Naturally, with Rachelle Robinett

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

March 9th 2024 continued

Airport: These environments are such a reentry shock. I feel hollowed out. Regarding reentry, I now have to turn myself from the jungle and surf, to the screen. Turn myself from feeling to doing.

I scroll through my photos from the trip and choose favorites.

5:15pm: About to depart. I would otherwise be just arriving to the beach for sunset. I feel … wrecked. In the sense that I hate the feeling of cramming my brain back into a calendar and computer. I know I’ll reacclimate, and I hate that too. I think I really need to take off, for even longer. I need to just go. I see all the signs of my loving it—living for it—the physicality, the nature, the nakedness, the minimalism. I can enjoy culture, but I don’t choose it over being an outlier jungle defector, etc.

It would be possible to see my whole life in NYC as part of my “competency problem.” Now, how to pivot (hate that word), parlay, redirect the momentum, if that even matters. Meaning: What do I have to do to see this book all the way through, and to sell in the next? That is what matters.

We take off at sunset, which I watch through the plane window. As the wheels leave land, I feel pierced. We lift into the pink clouds and I think, “It feels like I have to kill something in order to return.”

My heart feels like it’s breaking. A chest-caving ache. I already miss Costa Rica.

This is change. Prying apart, unhinging, exposing, and reforming … change.

~

May 15th, 2024

Here I am on the eve of the eve of GOING BACK. Already, somehow. What is time?

I did it. I did a lot. I wrote the book. I bought the house in Costa Rica. I survived a stretch of time that felt possibly impossible to survive, actually.

Now how do I feel? I wish I could say elated, as eager as the moment I left to return. Some part of me is, and some parts of me feel nervous. About? I don’t know exactly. I feel a vague mix of anticipation and excitement and nervousness about the unknown. It feels possible though. I feel … like I’m about to step into the future. Into the next version of myself. Who will I be? How will I be? Probably, if we’re honest, it’ll be very, very good. Will it all feel less romantic? Less good than it has? But these are things we can’t know now. Soon-soon enough, we will, all.

From the precipice: This is good. I am so proud of you. XOR

~

The day before the last morning in/of this ritual I have of stealing time first thing in the morning to write. Dad’s death was the catalyst that gave me permission to do what I’ve always known I should do (write). You were a catalyst that led to openness. The book deal was a catalyst that led to stealing so much time that actually, I began stealing my life back. From what they call audience capture. Which could apply, and does so often, so much more widely. To how we live and who we shape ourselves to be, and to please, and to prove something to. That is to say, there is audience capture, and there is society.

All of that has led to this last morning before tomorrow. The leap into what’s next which is now just a single step … off this edge.

And I’m marveling at how, despite so much of my anxiety having been about the unknown (anticipation, lack of control) I also continue to live for it. Once again thrusting myself forward and in and onward. How else could it be “a great adventure or nothing at all”? How else to grow. How else to live.

~

I can’t tell if I’m leaving home or going home. Both and, I suppose.

5/17

On board (with a one-way ticket and no idea when I’ll return, for the first time ever): I feel alternately peaceful and giddy. I know this journey well now. It is mine now? There are so many things to feel right now, I am just cycling through them. The book! The house! The professional repositioning. Who I will become! My life, and how I’ve managed to make it into something that allows me to take off for an indefinite amount of time—to paradise, no less. I hardly know what I’m celebrating. Love, love, love.

~

I am here. Sitting outside by the little pool, naked. I made it in time to see sunset, on that wild, wild beach. “God’s country” as Dad would say. It’s all too beautiful.

I cried when I saw the horizon again, for the first time since the last time I was here. I have done this. And, it’s the same. The blue-gold sea, the persistent breeze … all just as I left it, not knowing how it or I would be when I returned.

And this home. I own it. Outright. I definitely can’t believe that yet.

A gecko laughs, slithers by.

Unreal, unreality, this.

And how good I already feel.

There are things I am going to learn about life by the sea … so much, so much.

I have no idea what I’m “doing” here and it’s fascinating. One day at a time. I said I would leave when I either had to, or when it felt like time. I trust the unfolding here, the undoing, the rewiring.

5/18

The beach, with coffee. No one else is out here with me. A dog tumbles around my toes. I laugh out loud at it, and marvel. Wild country, I say again. And these people, they’re cowboys. Dad is everywhere.

I didn’t even mean to come out here to the sea exactly, but it drew me. And now that I’m here, I feel satisfied. Needing nothing more than to be here with it. To watch, listen, feel … it’s something cellular, maybe genetic. But why was Dad also so drawn to the ocean? Relentless, monstrous, mysterious, sublime.

Afternoon: I’m reflecting on “what happens” out here. I don’t even know all of what does, but I have absolute faith in its value. I feel good—peaceful and lazy, comfortable, though at times it does feel strange to be so alone. And to not know how long I’ll be here—like when I’m buying groceries, but how much? I don’t know what the sign will be to go. Or maybe I’ll stay?! For like a month?

5/19

Post-surfing and I feel … electric. Electric with no outlet. Effervescence in my veins. Dazed into total stillness. I feel heartbroken in paradise, already. I almost don’t mind because these feelings, they’re unrivaled, but also this is real life.

One thing I do know: Time kills feelings. And so, while it is now, I will feel them all even if doing so kills me. In fact, that is part of this whole process.

Sunset: Do I like being alone because I like being alone or because it invites potential? Which is to say, in the grander scheme of things, should I be this way, or would I regret (does it always come down to that?) not having … what? Made more memories juntos rather than sola? Or will I manage to have it all?

No dates

I feel like I can feel my life cracking open. My heart, is this the weeping? Yes, here it is. My love of this place, the severity of the contrast with my life in New York, the desire to stay—already so strong now.

(Sobbing.)

I don’t even know why, why

It’s want

It’s relief

It’s release of all it took to get here, like everything I’ve ever done, and now it’s never wanting to leave

I receive an email from K, the last line of which is “Please take good care of that beautiful heart of yours that beats with the cells of your father’s.”

I feel myself stretched—physically, mentally, energetically—to limits I’ve known only here. The sunset is godly. This is heaven. I have died, actually, and it is, actually, killing off parts of me. This feels so true that I wonder now, actually, if I am mentally stable.

There is some kind of energy here. I never related to people talking about vortexes or portals but that’s what this is. It exists elsewhere, in some dimension beyond the “normal.” (I keep pausing because I really do feel at some mental limit.) And, see, this is how it is: overwhelming, annihilating, pressing in and pulling out until I simply give in.

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

HRV 140. HR 40. This is such an incredible place, and way to live for bodies. Either exercising or at rest and never in between.

Two days remain. Ouch.

But, that house …

It’s hard to think beyond right now.

I sleep? I sleep. I wake up eager, eager, eager. And happy too. Definitely happy.

Everyone asks if I’m ever coming home, do I live here now? I say no, and yes, and it feels right. They say, You look so happy. My friend sends me a Mary Oliver poem and it’s the first time I’ve cried on this trip. 

I am just riding this wave. Like I know to, because eventually it will break. Like Dad taught me, like nature taught me. I am, I am. And, I can’t handle my life right now—it’s immense.

Could I describe how I feel right now? I feel …

… suspended. Between moments. Liminal (though I hate that word). And I realize again how much of what I write—how I write, how I know how to even—comes from feeling. How I feel, which is so forceful. From direct experience, and then attempting to articulate that. And so of course I love being in the throes. I love being overpowered.

~

A couple of us sit on the beach, watching the waves and sometimes talking.

Me: “Is there always a breeze here?”

“Yes.”

