When we ran off to sea in 2017, our intention was to dream new dreams for what we hope will be the second half of our lives. We'd made the dreams we came to San Francisco with in our youth come true – and then some. What did we want now? We promised ourselves at least a year on the water having a good long think. We ended up living aboard sweet Rejoice for over five years, sailing from the San Francisco Bay as far south as Barra de Navidad, Mexico. We lived for four years in Mexico, sailed across the Gulf of California three times, and weathered a global pandemic. It was nothing like we imagined and exactly what we needed. We are profoundly grateful for our time at sea, for the crucible and chrysalis that our wandering years have provided us.

About a year ago we found ourselves aching for roots again. We spent last winter doing research and talking, talking, talking. We bought a 2006 Toyota Landcruiser we call Stevie and come summer we kitted her out for overlanding. In the summer and autumn we drove over 8,000 miles, sleeping under the stars from North Carolina to New Mexico to Yucca Valley, under old growth redwoods in Northern California and giant firs in Washington. Under the desert skies of Nevada, not far from the place where our hearts magnetized to one another in 1997, we decided to turn around. We went back to Washington, to the Olympic Peninsula, where James, the moment we came over the Hood Canal bridge into Shine had said THIS. THIS IS MAGIC.

The day we were due to look at the house on Blue Sky Drive, the Page-a-Day calendar we have long used as a family contemplation and oracle said:

And I ran in circles screaming. Azure sky? Blue Sky Drive? WHAT?!

By then we'd seen a lot of houses. Our sea years taught us that we wanted to live in the forest. Not too far from a liberal town and within a couple hours of a major airport; being unable to get quickly to our loved ones from our ship was awful when hard times came, as they do. The process of looking at homes taught us that while we had loved living small, we now wanted space: for gathering and teaching, a workshop, and to share our home with others as the years pass. We wanted to be in wild nature, but we didn't want to be too isolated. We wanted enough space that it would be easy to say "Yes, do come," returning the bountiful kindness that was shown to us during our wandering years: you and you and you who offered us your homes, guest beds, couches, mailboxes, automobiles. Thank you. Thank you truly. Our hearts are so full with gratitude, the joy of interdependence, and the desire to give back.

We closed on our new home in November. In December we went to Mexico to get Rejoice ready for the trip back to the United States. At the turn of the year, James began a full time role as Director of Communications and Design for the Long Now Foundation. We arranged for a delivery crew to bring Rejoice to the capable hands of our nautical fairy godmother/yacht broker so that she can find her next people. Right now, in late February, she's most of the way there and we're in our second week at home in Washington, near Port Townsend. We are overjoyed with these events.

So here we are in our 25th year together at a new crossroads. Oh, we had grand sea years, magnificent adventures with wonderful people of many species. We fell more deeply in love with the cosmos, one another, and life itself in all its forms. We're ready now to be steady, to belong to a consistent community, and to give to the wider world the energy we were giving to our own survival during those mending-and-growing years upon the sea.

We hope you'll come visit, beloved. We can't wait to see what's next.

We're so happy with our choice to live aboard Rejoice at dock here on gorgeous Banderas Bay for the pandemic thus far! We're also really, really ready to get back to the water and the wander. The Banderas Bay Blast was the weekend of my birthday. We decided to join it for our first time off the dock since April 2020!

The first day was Saturday, December 11, and it consisted of a triangular race starting right in front of the marina. It was my first sailboat race, so our first time racing together, and our first time racing on Rejoice. We made hysterical errors and our friends and fellow sailors laughed, congratulated us for trying, and encouraged us to come back for more.

Sunday we all raced from La Cruz up the bay to Punta Mita, where we then anchored and spent the night. There was a party onshore to celebrate; the whole event is a fundraiser for local schools. There were margaritas and amazing food and we each had the chance to buy a lifetime, irrevocable, annually renewable membership to the Punta Mita Yacht Club, whose only event is this annual dinner, and get a spanking from the Commodore to boot. You know I did!

Sunday we bobbed on the hook (anchor). I went for a paddle with my new friend Mimi and a swim with James, and we lazed around. We watched most of the boats head out in the afternoon for a third and final event, racing back across the bay to Nuevo Vallarta. It was incredible (read: terrifying for me, awesome for James) to be buzzed at anchor by the big, fast boats! We chose to stay at anchor for another night, and Mimi and her partner Larry invited us over to SV Kate for dinner. They fed us filet mignon, cabbage salad and dark chocolate; we fed them ceviche,  sparkling water, and daiquiris, and we had the special kind of conversation you have when you're alone in paradise on with new friends.

In winter, whales come to Banderas Bay; they give birth and nurse their young here. We saw whales every day that weekend, often quite close; here are a couple snippets to give you a sense of how close and easy it is.

It was incredible to get back on the water. We returned to La Cruz after this sweet weekend for the holidays. More adventures coming soon!

Pete did, in fact, show up to join Cat and I last night, and it was magnificent. This one is good to view on the largest screen you can, though it'll be lovely on whatever you have.

This is a series of nested stories. None is a big deal, but together they are a tapestry of the sweet small-town life that's evolved for us spending the pandemic at dock in La Cruz.

The top photo is of a weight belt. They are used in diving to counter the body's natural buoyancy. I wanted one for freediving and to help me get under Rejoice so I can clean her hull after we leave.

This weekend, SV Isleña offered diving gear for sale on the morning VHF radio net. Someone else and I tried to respond and figured out that we could hear Isleña, but they could not hear us. Today when this happened again, I walked over to Isleña, which I now knew was up the dock. Their belt wasn't right for me, but we had a nice chat; we were meeting for the first time, as they arrived during our trip to the US. I said that James thought their radio was set for international and not US frequencies based on the reception pattern. He walked past just then and offered to test with them when he came back from shore.

When James came back, the man who maintains the boat next to Isleña called to him. Richardo had heard me looking at a dive belt. He had one laid out on the dock for me to take a look at.

James commenced the radio test with Isleña, which verified the issue, an easily sorted one; it's just a setting to fix. I went to talk to Ricardo about his belt. It was VERY nice and it turned out he didn't want to sell it -- he thought I needed one for a dive trip or something and was offering to loan it to me.

