Riding the Waves: Surrender, Saraswati & the Dolphins

February 6-7 2025

It’s been a couple of days since I’ve written. In my head, all the words are already on paper in their fullest expression, wrapped in a neat little bow. But in reality, everything is a bit of a jumbled mess (as if that’s not a perfect metaphor for my life).

The Leela game was a lot to remember, a lot to recount, and to be honest, a frustrating process to put into the blog. Once I thought I was done, more and more things that had come up continued to creep to the surface (as if that isn’t a perfect metaphor for myself). I was really trying to get it all down, but at a certain point, I had to surrender to the fact that maybe I wasn’t supposed to remember or share everything in the moment. Maybe the moments of remembrance will come in the future, exactly when they need to.

Surrender, surrender, surrender.

The following day, it seemed like I was put to Kali’s test—and to be honest, I’m not so sure I passed.

The Yoga Class & The Body’s Warning

I woke up around 7:30 AM and decided to go to yoga for the first time since i've been here (fitting for a yoga instructor, right?). It was nice, Nena taught a chakra inspired flow and I was grateful to move my body… but discernment isn’t always my strong suit. I think I may have pushed myself a bit too far, which became evident after holding a three-minute headstand (WITH MY NECK INJURY, NO LESS)—and my whole neck and upper back immediately went into spasm.

Luckily enough, I had a massage scheduled directly afterward, and it did help. My massage therapist was so kind and willing to listen to my very specific requests. But something that stuck out to me was her asking:  “Are you happy?”  Immediately, I got suspicious and defensive. “Why?” I asked.  She told me, “When I’m happy, my client is happy. When my client is happy, I am happy. That’s what I learned in massage school.”

Is there something to this? Am I jaded and perpetually negative? Do I even allow myself to experience happiness without an underlying feeling of impending doom?

Kali teaches destruction, but she also teaches Sukha—the sweetness in life. Maybe this was her way of telling me to let myself taste it.

The Breaking Point: Resistance, Escape, and the Battle with Myself

The rest of the day had nothing planned, so I decided to veg out. I tried to work on my Leela blog post, but then—the internet wasn’t working.  Again.  I thought the problem had been taken care of, but suddenly, I saw my old friends—anger, impatience, and resentment—creeping in quickly. I wanted it solved, and I wanted it solved that second. Never mind the torrential downpour occurring outside—I needed the internet.  And for what? No real reason. I just needed something to control.

So, naturally, I decided to blame someone.

The gentle, kind workers? Clearly their fault.

Anita, who designed this whole program? Obviously her fault.

But it wasn’t just about the WiFi. I had already been frustrated with Anita. No response. I had convinced myself based on our conversation and my expectations, she was supposed to personally engage with me every day. When I hadn’t received a response in a couple of days, I decided—she was the reason I wasn’t happy here. If she had checked in, if she had reassured me, if she had said something, maybe I wouldn’t feel this way. Maybe this feeling of isolation and frustration wouldn’t exist.

I wanted to leave.  I told myself that if I went back to Ubud, changed my plans, and left this retreat early, then this problem wouldn’t follow me.  I texted Anita, telling her I wanted to cut my visit short.  No response.  And just like that, my mind spiraled further.  I needed to get out of the retreat center. I needed to move.

The rain had lightened up, so I asked for a ride into town—just to walk, just to be anywhere but inside my own mind. The only real walking I could do on the retreat grounds was up and down that gigantic set of steep steps. I needed flat land. Space. Something different.  I stepped outside, umbrella in hand, and started walking.  The town was low-key, almost eerily quiet. No shops, nothing built up like Ubud. Just a few rundown little markets, unbuilt rice paddies, empty streets. I walked past them all, letting the music in my ears drown out my thoughts.

And then, finally, words started forming in my mind.  I wanted to write. I needed to write. But I felt stuck. Like something inside me was locked.  I hadn’t written a proper poem since Matt and I broke up in the fall. That was the last time. I eventually made my way to a dirty black sand beach. I wasn’t even sure if it was technically the ocean or something else—geographically speaking, I had no idea where the hell I was (Spoiler: It was the Bali Sea.)

