We’ve just arrived in Los Chonchos, Mexico and – from the moment I jump off the boat, feel the crunchy sand under my feet and begin the short hike to our open air palapa, I know I’m home. This “knowing” isn’t a thought in my mind, it’s a feeling in my body up high in my chest – an energy surge but with no pressure. Like I’m excited and calm at the same time. If someone asked me to attach an emotion to this sensation, the words would be joy, awe and wonder. Tears well up in my eyes as I watch the palm fronds vibrate together in the breeze, waves wrapping around rocks from behind like a big hug before retreating back to the ocean and birds flying along the top of the water, tilting slightly to dip the tips of their wings along the surface edge. I know they all feel it too. I gulp at my tears a bit and again bring my awareness to the sensation in my chest. I know I’m not sad. The sensation in my chest churns – like someone is mixing butter – but not in a rushed way.

Sitting down on the couch of the palapa with no wall impeding my view, I watch the waves crash onto shore and pull back. Almost instantly sensations in my body arise to mimic it. As the wave comes towards me, I feel the anticipation in my breath and it catches slightly at the top of my inhale like a tap on my heart. When I let go in exhale, I feel the pull back of the wave draw down the entire length of my torso. Time slows down and at the end of my exhale there’s a “landing sensation” in my pelvis – as if the water touched an “edge” in me before coming back to shore. My mind hops to an image of a swimmer in a pool doing lengths and touching lightly on the edge before turning back towards the other edge. My breath comes back to my “top” edge heightening the sensation in my chest. Distracted momentarily by my mind vying for the attention I’m offering my body, I recognize that if I were to listen to it, it could trick me into believing there’s nothing to feel. Feeling the edge again though, accentuates the sensation in my chest creating a slight but exquisite thump that reminds me there is EVERYTHING to feel. Syncing my breath to the rhythm of the waves, my awareness is drawn to the edge at the top of inhalation then back again to the edge at the bottom of exhalation. “Top” edge lands higher in my chest and “bottom” edge lands lower down in my pelvis. My mind interjects with some useful understanding that “top” edge, in this moment, includes heart, shoulders and rib cage and “bottom” edge starts at the soft, squishy part of my lower belly and swoops down my pelvic bowl landing on the tip of my inner labia. At that noticing I remember the tip of the birds’ wings touching the water and I smile in understanding. Touching the edges feels so good.

Distracted for a second my awareness is drawn back to the sensation of the space in between my heart and genitals. This space could easily be seen as secondary to the edges, but I know from experience that if I pay attention, it holds nothing and everything all at the same time. Spending time here, reminds me how exquisite the sensation of “empty” space can be. Forgetting about the waves for a moment, I connect to my breath in between the edges of inhale and exhale and relish the empty fullness of this space in between. Soon enough, I notice my exhale land at the “bottom” edge once again and I remember that the edge is just an illusion. What if I allow my inhale and exhale to extend past the edges that I know so well, and hover in the space beyond? This requires a little effort on my part but soon enough I notice that the sensation beyond my top edge is stimulating – arousing even – causing my heart to speed up. The sensation beyond my bottom edge is lighter – airy pleasure I’ll call it – as my heart slows down. Back and forth I explore the space beyond my edges and imagine I’m suspended in space, like an astronaut, floating beyond what I know. A memory comes up of my mom saying to me as a little girl “It’s okay to color outside the lines” when all I wanted was to fit it. Mom was right. Eventually my breath touches a new “edge” beyond my “edges” and slowly retreats back through the space in between to the other edge and beyond.

I “come to” after what seems like hours but was likely just minutes, and decide to make tea. My awareness lessens to the sensation in my chest that took me on this “trip” into me. I know I’ll be back several times today – when I notice the flutter of leaves, the shape of a chair carved out of a rock seemingly made for me to sit down in, or the lines etched in a tree that reminds me of the lines etched into my skin. I’ll feel that familiar feeling in my chest that tells me I’m home. Home in me.