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.

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

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 NINE CONTINUED

After surfing, I walk home in a daze. Not devastated but definitely sad, mixed with the electricity of having surfed. It was very hard. I wish I could have made it out for one more wave—tú puedes, tú puedes!—but my strength gave out. What I’ve realized though, is that when I’m stuck in the impact zone, I’m not afraid anymore. Struggling to get out, getting tired and smashed yes, but not fearful. It’s dramatic and probably a bit traumatic, but I am not scared and that is something.

I am tunnel visioned. I am in the waves. I am the froth. So much feeling. The sea is in my brain.

I also realize that I am covered in bruises. Both elbows, knees, thighs. Four more days … if I can manage the strength I’ll surf all four.

What am I going to do when I have to leave? My heart is going to break. I fear it already—and yet, my motto: I fear regret more than I fear a broken heart. It hurts, but … it’s fun.

Surfing is a gift. There are the experiences, the shimmering memories, and there is also the courage to do this for the rest of my life. This is giving me a better life, it makes me tear up.

Yes, crying again and I’m not even certain why. I think, because I know it is going to hurt when I have to leave. I think also, because, tears release stress. These feel very, very old.

Pura vida they say. Just enjoy each day and don’t worry about the future.

I wonder if I have to lock myself up in order to finish my book. Anyway, there is time. I’m here now and so I will be, here, now.

~

Midday: Wow, I am a bit emotional. I realize that I am in love with this place as if it were a person.

Also: Laughing at myself because some people go on vacation and apparently I go on something entirely else. These are quests, journeys, missions into the self. Stripping, soul-searching, mind-expanding trips. Like, I manage to do hard things even while doing “nothing.” Or, am I so attentive to the experience—to my experience—that they never are simply vacations? This sensitive vessel … the tuning fork that I am, we are. My porousness and also how and where I choose to spend this time.

~

I have to come back. I have to start spending a month here, at least.

DAY TEN

Slept well, the best yet I think. Dreamed of dying—some slow, life-seeping aware sort of death. Sweet and sad. The sky is gently light above. Aye day.

~

It’s not that I don’t care about NYC and all of my projects there and all of the important things I was going to make and do, it’s that I’ve FORGOTTEN them. Like, completely separate from the sensation of their importance. This is all and all and filling. It makes me wonder if all of that other is just an attempt to fill a void that this does. And it’s not even that this place fills a void so much as it disintegrates the boundaries and separations that create that lack in the first place. There’s a sort of blasted-through-ness here that’s both overwhelming and essentially simple. It’s something about the perfection of nakedness in all senses of the word … having nothing needing nothing, being sated and sedated of the aspiration to strive any more … 

This is an idea I have yet to know fully.

~

REMEMBER:

* Frame a foto of that sunset—the one that broke open your life—and keep it on your desk.

* You have learned: You need to live here in the winters. No more vacationing.

* This is it. This place, this lifestyle, it matters. Maybe most of all.

* Remember it all. This is knowing. This is real and this is certain.

As I walked back from surfing, enveloped in some silence—that singular, heavy, hush—I felt … completely alone and free. I haven’t even looked at my phone today. I could disappear today. Simply cease to appear. It feels wonderful. And it feels … true? Liberating and also right to be an untethered creature moving in the shifting light and air and temperatures and time—in the world. In the natural world. To disappear into it—to become a quiet part of it—to fold into it, to step out of being someone, anyone, to just be … to just be … an element, a participant, a compound, of this cycle. To let go and fall in. To let it all go.

My aching, aching heart …

This is what I tapped into in Peru. There is a well in me.

~

I see a video from home in New York, of snow on the sidewalk and the entry—a lifeless iron gate, barren steps, sidewalk … concrete and metal. I might be in trouble. It feels impossible to imagine re-acclimating to that. I believe it’s possible but also … should I?

I also may need to distract myself else this weeping not end. The hole in my chest is gaping.

