Leaving On a Jet Plane

I'm leaving on a jet plane,

Don't know when I'll be back again.

I just kept singing that song, well those two lines (the only ones I know) over and over again--back in July, when I took off for Bali. It was a month-long deal, and I was already missing my husband and dog and home. At least I was taking the unborn fetus with me. 

When Will dropped me off at the airport, everyone was giving him dirty looks like he had beaten me up because I was crying so hard. HARD. It was actually kind of weird. It was such a horrible moment because I have major feelings for the guy. But I had to do what I had to do, 

and yes, it was a good move.

At the retreat center outside of Ubud, Bali.

The first peaceful "yes, you are doing the right thing" feeling came when I heard ole John Denver in a C-store in the airport. Just the song I had been singing all week. For some reason, when things like that happen, I know everything is all right, and I'm walking my path.

The second one came when I saw the scene above. An infinity pool overlooking rice fields that flanked the path that led to our yoga pavilion. And the third came when I met some wonderful people, including my roommate, Samantha from New York who is SO New York. I loved it. She actually never left Bali. She is still there. Although I wish I could talk to her, I'm happy she's being a gypsy.

Sam on her bed. I do not miss my bed, and I don't miss the food.

But I miss Sam, and I miss that room for some reason.

Outdoor shower--pretty awesome.

And so, besides for the ENORMOUS geckos that were mating and reproducing on our wall, this outdoor bathroom was top 7 of my favorite things about this journey. 

Black sand beach.

 No, this thing was a day-in and day-out deal plus homework at night. But we had a day off. A group of us decided to go to some beach somewhere. I had no idea where I was, but I had a fabulous time.

Just in case you wanted to see my feet in the sand. 

Yogis pulling tricks.

I did not get out there and do tricky poses on a pool wall. My pregnant butt was already in mommy mode, taking pictures and being a cheerleader. "Beautiful Jess! Let's see it Ebonie!" 

We got Canada, London, Sydney, New Jersey, California and Mississippi all representing
at this random beach club somewhere in Bali.

Back to the intensive. It was intense. But I signed up for it. We worked hard. We did our best. We praised, we complained, we got confused, we got relieved, we got happy and then we got certified.

Path to the yoga pavilion--silence and meditation each morning.

I had some wonderful yoga classes that will most likely remain top 10 in my life for me. I learned a lot of important things that have already improved my teaching. Still, it was the people who made this experience memorable and wonderful. Wouldn't have been the same without them. 

Ebonie and Kara in Ubud.

Working in our pavilion. 

Ebonie getting attacked by an aggressive monkey.

Monkey transfer. Kara's got him. I was like, "Am I safe down here? Keep it away." 

At that point, I was not used to aggressive monkeys and had been attacked

 and was trying to watch my back.

Little monkey babe.

It was like adult yoga summer camp. A long period of time, spending every waking hour together. Swatting bugs and swapping bug sprays. Enduring through heat, bad food and physical exhaustion. Homesickness and snacks and emotional breakdowns. Friends you make and love and wonder if you'll ever see them again. Crying when you leave them. 

The thing about camp and conditions like these is that your friendships are on fast-forward. It's like friendship turbo mode. It's not that you want it to be like this, but there's a closeness there that naturally happens in these types of circumstances. Far away from home, there are so many emotions and feelings. You've got to lean on someone, and someone's got to lean on you. And immediately I think back to real summer camp at Riverview, where a bunch of pre-puberty girls swayed arm-in-arm, singing "Lean On Me," crying their little eyes out on the last night in front of a bonfire. Tribal victories won, ropes courses conquered, and we were all bawling like we did the first day.

So bittersweetly, we took hold of our passports and went on our gypsy ways (from Bali, not Riverview--I'm back in modern day).

And that's it. That's all I have to say.

Well, except for, if you're ever thinking about something and wondering if it's right, just listen for John Denver or whomever you've been singing that week.

Signs are everywhere. Everywhere a sign. 

Blocking out the scenery, something something my mind.

Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

And if you're not singing, you should definitely start.

Worldly,

Liza Jane

Freak Out

Have you ever had so much to do that you sat yourself down and didn't do a damn thing?

I've been there. Well, actually, I'm there right now. You're probably really busy being productive so I'll keep your spot warm while you're off doing stuff. Then you may read this while you're procrastinating some day. And I like it when you read my blog, but I'm all up into honesty these days.

You procrastinating, friend. 

Procrastinating monkeys.

I have so much to say to you! It's the same concept.

