Between Darkness and Dawn

by Margaret Duarte

  As the crying continued, I felt a wave of emotion surge from my chest outward. What if I’d been getting the situation with Antonia all wrong? I’d been making it all about me, wanting to know what she wanted in order to shut her up and get her out of my life. What if she needed help to reach that place where dead people go, a place of purported peace and happiness? Was it possible that she’d been crying all this time for my intervention on her behalf?

  It was almost completely dark now. Long fingers of fog were drifting in. I needed to get back to my room or risk getting lost. I gathered my marker stones, convinced I couldn’t do this alone.

  Then call in your sister, a voice said.

  Veronica?

  I already had, but she hadn’t shown.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I WOULD BE LYING IF I SAID I wasn’t nervous. It was six in the morning and I was driving down Highway 1 toward a small hot springs resort on a cliff overlooking the ocean on the coast of Big Sur. I’d heard it called a pagan monastery, a school of the mysteries, and a kingdom of death and rebirth, where people fall flat on their faces in order to discover their souls. My only consolation was that the Esalen Institute sat on land that had once belonged to my ancestors, right smack in the middle of what had been an ancient Esselen burial ground.

  There was no fog to obscure my view, yet I nearly missed the turn off. The sign marking the resort’s entrance might as well have been nonexistent, miniscule as it was, with Esalen Institute by Reservation Only printed in equally miniscule letters.

  This place was not user friendly.

  As if to reinforce this observation, there was a guard posted at the gate. Was it his job to keep people out—or keep them in? Regardless, it felt like I were entering a prison. He frowned and asked for my name. I frowned back and gave it to him. He consulted the guest list. I half expected him to ask for my ID. Instead, he said, “You’re late.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He pointed toward a building to our left. “Registration is at the Lodge.”

  Not exactly a warm reception.

  The moment I stepped out of my Jeep, I heard the sound of crashing surf. The cool, salty air generated a moment of immersive, restorative, and invigorating peace. “I can do this,” I said. “I need to be here.”

  I left my bags in the cargo hold of the Jeep—in case I had a change of mind—and headed for the Lodge. I glimpsed a pool nearby. Was this where guests swam nude? Currently, it was unoccupied, for which I was grateful. I passed an old Hippie. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glazed, and his hair...well, it looked like it hadn’t been trimmed or washed in a while. “Can you feel the energy?” he asked. I nodded and walked on.

  The woman at the registration desk looked normal enough. Her shoulder-length hair was styled in a shaggy bob with bangs—no dreadlocks, spikes, or pink dyes—and she wore snug jeans and a skinny white top. “Welcome to the Esalen Institute,” she said, running the eraser of her pencil to the bottom of her list. “Veil? Marjorie Veil?”

  “Thanks. Yes” —I looked at her nametag— “Pat.”

  “You’re a bit late,” Pat said as she handed me a folder stuffed with registration materials. “But I’m sure you’ll still get a lot out of today’s workshop.”

  I opened the folder and fingered the papers inside. Late? Heck, I nearly chickened out altogether. “I had a little trouble finding the place.”

  “No worries. You’ll do fine.” She pointed out a laminated map of the grounds taped to the counter. “There’s a wooden bridge here that crosses the creek and leads to the Big House where you’ll be lodging. That’s also where they hold most of the lectures, including the Gestalt course for which you’re registered.”

  “I didn’t see much activity when I came in,” I said, keeping my voice upbeat in spite of my discomfort.

  “We currently have close to a hundred guests staying with us,” Pat said, “in various teepees, yurts, and cabins. Most are attending workshops right now. Later on, as the temperature warms up, you’ll find them dispersed all over the grounds.”

  The phone rang, a reminder that I was missing part of my first day.

  “Come back when you’ve settled in,” Pat said, picking up the receiver. “This is where the meals are served. The office also serves as a bookstore.”

  “You’ve just said the magic word,” I said.

  She grinned. “Meals?”

  “No, bookstore.”

  Instead of retrieving my luggage from the back of my Jeep and locating my room, I hurried down the path toward the Big House and my first workshop. I slipped through the door labeled “The Gestalt Approach” and took a seat in back of the room. Most of the thirty or so attendees appeared focused on the instructor, who, to my relief, barely glanced my way. I allowed myself a quiet sigh.

  According to the workshop description, the instructor’s name was Hal Jones. He was talking about unresolved inner conflicts, which meant I was in the right place.

  Before I had a chance to get out a paper and pen, he concluded his lecture. “Now, let’s form a circle and begin applying some of the Gestalt exercises we’ve been talking about.”

  The participants burst into activity, shoving materials back into their folders and rising from their seats. The room vibrated with the buzz of conversation and the scraping and clanging of chairs as they formed into a wide circle. I glanced at the woman sitting next to me, wondering why she hadn’t joined in. Her eyes had a distant, ominous look. “I’m thinking about packing my bags and getting out of here,” she said.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “How about you stay long enough to clue me in, then maybe we can make a run for it together?”

  She grinned. “Okay.”