Me: “Of course there is.”

We talk about how slow it is here, and how fast New York is. 

Me: “Everyone walks fast there, no matter what.”

“Why?”

Me: “Because otherwise you’ll get run over.”

And why do they like their simple lives here? Why do they choose happiness, and avoid stress or worry? “Because otherwise you get aging and unhealthy and a worse life.”

I am again impressed by the perspective and its stark contrast to that of the states’. I ask if they learned it somewhere. “No, it’s just my person.”

Does my disinterest in considering “what I’m doing” reflect or represent any bigger theme or tendency in my life, I wonder? Rebellion? Play? I don’t really care to know right now and that’s certainly related. I am doing what feels both good, and right.

~

The sunset is gold and teal tonight. It’s breezy and mild, not a cloud in the sky of this soft paradise. It’s a salve—mesmerizing and very quiet. I walk there through a rustling jungle and the hush of dusk. The colors began traditionally enough and then transformed into yet another version of themselves—of a hypnotizing show. So much so that I was drawn into it, magnetized up off of my log and into an entranced walk to the water’s edge. Magenta and indigo now with a glassy sky whispering below me, surrounding me, an orb of hot pink searing over the slowest waves I’ve ever seen. I felt a bit dizzy from their confusing crawl—tiny, rippling trickles that seeped toward and around me—reflecting the lipstick light of the sun and erasing the boundary between earth and sky. 

I didn’t cry, but almost. It took my breath away, and also my mind. It was again a scene from my dreams—the ones where I’m swimming in a sea of sky.

And when the sun dropped below the waves, everything murmured into pastel—blush, blue, yellow probably too—ivory, foam, haze, mist … unreal. I couldn’t turn away. I kept trying to leave but stopping again just to stare, to absorb the landscape of heaven, to encounter my dreams while awake. To allow it in, to … to try to remember to try to see as much as possible, to try to believe, to try to connect, to try to be in it. To try to … I don’t even know what. Whatever it is that great beauty does to us.

~

There is something new in me, and about me. And isn’t that one of the reasons that we love, love, love encounters, as Rollo May describes them. These enmeshments with other(s) that yield … more. More of ourselves, more of life, more, more, more.

From the first catalyst on I had asked, “What does this represent?”

More. It is: more.

~

The last day. For now. I wake up happy, and sad.

Post surf: Aye beaming day! Aye heart, aye paradiso, aye todo, todo, todo de esto.

We surf. Conditions aren’t great but we go straight out beyond the break and I catch a left straight away. The dizziness returns but I’m determined to stay out, so do. The sets get powerful and the turtle-rolling is especially hard. I bail reluctantly after several big ones and we take a break on the beach for a bit. As the session nears its end, coach says I look so serious. “I want to make sure you’re having fun.” They all do that—after wipeouts, after turtle rolls, and just because—they grin, and they grin at you in order to make you grin back. They teach everyone who comes there how to smile as a way of life. From then on, I grin. I say, I could not be happier.

I sign the paperwork to start the process of buying that house.

Am I making decisions in an altered state? The reality is that, yes I am. But, the altered state may be, as my friend says, actually reality. Like, I might be awake now.

I’m not sure, but I have a sense, I have some … belief. And, it’s forward motion. And it feels good.

My brother says, “Shell the bell! Blazing trails down in Costa Rica!”

Me: “You sound like Dad.”

Brother: “You’re acting like Dad.”

A friend says, “You should just keep doing what feels good because it’s clearly working. Your intuition is bang on.”

~

Sunset is incredible. All the impossible to describe colors and textures—the sky on the land and me between. Me, in my dreams, stunned by a sun that is yet another color tonight. The milky froth is some surreal seep that anesthetizes.

When I have to turn to go, I cry. A little sob—the pain in my chest. I try to hold it back, put my dark sunglasses back on, and walk with my head down, tearing myself away from this place.

And then, I run into Neils, fresh from the sea where he’d been surfing. The two of us meeting on this beach, in this country, after so many years—it feels meaningful. I wipe my eyes and admit to being emo. He says he’s out here feeling the same way. We chuckle and time catches up in the silence as we gaze at the scene.

“This place is strong.”

Walking home, I feel some sort of closure. I mutter “strange” as I look at the jungle, which seems to be some sort of portal—some Bermuda Triangle. As if this so-alive land swept in and saved me. Freed me. Healed me by preemptively cutting me loose, knocking me awake, and then giving me what I didn’t even know I needed. Like a final, whispering trickle of whitewater over my ankles, another wash clean. Another release. More … something.

As if I could sleep last night. I don’t care. I am breathless. Gasping awake and feeling empty in a gaping way. My little body. Heart racing, tanned limbs, long and lean and hungry, thirsty, humming. This medium, which I have no choice but to be for this land.

I can barely see, I’m so wound up. I dance, trying to shake out my nerves. I’m sweating. I drink chamomile tea. I run to the beach and throw myself into the sea and feel so much better.

I catch my ride to the airport.

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

HRV 140. HR 40. This is such an incredible place, and way to live for bodies. Either exercising or at rest and never in between.

Two days remain. Ouch.

But, that house …

It’s hard to think beyond right now.

I sleep? I sleep. I wake up eager, eager, eager. And happy too. Definitely happy.

Everyone asks if I’m ever coming home, do I live here now? I say no, and yes, and it feels right. They say, You look so happy. My friend sends me a Mary Oliver poem and it’s the first time I’ve cried on this trip. 

I am just riding this wave. Like I know to, because eventually it will break. Like Dad taught me, like nature taught me. I am, I am. And, I can’t handle my life right now—it’s immense.

Could I describe how I feel right now? I feel …

… suspended. Between moments. Liminal (though I hate that word). And I realize again how much of what I write—how I write, how I know how to even—comes from feeling. How I feel, which is so forceful. From direct experience, and then attempting to articulate that. And so of course I love being in the throes. I love being overpowered.

~

A couple of us sit on the beach, watching the waves and sometimes talking.

Me: “Is there always a breeze here?”

“Yes.”

Me: “Of course there is.”

We talk about how slow it is here, and how fast New York is. 

Me: “Everyone walks fast there, no matter what.”

“Why?”

Me: “Because otherwise you’ll get run over.”

And why do they like their simple lives here? Why do they choose happiness, and avoid stress or worry? “Because otherwise you get aging and unhealthy and a worse life.”

I am again impressed by the perspective and its stark contrast to that of the states’. I ask if they learned it somewhere. “No, it’s just my person.”

Does my disinterest in considering “what I’m doing” reflect or represent any bigger theme or tendency in my life, I wonder? Rebellion? Play? I don’t really care to know right now and that’s certainly related. I am doing what feels both good, and right.

~

The sunset is gold and teal tonight. It’s breezy and mild, not a cloud in the sky of this soft paradise. It’s a salve—mesmerizing and very quiet. I walk there through a rustling jungle and the hush of dusk. The colors began traditionally enough and then transformed into yet another version of themselves—of a hypnotizing show. So much so that I was drawn into it, magnetized up off of my log and into an entranced walk to the water’s edge. Magenta and indigo now with a glassy sky whispering below me, surrounding me, an orb of hot pink searing over the slowest waves I’ve ever seen. I felt a bit dizzy from their confusing crawl—tiny, rippling trickles that seeped toward and around me—reflecting the lipstick light of the sun and erasing the boundary between earth and sky. 

I didn’t cry, but almost. It took my breath away, and also my mind. It was again a scene from my dreams—the ones where I’m swimming in a sea of sky.