While Ricardo and I were talking our neighbor Wally came by, overheard us, and said he had one for me. After living on the dock for 10 years, he's moving onto land and getting rid of his stuff. So now I have a free weight belt, free. And Ricardo and I are closer for his generous offer which showed trust in me, and Isleña has their radio sorted, and Wally has one less unnecessary object and I have this sweet memento of Wally.

While I was on the dock washing down my new weight belt, Elinor walked by. I asked if she and John were leaving this morning to head south, where they like to spend the winter. She said yes, in just a few minutes, and could we perhaps help with Nakamal's docklines at their departure?

When we arrived here for a month -- two years ago -- we were docked beside John and Elinor. They left for this annual southward trip a couple days after our arrival, and I remember watching the people waving them off from the dock when they left.  And now here I was, giving their stern a good shove with my neighbor Pete, who had seen departure was afoot and come to help out while James managed the bowline.

Cat and I have a date to paddleboard at sunset today. I often see Pete out paddling solo in the afternoons, so I invited him to join us.

He said he might just do that.

Beloved friends,

It is with tremendous joy that I announce the opening of registration for our 15th autumn Grounding retreat. This will be a virtual retreat; I am enjoying the refinement of this form and look sweetly forward to sharing it with you.

Grounding 2021 will be luscious, flexible, and easeful. We’ll be trying something radical: there are absolutely no requirements. I will offer a simple menu of delicious resources. You are welcome to enjoy whatever feels right for you, in whatever way your own heart guides you. Ahhhhhhhh.

We will begin at the Autumnal Equinox and flow through the season turning at Halloween – that's 9/22 - 10/31.

What am I offering?

- Self-Love: Guided self-massage, deep relaxation and healing meditation. Live on three Saturdays (October 2, 16, 23) via Zoom from 9-10:30am Pacific (4-5:30pm UTC, Coordinated Universal Time). Sessions will be recorded so you can enjoy them at any time and as often as you like for the duration of the retreat. You are welcome to have your camera off or on for live events. If using one or both of your hands is challenging, I'd love to discuss that!

- Live Q&A: after these sessions there is the option of a half hour-ish of grounding conversation. Some of my teachers call this satsang, “gathering in truth”; others simply call it office hours. You can ask; I will answer.

- Circles & Individual Coaching: On the weeks when we do not have a Saturday session, we will have a circle: Introductions and Intentions 9/24, The Cusp of Now 10/6, Closure and Inspiration 10/28. Circles offer you the option to speak, be witnessed, bear witness, and learn in loving community. They take place via email in a private Google Group. I will write replies to each person who participates in the Cusp of Now circle offering support, teaching, coaching, or advice as you may wish. These replies will be delivered to the Group and will come slowly over the course of a couple of weeks to insure my best attention to all. (If you are used to my Home Meditation Courses, please note that this is different: 6 weeks, 3 circles, 1 reply. Circles are conversations that take place by email over several days; they have no set time.)

- Meditations: the weekly meditation Gatherings via Zoom which began during last autumn’s retreat and have carried on since will continue to continue. Wednesdays 8-8:55am Pacific (3-3:55pm UTC). These will be recorded in two formats. The Zoom version will be available to you throughout the retreat to enjoy as you please. Audio files will be yours to keep, providing you a library of meditation teachings and practices for your personal use over time.

- The Buddy System: You could buddy up! Having a (possibly new) friend to chat with for encouragement and support is a wonderful way to build intimacy, deepen your experience, and, if you wish, set intentions and be accountable to one another. During the spring retreat, my buddy and I checked in via text most days in the late afternoon or early evening, sharing our delights, challenges, and egging each other on. It really increased my joyful engagement! You could partner up on your own with a friend who's part of the retreat or let me play matchmaker and meet someone new.

-Me: I'm Kristie Dahlia Home; please call me Dahlia. I'm a wandering mystic who lives aboard a sailboat named Rejoice. I am a yoga therapist (I held clinician status at USCF Medical Center, specializing in working with cancer patients), body and energy worker (Thai Yoga Massage, Chi Nei Tsang, Reiki Master), meditation teacher, and minister-of-sorts. I have done this work since 1995, extensively, from hospitals to ashrams, from birthing rooms and weddings to deathbeds and memorials.

I am a devotional agnostic: I do not believe my tiny human brain is capable of understanding the fullness of existence. I also cherish the process of discovery: I believe in the science. And I believe that we are life, living itself; we are the life of the Earth and the cosmos, and I choose to call this sacred. I truly believe that love is the way.

In addition to the offerings noted here, I'll be available for 10 minutes before and a bit after each Zoom session so you can nab a moment for informal personal questions if need be. You can also schedule private sessions for 1:1 time with me during the retreat as at any other time, at my usual rate: a sliding scale of $60-150/hr. Private sessions can take place by phone or videochat. They might include of spiritual counsel (conversation), energy work, meditation, deep relaxation, or guided self-massage. I only teach full yoga sessions in person, but I will address specific questions about personal practice or tending to one's body.

If you'd like to check out my work before considering whether I am the right teacher or guide for you right now, you can find free audio recordings of meditation, deep relaxation, and energy work at beloved.org and there is a selection of my writing in the form of letters to my community that were written early in the pandemic here.

What is the cost?

I do not love capitalism and aim to set costs gently. I like the sound of $200-550 as a widely sliding scale; if somewhere in that range feels good to you, you can simply choose a price in that range and pay it. If you are able to pay more and wish to, that is much appreciated; it makes it easier for me to flex with others. If you wish to join and find the cost difficult, reach out to me and we’ll discuss what can work for you. To be clear: I have to take care with the size of the promises I make since one never knows how widely things will be shared, but my intention is that cost not keep anyone from joining.

I make a personal tithe of 5% of my income each quarter. For autumn I will be giving to the indigenous people of land where I grew up, the Onondaga Nation, through a network of friends.

Registration

If you'd like to register or chat about whether this retreat might be right for you, simply email me. I look forward to hearing from you.

Community Standards

Unconditional love and exquisitely clear boundaries are the core values I hold for my community. Liberation is the aim of the lineages in which I am honored to be a student; I wish to serve toward intersectional social justice and spiritual liberation for all beings. I respect each person's ability to know who they are, so in addition to our names, we will share our preferred pronouns. This is not a place for anti-vaccination materials. If you have concerns, I’d be delighted to discuss them with you.

Last week, after a year and a half of being neighbors and coconspirators, James and I finally had dinner with Mike and Cat, an incredible local couple who are the heart of sailing in La Cruz. It was incredible to be physically close to friends again after so long practicing a loving distance!

