A Postcard from Goa
images and thoughts from my recent trip
Hello everyone. I’ve just returned from a week away in the wilderness of Goa, on the west coast of India. My trip was so luxuriously fulfilling that I can’t help but share an extract of it with you. I can still feel the peace of that time vibrating in my flesh and bones, and I hope some of that lushness reaches you through my words and images.
When I travel, I find that my thoughts become less organized and more porous. I’ve chosen not to edit them too much and leave them in their raw form, as I would write them in a journal or on a postcard.
Accepting oneself and everything just as we are is how we truly slow down. Surrender is the direct gravitational pull down and out of hyper-aroused, frenetic, getting things done energy. Only in that pause—the pause that being in nature gives us so effortlessly—do we recognize where our actions are really coming from. Are we resisting what is and trying to change it, or are we flowing with what is deeper into the dance of life? The former feels like struggle, the latter like creation.
I have always struggled with where I belong in this world, never finding quite the right fit with anywhere I went or lived. Part of me always has to hide, or be overexposed, in order to relate to whoever and whatever is around me.
But out in the wild, drenched in the pleasure of living-ness all around, I remembered that where I belong is here—with the trees and the birds and the sun and the sea, who are my kin.
We belong in a world that makes space for us, that allows us to slow down and savour life unhurriedly. The best post-trip hangover is realizing that I didn’t read the news, watch anything or feel the need to check my phone for days on end.
Being somewhere remote is a strange mix of independence and dependence. We had the freedom and the wild open space to be by ourselves, in our own thoughts and bodies. At the same time we were utterly reliant on the kindness of others: those who hosted us, told us their favourite places to eat and unwind, showed us the way, gave us recommendations and shared their intimate knowledge of place with us.
In the city, I oscillate between the alienation of being alone in a crowd, and wanting to get away from the mass of people all around. The kinds of interpersonal connections I make in urban life are much more considered and deliberate; my sphere needs to close for me to stay sane. My dependence on others is invisible, and taken for granted.
In the countryside, distant from habitual bonds and obligations, I felt available to receive whoever and whatever came my way. That openness blossomed into serendipity, the sense that nothing I encountered was an accident, and that it all had meaning and place.
By the ocean, I slipped into a delicious sense of aloneness. The kind of aloneness that opens a portal to the more-than-human world. I had the sense that everything was listening to me, and that I could listen back, and hear something speak. Every day I would leave a message for the stars, the moon, the sea; and each time they would respond in kind. The strongest message was, of course, you belong here, you are part of us. Remember.
It’s so easy to drop into altered states when I’m in nature. It’s like nature is herself the portal to being other-than, and more of, who I am. Seeing the sun on the waves was a gateway to luminosity, the radiant energy this world is made of. Driving a scooter through dark country roads at night felt like flying through space, with the stars shining all around. It was a more exhilarating version of the feeling I have when I’m resting deeply, or meditating, and my body feels like the night sky: vast, quiet and shimmering with starlit-energy. There were so many instances like this, where I would fall into an expanded sense of who and where I was.
I leave you with a secret that came back to me this week: there is nothing like the magic of playfulness. Play is the alchemy of life, where darkness becomes light and adversity becomes adventure. As my meditation teacher says, your mind wanders towards wonder.
Wishing you the gift of awe, of your own moments of wonder and peace and deep, embodied pleasure…
PS. I’d love to hear about places you’ve been that have brought you a similar sense of openness and depth. Leave a comment below to share ♡
Your reflection on surrender and self-acceptance resonates deeply, particularly in a world that often equates worth with productivity. The idea of surrender as a "gravitational pull" away from hyper-arousal is a powerful metaphor—it suggests that stillness isn’t inertia, but a return to an innate rhythm, like roots drawing nourishment from the soil.
Nature, as you note, teaches this effortlessly: a tree does not strain to grow; it simply bends toward light and water, trusting the process. I really like the open, expansive and forest feelings - being with the kin.
What strikes me most is the distinction between resistance and creation. Resisting reality often stems from fear—the fear of inadequacy, impermanence, or losing control. Yet in that resistance, we fragment ourselves, fighting currents instead of letting them carve us into something wiser.
Creation, by contrast, feels like collaboration with life. It’s the difference between chiseling a stone in frustration and sculpting with the grain, allowing the material itself to guide the art.
But surrender is not passive. It asks for courage—to release the illusion of control and listen to the quiet wisdom beneath the noise. In a culture that glorifies "hustle," pausing to ask, "Where are my actions rooted?" becomes radical. Are they sprouting from scarcity, a need to prove, fix, or escape? Or from a deeper well of presence, where action aligns with what is, not what we insist should be?
This tension mirrors the paradox of nature: a storm is both chaos and a catalyst for renewal. It has been like that the whole week. Similarly, surrendering to "what is" doesn’t negate agency—it reframes it. (In my case, I am simply way over the word limit on my work but struggle to organise it.) We act not on life, but with it. This PhD is my life now and I'm just unable to do anything else well. The dance you mention isn’t about perfection; it’s about responsiveness, a dialogue between effort and ease and I wish I could make that happen in my work. This PhD is the storm—chaotic, all-consuming, yet generative
Your words remind me that true creation—whether art, relationships, or a life—emerges from this harmony.
Thank you for the invitation to reflect. It’s a timely nudge to step out of the whirlwind and into the rhythm of the dance and swim and bends, even if my knees are hurting.
Aloha 🐸
Always love readin your works 🤙🏽
Appreciate cha sharin yur journeys .
I love travelin out of the US ta foreign lands . Love meetin new people who are willin ta share their culture wit me. I was always treated so kindly . Got sick a few time’s, but hey! Sometimes that happens. Loved India.
I was up in da north Laxman Juhula
a small town next ta da Gangas River.
Anyhoo ! Lv travelin💕