PCH-1. No, it isn’t a drug, but it can be highly addictive. Short for Pacific Coast Highway, PCH-1 is filled with adventure and beauty, having no tolerance for the unfocused; a premier path-less-traveled that beckons to the pioneer in all of us.
It is a long and winding road which hugs the California coastline respectfully – sensually – as it tempts and terrorizes the faint at heart with its hairpin curves and fearless flirtations of free-falling potential into the sea-green foam of the cold, laughing Pacific. Oh, the irony in a name.
Travelers in a fog, passports from around the world, venture here in pilgrimage along the periphery of perception – each reaching for respite. Somewhere down this narrow, daring and serpentine trail lies an idyllic sanctuary known as Esalen – an oasis of human potential secluded from the unobservant passersby.
Esalen lies on the edge of possibility, eclipsing metaphor as seen through the third eye. Amid sighing cypress, redwood canyons and peaceful pines, this haven to fox, deer, wild boar and mountain lion welcomes warily the human component.
High atop craggy cliffs of ancient bones in bedrock, Esalen embraces, still, all attempts to quantify and qualify its existence. Explosions of salty surf tenaciously dissolve the very foundation of this renowned East-meets-West educational institute where thousands of annual participants long to experience the essence of sacred ground.
This is nothing new. The name “Esalen” derives from the Esselen Indians who, centuries ago, inhabited this area 175 miles south of San Francisco just below the Monterey Peninsula. It was this native culture that initially discovered the rejuvenating benefits of the natural, hot mineral springs soothing the submerged feet of the Santa Lucia Mountains rising sharply beyond the healing pools.
Artifacts attributed to the Eselen, located in this Big Sur wilderness area of the Los Padres National Forest, have been dated at over 4,000 years old. Modern day Esalen has evolved into its present paradigm over the past thirty-four years since its inception in 1962.
Hmm, indigenous, pre-historic people lose holy land to encroaching explorers seeking fountain of youth. Now there’s an original Hollywood script. Would anyone buy it? How many glass beads would you offer the aborigines for your own peace of mind? Can one bargain for one’s soul? At what price bliss? Do I really have to floss as much as my dentist says, or . . . whatever.
The questions are as plentiful as the plethora of butterflies fluttering by the circular meditation room stretching across the rushing mountain waters beneath your tush’s crescent zafu as you stare into the crystal-clear mouth of the cosmic stream. They, too, appear in a trance – intoxicated by the wafting perfume of the seductive Eucalyptus groves encompassing the enchantment of Esalen.
Now, enough about asylum, what about you? Are you tossing and turning at night without the benefit of a boudoir companion to blame? Do niggling doubts creep into your snoozing soul, terrifying you with the possibility that perhaps there could be more to life than “Do you want fries with that?” and “Paper, or plastic?” What does it all mean?
In the never-ending, nerve-fraying search for a transformative experience, we scoff at the expense to man and nature alike while reaching for our E-ticket visa as interest compounds daily – one moment at a time. It may be more costly not to seek definitive transcendence and where better to indulge your soul’s desire for self-improvement than at the western Mecca of enlightenment – Esalen.
The picture paints itself. Swallows make a mad dash across the sizzling surface of the setting sun as they mime the flitting question marks above your head while you soak in a hot tub on the edge of an awareness bathed in pure California gold; an edge that drops precipitously to the pounding surf below where their brethren, the seagulls, cockily cackle indifference in the endless search for sustenance.
If only you could hear Jonathan’s transformed voice amidst the rhythms of their wings, you might be saved. Their flight is in your mind, your plights intertwine, but only you must “reason.” The gull merely “does.” Is this hard to swallow?
A recent human attendee shares with me his experience at Esalen. Let’s call him A.C..
HEALING RETREATS & SPAS (HR & S): CAN WE CALL YOU A.C.?
A.C.: “Sure.”
HR & S: IS THAT YOUR REAL NAME?
A.C.: “Listen, there’s a massage table up there with my real name on it, so let’s make this quick.”
HR & S: OKAY, SO WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?
A.C.: “I can’t tell you exactly what it is about Esalen, but you know it when you step onto the property,” he reflects. “It is a totally magical place.”
A.C., if that is his ‘real’ name, describes his virginal jaunt, which began spontaneously with a call to the Institute’s Reservation Center. Unfortunately, they informed him that most of the 8 – 10 weekly programs had already been filled, including the “Experiencing Esalen” weekend seminar specifically designed for the uninitiated.
He opted, instead, for “Ageless Vitality,” which focuses on regaining the ability to tune into inner rhythms, discovering how we deplete our natural ability to be self-healing and self-renewing. Or maybe he would just hit the hot tub all weekend. It’s not like you have to formally participate, he muses.
