So it is fun and exciting. It also is a way for beachball-places that have been shoved into the dusty cracks that were too much to feel at some point, to come up and see the light of day. My body might shake a bit, or tears may arise for “no reason” at all. Sometimes, one of my facilitator friends suggests the group she leads pound their hands and feet in what she calls “Tantrum”. It is surprising when I feel my body take over and express some real rage.

Then the great thing is the feeling of relief. One less beachball to hold under. One part of me that was wrapped in shame, or stuffed away that was not welcomed way back when, is finally free. It is rather like a sneeze. Half a sneeze is just unsatisfying.

So, breathwork can be insightful with words and images that come in answer to questions I have, or it can be like full, satisfying sneezes.

Sometimes it causes me to belch.

That’s when I am glad to be on Zoom and muted.

My chi gong teacher used to laugh when it happened when we worked together. She had a different way to release energy and in the end, it doesn’t matter which way you skin a cat (what a horrible saying…wonder where it came from…and yet, you know what I mean…I guess the cat is actually a beachball and the skin is what has covered up your soul-light inside…I am going to look at those weird words in that way).

Bev would remind me that there are many ways to release and pointed out that the belch could be coming out the other end of my digestive tube, which would have been even less lady-like, so I might as well be grateful and anyway, release is release and we need to just go with it however it appears.

Then she told me of clients that would sometimes need to hold the small trash basket she always kept nearby, as purging for them, became like a case of the flu…but temporarily. And just like the flu, it feels better out than in. I think Ayahuasca works in a similar way, although I have not experienced purging like that and can’t help but feel I would prefer to purge in such a way alone.

Regardless, I enjoy that memory of my time with Bev. She always made me laugh.

So, that is a lot about breathwork and all it’s benefits. Which you might be tempted to call “trauma release” or “healing” and which I prefer to call making more space for my soul-parts and emotions that weren’t welcome by me or someone else at some point… and a chance to talk to God a little more easily.

Somehow, the difference matters to me.

Mostly I think, because the second way is more accurate in my opinion and the first way feels trendy and tied into victimhood and pain. I’ve had enough of that. I am sure I still have beachballs trying to hold that perspective, and I am teaching them another way when I find I have been shoving them away in the depths of the sea.

Plus, in the trainings, I will learn to facilitate breathwork for others.

Whether I end up doing this as part of my life offerings remains to be seen.

I may just be going for the experience.

Either way, it will be an offering as I am well aware that what we all do, that transforms us, vibrates out into the world and affects things.

It doesn’t have to be obvious or overt.

Here in Sougia, a young man says hello to me every morning as I pass him on my way to breakfast. He saw me again at the beach yesterday where he was relaxing after his shift. He works seven days a week here in Crete during what people call, “The Season,” and he has gone out of his way to introduce himself to me.

His name is Yanni.

On the beach he said, “I don’t know what it is and there is something in your eyes I see that feels like happiness.”

He meant it.

I could tell he wasn’t hitting on me. (Ok, later I learned I was wrong about that. I am still learning.).

But regardless, what I think he sees that he likes, is a lifetime, many lifetimes, of working to step first into and then out of Plato’s Cave.

Plato’s Cave is an allegory and a lovely little story about people who are chained in a cave and watch shadows dance on the wall. They think the shadows are reality. When given the option to step outside and be free, they decline. They are overwhelmed by the light. They can’t let go of what they have known.

I believe, after discussing this for some time this morning with my higher self, team of subtle beings and the divine, that some of us…maybe anyone actually reading this…chose to step into Plato’s Cave.

The experience of it is disconcerting for sure.

There is trauma (I am ok with the word used in this way for some reason—probably because I am not saying anyone was forced into the cave by anyone else so it doesn’t come with that victim/perpetrator energy) in that cave that leads to a sense of aloneness and isolation.

Trauma is not trauma unless one goes through something difficult and feels unsupported and alone.

Then of course, the cave tells us we need to heal.

My friend hears I am going to do three weeks of Breathwork and wishes me, with kind intention, “healing” from it.

But I don’t need healing.

I have done that, tried that, likely benefited from all the attempts.

