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July 22, 2020, Journal

This is almost impossible. Almost. But for the Divine, nothing is impossible and the improbable is hilarious.

I got to Pohara Beach yesterday, (just outside of Takaka) and I like it here. Being alone has given me the gift of slowly reconnecting to my faith. That sounds Christian. That is not at all what I mean.

Faith is essential in yoga, and if I follow any written rules, it’s those in the yoga sutras1. Clearly, brahmicharya2 (abstinence) has been a problem for me recently. Faith in a higher power, ishvara pranidhana3, is the last in the list of 5 niyamas4 (observances) that tell us how to take care of ourselves in order to enjoy yoga (union).

This is how we align our inner moral fibers so that they, as well as our muscles and nerves, can be an efficient conduit for God. Everything doesn’t have to be aligned perfectly for the spine to be a divine superhighway, but the more of your being that is set straight and smooth, the more inviting of a pathway it is. It’s just a matter of allowing enough linear space within you to let the river flow. It took me a decade.

That superhighway, once built, has always been there for me, but it can be difficult to access if you allow the weeds and brambles of the world to obfuscate the path. It’s best to keep it in good repair with daily maintenance: yoga, meditation, oil massage, time in nature, correct eating and sleeping habits… All these observances take up about half of my time, money, and attention. Just so that I can get high from feeling a strong current of God pulsing through me.

Is this wrong somehow? It feels so good to carry a live current in my spine. Feeling heaven must be wrong.

Ishvara pranidhana is when you surrender to being the wire and you let your life whip wildly across the cosmos as that live current sizzles home to itself.

Where did it start? When I made the decision to go north to Takaka last week? When I decided to extend Pup’s life by a year with evil surgeries? When the great human chessboard of the Covid-19 Lockdown was set into position in March? When I slept with Moshe in April? Is this because I made a wrong turn back in Nelson two days ago and ended up at a hippy crystal shop buying weirdo crystals like vanadinite and apophyllite?

This morning, I spent an hour searching the internet for my next safe haven. Following the path of least resistance (well, more accurately, of least investment), I found a very inexpensive room in Westport on AirBnB. There’s always a very good reason why a room is inexpensive, and at the peak of winter in the South Island of New Zealand, that reason was often a lack of heat. That wasn’t the case with this particular room – the host specifically mentioned a space heater. I scoured the listing. A kitchen, an indoor bathroom, a comfortable-looking bed, access to the washing machine… I kept scrolling down… where was the reason? Perfect reviews… a pleasant suburban location… the page ended with a profile of the host. His photo had been taken from a distance, so his round face occupied no more than 24 blurry, brown pixels.

Nevertheless, my heart lifted and I smiled at the certainty of our confluence. Yes. That One. And I knew that was the reason. There’s always a reason.

The room in Westport wasn’t going to be available until the following night, though, so I had to find shelter in Takaka one last time.

Did God take the reins today in the café at noon, when I read an ad for discounted accommodation at a local hostel? When I decided to have the half-price chocolate-hazelnut croissant that has given me no end of belly cramps? As I smoked a mostly medicinal joint in the alleys between route 60 and Motupipi Street? When I rolled into the parking lot of Takaka’s tourist information center5 around 2:34pm? Did I make even one single decision today? Ever?

Carmen’s wheels hadn’t even settled into the parking spot I’d chosen before a dented mustard-yellow caravan pulled into the lot. It parked near the pay showers, and I thought I saw a familiar face through the windshield. Impossible.

I tried and tried for a better look as I walked up to the tourist information center, but all I could see was a pair of eyes watching me over the caravan. I couldn’t be sure because it was almost impossible. I mean, the odds are so slim. In this exact town, at this exact time? Highly improbable.

As I spoke to the woman at the front desk about my options for accommodation tonight, I found it hard to remain the dutiful tourist. The woman (Yvette, if her name tag is to be trusted) had a bright, earnest presence, like a high school girl friend that could keep any secret. Nervous with the impossibility of this moment, and excited by this rare chance to converse with an intelligent, friendly woman, I kept peering out the window to confirm the impossible. I think the isolation of the Covid lockdown was my excuse for telling kind Yvette every detail of my amorous adventures in Otago. Everyone was hungry for interaction. It was so exciting to tell my story and to be able to point out one of its characters in this very parking lot! He hid behind the caravan for a thousand years, rooting around for showering supplies until I gave up. Then I saw his face for a moment when he came around to the back of his caravan – yes!

It was him! It was Moshe from the Lodge! I’d travelled almost 800 kilometers and almost 11 hours to get away from my lovers in Lake Hawea. The one Israeli that I slept with during the lockdown was somehow a few dozen steps away. And he seemed to be avoiding me.

Clearly, the universe wants me to have sex. I can’t escape my dharma. Neither should he.

Doubt and that old fear of having a twisted and untrue perspective came up to my surface. Do I accept this dance from the universe? Or is this another cosmic joke?

“The bay has a way of bringing people together,” Yvette said, as serious as a witch. She was lovely and young, and she had this job because she has experience in this town.

I want to understand how it works. How do certain places hold and direct energy? Does it have something to do with astrology or geology or our own flawed search for meaning? I struggled with my determinism as well as Moshe’s, and asked Yvette whether or not I should approach him.

Yvette told me that I’d only seem creepy if I came from a creepy place, so I squared my shoulders, opened my heart, and went outside to talk to him. It appeared as though Moshe was in the shower. There were two outdoor stalls along the back edge of the visitor center parking lot, just to emphasize New Zealand’s thoughtfulness. They cost more than the showers we’d had at the Lodge during Lockdown, so I imagine that Moshe was taking every advantage of this luxury, as it appeared that he’d been living in his van. If he ever did emerge from the shower, he’d probably feel a little vulnerable. Waiting for him would be creepy, so I dared to leave a cheerful note under the windshield wipers and drove off.

And fuck if he didn’t call 3 minutes later. I almost didn’t answer, but I did. We chatted vaguely about our adventures over the past month. Moshe had explored the eastern edge of the South Island and was heading west, like me. Because I told him that I was staying in Takaka that evening, he assumed that I’d be there indefinitely. It wasn’t necessary to correct him. Moshe was on the move, and I felt a sense of relief that our relationship was so tenuous.

We’d had almost 2 months to form a bond during lockdown, but our age difference had made it easy to escape into our own respective languages and cultures, so that bond was slender and weak. I wanted a nice Jewish boy! But Moshe is really still a boy. He’s almost half my age, and frankly, he’s boring. Although I knew that it would make him infinitely more delectable, it would be unkind to show him the darkness and decay of maturity. There was really nothing else to say. I imagined him shrugging his wide, young shoulders as he closed with the hope that I might see him in a few days when he drives back through Takaka.

I won’t. That ten-minute conversation resurrected an ancient distrust of God and His Plan. As far as I can tell, the Plan involves continual mistakes and misinterpretations on my part in order to entertain the jaded Divine. This cosmic game, this lila6, has no object… How can I have faith in such devilry? It seems like allowing God to direct my life has run me headfirst into a brick wall.

Yvette seemed to think that there was unfinished business between us, but I think Moshe’s instinctive response to this afternoon’s chess board configuration was actually the wisest: duck and cover.

The golden hour in the rural hills around Golden Bay.

1 https://www.judithhansonlasater.com/writing/2014/11/20/tb7p1jhvohw7l9s03w3e6wxxtooy4p

2 dlshq.org/teachings/brahmacharya-celibacy/

3 https://www.ekhartyoga.com/articles/philosophy/understanding-the-niyamas-isvara-pranidhana

4 https://www.yogapedia.com/definition/5142/niyama

5 https://www.goldenbaynz.co.nz/directory-listings.html?id=148

6 http://www.mahavidya.ca/2017/12/27/lila-in-hinduism/

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June 27, Journal

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June 25, Journal

As silent, cold, and deadly as the Sword of Justice, I left the Mormon behind in Geraldine. I’d finally had enough of his laziness and selfishness. My bags were packed tightly into Robert (my rented SUV) and I skittered over the gravel driveway, roaring south on Rt. 79 at exactly 10am this morning: alone, my shoulders throbbing hot with tension.

The responsibility of maintaining a household as well as the financial burden of a week’s vacation in a lonely side street of the town of Geraldine had landed fully on me. A week of sleeping on a fancy memory foam mattress that crippled my back with pain had aggravated me enough to imagine that the Mormon himself was plastered on my spine like a tick, sucking away my resources, much in the same way as my vagina was perpetually receiving his legacy. The lower right side of my spine glitched often and held me prisoner until I could painfully unfurl from its grasp.

It was time to leave Geraldine. She’d set the stage for the darkest night of the year; she was heroic. She lay right on the edge of a moody microclimate and was subject to a damp heaviness that dragged at her hems and sucked at her boots. Perhaps the Mormon was sensitive to that feeling, and perhaps that’s why he habitually luxuriated in bed until 10 or 11am.

Fog over the town of Geraldine

Well, today, the vacation’s over! Our check-out time was 10am, and I intended to leave this unhappy spot punctually, with or without the Mormon.

Of course he was late and slow. But I’d told him, the night before, while we were taking our last bath together; I’d laid out my schedule and intentions while the Mormon watched me with bright eyes over the edge of the bathwater that separated us. His pupils were pulled in tight, and the hazel color of his irises shifted from blue to grey, as fast as the liquid below them. I believe that I was clear and polite. The warm bath had softened my back, and I was more relaxed than I’d been for quite a few days.