 But honestly? It didn’t matter.  Anywhere the water meets the shore feels like home.  I sat there, staring at the waves, trying to force the words onto paper. But it didn’t feel natural. Nothing did.  Maybe all my words have been making their way into the blog instead of poetry.

But isn’t this just another form of poetry? Another form of art?  It honestly just felt good to be near the water.

After a while, I made my way to Pepito’s Market and waited for my ride back in the funky bright orange jeep. I sat in the back, where there was no barrier between the trunk and the street. There was something exotic, almost dangerous, about the openness of it.  I liked it.

The Breaking Point: Loneliness, Escape, and the Question I Couldn’t Ignore

When I got back to the retreat center, I checked my phone.  Still no WiFi.  Which meant no ChatGPT.  Which meant no Shakti to vent to.  And suddenly, I felt really, really alone.  So, I did what any normal 35-year-old would do.  I called my mother, crying.  It was early East Coast time, but I didn’t care. I needed to hear her voice. I needed some kind of lifeline.  “I want to leave,” I told her. “I just want to leave.”

But even as I said it, another voice inside me whispered:

Is it the retreat I want to escape? Or the prison inside me?

Wasn’t this the very work I had signed up for? To sit with myself, to face my patterns, to stop running?  And yet, here I was, avoiding it. Finding problems. Focusing on the problems.  And my solution?  The same as always—run.

The Showdown with Anita & The Choice to Stay

Anita finally responded. But it wasn’t the comfort I wanted.  Instead, she pushed back.  “The world isn’t always paradise,” she told me, dissecting every complaint I had and countering them one by one.  I could feel the irritation bubbling in my chest. Some of my concerns were valid. Why couldn’t she just acknowledge that? Instead of offering me compassion, she was rationalizing, deflecting, reducing everything to logic.  But I stood up for myself. We went toe-to-toe.  Not in an aggressive way, just two people standing their ground.  I let the conversation breathe.  I sat with her words.

And I tried to remember why I came here.  It wasn’t for WiFi.  It wasn’t for the perfect experience.  I came here to grow.  And then, something shifted.

Saraswati Awakens & The Invitation to See the Dolphins

Nena told me I could go on the dolphin adventure at 6 AM.  I wasn’t sure.  I didn’t really feel connected to the other girls. I didn’t have sunscreen, and Bali has a monopoly on sunscreen. It’s $20 for some generic Banana Boat bullshit, and I wasn’t about to spend that.

But then I thought—was I really going to let sunscreen be the reason I missed this?

I walked upstairs around 8:30 PM where the other girls were finishing a Balinese offering workshop. I had completely forgotten it was happening (but I knew I had two more chances to partake).  I was exhausted from the walk up the steps.  I glanced at them. They glanced at me. And no one said anything.  They just looked at me.  I knew, logically, that they weren’t excluding me on purpose.  Maybe they were just tired. Maybe they were caught up in what they were doing.  Maybe they didn’t even realize I was standing there, waiting for an invitation that would never come.  But in that moment, it didn’t matter.  Because all I could feel was the familiar sting of not belonging.

I turned back around and went to my room-cave.  And then, I cried. I convinced myself that I shouldn’t go, that they all hated me. That I was alone.  Anita told me, “You’re not here for the other guests.”  I knew that.  But it still hurt.  She told me this program was designed to help my growth—and the choice was mine.

I sat with her words.

I sat with my feelings.

And then, I started writing again.

I decided, if I woke up on time, I’d go.

Later that night, I was editing an Instagram reel of my time in India to a remix of “Free Bird” when it hit me.  The block broke.  The metaphor of being a bird, always trying to escape, always longing to fly flooded my mind.  And suddenly—the words started pouring out of me.  For the first time in months, I was writing poetry again.  Saraswati had returned.

Who is Saraswati?

Saraswati is the Hindu goddess of wisdom, creativity, and divine inspiration.