And now…I don’t feel I need to heal.

I just need to love those places that are in the cave back into the light.

I have to explain to them why they are there.

That they did nothing wrong.

That they went in, so they could show people how to get out, by simply doing so, and learn a few things along the way about love and compassion.

That if they can feel that they are loved, and have always been loved…that they have never been alone and that the sense of aloneness is an illusion…they will be free.

And as they become free, others see the way out.

It isn’t a journey of martyrdom.

They didn’t go into that cave simply to be of service.

They went in to learn more about music.

To really understand a frequency and it’s nuances, one has to hear it out of tune.

We are all instruments tuning ourselves into a state of love and becoming more adept musicians as we do so.

No more “healing” for me.

I am a rose unfolding, forever.

And, as the little sign on my wall here in Sougia says, that I believe is not there by chance, “HAPPINESS is not a DESTINATION it is a way of LIFE.”

Of course, last week I wrote of the process of finding more of it, and I believe this sign is in this room to remind me that it is something that can be lived, in the present moment.

Sure.

I am practicing.

When I don’t feel happy, or have a whiff of irritation about someone or a situation, I realize often now, that I have an opportunity to find some place in myself that is reacting to them which I can find and love more.

And I ask for help while I start searching for what or where such places are tucked away in me.

Currently, I am encouraged by my guides and soul to do nothing here in Sougia.

To sit here in this room in Crete, and absolutely do nothing but whatever comes to me. Nothing but go sit on the beach. Or read for interest or enjoyment. Maybe sleep. Go on a hike, but not so I will achieve fitness…only if it feels easeful to me.

The World has taught me that it is absurd to do nothing. Even for two weeks.

The World has taught me to produce things.

To be proactive.

To find traumatized things in myself or my family line and then get busy HEALING for goodness sake as this life is temporary and I haven’t got much time to mess around.

The World tells me I need to have a 9-5 job with two weeks of vacation, at most.

Personal transformation and time spent on such things are invisible and The World only cares about things you can see. The World tells me I need to produce things. So doing nothing…well, I can feel The World frowning at me.

Hmmm…

I decide not to look at The World glaring at me and turn my head away.

Meanwhile, while I have been listening to my inner guidance and doing “nothing” here these few weeks, I decided to do some guided meditations with Dr. David Clements. These meditations put me in an altered state and feel quite powerful to me. Since I am busy doing nothing, I have time for them.

Then, I have been noticing care and taking it in.

My current landlord, without his knowledge, has been teaching me.

Recently, there were fire alerts in this town. My cell phone made horrible noises and gave me warnings in Greek which I couldn’t translate while dark smoke billowed beyond a nearby hill, where I had just been hiking the day before. Helicopters could be heard chopping through the air overhead. Later, I noticed they would dip large hoses into the sea.

this is me, with all my most important possessions in a backpack and my toothbrush with me, around 9pm, shoving a beachball down and smiling at the same time while smoke billows behind me

This did not seem to concern the inhabitants here very much. The town sits at the end of one road in what feels like a gully to me. Having lived through fires in California, Arizona, and Colorado…at times with flames visible on the horizon… I have been trapped inside for weeks as the air outside was too smoky to breathe. So that smoke and the strong wind did concern me along with only one exit strategy.

I hovered in the village for a while as it got later and asked people to translate the latest alert that would buzz on my phone about every thirty minutes as I couldn’t find a way to copy paste the alerts into Google Translate.

However, I was able to use Google Translate through WhatsApp to tell my landlord in Greek, that I might need rescuing if things got worse.

People told me the alerts were for the nearby town and that I needn’t worry. One of them pointed out that if the fire got close…there was always the sea. And I guess they thought we could just swim on out and wait to be rescued. I didn’t find this adequately soothing.

When I got the first alert that said to prepare to evacuate, I threw my most important things quite quickly in my backpack. I was rather proud of myself. I had my computer, charging cords, passport, and electric toothbrush along with toothpaste, a bottle of water and a scarf and was out the door and down the outdoor metal spiral staircase, and then a couple more sets of doors and flights of stairs, within minutes.

