Our Birth Story

 Oct 5, (my grandma, Ida Gertrude West Culler’s birthday) the first signs of labor began with my meconium plug falling out after a dawn patrol body surf session at Scripps. I knew it could mean our babe could come today or in weeks from now, but the portal was opening! I felt a need in my body to be outside and move all day and into the next. Cactus’s were in full bloom with bees buzzing. Took Rumi to walk all our favorite spots together: the cliffs, shelter island, Kelloggs. I ate my favorite breakfast burrito and bought Rumi bought baby marigolds. My last meal before becoming a mom💙

Light period cramps started around 9 and by noon, while walking the cliffs they got to the point where they would stop me in my tracks to have to breathe through them. I headed home, took a bath, curled up in bed with Rumi and watched a documentary series on cleopatra. Period cramp like contractions turned into montazuma’s revenge type full body convulsions, not sure which end was going to explode. 

By 4pm I told Drew to cancel his pickleball reservation, I didn’t want to be alone. We called our doula Elyde and she encouraged me to get back in the bath. By sunset my contractions would overtake me every 3-4 mins. My body wanted fresh air and space to move so we went to the porch. in my underwear and a tshirt from a mentor who had passed, I let my body do her thing. Our neighbor did an emergency burrito run for Drew…little did he know that would be his last meal before becoming a dad. Both of us fueled by burritos I went in and out of this time and space while our neighbor chatted with us asking if a contraction felt like the baby was kicking. It was much more the sensation of my body taking the reins and my job was to just let go and let her do her thang. 

Elyde arrived as the sun set. She saw how rapid my contractions were flowing and put things in motion to head to the UCSD midwives center. As I swayed and groaned in the silk swing on our porch, Drew hunted for the car keys and grabbed our labor bags full of snacks, a chess set, keepsakes from my passed loved ones and community, and other things I never even looked at….Drew’s mom and mark arrived to drive us. 

At this point sitting felt impossible. The sensation of having to poop was unreal. So I climbed into the back seat, hovering over the baby car seat, with Drew cramped in the back with me, holding his hand. Mark drove, and I’m pretty sure though I was gonna birth this baby in the car. Each contraction provoked sounds I’ve never made before. My eyes closed and barely opened again until babe was on my chest.

We arrived at the hospital where they offered me a wheelchair to sit in…still impossible to sit, I somehow got on all fours on the chair as they rolled me to the midwives floor. We forgot to call before our arrival so they had to look us up in the system and couldn’t find me with my phone number so somehow my left brain was able to come back on line as I groaned out my social security number to get checked in.

The midwives' labor room was huge! A queen size bed and huge jacuzzi that would have been nice to get to enjoy if there had been time. Contractions were rolling through my body with such rapid consistency that it took several waves before I was able to get into the jacuzzi where they slowed down slightly enough for them to put in an iv port for my group b antibiotic drip. Getting the IV in was the most painful sensation yet! And continued to cause me intermittent pain throughout my labor. While the contractions were wild they felt purposeful and this deep release and trust that my body knew exactly what it was doing. And every bit of wild jungle animal with in me was being released with each wave.

The midwife asked to check and see how dilated I was, 5cm. The sensation of her going inwards while every energy in me was flowing outwards was unbearable. As contractions overcame me a nurse did a suicide assessment on me and I laughed at her…I’m literally in the process of giving life. The only thoughts of harm I had was towards her. 

For the majority of the time it was just Elyde, my mom and Drew in the room with me. My mom and I had done months of therapy together to prepare for this moment and the transition to mom and grandma together. Having her hold me, rub my back and just feeling her silent presence and witnessing was healing. Drew kept a cool cloth on my neck and held my hand through each wave. Elyde held the space with such grounded love and assurance. I felt fully free to let my body be free. 

As I continued to labor in the tub my noises started growing deeper and the midwife was nervous I was starting to push. You are not legally allowed to birth in the tub, just labor. So they wanted to check my cervix again and monitor the baby's heart beat which they were finding difficulty doing in the tub. They asked me to get out which felt impossible. My mind barely had enough time to come back in line between each contraction in order to think about moving to another space. Eventually I made it to the bed, still in my soggy mentors t-shirt that they couldn’t take off cause of the IV. 

