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By Dawna Shuman
All of the ferry traffic has gone. I’m left stranded and wet.
It is Sunday. It is desolate. Facing an uphill slope with my drenched luggage,
I can go no further. I feel completely alone and lost. I surrender.
For several months, I was deeply unhappy. My work had become my life. I felt an
ever-growing need to rediscover myself. I envisioned a small town with cafÄs
teeming with locals and cute shops nestled near a harbor. While browsing the web,
a name caught my eye -- Serenity By the Sea. Click! I engaged in a wonderfully
satisfying dialogue with Chidakash, owner of the retreat. We discussed the spiritual
crisis I was experiencing and he explained his theory on the inner journey of
the pilgrim traveler. Perfect! I’m on the right path. Two weeks later, I
fly to Vancouver.
On Galiano Island the rain continues to beat down with no signs of life. Suddenly,
Lee-Ann, a wee wisp of a woman, arrives and leads me up the hill. Avram rescues
my luggage and drops me off and my dripping bundle in front of the Grand Central
Emporium CafÄ. "Where is the village?" This is it I’m told!
My heart sinks. As I settle into the soothing tapping rhythm of rain, I recognize
a young couple from the ferry who offer me a lift.
We drive up and down a winding road eventually arriving at Serenity By the Sea,
an enchanting hand-built multi-level house situated proudly at water’s edge.
The retreat is run by Chidakash, a charming man with a delightfully zany sense
of humor and his partner, Shera, a strong woman who walks the Earth with conviction.
I’m led to the Windsail Room, with majestic fir beams complete with deck
and loft. Chidakash and Shera enter the room and within seconds, I’m sobbing.
Chidakash recognizes my efforts to gain control and gently deflects them. They
suggest I rest. As I reach up to hug Shera she pulls away. "It will not serve
you at this time," she explains. I know they have my best interest at heart.
The door closes and I am left by myself. I lie down and sleep for nearly 14 hours.
I awake to my own all-too-familiar doubts and wondering if I made the correct
decision to choose this difficult path. Shera’s plan for me is silence for
24 hours, no eye contact with anyone, write only with my left hand and no computer.
I agree. I’m to sit down daily and ask for guidance. I’m to draw myself
on a big pad and identify my issues. I’ve forgotten how to just be and my
discomfort is acute. I get dressed and go on a discovery walk up the muddy forest
path to the main country road. My feet connect to the ground motivating me, sending
me energy. Invigorated, I head back into the forest and down the path to my island
home.
At breakfast the next morning I’m surprised by how comfortable I am at being
silent; just being with myself even though there are other guests sitting around
the communal table. After breakfast, Shera announces, "I think I’ll
go pick some lettuce and wake up." Her words are magical. What an exquisite
way to start the day. It inspires me to do my Galiano walk.
Later, I notice Shera in the garden. She walks up to me and says: "May I
show you something?" Shera takes my scarf and blindfolds me. This is my worst
fear. I take her hand trustingly and follow her gingerly over rocks and grass,
listening to the waterfalls around the garden. I find myself learning to let go,
to trust. At the moment that Shera unties the blindfold I’m on the rock
ledge closest to the ocean. Gently she asks if I would like a bath in the outside
cliff-side. Soaking in the outside tub overlooking the ocean, I feel loved and
nurtured. Life feels glorious.
Later that night, Lee-Ann and I work on issues of control such as letting go of
the fear of death, of feeling safe. As we finally finish the work, she hugs me.
I light the candles, look around the room lit by the silvery moon and crawl under
my goose-down covers.
Today, feeling like an island girl as I walk with bold strides through the forest,
I hitch a ride back with a charming British photographer, Henny, wife of a ferry
boat captain, along with her two precocious children and their eccentric granny
who offers me dating advice. That night, I take a moonlight walk with Shera through
the woods to her ceramics class. On the way back, we see two deer dart in front
of us. I can almost reach out and touch them. I end the night with another bath-on-the-cliff
and it’s truly heaven looking out on the ocean watching the last loons diving
for fish as the sun slowly sets on Galiano Island.
Each day brings renewed energy and strength. On day four, I awake and hear, "Kindness
-- be kind to yourself today." I feel it deep in my gut and I realize that
voice is me. Day five, I wake up to "love yourself." On day six, I sit
in front of the ocean-view window, breathing in the forest-mist, feeling content
to just sit and be. I stare endlessly at the water as though I’m on a houseboat
and I can feel the movement of the ocean flowing around me. I’m connected.
I spend my last night attending a dance at the community hall to watch Shera and
Chidakash slow-dancing and other faces I’ve passed by on my walks, my hitches,
my lunches at the cafe, etc. I’m up on the stage with the other islanders
as part of a drumming circle, pounding my little old heart out. I feel alive.
Day seven, I wake up and my message for the day is "trust." I say my
goodbyes to my new family and sit at the living room window for a final glimpse
of the ocean. Sebastian, a funky French Canadian, picks me up to take me to the
ferry. We bounce along the road; it is pouring rain - a perfect "elemental
weather book-end" to complete my trip. Sebastian’s windshield is broken
and our vision is severely impaired as we drive along. The wonderful thing is,
I‘m not worried. I’m at peace. I feel perfectly safe. I’m an
island girl.
Dawna Shuman is a Canadian expatriate
living in Los Angeles. Contact her at angelport@aol.com
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