I’m home from a trip to Kootenays, which included a spectacular week at The Sentinel—a beautiful retreat centre  near Kaslo, on the shores of Kootenay Lake. Good friends, Gillian and Richard, founded The Sentinel three years ago and a group of us have returned every year for a visit. We contribute what we can to support their powerful vision and are nourished in return by the stunning beauty, amazing food, and the camaraderie of the group.

I had chosen to fly as far as Castlegar and get picked up at the airport. I knew I had options for a ride home and it allowed me to start my trip a few days early. My plan was to visit my friend Holly on the way back. She lives in Cawston, about halfway between Kaslo and Vancouver.

Holly and I met in our early twenties and our friendship is one of those that can weather long silences with ease. She had let me know a few weeks earlier that there was lots to catch up on. Oddly enough, by the time we spoke in person, I’d already heard the gist of it. I was heading to my departure gate at YVR when I overheard a guy on his phone say Holly and her partner’s names. I shamelessly sat down to eavesdrop and was mesmerized by both his conversation and the bizarre coincidence. Holly and I hadn’t seen each other in over a year and now, just days before our visit, this happens. What are the chances?

I arrived at Holly’s early afternoon. We rested and walked, then ate, drank and shared our stories as the full moon rose into the night sky. I was blown away by her recall of events that we’d experienced together and listened avidly to snippets from my life I’d long forgotten. The memories came back a little though, like wisps from a dream. Events, people, places, clothes. Oh yes! I remember that dress, those boots, that dance… 

I’ve always been puzzled by my lack of memory. How when something is over, it’s basically gone. It’s as if I’m consumed by the moment. I’m present in some way—engaging and managing and doing what I do—but then the memories wash away down some virtual river of life and only vestiges remain.

Holly, on the other hand, spoke of the long view that she has. If I’m IN the swirl, she’s in the back of the room observing the whole tableau. This accounts, she says, for her ability to recall events from the past so effectively. I’m fascinated by our different perspectives.

Presumably, everyone is on this continuum somewhere and finding out where that is might be useful. Recognizing this swirl helps me understand why my eight-day camping trip to Pachena Bay in September was so profound. I gave myself permission to STOP and be unencumbered by anyone else’s thoughts or desires for over a week. And I did it in the cradle of nature that is, in my heart of hearts, home. A first for sure.

The next morning, still at Holly’s, I wrote in my journal, noting that it was one month to the day that I’d packed up my camp at Pachena. While writing, I heard an email come in. The subject line was “Pachena!”—a response to an email I’d sent a friend a couple of weeks earlier. A few minutes later a text came in. It was a picture of Pachena, with a note from my dear friend Florence. She’d camped there for a night the day before and lit her fire in exactly the same spot that I’d had mine those few short weeks before. Again, what are the odds?

So today I feel compelled to write about magic and all the unseen helpers that watch over us. What a world this is! I’m also aware of wanting to cultivate more of the witness consciousness that Ram Dass speaks of eloquently in this short article. I would like to become more present for my final days, however short or long they may be. And I’m pretty confident this is the route to take.

Do you know where you fall on the “in the swirl versus observer” continuum?  Is there a practice that might help even that out somehow? Let me know, I’d love to hear!