Cat loves hiking, particularly on Cerro del Mono, Monkey Mountain, and she loves to teach people the trail. On the way home we said, "LET'S GO HIKING!"

And a few days later, we did.

Important spoiler: there are no monkeys on Monkey Mountain.

In the left image, the blue dot is us in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle. The red droplet is Monkey Mountain. I bet lots of you have been to the beach towns of Sayulita or San Francisco, also called San Pancho, just north of Monkey Mountain. In the elevation map in the rightmost image you can see two peaks south of Monkey Mountain; those are the two peaks in front of Cat and James in the center image. Yes, there are some horses ahead of us in the center image; there are tours that take folks some of the way up on horseback. You have to go on foot (and hand!) to reach the top.

The terrain is quite variable, making the hike demanding in places. The photos are only of the easy bits; I am not a getting out my camera while climbing an incline covered with slick clay mud kind of person – which makes me admire the ingenuity and skill of people who do it all the more! My hat is off to you, YouTubers! But yeah, my photos are the easy bits. There are also steep inclines covered now in the rainy season with the aforementioned slick clay mud. Some of the path is through dry riverbeds with many stones. There is some bouldering at the top and a couple spots that are only a few inches wide. There are ranches in the lower portion and some cows were grazing about. There were four of us humans: Cat, James, me, and our new dock neighbor Donna, who is really neat (she has lived on boats off and on since the 80's, spent 10 years in Japan, and gifted me that lovely black and white with rainbow colored umbrella image from the Summer Sailstice race). Our clothing was actually crusted with salt from our dried sweat that the end of the hike! It was magnificent.

The Ojo de Dios, or God's Eye, is a sacred art form, a traditional spiritual practice of the indigenous Huichol people who live in the Sierra Madre mountains; Banderas Bay sits at the foot of the Sierra Madres. I have been told that the Ojo de Dios is a form of prayer, a blessing, a protection. Thanks to James for this glimpse of the Ojos de Dios gracing the mountaintop.

The views from the top were exquisite. The pointy bit of land in the left image is Punta de Mita, which you can also see in the map above, leftmost in the first triptych in the post. Also, um, the captain has a monocular now and it turns out they are super handy! Plus: monocular jokes.

Thanks to Cat for the left image and James for the right, which is the tippy-top! I did not make it to where Cat is standing, as it's necessary to climb by hand and foot, which was a challenge I was up for, but the rocks were covered with an apparently-unusual and definitely-past-my-comfort-zone number of adorable caterpillars. She got on top and said, "Hey on the way up, watch out for that caterpillar. And that one. And that one. Oh." The adorable caterpillers were quite visually distinctive, which tends to mean I AM DANGEROUS in caterpillar. We did not know if they meant venomous (which is bad if they bite you) or poisonous (which is bad if you bite them), but they were very fast crawlers, so I decided right there was quite good enough. We looked them up later and they were poisonous, which made them not a danger unless we ate some, but I am still glad I left them to do their caterpillar thing. It was clearly a special time in the life cycle of the adorable, visually distinctive Milkweed Tussock Moth caterpillar, and I did not want to smush one just to put my feet on the tippy top. I wish you well, caterpillars.  

It was incredible to be in the forest after having spent almost all of the past year shoreside. My body felt so deeply nourished by the deep green of the plant life, the rich scents on the moist air, and the glorious chorus of insect and bird communication. It was good to work hard and share a new adventure. Tremendous thanks to Cat for leading us on this journey.

I spoke too soon with my post about the magnificently absurd charity race here last week, as several more people have shared their documentation. The story is in that post and here's a little more art about it!

Once again, this event was a fundraiser for the El Cora Santuaria de Crocodilos, a local animal sanctuary which we visited in March. Thanks to everyone for their wonderful art projects!

Now THIS is my kind of race! Latitude 38, a sailing magazine and West Coast sailing community nexus, has an annual event at the summer solstice called Summer Sailstice. This falls during hurricane season here on Banderas Bay, when the seasonal sailors have left and folks who are here are often hunkered down carefully. So Katrina and Mike, our brilliant community leaders, have this fantastic tradition: The Umbrella Downwind Regatta. You can use any floating platform under 14' (4.2 meters), a paddle for a steering tiller or to fend off boats to prevent impact but not to paddle, and some kind of jerry-rigged sail, usually an umbrella. Donations were collected from the participants to benefit the El Cora Santuario de Crocodilos, the wonderful sanctuary we visited in March that cares for crocodiles and, really, any other animals that folks bring by. They are good and caring folks.

It was a wonderful, silly day, and our first group social event since vaccination. Huge thanks to everyone who helped, and especially to Cat and her team for not only taking photos, but taking the time to send us some. James and I are so happy that we chose La Cruz as our pandemic port; it's been a sweet, safe home for us this past year and a half.

I am the life of the universe. Tat Twam Asi. This is my core belief. Yoga and meditation -- turning inward -- have long been my way to that. This strange year of isolation, I remembered what I knew when I was small: turning outward. When the pandemic hit, we were in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, on Banderas Bay, Mexico. We decided to stay, and to isolate. I turned to the sky. This bay is a crater: round, ringed by mountains except where it opens onto the sea. It's the most astonishing feeling to live here, like the earth is cupping you in the palm of her hand. Living on the water's edge makes the whole thing feel like a bowl of sea and sky with a little rim of mountains holding it in.

Watching the star at the heart of our solar system spin past the horizon of the Earth is, for me... oh. Sunrises and sets are like kisses or kittens: all the same, all unique, inscrutable and perfect. Thank you, Sol, for shining. For saying mystery and majesty over and over.

I watched our moon, Luna, rising and setting, waxing and waning amongst stars and planets, at by day and by night. The sun says constancy; the moon says variation. They both say to me: Trust the rhythm. They say to me: Existence itself is dancing.

In the early weeks of quarantine we were not supposed to go outside even for exercise here, and as a safety valve we began to take midnight walks. As things opened a bit we sat under the skies and it felt so decadent. Summer here is like winter, the season in which the weather is dangerously intense and everyone huddles up at home to get through safely. A hundred degree heat index every day for months and months, 85% humidity, 95%, big electrical storms almost every night. We hunkered down. As autumn came, I ran at dawn and James began to run with me at dusk. Most gloriously, though, I paddled. I began to slip out onto the dock in the dark before dawn, to treasure star maps. I tucked a light into a drybag to make sure I was visible to the fishermen and began to bob around on the bay in the dark, looking up. In time, I began to sing; there's a bit of that to come.

