The DestinationJune 28th, 2014
tags: remember
The Destination

I'm sitting alone at my table, slapping and scratching. I don't notice anyone else scratching.

Why am I the only one scratching?

I finish my dinner quickly and go out onto the beach - the mosquitos are less active there. I set my things on a chair and wade out into the water - warm, and the waves big enough to splash above my knees.

The waves knock into me and I pant my feet deeper in the sand. The undercurrent is strong.

"I don't belong."

I think of my interactions over the last few days. My efforts to connect are an effort to feel as though I belong. Why didn't Greg invite me into the conversation with Natalie and Sebastian? Because he and Sebastian had a thing going according to their buzz. I didn't fit their agenda.

"I don't belong." That's the feeling, what's communicated from the exclusion - the lack of response.

Maybe I know why. I don't fit into any of the cultural stereotypes. I'm the only middle-aged woman at this Thai resort, and I'm traveling alone.

White and fleshy, with mosquito bites.

No tan lines. No tattoos.


I dig my feet into the sand. Deep, up to my ankles. I feel the skin of my soles press against the rough, broken bone and shells. The waves push against me.

I'm in my body - can feel it in contact with the watery earth.

I stand still. I notice myself feeling my soles.

I stand some more.

I stand and breath, until I feel my breath all the way down into my pelvis.

I go deep. I go wide.

I release my sorrow into her.

I don't have to try. I'm a natural.

I was born into a body made for this. I am of the energy that carries. I am of the energy that holds.

I am of the energy that provides the nurturing context - unconditionally.

She is big. She is so incredibly big. And I am of her, and with her, and I am also big. This is where I'm connected. This is home.

I'm no tourist.

I'm the destination.