They told me I couldn’t push yet and that they couldn’t monitor the baby's heart rate good enough and were noticing a slight drop in their heart rate during contractions so they needed to move me out of the midwives hall and onto labor and delivery. During my pregnancy they had me doing bi weekly stress tests because I was a “geriatric pregnancy”. Baby’s heart rate would drop during contractions then return to its baseline. I knew this was normal for us. This was the one moment I lost myself, my root, and questioned my intuitional knowing that baby and I were ok and in our flow. Fear of guilt and shame if baby’s heart rate was under stress and something bad happening that could have been prevented. So I once again loaded myself on all 4s into a wheel chair and left the dimly lit room and was pushed down the fluorescent light hall, afraid my dad was out there and would see me amidst a contraction and start to fear something was wrong. I didn’t want to sense his potential fear. 

Now in the labor and delivery room, Elyde once again contained the space for me, dimming the lights, giving me the pauses I asked for to think when questions were asked of me, helping my body find the various supportive positions she needed. Elyde helped me reclaim and step back into my body's power and knowing after this slip into left brain and fear. 

Amidst all the chaos of the move my midwife whispered in my ear “you are so strong, you got this” and still today it brings me tears. The feeling of being seen. We had both succumb to medical protocols, yet we were still both women and our wild innate power could not be dimmed. 

They hooked me up to a continual monitor for baby’s heart rate and I asked for the sound to be turned off. I wanted to listen inward to baby and my rhythm, not the outward machine beeps. For possibly the first time in my life I spoke with such calm strength and confidence in my wants and needs. The midwife directed me to shift my exhales and noises to a deeper tone during contractions to help slow things down and prepare my body for pushing. It took everything in me not to push. As I deepened my wild animal noises to guttural moans, I moved my energy down and to the earth. They gave me permission to push. I could hear the woman next door howling her babe into this world and felt the holding and power of all the mothers before, at present, and to come surrounding me as I started to push. 

The room filled with energy as the NICU Dr and students came to watch. I could feel my left brain start to slip into fear and questions again…is something wrong? The midwife assured me they were just here to observe and be on hand “just in case. It took every ounce of mind power I had to not let that “just in case” take root within me and spark fear or lack of confidence. I tuned out the room and it was just me, Drew, and babe again. Since my body had been waiting for what felt like forever to push, I assumed it would be three pushes and babe would be here…but no. I felt babe move down my canal with each push, then sucked back up after. “We got this. Soft and strong. Down. Down. WE got this babe!” I layed on my side and spiraled my body around the bed as Elyde held my leg and Drew kept up with my head. Later I found out my sister who missed the last flight out of Seattle was FaceTimed in to be in the room with us. I felt fully surrounded and held by those present, past and future. Time folded. It felt like the gnarliest constipation and then pelvic pressure as babe danced from my back to my front making their way down the canal. The full moon set out the window. The midwife invited me to touch babe’s head as he crowned. I felt the ring of fire, the final door of the portal between womb and world. His head released and then with a couple more pushes his body followed feeling like an octopus writhing out of me. All of the pressure suddenly released and my body softened, emptied, every muscle when limp.

They laid his warm body on my deflated abdomen. Rubbing him to make him cry. All I could see was the crown of his head. I wanted to cry and laugh, sleep and dance all at the same time. Drew announced we had a baby boy. It all felt surreal, out of body. My mind couldn’t grapes that this human, so alive, came out of me. He looked huge! They let the umbilical cord pulse his final womb nutrients into his little body before inviting Drew to clamp and cut the cord ending his nourishing time in the womb and welcoming him into this wild world fully. He rooted up to my breast and latched immediately. He knew what to do, I just had to follow our bodies lead. Mixtures of disbelief that he could have come out of my body overcome by wild waves of untapped love and release. 

My senses started coming back into the room and I saw my sister on FaceTime, my Mom and Dad, Shelly capturing the moment, Elyde, and for maybe the first time really seeing my midwife’s face. She had just been a voice, a touch, and presence. 

She informed me it was time to birth his placenta and pushing began again. A second octopus blubbered out of me. After a painful ureteral massage, to make sure all pieces were out, she let me know I had barely torn at all, just a stitch that felt more painful than labor and I was done. She held up his placenta so we could see it. Pointed out the amniotic sack that looked as thin as tissue paper. She showed the dinner plate size portion that had been connected to my uterine wall, emphasizing that that is the size of the wound in me so it’s important that I rest to let it heal properly. 

As all the bodies in the room started trickling out, the sun started to rise and it was just Drew, me and our son. My heart continued to crack open and still does. Love for Drew, as I watch him become a dad, and my love for our son who is literally love in bodied, the definition of unconditional love in human form.