And when the sun dropped below the waves, everything murmured into pastel—blush, blue, yellow probably too—ivory, foam, haze, mist … unreal. I couldn’t turn away. I kept trying to leave but stopping again just to stare, to absorb the landscape of heaven, to encounter my dreams while awake. To allow it in, to … to try to remember to try to see as much as possible, to try to believe, to try to connect, to try to be in it. To try to … I don’t even know what. Whatever it is that great beauty does to us.

~

There is something new in me, and about me. And isn’t that one of the reasons that we love, love, love encounters, as Rollo May describes them. These enmeshments with other(s) that yield … more. More of ourselves, more of life, more, more, more.

From the first catalyst on I had asked, “What does this represent?”

More. It is: more.

~

The last day. For now. I wake up happy, and sad.

Post surf: Aye beaming day! Aye heart, aye paradiso, aye todo, todo, todo de esto.

We surf. Conditions aren’t great but we go straight out beyond the break and I catch a left straight away. The dizziness returns but I’m determined to stay out, so do. The sets get powerful and the turtle-rolling is especially hard. I bail reluctantly after several big ones and we take a break on the beach for a bit. As the session nears its end, coach says I look so serious. “I want to make sure you’re having fun.” They all do that—after wipeouts, after turtle rolls, and just because—they grin, and they grin at you in order to make you grin back. They teach everyone who comes there how to smile as a way of life. From then on, I grin. I say, I could not be happier.

I sign the paperwork to start the process of buying that house.

Am I making decisions in an altered state? The reality is that, yes I am. But, the altered state may be, as my friend says, actually reality. Like, I might be awake now.

I’m not sure, but I have a sense, I have some … belief. And, it’s forward motion. And it feels good.

My brother says, “Shell the bell! Blazing trails down in Costa Rica!”

Me: “You sound like Dad.”

Brother: “You’re acting like Dad.”

A friend says, “You should just keep doing what feels good because it’s clearly working. Your intuition is bang on.”

~

Sunset is incredible. All the impossible to describe colors and textures—the sky on the land and me between. Me, in my dreams, stunned by a sun that is yet another color tonight. The milky froth is some surreal seep that anesthetizes.

When I have to turn to go, I cry. A little sob—the pain in my chest. I try to hold it back, put my dark sunglasses back on, and walk with my head down, tearing myself away from this place.

And then, I run into Neils, fresh from the sea where he’d been surfing. The two of us meeting on this beach, in this country, after so many years—it feels meaningful. I wipe my eyes and admit to being emo. He says he’s out here feeling the same way. We chuckle and time catches up in the silence as we gaze at the scene.

“This place is strong.”

Walking home, I feel some sort of closure. I mutter “strange” as I look at the jungle, which seems to be some sort of portal—some Bermuda Triangle. As if this so-alive land swept in and saved me. Freed me. Healed me by preemptively cutting me loose, knocking me awake, and then giving me what I didn’t even know I needed. Like a final, whispering trickle of whitewater over my ankles, another wash clean. Another release. More … something.

As if I could sleep last night. I don’t care. I am breathless. Gasping awake and feeling empty in a gaping way. My little body. Heart racing, tanned limbs, long and lean and hungry, thirsty, humming. This medium, which I have no choice but to be for this land.

I can barely see, I’m so wound up. I dance, trying to shake out my nerves. I’m sweating. I drink chamomile tea. I run to the beach and throw myself into the sea and feel so much better.

I catch my ride to the airport.

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

3/4/24 con’t

I saw the house again today. Am I really doing this? It seems I am really doing this. Why wouldn’t I? To save money? It’s a better financial investment than the market. To find a cheaper place somewhere else? This is paradise. All of the timing is aligning … 

There’s a hissing behind me that I think, at first, must be a drone, but it becomes a chorus from the mangroves—the locusts that I will learn later begin singing at 6pm every night. So good for my body and brain this place is. So delicious. Soft, but not especially gentle—it’s intense. A love. A love like my loves, like my life.

Once again I’m hating how memories fade.

I realize that there is nothing I have to do this week. I can relax. I … can … relax.

3/5/24

Sleep. My brain feels reset. I hope the waves are kind today. I also know that I can’t know how they’ll be or how I’ll be, so anticipating isn’t useful. I wonder if this place would cleanse me of that habit too. Tall order, but it feels possible.

I love the jungle here. To start my days with coffee outside and gazing into the wild … 

Post-surf: Peace, bliss, silence. Deep, whole, heavy, silence. The sound of the world, which we otherwise miss. The sound of ourselves, which we otherwise miss. The frequency, the presence, the thread, web, essence … none of these words are right. It’s a gravity, a dark matter, a current, a truth, an ultimate, an almost-entity. Ness.

For me, now, it’s a relief.

I met my coach and went straight to work. A couple of waves in the whitewater and then out. The surf was smaller today, as I’d hoped. It took some turtle-rolling to get out, but we did it fine enough. I catch a beautiful right and ride the face a long time, feeling good about my stance. I don’t fall, and I’m impressed I can do this so consistently now.

I paddle back out, more turtle-rolling, my arms already fatigued, which is frustrating. Trembling all over from the effort and the adrenaline, but feeling great. The water is glassy and sweet. We dodge a big set and then I catch a left, riding it for what feels like the longest time yet—all the way to the beach. 

My coach is so excited that he runs up to me to give me a high-five and says over and over again how sick that wave was, grinning. I really want to go out for another but we decide to conserve energy and play in the whitewater. I practice my takeoffs, and also taking little steps on the board. He’s so encouraging and positive that it makes me laugh. I work until I simply can’t anymore, throwing myself and my energy back at the waves until there’s none left. My coach says I have a lot of energy today. I think, if he only knew.

As I walk home, completely dazed, as I remain now, I think about how surfing really is special. I have the bug. I get it. But it’s not “surfing” so much as the thorough annihilation it provides. Complete absorption. And how I can hurl myself into it, try as hard as I might, use all of my mental and physical strength—and always the sea will meet me. Eventually, it will always overtake me. It is endless … baptism. Endless … power. Perpetual resistance. And oh don’t we know how much this girl loves resistance.

Now, I am so quiet. I can feel how I will do nothing here. How I don’t even want to pick up my phone. How I feel free, and how I can disappear. This is the right balance to the rest of my life. Eventually, it may overtake that too. But, for now, it is the perfect opposite.

I am grateful.

Love. Relief. Pura vida.

Regarding the unrelenting softness of this place: it erodes. Erodes one, erodes me. Smoothes and shapes and refines to some purer, simpler form. And of course it does! Nature does. Gradually and persistently moving the unmovable, breaking the unbreakable, wearing away, proving impermanence.

Afternoon: I force out an hour of book editing. It goes well but it’s the most I can make myself do. Feeling the stretch of the afternoon and a bit of sleepiness mixed with the heat of excitement. The most delirious nap, then. Deep, druggy time-travel.

I really need my next book to be about all of this.

I see my supplement containers in front of me, labeled for the days of the week. Only Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday remain. Here we go again.

Sunset: The silhouette people, they are walking on sky.

I have found a place that outdoes my ability to describe. It evaporates (erodes?) my words. The sunset makes me feel almost queasy. It’s almost punishing in how it does away with my medium for making sense … 

Three days remain. I must love the hell out of these three days and then write the hell out of my book. I must and I can and I will. Aye me.

~

The next day: Only for surfing am I waking up this early with a smile on my face.

