different stars & hummingbirds

I’ve had two weekends in a row that involved escaping Portland and luxuriating in nature with friends. First up: my time with the fabulous Tara Beckham. I headed out to the coast – she lives in the Newport/Toledo area – and we spent a healing couple of days talking about everything from God to men to writing to Lost to health. We ran the gamut, that’s for sure, with no family, friend, or lover stone unturned. Friday night involved us sharing a couple beers on her back patio while talking about the first draft of my novel. On Saturday we headed to a yoga class (love that instructor Beth! She had a wonderful mix CD playing that included Massive Attack, Enigma, Dido, many more Nathan staples), and then grabbed some coffees and a cinnamon roll for our stroll along the beach. The waves crashed, and the wind was fierce, and we balanced on a log and looked out over the vastness of it all. After our time there, she took me to this old (as in about 200 years old) cemetery she’d always wanted to explore. The grass was overgrown in the older parts, a bit shorter in the newer parts, and this fascinated us, how time lets go of certain things. So many of the statues, toys, flowers were overturned or moldy or decaying, but it was so beautiful in the way that wisdom is beautiful: it comes at a price, but a worthwhile one. These two deer hovered near us, grazing on grass, for most of our stay there. They were utterly unafraid of us, and so comforting, almost magical. Back at her home, we finished the newest season of Lost (Juliet: that last scene of yours brought tears to my eyes, and made my heart race), and we topped off the evening with a dip in the hot tub under the stars, talking about spirits and muses. We cooked every meal for the whole weekend, and drank lots of coffee.

And now for Julie Berman: how I love thee! Julie had asked me a while back if she could whisk me away for a romantic weekend. You know, the friend kind of romantic weekend that straight gals and gay guys seem to be made for with each other. She told me about this place called Picaflores (http://www.picaflores.org/), a sanctuary/retreat for those needing a jumpstart to their spiritual juices. And whoa! Those jumper cables are strong! Again, we cooked all our own meals, a nice mix of healthy and not-so-healthy (who can resist peanut M&M’s? If you can – and you’re not a vegan – I’m going to question your sanity). What was the greatest part for me was all the quality time just talking with Julie. We covered many of the topics Tara and I had the weekend before, but naturally with a Nathan-Julie bent, and thus new cracks and openings of revelation and shared experience. Really, the weekend was all about how to relax next, in what area of the getaway: “Shall we have another bonfire or fire in the fireplace? Lounge on the screened porch some more and share wine and stories? Take a nap in the loft? Wait, let’s head out to the sauna again, then bathe in the outdoor showers that looked out over Horse Creek and crackling trees in the forests.” We took Aggy -- her pup -- on a hike at Echo Lake, and also spent together and alone time in Picaflores' yurt, which has been turned into a temple with Buddhist and Hindu and Inca influences. ("Picaflores" is Quecha for hummingbird; the Quecha are ancestors of the Inca.) I had a good cry while alone in there, a cleansing and refreshing one, and on our last night I turned on the white lights at about 10:00pm and lit candles and meditated while looking at all the ornate statues. Truly one of the best weekends of my life -- thank you, Julie.

p.s. Different Stars is one of my favorite albums. It's by Trespassers William (a band named after Piglet's grandfather), and I've long loved the album title, how we all look up into the night sky differently and apply various meanings and interpretations to infinity. Over both weekends, it struck me I can add another two alternate meanings to the title: in the cemetery with Tara I found a shredded plastic American flag that had lost its footing in the earth, and one of the torn pieces was the blue, with all the stars; then in the yurt at night, the candles reflected up onto the night sky through the clear plastic dome, looking like hovering fireflies to join the burning silver stars that were creeping out one by one.