Dragonflies, Déjà Vu, and the Grace of Gratitude

February 8th 2025

Dragonflies, Déjà Vu, and the Grace of Gratitude

Lovina feels like a secret whispered by Bali—far removed from the crowded streets of Ubud, where tourists chase their Eat, Pray, Love moments. Here, time slows, the energy is softer, and the spiritual essence of the island reveals itself in quieter ways. Maybe that’s why this day, unplanned and unexpected, felt like an initiation into something deeper—an invitation to surrender, to trust, and to listen.

A Morning of Resistance

The day started off heavy—a lingering migraine creeping in at 1 AM, forcing me to take a Ubrelvy in my half-sleep, something I usually hesitate to do. With my eyes still closed, I grabbed one from my bag, ripped it open with my teeth, and chased it with a chug of water before immediately closing my eyes again.

I woke up late—10:15 AM—relieved that my body had taken what it needed. Nine hours of sleep, though I could have easily used nine more. A slow morning followed, my body still heavy, my energy still low. I put on a clay face mask and was preparing for a quiet self-care morning when a knock at the door startled me.

Nena. “Are you coming on today’s excursion?”

What excursion? I had stopped looking at the schedule because everything kept changing. I was under the impression that I had nothing planned for the day. Begrudgingly, I told her to give me 15 minutes, wiped off my mask, threw on some clothes, and joined the small group—still uncertain where we were going.

A Surprise Excursion and the Unexpected Company of Gretchen

I was surprised to see Gretchen waiting with the driver when I arrived. I hadn’t expected her to come since I was technically the only one left in the program. The driver seemed annoyed that I was late, but I wasn’t exactly feeling bad about it since he had made us wait an hour at 6 AM the day before.

We got into the car, and I was told it would be an hour’s drive—destination unknown. He mentioned something about waterfalls, and I asked if we needed sneakers. No, he said, and kept driving.

I popped in my headphones and began writing—lingering feelings I was still processing about my last relationship poured onto the page. I was beginning a piece I’m calling The End of Us, an unraveling of emotions I was finally ready to lay to rest.

Somewhere in the middle of my writing, I noticed a video had come through on my phone. It was from the Brit I met in Ubud at open mic—the one I have a pending date with when I get back. I wanted to watch it, but of course, I had no service. Guess it would have to wait till later.

 The rain started coming down just as we arrived, and my initial reaction was irritation.  Another long drive. Another steep, slippery descent in the rain. Another waterfall. How many

waterfalls can you see before they all start looking the same? I thought. But Gretchen, my unexpected travel companion, encouraged me—gently reminding me to go slow.

And then, as we reached the bottom, my frustration melted into awe.

Before me stood two of the most breathtaking waterfalls I had ever seen. The mist rising, the deep green swallowing the space whole, the sound of crashing water echoing through the valley. It felt like something out of a dream.

And then, déjà vu.

A strange, unshakable feeling that I had been here before. A memory surfaced—sitting in my grandma Anita’s hair salon as a child, staring at a framed image of a waterfall that always felt oddly familiar. Had I seen this place before? Had my soul already known it? Maybe it was all in my head, or maybe it was something deeper.

The Dragonfly and the Bite

We admired the waterfalls, taking pictures, soaking in the energy of the space. But I was still hesitant to get into the water. It was still raining, and I hadn’t brought a swimsuit or a towel. (Later, I realized the schedule had said to bring one—I just hadn’t looked.) Instead, I admired it from the sidelines, content to just be in the presence of its beauty.

Right before we left, Gretchen dipped her feet in a small stream and told me how good it felt. I decided to do the same.

I slipped off my Birkenstocks, stepped into the water, and within seconds, a sharp sting shot through my right foot—the one with the dragonfly tattoo.

At first, I assumed it was a bug bite. But the stinging didn’t fade. It radiated up my foot, and my mind immediately spiraled. What if it was something venomous? What if I caught dengue?

Nena had told me she previously caught dengue, and now, every time I get bit by a bug, my brain convinces me that I have a catastrophic illness. I started overanalyzing every sensation, watching my foot for swelling, trying to breathe through the rising panic.

Five minutes into the steep climb back up, I realized I had left my silk scarf from India on a rock. I wasn’t sure if I could physically make it back down, but Gretchen, without hesitation,

offered to go back and get it for me while I continued moving slowly up the steps.

I sat at the top, applying tea tree oil to my foot, reflecting on the dragonfly tattoo—one I got just before entering eating disorder treatment in 2011. It wasn’t even supposed to be a dragonfly. It was meant to be a butterfly, but the artist changed it, and I was too exhausted to care. A few days later, it got infected so badly that I had to leave treatment and go to the hospital in Philadelphia.

Now, over a decade later, here I was, staring at the same foot, feeling that same sting, but in a completely different place—physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Dragonflies symbolize transformation. They appear when we are on the edge of change, guiding us toward self-realization. Maybe this bite, this moment, this déjà vu, was another message from the universe—another reminder that I am safe, evolving, and held.