There is so much to write about. 

But it's all a lot so I'm going to write about nothing. Which works for this blog about nothing.

The first thing that comes to mind these days:

My pregnancy. By the way, I will run thru the streets naked with my preg, weird body if this becomes a pregnancy blog. Which streets? I didn't say, did I?

NO, it will continue to be a big blob of random yoga, nutrition, vegetarianism and new-aginess in the MS Delta, philosophy, music, reading and writing, art, cynical yet thoroughly optimistic ramblings, spiritual sweet-nothings, and nonsense. I've already alienated enough people with my overly open information about this, my first pregnancy. 

Tough-ass moms get groomed. Look at that head. I can't get over that little black head.

Which has up and boomed over night. And gotten a lot better. 'Cause I tell you, sister, it was rough there for a while. But who's going to be the first tough-ass woman to complain about it? Not me! No sir! Pregnant women are tough all of a sudden. I know, because I am one. We're acting tough one second, and then freaking out and bawling uncontrollably over a jolly rancher the next. Then we shrug off getting slammed into by a crazy driver. Then someone like me drifts off into a daydream about karma and what God is trying to tell me through this fender bender. 

Oh my. Maybe motherhood will slap the over-thinking out of me.

But I doubt it. Maybe a girl never changes. Maybe this offspring will also ponder and wonder about every little thing and what it means too. Then I'll get mine. "Don't worry about it little William, pecans just fall in the fall. That's what happens. No squirrel is mad at you. Everyone loves you." And you're as sensitive as both of your parents. I'm afraid the little babe's going to come out with sensors all over her body (girl named William? I've thought about it--also thought about a boy named Sue--to honor both Johnny Cash and my grandmother). I mean, we're the most sensitive people I know. Right here in this house. I digress.

Anyway, to explain to you why I haven't written anything since way before harvest, I'll just say: 

I freaked out. I found out I was pregnant, and it was a crazy moment I'll never forget. It blurred my activity for at least a week after I saw the little blue line. Major freak-out session.

Freaking out with a monkey and a banana (explained at end of the post).

Then I was so fatigued out in June and July, opening my laptop became an effort like lifting weights; a lot of time was spent sitting on the floor next to john (a useful, efficient fellow, who takes care of business but is oft misunderstood); and basically 'getting ready' to do this or that, which meant moving very very slowly because I was so freaking tired.

Then somewhere towards the end of that 'personal growth' month I realized it was time to leave the country for another personal growth month. 

I went to Bali. For a month. Like I said. 

This is me with a baby monkey on my hip in Ubud, Bali.
Began to give it that banana, when a bigger monkey came and
freaked on me. The little one disappeared, and the big one started
crawling me like King Kong on the Empire State Building.
So I threw the banana in the air and freaked out (pic above).
Monkeys are so aggressive. It's crazy.

Why? Why not? Yoga. Big teacher training situation. For the first 3 weeks.

Awesome. I met so many people I just fell in love with. Truly. From all over the world. You know I was freaking out, just loving it. Everyone was like-minded, fun, determined, yogic, into it.

More about that later or this will become longer than my birth plan. Maybe tomorrow?

Let's get this straight, friend: Bali is literally on the other side of the world from Mississippi. I don't know if I realized it until after I rode 14 hours to make a connecting flight. I just thought yoga in Bali sounded cool. And might not come up for me again. (Internet situation was very 3rd world, maybe harder than getting online out here on the farm--thanks a heep Hughes Net).

Worth it. And I got a few days after the training to relax and explore and watch geckos and rice fields and negotiate/fight with street vendors and drivers.

After I calmed down, I thought I'd give the big
monkey a chance. 

If you don't get spiffy with a cab driver, it's not a real trip. My opinion. Take it or leave it.

Or you could get spiffy with a monkey.

Or anyone. Because if you're pregnant, you're going to get spiffy. With someone or something. 

Could be a router or even a book, just a simple book with terrible writing could send a pregnant lady soaring in angry fumes of green smoke. 

Oh, preg talk.

So which street am I going to have to run through naked with my weird, freaky, pregnant body? 

Well, my street has nothing but rocks and dust. No people, cars, or bikes. Just me and maybe a big green tractor. I never said which street. I didn't. 

And don't Google Earth. I still can't believe how creepy Google has gotten.

So it's okay to freak out. Give yourself a freak-out session. Go ahead and do it. You'll feel better. But please calm your ass down afterward. Moving forward. Blogging back on.

Freakily,

Liza Jane