Post-surf: I am dead. Dead dead, actually dead. It’s a bit smaller today which makes the paddle out easier. I feel stronger too, my turtle-rolls cleaner and I’m back on the board sooner. Coach notices and compliments me. “You know Rashel, from the time we start to now, you’re such a better surfer.” I catch the next wave and ride it right, getting low on the board, not really believing how I’m doing this already. When I hit the water after jumping off, something about it knocks me dizzy. I’m a bit afraid but just tell myself I’m okay and go back to the beach to rest for a bit. We work in the whitewater to finish the session, my coach in the shallows calling out instructions. Meanwhile, I talk to the waves.

I walk home in that daze, my body still in the sea. This is all a lot. I am here for it. And now it is only 8:30am and already I am so full. I feel like a vessel for life.

~

Reflecting on how, of course, I love these days, this lifestyle, that revolves around the body. How it overrides the mind. And I am marveling at how just when it feels like nothing can get any higher, any better, and more dream-come-true, it does exactly that.

I feel wrecked in the best way.

~

Would this high wear off? Would it come to feel small or … too familiar? What if I never find out?

I feel lucky, and also proud of myself for protecting my life in order to have these experiences.

~

It’s now the hour, the day, the point at which I feel desperate to stay. Again a bit queasy and sad about going. I feel so fully out of my life’s matrix. And yet, the book.

I realize that I feel like I have escaped down here. I mean, I have. I am actually free. I can actually disappear. After so many years of work, and working to appear in the world, I now yearn to disappear. I’ve always wanted both. To have it all. To reach a level of success that satisfied whatever I need(ed), and then to also disappear. NYC was also always both. Fame and anonymity.

Is it common to be so … dually pursuant, I wonder? Is this about nuance or conflict? Or is it just the uniqueness of relative balance?

Would I ever tire of this palm-tree gazing that resembles avoidance of “everything else”?

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

3/4/24 con’t

I saw the house again today. Am I really doing this? It seems I am really doing this. Why wouldn’t I? To save money? It’s a better financial investment than the market. To find a cheaper place somewhere else? This is paradise. All of the timing is aligning … 

There’s a hissing behind me that I think, at first, must be a drone, but it becomes a chorus from the mangroves—the locusts that I will learn later begin singing at 6pm every night. So good for my body and brain this place is. So delicious. Soft, but not especially gentle—it’s intense. A love. A love like my loves, like my life.

Once again I’m hating how memories fade.

I realize that there is nothing I have to do this week. I can relax. I … can … relax.

3/5/24

Sleep. My brain feels reset. I hope the waves are kind today. I also know that I can’t know how they’ll be or how I’ll be, so anticipating isn’t useful. I wonder if this place would cleanse me of that habit too. Tall order, but it feels possible.

I love the jungle here. To start my days with coffee outside and gazing into the wild … 

Post-surf: Peace, bliss, silence. Deep, whole, heavy, silence. The sound of the world, which we otherwise miss. The sound of ourselves, which we otherwise miss. The frequency, the presence, the thread, web, essence … none of these words are right. It’s a gravity, a dark matter, a current, a truth, an ultimate, an almost-entity. Ness.

For me, now, it’s a relief.

I met my coach and went straight to work. A couple of waves in the whitewater and then out. The surf was smaller today, as I’d hoped. It took some turtle-rolling to get out, but we did it fine enough. I catch a beautiful right and ride the face a long time, feeling good about my stance. I don’t fall, and I’m impressed I can do this so consistently now.

I paddle back out, more turtle-rolling, my arms already fatigued, which is frustrating. Trembling all over from the effort and the adrenaline, but feeling great. The water is glassy and sweet. We dodge a big set and then I catch a left, riding it for what feels like the longest time yet—all the way to the beach. 

My coach is so excited that he runs up to me to give me a high-five and says over and over again how sick that wave was, grinning. I really want to go out for another but we decide to conserve energy and play in the whitewater. I practice my takeoffs, and also taking little steps on the board. He’s so encouraging and positive that it makes me laugh. I work until I simply can’t anymore, throwing myself and my energy back at the waves until there’s none left. My coach says I have a lot of energy today. I think, if he only knew.

As I walk home, completely dazed, as I remain now, I think about how surfing really is special. I have the bug. I get it. But it’s not “surfing” so much as the thorough annihilation it provides. Complete absorption. And how I can hurl myself into it, try as hard as I might, use all of my mental and physical strength—and always the sea will meet me. Eventually, it will always overtake me. It is endless … baptism. Endless … power. Perpetual resistance. And oh don’t we know how much this girl loves resistance.

Now, I am so quiet. I can feel how I will do nothing here. How I don’t even want to pick up my phone. How I feel free, and how I can disappear. This is the right balance to the rest of my life. Eventually, it may overtake that too. But, for now, it is the perfect opposite.

I am grateful.

Love. Relief. Pura vida.

Regarding the unrelenting softness of this place: it erodes. Erodes one, erodes me. Smoothes and shapes and refines to some purer, simpler form. And of course it does! Nature does. Gradually and persistently moving the unmovable, breaking the unbreakable, wearing away, proving impermanence.

Afternoon: I force out an hour of book editing. It goes well but it’s the most I can make myself do. Feeling the stretch of the afternoon and a bit of sleepiness mixed with the heat of excitement. The most delirious nap, then. Deep, druggy time-travel.

I really need my next book to be about all of this.

I see my supplement containers in front of me, labeled for the days of the week. Only Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday remain. Here we go again.

Sunset: The silhouette people, they are walking on sky.

I have found a place that outdoes my ability to describe. It evaporates (erodes?) my words. The sunset makes me feel almost queasy. It’s almost punishing in how it does away with my medium for making sense … 

Three days remain. I must love the hell out of these three days and then write the hell out of my book. I must and I can and I will. Aye me.

~

The next day: Only for surfing am I waking up this early with a smile on my face.

Post-surf: I am dead. Dead dead, actually dead. It’s a bit smaller today which makes the paddle out easier. I feel stronger too, my turtle-rolls cleaner and I’m back on the board sooner. Coach notices and compliments me. “You know Rashel, from the time we start to now, you’re such a better surfer.” I catch the next wave and ride it right, getting low on the board, not really believing how I’m doing this already. When I hit the water after jumping off, something about it knocks me dizzy. I’m a bit afraid but just tell myself I’m okay and go back to the beach to rest for a bit. We work in the whitewater to finish the session, my coach in the shallows calling out instructions. Meanwhile, I talk to the waves.

I walk home in that daze, my body still in the sea. This is all a lot. I am here for it. And now it is only 8:30am and already I am so full. I feel like a vessel for life.

~

Reflecting on how, of course, I love these days, this lifestyle, that revolves around the body. How it overrides the mind. And I am marveling at how just when it feels like nothing can get any higher, any better, and more dream-come-true, it does exactly that.

I feel wrecked in the best way.

~

Would this high wear off? Would it come to feel small or … too familiar? What if I never find out?

I feel lucky, and also proud of myself for protecting my life in order to have these experiences.

~

It’s now the hour, the day, the point at which I feel desperate to stay. Again a bit queasy and sad about going. I feel so fully out of my life’s matrix. And yet, the book.

I realize that I feel like I have escaped down here. I mean, I have. I am actually free. I can actually disappear. After so many years of work, and working to appear in the world, I now yearn to disappear. I’ve always wanted both. To have it all. To reach a level of success that satisfied whatever I need(ed), and then to also disappear. NYC was also always both. Fame and anonymity.

Is it common to be so … dually pursuant, I wonder? Is this about nuance or conflict? Or is it just the uniqueness of relative balance?

Would I ever tire of this palm-tree gazing that resembles avoidance of “everything else”?