I go to lunch with a new friend and while it’s perfectly enjoyable—we get along surprisingly well—I feel uneasy being away from … whatever it is I’m away from in doing anything other than being open and attendant. Away from tuning in, and tuning out. I am even hesitant to see property for the same reason, but it will be good to see—I always do when I’m here, just in case …

~

The sunset tonight was—not looked like, was—heaven on earth. That is, this is what heaven looks like. The sea, reflecting the sky, pooling into the beach, around my calves, knees, thighs, merging everything—a mirror of the light, from white-blue to pale pink to weeping fire as god-sized faces of cloud sweep in and surround the horizon glowing gently, and then radiantly, urgently almost with the colors of love, of transcendence, of … feeling.

It is sublime. It is surreal. It is absolutely perfect. It is magnificent. It is, dare I say, ineffable. Pure color. Spiritual, supernatural.

It looks like my dreams, I realized. I am still realizing. The sea and the sky are one and I am in them both, it all, at once. Water, substance, everywhere. Tranquility, such overwhelming peace.

On the ride home tonight—skin in that hot, dark air, hair whipping in the breeze—I note how well I do in places like these. How at home I am. How I am not made for being locked inside … wearing clothes … 

I have always loved New York, but I wonder if this has broken me. I wonder if I have been, not fooling myself, but demonstrating (as a mentor calls it) my “competency problem” in the way that I have strived there, succeeded there, aspired to … all that I have aspired to. Or, did I have to reach that place in order to choose otherwise. Or, can I have both?

I think tonight, that maybe the point of my next run at work—at the businesses I’ve built, at the book I’m writing, at the plans and strategies and timelines and all—is, rather than drive farther up that ladder, deeper into that matrix, make it one last push to break free. One more turtle roll to make it out beyond the break—to the outside.

~

Surfing early tomorrow. Naturally, I am very excited.

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. DAY NINE CONTINUED

After surfing, I walk home in a daze. Not devastated but definitely sad, mixed with the electricity of having surfed. It was very hard. I wish I could have made it out for one more wave—tú puedes, tú puedes!—but my strength gave out. What I’ve realized though, is that when I’m stuck in the impact zone, I’m not afraid anymore. Struggling to get out, getting tired and smashed yes, but not fearful. It’s dramatic and probably a bit traumatic, but I am not scared and that is something.

I am tunnel visioned. I am in the waves. I am the froth. So much feeling. The sea is in my brain.

I also realize that I am covered in bruises. Both elbows, knees, thighs. Four more days … if I can manage the strength I’ll surf all four.

What am I going to do when I have to leave? My heart is going to break. I fear it already—and yet, my motto: I fear regret more than I fear a broken heart. It hurts, but … it’s fun.

Surfing is a gift. There are the experiences, the shimmering memories, and there is also the courage to do this for the rest of my life. This is giving me a better life, it makes me tear up.

Yes, crying again and I’m not even certain why. I think, because I know it is going to hurt when I have to leave. I think also, because, tears release stress. These feel very, very old.

Pura vida they say. Just enjoy each day and don’t worry about the future.

I wonder if I have to lock myself up in order to finish my book. Anyway, there is time. I’m here now and so I will be, here, now.

~

Midday: Wow, I am a bit emotional. I realize that I am in love with this place as if it were a person.

Also: Laughing at myself because some people go on vacation and apparently I go on something entirely else. These are quests, journeys, missions into the self. Stripping, soul-searching, mind-expanding trips. Like, I manage to do hard things even while doing “nothing.” Or, am I so attentive to the experience—to my experience—that they never are simply vacations? This sensitive vessel … the tuning fork that I am, we are. My porousness and also how and where I choose to spend this time.

~

I have to come back. I have to start spending a month here, at least.

DAY TEN

Slept well, the best yet I think. Dreamed of dying—some slow, life-seeping aware sort of death. Sweet and sad. The sky is gently light above. Aye day.

~

It’s not that I don’t care about NYC and all of my projects there and all of the important things I was going to make and do, it’s that I’ve FORGOTTEN them. Like, completely separate from the sensation of their importance. This is all and all and filling. It makes me wonder if all of that other is just an attempt to fill a void that this does. And it’s not even that this place fills a void so much as it disintegrates the boundaries and separations that create that lack in the first place. There’s a sort of blasted-through-ness here that’s both overwhelming and essentially simple. It’s something about the perfection of nakedness in all senses of the word … having nothing needing nothing, being sated and sedated of the aspiration to strive any more … 

This is an idea I have yet to know fully.

