Notes on an island

It’s really hard to put into words what the past four days have been like for me. It’s one thing to be in a therapeutic, healing space. I’ve been in several of these workshops before now. But this time around, there was something about being on an island, something about leaving life as I know it behind for four days, setting off from the mainland, to go away (it’s not too far, but even so) and be surrounded by greenery and singing birds, waking up to misty mornings, spotting bright butterflies, a pair of wobbly ducks, the gentlest dog, and having the luxury of a pool to dunk into at the end of the day, hot wholesome home-cooked meals three times a day, and a big comfortable bed to retreat into at night, that made the experience so much more than just a workshop. I can’t emphasise how much being away added to my healing experience, this time around.

As such the air in Goa always feels so rich and laden with good vibes. I’ve said it before — things slow down within me, in the best way possible. Also, given everything that has been coming up at therapy in the run up to this trip, I felt like all roads were leading me here. It was time, and I couldn’t have been more ready for it. To physically take myself there, in a space, a bubble away from life as I know it, even here when I’m essentially on holiday, felt meta!

I actually also enjoyed the company of the people in the group. It was a small, intimate, but diverse group of people, of whom I knew only D. For a change, I mingled some, and actually felt drawn to some people. I guess this is what allowing for connection is like?

It was nice to be in the midst of folks who come from such different lives and backgrounds, but have that one thing in common that had brought us all together — a keen interest on working on ourselves. It’s sometimes all it takes to break walls and build bridges. I think I bonded more with this bunch than I have with the bunch I’ve shared a whole year of learning with.

It’s strange, but I woke up on Sunday in my bed at home actually missing walking into our workshop room.

I managed to wake up every morning and get a long walk in, and also run a little. The island is trapped in time. Every time that I visit it, I feel I need to live there at some point, and this time was no different. The people, the homes, the streets, the chai tapris, the church on top of the hill — everything feels otherworldly.

In the evenings I’d dive straight into the pool for a dip, which was so, so so needed every single day. I miss having access to a pool in my regular life, I realise.

The mornings were especially mind-boggling and stunning, and brought up overwhelming gratitude and a feeling of contentment for the opportunity it was. Golden kissed air, a low hum of calm and peace within, a slowness that forced me to be even more present than I thought was possible, or that I was capable of.

I’m usually bursting with words at the end of these experiences, but something has shut down that impulse in me off late. I’ve been feeling a lack of words. Not so much a difficulty with not finding the words, but a comfort and ease with not having to go into the words to make sense of it. I find myself soaking it in, feeling the small nudges and bubbling shifts within me. There is a new quietness about this that I am enjoying.

There were tears, so many tears, and so quick and easy to flow. It was different and liberating. There was also a palpable sense of completion, of finishing a part of something I had started over three years ago. There was a sense of having turned, of having moved forward, of seeing the same world with new eyes. It’s really hard for me to put into words what the past four days have been like for me. This time was different. This time felt complete.

One year ago: All my sweat, my blood runs weak
Two years ago: Ten reasons why I love the girls I’m in long distance relationships with
Three years ago: Travel

2 thoughts on “Notes on an island

  1. Pingback: Life right here, right now – haathi time

  2. Pingback: Cancelling today – haathi time

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