My body felt like I had been dancing all night at a concert, my throat shot from wailing, yet the adrenaline, endorphines, and oxytocin pumping through me was unreal. I was vibrating with life, with love, with awe.

The things that surprised me:

• Since I’ve done doula trainings and Drew has delivered babies through his firefighting years…I originally thought we could birth on our own. And I had always seen having a doula as a supportive perk, not essential. But I can not imagine us moving through Zakai’s birth without our doula. She provided a grounded calm and confidence to trust my body and was essential in guiding Drew and my mom in ways they could support me. She held space for my voice in decisions. And if she hadn’t been there we would have been alone in the labor room for hours by ourselves with no guidance or support. 

• The most painful parts of labor and birth where what was done to me rather than the actual labor and birth. The cervix check, IV, heart rate monitoring, uterine massage, stitches, and having bright lights on or asking me to move so they could perform their protocols. Labor and delivery itself felt like a full surrender to my body. She was in charge. Wild power, energy, pressure shooting through my body…but not pain. Pain to me is a sensation when something is wrong. The sensations of birth were filled with purpose. Challenging me to trust my body and move and be as it provoked me. I felt strong discernment in my voice as I asked for my wants and needs. Each contraction cracked open my wild, trying to contain the noises and movement that flowed out of  me felt impossible. 

• Contractions were so rapid that I didn’t even have time to think about wanting an intervention to support with pain. I had brought a chess set, items from loved ones to set the space, essential oils, ect. The bag never even got opened, there wasn’t time. I thought contractions would be like waves, come in sets of 3-5 and then have a pause with time to distract my mind with a simple chess game. Contractions were like a set that never ended, no pause to chat with drew and think about what I want to do differently before the next set arrived. The waves came consistently from sunset till Zakai arrived at 3:30am. 

• Having my mom there was powerful. I could feel both healing, softening, and bonding taking place between the two us, but also weaving into the lineages of all women. My mom birthed in the 80’s, a very different time for women and birthing protocols. During our pre-birth therapy sessions she reflected how much more knowledgeable and prepared for birth I was than she had been. The access to knowledge about your rights as a birthing person were limited. You trusted the Dr and that was that. She saw me in my power, transforming from her daughter to a mother, from maiden to mother. Being witnessed by her in this way has and continues to transform our relationship. Zakai was already working his magic as our teacher and healer before even leaving the womb.

I'm sure the lessons and suprises from Zakai and my birth will continue to unfold and crack me open

Despedita Peru: "Where art thou?"

 “And they heard the sound of Yehovah  Elohim (the lawmaker, judge)  walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and ‘ [they] hid themselves from the presence of Yehovah Elohim among the trees of the garden. Then Yehovah God called to ‘[them]’ and said, ‘Where art thou?’ “ (Gen 3:8-9)

November 2014, In a small town 2 days into the inca trail, I rose early from a restless night of altitude to watch the sunrise. Perched on a rock with my rainbow woven leg warmers bought at the market in Cusco the week prior, coca tea, a frosty nose, and “The Way of Man” by Martin Buber. I brought this book cause it was tiny and light weight for the 4 day trek. It had been sitting on my book case since seminary, unopened, and for some reason, while packing for my 3 months in Peru, this time it caught my eye. Being fresh out of seminary, that had followed 4 years at a Nazarene undergrad as a philosophy/theology minor, 4 years at a catholic all girls high school where religion and mass were required, and growing up in the presbyterian church….I had read and listened to the story of “the fall of man”, adam and eve eating the forbidden fruit and thus why childbirth is horridly painful and we are punished to work, bleed, and sweet to survive…I had read and listened to this story preached at least a 100+ times. This version was different though. Buber shared the story as it was not just a moment in history of how man came to be, not God’s words to just Adam (human), but God’s timeless words to each of us, …”Where art thou?” why are you trying to hide from the God within you and around you? Why are you hiding from your fullest self and freedom? Why are you ashamed of being naked, the most pure and free form of who you are? Are you running from yourself, from God? For the next 3 days of the trek this question swam in my head…”where art thou?”. 

Right after graduating with my masters in Marriage and Family Therapy and 1,500 clinical hours under my belt, I had given up on therapy work, sold everything I had, started working on boats, ended up in Argentina…the common question I received during this season of my life was “what are you running from?” Yet that question never resonated with me, always left me perplexed…If i was indeed “running”, I was not running away from myself, I was running towards. 