~

REMEMBER:

* Frame a foto of that sunset—the one that broke open your life—and keep it on your desk.

* You have learned: You need to live here in the winters. No more vacationing.

* This is it. This place, this lifestyle, it matters. Maybe most of all.

* Remember it all. This is knowing. This is real and this is certain.

As I walked back from surfing, enveloped in some silence—that singular, heavy, hush—I felt … completely alone and free. I haven’t even looked at my phone today. I could disappear today. Simply cease to appear. It feels wonderful. And it feels … true? Liberating and also right to be an untethered creature moving in the shifting light and air and temperatures and time—in the world. In the natural world. To disappear into it—to become a quiet part of it—to fold into it, to step out of being someone, anyone, to just be … to just be … an element, a participant, a compound, of this cycle. To let go and fall in. To let it all go.

My aching, aching heart …

This is what I tapped into in Peru. There is a well in me.

~

I see a video from home in New York, of snow on the sidewalk and the entry—a lifeless iron gate, barren steps, sidewalk … concrete and metal. I might be in trouble. It feels impossible to imagine re-acclimating to that. I believe it’s possible but also … should I?

I also may need to distract myself else this weeping not end. The hole in my chest is gaping.

I go to lunch with a new friend and while it’s perfectly enjoyable—we get along surprisingly well—I feel uneasy being away from … whatever it is I’m away from in doing anything other than being open and attendant. Away from tuning in, and tuning out. I am even hesitant to see property for the same reason, but it will be good to see—I always do when I’m here, just in case …

~

The sunset tonight was—not looked like, was—heaven on earth. That is, this is what heaven looks like. The sea, reflecting the sky, pooling into the beach, around my calves, knees, thighs, merging everything—a mirror of the light, from white-blue to pale pink to weeping fire as god-sized faces of cloud sweep in and surround the horizon glowing gently, and then radiantly, urgently almost with the colors of love, of transcendence, of … feeling.

It is sublime. It is surreal. It is absolutely perfect. It is magnificent. It is, dare I say, ineffable. Pure color. Spiritual, supernatural.

It looks like my dreams, I realized. I am still realizing. The sea and the sky are one and I am in them both, it all, at once. Water, substance, everywhere. Tranquility, such overwhelming peace.

On the ride home tonight—skin in that hot, dark air, hair whipping in the breeze—I note how well I do in places like these. How at home I am. How I am not made for being locked inside … wearing clothes … 

I have always loved New York, but I wonder if this has broken me. I wonder if I have been, not fooling myself, but demonstrating (as a mentor calls it) my “competency problem” in the way that I have strived there, succeeded there, aspired to … all that I have aspired to. Or, did I have to reach that place in order to choose otherwise. Or, can I have both?

I think tonight, that maybe the point of my next run at work—at the businesses I’ve built, at the book I’m writing, at the plans and strategies and timelines and all—is, rather than drive farther up that ladder, deeper into that matrix, make it one last push to break free. One more turtle roll to make it out beyond the break—to the outside.

~

Surfing early tomorrow. Naturally, I am very excited.

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.

“To exit society and culture, which I have never actually engaged fully or comfortably with. I worked so hard to get there. And, I worked so hard to get here, which is to say that I worked so hard to get out of there. I study myself both because I am one of you, and not like you.”

DAY EIGHT CONTINUED

I am moving so slowly now. Not reading, not working, just staring … being. The stillness from last night is here again. I cry again, struggling to describe what’s happening.

I had another thought that I came here to write about but seem to have lost it. Thoughts hard to hold, which is such a rare and precious state for me—a relief.

Maybe it was something about the waves of energy finding their way out of me. First with the hard landing here, and the trouble unwinding, and then the severity of the sync. The force of it when it releases. Maybe too I am letting go of what was happening in New York. From this distance, it’s a little harder to feel the things. This dense and sensual jungle eclipses it all.

I am going to stay a few more days.

Oh! The thought returned: Some of this elation is also because I am now secure enough, have built myself a stable enough base professionally and financially to be able to have these experiences without other obligations requiring me away from them. That alone, which I remember from my first trip here to Costa after the pandemic, feels like a state worth weeping over all its own. What an incredible journey, of so much determination and day-in-out effort, ceaselessly, in order to break through and be, well, free—which is what I’ve always wanted most of all.