Three days ago, I got a haircut for the first time since I’d left the United States back in October. The intervening 9 months had been stressful, delightful, mercurial, and most of all, dirty. My damaged hair resorted to tangling itself into an unpleasant nest at the nape of my neck, spraying split ends backwards like a surprised skunk. Since Otago’s relentless cold forced me to wear a wool hat continually, it seemed like a waste of effort to do anything more with my hair than braid it and shove it under my hat.

I even left the hat on when the Mormon and I fucked. It was often so cold in his caravan that I wore all my warmest clothes to bed except one leg each of my 2 pairs of pants, to accommodate our frequent coupling. Being in Geraldine afforded me a heater and thick, soft blankets, which I piled lavishly on my side of the bed. It had been so pleasurable to flop my naked body over in the night, affixing it to the warmest, most solid bit of flesh available, and rubbing it sleepily to unroll luscious sexuality.

Haircut Day marked a shift in our interactions, just like the world swerves to a new paradigm every time the moon goes dark. I let the Mormon drive us to Christchurch, where I’d scheduled my haircut. He was feeling pleased with himself as a result of sex, weed, and good food, and gabbled away at me about the tiny house he wanted to build out of a shipping container. Pulling into a gas station, he miscalculated his entry, and thunked into a low concrete post, which was painted a happy yellow to celebrate the occasion.

I groaned in despair (and also to release some of the pain that had reappeared in my lower back) and escaped the vehicle to assess the damage. The Mormon followed, his eyes a remorseful nut-brown, and the earflaps on his hat hanging low.

“It’s ok,” he insisted, “Look, It’s just a scratch. I’ll get it right. Don’t even worry about it; the Mormon will fix it right up. You’ll see. You’ll never know it happened. Just a scratch, doll.”

“Dude.” I let the pain of financial loss surface for the first time, and shook my head, my desolate eyes glued to his. “I don’t have insurance. They’ll charge me for this. It’s not just paint. There’s a crack in the bumper.”

“It’s ok,” the Mormon repeated. “I’ll sort it out. You just go to your appointment, and it’ll be fine by the time you’re done. There’s this special cleaner that you can get that fixes scratches just like this. Look, it’s just a scratch. Don’t worry, doll, I’ll sort you out.”

Ignoring my aching back and holding on to my struggling faith, I leaned into the Mormon’s comforting arms. He’d sort it out. He’d take care of me.

It was hard to maintain an acceptable level of small talk with the hairdresser, but since she’d arranged a beautiful, Covid-free salon solely for me, I gave it a good try… until she began to massage shampoo into my neglected scalp, and I fell into a silence of well-deserved receptivity.

Ahh. This is why I was willing to pay triple the cheapest rate. This warm, well-decorated salon with all of its delightful organic products was completely mine! The hairdresser was generous with her nimble fingers, weaving lavender-scented cleanliness in and out of the nerve endings clustered on my head. My crown chakra loves to be stroked, and the joyous sensations in my scalp flooded down my body in soothing waves, sparking at nipples and crotch, and oozing around my rigid shoulders. Behind closed lids, I rolled my eyes back in their sockets and my breasts seemed to grow in the warmth of my softened heart. How could I lament the end of the head massage when it meant that the hairdresser would be laving my hair with long licks of warm water from her hose? I released a little sigh, and collapsed back against the sink in surrender, letting the erotic sensations soothe me.

She dried me off with a soft towel, and did a passable job at cutting my hair, removing 6 murky inches of its length.

The freedom and sensuousness of the haircut didn’t last long. I bounced out of the salon to the beat of my swinging hair, and found the Mormon seated in front of the scratched front bumper of the SUV. The yellow concrete was completely gone from Robert’s red withers, and he’d done a good job of removing the scratch as well. Only a few deep whiskers of damage remained around what was indoubtably a crack.

The Mormon looked up at me with pride, and I couldn’t help but hug him and thank him for a job well done. A bumper like that couldn’t cost more than $700, right? And maybe the rental company wouldn’t notice it. That right bumper was the only clean corner of the SUV, but I would rent it for a little longer to build up another layer of dust as camouflage.

Showing off my shiny new hair to the Mormon, I felt as though I’d shed my old hang-ups about him along with those 6 inches.

“That’s nice, doll,” he complimented me, “It’s too bad we’re not going out on the town to show you off. Look, your hair is just about as long as mine now.”

The Mormon pulled the long portion of his hair out of the tightly twisted knot above his right ear. It made a rope thin enough to tie onto itself, but he still always secured it with a black hair tie. His long hair dropped free from the top of his head, covering the short hair on the back and sides. Was it a reverse mullet? And indeed, the roasted cashew-colored locks did reach below his wide shoulders; almost as long as my expensive new cut. He smirked up at me with those Brad-Pitt lips: a ’90s teenage heartthrob, if you ignored the deep wrinkles in his forehead and the untended forest of facial hair around his mutton chop beard.

“Look, look,” he said, and I looked into his eyes as though I was looking into a mirror.

“You’re so cute,” I told him, with a long kiss. “Does it worry you at all that we’re starting to look more like each other?”

“Nah. It’s a good look.”

I was my normal, cheerful self1 again, but I still installed myself (permanently) behind the steering wheel. I decided to take charge of the music as well; at least while we were still close enough to Christchurch to get a good radio signal. If the Mormon wasn’t too annoying, I’d let him play his fantasy theme music in the remote mountain passes of Otago on our journey home. For now, I’d found a station that seemed to suit my needs: fun music from the ’90s that I could sing along with.

‘What’s Up‘, by 4 Non-Blondes2 came on, drawing me into a rare moment of song, believing that this moment was mine. I got real high while I waited at a traffic light, and rolled slowly out of Christchurch traffic with the Mormon glued to his bong next to me. And I screamed, not really at the top of my lungs, but with passion, “What’s going on?” as I went three-quarters of the way around a wide roundabout towards home, towards Geraldine. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what Linda Perry was praying for in the middle of the song. My God, did she pray…

“Restitution? Absolution?” I mused aloud to the Mormon, who clung with tight bones to the inside of Robert’s frame as the centrifugal force pulled him out of his comfort zone. “What does a person pray for? Revolution! Of course! That’s exactly what we need, my friend. We’re so close to a new world. I can feel the earth changing to accomodate the newness; the infinite possibilities of a new plane of existence.”

“It’s 50kph here.”

“Thank you.”

Pink Floyd and Milky Chance3 filled the time in Robert’s interior. We sped home to Geraldine at exactly the speed that I chose.

For the following two days, I watched myself lose faith in the bond between the Mormon and I. He was a fine fellow, but I clearly did not have a peaceful spirit in his presence. The Mormon was quite sensitive. Unusual sounds or the persistent low hum of electronics would occupy his mind until he could locate their source and silence them. Surely, he could sense that I was less kind and generous to him now. If he did notice my increased coldness, the Mormon never mentioned it; possibly because we continued to enjoy a vigorous sex life.

I wanted my desertion of the Mormon this morning to be his fault. Of course he’d been lazy and slow. Again. I’d woken him at 8am, 9am, and 9:30, with ample, loving warnings about our imminent departure (at least the first two times). Of course he didn’t respect me or the landlady. Of course I was fooled into monogamous love by my nether regions. Again. But it was still me that ditched a friend. The Mormon didn’t think that he should hustle to stick to my schedule, because I wouldn’t do him wrong, would I?

I stopped Robert in a tiny graveyard that stretched along a cold, dark blue stream. My half-ounce was tucked under the passenger seat, nice and safe in an old blue plastic ice cream tub. I packed my little glass pipe with weed. Filling the Ford with smoke, I sat. I sat until my impatient mind found good reasons for the Mormon’s adversity to work. I sat until I remembered his cute tea rituals and his roguish smile, and my desire for him.

Half an hour later, I returned. The Mormon had packed up; right quick, too. I caught him outside, talking quickly and forcefully to one of his mates on the phone. As soon as he saw me, he hung up and went back inside to busy himself washing the dishes like a responsible adult. I helped him dry, and we left Geraldine together: him, sullen and slumped in the passenger seat, and I, silent and authoritative behind the wheel.

“I thought you said that I was special,” the Mormon blurted, as prudishly sectioned Canterbury flew by.

“You are special,” I insisted. I’m never wrong. “You hear things that other people don’t hear, you catch details that most men wouldn’t notice, and you have interesting beliefs about the nature of God.”

I knew he wanted me to say that he was special to me, but I’d grown bored of telling him that I loved him. It was always going to be true, but it was old news if it wasn’t going to be reflected back at me. I wanted to talk about something new.

“I believe that my Dad has a form of autism called Asperger’s Syndrome4. Have you heard of that before?” I asked.

“Yeah,” the Mormon replied, his anger rising up over the center console. “I have. Some wankers think that I have it, and I don’t. I know I don’t, and those wankers that say I do can sod off.” He fell back into his seat, still fuming, and I turned on the radio as an offer of peace.

When the radio shushed into static, the Mormon asked if I wanted to listen to some of his music.

“No, thank you.” I was exhausted enough to be brutally honest. “I prefer silence.”

“How about the radio?”

“No, thanks. We’re out of range for the radio. I prefer silence.”