My time in Argentina brought Garciela Botoni (the president of the International Expressive Arts Therapy Association) to my life who opened my eyes, mind, and body to art and somatic therapy. Which lead to me falling in love with therapy again, with the art and mystery of healing again.  If therapy was a practice all about reconnecting to the body, nature, and community rather than the diagnosis, stigmas, isolation, and office walls …then I could full-heartedly dive back into “being a therapist”. Which brought me back to the states to finish up my licensing hours and then down to Peru in 2014 as I worked with communities of girls and young women in the jungle and along the coast utilizing the arts, nature, and community for healing of sexual trauma and abuse. 

While on the outside, I had literally jumped ship after my master program, appearing like I was running from life and responsibilities…I was never running away, I was running towards. Towards my fullest self, my joy, my heart’s calling, my fullest life expression…running towards my life, towards my true home, towards me. My last day in Peru, in a quinceanera shop I got “אַיֶּכָּה.” (where art thou?) tattooed in red across my right rib. My first tattoo. In red as they are God’s first recorded words to human. A commitment to always ask myself this question that God has asked human from the beginning of time… “where art thou?” “Why are you hiding yourself, running from/hiding from god, from life, from the beauty that you were created to be and enjoy?”

During that moment at the quinceanera/tattoo parlor in Huanchaco, I never would have imagined that I would be calling this land of the Moche people home for more than 4 years, more less, even ever returning to visit. Huanchaco is the exact opposite of what i considered my dream location. I love green lush land…Huanchaco is 10 hours deep into the most desolate dessert I know. I love surfing rights…Huanchaco is nestled next to the longest left in the world along a coastline full of perfect lefts. Yet, despite being over 3,000 miles away from the land I was birthed on, all lefts, and no green… Peru called me, taught me the art of coming home, creating home, being home..the art of returning to self. 

And just as Santiago from “The Alchemist”, the shepherd boy traveling the world looking for the hidden treasure, his “Personal Legend”, that was actually under his tree, in his field, back home in Andalucia; the last 10 years in Peru has landed me back home, back home to the land that birthed me, home to my roots, home to myself. While I transition to homing in my homeland again, I always want to be asking myself “Where art thou?”. Am I becoming stagnant? Hiding in the bushes of cultural expectations?  Not able to hear the call of my hearts song because the loudness of expectations and judgements of western life? Peru gave me the gift of time and space to re-member me and I always want to remember all the beauty, mystery, community, simpleness of life and joy that Peru bloomed in me. 

Huanchaco Hermanas del surf 2013

Huanchaco Hermanas del surf 2020

Peru has taught me;

• Surfing is an art, a way of being, connecting and spirit. It is a connection to our ancestors and an invitation to remember how to BE nature again. 

• Surfing is also a radical act of social justice! Being a woman who paddles out so other women and girls know they belong out there too.

• Dama de Cao; the discovery of the priestess’s mumified body changed the understanding of Peruvian history as one of her-story, matriarchal rule. She taught and teaches me that women are bearers of the past, present and future. Our bodies remind us to remember. We rule through spirit and by simply existing in our true power we change the world. 

• Ayni, the quechua word for reciprocal relationship, opened me up to what true community and relationship with self, others and this world can really look like. Pre-Incan communities in Peru lived without currencies, without rulers..all equally and deeply valued and honored. Because of this relational way of being they were able to build, farm, and create beyond our current day abilities and understandings. And this Ayni blood still runs through the veins of the community of women in Huanchaco. Sharing resources, time, energy, and support with a natural flow like the tides. No keeping track or I owe yous…simply being in it together and recognizing that what is mine is yours and what is ours is the truly the earths. All of it is a gift to be shared and honored

• The beauty of extremes. Peru is the most bio-diverse country in the world with the jungles so deep that there are communities who have never been in contact with the current day world and don’t need to because the earth’s abundance and their ayni provides everything needed to not just survive but thrive. To 20 hours of driving through the most desolate uninhabitable desert coastline preserving endless perfect empty waves. To glacerial mountain tops where humans strap on oxygen to hike their peeks to feel close to the gods. The beauty is in the diversity, the extreme differences, the experience of being a humbled human in the hand of mother nature. 