James and I made the bay-and-sky our temple and our favorite restaurant. We paddled onto the water, walked to the beach, carried chairs onto the marina's breakwater to toast the dawn or the sing to the moonrise for my birthday, for the New Year, for the winter solstice, for the vernal equinox, for astronomical conjunctions, to wash away our grief in the beauty and to remember every time: I belong, we belong, we are the life of the cosmos.

On the morning of the US election in November, my friend LauraLee and I made a date to paddle and watch the sun rise. We've paddled the sun up twice a week ever since; together we've gone farther than previous versions of me could imagine, pointing out whales and dolphins, schools of little fish running across the surface of the sea on the tips of their tails, sea turtles, magnificent frigatebirds and pelicans and oh, the day that a fever of rays swam right beneath us, a vast golden-green web spanning down into the water like the surface of a pyramid, on and on, and our usual gentle babble of oh-my-gosh-life-weaving-stories grew silent and our eyes wide. Woven with the sea and the sky is this friendship, which has  brought me great solace. Thank, you, dear one.

I want to share with you how the light dances on the waves and how the surface of the water swells, and how differently it does so. I want to let you hear to the waves lap lap lapping. Each of these is just a few seconds. The songs are at the end.

I call myself a devotional agnostic. If my little fancy-monkey brain cannot understand that time is not linear, and my perceptual apparatus cannot hear what dogs can hear or see what bees can see, how could I expect this brain to understand the wholeness of whatever what-is is? I love this: the mystery, life. I relish the not-knowing. I sing it prayersongs:

And love songs.

Tvameva Mata Cha Pita Tvameva
Tvameva Bandhu Cha Sakha Tvameva
Tvameva Vidya Dravinam Tvameva
Tvameva Sarvam Mama Deva Deva

Thou art my mother, my father thou art
Thou art my family, my friend you art
Thou art my knowledge, my wealth thou art
Thou art my all, oh light of all lights, thou art

I post a lot of skygazing and paddling adventures on my Instagram story; I'm @priestess_of_the_mystery if you'd like more.

Oh, you tender and precious bit of stardust! Happy Spring! Happy Equinox! We have entered the season where the light is greater than the darkness. Ahhhhh. I wish to offer you opportunities for integration, for mending, for peace. Here is what I've cooked up for you:

The Gentlest Spring Retreat (SOLD OUT)

March 27-April 25
Donation-based, pay what you wish if you can
Email me to register
For four weeks I will share a weekly teaching and invite you to practice Rest, Nourishment, and Expression. I will offer suggestions and you will choose; the practice can be very simple or as intense as you might wish. I am offering a loom; you will weave upon it, engaging in creative, mindful action, we will share about this in small groups. I believe that this will naturally lead you to integration, healing, and rejuvenation. Details are here. The other events that follow here are on Zoom; they can be included in the experience of retreat or they can be enjoyed individually. I'd love to discuss any questions you have about participating.

Meditation Gathering (OPEN)

Wednesdays, 8-8:55am Pacific Time, ongoing
Donation-based, pay what you wish if you can
Email me for the Zoom code, or check your mail if you are on the being list!
We aim for about 15 minutes of opening conversation, 25 minutes of meditation, and 10 minutes of closing conversation. Whether your camera is off or on is absolutely up to you; one of my regular students sometimes attends from the bath, which could not make me happier! This is time for you. New beginners and experienced meditators are welcome alike. You are encouraged to sit, lie down, or shake like a wet dog as your own inner knowing guides you. My way with meditation is loving and creative. I am usually available from about 10 minutes before we begin and for a while after our formal closing for conversation if you wish to touch base with me.

Loving Yourself: Self-Massage and Deep Relaxation Workshop (OPEN)

8-9:30am Pacific Time Saturdays April 3 & 17th, Sunday April 11
Donation-based; pay what you wish if you can
Email me for the Zoom code, or check your mail if you are on the being list!
These are heavenly! I lead simple, gentle massage and movement focused on your face, neck, and shoulders; things that are easily done sitting on the chair, couch, bed, or in the bathtub over Zoom without contortion. After we get ourselves softened up, we settle down for a sweet guided deep relaxation practice. Folks have said: "I feel so much better now it’s amazing. I feel like I can fly now," and "I felt grounded today for the first time in a very long time." My mama's review is: "I FEEL LIKE I TOOK A HOUSE OFF OF ME!" If you can use both of your hands, you can do this. If it is difficult to use your hands or you only have one, reach out and we can discuss.

Daylong Nourishing Virtual Retreat (OPEN)

Sunday April 25, 8am-4:30pm Pacific Time
Donation-based; pay what you wish if you can
Email me for the Zoom code, or check your mail if you are on the being list!

8-8:50 Opening and Meditation
9-10:30 Gentle Yoga and Deep Relaxation
10:30-11:30 Brunch Break
11:30-12:15 Self-Massage and Deep Relaxation
12:30-1:30 Pranayama (Yogic Breathwork) and Meditation
1:45-2:45 Satsang - Spiritual Conversation
3-4:30 Gentle Stretching and Final Relaxation or Meditation

I'll be capping this season of self-renewal with a sweet, luxurious day of self-care! YES, it's definitely okay if you can or wish to attend just part of the day; all of this is here for you. I would like you to have this useful tidbit when considering that: when I held my retreats in person and said, "Yes, it's okay if you come late on the first day," to folks who thought they couldn't leave work early on Friday, almost every single time those were the first people to arrive at the next retreat, having taken the whole day off. At the end of every retreat ever, everyone says they wish it could just keep going. Give yourself as much as you can, darling!

FAQ

What's the Zoom code?
I am using one code for all of my public events. If you've had one in 2021, that's it. Please feel free to email me for it at any time, or check your email if you're on the being list.

What's this about lists?
1. I have an email list for my teaching practice. When I have something to offer, it gets a simple plaintext email. I include the Zoom code on all those emails. 2. James and I have an email list for this blog about our life aboard the good ship Rejoice. On Tuesdays, Mailchimp checks to see if there was a blog post that week and sends a handsome email with post links so folks can see what's new. No post, no email. Drop me a line to discuss either! We're so grateful to stay connected as we wander. We will never sell, trade, or give your information to anyone.

