It's true, I've been away.
I spent the last six days in beautiful Puerto Rico, with my beautiful love, soaking up too much sun and tromping through the rain forest. There was little time for asana, but still I seemed to be practicing every day...
On Friday we arrived and dealt with several sets of systems: the airport system, the baggage claim system, the shuttle system, the rental car system, the hotel check-in system, the driving directions in a strange place system, the how do you say "where" again in spanish? system...while eating the equivalent of fast food tacos at "Taco Makers" I reminded P. who looked a bit downtrodden at the start of our long first day, that travel days are always the hardest. He perked up a bit at this, and I realized too, that when the day is so involved in setting up the structure for the days to come, it's hard to feel relaxed and open to what's happening. Too much to come, not enough now.
Saturday morning we attempted to kayak in the ocean, having been told by our hosts that it would be no problem (even with the small amount of kayaking experience between us), and as we stood on the shore, after having been thoroughly thrashed by waves and unable to make it out to calmer waters, both us wanting so much to say WE CAN! and to hell with fear, but both of us knowing better, we came face to face with a large question (not the first time it would happen on this trip): when does conquering fear mean plowing ahead, and when does conquering fear mean admitting you need help?
Sunday we walked a forbidden trail in the rainforest. We had to sneak under a gate warning DANGER! and PROHIBITED! (we were told that everyone does it), and walk along an aquaduct, traveling aluminum bridges over dams and rushing reservoirs, eventually scaling a chained off metal ladder and making our way through volcanic rock to find ourselves totally alone at the top of the world. Along the way, in the midst of the solitary rainforest, the only sound the creaking of bamboo and the shrieking of several birds, I thought of how funny it is that I can go so far away, to the middle of a rain forest, and still my whole world comes with me...
Monday we took a long ferry ride to the island of Culebra, where we laid in the sun and snorkeled and even found an entirely deserted beach. I got sunburned all over and felt indecisive and uncomfortable on the hot sand. We bickered over when to go back and where and later I realized that too much ease can sometimes breed aggravation.
Tuesday we left our small room in Punta Santiago and traveled to Old San Juan. We ate expensive tuna sandwiches in an air conditioned restaurant and left the town early, dissatisfied with all the knick-knack shops, and headed to a resort-like hotel in nearby Condado. There we spent too much money but found finally the perfect picture of relaxation. We laid in our giant king bed in our cool cool room and watched waves break, we drank margaritas pool-side, I did my first bit of yoga in days, flying easily into a long steady handstand on the squishy grass by our beach chairs, and we let the week soak in and rinse off.
And yesterday, upon our return, I felt such an instantaneous jolt--New York rains down hard upon the returning traveler. I tried with all my might to hang on to the feeling of being away and apart, but the long rattle of the subway and the mounting to-do list, won out.
This morning I awoke, we both did, reminding ourselves what the week was like, trying to remember what and how the freedom was, so that it might remain, or so that it might become something of a part of our life here. It feels like a struggle already, but somewhere I know that the fight to wake up with a sense of wonder and curiousity about the day, as we did while we were away--with the sense that it is a thing to be joyfully conquered--is a battle worth waging.