• Peru challenged me to sit in my discomfort, a 4 year yin practice sitting in my fears, insecurities, and leaning deeper into my edges. Listening to them, breathing deeper into them and letting them be my greatest teachers.  From embracing what it looks like and feels like for me to be feminine, to going left, to completely letting go of all control and trusting, to falling in love with cactuses. 

• I witnessed the direct impact of tourism and plastic consumption on community health, the earth health, and my health.  And it has radically fanned my flame of consciousness and sustainable action to get creative and joyful around loving my body and mother oceans body more. Peru inspired my first passion project 1Bag1World and now our annual #NoPlasticNovember movement rooted in how small tiny joy-filled changes can make huge waves of healing for mother ocean and ourselves. 

• I bought a moto taxi and learned I have my limits

• I entered my first surf competitions and learned what competition is really all about…Stepping up so others can too. Doing my part to make sure we, women, are taking up space, have a voice, and space to be seen and celebrated. 

• Every season of life is valuable and honored. Multigenerational households with their elderly as an active and essential part of community and life and children wild, resilient, and cared for by all. Death is not hidden, but seen, talked about, and acknowledged as a natural part of life. And all of it is beautiful!

• I got to take classes in Jujitsu, pole dancing, crossfit, the trujillo dance the marinera, and acro yoga

• Ritual and ceremony is a way of being and doing life. Everything, every moment, can be sacred. Magic is real!

• Peru has brought me to tears over and over again because of her beauty. Sitting in a room full of 40 young girls given the space to boldly say yes to their belonging in the ocean and surf for the first time.  To being stopped on the street by a friend asking how you're doing in a way that really invites time to share and connect and cry together.  To the most magical waves and mountains that silence and still my soul.  To literally seeing the energy and beauty of the world unfold in front of me. This world is beautiful!

As I’m writing this I am in route back to San Diego, California where I will be re-rooting. I feel butterflies in my gut, expansion in my heart, groundedness in my feet. There is so much I don’t know…will I return to peru and if so how, what will life in SD look like this time around, what does this season have in store, how will I do it differently than last time. There is so much I want to hold onto, that I will miss and long for from life and living in peru; papa rellenas street food after surfs, the rainbow of foods at the local market, slow mornings watching the caballitos de tortora come to shore with the sunrise full of fish, emolientes to cure both physical and emotional ales, the sound of the church bells and reggaeton, being covered in paint and laughter while dancing the streets at carnival, moto taxi’s carrying everything from a mountain of sugar cane to surf boards, to your entire bedroom on their roof, dogs on the roofs, offroading down desolate beaches to empty perfect waves, being surrounded by women and girls in their power and full creative expression and boundless, life as ceremony. 

Peru taught me the importance of remembering. The Chimuk civilization remembered…they prepared for the 7 year El Niño, never a surprise, always ready. Even now when the el nino rains come, their ruins outside of huanchaco remain safe and un touched by the floods. The pre Incan and Incan people were able to know when to plant, when to harvest, when what star needs to be where. Dama De Cao tattooed her body with the signs and symbols to help us in this moment and time remember…remembering is essential to move forward with more ease, abundance, and joy. Remembering both the “good” and the “bad”, the joy and the struggle…each teaches us something and invites us to a deeper connection to self, others and this wild world. 

Boarding  my flight, my feet are sandy, dried salt spray on my shins and calves. On the way to the airport we made a final stop by the sea, one last thing to let go of. I waded into the sea, holding my grandmothers glass bottle full of the sand from the union ceremony at my wedding, the final item that needed to be emptied and cleared. Feeling the sand in my hand, sand from the beaches of Las Delicias and Huntington Beach combined together. Each wave dissolved the sand from my hand. Impossible to hold onto it even if I wanted to. The strength and pull of the sea clearing, cleansing, and freeing. Each wave washing it away, leaving me empty and free. Each incoming wave, feelings of gratitude and tenderness flooding in for all the beauty peru, community, and this season gifted me. As the wave sucked back out, feeling liberated, free, complete, readiness to move forward into the next season, space within me cleansed and ready to welcome in whatever the next adventure holds. I know exactly where I am, I am home. I am wild. I am free. Where art though? I am here! 

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*photos from Peru adventures 2013 to 2023

Infinite waves of awe

Saturday Feb 15th I had already watched the sunset with Javier as he got out from the surf that I had gotten worked by an hour prior. As we walked to his aunts apartment compound in las Delicias, Trujillo, Peru to shower and get ready for our date night, I felt the sunset calling me back. The sun had already set but I left Javi to chat with his aunts and I went and sat on the rocks where I proposed to and committed to loving him for the rest of my life this time last year. 