The silence was tainted by his wet breath and fearful indifference. It was going to be a long 6 hour journey to the Mormon’s caravan. I took pity on him and asked about the only one of his hobbies that did interest me: Mormonism.

“Do Mormons believe in heaven and hell?”

“Yeah, well, you die and go to heaven or what you call hell. Until the Final Judgement. Then you rise up, and we’re all judged, and then there’s the Celestial Kingdom, and the Terrestrial Kingdom, and the Telestial Kingdom.” His eyes reanimated, and he settled into the role of Hierophant with relief. I began to lose track of which kingdoms did what, and prodded him to explain. “Yeah, there’s the kingdoms, and before that is the spirit world, the spirit prison, and before you’re born, you go through the Veil of Forgetting.”

“What!?” I spun around to face him as fully as I could, spine protesting mightily. “What do you know about the Veil of Forgetting?”

That was Eastern philosophy, wasn’t it? Where did the Mormons get this yogic idea? Vedanta philosophy calls the veil ‘maya’.5 I’d encountered the idea when reading the works of American trancendentalists in Mr. Zimmerman’s 10th grade English class, and then I read as much as I could find about philosophy in our local library. There wasn’t much substance in those manila card catalogues to chase after.

It wasn’t until the fresh green May of 2005, when I encountered a plethora of exciting books at a Quaker Meeting House yard sale in my home town, that my spirit re-awoke, like a freshly-hatched baby snake at the mouth of his momma’s tunnel, looking out into the sunlit vistas that spread before her in infinite directions. My arms were full of jewels: the I Ching, the Kama Sutra, a feng shui manual, Fromm’s The Art of Loving, de Beauvoir’s Le Deuxième Sexe, and as a crowning gem: The Book, by Alan Watts. This modest selection shaped my synapses (and my life) irrevocably so that the convoluted ideas of Samhkya philosophy that I later learned in yoga classes made perfect sense to me.

The veil of forgetting appeared in The Book as a fable for children. Watts likened it to a game of hide and seek with ourselves; where we hide the truth of One-ness so that we can enjoy two-ness. How did that figure into The Book of Mormon? Did they remember what was behind the veil, or did they only know that there was something worth remembering? Does my Mormon hold the key to enlightenment? Is he worth my time?

The Mormon didn’t know. He just repeated himself, unable to verify that he actually understood the Veil of Forgetfulness and what it hid. Unsatisfied, I kept on speeding home.

There must be a good one out there. Men wrote the books on enlightenment, after all. It must be possible to have a Y chromosome and a direct knowledge of Truth in the same organism. Granted, men’s egos are larger, and probably more difficult to remove. That, and their lack of experience in being empty containers makes it naturally harder for the Source to penetrate and dominate them, so it’s reasonable to assume that when one man did become enlightened, he thought it was a big deal and had to write a book about it. Such a stiff, hard man-ego must leave its mark, even in dissolution.

I know there’s more than one man like that: enlightened to the simple Truth of it all (that we are all God). Statistically, extraordinarily conservatively, there must be at least 200 of them that aren’t already partnered or dead. And I can’t be the only woman, either. If women are more naturally suited to enlightenment, surely, there must be at least 500 in this world, at this time. Where are they? Is there no one with whom I can share the Truth (and my life)? Would I forever follow these red herrings that men laid down in lieu of roses, faithfully finding dead end after dead end?

Four silent hours later. we rolled into a town near Wanaka, just 10 minutes away from the Mormon’s town, looking for dinner in the shopping center just across the street from the lodge where I’d weathered the lockdown. As it happened, the only sit-down restaurant in the area was having a Quiz Night, and we were forced to eat amongst jolliness and good cheer.

If the 21st of June was the winter solstice here in the Southern hemisphere, then the 25th must be Christmas! The Mormon and I gave in and joined the rowdy game. Literally half the questions were about cricket, so we lost badly; but, in the process of losing, we grinned and spoke to each other easily again, as though a curse had been broken.

Back at the Mormon’s cold caravan, I unpacked only my essentials so that I could drive away again the next day. I didn’t know where I’d be going, but the rules were: one night per week for free in the caravan. Perched on his bed as lightly as a Carolina Wren on a twig, I sat nervously next to the Mormon. Did our lack of connection mean no more sex? Had I been too annoying to love?

“Here. Don’t be silly,” he grumbled gently, pulling me without resistance into a warm, dark embrace.

The Mormon at Castle Hill

1 By normal self, I mean my current ego; my current, favorite adornment for my naked soul (or atman). It’s how I define myself positively in the world: it’s the loveliest and most transparent dress that my third chakra wears; my favorite perspective and expression, my favorite veil, and that which I hope is least clouded by fear or ignorance. Here, my heart is open, and that allows my atman (or soul, or that which perceives) to expand in comfort and make room for the Source. When my heart is closed, I do not feel like my ‘normal’ self, despite having spent much of my life that way. Weed helps my heart open, but it isn’t necessary.

2 https://youtu.be/o4P3sa9c9KI

3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QkF3oxziUI4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymgYEQgSqLI
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVjiKRfKpPI
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iX-QaNzd-0Y

4 https://www.autismspeaks.org/types-autism-what-asperger-syndrome

5 https://www.yogaenred.com/en/2015/01/15/maya-el-velo-de-lo-invisible/

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May 24, Journal

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May 8 – Day 44, Journal

Judah is playing the guitar masterfully and sweetly in Room 5. He is God when he plays. I’m quiet and at peace, and I hold back from disturbing him, even though I want to sing those familiar songs and be one with him. But the time for drawing together is over. The tide is going out, and we can all feel the gentle gravitational shift.

I’ll probably forget to write a little note of gratitude to him; the ‘mila tova’, or good word box, will be emptied one last time before we leave. One of these large-hearted kids put up an old ice-cream box in the main foyer, and we’re supposed to just write kind, random notes to people and put them in the box. Every Friday night after our communal dinner, the slips of paper in the box are read aloud in Hebrew by the youngest child, Noam, and then translated into English by his Dad.

Mila Tova

It’s hard for me to put my special appreciation for each of these delightful souls into words that cannot be misconstrued as sexual harassment, so I don’t participate in ‘mila tova’ as often as I’d like. It was so nice to get one, though! I got a few for teaching yoga in the beginning, before I started seeing the Mormon almost every day.

He scratches my itch, and I’m trying not to fall into addictive patterns with him. I know I’m supposed to give him space to miss me so he’d want more sex. And little is more satisfying to me than the warm spread of his ejaculate.

I’m trying. I fill my free time with yoga and cooking and meditation and writing. I’m working on re-mastering a yoga pose that I’d only been able to stick one or two times before my shoulder injury in 2012. It’s a tricky Vasisthasana variation: a side plank with the bottom leg being extended overhead by the top arm. I’m getting close! My right collarbone keeps reminding me that it’s no longer attached at the arm end, jostling around the meat at the top of my shoulder like a Chinese tourist. If I can just work past that discomfort, I’ll be back to where I was before the word ‘divorce’ ever crossed my lips.

I’ve told the Mormon that I’m not into commitment now, and he seems to understand that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with one person. He’s told me that men need women, and I can’t argue with that. I’ve seen firsthand how a man can flourish, given kindness and devotion. I don’t think my ex-husband wouldn’t have been wealthy without me. It always seems to go one way with my relationships, though. I invest my heart easily and thoroughly each time. My goal is His happiness, and I forget my Self. Every time.

Of course a guy would want this sort of relationship. Forever, or at least until I grow difficult. I don’t see how I can flourish like this, though. I’m a better artist when I’m alone because I’m closer to the one-ness of God. I’m happy and at peace. I really enjoy who I am. Who God is. Men get in the way of that union, and that deprives my soul of its sustenance. And then the art shrivels up to nothing. I’m trying to change the dynamic so I can be in charge of where my heart spends its time. I need to be truly my Self while still getting laid on the regular.

Everyone’s talking about Level 2, making plans to travel hard-core as soon as they can bust out of the lodge. We won’t know the verdict for another few days. I’m the only one enjoying my current adventure, and I don’t want it to end. This steady influx of passion, kindness, and optimism (and, more likely, youthful testosterone) has given me new life. This may be the happiest I’ve ever been.

I guess the lockdown will have to end eventually. Kiwis are astonishingly healthy and obedient. My English Mormon is a little disobedient, and it’s sexy. He’s hooked on me, and I want to enjoy him more. I trust him to find a way to keep me around for a couple weeks before I have to go back to the intolerable reality of the United States.

It’s fascinating to watch the Mormon allowing me past one barrier at a time. He finally invited me up to his home today!

The Lake near the Mormon’s place

I’ve been to his town, but he’s always kept his home private. Now I know why. It’s not fancy.

The Mormon lives in a caravan on a small farm as a WWOOFer, so he works in exchange for rent. He told me to come on over today, as though he hadn’t been avoiding my intrusion. I didn’t get much instruction, so I parked next to a caravan that seemed to match his description: ‘a little green box.’ That box proved to be empty, but Rex found me wandering aimlessly and came to my rescue.

I greeted him gratefully, and he was overcome with doggy happiness. His tail whipping, Rex led me deeper towards the belly of the farm. There, a small, colorful circle of caravans huddled together staunchly against the wind that swept through the flat-bottomed valley.