“Life is for living, not thinking. Tomorrow is dead. Pura vida,” a stranger says.

Also, the contrast of this place against New York Fashion Week, which is happening there now, looks like my two lives, my two halves, my selves cracked apart and from between the two, I am now, feeling. Such a distance from the NYC scene. From social media and content and all of the stuff. It’s a world I came to conquer, and have in some ways, and also there will always be new ways to “need” to, in order to keep up. I am uniquely suited to do that, but I am also uniquely suited to do this. To strip down to nothing and let go. To exit society and culture, which I have never actually engaged fully or comfortably with. I worked so hard to get there. And, I worked so hard to get here, which is to say that I worked so hard to get out of there. I study myself both because I am one of you, and not like you.

I run down to catch sunset and it’s so worth it. Cotton candy sky, sea mirror, pelican silhouettes, softest blue and delicate pink, pastel and peaceful—so perfectly beautiful, as it always always is. The beach is full in a lightly scattered way, everyone there to see this scene, every single night.

“What broke?” my friend asks. I think … all of the ties. I feel like I’ve exited some matrix. My heart broke. The bind and attachments and habits and patterns snapped, too. My mind, me, suddenly cut loose. Free to feel and be … here … now (ha). But not only now, in the future too. Like being knocked to sense, slapped into seeing, struck. I am experiencing some other way of being—some other dimension of life, which I’ve tasted before but perhaps, por fin, know now that it is real.

There is something akin to psychedelic trips in this. In directly experiencing bliss, by way of the simplest things. Not that it isn’t spiritually beautiful here too, but to witness the human being, being fully fulfilled, by simply being—that is profound.

I mentioned how natural it felt, feels, and yet so much of the time we live against that grain.

I wish that memories didn’t fade. I am amassing so many of them on this trip, and I know that in this heightened state, they are saved more clearly than most, but still. I guess the thing is, the memories remain, but the sensations fade. The feelings, they melt through shades like sunsets and seasons, and they interrupt each other too, like this, now, obstructing my view of what was, then. Because I live for them, I continue on in this. The pain of arriving here was certainly worth these new wrinkles in my brain.

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.

“To exit society and culture, which I have never actually engaged fully or comfortably with. I worked so hard to get there. And, I worked so hard to get here, which is to say that I worked so hard to get out of there. I study myself both because I am one of you, and not like you.”

DAY EIGHT CONTINUED

I am moving so slowly now. Not reading, not working, just staring … being. The stillness from last night is here again. I cry again, struggling to describe what’s happening.

I had another thought that I came here to write about but seem to have lost it. Thoughts hard to hold, which is such a rare and precious state for me—a relief.

Maybe it was something about the waves of energy finding their way out of me. First with the hard landing here, and the trouble unwinding, and then the severity of the sync. The force of it when it releases. Maybe too I am letting go of what was happening in New York. From this distance, it’s a little harder to feel the things. This dense and sensual jungle eclipses it all.

I am going to stay a few more days.

Oh! The thought returned: Some of this elation is also because I am now secure enough, have built myself a stable enough base professionally and financially to be able to have these experiences without other obligations requiring me away from them. That alone, which I remember from my first trip here to Costa after the pandemic, feels like a state worth weeping over all its own. What an incredible journey, of so much determination and day-in-out effort, ceaselessly, in order to break through and be, well, free—which is what I’ve always wanted most of all.

“Life is for living, not thinking. Tomorrow is dead. Pura vida,” a stranger says.

Also, the contrast of this place against New York Fashion Week, which is happening there now, looks like my two lives, my two halves, my selves cracked apart and from between the two, I am now, feeling. Such a distance from the NYC scene. From social media and content and all of the stuff. It’s a world I came to conquer, and have in some ways, and also there will always be new ways to “need” to, in order to keep up. I am uniquely suited to do that, but I am also uniquely suited to do this. To strip down to nothing and let go. To exit society and culture, which I have never actually engaged fully or comfortably with. I worked so hard to get there. And, I worked so hard to get here, which is to say that I worked so hard to get out of there. I study myself both because I am one of you, and not like you.