HR & S: . . . AND YOUR MOST ENLIGHTENING MOMENT?
A.C.: “During one portion of the class, we put on these white masks . . . you could only see each other’s eyes. There were all types in the room . . . attorneys, doctors, uh . . . housewives. Is that politically correct?
HR & S: DOMESTIC ENGINEERS?
A.C.: “Sure. At first, it was tough to loosen up. Elisa, the instructor and a beautiful lady inside and out, had us talking gibberish . . . and moving about the room. Inside, I started feeling like a child again. How I used to be. But after about an hour we walked to the mirrors and . . . ”
HR & S: THESE WEREN’T THOSE FUNHOUSE MIRRORS THAT MADE YOU LOOK FAT, WERE THEY?
A.C.: “Uh, no. But when the masks came off . . . we could see the lines in our face. Lines of stress and wrinkles. The pain we inflict upon ourselves by trying to conform to society’s perception of what we should be. And it took me back to when I was eighteen, in New England.”
HR & S: HAS THE STATUTE OF LIMITATIONS RUN OUT ON THIS PAST LIFE?
A.C.: “It was just a party . . . on Martha’s Vineyard. I lived there a lot during the winter. We used to roll the carpets back, carry the furniture outside. And these 35-to-45-year-old people . . . I, uh . . . I thought they were ancient, but they were having the best time. I found out they had really good jobs and they were working hard and playing hard. I just knew that’s where I wanted to go.
HR & S: WHERE’S THAT?
A.C.: “Here. To me. Esalen. Anywhere we can get away from our ‘agreement in society’ about what we should do and who we should be. This place has it. Don’t take all the programs too literally, though. That’s not where the magic lies. It doesn’t matter what seminar, or class you take. You get the same spiritual connection.”
HR & S: YEAH, BUT REALLY, HOW’S THE FOOD?
A.C.: “Are you a real reporter?”
HR & S: DEFINE REAL. SKIP IT! THE FOOD?
A.C.: “Ah, food, it’s great! Totally organic . . . mostly grown at the center. Fresh herbs and vegetables. Herbal teas and whole-grain, homemade breads. Go for the enlightenment – stay for the food. That’s what I always say.”
HR & S: I’VE NEVER HEARD YOU SAY THAT.
A.C.: “You’re a left-brainer . . . am I right?”
HR & S: LOOK, I ASK THE QUESTIONS, OKAY? WHAT WAS YOUR MOST MEMORABLE ESALEN EXPERIENCE?
A.C.: “Hmm, the massage therapy is fantastic. It, alone, is worth the drive up the coast. You can hear the waves crashing onto the beach, then the hot tubs are right on the edge of the cliffs. At night, you can see every star. There’s nothing like it.”
HR & S: RUMOR HAS IT THE HOT TUBS ARE CLOTHING OPTIONAL. DID YOU GO ALL THE WAY?
A.C.: “That’s my secret. But I will say this . . . it’s much harder to take off a mask than a beach towel, if ya know what I’m sayin’?
HR & S: I HEAR YOU, A.C. YOU GOT THAT EAST COAST ACCENT DOWN VERY NICELY. YOU SURE YOU’RE NOT FROM BERKELEY AND THIS ISN’T SOME SORT OF ACT?
It was just at this moment that I knew I had lost my pilgrim. A.C. suddenly turned away – his towel hiding more than we’ll ever know – as my surreal encounter dissipated.
And Lao Tzu’s water buffalo walked off the edge of the cliff and disappeared beneath the relentlessly crashing tide. However, the master surreptitiously slipped from the back of the determined beast and now soaks peacefully in a clothing-optional hot tub . . . naked, of course.
Should you desire to indulge your senses in this serene, rustic retreat at Big Sur, California, then contact the Esalen Institute at 408-667-3000 for general information and ask them to send you The Esalen Catolog filled with curriculum involving holistic topics from massage and meditation to dreams, psychology and the martial arts.
But if an East Coast accent eagerly responds to your inquiry regarding accommodations, make sure he doesn’t con you into taking the “Freeing the Water Buffalo Within – The Tao of Snorkeling and Soggy Bovine Retrieval” beach excursion workshop. Just say moo!
Many articles have been penned about Esalen – thousands of words and thousands of encounters, but only one destination. Know thyself! Regardless of the map, all paths turn inward. Mind-spirit is the final frontier.
We are each Captain James T. Kirk aboard our personal Starship Enterprise on an eternal, metaphysical voyage “to boldly go where no man has gone before.” Only then will you comprehend what you, at first, can only ponder. For those who know – do not talk; and those who talk – do not know. Esalen, like life, is not a priori. One must experience it personally.
The Kat
© Copyright 10/08/96
for “Healing Retreats & Spas” Vol. 1 / Issue 1
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