Not “don’t remember” because it wasn’t memorable, or “don’t remember” because of mind-altering substances, but “don’t remember” because I was at peace.
I floated through my vacation. I allowed days to pass into nights and then into days. I left my expectations home. I was One with the experience of festival.
Vacations built on expectations are no fun. Maybe more memorable, but no fun. They are driven by an inner pressure instead of an inner peace. You absolutely wouldn’t guess, knowing me, that I have a clue about inner peace. I get angry, I get snide, I get worked up. But I know about expectation and I know about attachment, and I know how to let go of both.
So I have moments. Hot sun. Parties. Drinking with Kate. Cuddling with Larry. Hugs. Lots of hugs. Cooking the best meal I ever cooked; maybe not the tastiest meal, but the most praiseworthy one. Because I have never cooked for a dozen people before, and they all loved it, even with the restrictions of camp cooking, and I have never felt so delighted.
Since I’m always up first anyway, I had camp coffee ready every morning. By the time the other three coffee drinkers staggered out into the light, My teeth were brushed, my hair was de-scarified, and I was handing them their full cups of fresh hot java. Teh yum. And it felt so good to do that, to be the morning nurturer. Felt balanced, what with Charlie being the evening nurturer.
In the end I came home feeling like I had a wonderful time, but lacking the means to describe that time.