I run down to catch sunset and it’s so worth it. Cotton candy sky, sea mirror, pelican silhouettes, softest blue and delicate pink, pastel and peaceful—so perfectly beautiful, as it always always is. The beach is full in a lightly scattered way, everyone there to see this scene, every single night.

“What broke?” my friend asks. I think … all of the ties. I feel like I’ve exited some matrix. My heart broke. The bind and attachments and habits and patterns snapped, too. My mind, me, suddenly cut loose. Free to feel and be … here … now (ha). But not only now, in the future too. Like being knocked to sense, slapped into seeing, struck. I am experiencing some other way of being—some other dimension of life, which I’ve tasted before but perhaps, por fin, know now that it is real.

There is something akin to psychedelic trips in this. In directly experiencing bliss, by way of the simplest things. Not that it isn’t spiritually beautiful here too, but to witness the human being, being fully fulfilled, by simply being—that is profound.

I mentioned how natural it felt, feels, and yet so much of the time we live against that grain.

I wish that memories didn’t fade. I am amassing so many of them on this trip, and I know that in this heightened state, they are saved more clearly than most, but still. I guess the thing is, the memories remain, but the sensations fade. The feelings, they melt through shades like sunsets and seasons, and they interrupt each other too, like this, now, obstructing my view of what was, then. Because I live for them, I continue on in this. The pain of arriving here was certainly worth these new wrinkles in my brain.

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.

DAY SIX CONTINUED

There is literally nothing left to say, but here I am nevertheless, to write, to remember.

Gliding through the sea. Sitting on the board, bobbing in the sunset. The force and power, and softness too. The calm and fury. The way it all looks, and how that makes me feel.

It’s just all of it. It’s all of it. All of this.

I’m also surprised by and proud of my strength out there. It is certainly scary at times, but all of this is progress, and the positive experiences in those waves, they’re showing me a new (or expanded) side of myself. They’re showing me how well I can go into hard things. How I can be brave. How I can be afraid and do it anyway. How I can fall, and go back out, again and again.

I love it.

I will stay.

Mañana.

DAY SEVEN

Walking around with a grin on my face and in my chest. Didn’t really sleep last night—too worked up, excitement in my veins from surfing. Feeling giddy and fluttery.

It feels important to feel this, and that it’s positive, and to compare it to the other “anxiety.” Is it just the same sensation perceived differently? That’s what they say …

Lovely morning. Beach, walk, pelican swim in an attempt to expend some of this energy. I don’t think it worked, but it was enjoyable.

Surfing again at sunset tonight.

~

Went as long as my body would. Lots of water in my head, a great ride, and then sat on a log and watched the sunset … and then the stars.

The fading everything was just so relaxing. I felt like I would sleep well—like I could fall asleep right there, in that watercolor sedation. As is the theme, I didn’t want to leave the scene.

Traveling back in the hot jungle night all I can do is smile—a big, wide grin.

I am dead with pleasure. Just laughing out loud as I walk up these jungle paths back to my room. Not hungry for dinner, fed by those sweet, sweet endorphins.

Maybe this place is here to heal me.

What candy.

This is so damn fun. This is why I go. These moments, these experiences, these sensations.

I do rub my eyes and ask, Where am I? It feels like a dream.

I could go on. I’m sure I will. Am I going to be miserable when I get home? Or … like this? I can’t know, of course.

Aye aye, I am melted. What paradise. For now, I can only let it all in. Take it in, let it in. My heart … is so happy.

~

And then suddenly everything goes quiet. My mind (!!!), my body, it all. A hush. Inside.

DAY EIGHT

I’m emotional. Woke up to a note from Jamie. I had said, “I’ve fully exited real life.” She said, “That is real life. Right there in front of you.”

I burst into tears and I’m crying again now. It is. This is. It is why on the beach as it felt like my heart was being drawn out of my chest and my mind baptized by the setting sun sea I said, more than once, “What matters more than this?”

Tears on my walk to the beach, and when the warm sea hit my shins, and it keeps coming. It’s like in Peru. There, the midway point between all of the plant medicine ceremonies, where something did—and something has here too—broken.

I can’t tell exactly what it is yet. Joy? Relief? Some great release in being able to be rather than do? To be a creature.

