This is *Karme Choling, a Shambala Meditation Center surrounded by 700 acres of mountain forest in northern Vermont where I've come to spend a week deepening my writing practice and learning to meditate with the fine writer/teacher, Susan Piver.
My journey from Pennsylvania began on Thursday afternoon with a stop-over in Portland, Connecticut where I spent the night with Nan, dear family friend, in her 19th century home. That night, I slept in Nan's girlhood bed, tossing and turning with anticipation and anxiety for the second leg of my trip on Friday.
Hugs all around I headed north on 91 through Connecticut, Massachusetts, and into Vermont. The sky was clear but as I drove north the weather turned; rain blowing horizontally, winds pushing the car, road signs like scarified pavement, caution/ strong crosswinds ahead, ponding on highway. Ponding on highway?
I drove and breathed, ticking the miles off while listening to Garrison Keillor tell tales of Lake Wobegon. It's just rain, I told myself, followed by whose idea was this to leave my family for a week? Vision quest, my ass.
Finally, Exit 18, Barnet/Peacham. Off the exit, a half a mile up, I turned onto Patneaude Lane, crossed over a flooded bridge and drove up the dirt road. Dear God, what if I get trapped here?
Karme Choling rose up to greet me. I parked the car and promptly wept with relief, head on steering wheel.
You can go home if you hate it.
By dinner I felt the shift, over the "new kid at camp" syndrome, I was laughing with new friends and settled into my room. Before bed, I stood outside under the night sky and thought, See? You can do this. Hell, you might even enjoy it.
"Mom! Dad and I are capable," Claire told me on the phone.
Me too.
(imagine a small tent over the "e" in Karme and the two dots over the "o" in Choling)