The post sunset colors where still transforming the sky and as I invited stillness into my body I felt this wave of emotion flow through me. I felt grandma. And unlike the 100s other times I’ve shed tears over the sadness of seeing her aging body dwindling, this time was different. It wasn’t sorrow or sadness that brought the tears to my face, it was this emotion of awe; like when you reach a mountain peek and and you look up to see such vastness beyond comprehension, beauty beyond words, God and all the creation so infinite and me so finite. It was this kind of tear that was flowing down my face. 

It’s hard to put words to describe such awe, beauty, and power. Everything falls short, but I will try:

I felt awe of Grandma Ida. An awe of all she was, during her time in the earthly body God had gifted her. Awe in this deep knowing that her legacy lives on, her love lives on, her fingerprint on each of the lives and earth she cared for lives on.  

I felt awe of Grandma’s simpleness. During the three decades that I was blessed to know her she didn’t need much to find happiness. She could sit all day watching her waterfall or a bird nest as it came to life and flew away. When she could still walk up the hill she tiled the earth and received joy from what each season harvested. She did not subscribe to the go go go and stuff focused world. She needed nothing and was 100% ok with doing what some would concider “nothing”. God’s nature provided all the joy she needed. Her happiness was not measured by the world but was deep within.

I felt awe of Grandma’s self-made revolutionary way of being. At 25, grandma’s revolutionary life hit me as I sat at a cafe eating hummus in Jerusalem with a second cousin I hadn’t seen since we were both in diapers. We got talking about the lineage of revolutionary women we come from and how it flows through our blood. All the way back to our great grandma every generation of women in our family has a college and higher education. Each held jobs or roles in their community and families that made wide reaching impact. Grandma was also revolutionary in her convictions. She stood her ground during the de-segregation of schools and kept her daughter in the desegregated school while her pastor and friends pulled their daughters out to attend the all-white school. She voted according to God’s wisdom not cultural expectations. She loved inclusively even when culture told her that that wasn’t what “God wanted”. She always held on to a deeper wisdom than the current cultural current, and held fast to the wisdom within God’s unconditional love for all.  You’d never find her at the front of a protest line, at a pulpet pushing her beliefs on others, or doing “good” things in the community to make herself feel good. Grandma had no ego, no need for recognition, or desire to receive something in return.  She simply spoke her truth by simply living it, and not caring what others had to say about it. She knew God’s wisdom of love deeply, and was stubborn in living it out, even if it ruffled cultural feathers of the time.

I felt awe of Grandma’s honor and preservation of deep family roots. She spearheaded family reunions, and kept log of our family tree, and always had a story of the previous generations of family members to share with us, keeping them alive. It seemed everyone was somehow family, and she treated everyone as such. She opened up her home to teen moms needing a safe space to raise their babies, treated all of the teens in her Sunday school class with the same stubborn love she gave us (She saw the best in you and held you up to it), and made house visits (no matter how far a drive) to anyone in pain or morning.  Family was number 2 right after her faith, and since she saw us all as children of God, we are ALL family. 

I felt awe of Grandma’s way of loving. Her love story with grandad is one for the bigscreen. “War can not stop love!”. She burned her love letters in fear we would laugh at them but would be quick to pull out the tiger and anaconda skins he sent her from India during the war and share stories of her and grandad’s stubborn, never faltering love against all barriers the world put against them. She talks of love as a matter of fact, not a fluffy fleeting feeling, but a true partnership, commitment, and way of life. Since love wasn’t an emotional feeling she didn’t find the need to say “I love you” often because it was a matter of fact; she loves you!

These waves of awe continued to flood me. What a woman! What a life! What a faith! What a love! Then I felt the whisper of “let me go so I can keep living”. She had been trapped in her aging body for years now, unable to walk the hill to her garden, unable to speak her wisdoms, unable to keep her eyes open to see her waterfall. She wanted to reach 100 and she always accomplished what she set out to do. She lived an extra year just for us, to give us the time we needed, but now it was her time. I breathed in holding on to all the awe of who she is and I exhaled letting her go knowing that while her body may be finite like the flowers she loves, her spirit, her legacy, her love is infinite as the God she loves. In no way will her departure from her body be the end of her story. 

