This past weekend at Wilbur was going to be a long one, even by my standards; I was determined not to be in a rush to get there, but it is always good to get out of the city early on a Friday. As I drove out past Walnut Creek, looking at Mount Diablo, I realised that exactly a week before, I had been on its slopes on my bike – and that next Friday, I would be starting the sitting with the Dancing Mountains group in Newmarket.
It was just shy of a hundred degrees when I arrived, and just over a hundred on Saturday and Sunday. There were familiar faces there, apart from the friend I was expecting; it was nice to catch up with people, and I even treated myself to some bodywork with Shalamah, who gave me a serious going over as she has before. It is a time of transition in the staffing there, and I joined in a little celebration for Claudia and Chris, who keep things running very smoothly and will be heading to Europe very soon.
I only had one run planned, and I went out early on Sunday morning to do the ridge trail. I had trepidation – just for the climbs that come after you have already got up to the ridge, and they were as tough as I remembered, just touched by the first sunshine and already warming up. As I reached the top of the final short steep slope, I caught up with a guy walking along, sweating in camouflage, with a hunting rifle – always somewhat expected, though perhaps we were both surprised at each others’ presence. He said there were a couple of guys ahead of him, but I didn’t see them or hear them, and it was quiet and still enough at that time to hear the occasional cars passing down on highway 20, way down below.
The stillness added to the sense of heat, and I relished every minute of it, feeling, as Labor Day came around, that it really did mark a cusp in the seasons. I woke up early each day, mainly from being unused to the temperature shifts during the night, and earlier, even by my standards, on Monday morning. My first thought was that getting up would help me adjust to the time change (since it was already late morning in England), so I got up and lay in the outdoor pool, floating and looking up at the abundant stars.
The place was full all weekend – and they even managed to squeeze in a few people who had left Burning Man early; I saw the tell-tale dust-cover truck in the lot on Sunday morning, and there were a few people who stood out rather, drifting around somewhat less focused than most people at Wilbur. One made it to a couple of sittings, though I was not convinced he was totally present…
I had full houses for both the Sunday sessions and on Monday morning, even filling the cushions ten minutes before the Sunday evening session. I wondered if we had been trending on Instagram, but someone pointed out that it was a long weekend – I think people had run out of alternative things to do… I was motivated by the numbers to try to say something interesting, but by Monday, the fifth session of the weekend, I wasn’t sure I had anything new to say. I was just trying to enjoy the sitting and the heat, and not be in a rush to get back and do my laundry before heading to the airport on Tuesday afternoon.
Part of the light show on Friday evening.
Frank was unconcerned, even though the lighting flattered him.
New moon following the sun down on Sunday.
First rays at the bathhouse on Monday morning.
The path to the yoga deck, which was well trodden over the weekend, in the morning sun.