03 Jul Day 29
I stared at the black sky sprinkled with white shinning stars, my body floating in warm mineral waters. The earth’s thermal love bubbled up holding the surface of my skinny frame. My hair fanned like a headdress, my hands and feet circled the water flirtatiously, and I sighed an exhale of pleasure. I floated and gazed in delight. A shooting star stretched across the sky enchanting the moment. Weightless physically and emotionally, I savored being nurtured and comfortably relaxed.
This is as good as it gets.
That morning, I woke up to another cold day. I spent eighteen hours in Ocean and needed to get out. I desperately needed a shower. I attempted finding a spot to use the camp shower, but when I turned the nozzle, a petering stream flowed. Besides the thought of scrubbing one square inch of skin at a time, I could not imagine getting naked in the chilled air. I gave up on the shower idea and turned to ideas on getting warm. The shadows overtook camp fairly early because of the mountains, and I thought I might get enough sun at the lake to enjoy the sun’s heat.
I drove into the O’Haver Lake’s day-use parking lot and saw a couple, a six foot something man and a short woman walking the shore. They both were wearing winter coats and the woman had an ushanka, a Russian fur hat with ear flaps. The wind kept moving them forward in involuntary spurts.
I thought, I need to give it a try anyways. Maybe it will be fine.
I slid off the seat, took a step, it’s not so bad. Look how beautiful the glimmer of the sun on the water looks. Took another step. I’ll be okay. I’m sure I’ll enjoy the sun when I’m sitting in one spot. Took another step. I felt the sharp cut of the wind through my legs. The little hairs near every pore stood. Nope. I didn’t even make it to the sand. I went back into Ocean and closed the door as quickly as I could. I held the warm steering wheel and sheltered. I closed my eyes. What am I supposed to do?
I needed to warm up. I needed a shower.
A thought popped into my head: Joyful Journey. I went there last time I came to Crestone and Steve mentioned that it opened again, after closing for Covid-19. I don’t remember how that came up in our conversation, but it was a blaring solution.
Another thought came, You can’t do that. You’re supposed to be in the woods!
Another, Yes, you can! This is your story!
I thought, if they have room, I’ll do it.
I went back to camp and packed up in less than thirty minutes. It seemed strange that spending hours in one place could end with almost no effort. Would the birds miss me? What about that one turkey? Probably not.
I circled the site using the Tibetan singing bowl with words of gratitude. Driving off the steep grassy site, I waved goodbye.
Joyful Journey had a room with a bathtub available. I took it! They told me that Portobello mushroom soup and salad was being served now in the dining room and I was welcome to the complimentary breakfast in the morning. My imagination invoked the smell of that soup like it was in front of me. Nothing sounded better. As I walked my bag into my room, I saw the silhouettes of people in dresses chatting and holding pieces of bread over their steamy bowls. Those lucky bastards. Fasting around other people would be a lot different than with birds and turkeys.
The room had bright white walls and the natural sunlight highlighted the high ceilings. I placed my things on a plush crisp white bed and fell into its welcoming embrace. I looked up at the white textured ceiling. I love human comforts. Humans are awesome.
I stripped naked and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look terrible. My face looked weird, I didn’t look like me. But my underwear fit the same around my hips. Apparently, not eating for twenty-nine days does not get rid of all fat, or maybe thick hips is my essence, that losing my hips would mean losing all traces of me.
In any case, I looked ragged and tired. I sat in the bathtub and turned on the water. Oh My God. I let it fill and wrap its sweet, gentle, reassuring arms around me. I stayed with my head against the slanted back until I noticed hundreds of gray flecks floating around the water. The orange-ish electric lights filled the room like smoke, giving off a monotone eerie vibe. I freaked out for a moment wondering if gunk came from the pipes. I sat up and saw skin peeling off my shins. The gunk was from me. Gross. I grabbed a washcloth and started scrubbing. The skin rolled up into a gray mush. A few minutes of scrubbing and I had to drain the tub to get clean water. I looked at my arm, it too had gray lumps. I touched my shoulders and back and felt the dead skin everywhere. I scrubbed and scrubbed, emptied the bathtub and filled it again. I did this three times. The rules said to take a shower before entering the springs, and I understood why. I didn’t attempt to wash my hair – which would take a brush to get to my scalp and three washes that evening – because I wanted to get into the springs as soon as possible.
When I dipped my toes into the springs, I fell in love with what life could offer. Dad gave me money for my birthday before I left, and I thought this is the best possible gift.
I watched the sun set in the pool overlooking the mountains. I stayed until closing time and came back when they reopened at seven am.
I slept in those soft clean sheets like a princess. I might as well have had a tiara on my head and gold bars in the closet.
I felt Grams, she was still alive. But it was time to go back to Boise. Whether I knew it or not, my body was shutting down. I needed medical attention, I needed family, I needed people, I needed food, I needed shelter, I needed comforts. I was almost ready to accept them.