In Search for More Questions

We stood atop a long shrouded driveway at 1am.
A group of relative strangers all gathered, all brought by obscure travel clippings or words of promise from those who had been here before.

The sea of stars above paired with the faint rumblings of water against cliffs provided an ethereal foreshadowing of the next few hours.

Night had settled into the bones of Big Sur. Thick black velvet seemed to weave itself between each redwood tree as a jaunty flashlight inched its way up the steep hill towards us.

“Welcome to Esalen,” our young male guide with oval glasses said. The flashlight angled down at his feet. He spoke slowly and softly, as if he had come to respect what nightfall in Big Sur truly meant.

Our descent through the secluded resort grounds twisted along pathways lined with log cabins and brief glimpses of the Pacific.

Soft crunches of gravel.

Whispers.

Sounds of the waves were more distinct now.

A final gravel decline lit by warm torch-light ushered the group toward a small structure perched just above a sheer drop into the Hot Springs Canyon.

“This is a meditative space,” the man said at the mouth of the structure. “Take your time.”

Wood panels hugged the floor, walls, and ceiling of the entryway; my feet welcomed the slight warmth they exuded, a contrast to the outer chill. Smooth stone slabs replaced the wood in outside areas and showers -- all sights I took in only by moonlight.

Clothing was a choice for each guest, so I kept my bathing suit on and meandered to the nearest hot spring.

Toes, feet, knees, waist, and finally chest were submerged in shimmering spring water. I let fresh, raw, salt-infused air rush into my lungs intentionally, becoming more aware of the individual breaths as they came.

No obstructions surrounded my view of the stars now, nor the meteor shower that dazzled calm eyes. Time was just an external force here when the spiral arm of our galaxy melted overhead, giving birth to wisps of celestial brilliance.

It was then I noticed a dark shape.

Not ominous or imposing; her hair glinted silver. Her legs stretched out under her left side, toward the crashing waters. None of the Odysseys, mythical creations, or vibrant illustrations could have captured her in that moment.

She was a mermaid of her own volition.