  “I notice we have a new member in our group,” Hal said above the ruckus. All heads turned my way. Some smiled, others grimaced, and the rest appeared blurry-eyed. Hal came to the back of the room and handed me a bundle of class handouts. “You must be Marjorie,” he said, loud enough for the entire class to hear. “Glad you made it.”

  I nodded and accepted the stack of papers, hoping he would leave it at that.

  He did.

  “You’re in for it now,” my new friend whispered.

  “You think?”

  The corners of her mouth drew back in a mirthless smile, revealing neat bottom teeth. She shoved her class materials into her backpack and extended her hand. “My name’s Jennifer.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze.

  “Likewise,” she said. “Guess we better join the circle.”

  We slipped into an opening saved for us by one of the other class participants. “Howdy, Marjorie,” the woman said. Her face laid claim to fifty, but she had the trim, firm figure of a thirty-year-old. Her auburn hair stretched back into a ponytail that reached halfway down her back. Something told me she was a country girl, maybe into horses.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand.

  “The name’s Kate. Glad you hooked up with Jennifer here. I think she was ready to bolt.”

  I gave her an affirmative nod. “I think you’re right.”

  “I heard that,” Jennifer said.

  “You were meant to.” Kate’s lips quirked into a smile. “Hell, the best part is yet to come.”

  And in a way, she was right.

  ~~~

  When we broke for lunch, my brain felt dehydrated, not only physically, but mentally. After leading us through an awareness/meditative exercise, where we concentrated on our breathing, our movement, and the sensations in our bodies, Hal had asked for volunteers to the Open Seat.

  I sensed this wouldn’t be pretty, so was baffled when at least five hands shot up, including Kate’s.

  “She’s crazy,” Jennifer whispered.

  Couldn’t argue with that.

  Kate wasn’t selected, but three other volunteers were, and one by one, they related th
eir stories. Instead of allowing them to concentrate on the past or speculate about the future, Hal prodded them into the present. “Imagine that you’re there right this minute,” he said. “What are you doing? What is your experience?” And they relived their anger, sadness, and irritation as though it were happening in the here and now. The entire episode was daunting and intimidating, and I shivered at the thought of what would be revealed when it was my turn.

  “I know you came here wanting change or resolution,” Hal said, “but the point is to make contact, not change. The more you try to keep things in the why rather than the how, the more you tie yourself up and remain the same.”

  All three of the volunteers ended up crying at some point, as did many of the group participants, including Kate. I envied their openness, wishing I could bawl my eyes out. How cleansing that would be.

  Kate was now leading the way back to the Lodge for lunch. “It’s easy to get turned off by all this.”

  Jennifer’s eyes met mine, and we smiled.

  “But don’t let it,” Kate said. “You’ve got to die before you can be reborn.”

  “The food’s incredible,” Jennifer said.

  Kate gave her a hug. “Another reason for hanging in there.”

  I made no comment. My stomach did it for me. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t have breakfast.”

  “It’s like a New Age summer camp,” Kate said. “Wait till you soak in the tubs.”

  I tried not to grimace.

  “Of course, I haven’t been able to talk Jennifer into joining us,” Kate added, giving her a poke in shoulder.

  “I haven’t come across anyone I care to see naked,” Jennifer said.

  “Then don’t look,” Kate said. “Hell, it’s something you have to experience. Like Big Sur itself. What do you say, Marjorie?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Kate gave me a genuine, top-toothed grin. “Keeping me in suspense, huh? That’s okay. One thing I’ve garnered over the years is patience. I break horses, you know.”

  “Come on,” Jennifer said, taking off at a faster pace, “or we’ll be last in line.”

  I scooped a colorful assortment of fruits and vegetables—strawberries, kiwi, melon, raw broccoli, celery, and carrots—onto my plate and topped it off with a bowl of barley soup. “This is incredible,” I said after we’d taken our seats at a communal table and sampled the fare.

  Kate rolled up the sleeves of her plaid shirt. “All the produce comes from the garden located near the kitchen, and it’s picked fresh daily. The soil and climate are perfect here, plus the gardeners are first rate, so we’re being fed physically as well as emotionally and spiritually.”

  Jennifer coughed and took a sip of water. “I asked Kate about the others in the group, and she told me most were psychologists.”

  “Oh great,” I said.

  Kate patted my back. “Just think. You can get all kinds of free advice.”

  I looked at Jennifer from across the table. “Are you a psychologist, too?”

  “Oh, please,” she said, as though tasting something bitter. “I teach Kindergarten.”

  “I’d say that makes you part psychologist, part nurse, and part mother,” I said.

  She set down her fork and gave me an over-the-shoulder, faraway look. “My problem is that I have a hard time releasing my emotions in public. Or anywhere, for that matter. I kind of keep things bottled up inside.”

  Kate shook her head. “You’re just a damn chicken.”

  “I know exactly what Jennifer means,” I said. “I’m nervous about exposing myself, too.”

  “Oh, shit,” Kate said. “I’m stuck with two wusses.”

  “I’m sure you’ll see it as a challenge,” I added, “knowing how you break horses and all.”

  Kate shook her head. “People are different from horses.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Jennifer said.

  “Look at it this way,” Kate said, waving her fork in the air. “All that garbage we’re carrying around inside isn’t good for us. It weighs us down, rots us from the inside out. I should know. I’ve had some crappy life experiences, both physical and emotional. Unlike horses, that kick ass or run like hell, we try to bottle things up. And you know what? Fear turns into trauma, which really screws with the brain.”

  I had to agree. I was carrying around my share of garbage, which was casting a shadow over my plans.

  “I figure what I’m experiencing here will be good for me eventually,” Jennifer admitted, “but the idea of sitting in the Open Seat and letting it all hang out drives me batty.”

  “The group is very supportive,” Kate said.

  “I know, but...”

  All at once, I felt the determination to stick this out, if not for my own sake, then for Jennifer’s. “We’ll be there for one another.”

  Kate slapped her hand on my back. “Now you’re talking.”

  Jennifer didn’t look so sure.

