Page 28 - 2019 EMERGING WRITERS FELLOWSHIP ANTHOLOGY1

and Fred, who is calming and fatherly. As we each put away our things and made our

homes in tiny spaces, we talked and giggled, and I knew I wouldn’t be alone, the seeds of
our fellowship in bloom. However, as the three of us disembarked for the opening session,

the brunt of our uniqueness became clear, as Esalen’s whiteness came into view.

On the page, white space serves a purpose—to emphasize or call attention to—so that the

more of it surrounds a sentence, the more important that sentence becomes. It is a device
I’ve employed in my writing, though, in the real world, I’ve found the opposite can be true:

that white spaces can be suffocating, threatening; that white spaces at times exist for their
own sake.

There is a fishbowl aspect to circulating as a dark person in an uncolored place, a feeling

of being constantly looked at, watched but unseen. Esalen brought its fair share of that
sensation. At dinner, I would look up to see glances snatched away. While walking to and

fro, people would quickly looked away at my approach. The much-repeated platitude of

“I’m so glad that you’re here.” This is the essence of Othering.

My response to that feeling, for better or worse, has been to slough off the weight of that
heavy gaze and take the position of let them look. Rather than engage or become enraged,

I walk through a space as if I am unaffected, but in doing so, run the risk of disappearing
myself. Had it not been for the other Fellows, Esalen may have been a very lonesome

place.

The oyster may often become withdrawn and protective, shying from everyone

and keeping their inner gifts concealed from the world.

The exceptions, however, encouraged me. On more than one occasion while dining with
the Fellows, we were joined by a woman who was also at Esalen for the first time. She

shared her story with us: her work as a spiritual healer, the story of a not-so-nice husband
followed by a second husband who treated her like gold then passed away. I enjoyed her

gentle spirit, her infectious laugh, her vulnerability. She didn’t look like us, but through
the sharing of her story and her openness, we overcame those manufactured barriers

keeping so many others at arm’s length. This is the power of story that manifested more

than once throughout the Camp.

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