I am really really trying, but I cannot seem to come to a decision about whether or not to go to my retreat this October. First off I had to spend an obscene amount of money getting my house electric service up to code. My oldest son was very helpful in this however he is a bit of an alarmist: fire hazards and such which ultimately I don't think those really bear out—it’s more a question of the technicalities of let's say a fire does happen and let's say it was electric and let's say the insurance company got all Agro about it that's a lot of what-ifs.

Point is we found somebody who was available and he jumped to it and he did the work in what appears to be professional fashion but also had his own time schedule which turned out to be pretty creative. I should have known; this guy's worked for my brothers in the past and they said he has a tendency to disappear into Mexico have a vacation with his kids so there's that.

I suppose the important part is that we no longer really have to worry about that so that's a good thing. It's sent me off into fantasies though of… what's next?? And then come time to cough up what is arguably a fair price for getting to spend a week, room and board with some pretty nice folks listening to what is self-identified very pleasant claptrap, not even close to cult-adjacent . That's actually part of the reason that I continue with it. Yet something in me feels a pull to be independent. Reminds me of when I dumped my therapist because he's a guy and I was tired of having guys tell me stuff. I may have overreacted but there's also echoes of my old gender training from birth. I'm so tired of that I'm so sick and tired of that. What's the alternative?

This guy at the retreat is very clear that he is moving in the direction of lessguide in guided meditation and more community at the cafeteria. So I take take him at his word ironically which actually was one of the first things he ever told me, when I asked him how to reintegrate after a retreat: here's what I suggest—now forget I told you anything. Which I then wrote down in the journal I was keeping.

I admit I got trust issues straight up man. Where's the dividing line when you're told that there is no dividing line and yet it's evident that the non-message message is one of love: letting go of resistance staying in the moment no more telling of stories, being present and aware.

A few of us formed a little WhatsApp group because we're all from the San Francisco Bay Area and it would be nice to get together. Various false starts and we never really did it. Finally I met with a guy who had just moved from San Francisco to Oakland where I am and we had a lovely couple of hours just chatting over a cup of tea. Of course he's young enough to be my son and I think this is how it could be if I had a family member on board, which is exactly what we’re told is a setup for disappointment. Mr. Thing for example has totally admitted that he doesn't even talk about what he does for a living with his family. They don't even know. They don't ask don't tell.

And I have three sons and a grandson and two brothers and now my Oakland non-duality buddy, which was great, but how much male energy can a person stand?

If you want to categorize sort of male female energy regardless of gender, I think you could make a case that being at the retreat is a fine example of vulnerable men, if that's the definition of female energy. This ends up being, again, an intellectual analysis which is kind of what we're trying to get away from even though ha ha we're not technically getting away from anything cuz it's all here.

And then there's my high school theater Mentor who died several years ago, very imposing fella and yet tapping into something in me from the get-go. It's hilarious. When I was a freshman assigned to go find a monologue, in desperation I extracted a couple of paragraphs of Magwitch from Great Expectations. Something about the ballsiness of choosing to do an over the top male character when I was a 14-year-old female 105lb dripping wet tickled him I think. I give myself points but more importantly I stood out. This catapulted me into so much over the years, in fact you could even say when I auditioned for Cabaret so many years later and then had to fight tooth and nail because my young husband was being a bitch about me doing something outside the home, I kid you not. I remember the (female) director telling me very encouraging things to get me to stay the course not give up. I was pretty conflicted and angry, yet the compromises I made make no sense to me now.

Fast forward past that man-child’s death. Why is not a useful question. Me and the new guy used to say that to each other periodically. Something we picked up at a weekly tough love meeting back when I thought it would help my middle son. That's a long story don't need to get into, but we did keep that saying. Mostly people don't get it. They love the word why. My younger brother especially loves it oh God that's another story we don't need to get into.

And I think leading yourself into the thicket with that question as I've often seen people do at the retreat, even online they do it. They go on and on and on I've done this and I've done that and I've asked this and I've asked that and why am I not getting anywhere? That makes me want to scream.

Maybe that's my answer: I'm past that. If I'm watching Ram Dass or Alan Watts or even Krishnamurti all long since dead, one of the best things is that there is no questioning. There's simply an excerpt of wisdom I would call it. Elucidating.

The money thing makes me squeamish. In fact I had a cup of tea that same week with another person from the East Bay who joined our WhatsApp retreat group. She and I made a promise to get together after the last retreat. Took a while but we finally did it and yet with this wonderful freedom to just go with whatever happens, she shows up pretty much destroyed. So much on her plate, marriage problems, now husband with unexpected serious health incident and feelings of that pull towards independence that I could totally identify with. It's all good. She can cry and we can commiserate.

And then she offers me a ride home which I didn't need but I didn't want to be rude. Turns out she's got the most obscenely expensive SUV really kind of disgusting from an activist point of view. We go through my neighborhood, pull up in front of my house and she says (she and her husband being in the contracting business) my goodness that's not a fixer-upper. The long and short of it is I really don't know much of her backstory but in the short time we were together I discover that she has buckets of money and spends it traveling and booking retreats, both of which I have done, but for every one I've done, she's done 10.

Where I am talking myself into expenditures, she is whipping out her credit card. All the sudden I'm in this weird world that seems so counterintuitive to everything we've been immersing ourselves in at the retreat. I mean you could say I'm not homeless. Comparatively speaking I am rich because I have some money socked away where some people are on the street. And the other hand over-concerning yourself with the materialistic side of life is somewhat of a cliche when it comes to self-exploration. Plus I live so close to Berkeley if you spit you hit it. It's where I did my Transcendental Meditation training circa 1981.

Man this all seems to be about control. Years ago when I was going to get my wrongful death settlement, I actually went to a guy who counsels people who have come into money from various sources that cause anxiety, we're talking lawsuits or lotteries or beneficiary of a will. The kind of stuff that associates the money with something bad. So this guy spends an hour or so chatting me up, charged me a couple hundred bucks as I recall and basically the takeaway was it's not about the money, it's about the guilt of having it. He suggested that I carve out some and give it to a worthy charity, blah blah.

Yeah I know I don't want to go back to those days, especially since I recently got a little settlement for a trip and fall which in retrospect was a total fucking testament to the extent that lawyers have us by the short hairs.

Yeah. I think I know what's going on.

I still can't wrap my brain around somebody having to die 44 years ago to give me the wherewithal to have the life I presently have.

And why is still not a useful question.