How much is the suggested donation?
Thanks to the magic of the internet, my sangha (spiritual community) is all over the world! I am striving during this difficult time to offer spiritual support with as much flexibility as possible. I realize some folks squirm about setting their own price, but if I suggest a price in USD, even the low end of a sliding scale can be quite imposing for folks in other economies. If you are able, I encourage you to simply think about what you'd expect to spend for what I'm offering in your local area. It's okay to let your presence be the gift if that's what you have to offer! And don't feel shy about small offerings; it all adds up! Every contribution is warmly appreciated by me.

Do I have to turn my camera on?
Nope! Totally up to you. If it feels nourishing to be seen, leave it on! If it feels restful not to be seen, turn it off!

Who are you?
Hi! I'm Kristie Dahlia Home. I've been teaching spiritual arts for over 25 years. You can find a bio on this retreat page. I'd love to meet you.

Will I be safe in your community?
The bywords I use in holding sacred space are unconditional love and exquisitely clear boundaries. I am a white, cis, pansexual, nonmonogamous woman. I strive to be an antiracist and believe this is true of the people who study with me. I list my name and personal pronoun on my Zoom profile and include pronouns with names in any introduction process. If you do not understand this, I'd be delighted to discuss it with you.

"I would like to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding." - John O'Donohue

3/28: The Gentlest Spring Retreat has sold out. The optional Zoom events for the retreat, though, remain open to anyone who wishes to join! Simply drop me a line for the code; I'd love to see you there. If you'd like to join the email list I use for my teaching, which is NOT the same as the email list that lets folks know about posts to this blog, drop me a line about that so we can get you earlier notice next time.

Beloved friends,

Spring is coming, and after this strangest of years, budding feels both tender and vital. I wish to support you with a spring retreat. I have endeavored to create one which is as gentle and flexible as possible, and as deep and sincere as all my work. Here is the heart of it: for four weeks, from March 27 through April 25, I will invite you, each week, to practice a little rest, a little nourishment, a little expression.

I will suggest, and aim to inspire; you get to choose. Rest could be napping or going to sleep a little early. It could be five minutes with your legs up the wall or a warm bath. It could also be resting from something as in a fast, like that second cup of coffee or alcohol or binge-watching or midnight pizza. Nourishment might be watching the sun rise, riding a horse, green juice, self-massage, reading something inspiring, lovemaking, meditation, or... maybe that midnight pizza feeds your soul! You do you, darling. Expression could be outward: small acts of kindness, thank you notes, apologies. It could be inward: journaling or vision boards. It could be creating anything at all. It could be sobbing or hurling rocks into the sea and screaming. I am offering a loom; you will weave upon it. Whether you make this simple or deeply engaging is up to you. We will spend a month engaged in mindful action and sharing, and I believe that this will naturally lead you to integration, healing, and rejuvenation.

I will support and encourage you with a weekly teaching letter. Each week we will share our practice; sharing groups will contain a maximum of 10 people to keep communication at a reasonable level. All of this could be so very simple: you could: take a nap (rest), eat a cookie from your beloved departed grandmother’s recipe (nourishment), burn a candle for her (expression), and share that in the 19 words it just took me to say that. You could also speak at length about your experience and insights; what you choose to share is up to you. The purpose of sharing is for you to receive the soul food of being seen, the inspiration of seeing one another, and a little accountability to help nudge you toward that. If you are joining the retreat with a friend and wish to be in the same group, just let me know. (If you are used to my meditation course format, please note that individual replies are not a part of this retreat; the reply will be a part of the weekly teaching. You are welcome to schedule a private session if you wish for more individual engagement with me, of course; in the basic form here I am aiming for elegant simplicity.)

Optional online events via Zoom
Included in retreat, donation-based for others. All welcome:  
- Meditation Gathering Wednesdays 8-8:55am Pacific
- Self-Massage and Deep Relaxation Workshops 8-9:30am Pacific Saturdays April 3 and 17th, Sunday April 11
- Daylong Practice Sunday April 25, details to come

(Note: I am on a boat in Mexico; on very rare occasions there are internet snafus that are outside of my control. If you aren't on the email list for my teaching events, drop me a line for the Zoom information for these!)

Recordings:
I will create for you a new 6 minute mindful breathing practice and 20 minute contemplative meditation practice you can weave into your practice if you wish. I usually end up sharing more meditations than are promised. You might also make use of the selection on beloved.org, from any prior work with me, or from any other resources you may be using. Meditation is not required of you! It is an option that you have. This is a Choose Your Own Retreat, the Gentlest Spring Retreat. The top photograph of me practicing yoga in the largest open space on my boat, between the laundry and the groceries, is a carefully chosen symbol.

Cost:
I wish to make this retreat widely accessible. I think that $100 sounds fair as a low end for the sliding scale. I hope that you will find as much personal benefit as you do from a classic $500 weekend retreat. Scholarships will be available. So: $100 on up, as you wish; please talk to me if money is hard for you right now. Payment is via Paypal to dahlia@beloved.org and can be spread throughout the course if that helps; again, please reach out to discuss.

Registration:
Send me an email to dahlia@beloved.org.

Giving Back:
Each season I give 5% of what I earn. For spring, we will be supporting the Scholarship-Based BIPOC 200 hour Yoga Teacher Training program at the Integral Yoga Institute, led by and for Black, Indigenous, and People of Color as an effort of the IYI toward dismantling structural and institutional racism in yoga by encouraging a diverse range of teaching voices. I know and trust the people leading this program; they include my own teachers and students.

Who am I?
If a friend has sent this your way, hello and welcome! I'm Kristie Dahlia Home. I've been teaching various healing arts since 1995. I'm currently a wandering mystic aboard a sailboat named Rejoice, as you can see on this blog. My practice consists of therapeutic yoga, contemplative meditation, body and energy work (I have trained in Thai Yoga Massage, a bit of Chi Nei Tsang, intuitive healing, and wish that this title was less silly than Reiki Master, but am one of those), and devotion. I sing to the sky. I identify spiritually as a Priestess of the Mystery – I made that up, and I mean it sincerely. My teachers are many, and life is my temple.