Temples, Rain, and the Language of Compassion

We arrived at the temple, and I immediately felt something shift. This wasn’t just another temple. It was massive, breathtaking, standing against a lake with a mountain backdrop so surreal it looked like a painting. The architecture held traces of Hindu, Balinese, Chinese, and Japanese influence, guarded by the dragon-like figures I’ve become so familiar with.

More déjà vu. I’ve been here before, my soul whispered. Maybe in another life. Maybe in a dream. Maybe this was just another reminder that I am exactly where I am meant to be.

We ducked into a small café to escape the rain, ordering fresh coconut water straight from the shell. And as we sat there, something beautiful happened. Gretchen asked me about my struggle with bulimia, and I opened up. Not in a way that felt heavy, but in a way that felt real. I told her how that battle shaped my spiritual journey, how all those years of suffering were priming me to help others.

Two women, from two different worlds, sitting in Bali, sharing their stories. Speaking the universal language of compassion.

Dinner, Celebration, and Gratitude

By the time we returned to the retreat center, I was exhausted. I skipped meditation—something I hadn’t attended all week anyway—and rested before our group dinner. My mind was still fixated on my foot, debating whether to go to the pharmacy. My anxiety told me something was wrong, but Shraddha—faith—whispered that I would be okay.

 I laid down, dissociating a bit before being summoned for dinner at 7:30 PM. Tonight’s dinner was at the same restaurant we had gone to on the first night—a little spot with long tables covered in banana leaves.

There was a new guest joining us tonight—a woman from Australia named Athi. Just the three of us now—Gretchen, Athi, and me.  As we sat down, I noticed Anita wasn’t there. We waited. Thirty minutes passed. An hour. She never showed up. Then, suddenly, a cake arrived, accompanied by a parade of Balinese staff singing Happy Birthday.  Apparently, it was Athi’s birthday. What a way to start a trip—your first night in Bali, being sung to by a group of strangers from all over the world who suddenly feel like family.

After dinner, Gretchen and Athi left, but I stayed behind to go to the pharmacy. My foot was still stinging, and though I knew I was probably fine, I wanted to be safe. The pharmacy tried to charge me $6 for ten Claritin pills, which felt absurd, so I grabbed some Benadryl and cream instead. I had planned on going back to the restaurant to partake in some hookah but the kind driver had followed me from the pharmacy to Pepitos market and insisted on driving me back.  When I told him I had to walk back to the pharmacy, he followed me down the street and waited for me until I was finished to drive me back in the bright orange jeep.

Later That Night: The Video

By the time I got back to my room, I remembered the video.  I pressed play.  It was him. The Brit. Over six feet tall. Playing guitar. Singing. Then seamlessly transitioning into a spoken word piece. A transmission.

O my. A vulnerable man. Over six feet. Doing spoken word. Singing. On the guitar. For me.  With a British accent.  Holy swoon.

Maybe all of these harmonium heartbreaks were for a reason.

Inspired by the moment, I picked up my phone and sent a video of my own—Tantric Illusion—to Tay. The poem I had written the morning before, a piece of my soul expressed in voice and rhythm. I hesitated for a second before hitting send. Would he understand what I meant by it? Would he think it was about him? But it wasn’t just about him. It was about me—my art, my process, my devotion. A moment captured, raw and real.

He still hasn’t responded. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe this is all unfolding exactly as it should.

The Cycle of Kali and the Birth of a New Generation

Later that night, I tried to connect with my mom. It was Wayne and Soo’s baby shower today, and I wasn’t there. My first niece. The first girl to be born into our family in this new cycle. A new Shakti energy coming into the Simonetti name.

Kali is the goddess of destruction, but also of creation. She destroys to make space for new life. The cycle of birth and death, endings and beginnings, is sacred. And maybe, in some ways, this baby represents a new beginning for all of us.

I’ve already started thinking of something special—maybe a poem, a harmonium mashup, something like what Papa made for Wayne and me when we were born. A way to welcome her into this world with music, with words, with love.

Even though I don’t feel as close to Soo or Wayne as I used to, this baby feels like a rebirth. A softening. A new lineage of love.

The Lesson of the Day: Faith Over Fear

Afterwards, as I played Free Bird on my harmonium, I reflected on the day. The resistance in the morning, the beauty of the waterfalls, the kindness of Gretchen, the dragonfly, the déjà vu, the deep conversations over coconuts, the unexpected celebration at dinner, the video that made me feel something again, and the transmission I sent into the void.

I thought about the dragonfly—its message of transformation, its reminder that change is inevitable, that nothing is ever lost, only reshaped. The worry was still there, but so was trust.

And so, I trust.

I trust the bite will heal. I trust the messages I receive. I trust the words I send out into the world.  And I trust that whatever is meant for me will always find me.

And faith will always carry me farther than fear ever could.

With love, gratitude, and unwavering trust in the journey,

Eve aka Servant of Kali’s Grayce