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

February 2024

How can it be so high, so intense, and gentle at the same time? And do things actually happen though? Really? Like, as soon as they’re over are they real anymore? The present, if it’s all that is, then what are these experiences I’ve had—these things I’ve done—if not dreams or memories?

In the airport, it’s the first time in my life that I see the sign for New York and rather than pride and excitement, my heart sinks. Like that last night on the beach when someone said, “You like New York?” and I … hesitated. I will never forget that brief, pregnant pause. My life in less than a second, changing. That’s the crack, that’s the thread, and I know by now how these things go (in the direction of growth). This is not something I’m in control of, not aware of until it happens, and it’s happening.

I am so different already as a result of just these two weeks. I can hear my voice, the lowness and slowness of it—the fluidity, the current between my mind and mouth like a channel, a stream, clear and smooth and open. I wonder who and how I would be after months there, or a year. Perhaps after finishing this book I will find out.

Places inside of me hurt and I’m so glad. I will miss these bruises—the physical sensations reminding me of the moments; reminding me that it really happened.

I do do this. I do this to myself. I make my life this way, by inviting.

I think: I’m a writer and an explorer and a mind and a body. I should quit business in as many was as possible and just be / do / live this.

I think I’m frightened by how quickly it happened. The hesitation, the snap and break of realizing I want out, and then the reality of it presenting itself. I feel like I’m still dreaming.

I turn the music up and dance. I start to feel the weight lift. I am integrating. I start to feel my power—no, I have been feeling it. I am, to use the cliche, so in my power right now. This whole year has been about that. I feel my courage, and I feel proud. I live boldly and I trust myself. I know myself. I have convictions. I believe.

What a trip. Life surges when it does. I’m going back to Costa Rica in two weeks. My friend has a free room for me. It’s too good to be true. And yet, it is.

One month later

Just … smiling! Walking laps in the airport in a smiley daze. Amused by my essentially entirely unbothered affect. How different from a few weeks ago when I was so miserable on this travel leg that it took two full days to recover. Now, granted I’m not through customs yet, it feels like it couldn’t be any easier.

Wheels-up in NYC makes me grin and I’m momentarily confused about where I am (okay, that’s a theme lately) because typically I’m sad to leave NYC and happy to return, not the other way around.

Night: It’s a long travel day but so mellow. I doze and gaze out the dark windows at the rushing jungle, imagining what it feels like to call this place home. What a gift, what a dream. I can’t believe I’m back, and in the same room! Bizarre, amazing, and my brain has definitely given up on orientation. It felt like it’d been a month rather than a year when I returned in February.

As I step a first foot out on the road to the beach, my heart leaps and I think: Home. Suddenly I realize that I might call it that. Straight to the beach to walk the length of it. The waves are huge—large and loud—maybe the biggest I’ve seen out here yet. And the current is so strong that I feel a bit iffy even swimming in the whitewater, but I do for a bit and then sit on one of the familiar pieces of driftwood and watch the sea. It’s incredible how soft the sand is—(is everything here soft?)—soft sea, soft breeze, soft the bond between us now that we are related, kin, partnered?

I wander to the north to explore what may become my neighborhood. I run into Neils and his girlfriend Francesca. Neils! For the first time in nearly 10 years! Time evaporates when we hug hello; none has passed. It feels especially significant to see them here because Peru, where I saw him first and last, led me here. It feels as if all the characters and lessons in my life are spiraling into this place, converging …

Sunset: Again, colors I haven’t seen before in this life. Something between green and yellow. Godly, glistening, hazy. It reaches across the sea to my skin, to this page. Everyone becomes a silhouette—a shadow of themselves. I realize that I adore all of this because it makes me feel. I live to feel. Feeling is and always has been my material. It all started from the intensity of my feelings. (Have I never realized this before? Or like so many things, have I realized it, written it, and forgotten it only to re-realize it when it’s time to truly know it?) Dad lived with a ferocity that I’ve inherited. And I can see where it leads which is … all the way.

And, just as I’m wondering if it’s too soon to retire from my career, and would my brain stop working down here, I see that it would simply work in different ways. Is it possible to make art that feels like this? Or need art come out of feelings like this? Is this not the best feeling in the world? I think it is. H A P P I N E S S.

Now the air is its familiar pastel, leaving light on the earth, mirrored pink sky below my bare feet. I see the green flash again and grin. Surfing tomorrow.

Morning: All adrenaline and whatever other endogenous drugs result from this pavlovian salivation for the thrill of surfing. I talk to a stranger at breakfast to distract myself and Dad comes up in conversation again, which is two-for-two on these trips. The stranger says that if I haven’t yet found the relationship to replace Dad’s role in my life, and if I carry it within me, it will materialize. I wonder: Is that what this phase is about? Is this me looking for Dad? I am certainly finding him here, over and over again.

I meet my coach on the beach to borrow a board and head into the waves. It’s rough but I love it and am already so much better than earlier this year—taking off left and right, paddling long, even a couple of little dances toward the nose. I feel my mind quiet and my body begin to hum. I surf until the heat and glare become too much and then sit in the shade of the beachside jungle and hydrate. It’s nearly time for me to visit the property I returned to see so I strip off my rash-guard, swim briefly to cool down, and then trot back to my room … 

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

February 2024

How can it be so high, so intense, and gentle at the same time? And do things actually happen though? Really? Like, as soon as they’re over are they real anymore? The present, if it’s all that is, then what are these experiences I’ve had—these things I’ve done—if not dreams or memories?

In the airport, it’s the first time in my life that I see the sign for New York and rather than pride and excitement, my heart sinks. Like that last night on the beach when someone said, “You like New York?” and I … hesitated. I will never forget that brief, pregnant pause. My life in less than a second, changing. That’s the crack, that’s the thread, and I know by now how these things go (in the direction of growth). This is not something I’m in control of, not aware of until it happens, and it’s happening.

I am so different already as a result of just these two weeks. I can hear my voice, the lowness and slowness of it—the fluidity, the current between my mind and mouth like a channel, a stream, clear and smooth and open. I wonder who and how I would be after months there, or a year. Perhaps after finishing this book I will find out.

Places inside of me hurt and I’m so glad. I will miss these bruises—the physical sensations reminding me of the moments; reminding me that it really happened.

I do do this. I do this to myself. I make my life this way, by inviting.

I think: I’m a writer and an explorer and a mind and a body. I should quit business in as many was as possible and just be / do / live this.

I think I’m frightened by how quickly it happened. The hesitation, the snap and break of realizing I want out, and then the reality of it presenting itself. I feel like I’m still dreaming.

I turn the music up and dance. I start to feel the weight lift. I am integrating. I start to feel my power—no, I have been feeling it. I am, to use the cliche, so in my power right now. This whole year has been about that. I feel my courage, and I feel proud. I live boldly and I trust myself. I know myself. I have convictions. I believe.

What a trip. Life surges when it does. I’m going back to Costa Rica in two weeks. My friend has a free room for me. It’s too good to be true. And yet, it is.

One month later

Just … smiling! Walking laps in the airport in a smiley daze. Amused by my essentially entirely unbothered affect. How different from a few weeks ago when I was so miserable on this travel leg that it took two full days to recover. Now, granted I’m not through customs yet, it feels like it couldn’t be any easier.

Wheels-up in NYC makes me grin and I’m momentarily confused about where I am (okay, that’s a theme lately) because typically I’m sad to leave NYC and happy to return, not the other way around.

Night: It’s a long travel day but so mellow. I doze and gaze out the dark windows at the rushing jungle, imagining what it feels like to call this place home. What a gift, what a dream. I can’t believe I’m back, and in the same room! Bizarre, amazing, and my brain has definitely given up on orientation. It felt like it’d been a month rather than a year when I returned in February.