The break feels like some kind of grief … as I separate from “my life” only to realize, or by realizing that this is that life. Both are, and that means that what I’ve left isn’t all there is.

And the possession by this place is so thorough that it simple overpowers the rest. “What matters more?” Indeed.

It feels easy to stay. To fall into this. To let it happen. To let go.

I have wondered what happens to me when I stay longer and longer in these places and while I haven’t been here that long, it feels cumulative, and I am getting a taste now of what does occur.

I shed and unravel. I become elemental. I care less and less about all of the other things.

It feels like exiting a matrix.

I mean, it feels like enlightenment.

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.

DAY SIX CONTINUED

There is literally nothing left to say, but here I am nevertheless, to write, to remember.

Gliding through the sea. Sitting on the board, bobbing in the sunset. The force and power, and softness too. The calm and fury. The way it all looks, and how that makes me feel.

It’s just all of it. It’s all of it. All of this.

I’m also surprised by and proud of my strength out there. It is certainly scary at times, but all of this is progress, and the positive experiences in those waves, they’re showing me a new (or expanded) side of myself. They’re showing me how well I can go into hard things. How I can be brave. How I can be afraid and do it anyway. How I can fall, and go back out, again and again.

I love it.

I will stay.

Mañana.

DAY SEVEN

Walking around with a grin on my face and in my chest. Didn’t really sleep last night—too worked up, excitement in my veins from surfing. Feeling giddy and fluttery.

It feels important to feel this, and that it’s positive, and to compare it to the other “anxiety.” Is it just the same sensation perceived differently? That’s what they say …

Lovely morning. Beach, walk, pelican swim in an attempt to expend some of this energy. I don’t think it worked, but it was enjoyable.

Surfing again at sunset tonight.

~

Went as long as my body would. Lots of water in my head, a great ride, and then sat on a log and watched the sunset … and then the stars.

The fading everything was just so relaxing. I felt like I would sleep well—like I could fall asleep right there, in that watercolor sedation. As is the theme, I didn’t want to leave the scene.

Traveling back in the hot jungle night all I can do is smile—a big, wide grin.

I am dead with pleasure. Just laughing out loud as I walk up these jungle paths back to my room. Not hungry for dinner, fed by those sweet, sweet endorphins.

Maybe this place is here to heal me.

What candy.

This is so damn fun. This is why I go. These moments, these experiences, these sensations.

I do rub my eyes and ask, Where am I? It feels like a dream.

I could go on. I’m sure I will. Am I going to be miserable when I get home? Or … like this? I can’t know, of course.

Aye aye, I am melted. What paradise. For now, I can only let it all in. Take it in, let it in. My heart … is so happy.

~

And then suddenly everything goes quiet. My mind (!!!), my body, it all. A hush. Inside.

DAY EIGHT

I’m emotional. Woke up to a note from Jamie. I had said, “I’ve fully exited real life.” She said, “That is real life. Right there in front of you.”

I burst into tears and I’m crying again now. It is. This is. It is why on the beach as it felt like my heart was being drawn out of my chest and my mind baptized by the setting sun sea I said, more than once, “What matters more than this?”

Tears on my walk to the beach, and when the warm sea hit my shins, and it keeps coming. It’s like in Peru. There, the midway point between all of the plant medicine ceremonies, where something did—and something has here too—broken.

I can’t tell exactly what it is yet. Joy? Relief? Some great release in being able to be rather than do? To be a creature.

The break feels like some kind of grief … as I separate from “my life” only to realize, or by realizing that this is that life. Both are, and that means that what I’ve left isn’t all there is.

And the possession by this place is so thorough that it simple overpowers the rest. “What matters more?” Indeed.

It feels easy to stay. To fall into this. To let it happen. To let go.

I have wondered what happens to me when I stay longer and longer in these places and while I haven’t been here that long, it feels cumulative, and I am getting a taste now of what does occur.

I shed and unravel. I become elemental. I care less and less about all of the other things.

It feels like exiting a matrix.

I mean, it feels like enlightenment.

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 the nature of self—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.

