Journal Entry

3–4 minutes

2/24/2026- Tuesday morning- VDM

I woke this morning to Chica snuggles.

Jumping out of bed, I let Chica out, made her breakfast, cleaned the kitchen and watered the house plants. Morning rituals that tether me to the present.

Taking in the glorious Santa Barbara sunrise, I made my way to the pool. Always surprised by the warmth of the water- as if I’m expecting the water & the world to be colder than they are, stepping down the Romanesque steps I sink down to my shoulders and swim the length of the pool while the neighborhood birds laughed and conversed amongst themselves. I swam, floated, dived, and exercised across the pool while Alan Watts discussed Taoism, reminding me that water does not try or strive and yet it shapes stone and earth.

One of my quiet pleasures in California is swimming naked, outdoor showers and sleeping in the sun. There is something ancient and unapologetic about this form of healing – skin, water & sunlight without inhibition…without negotiation. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to me.

The last few weeks in Santa Barbara have been the most healing, and beneficial thing that I have done for myself since the death of my parents, and recovery from cancer treatment.

And yet.

There is a clock.

I feel it ticking louder each day. The return to work. The move to a new home in another village, a place that I don’t know a soul. The re-entry into the social work world. Responsibility waiting with its neatly dressed presence, focus and steady gaze. The familiar angst of rebuilding of my life as I’ve done since I was 5 years old – a stranger in a strange land (forever my norm)… and the loudest ticking of all… TIME, life and the realization that I have fewer summers left than I have lived.

There is privilege in this pause, and I am fully aware of it. A whisper of wiggly discomfort sometimes trails behind my gratitude.

How many women do not get this kind of rest? How many never step down Romanesque steps into warm, sunrise water? How many women never recover from breast cancer?

I inhale deeply. Long exhale. Tears, grief and gratitude… a gradient blend of life.

Thank you, God.
Thank you, Mom and Dad.
Thank you for the means.
Thank you for the time.

Later, I slowly prepare and enjoy oatmeal with blueberries. A dash of mushroom blend. A spot of maple syrup. Nourishment in a bowl as my mind tries to board its favorite vehicle… the Time Machine.

It wants to rush ahead.
It wants to calculate.
It wants security and guarantees.

But I refuse the ride.

I remember Ram Dass.

“Be here now.”

I learned those words long before I understood them. I returned to them on the bathroom floor during chemotherapy. Weak, shaking, nauseous, lying on cool linoleum while my body negotiated the need to return to my bed…survival.

On that floor, naked, bald, nails brittle and black, sick…there was no future. No past. Only breath… and “be here now”.

Strange how easy it is to forget the low lows when the beautiful sunny days return.

But I don’t want to forget.

I don’t want to forget how I felt during cancer recovery, I don’t want to forget how I felt when my parents took their last breath, not to hang on to a story, but to hang to the gravity of humanity that presence physically in my heart and in my tears upon thought.

The pool feels warmer now… precisely because I remember the cool linoleum floor.
The sunlight is more brilliant because I remember sitting with my father during his last summer days.
The conversation and laughter of birds sounds richer because I have listened to an oxygen machine sigh as my mother lay dying.

So this morning, I swam, I ate oatmeal with blueberries and I journaled

Not to escape.
Not to prepare.

Just to be…

Just simply… to be.

The Water Poem ~Ram Dass Khalsa & AWARÉ

Ram Dass – The Practice of Being Here Now

Alan Watts- Taoist Way Full Lecture