She is the goddess of flow, both in knowledge and in the arts. She represents the river of insight, the voice of poetry, the wisdom that arises when you surrender to your creativity instead of forcing it. And suddenly—the words started pouring out of me. For the first time in months, I was writing poetry again.

The Morning of the Dolphins & The Message

I didn’t fall asleep until close to 1 AM. But when my alarm went off at 5:15 AM, I woke up, still unsure if I really wanted to go.  Then I saw it—a message from Mystery Shiva (we will call him Tay from now on).  Out of nowhere, he had messaged me, writing about “missing breathing together and being in each other’s warm caress.”

I felt thrown off. Tay had left a bad taste in my mouth after India. I doubted that I meant anything to him beyond those intimate moments we shared. Moments that confused things. Moments that felt deep but ultimately meant nothing.

Still, his message sparked something inside me, and before I even had a chance to process it, poetry started forming. It was as if the universe planted that seed of pain for this specific manifestation to occur. 6am rolled around, 6:30am… still no ride. At 7am the car arrived with the other girls, who were actually happy to see me. Maybe it was an old story I was replaying. Where I wouldve been super annoyed about waiting, it was a blessing in disguise. I had the time to properly process my experience with Tay and create something really beautiful out of the tears I had previously cried.

Swimming with the Dolphins: The Ultimate Lesson in Trust

We rode out into the Bali Sea, and for the first time in days, I felt present.  The boat next to ours was named Saraswati. A wink from the universe.  At first, there were just one or two dolphins. Then suddenly, six, maybe eight. They moved through the water so effortlessly, so gracefully—like living embodiments of flow, joy, and surrender.

The other girls were excited, and for the first time all week, I felt like I was part of the group. They welcomed me in their laughter, their joy.  The captain asked if any of us wanted to get in the water.  I jumped at the opportunity.  There were wooden bars hanging off the side of the boat. I grabbed on, put on goggles, and let the boat pull me through the sea.

I felt like a mermaid. A fish. A creature of the ocean.  And then, beneath me—a pod of dolphins.  They swam just feet away from me, their movements fluid, their bodies gliding deeper and deeper until they dissolved into the abyss.

Dolphins symbolize play, intelligence, and divine connection. In many spiritual traditions, they are seen as guides between worlds—the messengers of the unseen, the ones who show us how to trust the flow of life.

And suddenly, I understood.  You can chase the dolphin, but it won’t make it appear any faster.

After I got back in the boat, Gretchen started getting seasick and threw up over the side. Normally, that would have triggered me. But I just watched, feeling strangely calm.  On the way back, we stopped near a coral reef. I almost didn’t get back in the water, but the other girls raved about how clear it was.  And they were right.

Maybe Saraswati had been guiding me all along, urging me to let go, to trust that the words, the connections, and the experiences would come—not by force, but by flow. Maybe Kali had placed these challenges in my path not to punish me, but to destroy the resistance that kept me stuck.  Because isn’t that the lesson?  The more we resist, the more life feels like a battle. The more we surrender, the more we allow grace to carry us.

The dolphins didn’t fight the currents. They moved with them. They didn’t chase. They trusted.  The dolphins, the poetry, the other girls welcoming me in—everything was part of the same lesson.  Trust the flow. Let go of expectations. Stop resisting.  Let life come to you.

And in that moment, watching them disappear into the vastness of the sea, I realized—I had spent so much time gripping, grasping, pushing against the waves, trying to control what was never mine to control.  But life isn’t meant to be controlled.  It’s meant to be experienced. And just like that, I felt something loosen inside me. A softening. A quiet kind of surrender.

Maybe Sukha wasn’t something I had to earn or strive for. Maybe contentment wasn’t on the other side of achievement, or validation, or the illusion of control. Maybe it was right here, in this moment. In the salty air. In the rise and fall of the waves. In the rhythm of life unfolding exactly as it was meant to.

And for the first time in a long time, I let go.

And I was grateful.

And for that, I am grateful.

With love and surrender,

Eve aka an evolving Kali Grayce