After that, I sat with my backpack on a wall next to the ocean and its gently pulsing almost-waves and watched the smoke with a few other tourists.

Most people sat chatting in a relaxed way on the street.

Meanwhile, my landlord texted me back in Greek, which is how we communicate. Since I am in Greece, it feels polite to me to be the one copy pasting things into Google Translate.

He wanted me to come over and get a flashlight in case I had to evacuate in the middle of the night.

I tried to tell him I had a light already, but he insisted and I couldn’t explain very easily that I have a tiny lamp with red light I use at night that was portable enough to use if I needed a flashlight.

So I took my backpack of prized possessions and headed up the street to his house, which he had pointed out to me a few days before as he helped me move my suitcases there.

I could feel various eyes on me and knew that the town by now was pretty clear that the American from California was having trouble relaxing.

They smiled at me as I walked by while they enjoyed another easy cigarette with their friends.

My landlord lived nearby, as in a town of 100 people, everyone lives nearby.

His door was open and he came outside and handed me a little silver LED flashlight.

I tried to show him the one on my phone, and he insisted I take his, just in case I needed it. He implied, through hand gestures and noises that one never knows when one’s phone might not be charged.

While he spoke, I could see in the shadows, inside the door, a frail being.

It was his father. He had mentioned when we first met that he cared for him and that his father couldn’t see and couldn’t eat.

But the reality of the situation really hit me when I saw the elderly being, who looked to weigh under 90 pounds, sitting in a chair gazing off into space. I am not sure if he could hear or not.

I looked at my landlord and told him if we did have to evacuate and he needed help, he could call me.

His eyes teared up a little and he kissed me on the cheek and sent me, with the flashlight, on my way.

A few days later, still busy doing nothing, I decided to pick up my dowsing rods and do a little practicing.

I wanted to see what I might learn about myself and what they had to teach me. One’s environment can be used for such a quest as a representation of oneself and I had tried it out in my previous hotel room with good results (see my post on feeling safe).

This time, they led me in a small circular pattern and then pointed at my computer on a small table near the door where they paused and slowly opened from parallel into a 180 degree arc, indicating that there was a message in front of me.

I wondered for a few minutes what the message was?

Maybe I needed to stop doing “nothing” and get cracking on my book? Should I start writing more? Dang…is that what they were showing me?

That was when I saw the little silver flashlight sitting quietly next to my computer. Above it were some keys attached to a device that fits in a slot to turn on the AC.

The room I rented in Sougia for a few days prior to finding this one had a similar slot with a device attached to my room keys. And thus, every time I left, the AC would turn off along with the electricity. I wondered if I could detach the device from the keys as the room would heat up very quickly, even if I left for a couple minutes. And I saw that I was not the first one to think such a thing and that the keys were bolted to the device and there was no way to leave without it.

My new landlord hadn’t mentioned those keys and device to me other than to point out that they needed to stay there so the electricity would keep working. He gave me different keys to use to come in and out.

That little silver flashlight and those extra keys in the slot now felt like they had a spotlight shining on them. This is what the rods were showing me.

Care.

I think the loving field around me through those dowsing rods wanted me to see and feel the care in that. The care even when it came to AC and allowing me to use it as I desired.

Meanwhile, I had texted a few people in my family about what was going on and other than my uncle, no one seemed very concerned. In fact, I felt a bit alone here in Greece.

But I wasn’t.

Those rods were clearly pointing that out to me.

Soon after, the fire alerts passed and I booked my fight out of Crete. I decided to see if I could extend my stay for a few more days so I wouldn’t have to move somewhere else before heading to those trainings.

I asked my landlord if the room was free and he replied affirmatively.

An hour later, I trotted up to the ATM to get money to pay him in cash for the extra nights. On my way there I saw him smoking with some friends. I smiled at him, then returned with the bills I had carefully counted at the ATM for him in a little wad which I placed in his hand. I didn’t want to count it again in front of his friends and he seemed to feel the same.

Still frazzled from the fires and decision making around how much longer I was going to stay and keep doing nothing here, my distracted brain added an extra hundred euros to what I actually owed him.