I should probably say something more formal, so a few of the bigger feathers in my cap are: I held clinician status (like a doctor) at UCSF's Osher Center for Integrative Medicine as a yoga therapist. At California Pacific Medical Center, my speciality was therapeutic yoga for cancer patients. I have taught Thai Yoga Massage at the Lighthouse for the Blind and Visually Impaired and have taught for medical research at UCSF and with Dr. Dean Ornish's Preventative Medicine Research Institute. I spent ten years rolling on the floor doing yoga and storytelling at San Francisco's Hamlin School. I have led dozens of retreats, often at California's dear Harbin Hot Springs. I have supported both birthing and dying and written and officiated many weddings. My book Yoga: Natural Fitness for Body and Spirit has been translated into...  I think it's five languages.

I am a devotional agnostic: I do not believe my tiny human brain is capable of understanding the fullness of existence. I can't even understand that time is apparently not linear; how could I know what being is? I believe that we are life, living itself; we are the life of the Earth and the cosmos, and I choose to call this sacred. The Vijnana Bhairava Tantra is my most cherished text; if you are comforted by details, that is nondualist Kashmir Shaivism, which says: every moment is the moment in which you might awaken. Every experience is sacred.

I truly believe that love is the way.

Drop me a line if you'd like to talk or ask a question.

Just now, for a little moment on Sunday morning, I'm giddily anthropomorphizing quantum physics. I read a fascinating article from earthsky.org about the new particles being discovered at the Large Hadron Collider. Goodness, quantum physics is just incredible. Here are three snippets:

"The nucleus is made up of protons and neutrons, which are in turn each composed of three tiny particles called quarks (there are six different kinds of quarks: up, down, charm, strange, top and bottom)."

"When quarks were first discovered, scientists realised that several combinations should be possible in theory. This included pairs of quarks and antiquarks (mesons); three quarks (baryons); three antiquarks (antibaryons); two quarks and two antiquarks (tetraquarks); and four quarks and one antiquark (pentaquarks), as long as the number of quarks minus antiquarks in each combination was a multiple of three."

"For example, why do all tetra- and pentaquarks contain a charm-quark pair (with just one exception)? And why are there no corresponding particles with strange-quark pairs? There is currently no explanation."

OK, so if I make a sort of mashup of this with being a modern human: wouldn't it be wonderful to identify as up, down, charm, and strange in addition to top and bottom?

"Hello, I am Dahlia! Today I identify as a charm quark. I am in a charm quark pair with James and we are in a tetraquark relationship with a strange, an up, and

a bottom."

I know, I know; I'm making this nucleus ALL WRONG. And: do I have to choose between charm and strange? Because I really feel both quite strongly; I'm just giddy at the moment so going with charm. Give me an hour and I'll feel strange again. Give me a coffee and I'll be up, then down. Don't particles get to switch? As a human I'm a polyamorous pansexual switch, so I'd really want to keep my options open if I were going to be a subatomic particle. The poor strange quarks, why do they not get to pair? Of course there is always a pair of charm quarks in a bigger group! The heavy particles and antiparticles sound like mythic beings and superheroes! Oh my gosh, existence is so strange and delightful. It seems quite certain to me that we really know so very, very little; this idea fills me with peace and joy.

Oh, but then there is this doozy:

"This may sound weird, but according to quantum mechanics, which rules the universe on the smallest of scales, particles can pop up out of empty space."

I love how we call it "empty space" when it clearly isn't if entire particles are popping up out of it. It's so hard for us to comprehend the depths of our not-knowing. Life, you tricky darling! Thank you for all the mystery; I find it the best of comforts.

We belong, we are this, and dear everything, we don't really know a fig.

Today is the one year anniversary of my quarantine. HOT HOLY JELLY DOUGHNUTS!

Here's how I know: last February, James and I were watching Covid-19 spread and realized that travel was going to harder rather than easier and our 6 months visas were going to run out in April. Our dear friends Laurel and Lamont were throwing a shindig for their 10th wedding anniversary that was extra special for us to attend since they'd done me the honor of having me officiate the ceremony.

We nipped back to SF for a quick weekend, rubbed elbows while giggling with a lot of friends at the party as we were all new at not-hugging then, got ourselves another six months on the visa clock, and put ourselves into quarantine after the flight back to Mexico in case we'd been exposed in transit.

To be honest, when the pandemic hit, my initial reaction included a lot of relief. It'd seemed clear to me that we were all riding in a handbasket for most of my life. A lot of people have remarked with surprise how James and I's situation aboard Rejoice is rather ideal for pandemic times. Our readiness isn't surprising for us, because we were preparing for this. I mean, not specifically for a global pandemic, and goodness, not quite this soon, but certainly for massive and catastrophic changes to human civilization, which our scientists have been speaking very clearly about our whole lives. We wanted a home base that was flexible and self-reliant, so here we are.

I often to go into grace and calm when stuff hits the fan, and when the lockdowns began, as I said, I felt some relief: the other shoe had finally dropped. I stepped into my priestess-mystic-spiritual advisor aspect, offering daily support for those who turn to me for that. Daily meditations on the VHF radio locally, and writing most-days-daily letters of support to the email list I use to communicate with the folks who are interested in my work. (Anyone is welcome to drop me a line to join! I'll be announcing my spring retreat events there shortly. I also have a weekly live meditation Gathering from 8-8:55am Pacific via Zoom on Wednesdays; just reach out for the code.) Those early weeks were intense. 14 days of lockdown extended and extended. The surf was high in my internal weather, but I was digging riding that big surf.

On April 28, my supportive letters came to a sudden, grinding halt. I had, by that time, come to see that the pandemic was going to be a long process; vaccine development was being spoken of as a process that could take years. (Goodness, what an amazing job we have done with that. THANK YOU, SCIENTISTS AND HEALTH CARE PROVIDERS!) But when I saw this meme on April 28 and really grokked it, it took me down hard. It was a few weeks before I had integrated this understanding. Integration tends to be very solitary for me, so I went suddenly quiet. I'm sorry about that; I wish I'd been able to say what was happening for me, but the nature of the process meant I could not.

How incredible it is now to have positive turns afoot. Every day I see more friends sharing that they've been vaccinated. Still, it's been a little staggering to see the year anniversary of quarantine approach. For me, that began in early February as I began to think about Valentine's Day.

