August 7th, 2014

Pamela left this morning. After our last yoga session in the middle of the RV Park in the basin of Salt Lake City, she packs her bags and I drive her to the airport. Her leaving has opened two days of solitude, a semi-silent mediation and reflection on the journey so far.

ELF travels have been plentiful, a scrappy fight for your life adventure where Pamela and I have been up against ourselves, up against our pasts, and up against our expectations. We have moved through big issues, conquered mountains, found hidden lakes and whistled tunes down empty roadways. We danced in circles with “silly sages in Big Sur.” We listened to Willy Wonka show tunes on the up hill trail and screamed at the top of our lungs on the edge of cliffs. We dove, head first, naked and free into big blue lakes on the cusp of thunderstorms. We sat silent and aching, silent and open, silent and full. We laughed across different bar stools and groaned at the morning tab reflection. We found solace in movement and comfort in the repletion of story.

I miss her.

And I am here, in Park City, alone. It’s different. I have to fend for myself. Look for the signs, listen, and watch for roads. I have to pack and unpack the ELF with due diligence. I am more careful, aware. I have yet to turn on the radio. Solitary, I sit in silence. 

This morning I wake and practice yoga alone, facing a stark mountain and a rising sun. And while the journey is filled with silence, I know I need to experience solitude. Deepak Chopra said, “To make the right choices in life, you have to get in touch with your soul. To do this, you need to experience solitude, which most people are afraid of, because in the silence you hear the truth and know the solutions.”

After yoga, I climb the mountain behind the RV Park. Because of the elevation, my steps are slow. The short shrubs scrape my ankles. The only sounds are crickets that spring from the path and leap against my skin and the far away howls of dogs in an animal shelter. I miss Miles. I look at my feet as they move against the dry ground. The terrain here reminds me of the California ground–dry, compact, yellow. I reach the top of the trail and sit. I let my eyes move across the horizon. The highway breaks into the mountain range and trucks the size of toys weave along side the even smaller cars. I don’t have a day plan, or an activity that needs completing. All I have here, now, is the silence and solitude. I let it settle into my bones with each inhale.  

Silence and solitude are humbling. I sit at the top of the mountain and watch the clouds move across the blue. In silence, I am on the precipice of healing. I must rely on my own intuition and hear what rests in its cracks. There is space and wonderment in being alone. The vibration of creation buzzes when it is not clouded by our running thoughts or the negotiation of daily life. The great sage sits in our silence.

I will sit still for the next two days in the middle of Utah and rest, quietly.