DAY FOUR

What a great day. I did expect to be asleep by now, but some energy has me. A sensation like avoiding … work, writing (the book), and maybe avoiding sleep—wanting to prolong these days. Already I want to stay longer—I leave a week from tomorrow which feels suddenly so much shorter than not. How wrong I was about this trip being long, too long! And why was/am I so wrong about how it feels once I get here? Don’t I know by now? I also feel like time is moving quickly enough that I have not yet been able to fully connect here. As if there is some film between me and this exploding nature. Some gauze preventing me from the present, exactly. There’s a sensation I’m seeking. One that I know. I trust it will come. There is time still. It’s a sort of sync. A shaking off of dust, perhaps. And I wonder what it is that’s between us now? Screens? Routines? Conveniences of this comfortable place? Or even that this place is familiar and so, some novelty absent (or lessened—certainly not absent), which allows the eyes to glance over rather than being more intently drawn to—more clearly seeing? Is it some sense of liminality—knowing I leave in a few days? Is that truly soon, or actually far off? Should I resolve to do nothing down here rather than hoping to write? I only worry that I would regret not writing if my book doesn’t feel perfectly complete come delivery time.

I think … I will resolve to fully rest, and edit.

I love it here. I’m so relieved to feel well again, aye.

DAY FIVE

Blustery jungle morning. Delicious. I’m already imagining coming back again this season. And thinking that I should actually try to write—at the very least to see how it feels. To prove to myself that I can—so that I can in the future, if not now.

Connected in a bit better today. Long walk through town. Jungle paths and green juice. Swam with the pelicans twice—so special. No work. No writing. I want to stay here.

DAY SIX

Still chasing a feeling. Somewhere between arrival and departure where I am so full in, and so fully feeling/being that there is nothing else. It is certainly a peak experience. It may be presence ultimately. Not anticipation, preoccupation, otherwise.

~

Feeling very excited to surf. I think it will be quite moving. I feel emotional in general today—some tears during yoga. And at breakfast when they asked to hear the story of Dad. And probably there will be more while surfing.

~

Nothing new to say and yet I feel compelled to write that. Have spent the entire day reading, chatting, dazed in watching the sun behind glowing green and blue. My favorite colors. My favorite things. This place is what makes me cry. To have found—after so many years of traveling, searching, feeling myself in different lands and ways—that these are my things, and then to have found my way to them, consistently, reliably, with the freedom to be in them … Do we, do I just stop here? Ought I to?

Only sort of asking.

Surfing soon.

~

Omg that surf. Omg my heart. My whole everything. I am beside myself. Weeping and happy and stunned and …

The surfers are silhouettes against the setting sun. We paddle in gold. Float atop liquid light. I feel safe even in the far-out deep—trusting this person keeping me alive, trusting my body, myself. Some nerves but no real fear, even when a big one surprises us all and I have to turtle-roll out there—lose my board—but surface to reassurance and queues for getting back on and getting the next one. I didn’t even know how to do that roll a week ago.

Afterward, sitting on a beached log watching the sunset finish all the way from the sun’s submergence to the streaking glow that fingers up into the sky overhead, I am pacified. Washed in peace, nearly drowsy. I walk to it, I watch it, I see the green flash for the first time in my life. I cry.

Standing alone on that beautiful f*****g pink and orange beach, I cry.

I feel everything at once. Elation, joy, happiest sadness, overwhelm. I don’t even know what. High. I feel so stirred, sensitive, and incredible. I feel like I just fell in love with this entire place, and surfed the best wave of my life yet, at once. This is a peak. I thought it might be. And I had to be alone to feel this. It is so beautiful. Breath-stealing, heart cracking, annihilating sublimity.

And the pelicans …

This is my life.

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 the nature of self—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.

DAY FOUR

What a great day. I did expect to be asleep by now, but some energy has me. A sensation like avoiding … work, writing (the book), and maybe avoiding sleep—wanting to prolong these days. Already I want to stay longer—I leave a week from tomorrow which feels suddenly so much shorter than not. How wrong I was about this trip being long, too long! And why was/am I so wrong about how it feels once I get here? Don’t I know by now? I also feel like time is moving quickly enough that I have not yet been able to fully connect here. As if there is some film between me and this exploding nature. Some gauze preventing me from the present, exactly. There’s a sensation I’m seeking. One that I know. I trust it will come. There is time still. It’s a sort of sync. A shaking off of dust, perhaps. And I wonder what it is that’s between us now? Screens? Routines? Conveniences of this comfortable place? Or even that this place is familiar and so, some novelty absent (or lessened—certainly not absent), which allows the eyes to glance over rather than being more intently drawn to—more clearly seeing? Is it some sense of liminality—knowing I leave in a few days? Is that truly soon, or actually far off? Should I resolve to do nothing down here rather than hoping to write? I only worry that I would regret not writing if my book doesn’t feel perfectly complete come delivery time.