He texted me later I had overpaid.

This morning I headed up to his house where he carefully counted out, one by one, five twenty Euro notes and gave them to me. Then he asked me to wait a moment as he hurried inside. I saw him get a small plastic bag and fill it with some fresh figs from what I assume is a farm he owns somewhere. He gave those to me too.

Care is a feeling, a tone, a frequency. Sure it’s a word. But as just a word, it points to something. While I am busy doing nothing and preparing for the imagined possibility of a soon end of life in case that fire takes me out, care is pouring from this man to me. And my rods made sure I took a moment to really take it in…in the form of figs, a silver flashlight, a bunch of keys and a kiss on the cheek.

Now, remember what I was saying about Plato’s Cave and all those places that have felt alone and forgotten by God…places that have felt cut off and at fault?

Well, I am using figs, a flashlight, and some keys to remind them that the cave is an illusion and that sometimes, care comes unexpectedly.

I am also learning to swim naked.

I told you I would get back to that and now I think I am ready.

You see, I was informed before coming here that Sougia was the “hippy” place on Crete. The lady in the tourist information office eyed me sideways as she told me she spends every weekend here and she thought it would be right up my alley. She had listened to me talk to her assistant a few days before about hiking places where I could stop and talk to trees.

At the time I thought she didn’t speak much English but it turns out she was silently sizing me up.

“The east end of the beach has a lot of nude sunbathers. It is a really unique place. When I heard you talking before, I thought it would be somewhere you would enjoy.”

Now, nude sunbathing is not my thing in public. That is why I purchased my tan though bikini. I have decided sun is healthy and also have decided to question pretty much everything I have ever been taught.

But nude sunbathing is something I do alone, and very rarely as places to do so are few and far between.

However, there is also a part of me that absolutely loves to swim naked, if no one is watching. In high school, I would go out past the waves, where no one can see, and take a risk as I slipped off my bikini and took a few minutes to hold it tightly as I frolicked around in the waves. I love the sensation of freedom and water that flows uninhibited over my skin. I think I have always loved it. Maybe it reminds me of being back in the womb in the early days while I felt safe and had space to paddle around?

I don’t know what I would have done if had lost my bikini. Well, actually I do know and it wouldn’t have been easy for me to strut out of the waves past all those judgmental and surprised gazes in search of a towel.

Then there was the hotel in Scottsdale late at night where the guy I was seeing at the time promised to stand as a lookout for me so I could swim bathing-suit free in the pool that sparkled under the stars and glowed deep green.

I never forgot those experiences.

And I also have issues around nudity. There are parts of me parked in that cave that are convinced that it is not for me.

But, it only took a few days for a bronze naked Greek woman sitting next to me on the east end of the beach, to remind me that my family wasn’t here and there was no one on the beach who knew me anyway…so what was I worried about? “People really don’t care here if you wear clothes or not,” she said, which seemed quite true as her friend sat next to her in his swim trunks and that seemed equally fine.

By then, I had spent a few days assessing the situation. The part of me that wanted to plunge in and swim around just for fun, bikini free, and the many other parts of me that thought it was a terrible idea.

The first day I was there, I kept my bikini on. There was a large group of naked men nearby talking loudly and I realized I felt a little uncomfortable, and I am learning to listen and honor my feelings when they arise and use them to decide what is best for me.

At the time, I told myself it was mostly men who were naked and I wasn’t about to have any of them looking my way.

A few minutes later, two rather obese bronze ones strolled over and began taking turns twittering delightfully and posing against a large rock a bit seductively while taking photos of one another.

I realized with some humor that those men at least, were comfortable in their own skin, having fun, and definitely not interested in me.

The next day I met the naked Greek woman again who assured me no one cared if you were naked or not.

By now, I had noticed that other people sat in groups in various forms of clothed and unclothed states and it all seemed to be welcomed and relaxed.

Unlike El Salvador, the Greeks and Europeans didn’t go out of their way to look me in the eye with a “Buenos Dias!” which I find lovely, but appreciated the lack of when it came to being naked on the beach. Here, people almost seemed to go out of their way not to look at one another.