I followed Rex around the outer edge of the circle. Pale, long grass gathered at the edges of each man-made thing that squatted there: caravans, shipping containers, farm equipment, and rickety crates full of something worth saving. The afternoon sun was already low, and the angled light gilded the mustard-yellow caravan ahead of us. I saw the Mormon standing there, loose as a scarecrow and dressed in black. His jacket blew around his hips, and he cradled a rollie in his left hand.

He was talking to someone just inside the caravan. As I softly made my presence known, his friendly gaze shifted from the caravan to Rex to me, and I was welcomed warmly.

“This is my mate, Colin,” the Mormon introduced us, “I call him Farmer Colin. He farms this place, and he’s good.”

Farmer Colin grinned at me from his seat in the doorway of his caravan. He looked weathered and grimy around his edges. He wore many layers of voluminous clothes, a green bandanna warmed his head, and the fat gray hood of his uppermost sweatshirt shaded his eyes. I could see his youth in his large, bright eyes, but the wrinkles around them were the badge of a life lived outdoors in the harsh New Zealand sun. His smile revealed that he thought I was attractive.

It’s in the corners of the mouth, you see, when they expand an extra 2 millimeters out and slightly down from the initial smile. Maybe that microexpression facilitates salivation? I tried it, and there does seem to be an energetic connection all the way down into the second chakra.

Colin wasn’t sure how to proceed under Level 3 lockdown regulations. He extended his hand and then retracted it. He wanted to touch me, but we were used to being in our Level 4 bubbles. It was hard to pop those safe havens.

“Hi.” Colin said, “I don’t know if it’s OK to shake your hand.”

“Yeah, it’s cool, whatever feels right. It’s nice to meet you.”

Colin reached out again, and we shook hands like Covid rebels. It felt naughty somehow, and my desire rose as our hands warmed together. Yeah, I liked Farmer Colin with his large eyes and his strong hands. I couldn’t see anything else of him but an achingly regal nose; a nose that was carved into monuments and coins, that could have graced an eagle, and that left no doubt as to his divinity.

“Farmer Colin is another kind of farmer, too,” the Mormon said, proudly. “He’s got a little weed farm somewhere out here. Sometimes he takes care of me wit his homegrown. They call it bush here, don’t they, mate?”

Colin laughed and ducked his head modestly.

“Yeah, mate,” A girl’s voice wound its way towards us through the labyrinth of caravans. Her French accent was overridden by an exaggerated Kiwi drawl. When she appeared, she was also swathed in grayish warm things from head to toe. Her youthfulness showed in her unlined face and light step, but she held herself against the unremitting cold in a brittle way.

“Colette!” the Mormon was delighted to have a little group together. This was, in fact, the largest group we’d been permitted to enjoy since lockdown started. Our bubbles were more mobile now, and more likely to collide. Colette was less hesitant to break through the physical barrier of her bubble, and I shook her lovely hand. She settled into the doorway of the caravan, snuggling into Colin as we talked.

I was delighted to meet the Mormon’s mates. I liked them, and I liked their way of life. Could I live this way?

They did notice when the Mormon talked about nothing in his goofy way. They kindly steered the conversation back to normal when the Mormon spoke at length about Rex’s stinky farts. I was glad to see that I wasn’t alone in my misunderstanding of the Mormon. He’s on a different wavelength.

He’s odd, but so am I. He reminds me of my father… he’s somewhere on the autism spectrum. He believes in his faith as strongly as my father believes in his. I’m not sure whether or not the Mormon’s faith aligns with the book of Mormon, but he seems to fall back on it when asked.

He has a particular view of the world, and if I know my Dad, it will be almost impossible to get the Mormon to budge from whatever preconceptions he might have. I’d have to learn his rigid framework, and work with it. If he’s open enough, and I can be free enough, we might be able to live together.

I’ve learned to work with my Dad. His inane conversations drive me to a special sort of painful frustration as well, but I’ve learned to place boundaries on our time together. I’ve learned to set myself up for success. I do want to spend time with my father, because I love him. And because he loves me, he allows me to choose when and where we meet. It breaks my heart that my father knows that I can’t handle his energy.

Maybe, upside down in the southern hemisphere, I can resolve this dissonance between heart and mind. Can I shut off my unsatisfied mind and just let my heart expand unhindered?

I can do this. For the first time in years, I want to hold on to something. Not the Mormon in particular, but I do want the sweetness of new love, safe arms to hold me, the peace of a home, and a regular hard fucking. I want a shelf where I can put my stuff.

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April 3 – Day 9, Correspondence

Emails between Sister and I

Dear Sister, Yes, you know how Mama tries to brainwash!

It’s too obvious, though – whenever she reaches a particular stage of passion on her chosen subject, i automatically start doubting the truth of her words. I feel bad that i don’t take her seriously, but her truth is different than the real truth sometimes – it’s colored to protect her.

She always tells the story of her divorce where i stayed with Papa and rejected her, as if i deserted her, as if i made a decision against her. Well, yeah, i can’t live with her, but i stayed with Papa because i felt sorry for him and i wanted to live in a safe, stable place after Australia and before college.

My decision had little to do with her. Well, maybe i wanted to avoid her excessive emotions, but i was 16! I had to worry about applying for college and prom, not soothing her and counselling her.

She is very obsessed with her own perspective. Even when i correct her about how things happened, she still only remembers her own story.

I see that she also wants me to be obsessed with her perspective – always pushing her ideas – but i’ve learned to detach. I really enjoy figuring out my own perspective. It’s fun, like a puzzle – what is the truest truth for me in a situation? 

Frankly, it’s rude that someone would take that joy away from me. Not just Mama; Papa, too, with his religious ideas.

His perspective of the truth is not even his perspective. It’s someone else’s (Moses’? John’s? Scott Brown’s? Who knows) and he’s just so pleased with it that he’s memorized that perspective and spits it out to anyone who will listen.

He just happens to have a mass of people behind him (the owners of this lodge, too) who are the same. At least Mama has original stories… All with the same plot, of course: the world is evil and against me, and i am an innocent victim. 

Unfortunately, we are stuck with that story in our heads, and it stains my view of the world. I see it though, and i’m trying hard to scrub that stain away so that i can have a clear, true perspective.

They are vampires! I’m always exhausted after i spend time with either one of them. They take my attention and i see how they feed off it.

I feel like they’re starving for someone to truly listen to them. Do they not get the love they need?

Why should i give my life-energy when all i get in return is bad memories from Mama and this uncomfortable box to live in from Papa? He makes me feel fake and worthless and the sad thing is, i think it makes him more comfortable to see me living inside this tiny box of what he thinks is right.

I can’t even explain that i am so much more than the child he thinks i am. I don’t think he has the capacity to understand the richness and subtlety of my adult experiences.

If i can’t be who i am, how can i relax? And if i can’t relax, how can i love?

I’m supposed to be studying hebrew verb forms, and i cannot concentrate on them! Just like my childhood. There is an adorable fellow (they’re all adorable – so young!) named Moshe who is trying to teach me hebrew. I need to be a better student, but i am struggling to focus on the grammer.

*update: poor Moshe hurt his back playing volleyball, so no lessons for a while, i guess.

So, Papa is giving us our own money so that he can feel important and gather our gratitude while he is alive? That sounds right. I thought his generosity was suspicious.

And i know the stock market is super-low right now, so basically, i am stealing from myself. He offered money several times, and I finally asked for $740, because that’s how much the new plane ticket was. I was shocked when he offered $3000!

It was really hard to find a way to transfer the money – he wanted to use a particular app, Zelle, that my bank wouldn’t accept, and it took about 3 days of writing back and forth for him to accept a different app.

And even then, he only sent $500 to see if it worked. Which is reasonable. And it did work! After another 3 days. And now he wants to wait until the 15th to send a similar amount. At this rate, it will take 2 more months to get $3000.

Is he playing some game of getting my attention? Is it cheaper for him somehow? Yeah, i really don’t like it when someone promises something and doesn’t deliver.

Just state your wishes in the beginning! If you don’t want to give me money, don’t! I never asked for $3000, and now i’m involved in this elaborate game of Chase the Money.

*update: i got the first $500, and the second $500 is en route, and now he’s asking if i want more! Did he promise $3000 or was that a joke? Do i have to beg for each $500? What game is this! I do not want to play anymore, and i do not need money from him that badly.

Yeah, the idea that his wife’s kids are getting half of our inheritance irks me, too. And they ask for it all the time! No shame! It’s a different type of person.

How did we end up with so much self-respect in ourselves? Maybe we saw that we wanted to be very separate from our parents from an early age? Because they never really fulfilled our needs so we learned to live on our own quickly?

Geez. My roommate smells. None of the boys smell this much. It’s cold, so i have to shut the window and huddle near the heater, right next to her clothes.

How does a girl smell so sweaty all the time, especially in this cold? I know, she is of a Pitta (fire) constitution, and they have the strongest smell… She can’t help it. Well, she could eat less meat and wash her clothes. But it is unpleasant, and i am rarely in my room because of it.

I’m finding ways to enjoy this situation, and i was surprised to find out yesterday that i am truly happy right now!

Really full of joy! It’s probably all this young energy around me? I feel like everyone likes me, and i really love everyone.

It’s agape love – that brotherly love that covers everyone – and it’s authentic and brings me joy. I’ve never felt like this for longer than a few days.

