My journey to Orcas Island started with a maroon van named Ozzy.
Ozzy didn't reveal his true magic to me until we were half way to the island and the pieces started to fit together....the band Motopony playing in the background, I casually read a City Arts magazine article about Motopony expertly written by Doe Bay teaching artist Jonathan Zwickel, whom I would later meet. Skimming the words within the article Motopony blazed down the West Coast in a maroon 15-seat Chevy with double-decker beds custom built into the back. I look behind me at the slabs of wood... wait a minute.
And that was just the beginning.
Before I had the chance to get wrapped up with excitement and curiosity for what lay ahead, my nerves decided to take the wheel. Traveling all this way, I knew something big was on the horizon. Something that would change me forever.
I greeted my tribe that day. In that magical van, it started.
We set out to Anacortes, to catch the ferry that would take us to our island.
Perhaps I did not realize the walls that I had built. Ongoing construction throughout many years to protect myself from the world. Suddenly, the walls had vanished. Something about that island, that water out there, it made me realize they were too heavy to keep around.
I found that all I had to do was decide. To put fear out of my weary body. Stop clinging to the identity of pride and let go of the fight. It didn't have a chance. I was too strong for it after all.
She stepped out and made herself known: this girl I knew. I had always known her.
The room with big wide windows, sunlight that beamed in giving warmth like nothing I had ever felt. It became my cocoon. My thoughts, my words-- normally linger within the filter and security lines of my reasoning brain-- were spilled out openly and sincerely in a way that can only be honest and unguarded. I was protected. Held and cradled. Loved unconditionally. The eyes of my tribe, they held mine and smiled the sincerest of smiles.
Encouragement took hold. Suddenly we all felt it. The words flooded in. Stories woven together with careful but steady movement. We held them close. These are precious...each one of us.
I was protected and nurtured by the hearts of those surrounding me. As a writer, an artist, a creator of things...this act is reverent. A type of spiritual practice that opens us to our core. Unleashing it all, we are freed.
I feel forever freed. I feel forever loved.
When I got home, I carefully unpacked each one...the stories, the laughter, the tears. The artifacts of my heart. There was room for it all.
Since my return, my dreams are gently embraced by Doe Bay's presence. I feel at peace. I feel that wide open room. The sunlight is warm.
I want to especially thank our hosts for the retreat, the kindred people who make this place possible for dreamers like me. Jenn, Kerry, Casey, Rebecca...I felt your unwavering support and continue to embrace the magic. All of you, in your own simple way, made me feel like I was home even when home seemed so far. Joe, your resort is nothing short of life changing. Thank you.
Our teaching artists: Jenny thank you for your smile, your kind heart, advice and friendship. Jonathan thank you for your bravery, honesty and laugh. Nikki thank you for your conversation, your beautiful art, and the nature walk that helped me listen. And Kris, new brother of mine, thank you for your sense of humor, your outdoor concert, and these songs which have brought me back time and time again to Doe Bay even though I'm sitting right here in my Georgia living room.
Much love to all of my new Write Doe Bay family. You haven't gone far...I've kept each one of you tucked in close within the warmth of my heart, and I'm not letting go.
Ozzy didn't reveal his true magic to me until we were half way to the island and the pieces started to fit together....the band Motopony playing in the background, I casually read a City Arts magazine article about Motopony expertly written by Doe Bay teaching artist Jonathan Zwickel, whom I would later meet. Skimming the words within the article Motopony blazed down the West Coast in a maroon 15-seat Chevy with double-decker beds custom built into the back. I look behind me at the slabs of wood... wait a minute.
And that was just the beginning.
Before I had the chance to get wrapped up with excitement and curiosity for what lay ahead, my nerves decided to take the wheel. Traveling all this way, I knew something big was on the horizon. Something that would change me forever.
I greeted my tribe that day. In that magical van, it started.
We set out to Anacortes, to catch the ferry that would take us to our island.
Perhaps I did not realize the walls that I had built. Ongoing construction throughout many years to protect myself from the world. Suddenly, the walls had vanished. Something about that island, that water out there, it made me realize they were too heavy to keep around.
I found that all I had to do was decide. To put fear out of my weary body. Stop clinging to the identity of pride and let go of the fight. It didn't have a chance. I was too strong for it after all.
She stepped out and made herself known: this girl I knew. I had always known her.
The room with big wide windows, sunlight that beamed in giving warmth like nothing I had ever felt. It became my cocoon. My thoughts, my words-- normally linger within the filter and security lines of my reasoning brain-- were spilled out openly and sincerely in a way that can only be honest and unguarded. I was protected. Held and cradled. Loved unconditionally. The eyes of my tribe, they held mine and smiled the sincerest of smiles.
Encouragement took hold. Suddenly we all felt it. The words flooded in. Stories woven together with careful but steady movement. We held them close. These are precious...each one of us.
We bleed it out in our wounds, our words...our cuts they may be deep or shallow. But we all heal the same way, make room for the fragile flesh to bleed. When we allow ourselves to heal like this, our body knows what to do. Our soul connects the dots.
I was protected and nurtured by the hearts of those surrounding me. As a writer, an artist, a creator of things...this act is reverent. A type of spiritual practice that opens us to our core. Unleashing it all, we are freed.
I feel forever freed. I feel forever loved.
When I got home, I carefully unpacked each one...the stories, the laughter, the tears. The artifacts of my heart. There was room for it all.
Since my return, my dreams are gently embraced by Doe Bay's presence. I feel at peace. I feel that wide open room. The sunlight is warm.
I want to especially thank our hosts for the retreat, the kindred people who make this place possible for dreamers like me. Jenn, Kerry, Casey, Rebecca...I felt your unwavering support and continue to embrace the magic. All of you, in your own simple way, made me feel like I was home even when home seemed so far. Joe, your resort is nothing short of life changing. Thank you.
Our teaching artists: Jenny thank you for your smile, your kind heart, advice and friendship. Jonathan thank you for your bravery, honesty and laugh. Nikki thank you for your conversation, your beautiful art, and the nature walk that helped me listen. And Kris, new brother of mine, thank you for your sense of humor, your outdoor concert, and these songs which have brought me back time and time again to Doe Bay even though I'm sitting right here in my Georgia living room.
Much love to all of my new Write Doe Bay family. You haven't gone far...I've kept each one of you tucked in close within the warmth of my heart, and I'm not letting go.
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