My sweet daughter and I spent time at Harbin Hot Springs, surely an upscale hippie clothing-optional place in the hills of northern California. She's in a grieving and wounded place so I was happy to be with her so we could soak and eat and have massages and dance and talk.
I held her in my arms in the warm pool as she cried. It felt holy and tender. I felt blessed to have her friendship and trust. We talked about her childhood and the difficulties of being from a 'divorced' home. We talked about so much that was deep. Today she woke feeling sick so we took Milo and left for the day so she could rest and be in bed. This evening, I read her big parts of 'Polishing the Mirror', the latest Ram Das book. He writes so eloquently about loss and grief and transformation and love.
It's a special kind of pain, when you can't shelter your child from suffering. No matter how old they are. And no matter that they have their own journey, you still want to ease their way a bit, somehow even though you know you can't. At some point I realized that my very dying would cause my children to suffer. Ah well, it can't be helped.
The night at Harbin after we had done all our activities, I wandered back to our room to collapse. Maya was still dancing. I went into our room in the dark looking for a light switch when I heard strange noises. Squeaky squeaky until I realized there was, um, fucking going on in the room next to ours. Fast, slow and grunty. And again in the morning. Twice.
I was dying to lay eyes on the randy couple but short of lurking outside their room waiting for them to come out or getting my hands on the roster for the weekend, I was out of luck. Not quite a meditation retreat environment where there's no talking, no eye contact and definitely no sex!
Back to Seattle tomorrow.