New Questions
/A Rugged Renewal in Patagonia
On an upper deck, red geraniums in the corners and green canopy at eye level, with sun cascading onto the opposite slope of the canyon, turquoise river far below. Wrapped in a blanket from the most perfect bed where I slept well, held by night sounds that woke me sweetly, yet still brought rest.
Six women breathing, three in their bedrooms, as Andean birds sneak into their dreams. Two on the front porch, sun lighting up their faces as they whisper, knit, and keep pace with one another’s inquisitive minds. One here next to me, sketching in her journal yet another view from her extended time away from home.
Six women. Hiking and laughing, hurting and slowing, learning to say “thank you” instead of “I’m sorry.” Learning to take up space and not try so hard to be “fine.” Nervousness giving way to excitement, giving way to healthy stress, then rest, then play. Creativity emerging as the rhythm of each day shifts further away from the other-focused lives at home. Creativity in the form of how they see themselves, their lives, their roles and obligations, their possibilities, their simple joys and how to listen. As they see the end approaching, the check-in notifications will come soon, they start to feel the longing. To stay, to leave, to finally propose the most beautiful marriage to themselves, a life in which they are committed to love and protect and honor their instincts and intuition. The worry mind may start to run, looking for answers, unsure of their capacity to take it all home- to hold onto not just the stories of this place and these adventures, but even more so, to hold onto themselves. They are careful not to ask too concrete of a question, too linear, too rational, following the path of the masculine. Valuable for sure, but too well ingrained, too well practiced.
They practice new questions.
What delights me?
What do I crave permission to receive?
What do I know to be true?
What does my soul call for?
And to toss the question out into the star filled sky, with smiles or tears, and then go jump into a river or taste a decadent cake and smile into the eyes of their sisters, knowing that all of these actions are ways to water the soil from which the answers will grow.
I too am learning all of this. Daily. And it is these journeys that teach me. I cannot write a script of the unfolding of each one. I cannot even guarantee an itinerary that will not change. And that is the beauty of it. A dance with the divine in the form of other women. It is the delight of my life. It is a gift from the whole ocean of which each being is a drop, and I am floating in it, head back, heart open, with trust, gratitude, and buoyancy.