  ~~~

  By next evening, over half of the group had been in the Open Seat. Boxes of tissue had made their way around the room, and many participants hadn’t liked what they had discovered about themselves. Some even freaked out, which lead to several tense moments, and I wondered how many would be absent the next day.

  Kate’s story had been gripping. Her only son had died of cancer at twenty-six and her husband of a heart attack a year later. They had a successful horse ranch, but without her husband and son’s support, she soon ran into financial difficulties. She sold the ranch at a pittance to, of all people, her husband’s best friend. “Ultimately, there was no one to turn to,” she said. “I was all alone.”

  “Bring everything to the real and present,” Hal reminded her, “as if it’s happening now.”

  “I have no one to turn to. I’m all alone.” As Kate said these words, she eyed her fellow workshop members, one at a time, and not one looked away. Their eyes mirrored her pain.

  “I might be small,” she said, “but I’m strong. I’ve learned to wipe my own ass.”

  “You’ve gone from dependence to independence,” Hal said. “And now you’re well on your way to interdependence, where you recognize your need for others, within certain boundaries, which is what we all seek.”

  Kate looked at Jennifer and me, her eyes bright. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  My heart seemed to reach out of itself, and I felt something warm expand within, something I recognized as far too great to contain.

  ~~~

  “Tomorrow may be your turn,” Kate warned over dinner.

  Jennifer gasped. “Heaven forbid.”

  “Hal said we didn’t have to,” I pointed out.

  “Marjorie’s right,” Jennifer said. “No one’s forced into the Open Seat.”

  Kate cocked her head at the two of us. “What a shame. I found it freeing. Anyway, who’s joining me in the hot tub?”

  With a quick shake of the head, I voiced my excuse. “I’m spending some time in the book store, and then I’m heading to my room to read.”

  “Me, too,” Jennifer added.

  “That figures,” Kate said, getting up from the table. “Guess it’s time for me to hang out with the movers and shakers.”

  “Enjoy,” I said. She deserved a good time.

  “Wish I was more like her,” Jennifer said after Kate had marched out the door.

  “She didn’t get there overnight,” I said, knowing this to be true.

  We watched Kate through the window as she headed down to the baths.

  Jennifer sniffed. “I’m not getting it. I don’t think I can find the meaning of life through academics.”

  “It’s early yet,” I said. “Although I don’t see much progress toward spiritual health in this workshop.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Gestalt deals with the physical part, you know, the breathing and getting in touch with your senses. And it deals with the emotional. At least while you’re
in the Open Seat, but—”

  “I think I’m getting your drift,” Jennifer said.

  “The physical and psychological freedom people experience here may lead some to nudity, hot tubbing, and sexual encounters that feel very liberating—”

  “Or are just an excuse for some dirty old men to get what they can’t get at home,” Jennifer interjected in a tone that suggested repressed emotion.

  “But, I’d like to experience the liberation of spirit,” I finished.

  “Okay, so Gestalt may be a start,” Jennifer said. “I agree with the part about taking responsibility for ourselves.”

  “You mean, wiping our own asses?”

  “Yeah, and cutting out the blame and deciding, instead, to be happy.”

  “I guess you get what you truly believe in and want.”

  Jennifer peered through the window at the pool below. “Something like that.”

  I spied several tanned and bare bodies milling around the pool and allowed myself a cleansing chuckle. “Easier said than done.”

  Jennifer turned from the window and appealed to me with her wide brown eyes. “How the hell do I get to my unconscious mind, where all the crap is, the part that’s screwing up my desires?”

  “Which are?” I asked.

  Jennifer’s laugh expressed too many disappointments and missed opportunities for someone her age. “Not what you’re probably thinking.”

  “Which is?”

  “That I want to strip naked and jump into the hot tub.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Jennifer said.

  “Hell, I’m not disappointed. If you went down there, I’d be all by my lonesome. Anyway, our subconscious is like a computer. It functions the way it’s programmed.”

  “So how do I deprogram mine?”

  “I think that’s what Hal’s trying to help us do with Gestalt, forcing us to change tracks.”

  “The imagination part?”

  “Yes. And changing our thoughts and words.”

  “Are you going to take the Open Seat tomorrow?”