I am probing, picking lightly around the edges of the rubble, turning the stones over to see what could be trapped underneath. Checking the cracks. There's sometimes a little shimmer in the tight spots. Loosening the rock gives a little space to fit my hand. I found a ring once, just a small gold band with a gemstone. I left it where it was, nestled in the sand. If I lost something precious, I would retrace my steps. No need for further interference. The elements do enough.

I say I'm not looking for anything, but I am. Nothing specific. You cannot find the treasure by being exhaustive. Some things occur by happenstance. Surprise. He does not like surprises. Some people don't. He likes to know about all the steps leading up to the event and afterward if he is not there. We ate sushi thigh to thigh on the couch that I loathe with the red cushions. He wore all black, as usual. I had lilac pants and a tight top, and I forgot to take my mouthguard out until we sat down to eat. He did not say anything. He notices these things and does not comment. He is considerate in small ways.

I made two vegetable rolls and a crab roll. Simple and sustaining. I splurged for the little orange fish eggs and fresh wasabi. I used the leftover rice to make four nigiri and added the smoked salmon I purchased for my breakfast with the girls. Eating with people is so much more enjoyable. We mixed the wasabi paste with the soya sauce. I even picked up chopsticks! He set out the little rolls on the wooden cutting board. When we sat down, he set up the table and gestured for me to take the photo I wanted to send to Clara.

I was proud of myself for the presentation. I knew the rolls would taste good. My rice was sticky and sweet, and the ingredients were fresh. I was concerned about the preparation, and my first three rolls came out loose and sloppy. I also worried about the slicing of the rolls. All the knives in this home are dull. He loved it, the look and the taste. I did, also. I did not need his validation to feel proud of myself for the effort!

Next time, I will try a mango roll, spicy tuna roll, and sweet potato. I will not fry the sweet potatoes; I will roast them first. He doesn't care what I make. It is nice to have a late lunch and coffee with someone. It is a welcomed interruption to my day. I never know when he will come until he tells me. We don't make plans. It used to bother me, and it doesn't as much anymore. I'm learning to adapt to uncomfortable situations.

I did a kitchari cleanse for three days. It was one of the most uncomfortable experiences I've willingly undergone recently. A kitchari cleanse is an Ayurvedic practice. Clara recommended it because my stomach has been so upset. It helps to clear the GI tract and reset the gut biome. It gives the liver a rest. You only eat mung bean dal, basmati rice, and vegetables. Oatmeal with fruit and nuts is acceptable in the morning. I chose to use lime and tahini as my dinner seasoning. Lemon and ginger were my lunch dressing.

Coffee is not permitted on the cleanse, which is why I felt so sick on the first day. I went into withdrawal. My headache was so bad I could not move. I went to the washroom to squat by the toilet in case I needed to vomit. The nausea lasted for forty-eight hours. I did not puke, though many times, I had to put my head between my legs and breathe deeply for long periods.

The cleanse can last three to twenty-one days. I did three with no caffeine. On days four and five, I had chai tea in the morning and stayed on the kitchari. Day six and seven, I finished the rest of the kitchari (I made two very large pots) and prepared a morning coffee. My body is very sensitive to drugs: it was very interesting to note how different I felt after that first sip of coffee on the first day. Manic.

I prepared the first pot of kitchari with many spices: Tumeric, ginger, and cumin. I could not find ghee or mustard seeds, so I used olive oil and did not heat the spices in the pan with the seeds as recommended. I stirred them into the pot with the yellow lentils and the rice. I don't think these little details matter too much, at least for where I am right now in my practices. I added carrots to the pot toward the end and used handfuls of green spinach in the presentation. I wanted something grounding, which is why I chose a root vegetable.

For the second pot, I used zucchini and fresh kale.

I took the oatmeal in the evening as a snack rather than breakfast. I preferred it as a way to break up the day's meals and added raspberries as a special treat for sweeteners. I love oatmeal. It's so simple, nourishing, and warms me from the inside. It reminds me of mornings at Melissa's with the twins. She would make a pot of oatmeal and stir in peanut butter and chia seeds. She'd give the kids bowls of berries with the porridge, and they'd sit and watch cartoons while they ate. Neither of them was fully awake, and when I joined, sometimes, one would come to sit on my lap for a cuddle with their bottle of milk. It was a very comforting scene. This is what I remember when I eat oatmeal.

I feel myself being pulled further and further away from the fabric of society, like torn silk. There are no loose threads to bring me back to the source, and I don't want to return. Like the glitter I see between the rocks, whatever falls loose from a pocket or purse lands and slides deeper and deeper into the sand—burrowing without being forced. I am like that ring I left in the dirt. If someone finds me, I'd rather they leave me alone as I am.

From the cleansing, kundalini, and ample sleep, I am growing stronger in my sense of self and intuition. My inner line is more pronounced: the spine, the sustainer, and my pillars of integrity. I am discovering what they are and deciding what they will be. What binds me to those around me will be these pillars. Nothing else matters. Sandcastles are fun to create to pass the time, but it's the broken seashells I like to collect. The pieces rubbed raw and small by wind and waves. The salt here is not as strong as the Pacific. It is subtle and soft like the people.

Alkor told me that people do not answer questions directly out of fear of being judged. I was like this at one point in my life. I am not any more; I answer based on what I believe and feel. I give the truth if I am asked. I must remember that not everyone thinks like this; they do not know it's possible or do not have permission.

Photo source.