Journals from the Jungle VIII: On Being Overpowered
Is this the uniqueness of relative balance?
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Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.
3/4/24 con’t
I saw the house again today. Am I really doing this? It seems I am really doing this. Why wouldn’t I? To save money? It’s a better financial investment than the market. To find a cheaper place somewhere else? This is paradise. All of the timing is aligning …
There’s a hissing behind me that I think, at first, must be a drone, but it becomes a chorus from the mangroves—the locusts that I will learn later begin singing at 6pm every night. So good for my body and brain this place is. So delicious. Soft, but not especially gentle—it’s intense. A love. A love like my loves, like my life.
Once again I’m hating how memories fade.
I realize that there is nothing I have to do this week. I can relax. I … can … relax.
3/5/24
Sleep. My brain feels reset. I hope the waves are kind today. I also know that I can’t know how they’ll be or how I’ll be, so anticipating isn’t useful. I wonder if this place would cleanse me of that habit too. Tall order, but it feels possible.
I love the jungle here. To start my days with coffee outside and gazing into the wild …
Post-surf: Peace, bliss, silence. Deep, whole, heavy, silence. The sound of the world, which we otherwise miss. The sound of ourselves, which we otherwise miss. The frequency, the presence, the thread, web, essence … none of these words are right. It’s a gravity, a dark matter, a current, a truth, an ultimate, an almost-entity. Ness.
For me, now, it’s a relief.
I met my coach and went straight to work. A couple of waves in the whitewater and then out. The surf was smaller today, as I’d hoped. It took some turtle-rolling to get out, but we did it fine enough. I catch a beautiful right and ride the face a long time, feeling good about my stance. I don’t fall, and I’m impressed I can do this so consistently now.
I paddle back out, more turtle-rolling, my arms already fatigued, which is frustrating. Trembling all over from the effort and the adrenaline, but feeling great. The water is glassy and sweet. We dodge a big set and then I catch a left, riding it for what feels like the longest time yet—all the way to the beach.
My coach is so excited that he runs up to me to give me a high-five and says over and over again how sick that wave was, grinning. I really want to go out for another but we decide to conserve energy and play in the whitewater. I practice my takeoffs, and also taking little steps on the board. He’s so encouraging and positive that it makes me laugh. I work until I simply can’t anymore, throwing myself and my energy back at the waves until there’s none left. My coach says I have a lot of energy today. I think, if he only knew.
As I walk home, completely dazed, as I remain now, I think about how surfing really is special. I have the bug. I get it. But it’s not “surfing” so much as the thorough annihilation it provides. Complete absorption. And how I can hurl myself into it, try as hard as I might, use all of my mental and physical strength—and always the sea will meet me. Eventually, it will always overtake me. It is endless … baptism. Endless … power. Perpetual resistance. And oh don’t we know how much this girl loves resistance.
Now, I am so quiet. I can feel how I will do nothing here. How I don’t even want to pick up my phone. How I feel free, and how I can disappear. This is the right balance to the rest of my life. Eventually, it may overtake that too. But, for now, it is the perfect opposite.
I am grateful.
Love. Relief. Pura vida.
Regarding the unrelenting softness of this place: it erodes. Erodes one, erodes me. Smoothes and shapes and refines to some purer, simpler form. And of course it does! Nature does. Gradually and persistently moving the unmovable, breaking the unbreakable, wearing away, proving impermanence.
Afternoon: I force out an hour of book editing. It goes well but it’s the most I can make myself do. Feeling the stretch of the afternoon and a bit of sleepiness mixed with the heat of excitement. The most delirious nap, then. Deep, druggy time-travel.
I really need my next book to be about all of this.
I see my supplement containers in front of me, labeled for the days of the week. Only Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday remain. Here we go again.
Sunset: The silhouette people, they are walking on sky.
I have found a place that outdoes my ability to describe. It evaporates (erodes?) my words. The sunset makes me feel almost queasy. It’s almost punishing in how it does away with my medium for making sense …
Three days remain. I must love the hell out of these three days and then write the hell out of my book. I must and I can and I will. Aye me.
~
The next day: Only for surfing am I waking up this early with a smile on my face.
Post-surf: I am dead. Dead dead, actually dead. It’s a bit smaller today which makes the paddle out easier. I feel stronger too, my turtle-rolls cleaner and I’m back on the board sooner. Coach notices and compliments me. “You know Rashel, from the time we start to now, you’re such a better surfer.” I catch the next wave and ride it right, getting low on the board, not really believing how I’m doing this already. When I hit the water after jumping off, something about it knocks me dizzy. I’m a bit afraid but just tell myself I’m okay and go back to the beach to rest for a bit. We work in the whitewater to finish the session, my coach in the shallows calling out instructions. Meanwhile, I talk to the waves.
I walk home in that daze, my body still in the sea. This is all a lot. I am here for it. And now it is only 8:30am and already I am so full. I feel like a vessel for life.
~
Reflecting on how, of course, I love these days, this lifestyle, that revolves around the body. How it overrides the mind. And I am marveling at how just when it feels like nothing can get any higher, any better, and more dream-come-true, it does exactly that.
I feel wrecked in the best way.
~
Would this high wear off? Would it come to feel small or … too familiar? What if I never find out?
I feel lucky, and also proud of myself for protecting my life in order to have these experiences.
~
It’s now the hour, the day, the point at which I feel desperate to stay. Again a bit queasy and sad about going. I feel so fully out of my life’s matrix. And yet, the book.
I realize that I feel like I have escaped down here. I mean, I have. I am actually free. I can actually disappear. After so many years of work, and working to appear in the world, I now yearn to disappear. I’ve always wanted both. To have it all. To reach a level of success that satisfied whatever I need(ed), and then to also disappear. NYC was also always both. Fame and anonymity.
Is it common to be so … dually pursuant, I wonder? Is this about nuance or conflict? Or is it just the uniqueness of relative balance?
Would I ever tire of this palm-tree gazing that resembles avoidance of “everything else”?
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There is such an understanding in your words...I know this feeling all too well: "Is it common to be so … dually pursuant, I wonder?"
It is an oscillating between wanting to be seen and wanting to be invisible. Beautiful writing, Rachelle!