I think … I will resolve to fully rest, and edit.

I love it here. I’m so relieved to feel well again, aye.

DAY FIVE

Blustery jungle morning. Delicious. I’m already imagining coming back again this season. And thinking that I should actually try to write—at the very least to see how it feels. To prove to myself that I can—so that I can in the future, if not now.

Connected in a bit better today. Long walk through town. Jungle paths and green juice. Swam with the pelicans twice—so special. No work. No writing. I want to stay here.

DAY SIX

Still chasing a feeling. Somewhere between arrival and departure where I am so full in, and so fully feeling/being that there is nothing else. It is certainly a peak experience. It may be presence ultimately. Not anticipation, preoccupation, otherwise.

~

Feeling very excited to surf. I think it will be quite moving. I feel emotional in general today—some tears during yoga. And at breakfast when they asked to hear the story of Dad. And probably there will be more while surfing.

~

Nothing new to say and yet I feel compelled to write that. Have spent the entire day reading, chatting, dazed in watching the sun behind glowing green and blue. My favorite colors. My favorite things. This place is what makes me cry. To have found—after so many years of traveling, searching, feeling myself in different lands and ways—that these are my things, and then to have found my way to them, consistently, reliably, with the freedom to be in them … Do we, do I just stop here? Ought I to?

Only sort of asking.

Surfing soon.

~

Omg that surf. Omg my heart. My whole everything. I am beside myself. Weeping and happy and stunned and …

The surfers are silhouettes against the setting sun. We paddle in gold. Float atop liquid light. I feel safe even in the far-out deep—trusting this person keeping me alive, trusting my body, myself. Some nerves but no real fear, even when a big one surprises us all and I have to turtle-roll out there—lose my board—but surface to reassurance and queues for getting back on and getting the next one. I didn’t even know how to do that roll a week ago.

Afterward, sitting on a beached log watching the sunset finish all the way from the sun’s submergence to the streaking glow that fingers up into the sky overhead, I am pacified. Washed in peace, nearly drowsy. I walk to it, I watch it, I see the green flash for the first time in my life. I cry.

Standing alone on that beautiful f*****g pink and orange beach, I cry.

I feel everything at once. Elation, joy, happiest sadness, overwhelm. I don’t even know what. High. I feel so stirred, sensitive, and incredible. I feel like I just fell in love with this entire place, and surfed the best wave of my life yet, at once. This is a peak. I thought it might be. And I had to be alone to feel this. It is so beautiful. Breath-stealing, heart cracking, annihilating sublimity.

And the pelicans …

This is my life.

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

SHOWNOTES

This week’s topics included:

* My favorite retreats (plant medicine and otherwise), with some discounts

* My haircare routine. (Maybe finally have it figured out?!)

* Holistic tips for rosacea

* Treatments for creaking joints, and joint care

* Thoughts on treating Long COVID

* Holistic tips for chronic gastritis

Products, Services & References:

* Wendy Green yoga 

* Peace Retreat, Costa Rica

* Thea Retreat, Costa Rica

* Mystical Yoga Farm, Guatemala

* Anam Cara, Peru & Costa Rica

* Sachajuan hair cleansing cream (my shampoo)

* Iles hair mask (I use as a conditioner)

* OsteoHerb

* Collagenics

* Glutagenics

* Turmeric at Supernatural

Timestamps:

* 2:10: Six plant medicine retreats that I love and recommend

* 16:05: Sexual harassment in the psychedelic community 

* 19:33: What’s my hair routine 

* 26:24: Recommendations for rosacea 

* 35:04: Herbs and food ideas for tearing / popping in the knees and joints, and ideas for repairing tissues and liniments 

* 40:49: Thoughts on long covid and antivirals 

* 48:08: Herbs to recommend for chronic gastritis

VIDEO RECORDING

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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