The Teaching Buddha
When Shell Programs Bite the Dust
Once upon an incarnation, a girl, both young and ancient, enticed two of her friends to make a journey. They lived in magical Northern California, north of the bustle of the Bay, yet close enough to make their working lives possible.
It had been a busy year. They were tired, possibly overworked, though none would have so admitted, and in need of a bit of forest bathing. Emily knew just the place. She had visited many times, in search of the supportive solitude that nourished her. Her body ached for the roar of wind and wave, and the deep shiver of her favorite spot on the cliffside as the pounding surf rocked it to its core. And the trees. Her body longed for the trees.
Seated in her secret geode, held within Divine embrace, the outer world faded, and Emily could let go. Often, as she sat, cross-legged on the camping towel that rarely left her backpack, she felt as though she floated, resting among the otters in the kelp bed below. Or, the light took her inward and upward, into the sun above the clouds. Sighing into her tea, she knew it had been far too long.
“I’m driving down the coast past Carmel,” she told her friend, whose hiking boots were also never far afield. “I’ve reserved a cabin in the redwoods, near the sea. Would you like to come with?”