Her aging body finally released her the next day Feb 16th at noon. And once again she accomplished what she set out to accomplish, We all went to church together, sang her favorite hymns together, walked in her woods together, and we all spent the night together in the home she built in the middle of the woods by a waterfall for this sole purpose, to create a home for us to come together as family. 

Into the Woods to Loose My Mind and Find My Spirit

It's been a while since my last blog post....

I had every intention of writing reflections, reading "My First Summer in the Sierra" by John Muir, and taking time to sit still on the edges of mountains and high altitude lakes...But with 5 degree temperatures at night freezing my hands and pen ink and trying to hike 10-15 miles a day there was no time for such things

So here is a video blog reflecting my journey along the JMT that has just begun and will continue...

For we are all on the same trail but on our own adventure!

Some call it "Havana Surf Club", I call it "Family"

The wind whipped the palms into a permanent 70 degree slant as we walked Calle 70 with boards in hand and on heads to check the surf. Still several blocks from the coast line, Yaya pointed to the ocean where the whites of the waves jumped up in anticipation of us...”hay olas, grandes!”. My heart was like a puppy dog with its tail wagging fast enough to almost fall off in excitement for it’s owner arriving home. After the anxiety of walking across boarders with gear and boards and passports that were possibly not welcomed, I was finally home, I was at the sea! This sea I had been reading articles about for the last 6 months, stories of arrests for surfing its waves on hand crafted refrigerator door foam surf boards, stories void of women until Yaya and her slowly growing crew of fearless females took their first paddle out. Now we are part of the story, we are joining the in the history of not just surfing in cuba, but women surfing in cuba!!!!

The scene at Calle 70 is one of anticipation, excitement, and most profoundly the sense of family. Old 50’s style cars of green, blue, and red pull up with boards jerririgged to the roof. Surf gear and skate boards cover the grassy knoll separating the hotel parking lot from the rocky reef coastline. There is no worry of gear theft as everyone here is family. Everyone embraces with hugs and kisses as their eyes stay locked to the sea. This is Calle 70, this is the Havana Surf club, this is family.

The sea is an energetic mess of random washermachine breaks crashing down 7ish ft of walled up face with just enough of time to pop off the back of the wave and save your board and body from puncture wounds by the rocky reef suddenly jetting upward. As I suit up, the crew start giving me pointers in spanish;

“dont be there, there, or there, its shallow reef, will break your board, paddle out down there only and by the time you make it past the break the current will have you at the surf-able zone. Right there, and ONLY there, with in that 3 ft gap marked by the palm tree, is where you get out. Wait for a big wave and jump out over the exposed rock, you have to time it right, not there but there, don’t hesitate, GO!!!” 

So basically there was one spot to enter the water and another single spot to exit. Everywhere else guaranteed cuba reef tattoos somewhere on your body and board. I successfully entered the water text book status. Got stung by a jelly, caught a wave, and successfully gave my body and board some high quality reef tattoos...3 jagged chunks of skin missing from my foot, ankle and knee and 7 gouges on my board that should have been my body.

Now, months later, the scars do not remind me of the jagged reef awaiting my return, or the washer-machine waves that drop out below your feet. The scars make me smile and give me hope as I remember my surf family in the water. I have never paddled out into an all male line up and automatically felt part of the crew, and equal participant in the fun, all united and one in the water. Competition, slanted eyes, or snaked waves were replaced by whistles of excitement when a rogue wave was spotted rolling in, yells of “va va va va” (“go go go go”) as the lucky person in the perfect alignment for the wall of water paddled hard, and hoots of joy for every pop up, cut back spray, and wipeout down the waves unpredictable road. We were all on the same team. Yipping and cheering each other on as we all faced our fears of the shore and paddled into the close-outs. The ocean was nothing but pure waves of joy. 

Finding Silence and Stillness. At Home

Silence and Stillness
Tis the season where "not a peep in the house" is hard to come by...with constant texting, social media bings, and IG (just learned that means instagram) updates, on top of the steadily growing "to do" lists for my upcoming travels with Wahine Project and Exxpedition... I find myself everywhere else but SILENT and STILL, everywhere else but HERE

After getting my MFT license (finally after 6 years of hours collecting and 2 four hr long dreaded exams), I said good bye to my 9-5 social work position in persuet of my passions.

Thus, I am currently, by definition, "homeless".

Luckily, I have beautiful family and friends eager for slumber parties while I am in this period of transition and preparation for my next chapter in life.