As I step a first foot out on the road to the beach, my heart leaps and I think: Home. Suddenly I realize that I might call it that. Straight to the beach to walk the length of it. The waves are huge—large and loud—maybe the biggest I’ve seen out here yet. And the current is so strong that I feel a bit iffy even swimming in the whitewater, but I do for a bit and then sit on one of the familiar pieces of driftwood and watch the sea. It’s incredible how soft the sand is—(is everything here soft?)—soft sea, soft breeze, soft the bond between us now that we are related, kin, partnered?

I wander to the north to explore what may become my neighborhood. I run into Neils and his girlfriend Francesca. Neils! For the first time in nearly 10 years! Time evaporates when we hug hello; none has passed. It feels especially significant to see them here because Peru, where I saw him first and last, led me here. It feels as if all the characters and lessons in my life are spiraling into this place, converging …

Sunset: Again, colors I haven’t seen before in this life. Something between green and yellow. Godly, glistening, hazy. It reaches across the sea to my skin, to this page. Everyone becomes a silhouette—a shadow of themselves. I realize that I adore all of this because it makes me feel. I live to feel. Feeling is and always has been my material. It all started from the intensity of my feelings. (Have I never realized this before? Or like so many things, have I realized it, written it, and forgotten it only to re-realize it when it’s time to truly know it?) Dad lived with a ferocity that I’ve inherited. And I can see where it leads which is … all the way.

And, just as I’m wondering if it’s too soon to retire from my career, and would my brain stop working down here, I see that it would simply work in different ways. Is it possible to make art that feels like this? Or need art come out of feelings like this? Is this not the best feeling in the world? I think it is. H A P P I N E S S.

Now the air is its familiar pastel, leaving light on the earth, mirrored pink sky below my bare feet. I see the green flash again and grin. Surfing tomorrow.

Morning: All adrenaline and whatever other endogenous drugs result from this pavlovian salivation for the thrill of surfing. I talk to a stranger at breakfast to distract myself and Dad comes up in conversation again, which is two-for-two on these trips. The stranger says that if I haven’t yet found the relationship to replace Dad’s role in my life, and if I carry it within me, it will materialize. I wonder: Is that what this phase is about? Is this me looking for Dad? I am certainly finding him here, over and over again.

I meet my coach on the beach to borrow a board and head into the waves. It’s rough but I love it and am already so much better than earlier this year—taking off left and right, paddling long, even a couple of little dances toward the nose. I feel my mind quiet and my body begin to hum. I surf until the heat and glare become too much and then sit in the shade of the beachside jungle and hydrate. It’s nearly time for me to visit the property I returned to see so I strip off my rash-guard, swim briefly to cool down, and then trot back to my room … 

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

February 2024: the final day

It all reminds me of the sea. A sea within. Sometimes, like they were at sunset tonight, the waves are ferocious and wind-whipped, spray thrashing into the sky before a smoldering sun. And the same sea will also, later, be barely whispering—lapping delicately at my toes. Seasons. Swells. Conditioning.

Tonight, the waves seemed to be bearing down on me from a distance. Just far enough away to do no damage, but to threaten it. Not angry, just pure, raw, power. And, it showed its incessant nature—tireless until eternity. Roiling and seething, cooing and sliding, trickling and crashing and all as it pleases, purely.

Tomorrow, for my final day, I will walk to the beach for a swim with the birds. I will bask. I will say my farewell. I will try to smile because it happened.

It feels like a dream. I feel so far away from everything. I feel incredible, really. It’s hard to imagine clothes, ice, walls. And, I’m glad. I’m so desperately thankful for all of this. To have burst beyond myself in so many ways. To have exploded my life—or ignited the potential to—to have exploded my brain. To have changed my voice (always so low and slow and fluid when I sync with the rhythm of places like these that friends comment on it), and: to have changed my mind.

This feels like the farthest out I’ve gone. This feels like the closest I’ve come to losing my mind, which was always “my greatest fear,” and in return, I have found so much. The “O.” Incredible, truly. Profound. Transcendent. Transformative. Etc.

I am stretched. I am … really something and yet only human. That we might all find our versions of this—this other, singular, ultimate dimension.

~

Up early, now trained to dawn rises. I’m happy for more time awake in this anyway.

It’s a soft morning, the day feels gentle, last night’s powerful winds are gone. The jungle coos, whistles, rustles, echoes. There are so many things to see and hear—how wide my senses are now. I too feel soft today, like the breeze. Quiet. Bruised maybe (probably).

My first thought upon waking is how to return to New York without reentering the matrix. I wish I knew the way but I don’t.

Lying here staring at the plants in the sky, noting how I have such an affectionate relationship with them. So clearly I can see the shaggy palm’s personality. And the locust—the way its soft hands drum on the breeze makes me want to hug it.

This place is like an addictive psychedelic. My mind just floats. It’s as if it’s been erased, wiped clean.

I stare. I notice how slow my breathing is. And then I notice the iguana in the same place that I saw him a couple of hours ago when I noticed how slow he was breathing, and tried to match it myself. The only motion on his body is a tiny patch behind his leg revealing the in- and exhalation of his little lungs. We two, simply absorbing.

What pleasure, to lay here in the shade and feel.

The final surf, the final sunset: I arrive to the beach early and it’s a white-hot scene straight out of heaven—shimmering shades of iridescence. We paddle out beyond the break, turtle-rolling and pushing hard. I obey the calls to dig-in and appreciate his occasional shoves at the back of my board, boosting me over the rolling peaks. Once beyond the break, we bob in the setting sun as the clear light begins to turn colors behind pelicans that cruise around us, also surfing. I catch a wave and ride it well, tucking in my back knee as I’ve recently learned to do. Back out we go, and again with all of my might because big sets are arriving. He can see waves on the horizon that I can’t and shouts directions to keep me safe. Paddle north! Straight! North! Push hard! And the most frequent, which I now hear any time I’m reaching an edge of physical capacity: Big one is coming.

Outside of what feels like a mountain range of waves, we sit upright on our boards, recovering. I’m trembling and I sputter, “I appreciate you.” He laughs at me, but kindly. For him, this is simply what he does. For me, it’s life-changing. And then we’re off, paddling again to catch a right that I ride all the way to the end, ecstatic. After as much of this in and out as my muscles can take we ride to the whitewater on our bellies and work there, doing drills. Eventually my arms give out from all of the paddling and he takes to tugging my board around so that I can keep catching waves. I marvel at the strength of the surfers here who can do this all day seemingly without ever tiring. Uno mas, uno mas! I go until I can’t and then I ditch my board and just float—the sunset now fiery and fuschia and more breathtaking every time I look up. I never want this to end.

When I stagger onto the sand, grinning, I say, “I’m still not sure if I’m awake.”

The last morning: I run to the beach to search for my shawl, which I forgot there last night, skipping off in the moonlight. The tide had come all the way into the shore, drawn high by the full moon, and it felt unlikely but possible I might find it—this thin rectangle of sun-bleached fabric that I’ve been inseparable from on every jungle adventure for the last ten years. I believed it would be there, despite the odds.

And it was, water-logged and full of sand and having traveled down the beach a bit, catching on a piece of driftwood. The sea had gotten it, but not taken it. I hang it to dry like a flag and sit in the scene for the final minutes before leaving for the airport.

At the airport: Feeling so entirely different from the state I arrived in. Wonder now how to arrive without returning …

On board: Bruised and pacified. Unsure and also certain. Delirious with memories—the piercing beauty, the sedative light recessions, the heartbreaking poetry of surfing, the trauma of the sea and staggering from it, alive! Alive, alive, alive. The weeping.