Which didn’t stop me from glancing here and there to get the feel of things.

There was the day two young men strolled by with their backpacks on, headed back towards town.

They hadn’t bothered to put on any shorts yet. The image of those naked bums wearing backpacks is still a little humorous to me.

So, it took some time, but after those first few days, and the young, bronze woman’s reminder to me that even though I had some issues surrounding my family and nudity…none of them were here right now… I was soon sitting chatting with her equally nude.

I noticed on the last day before she left, her male friend wasn’t wearing swim trunks and had embraced a relaxed state of nudity. But I only noticed out of the corner of my eye. I felt pretty good at the common strategy everyone seemed to have of not really looking at one another much at all.

Despite that, I still tried to tuck myself in near some rocks, or simply lay next to the water as it lapped against my feet and closed my eyes if I heard people coming.

Since I was busy here doing nothing, I figured I might as well see how free I could be and I had my coping strategies.

Like an animal in the forest it was easy to pretend that if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me.

I knew I made progress yesterday when I went to my favorite spot, at the far end of the beach late in the afternoon and prepared to go for a swim. I was alone there, which I liked most of all, and was ready to strip off everything and go for a swim.

That is when I looked up and saw a man perched on a large rock nearby in the midst of the sea. He was wearing his swim trunks and laughed when I jumped, startled to see him there, sitting quietly in the shadows also doing nothing.

I didn’t think about it much. I peeled off all my clothes and headed towards the water. As I glanced his way I laughed and said, “Well, this is still hard for me and I guess I am getting better at taking my clothes off in front of strangers.”

He laughed along with me and went back to sitting quietly while I plunged into the cool sea. I came up refreshed, surrounded by sparkles of light as I felt the currents flow around my bare legs, sending tingles through my body. Salty spray, kicked up by the wind, dusted my skin which formed tiny goosebumps. The warm sun gazed down as I placed my hand gently on the huge boulder beside me. The same one the young man had climbed up on to perch.

No one cared. No one was watching me. They were too busy chatting amongst themselves or sitting busily doing nothing as they gazed out at blue shades and the line between, where sky and sea meet.

The wind whipped my now-long hair behind me playfully and I smiled.

Naked, doing nothing on a beach in Crete was just the thing for me. I decided to top it off with my favorite thing. I was getting hungry and it was time for dinner. I knew what I was going to have.

An ice cream sundae.

I had had one a few days before. A special kind of vanilla found only here in Crete, topped with sour cherries and real whipped cream.

This time I got one with passion fruit.

Still slightly hungry when I got home, I took some watermelon out of my fridge and sat on the floor where I attempted to eat it with a fork and small plate.

Some ants had already appeared earlier in the day and I didn’t want to encourage them.

I wiped the floor with a wet cloth and headed to bed early to read.

I had a new book a friend had written. It was a children’s book and he had just told me about it and asked me if I would be willing to do the audio for his next one?

I felt honored and also curious to see what the first one was like.

He had been a Waldorf teacher and I noticed that the stories were unusual in that they were simply sweet, with no violence or Mission Impossible scenes. There was a tale of a boat with a sleeping elderly man in it heading down the river and out to sea, only to be returned to its dock without him waking up, gnomes in the forest, a woman knitting and a water fairy…

I interspersed it with another book I purchased by Roger Ver, also known as “Bitcoin Jesus”. He is a controversial figure and at this point, as I have said, I like to come to my own conclusion on things including what is happening and has happened in regards to Bitcoin and its history.

It was quite a contrast from the Waldorf stories and also felt nice…to take time to simply read.

A third book I had, that I took time to savor as well, was not on Kindle like the first two. I had found it on a shelf in my favorite restaurant here, a book called Loop, about wolves and ranchers in Wyoming. Full of intrigue and human emotions that are not always easy…I was savoring every page.

It is funny how busy one can be doing nothing, and sometimes wearing nothing... amongst strangers who feel friendly and give me the space I need.

I think it is serving me.

*I don’t promote my writing other than by putting it out here, so if you like this and feel it may help someone you know, then please pass it along.

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