Last year for Valentine's Day James whisked me up to Puerto Vallarta for a romantic weekend in at a local resort. It was a steal because they had massive construction underway and not many people share our fondness for using a hot tub next to active steelwork. We had this incredible moment that weekend watching a boat sail across the setting sun from the balcony of our room like a postcard. Then we thought that actually, that specific boat looked familiar and texted our friend Jason to confirm that yes, that was Volare right in front of us, his boat on which we'd been spending time drinking margaritas and watching whales cavort. Seeing what our sealife looked like from land was a dizzying joy. It was the last bit of normal. What a treasure; what an ache.

As I felt into this anniversary coming, it felt vast and murky. And now that we've got shots going into people and infection and hospitalization rates dropping and that terrible man out of our White House, my emotional being felt like things were safe enough to bring up some things with me. This is so common: we slog on with incredible grit through the crisis and then when we get to safety, it all hits us and we fall down. When I taught yoga to people with cancer in hospitals, a lot of them came in just after they finished treatment, baffled by why they were feeling so much emotional distress now that things were getting easier. For me, now, I've been quite internal the last few weeks: processing, grieving, making peace within myself. I feel myself rising out of that now, more whole, wiser, humbled afresh.

Today James and I are going to go to town. There's a restaurant outdoors on the plaza where all the tables are entirely outside, solidly six feet apart, the staff are masked, and we feel very safe going once in a while for a meal. We'll wait until the afternoon breeze kicks in for extra protection and go at the lull between lunch and dinner.

We're going to celebrate a sweet synchronicity: today in addition to being the anniversary of quarantine is the 300th day of my Duolingo streak. Duolingo is one of the apps I use for practicing Spanish; Memrise is another. I find that using multiple apps stretches my integration process and accelerates my learning. In related news, mi español es mucho mejor ahora! I'm now at the awkward point where I can do things like walk up to the marina office, say, "Quisiera un carro pequeño por mañana a las diez, porfa," (I would like a small car for tomorrow at ten, please.), and then throw my hands into the air and shout "I DID IT!" while the kind women who work in the office, who are far more bilingually skilled, giggle at and with my joy.

Friend, if you've read this, thank you. What a year it has been. There has been so much hardship and loss. We have so much to grieve as individuals, cultures, nations, and as a species. There has been so much beauty, creativity, love, and growth, too. Hardship has taken us all to our knees, wailing, and it shown us all more about what we value and what we are capable of.

I'm not trying to put a bow on this. I am, in fact, fighting my desire to end on a high note here. This is not a happy ending. We are still in it. The planet and our civilization are in crisis and we have so much work to do. What I'm trying to do, however, is pause at this little vista on the winding path and reach out to hold your hand for a moment, because right now I have the strength to do that, and love and connection are healing.

I love you. Thank you for being here. I am thinking of you as you walk your own path in the inner world and the outer world. I am singing to the sky for so many of you, and I'll add you to my songs if you wish; just ask. I look forward to telling you more about this practice soon.

May there be some sweetness for you in this day, beloved creature.

Most of our days are pretty mundane. We're quarantining at home just like you are. For us, that means working part time at our jobs, working on improvements and repairs to Rejoice, and the ongoing everyday work of boatlife.

One of the tasks I spend a lot of time with is laundry. This marina doesn't have machines; instead a woman in town offers a laundry service. I send our sheets, towels, and rags to Sonia and wash our clothing by hand. I got the washing side of that dialed before we left for cruising, so washing was going great for me. Wringing every item by hand four times (one wash, three rinses) was not okay, though; my hands, wrists, and elbows were telling me I needed a new plan!

I researched and decided a crank-style hand wringer was the solution for us. They are $150ish in the US and a lot more here, but I thought, "That is exactly the kind of thing folks often buy and then don't use, like juicers and elliptical machines." So I posted in the local sailors' swap meet group online asking for one and voila! I found the exact one I hoped for, third-hand and $50.

A prior owner had taken off the clamps and bolted the wringer onto a board, which didn't work well at all. James made a clamp setup to attach it to a bucket. That was better, but wobbly. This week he did version two, which was better but not steady enough yet, so then the next day he did version three. It's fantastic! It makes me feel so loved and appreciated. The wringer now has a foot strap I use to stabilize the bucket. The dowel adds stability and gives me another handhold. The wood is a lovely local hardwood called parota that James used for varnish practice. When he showed me the finished product, I asked if he could add one of the Rejoice stickers we use on good gear, and he put it on immediately. I am so happy with this new addition to our everyday, and so is my back and arms.

I know, I can hear you: "YES THAT IS VERY NICE BUT I AM HERE FOR THAT BABY CROCODILE!" I'm almost there! Just trying to be balanced. If I only post photos of the fun stuff, then y'all get the impression we're lazing about drinking margaritas and frolicking with charming miniature crocodiles. In reality, the majority of our time is spent working hard on everyday living, so I'm trying to give an honest impression of our life. It does include a lot of delight with nature, so let's get to those crocs!

Friday we got a rental car (you just ask at the marina office and the rental company sends someone with one for you!) to visit Rosalind and Don from Ramble on Rose, who we met our first season and went to Carnaval with in Mazatlán. Don woke up with a cold, though, so suddenly we had a rental car and no plans. We decided to go visit a local animal sanctuary. During the summer rainy season, a crocodile ended up in our marina. These are common in other marinas on our bay, but had not been in ours in the past. Crocodiles eat birds and fish, and you do want to watch out for cats and small dogs on the docks, but humans are not the kind of prey they are seeking. Still, folks were nervous, so our amazing friend Cat who runs programs for the marina started organizing groups to visit this local sanctuary, increasing education and understanding. We had not gone because the trips are in a van, which is outside our Covid comfort zone, but here we were with a car, so: adventure time!

The El Cora Crocodile sanctuary used to be a restaurant. Story is that the owner had a lot of caged animals and three crocs who were very friendly; I assume he raised them. They were used to being petted and fed by humans and this was a big attraction at the restaurant. A wild croc broke into their enclosure, however, and killed them. The restaurant shut down. Now the property is owned by a charming pair of young men, a veterinarian and marine biologist. They have a variety of animals: some birds, a peccary, some squirrels, a coati, and of course: crocodiles.

To get there, we followed a sign off the highway that turned onto a deeply rutted one lane dirt road.

At one point, the road was blocked by a truck. In front of the truck was a three foot tall pile of rough debris: hunks of concrete and dirt with plastic and odds and ends mixed in; I imagine it was trash from a construction site that made good free fill. A man was raking it and gestured for us to wait. We chilled while he raked the debris out across the road, filling one of the big ruts, and two little boys watched from the back of the truck.