It has been interesting over the last two weeks however, meeting new people and having to answer the obvious get to know you question "Where do you live?".
The first time I was asked that, I automatically answered San Diego, which was followed by "what neighborhood?"
....stumped, I paused...
do i say where my Lincoln Town Car is? Parked in a side street in Solana Beach.
Where the majority of my stuff is? Split between Molly's garage and My parents beach house.
Where Mi Corazon is? My 28ft sail boat that has been my home over the last 7 years now emptied of all my nicknacks and homey touches and docked in an unfamiliar harbor in Long Beach.
....Or....
Where I am? I am HERE!
So right here, right now, the people I am with, the beach, mountain, or desert I am a mere ant in...this is HOME. I am Home! So now when people ask me where I live, My answer.."right here, I am home"

HOME has been an interesting word in my journey to my current state. I will do another post in regards to this later, but in short there has never been a specific location that has felt like home to me. To feel at home, that warm cozy heart feeling often depicted on christmas cards as fire-lit cottages nestled in the snow with a family snuggled up by the fire singing christmas songs and sipping coco. That's the feeling I got when my host mom in India gave me my first hug after 4 months of traveling with no human affection.
That's the feeling I got when my grandpa told me he loves me and is proud of me for the first time before embarking on pursuing a career in South America.
That's the feeling I got when I showed up to dinner to be surprised by all my SD friends celebrating my 30th birthday.
That'd the feeling I got when I took Mi Corazon out for our first long distance sail into unchartered waters. Nothing but me, her sails, and the sea (and my poor sea sick friend that was such a trooper for the first 12 hr leg of the voyage).

Let me paint you a picture: (not of my sea sick friend hanging in and onto her stomach, but of the sea and Mi Corazon)
Several miles off the shore the water is bluer, reflecting the depth you are dancing along the surface of. Making you feel oh so tiny and unimportant. You see a familiar coastline from a completely unfamiliar vantage point on your right. And on the left blue that bleeds into bluer as far as the eye can see...no boarders, no direction, nothing hindering you from falling into it forever (kinda like that urge I get to jump when standing on the edge of the grand canyon, a San Francisco sky scraper, or even sitting on a chair lift up a mountain. The only thing keeping me on my feet and in my seat is fear and knowing that it'll definitely hurt) But with the oceans boundless abyss to my left, the fear keeping me from jumping wasn't there like it is on the crest of a cliff. Rather that fear was replaced by a wild yet confidant freedom.

So many fears had been road blocks in my head...
"You don't know how to sail good enough"
"You are afraid of deep dark waters and the creatures that definitely can see you before you see them"
"Your not prepared enough"
"You aren't strong enough, your too small, and don't know how to fix things well enough"
"You don't have anyone that would want to do that with you"

All those fears became mere minnows in the sea before me as I sat in the hug of Mi Corazon's helm. Fear was the thing that holds me back. To be honest, I didn't know if I could sail Mi Corazon up the coast on my own as we left the safety of the San Diego Bay (outside the reach of vessle assist). In the past we had hired trained professionals to do her transports cause "I wasn't good enough".  I had never been outside the bay or dropped anchor until 6 months ago.  And fear still keeps me from putting the gears in reverse. Dropping anchor, docking solo, sailing under the Coronado Bridge, sailing to the Point and to Mission Bay for a weekend. All of these things I staid far away from, told myself I wasn't capable of doing...and then, finally just did it. Pretended the fear wasn't there, and did it. And guess what, i lived, and so did my crew. And when shit did go south...vessle assist was always a call away.

But as we sailed north with a familiar coast line on my right and the wild boundless freedom of the sea on my left, and Vessle Assist out of reach, I felt home. I felt present. My mind was still..almost blank...just joy. I even sat still..for hours...which, for someone that sits on a bouncy ball at work, has to stand in the back of class to pay attention to lectures, and drinks water just for the excuse to get up and refill it...this was impressive for me.  Anxiety-less. To-do list-less. Fear-less....Full of Silence. Full of Stillness. Full of Home.

My challenge for myself and hope for you all this holiday season is stillness, silence, presence, and home.

Happy Holidays! And check out the attached link to see what passion I am pursuing this winter with a rad group of empowered women united in the mission to be present and build the feeling of home in the sea for women and girls in cuba.
https://www.crowdrise.com/globalwahinewomenres/fundraiser/thewahineprojectinc

Day 1: San Diego Bay to Oceanside:

Day 2: Oceanside-Long Beach