The heat, the green, the hum, the growing closeness between my body and that body of land. How it gulps me in, roughly and quickly.

What a gift. I will never be the same. I am that one there, that creature, that nearly naked, tanned and scuffed, strong and sensitive, healthy, feeling, open. That final evening felt like the last bit of myself to give. I went all the way in—into the waves, into the jungle, into the experience, into myself. I said absolutely yes to everything, afraid or otherwise. I gave, and I allowed myself to be taken.

I don’t know many things but I do know that this is what I must move toward now. Four months to finish my book. And then, I go back.

Now, my pen is running out of ink. How f i t t i n g . . .

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

February 2024: the final day

It all reminds me of the sea. A sea within. Sometimes, like they were at sunset tonight, the waves are ferocious and wind-whipped, spray thrashing into the sky before a smoldering sun. And the same sea will also, later, be barely whispering—lapping delicately at my toes. Seasons. Swells. Conditioning.

Tonight, the waves seemed to be bearing down on me from a distance. Just far enough away to do no damage, but to threaten it. Not angry, just pure, raw, power. And, it showed its incessant nature—tireless until eternity. Roiling and seething, cooing and sliding, trickling and crashing and all as it pleases, purely.

Tomorrow, for my final day, I will walk to the beach for a swim with the birds. I will bask. I will say my farewell. I will try to smile because it happened.

It feels like a dream. I feel so far away from everything. I feel incredible, really. It’s hard to imagine clothes, ice, walls. And, I’m glad. I’m so desperately thankful for all of this. To have burst beyond myself in so many ways. To have exploded my life—or ignited the potential to—to have exploded my brain. To have changed my voice (always so low and slow and fluid when I sync with the rhythm of places like these that friends comment on it), and: to have changed my mind.

This feels like the farthest out I’ve gone. This feels like the closest I’ve come to losing my mind, which was always “my greatest fear,” and in return, I have found so much. The “O.” Incredible, truly. Profound. Transcendent. Transformative. Etc.

I am stretched. I am … really something and yet only human. That we might all find our versions of this—this other, singular, ultimate dimension.

~

Up early, now trained to dawn rises. I’m happy for more time awake in this anyway.

It’s a soft morning, the day feels gentle, last night’s powerful winds are gone. The jungle coos, whistles, rustles, echoes. There are so many things to see and hear—how wide my senses are now. I too feel soft today, like the breeze. Quiet. Bruised maybe (probably).

My first thought upon waking is how to return to New York without reentering the matrix. I wish I knew the way but I don’t.

Lying here staring at the plants in the sky, noting how I have such an affectionate relationship with them. So clearly I can see the shaggy palm’s personality. And the locust—the way its soft hands drum on the breeze makes me want to hug it.

This place is like an addictive psychedelic. My mind just floats. It’s as if it’s been erased, wiped clean.

I stare. I notice how slow my breathing is. And then I notice the iguana in the same place that I saw him a couple of hours ago when I noticed how slow he was breathing, and tried to match it myself. The only motion on his body is a tiny patch behind his leg revealing the in- and exhalation of his little lungs. We two, simply absorbing.

What pleasure, to lay here in the shade and feel.

The final surf, the final sunset: I arrive to the beach early and it’s a white-hot scene straight out of heaven—shimmering shades of iridescence. We paddle out beyond the break, turtle-rolling and pushing hard. I obey the calls to dig-in and appreciate his occasional shoves at the back of my board, boosting me over the rolling peaks. Once beyond the break, we bob in the setting sun as the clear light begins to turn colors behind pelicans that cruise around us, also surfing. I catch a wave and ride it well, tucking in my back knee as I’ve recently learned to do. Back out we go, and again with all of my might because big sets are arriving. He can see waves on the horizon that I can’t and shouts directions to keep me safe. Paddle north! Straight! North! Push hard! And the most frequent, which I now hear any time I’m reaching an edge of physical capacity: Big one is coming.

Outside of what feels like a mountain range of waves, we sit upright on our boards, recovering. I’m trembling and I sputter, “I appreciate you.” He laughs at me, but kindly. For him, this is simply what he does. For me, it’s life-changing. And then we’re off, paddling again to catch a right that I ride all the way to the end, ecstatic. After as much of this in and out as my muscles can take we ride to the whitewater on our bellies and work there, doing drills. Eventually my arms give out from all of the paddling and he takes to tugging my board around so that I can keep catching waves. I marvel at the strength of the surfers here who can do this all day seemingly without ever tiring. Uno mas, uno mas! I go until I can’t and then I ditch my board and just float—the sunset now fiery and fuschia and more breathtaking every time I look up. I never want this to end.

When I stagger onto the sand, grinning, I say, “I’m still not sure if I’m awake.”

The last morning: I run to the beach to search for my shawl, which I forgot there last night, skipping off in the moonlight. The tide had come all the way into the shore, drawn high by the full moon, and it felt unlikely but possible I might find it—this thin rectangle of sun-bleached fabric that I’ve been inseparable from on every jungle adventure for the last ten years. I believed it would be there, despite the odds.

And it was, water-logged and full of sand and having traveled down the beach a bit, catching on a piece of driftwood. The sea had gotten it, but not taken it. I hang it to dry like a flag and sit in the scene for the final minutes before leaving for the airport.

At the airport: Feeling so entirely different from the state I arrived in. Wonder now how to arrive without returning …

On board: Bruised and pacified. Unsure and also certain. Delirious with memories—the piercing beauty, the sedative light recessions, the heartbreaking poetry of surfing, the trauma of the sea and staggering from it, alive! Alive, alive, alive. The weeping.

The heat, the green, the hum, the growing closeness between my body and that body of land. How it gulps me in, roughly and quickly.

What a gift. I will never be the same. I am that one there, that creature, that nearly naked, tanned and scuffed, strong and sensitive, healthy, feeling, open. That final evening felt like the last bit of myself to give. I went all the way in—into the waves, into the jungle, into the experience, into myself. I said absolutely yes to everything, afraid or otherwise. I gave, and I allowed myself to be taken.

I don’t know many things but I do know that this is what I must move toward now. Four months to finish my book. And then, I go back.

Now, my pen is running out of ink. How f i t t i n g . . .

°•*⁀➷

Thank you for subscribing to this publication. My intention is to continue to make this work (herbal health, naturalism, actualized and vibrant living) and myself (as your fellow traveler, explorer, medium) accessible. By being a paid subscriber you allow us to continue to do so!

If you find these newsletters helpful, consider sharing it with a friend or someone in your life that could use a dose of natural-ness. It means the world. XOR

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome to Journals from the Jungle—a series of stories from my recent travels, drawn straight from the pages of my journals. These are reflections on breaking free from a life of structure, convention, and societal expectations, and finding my way back to an embodied, authentic self. Through journeys in nature—and into the nature of self—through adventure, challenge, rest, and the dramatic dismantling of old beliefs, I explore themes of freedom, pleasure, love, and the strength that comes from shedding what no longer serves us. I hope these stories inspire you to embrace change, reclaim your vitality, and live more freely.

February 2024

DAY TENPost-surf: Feeling less emo, more happy. A good, hard, fun day in the waves—I am so beat up. Every surface of my body that isn’t soft is bruised and I love it. The nicks and bangs and bruises remind me of the strength of this tool—my body. Its aliveness, resilience, capacity to injure and heal. It reminds me of growing up in nature, which always seems to leave reminders of its presence on us. It makes me feel strong, or reminds me that I am. My whole body is humming and tingling with the energy and release of all of this. Carbonation in my veins, pooling sparkles in my pelvis, the base of my spine. I shake internally with the waning time. I will revel. I will savor. I will stay locked in—in sync.