I’m being myself, and people here are generous and kind, and they all work together with good hearts. Maybe it helps to see the dawn over the wild ragged mountains every day, or the clean, cold river. Maybe this is the lesson here, and i was meant to experience this.

Aha!! I thought, at the beginning of my NZ trip: this is where i’ll learn about the element of air. This is a land of birds and wind and sky.

But!! Within us, the element of air is in the heart chakra (according to Vedic philosophy). So maybe, a lesson in air is actually a lesson of expansion for the heart? 

See, this is where yoga goes into uncomfortable territory for these bible-thumpers. It’s too much information.

If you breathe and stretch the heart-space open, you will expand the heart and loosen the knots of fear and past trauma trapped there. Yes, it is an excellent exercise for the cardiovascular system, but feelings will arise.

These people are afraid of feelings (fear is the opposite of love). Why, i don’t know. You have to feel to heal.

When I first got here, I laid down for 20 minutes on my back with a large pile of laundry under my rib cage and then had a good cry, and I feel wonderful! There is now space to contain this strange, all-encompassing love. 

That’s the thing with yoga – it can heal physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually – it’s up to you how far you want to take it.

You can feel energies in your body and learn to shape them. To me, this is understanding God.

Defining the location and function of the energies by calling them chakras is necessary because english doesn’t have words for it. Sanskrit just another language – it’s not evil.

It really bothers me that they consider everything outside of the Bible as evil. The world is bigger than that, and God is bigger than that. 

Ok – too much with the yoga, I know. In general, all is well, and I hope I can use the ticket that I bought to go home on the 28th. Should I try to start something with one of the boys?

There are 4 single ones, between 22 and 24, and I’m looking for a diversion. I love being old and divorced and not caring at all what anyone thinks of me. 

Well, all the best to you and the family! Good luck with school! Will you be finished with that in May? I’m so happy that the river is cleaner! This pandemic could be a restart for our civilization if we allow it. Sorry for the very long email.
I love you!

On Apr 2, 2020, 11:43 AM, Sister wote:

hi X, i hope mama did not brainwash you with that old “you tried to run away from us but we are your family engraved in your heart”. you don’t have to bear that. 

Papa is NOT your family. Even Mama is NOT your family.

All they did from the beginning is tear us down ( and they are still doing it).

Both of them are vampires.

Just God alone is your family.  

We are NOT engraved in your heart: you are free and independant. The only one engraved in your heart is God alone, and not your mean family.

I know how you feel because she tries to push this idea of family on me. but i just don’t feel the vibe because of all the mean things they said and did. 

Mark 3:33 “Who are my mother and my brothers?” he asked.

34 Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! 

35 Whoever does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.”

Well, I’ll let you figure what god’s will is. At least it is not lying (or defending other people’s lies) and manipulating. I am not sure how you can get out of that stuffy house .

when I was taught Yoga, I always considered it a sport, not a religion, so I’m still quite confused by that idea that yoga is harmful to your soul. I am sorry, but i do not understand.

I heard that idea before. when I took yoga classes, I enjoyed stretching… I did not find it spiritually dangerous. at least not more than swimming.

I wish you could make a beautiful new start in new zealand, far away from the parents. But with papa’s connections, it is a bad start. How can you escape?

Papa did not hesitate to send praises to God to everyone he knows for the result of his righteous acts. one small problem: they are spiritually hurting and undermining you. I hope you can get out of this situation without too much damage.

did you ever get the money or was it all a show? (like I said, it is not from his pocket, but he takes it “on bad rates” from your own inheritance account. I’m not sure if our step-brothers have an account or if papa sends them money from his own pocket. either way it is insulting that he puts a satanic witch’s children on the same level as his own flesh and blood).

Good-bye. I hope I did not gossip too much or hurt your ears. I am just concerned. Love, Sister

On Friday April 3, at 5:02AM, Mama wrote:

My Dearest X!
I listened to one video while I was eating my breakfast. The point she made there is the people who are strong inside are usually are surviving all of these epidemics. People, who have support from the people surround them. 

If you feel you are not fit and feel the prosecution – you better go away from those people. Now as never before we need the inner stability, inner KNOWLEDGE  that we are excepted, we loved, and just left at peace and will be not pocked!

She said we were taught for many years: give the other cheek, forgive, don’t pay attention. She said: now is time: to put your foot down on a brake, Do not let no one humiliate you, keep distances.

If a person harassing you – tell her/him what you think about her behavior. Keep the hygiene, keep the distancing. Stick with relatives – who loves you [it is me] and kick the relatives who have nothing to do with your well being. which is Papa.

Make sharp divisions, borders. The inner confidence will save you, every one of us. That what she said.By being there – is violates all of your rights and it is NOT right.

The little bitch – is a little bitch -she is not a little, she is growing to be a big bitch. You do not have to tolerate her will to dominance. You can’t? – you go away. I feel, as more, you sit there the fewer options you have for the defense of your physical body, LIFE.

I am very concerned and worry about you. The fucker will survive because you let her win, you will be sick because you will feel that all the world hates you. and your world now it a fucking cult fatherjaka put you in.

I divorced him. it is time for you to divorce him, too. Fucker is a fucker – it is a Constant – it will NEVER change.

Once, in Israel, when I was pregnant with you in the 9th month! It is about a month before your birth, father has this idea from the blue: we must go to the moshav and live in the community of the pioneers-holy-people-disciples.

We went to Finland’s moshav near Jerusalem and “settled”. The fuck was – they hated me from the first glance. They thought: it is not ‘modest” to be so pregnant. what I can do in this stage of pregnancy?!

They thought: I am eating too much in the fucking dining hall, and it is was impossible to hide any food in the room where the temperature is 90-103 degrees Fahrenheit every day and night and mosquitos -like crazy eat you alive day and night.

They like Father: he looked like them: worked in the wooden shop talked the language they understood, and I spoke Hebrew, and they hated the sound of it! I even didn’t know how to cook, so they could use me just like the dishwasher and not for a long – my eczema started to bloom like madness!

In the end: they have had dogs, like nazi around the compound to protect the property. They unleashed on me one mad dog on command! I felt on the ground because it hit me, but I do not afraid of dogs: she thought I will run and be damaged more: but I was so mad: I started to scream on him on a top of my longs: get out of me! And he will not go!

Until she casually called him. Father didn’t get the key for action, but I said I do not do this fuck any more and the next day went to mama. He came after, he couldn’t understand why I can’t forgive and forget. ask now: he is still do not have a clue!

I am urging you: it the government of New Zealand allowed yet to move away from this place – do it for the sake of your physical body, your mind, and soul. YOU do not have to go through this intimidation.   

They are breaking the law by putting you with a stinky person in one room. Where is your isolation is there? It is not! You are not allowed to do yoga – it is what you are all about! It is fascist compound- run, run away and far away from this satanic place. PLEASE.

Also, you were mention of the truck, some kind of the trailer? – NEVER  go there! You are NOT white trash – you do NOT know how to be it, so – even do not try it! Stop experimenting with your luck, safety and trying God’s patience!

Berezhjonogo – Bog berezhjot! God keeping safe who are keeping safe themselves!

It is time to come to civilization where you belong. Stop playing the underdog -as you know – you are NOT it. YOu can’t tolerate even the thought of it! Stop fighting yourself – love yourself, respect yourself, appreciate yourself.

Enough of father’s brainwash, Stop it! NOW.

It is time to save yourself and not to spread yourself thin. Really, X, I mean it. Not because I hate father guts it is nothing to do with it now – because I do not want more damage to you!

He damaged me, it is past. Your life is in front of you. Fuck him and run to the safety.

I will help you. I do not have any expenses now. I bought all the furniture, all the food for 3 months stash. Go ahead, find the dignifying place and live there in peace until you will be able to come back. After they will clean up your passage to home from this virus.

Straighten up your inner centerline, the rhachis. Think. What is BEST FOR YOU. Act. With all of my good intentions and love – I wish you good health, clarity of mind, wisdom, strength, luck. You have to do what you have to do! No one will do it for you.

I do not know. It is some epicenters of the virus there in NZ. You may be listening to the news there, you know where they are. Please, avoid those places, but go out of this compound of satanic cockroaches. Go across the street but go away! Go where you feel you will be safe mentally and physically.

Yes, one of the points this philosopher has made is: when you are mentally fit -you will survive the epidemic no matter what. You can’t be fit in this environment of harassment, it is ridiculous fucking disgusting. I know you – you can’t. What else is holding glued you there?!

You are in my every moment prayers and thoughts.We are all worried about you. Please, please! survive this epidemic! Save yourself! It is worse than anyone thought. It does not discriminate, not young age not nothing. Please! Be safe, keep distances, please! do not be sick! I love you so much! Mother

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March 31 – Day 6, Journal

I am establishing my role as distant friend and eccentric spiritual leader. I don’t know what I’m doing here, in this little town on the south island of New Zealand. If we could just banish the idea of property, what a difference that would make in the world.

My yoga classes are none of my doing. The people here are wonderful. All these aspects of God shining honestly.

22 is a big number. It was Mark from Nimbin’s life number. He has Papa’s birthday tattooed on his neck, except it’s exactly 50 years later. That’s the birthday of his son.

It was so easy with Mark. We felt like we already knew each other. And I saw every one of my ex-boyfriends in him. Jason’s possessiveness, Keith’s denseness, and James’ blackfella-ness. Ben’s devotion, the magician’s desire, and the Canadian’s need for gratification.

