the intention

this ‘armchair adventure’ piece is a sharing of a recent personal mini-retreat that lasted just 24 hours, almost to the minute. it wasn’t grand or fancy, and it delivered absolute clarity for me, along with gentle and wondrous magic I’d nearly forgotten.

I’ve found personal retreats to be great givers and savers of life, and I write in hopes you feel inspired or curious – perhaps even taking to the road yourself to come back to who you are, or to be changed in a kind crucible of your own making.  it all began when…

this particular retreat idea popped to mind during a call with a wonderful colleague. we were collaborating and helping the dreaming otter come into focus – once the idea seed landed and got spoken aloud, the retreat fairy waved her magic wand and the mystery of it all was set in motion. this kind of adventure is great fun for me – I find personal retreats to be rich, sentient landscapes.  it’s amazing to see what kinds of experiences arrive when I simply say ‘yes,’ put myself out a bit, and then receive the gifts that get delivered.

intention in place, I worked with my helping spirits on where to go and chose a cozy spot about an hour north.  far enough to be outside of my daily routine, and close enough for this mini retreat to feel simple and easeful.

the haven

retreat magic visited before I even set out – as I booked a little space in a very large forest, I chatted with the hostess, shared that I’d be on personal retreat, and in reply she sent a long and lovely article she’d written about all the people who had visited there over the years.

with eyes full of wonder, I read about those who had come to honeymoon, the man who came to write letters (and left one) to the love of his life who had just died, the sisters who slept in the same bed, the young couples with newborns… it was moving to read about so many rites of passage and pivotal moments out in the rolling hills, far away from the hustle and bustle of daily life and living.

as I read the stories of wanderers on the path before me, I could feel the lineage of good company, crossroads moments, and also transformative memories waiting there for me. this is the joy of working with the spirits and the unseen – things begin unfolding with magic, kindness, and grace.

setting sail

there’s a joy in packing for an adventure, be it a small or momentous.  being a list-maker at heart, I keep a living list of creature comforts that keep me feeling cozy and resourced. into my little travel suitcase went oracle decks, bells, oils, and a long-loved cloth for the travel altar. they were joined by books, warm socks, and a host of other little dailies that are fun to have – things easily forgotten that make a sweet moment into a perfect one. snacks, journals, chocolate, and printed directions, as I like to travel off electronic leash. I was ready!

piling everything into my little chariot, I invoked the retreat and sent up strong prayer for the mystery to walk with me, and let the dreaming otter and this new beginning know I was ready to listen.  I slathered the car with blessed symbols, took a nice deep breath (you know the kind, where you’re all aquiver in anticipation)…and set off.

getting there

I drove in the quiet sunny afternoon, windows down. no phone, no music, no company except a few sacred objects from years spent on the road, and my little car guardian who always rides with me. I drove slowly, and savored the silence…

and got solidly, perfectly lost.

I drove past the unmarked road in the woods several times (the directions warned me about that, and they delivered).  I finally figured it out, and wound through a long, twisty, turning road that looped and gamboled through hills and trees. waaaaay out in the middle of nowhere, I found the little house, and with great curiosity let myself in to my sanctuary for the night.

after clearing the energy of the space in a way that works for me, I poked about in nooks and crannies for a time, getting acquainted. it was a sweet haven, with three teeny sheep sitting in a semicircle on my pillow (pic above), a dr seuss book sitting bedside ripe for reading, and unusual objects d’art sparsely gracing the space. from the window, an enormous sea of trees and hills…green and lush and open as far as the eye could see.

quiet. lovely.

bags safely stowed, travel altar set up, tea sipped, divination performed, sun low in the sky, I hopped back on the road to hunt down dinner.  in a tiny, unexpected town next to a vast lake reflecting the glory of the sky, I sat quietly in the grip of silence at dusk. nibbling walnuts and apples, watching fishermen casting lines in the setting sun, down amongst the reeds, I watched mist unfurl out over the water, golden sun glinting over the ripples.

there were deep sighs of contentment to just be in the silence, eating good food, and watching light leave the sky.

quiet. lovely.

that’s when things got interesting, and the retreat really started working on me…

lost

I got gloriously lost driving back. I know and love the area I chose, and have driven those empty roads in the triple digits. I can pop back and forth with great ease. and yet, as I drove along with wind on my face in the silence, with great sweeping swaths of oaks and redwoods, fading dappled light, and miles and miles of no humans at all…I began to wonder where my familiar landmarks were.

there is a primal joy for me in driving in desolate places. I lived once on the road for a year, nomading about from town to town, letting miles roll away under my feet. I love – and I mean love – driving for hours without seeing another human. it’s quiet, contemplative, easy, and a profound relief for me not to feel the energetic presence of others for a time, as acutely as I do. given one thing I can’t live without, I’d choose energetic quiet before you could even finish asking the question.