Only two surfs remain now. So fleeting so much is, I can hardly bear it.

I have today, tomorrow, and Friday … I just want to soak it all in. I want to fully disappear into this. Absorb as much as possible and then … well, nothing.

When I realize the brevity of the time remaining, I don’t feel well.

I leave the beach as wind whips spray into rainbows over the surf and the hot, arid air lifts my hair which will be dry by the time I’m back to my room.

My mind wanders over this little town, this oasis that seems so impossibly perfect. Is life like this really possible? Is it as simple as it appears, and as they say? Does it remain simple? Would there be any energy left for it to be anything other than simple after surfing every day? Would the balmy ease thin over time? Or does it persist? What I’m asking is: Is a simple life truly possible?

Here the tears are. They come as I’m laying in the sun-dappled shade, eyes open and then closed, seeing this morning’s session again. The sun rising through the mangroves, the arcs and sprays of the sea flaring into the sky. The warm, wet mists in our faces as we paddle against the air, against the current. Turtle-rolling into the froth, following each other in and out, exhilarated and protected, thrilled and safe, edges everywhere.

Tu puedes Rashel, you can do it. Paddle hard, keep paddling! Big one coming! Catch your breath! You’ll be okay. Push hard. Go upside-down! Great job! Good job, Rashel, you paddle good. Don’t worry Rashel, nothing bad happen. I’m right here. Don’t worry Rashel, I’ll be right beside you. Don’t worry Rashel, I’m right behind you.

Crying, crying, crying. The metaphors … I think it’s simply too much for me to contain—it flows through me and out of me—the waves of this place. Of the beauty, of the power of it, of it, of it all. When I recall what I’ve seen, what I’ve done, what I’ve felt … I weep.

Out there, out here, I forget that I’m alone. I forget myself. I forget and am lost … I never once think that I wish I had someone to share what I’m witnessing with … not immediately, in the moment at least. The opposite, actually. Like when a friend joins me for sunset, I don’t mind but it was lessened, not improved. The reminders of my belief in no such thing as shared experiences abound here. It’s too deep, too personal, too beyond verbal to share, I feel certain.

~

How do I remember this? How do I change? How do I stay in this, stay open, continue this, parlay it, fold it into me, stoke it? What do I start and what do I stop? This feels important. That is: How do we integrate experiences and embrace their evolving us? Especially when we leave the environments in which we were affected, how do we not return to our old ways of being but rather progress anew? I know some ways. And, I know the bittersweet truth that time erodes, well, everything.

To a friend: I don’t know how I’m going to care about anything else after this.

Friend: Welcome to the other side.

~

Post surf: It is increasingly more difficult for me to discern between dream and reality. Probably it’s all real, in its way. I say, It’s like a dream here. They say, I know.

I feel: Lovesick in paradise.

Is it … nature versus culture? Would I miss … it?

~

I have gone to the place that ayahuasca took me. Deeper, even. Reached that well and kept digging. Chipping until the halves split. We can reach these places without las plantas, I realize so fully now. It requires a different way of being, and persistence, but here we are. And, really, of course we can; they, in all of their revelations, are only showing us ourselves.

~

Dearest, dearest self,

The intensity of this, it will fade. Probably the memories will, as they already are—running together, mixing and frothing like that barreling white-water. While I’d beg and pray and give to preserve them all, what I think (know) is it’s most important to recall: what broke.

The gravity of life back there is going to be strong. The patterns, the attachments, the routes and snares will all be set and dug and slippery. You cannot let it envelope you. Maintain the break. Remember, and believe, have faith—trust—when you forget the feeling itself, that this is real life. This is living. Pura vida erases the rust.

You only live this once. And you have the time and opportunity right now.

Stay attached to this place. Visit, meditate on it, keep it in mind and in focus. Exit the matrix while you can see the way. You have your whole life to make art, you can make it from anywhere, and you tap into deep, profound insights here. Don’t lose this thread.

Remember weeping. Remember being warm all of the damn time. Remember the sunsets in their mind-bending surreality. Remember the rainbows at dawn far beyond the break, and the expansive silence out there. Remember the strength of your body. Remember the wide, wide openness of your mind—more elastic now than it’s ever been. Remember this lifestyle, the way of gratitude and optimism, of ease and intention.

~

What a trip. I change rooms for the third time, back into the one I started in, which tangles my brain a bit—what’s when and where am I?

Had therapy, which was so intense. I tried to describe the peak—the sustained peak—of this opening, the ineffability as much as I don’t appreciate that notion. We agreed that it has been the perfect container for me to release, to fully feel, to totally open. That I have been allowed here to be my most porous, which I am naturally but have to limit, contain, prevent in order to survive elsewhere. That in this, I am feeling everything: grief, joy, gain, loss, free … She said, “This is what self-actualization looks like.” I said, “Self-actualized is all I’ve ever wanted to be.” Her: “It’s a process, not an arrival; it is everything all at once. She mentions Bion’s work, and his concept of “O”:

"0" is perhaps Bion's most far-reaching conception. It designates an ineffable, inscrutable, and constantly evolving domain that intimates an aesthetic completeness and coherence. He refers to it by different terms, ‘Absolute Truth,’ ‘Ultimate Reality,’ or ‘reverence and awe’.”

"0" lies beyond the grasp of the external senses and is only experienced by an inwardly receptive sense organ, intuition, Bion's ‘seventh servant.’ Intuition is observation's reversible perspective, the latter requiring the senses. A transformation in ‘0’ is attainable only by the disciplined abandonment of memory, desire, understanding, sense impressions -- and perhaps also the abandonment of ego itself. Ultimate Reality is also associated with Bion's ‘beta elements,’ Kant's ‘things-in-themselves,’ Lacan's ‘Register of the Real,’ primal chaos (today we would say ‘complexity’), and yet, paradoxically, primal harmony and serenity, depending on the maturity of our capacity to be ‘at-one’ with it. The Greeks called it ‘Ananake" (Necessity). Milton alluded to it as ‘the deep and formless infinite’ and ‘the Void,’ and Blake referred to it as ‘fearful symmetry’ and ‘frightful fiend.’” — source

I mean … goddamn, it does exist. This ‘ness that I have sought my entire life … the absolute truth I believed in before anything else … here it is. “O” a storm and I now, in the void of its eye.

I feel like I’m bending reality out here. I feel my mind quivering with the force of it—I feel unstable, highly, and also onto something so thin that it’s nearly invisible, but true, true true. I feel like I’m on a rocket out of normalcy. My mind has never been stretched so widely, the expanse is gossamer. So many things are breaking—shards and splinters falling away, incinerated by this momentum.

I have found something. I have found everything.

At the same time, it feels dangerous. I can’t exist in a state like this for long nor in other settings. I feel like I have to slow it down, or contain it, or close myself off to something before I leave. I go to sunset and rather than taking in, I push myself out into it—back at it—with just enough pressure to resist its saturation. It’s not a rejection, but a non-absorption, as if I’m fully full and can’t contain any more.

The sunset I will not try to describe; I’ve given up. I watch it. I love it. I do not weep. I walk into it and put my hands into it. Thank you, I love you. I will be back.

Then, I wipe my damp palm across my heart, turn my back to the sea, and walk inland. I can do this. I don’t want to, but I can.

~

Listen to the “Costa Eves” playlist.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit rachellerobinett.substack.com/subscribe