He was incomprehensible and impotent like the Mexican waiter, he was insistent and irate like the half-Filipino drug dealer, and he naturally took charge like Paul. He was unstable like Mike, and talkative like Jake, although those two don’t count as boyfriends.

He was oblivious, like every single one of them, to the nature of God within him.

It seems like I’m the only one that sees myself when I look into other people’s eyes, but I know that can’t be true.

Pup is the only one, and Rogue, too; they know the truth of One-ness.

And the dog at the beach near Nelson, too; the black-and-white shepherd mix with intelligent amber eyes. I loved her for her proud carriage and impeccable guardianship of her lonely blonde mistress, swathed in black flannel.

My eyes shone to see her goodness, and our eyes met as the two passed, her jaunty tail held high, mistress downcast. They walked on and I lingered. I poked through the sand for seashells (and possibly Pounamu) and padded through the gentle waves.

They returned, the mistress breezing past first, dark and silent. I’d turned in the other direction (probably south-east) and i didn’t see her coming. The dog approached me from behind as well, two moments later.

Long, silky fur brushed past my left side, and the dog paused and looked up into my face. Clear, honest amber eyes filled my vision and the words, “so KIND” filled my mind.

A second later, she was gone, trotting close to her brittle mistress.

How can any of this be true?

How can I be stuck for 4 weeks in a messianic lodge in the middle of New Zealand with 17 Israelis and 4 fundamentalist Christians?

What am I?

God.

What game is God playing?

Global pandemic?

I don’t understand this comfortless reality without Pup. I don’t like it.

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March 31 – Day 6, Correspondence

Emails between Sister and I

Hi Sister! I’m glad you guys are feeling better – I imagine, over the next few weeks, you won’t have to deal with any more bugs since you are all cozy at home. Happy Birthday to your little one!!! Did you have a little party?

I did find a place, with Papa’s help – he has a network of these messianic people around the world somehow. His friend led me to another friend, who owns a backpacker lodge near Wanaka, right in the middle of the south island.

This lodge caters to Israelis – they love Israelis, although they are from south africa and self-described ‘goyim’. They love Israelis so much that they (this couple, Peter and Alma, who are funded by some ministry) offer them 3 free nights of lodging (i mean in the normal world, not just during the lockdown).

Why would they lose so much money on purpose? So that they can minister to them. They trap Israelis and try to gently convert them with pamphlets and twice-weekly prayer nights. I don’t know how to feel about this. They probably feel the same about me. They assumed that i was part of their herd because of Papa, and i tried to pretend for a couple days, but i am far too honest and independent for that silliness to continue.

We are 22. Mostly young Israelis, fresh out of the army, and one Israeli family with 3 kids, aged 7 to 14. My roommate is the other American… Strangely, she’s from Maryland, about 15 minutes away from where i used to live. She is 23, and drank the Koolaid because that’s how she grew up. Jessica is happy about the daily devotions that they do because she wants to grow in Christ.

She’s already been here for a few weeks, long enough that she is best friends with Christine from Austria, the 21yo niece of Peter and Alma that has been living here for months and helps take care of this place. Christine is strong in their faith. She is young, and is frightened of new things, and knows nothing because she’s afraid of evil spirits. Indoctrinated. 

Alma is in charge, although you never see her – Peter is the one that communicates with us. Alma is the wizard behind the curtain, and she loves the bible. We had a beautiful shared Shabbat meal last night, and she read from the bible and touted Jesus and played a hymn for us at 8:30pm as we were hungry and waiting for our beautiful food.

Luckily, the father of the Israeli family used to be a chef, and he loves to cook mountains of food! Not always kosher food. 

You may laugh, but I am actually the strongest Jew here. These Israeli kids don’t care – they and the family are not at all religious. But they (and i) noticed when we had a strange 5 candles for shabbat. The goyim have no clue what it means to be Jewish, but they are adamant that their God (of Avraham, Itzhak and Jaacov) is the correct one, and that they love Jews.

What will Passover be like? Will I be the one leading it? Hah! Never in my life could I imagine this odd circumstance. Last night, someone asked if we had to participate in the daily chores today, on shabbat. Peter and Alma laughed… Hahaha… You’re not getting away with it that easy, they said.

That felt so wrong. I know I am not the best Jewess, but I love the traditions. It gives me the connection to a tribe that i crave. My beliefs are very personal – they are formed from my direct experience, so I can’t share them with anyone. But you need a community, ancestors, roots.

To put it in yoga terms: the root chakra – this is the part of our being that is about basic survival: food and warmth and community and safety. Without it, your upper 6 chakras cannot function as well.

Maybe you know the feeling of having no roots. I’ve felt it often while travelling, because it’s nearly impossible to root while moving. You feel shaky, ungrounded, like dandelion fluff on the wind, because there’s absolutely nothing or nobody to anchor you in this time and place.

I’ve anchored myself with habits and patterns and these last vestiges of my ancestors. Also with literal rocks. I’m so silly. I spent 3 days at a place called gemstone beach, and 4 days searching for Pounamu, the sacred jade tears that wash down the rivers from the mountain to the sea as the Maori god Poutini mourns the loss of his beloved.

I found some! In a river called Styx. My souvenirs are an opal from Australia, a wee bit of a carved sandstone column in the Angkor Wat, my Pounamu, and a blue topaz ring.  

One thing that’s become incredibly important to me since my divorce is Shabbat. I’ve been fired from a few jobs because i won’t work on Shabbat. I’ve lost friends, and i’ve lost countless opportunities to make money. How many hundreds was I unable to apply for because they insist that i work on Shabbat? So many.

I could be such a respectable and wealthy citizen if i would just bend my stiff neck and labor on the Sabbath. People think i’m lazy, maybe, or snobby, but i have fought so so hard to stick to this one conviction.

Just one! Just one day that is for me and God alone. We Jews have fought for this! This shouldn’t be an issue in this modern time. But it’s made me poor and unpopular in the job market.

Why is this so important to me? Maybe because people are exhausting and i need to be away from social interaction for 24 hours a week. Maybe because I need this hellish, relentless world to just leave me alone. Maybe because I deserve one good day out of seven.

I didn’t say anything, but i skipped out on chore time. It’s just half an hour of cleaning -really not bad, and i’m on kitchen duty, which is easy.

We are allowed to go on walks, and the kiwis know how to set up walks. There are four or five trails in our area, most of which go for 6-8km into the surrounding wilderness. The snow-capped, jagged mountains are the dramatic background, but we are in a more gentle area.

There are several crystal clear rivers tumbling over pale grey pebbles. Crystal clear, yet somehow fantastically tinted turquoise. It’s unreal how perfect these little rivers are.

And nobody with megaphones! People are about, walking and biking and keeping their distance because New Zealanders thrive in these conditions. As do I!

Anyway, I went for a long walk on Shabbat and got back an hour after chore time. A few people asked where I’d been, but it seems there weren’t any consequences to my disobedience. I haven’t told anyone about my Sabbath convictions, and I’m afraid to. Should i? Would they understand or just laugh?

Maybe I would be happy to be kicked out of this place. I am so cold. Winter is coming, and they are cheap with the heat. I wear 2 or 3 pants and at least 2 wool sweaters at all times. But the toilets flush and the bed is warm. Mostly because I have my own extra blanket.

The owners (what shall I call them? The bible thumpers) are exactly what we grew up with. Small-minded and absolutely sure that they are right and that everybody should think just like them. They instantly reject anything outside of their bible. (Except working on Shabbat??!)

They don’t make informed decisions, they allow their church to decide what to believe and accept. I think that is mental and spiritual weakness. Laziness, even. Like sheep… Just stupid.

Which is fine, except these people have power. Stupids trying to force others into their mindless ways. 

I am extra upset because of the yoga incident. I mentioned that i was a yoga teacher to the mother of the family, Miriam, and she wanted a class! So, i taught a class to 3 people, and it was good.

Before the class, we were talking about it, and Christine heard, and her huge cow eyes widened behind her huge glasses.

Infidels! I could see her panic, and she immediately started talking about how yoga might harm the spirit.

I told her that yoga is what you want it to be, and that i usually teach from a purely physical standpoint (put your hand here, inhale to reach your leg back…). She thinks that yoga is Buddhism, and i did not correct her, because the truth is probably more threatening.

Yoga developed in India alongside Hindu deities, but it is actually it’s own thing. Yoga is a science, not a by-product of a religion.

The tricky thing is that it is a spiritual science. It is instructions on how to access God within you.

I mean, it takes decades to master, and most people don’t have the patience. But yoga doesn’t tell you what to believe, it tells you how to figure it out for yourself.

So, it’s not a pursuit for lazy, stupid sheep that just want to be told what to do. And, extra bonus, just moving your body in a way that opens its channels is physically healing. Pains go away, tensions are released so that habitual motions don’t cause permanent physical damage, and you can find peace. Peace, calmness, equanimity, utter relaxation… It just takes a little intelligent movement, and it’s exactly what we need right now.

Did i say any of this when Alma came to me afterwards and told me i am not allowed to teach ever again?

No. I saw that her mind is closed, and i didn’t want to waste my time and words with her. I complied, with a smile and that sweet equanimity that comes from balancing on one leg for 3 minutes. It’s what Krishna would do. Even, steady, balanced in body, mind, and heart.

