Oregon (Part 2)

Breitenbush was red dragon flies and hot silence, mornings before the sun rose and sleeping in a cabin in the burn zone like a new seed that knows nothing of fire or all the ways it might grow and eventually be destroyed.  Water and heat from the earth were my medicine, and the cold, cold river across the bridge that took the high scream out of my lungs as an offering.  I’d forgotten to bring one.  That’s okay because water always takes what it needs, I’ve noticed.  The deer that greeted me reminded me of the fawn that snuggled under our front porch when I was a child. Both wild and innocent.  I unplugged from everything and recharged in ways I didn’t know I needed, in ways I didn’t know I would need. 

I took in all the delights— a spiral of tubs increasing in temperature, cliff side pools overlooking a golden meadow, sunlight filtering through wooden slats of a midday sauna that sits atop a capped geyser, nourishing feasts at every meal and private tubs at sunrise.  Bodies were around but bodies weren’t a thing.  Naked bodies, clothed bodies, big bodies, small, tattooed, old, young.  I let my body just be for the first time in a long time. Since I had gained weight the previous summer eating ice cream as a coping mechanism while care-taking my father.  It didn’t feel like I was soaking my body though.  It felt like I was soaking my soul. I practiced qi gong on the grass and met a guy at breakfast whose mother dated Ram Dass before he was Ram Dass. 

As I left the soothing waters and headed to Bend I realized I was driving into smoke. My eyes watered and my head hurt and my body wanted to turn around but I kept going. Traveling alone, you have to make a lot of decisions.  Some combination of nerve, common sense and luck is required most of the time.  Waiting for me in the “yellow zone” on the other end were not only epic hikes but a dear sister I hadn’t seen in over a decade.  Allison and I studied yoga together when we were in our early twenties with stars in our eyes and the bottomless depth of young seekers and old souls on the path.  Being with her again was like breathing air from that capsule time in our lives.  Like remembering lost magic.  We shared memories and updates over tacos and long convos, nights in with Junie, her sweet dog and even a girls night out.  It was deep sister medicine for the soul.  And while she worked, I hiked.  I took on Smith Rock in the late morning like an idiot.  There was a dog in shoes on the path and few other humans.  They were probably on trails that had shade.  Whatever, I climbed a huge rock.  And it was miserable, like the sign promised and glorious, like I knew it would be.  There was a huge old Juniper tree at the top with wild, gnarled branches twisting and curling around itself in a contorted embrace that looked and felt familiar.  I swam in the river where I’d seen an otter playing to cool off and watched two older, elegant folks come and soak their handkerchiefs and tie them around their necks.  I smiled and waved at them from the water in my underwear. 

The further south I went, the clearer the air became. Crater Lake took my breath away.  And my words.  It was vast and magical— a beauty so big it changes you forever.  A blue so blue you forget all the other colors, they don’t matter any more.  A lake so deep and cold if you swim too far out you’ll get hypothermia and die.  I’m a Maui girl but it had been a minute since I jumped off a cliff.  Chalk it up to being less reckless with my body as I age.  But dropping through the snow melt felt timeless and my body was this alive, sensual thing again.  More steep hikes, waterfalls galore, crater rim lit sunsets, my fingers touching snow for the first time in fifteen years, hiking through lichen covered forests and fairy worlds, sipping tea and watching the stars come out.  I watched Back to the Future in my motel room that night. 

In the morning I followed the suggestion of sunlight through the Umpqua forest and got quietly lost near the river.  When I finally made it to the hot springs, there were vampires still in them from the previous night’s rager.  I found an empty pool that backed up against the hill and traced the sun’s peeking rays to just below the tree line.  I figured they had about twenty minutes.  And sure enough, as light broke into the circle just above us, the creatures began stirring, remembering how to use their limbs again, gathering beer cans and melted tea light candles.  They kindly left some for me to pick up as well which I did, just before families with kids and the instagram models showed up.  But I had just enough time alone with the steam and the early sun. It felt like a prayer and melted any thought of having to do anything or be anyone.  Its golden light filled everything, and for a moment, chased even my own shadows away.