At El Cora we were greeted immediately by a lot of beautiful chickens, including a few very opinionated roosters, glared at ominously by a black vulture, and then a friendly human showed up and said that the tour would begin in five minutes. We had Alfredo the veterinarian all to ourselves! He and his friend the marine biologist are passionate about animal rescue, local wildlife, and education. Most of their animals are brought in because they are found injured or have been kept as pets. Alfredo and his friend doctor the animals, releases those who can safely be set free, and cares for those who wouldn't be safe in the wild. At the moment there were two more young people, a vet and a marine biologist in training, who were working at El Cora as interns.

And then, the moment we've all been waiting for: BABY CROCODILE. This little fella is named Galileo. He is two years old. Alfredo thinks he was born prematurely; he is blind and has bone deformities. He will spend his life at the sanctuary, and people are allowed to handle him so he's used to that. Alfredo imagines in time using him to teach other vets how do crocodile examinations. There is a pair of healthy full grown adult crocs in a big habitat at the sanctuary who are being bred, and a couple of small healthy babies that we were not able to handle; they need to stay wild so they can be released to live good lives and protect the health of the bay's lagoons.

At 51, my memories are not all as sharp as they once were, so I have developed a habit that I think of as "polishing my memories": drawing up treasured moments to cherish them, keeping them sharp and bright. I've been doing that over and over with this moment from Friday: I close my eyes, remember my palms extended and the feel of Galileo's surprisingly soft little abdomen against my palms, swelling and contracting with his sweet breath.

May he have a good life. May he remind me that every creature is just doing their best to live. And that what transforms fear is curiosity, seeking understanding, and love.

“Good morning, this is the Banderas Bay Net for Wednesday, (today's date.) Net control today is Dahlia from S/V Rejoice.”

These sentences are one of the bright spots of my pandemic year.

Boats communicate primarily by radio. Cell phones are relatively recent inventions and access to cellular networks is not universal. Ships have used radio for over a hundred years! We use them to communicate both on the water and in port -- Rejoice's VHF radio is on 24/7, even at dock, because the radio is used for casual communication, such as a neighbor checking to see if I am home or if they can borrow a tool or if I want to go paddling, and for emergency communication, like the sudden announcement last Sunday afternoon that an enormous (maybe 9' tall?) caution buoy had broken loose and was moving through the anchorage, then that it was wrapped around someone's anchor chain and hands were needed to keep it from bashing against that boat. Sailors were able to notify local authorities of the need for assistance and organize immediate aid in the meanwhile. We would have lost a ship had we waited for someone else to save us; with the help of our radio system, everyone was kept safe.

In ports frequented by cruising sailors (that's us!), VHF radio nets are common. These are a structured community meeting – it's like a combination of Craigslist, the local news, Nextdoor, and sometimes 911. Ours on Banderas Bay takes place at 8:30 daily-except-Sundays, and I'm the net controller on Wednesdays. It is, quite sincerely, one of the best honors of my life.

Let's hop back a ways, because I've been lax at keeping you up to date: in the fall of 2019, James and I picked up Rejoice in La Paz at the close of hurricane season and sailed her across the Sea of Cortez to La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, a sweet little fishing village. La Cruz is on gorgeous Banderas Bay, a few towns over from Puerto Vallarta. We planned to spend a month here and then go meander. Banderas Bay, however, is one of the most popular jumping-off points for crossing the Pacific to sail to French Polynesia, so local marinas compete for business by offering educational programs for folks preparing for that trip. We discovered the most amazing cruising curriculum, free, right here. And the Homes? WE LOVE TO LEARN. We took a series of workshops on evaluating and maintaining the health and tuning of our rig and sails, learned emergency dental care from a retired dentist, and practiced suturing on pigs with the local doctor. We took workshops on splicing line, weather forecasting, repairing your refrigeration system, and so much more.

James discovered racing, made some great friends, and together they took second in the 2020 Vallarta Cup – on the boat whose anchor chain had the buoy wrapped around it this weekend! At the season opening party I overheard someone ask if there would be yoga this year so I volunteered, which became free yoga M-W-F at the marina's waterfront concrete amphitheater.  Three months went by in a glorious flash!  

We were starting to aim toward wandering on up into the Sea when the pandemic hit. All our friends were achatter! Many decisions were made. Folks who had a house somewhere else hopped on planes and went home. Some friends who live on their ships sailed back to the United States or Canada. Some friends who live aboard stuffed their ships as full of food as they could and headed away from shore. James and I thought long and hard – and decided to stay right where we were. There were intense events afoot. A boat at anchor in a remote anchorage was stoned by people who wanted outsiders to leave, a port we were planning on asked sailors not to come as they were struggling to get enough food as everyone stocked up at once; New Zealand banned pleasure sailing entirely to avoid the need for first responders to do anything but serve the pandemic. We were in a port where we were known and welcome, with a sound food supply, hospitals, relatively low hurricane risk, and a nonstop flight to California available an hour and a half away. We stayed with our ship, right where she was.

A year later, here we are. There's been good work on Rejoice, on each of us, and on our relationship. We look forward to wandering again once we are vaccinated, and we'll probably do this in California through Kaiser! For now, let's get back to that radio story:

The first 14 day lockdown hit in mid-March and suddenly I couldn't offer the yoga class which had been a sweet gathering point; we weren't even supposed to go outside for exercise here that first 14 days. I asked Katrina, (the powerhouse who organizes all the programs for the marina where we've been living and tons of stuff for the entire sailing community with a strong emphasis on community service) if perhaps it might be useful to have me lead a little meditation while we were all cooped up for a couple weeks. She loved the idea, so I began to lead 10-15 minutes of meditation most mornings, 10-15 minutes after the net. I'm just shy of a year of that most-days-daily practice now.

In the fall, one of the longtime net hosts moved back to the United States and I was asked if I'd like to commit to the Wednesday shift. I darn near exploded with joy! There's a script, and lots of radio norms to follow, but of course one finds space to be oneself in small ways, and it's great to be loving and have fun while serving the community. The radio is a powerful tool during and symbol of this year for me: how we stay connected when care calls upon us not to be physically close.

I love you, friend. Thank you for being here. I hope this brought you cheer.