so these long drives out in the middle of everywhere are deeply nutritive for my soul.

there was so much beauty. I rolled by caramel cows and huge floofy chickens in yards. enormous bulls and dainty horses. old dilapidated barns, egg farms. dank redwood forests and oak trees gently embracing each other over the road. and the quiet. the lovely, glorious, encompassing, vibrant, thrumming, perfect, blessed quiet.

after an hour or so, driving along with a peaceful mona lisa smile on my face, I had to admit that something had gone sideways (or, just right) and I was beautifully, brilliantly lost. no cell reception, no familiar landmarks, the last light of the sun leaching from the sky, soft mists rolling in, darkness falling.

with windows still down in the silence, I could smell that extraordinary aroma of nighttime trees breathing.

such peace.

the quiet realization

I had forgotten how much I love this. it had been a minute, after the pandemic eased, since I got some road under my feet, and got away from the humans in such a way. I forgot how wild and free I feel when I’m all alone in a forest on a winding road, and my spirit was singing with a deep, wild joy.

I felt alive, happy, and the moments were rich and sweet.

the area I was in was only so big – I figured I’d pop out somewhere or other – and eventually did. I had wandered waaaaaay more north than I thought, and cheerfully turned around in the near-dark.  fast forward, I made it back to the little air b&b safely, and was met by a symphony of frogs in the darkness, under the stars.

it all came out just fine, and the joy and wonder of it was in how much fun it was to be lost for a while, not knowing what would reveal itself next, and being taken by the rich deep beauty of it all.

that’s how it’s felt, that first year of tending the dreaming otter – a new identity that arrived after two full decades wearing a previous professional skin.  early days often felt like being lost on a winding road in the liminal space between day and night, not knowing my way forward or home.

the gift of personal retreat reminded me that there’s magnificent, thunderous, lovely, unexpected poetry in the ride.

I fell asleep smiling, heart full.

tea & tie-dye

the next morning, sleep-rumpled and glowing, I sat with the dreaming otter as she whispered sweet dreams in my ears.  each piece – the drive out, building the altar, the hours of divination, the little meal at water’s edge, getting gloriously lost in the woods at dusk, the remembrance, the journeying – they were all little puzzle pieces that landed with grace.

I needed and cherished them all.

in the morning sun, on the (now more familiar, laughter) winding redwood road, I happened on a tiny little stand on the side of the road with a handmade chalk sign that read ‘tea & tie-dye.’ it wasn’t fancy, or polished. it was homespun, obviously tended with charm and generosity. I pulled over, hopped out, and with no one around, took it all in for a while.

one could donate what felt right for tea, brewed and left with care for travelers daily. there were little cups, and a weather-stained book left out in the elements and a battered sharpie if one wished to leave a note. as I searched for and found an empty page, I glanced at someone’s note of thanks for this little redwood roadside tree stand, for making their family trip better. tie dyes hung here and there, with suggestions for donation hugged by question marks. there was such kindness and trust, offering whatever was needed for each visitor in such a sweet way…

an unexpected gift for travelers on the road.

I loved that little tea & tie dye stand. I loved how it wasn’t sleek or slick or fast. how there was nothing digital or fancy, just a little offering from the heart on a little road in the woods. it was slow, and modest, and it was completely itself. humble and wonderful.

oh, dreaming otter and personal retreat, thank you. I was listening.

returning home

driving back towards home, where I’d stop off for a breakfast bowl with kiwis, bananas and berries that would knock my blood sugar off completely and send me staggering like windblown fluff through a completion labyrinth high up on a hill, I had a moment of total clarity about the dreaming otter, and why I had come.

all the pieces came together, everything she’d been quietly and gently showing me.  I knew in my very bones why the dreaming otter had come into form – to help wondrous women move through change and wrap arms around the sacred seeds of personal purpose, delight, genius, and artistry.  to open waking doorways out of the long slumbering trance our funny world can cast, that sometimes makes us forget why we came here.

it was crystal clear then. it is now, too.

that’s the gift of personal retreat – to offer up time, resources, and open heart, and listen with the divine to answer back with exactly what was needed.

I didn’t know I needed the poetry of getting lost, or of tea & tie dye. or any of the hundreds of other little poetries that unfolded, some shared with you here, and some kept quiet and close, so I could open myself to this grand new adventure that is becoming…and sit with you today, here reading all these years later.

but the magic of personal retreat knew it for us.

all blessings, all love to you on your adventures big and small.  whether you’re feeling lost out on the road, marveling at gifts left for travelers, or feeling the fullness of truth sought and found, kind thanks to personal retreats for unlocking doors to magical living, and to you for reading, and being.

with heart,
anna

ps – if these writings bring you a little quiet or wonder, you’re warmly invited to join the dreaming otter email list at the bottom of this page. new stories arrive there from time to time, like small lanterns along the road.