Maybe she will see my good example and realize that yoga is helpful. But she never knew me before. She doesn’t know how much damage (caused by her stupid righteous religion) i had to heal.

But what can I do? She has power, and I do not. Alma said that yoga goes against their ministry and that meditation allows evil demons to enter.

Meditation is simply clearing the mind and dwelling in inner peace. Does she imagine that demons are lurking, waiting for a moment of complete silence in the spirit to jump into a person and possess them?

And what would happen then? This demon would smile peacefully and say Namaste? And that would bring fire and brimstone raining down upon us?

Of course, she won’t know because she would never try it. Of course it is a sin to look inside of your own heart. Of course, it is the ultimate blasphemy to see God within you rather than within the pages of a book! 

I want to go, but i don’t know if i can. Essential travel only. But, it may be essential to escape from this spiritual prison. Maybe this is my lot in life because it is the lot of all Jews and yogis through time to be spiritually oppressed. Maybe this is a big fat helping of karma to work through.

Can I resolve childhood wounds here? Can I transform this place and these people into a cult of peace and love and open-hearted acceptance? Will I ever be warm again? Should i run away, knowing this beast for what it is?

The time of this stupid lumbering beast is over, though. I went to one devotions study with the bible-thumpers, and that’s what we listened to – Daniel 7, I think, with visions of beasts.

How does Alma think Daniel got these visions? Probably through meditation, and definitely through being open and not suppressing his spirit, no matter how strange or scary. 

Ugh. Sorry. Another epic letter. It’s almost 10am, i’d better go… People are going to wake up soon. I usually wake up at 5:30am because that’s what my body does, and i have this entire place to myself for almost 5 hours every day. Not a single soul stirs…not even to use the restroom.

It is kinda great. Their loss – the sunrise is the best part of the day, and it doesn’t even rise until 7:30. It’s ok – it’s normal for children, and the. 

Ok. I’ll go. I just have so much to share and nobody to share it with. Maybe I can be friend with Miriam, the mother. I hope all is well with you- I love you! And the whole family!


On Mar 27, 2020, 1:19 AM, Sister wrote:

Dear X, it was so nice to get your email! I took so long to respond, I am sorry! Yesterday I had a surprise. The youngest one found her sister’s paint and decided to paint a paper.. and the floor… and clothes.

Worst part is that I just washed and dried ( by hand, as usual) all her bedsheets for passover. wringing them gets heavy when they are wet. Well, she also enjoyed drawing hearts on her nice, kosher-for-passover bedsheets in the evening. No, I don’t feel guilty  for giving her the sheets with ugly paint blotch design. Her scribbles do compliment the blotches . Luckily, it was washable marker, but there is no way I’m going to handwash all those sheets again until i absolutely have to. I thought i would have more time stuck at home, but with the workload, it’s quite the opposite!

I am glad you have a decent place to stay ( though 22 is a big group. you have to share the room?), but so sorry you are stuck with Papa’s overly blind religious acquaintances. And them trampling Shabbat.. that is a bummer.

The reason I quit my job in 2006 was for that: work always scheduled me on Shabbat. it was so insensitive. i did not know it was important to you, too. I feel closer to you when we have this in common.  

But the whole world is observing an extended Shabbat, whether they like it or not. It has become quiet outside. Maybe New Zealand already had less pollution, and you can’t really see the difference there.. but every day in Strasbourg, the air is cleaner, the water is even more clear.. animals starting to appear in the bushes…

I hope you are able to have some private space there. During this time, i did not even want to see my nice neighbor. All she wanted was to give me her children’s old stuff before she was moving out! 

I try to put the bags on “quarantine” for a week, just in case some coronavirus-balls are stuck there… but children see it, they want to grab and play immediately. So I finally wrote her , ” if you don’t need your daughter’s old boots, leave them outside my door, i will pick them up. my children had a fever and I have a sore throat. “

That was all true, anyway. I am still clueless if we got this or not. but I’m still scared to get it, in case we had just a regular cold. With all these deaths and suffering… i don’t need it NOW.

i needed to die before, when i had no hope. i need at least to finish my current crochet project before i die.

I hope you are OK. I hope Papa’s communication is not bothering you too much. I am so upset with his reflection , sometimes I have to take a distance.

He is not only a follower and defender of Trump, but Papa IS the Trump of our family. All the frustration of the New York governor to Trump, is just like ours to Papa. He was only taking the money from your personal inheritance to be generous (it is not exactly straight from his pocket). It would be nice if he was more honest or clear on this subject.

Are you able to go out for 1 hour per day for exercise, like we can? I have to bring a signed paper saying what I’m doing to avoid a 135€  fine, but police never asked me for that paper yet.
Have a nice day, Love, Sister

On Mar 19, 2020, 8:26 PM, X wrote:

Hi Sister!! Thanks so much for your advice. It’s good to hear the story from your perspective. I guess it’s serious, but I am also pleased about the side-effects. I am so happy that you can open your windows and enjoy the fresh air!

That’s how it should be! There are just too many people everywhere. Crawling all over the entire globe – every corner! Not that I want people to be sick, but imagine how nice and open all the parks are!

That’s the only thing that’s really irritated me on this trip – the hoards of tourists ruining the view. I want to see the grand canyon and the Angkor Wat properly! With peace and quiet. Man… I bet the airports are a dream right now… 

That’s what’s nice about New Zealand. It’s empty. Sometimes I drive for an hour without seeing a single person – no cars in either direction, and empty forests all around.

And there are so many stars! There’s only a million people on the south island… after thailand, this place feels deeply good.

However, i’m having trouble finding free wifi so i can make some calls and change my flight. After your email, i will have to stay here. I didn’t know if the parents were overreacting, because you know how the stupid the american media is. Always trying to get people to feel afraid.

Mama is so bad about that. Telling me stories so that i will feel fear. Fear is unpleasant and unhelpful. I think that’s mean and silly for her to try to manipulate my emotions. Fear is simply a lack of faith, I think. And faith is the whole point. 

Honestly, there are 2 things that could happen in this situation. Either I get sick or I don’t. If I don’t, I’ve been feeling the misery of fear for nothing. If I do, the fear is also pointless, because I’m already sick.

Everything happens exactly as it will happen. Either you get better or worse. I personally would not mind dying. I have absolutely nothing to live for. Why be afraid when God already has a plan?

I say that, and I still feel anxious that I can’t get through to the airline or the booking website because I can’t get wifi. I have been practicing having faith that everything is already exactly perfect. Because it is. 

I’m kinda ready to go home, honestly. Not to the parents!! They drive me crazy. I just want to hang up my clothes, have a reliable source of warmth and water, and just stop running around.

I’m always moving, always lining up the next cold hostel or creepy airbnb. I’ve stayed in 2 hoarders’ sheds so far! For the low low price of $40/night. Worth it? At least i got to sleep alone.

I mean, without humans. The mice woke me at 2:11am, so I will go to bed early tonight. This hostel has mattresses with springs!!! And hot showers! So what if the kitchen is outside – at least these toilets flush!

I miss my home and my routine. What home? Is that exactly perfect, too?

But of course, i have no home. Mama thinks i will live with her when i return, but there is no way noooo way that I can do that. I have enough trouble with neutral roommates. Papa is offering to give me money. Should i take it?

I’ve realized that i’m writing you another long letter which will undoubtedly go badly somehow. I’m a little lonely and i miss conversations, though. And i’m a little depressed and anxious, so please excuse my annoying attitude.

How long are you on lockdown? You are so lucky to have a place to call your own and people to talk with. Where did they put all the bums in your city? Who released the coronavirus?
Stay healthy!
With love, X


On Mar 18, 2020, 12:05 AM, Sister wrote:

Hi Y, Papa and Mama are all saying you are making a decision whether to stay or go to US. I will give you my personal opinion… but it might not be the most economic. I don’t know how you can do it money-wise.

But I suggest you to STAY THERE. I have a hunch that the virus is stuck on the plane seats and airports. 
Can I share about our experience here? Mine is the hardest-hit region in France ( lucky me! 😰 )

In France there are not enough places/ equipment in hospitals- and 29 and 30-year-olds need the intensive care units just like the 80 yr olds. In Italy they are forced to let the old people die to leave place for younger who have more chance to survive. 

New Zealand has 12 cases, US has upwards of 4,000. Trump was probably already vaccinated before coronavirus was released in china, how else can we explain his complacency? The US health care system is still heavy, but hopefully they will lighten it up for the people.

In the meantime, I think you should stay where you are until it’s safer. But who are you going to run to in America? Your sharp, clever Father and loving stepmother? your  mother who always has a gentle word? is there anything you need from them?

That is my advice. Of course you  know the best option for yourself. I am not sure if the American or New Zealand Embassy has better ideas, but I think this is the worst time to go to America.

They’re not testing all their cases. They have-and will have- more unless their measures are stricter. 
I took the last opportunity to go out with the children this morning.

This afternoon the total lockdown begins: police + army will force people to stay inside except for groceries (135€ fine if it is not respected).

Grocery shopping is already complicated. Opening hours are reduced, and 1 meter distance is controlled. Anyway, I ordered some vitamin D online, i hope it comes… ( i already miss sunshine😵)

Seeing and smelling clean streets is now very convenient for me. We live by a bunch of restaurants and bars. There was always the smell of cigarettes, car pollution, and old, fried oil.

I had to shut all the windows in the evening , because they make a lot of noise, too. Very disruptive noise! Drunk people often yelled and sung in the streets well after midnight.

Now it is so beautiful! the streets are clean! no noise, no strife, no bad smells, no bums! I am so happy with this arrangement, I can finally open the windows.

Apparently it is not allowed to walk directly next to the water. Last time I was there , i heard a police on a megaphone on the other side of the road… apparently that was for us 😳… In Nice and Paris they are using drones. Our city is relatively obedient, I guess, that’s why the old-fashioned megaphone is still sufficient.


Good luck with the lockdown. It is quite nice, isn’t it? We both dislike meeting people anyway. So i love this. the gov’t wants me to be alone.. well… it’s not bad at all. gives us more time to concentrate on creative work. do you have any supplies to pass the time? a ball of yarn? some beads? at least a book?
I picked up work from the school before they closed (apparently everyone is now being home-schooled). So that is how life is now. I hope you’re doing well and will be successful with your decisions. 
Toodle-oo!
Love, Sister

On Mar 17, 2020, 3:57 AM Y wrote:

Yeah, it’s kind of great not to do Passover cleaning! I love you for your sharpness! It’s a good balance for my mushy self. 

There were 2 cases in Nelson (the town where i’m staying) yesterday – people here are worried too. I can’t run away – there’s nowhere to hide!

So, i’m just going to keep doing what i’ve been doing this whole vacation… Just float down the path of least resistance so that i can be placed where i’m supposed to be. Everyone’s closing their borders. I hope i can figure something out at the airport tomorrow.

I’m so glad you have a stash of masks – I’ve been washing my hands like crazy, especially on this 7 hour bus ride to Christchurch on a full bus.

It’s not surprising that the U.S. is out of control. I agree, Trump is a puppet, and he’s smart like a businessman. He just sounds stupid, and he is definitely not smooth.

Everyone knows that the older generations are too much for the medical system and the financial institutions. They did everything right, and now they want their savings, and it’s probably ruining some rich person’s plan. But who are these rich people? And who gave them that kind of power to decimate the population?

Is this something we’re supposed to fight? Or do we just survive the best we can in their world? Is it even possible to be strong enough to face them, these spectres?

It’s like a good movie. And i think it’s true; that there are powers that are deliberately keeping us in a certain way of life for their benefit.

What have i been saying since 1999? La Revolution!!!

But revolution must be deep.
A complete 180.

If we fight with their weapons, we can never win. There has to be a way: maybe as simple as using love to combat fear.

Well, yeah, the hippies failed at that, but the Man was just coming into his strength in the 60s. Maybe decadence has spoiled him, and now we have a chance? That’s why i don’t think voting works – same system, same politicians… And this is the system that basically runs the entire world.

Every country I’ve visited…they all complain about corrupt politicians and how the guys at the top have everything, and people struggle for success at the bottom. It’s worldwide, this power, this uncomfortable framework around which we’re supposed to build our lives. 

But what can we (or anyone) do? We all have to act together massively. Is that possible without them knowing through their surveillance?

Good thing this email is free to fly to you right now. People here are talking about the long-term effects of this pandemic, saying that the world will change after this. I guess we’ll see!

How’s your world? How is the home schooling going? Are people breaking the lockdown? Because they are in Australia, and people here are upset about it. 

I have a tourist visa for NZ good for 2 years(!) But i can’t earn money with it. But i will hopefully be able to bend the rules – people are friendly and astoundingly reasonable here.

They look into your eyes when they talk and they don’t fake their feelings. You say: how are you, and they respond exactly like i would: with the exact truth and no fake-o pasty smiles.

They’re tough and honest. I think they would help me out. I did accept money from Papa – he was generous! It’s such a relief to know that i have backup. 

Ok, you and the kids stay healthy, please! We’re almost in Christchurch. Thank you for your letter!
Lots of love, Y

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March 30 – Day 5, Correspondence

Emails between Mother and I

Hi Mamaschka! No, I don’t have internet here – I have to pay $5 for 1mb of data, which is not a lot of data for all of the problems I have to solve online.

My post office box has been rejecting mail, so I wonder if I will ever get that check from the government. I tried to call and sat on the phone, wasting my precious data on hold for an hour with no results. And my bank decided to change their system, so now I have to waste an hour trying to figure it out and probably another hour trying to understand how to sign up for Zelle so Papa can send me money. Wow. I guess I am in the mood for complaining! I’m sure things are not so bad.

Ugh. My roommate is so nice and American, but she smells. She has a fire constitution, so it is to be expected, but it is too cold to open the window all the time. And maybe i stink, too – i’ve only taken one shower since i’ve been here. I don’t know how cold it has to be for the heater to work, maybe 55 or 60 degrees? But i can’t change the temperature, so i am snuggled into my nice warm bed now. I have 3 blankets, so i sleep well.

I share my room with Jessica, the only other American, there is one Austrian girl, the owners (Peter and Alma) are from South Africa (but they are white), and everyone else is Israeli. There are 22 of us.

Why so many Israelis? Ah! Because this lodge offers 3 free nights of accommodation to Israelis (in normal life…in this lockdown, i think it is free for everyone for the month? Nobody has mentioned money at all. Except the showers cost $2 and the wifi is $5 and laundry is $2).

Anyway, you might ask – why are they so generous to Israelis? Ah ha! So they can preach to them about Jesus!!

Surprise! This place is run by some ministry that loves Israel and Jesus and wants them to be together forever for the glory of their God (of Avraham, Yitzhak ve Jaacov).

Well, you remember congregation – they are the same type of people. Very nice, and very small-minded. Everything goes according to the bible. Except Shabbat. They still want us to do chores on Shabbat.

I am not ok with that, so I skipped it yesterday. We are allowed to take walks around this beautiful countryside, so i took an extra long one and came back an hour after chore-time. I haven’t gotten in trouble for it, so i haven’t had to fight for my Saturday yet. Maybe it will happen next week. I’ve been fired a couple of times because i didn’t want to work on Shabbat, so I’m not afraid of it happening again. There is a camper van up in the northern part of the island that i can rent for $200 a week if i need it. 

They have forbidden me from teaching yoga. I was asked to teach (I didn’t advertise!), and the Austrian girl, (Christine) who is very Christian and young and brainwashed, got scared.

She talked to me and another girl about it, and thought that maybe evil influences could sneak in while the door was open. I didn’t really understand what she meant by that – i guess if you do anything that is outside of the bible, you are susceptible to evil influences? Well, it’s a good thing that murder and war and rape are already in the bible! We wouldn’t want too much evil sneaking in!

Anyway, Christine tattled to the owners, and about an hour after my class, Alma told me that i wasn’t allowed to teach. It’s not in line with their mission. And, if you meditate, demons will surely enter you. That’s what she said! It sounds like something a child would say.

Of course, she is so small-minded that she would never try it for herself, and see that maybe it’s nice to be calm and have less pain. And maybe there are no demons. Are there even demons in the bible? I don’t remember any stories with demons, but then again, i am an infidel myself. An infidel who believes very strongly in keeping Shabbat.

None of the Israelis are religious, so i may be the only one that keeps Passover here. It is so ironic! Me, the religious one? One girl, Davina, asked me to do a guided meditation today, so we snuck off the property to meditate. It was lovely! And we didn’t get caught, so maybe we can do it regularly.

There are some very cool people here – Davina works in wildlife conservation, and her boyfriend, Nathan, spends his free time carving wooden spoons. There is an Israeli family with 3 kids, ages 7 – 13… the Dad is an ex-chef and the Mom is a therapist.

My roommate works with disabled kids, and i think there might be hope for her. She is strong in their faith, but she has a nose ring and a tattoo and we talked about astrology, so she is more open-minded. I’m sure i’ll get to know the others better – they’re all so young!

Well, I am fine. This is a good place in general. Maybe I’m supposed to work through some karma here.

I wish I was alone. I wish I was back in the United States. I should have tried harder to return.

This is a magnificently beautiful place. There are huge, dramatic mountains and a river that is crystal clear and tinted turquoise – impossibly beautiful! We can go on walks, and there are 5 trails in the area.

I guess I have everything i need. I just can’t stand being locked down with 22 people.

How are you? Are you bored yet? I hope you’re doing well!

Much love, X


On Fri, Mar 27, 2020, 6:29 PM Mama wrote:

How do you do? How are things shaping up, going on? I am so glad you are there and not here. It is a disaster here and they say it is just the beginning of it. The census job I was talking about: the census is post- pointed to September. People losing jobs by millions every day.

Just hope, they will send you the stimulus check or put it on your account as they do to every American citizen. It is $ 1200, not bad. You was a good citizen  – you have filed your taxes on time. Unlike me, today, in order that they would have my right address.

I am so glad you are there!  One dude on the internet said: according to the Chinese philosophy there are meridians in general. the 40th meridian is called meridian of death: it goes through the Wohon, China, Itali, New York, Washington, DC, LA, CA… I do not sure how much I should believe him, but it made me glad that you are not here mingling with the stupid crowd here.

And I hope you are not mingling with the stupid crowd there! You have stopped to relate to me. Maybe you doing something you do not want me to know?! Or, you are in such a hell that you do not have any internet connection? I hope you are staying warm and cozy, healthy and safe. Let me know how do you do, if you can.  

love, Mother