I showed up ten minutes early for David Sanders’ “Transitions” workshop. It was scheduled to start at 8PM in the “Carl Rogers” workshop room located roughly seventy-five yards up the hill from the Satori dining room. “Carl Rogers” was circular with vertical redwood panels to the east and floor to ceiling windows to the west. In the classic Satori tradition there were no chairs; workshop participants either sat on the floor or lounged on the over-sized pillows that were piled against the north wall.
When I entered, David was sitting yoga-style on a pillow with his back against the wood wall. No one else was in the room. I grabbed two pillows, one for my back and another to sit on, and plopped down next to him. David nodded and kept reading his notes.
Over the next ten minutes, the workshop participants drifted in. An equal mix of men and women. Some apprehensive, others overly casual. The usual white privileged group, I thought. A frizzy-haired guy stumbled across the room and fell on a pillow. Stoned?
By 8:11 all the space was filled except for an opening to the right of me. An attractive woman burst into the room, mumbled “Sorry I’m late” and searched for a place to sit down.
It’s Kate Swift, I realized.
She gasped and mouthed, Tom?
I pointed to the opening next to me. Kate hesitated, then moved toward me. I stood up and gave her the pillow I had been leaning against. Kate sat down and muttered, “I can sit somewhere else.”
I blushed. “This is fine.”
Since we last met, three months before, Kate had restyled her brown-blond hair into a bob. Her new look emphasized her athletic bearing and determined personality. She was dressed in a white linen jumpsuit accented by dangling turquoise earrings.
David got to his feet. “Welcome to the semiannual Satori transitions workshop. For those of you who have not been to the Institute before, there will be an orientation in the front office at 8:30 tomorrow morning.” He looked around the room, as though trying to ascertain how many workshops members were newbies. “The workshop rules are elemental: Show up on time -- the schedule is in the workshop packet and will be repeated verbally each day. Pay attention. Tell the truth. And keep your commitments.” David looked around to see if anyone had questions. “To repeat, it’s essential that each of you tell the truth about why you are here, why you are in the middle of a transition. This may be difficult or embarrassing, but the more you tell the truth the more you will benefit from this work.” Again, David paused. “You have a commitment to each other to keep what is said here confidential.” David walked to the center of the circle and turned, looking each participant in the eye. “You may hear things that disturb or shock you – things that jolt you out of your comfort zone. That’s okay. This is a safe space. For the next six days, our objective is to create a sanctuary where you can ask for and receive support. Do any of you have questions?”
A woman across the room raised her hand. “So, can we take notes?”
David shook his head. “Unlike most Satori workshops, I prefer you don’t. When we are in this room, I want you to give the other participants your total attention.” He slowly turned. “Any other questions?”
No one spoke.
David retreated to his starting position and sat down on a pillow. “There are two facilitators: me and Cheryl Taylor.” He acknowledged the petite woman, sitting on his left. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and had black hair with one gray streak. “We’ve both been on the Satori staff a long time. We’ve both been in lots of workshops. We’ve both seen lots of shit: some good and some bad. Our objective is to create a safe space. If you don’t think you will feel safe you may want to leave now.” David looked around the circle.
No one left.
“We’ll begin by hearing each of your stories. Take as long as you need to tell us why you came here and what help you need. When you tell your story, you will not be interrupted.” David paused. “That’s a very important rule. By the way, that means that it’s not okay for you to leave the room to use the bathroom while a participant is speaking. If you need to pee, go during the breaks. Do you understand?” He looked around the room. “If Cheryl or I feel that you, the speaker, is stuck, we may say something, but no one else is permitted to talk until you are finished. When we believe that you are finished, we will say something like, ‘Are you finished?’ If you signal that you are, we will ask, ‘Are you ready to take questions from your group?’ If you signal that you are, we will take questions until there are none. At that point, we will either take a break or move on to the next participant.” David paused. “We’ll start tonight and proceed until everyone has had their turn. However long this takes. Typically, about two days.” David looked at each participant. “During this process, we ask that you not be absent. Please do not schedule a massage during this time. We are building trust and that requires that each of you gives this process your one-hundred percent commitment.” David paused. “Do you understand?”
There were some murmurs and more nods.
“I can’t hear you. Say ‘I understand.’”
The group echoed: “I understand.”
“Good. Now we’ll get started. We’ll proceed around the circle counterclockwise, starting with my friend Tom here.” David put his hand on my shoulder. “Tom will speak for as long as he needs. At the end, I will talk to him, and then if he wants, he’ll answer your questions.”
I got to my feet, stared at the group, and cleared my throat. “It’s easier for me to do this when I am standing. No matter how many times I do this, it’s always scary to address a Satori group.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m Tom Scott. Just turned forty. Recently widowed; my wife died eleven months ago.” I sighed. “I’m a classic privileged California WASP. I grew up near Los Angeles, attended Stanford, and now live in San Francisco. My wife and I own a successful event management company. I was trained as a computer scientist and, in my spare time, play around with event-scheduling software.” I took a swig of water from my thermos.
“I’m here because I’m single after being in a close relationship for fifteen years.
“After I graduated from Stanford Business school, I started an event management firm with a couple of friends. We put on all kinds of events and then specialized in ‘difficult’ events; that is, events with special security or logistical challenges – for example, a celebrity wedding. About the time I was in the process of buying out my partners, I met Fiona. She and her sister, Stella, were running an event company servicing the ‘human potential’ community. By the way, Fiona spent a lot of time at the Institute; she knew David and Cheryl. I was impressed with Fiona both personally and professionally. We fell in love. We began living together in San Francisco. We joined forces and started our company ‘Carpe Diem.’
“We always planned to start a family but never made the time.” My throat tightened and I struggled to speak. “Seven years ago, Fiona was diagnosed with breast cancer. It wasn’t a total surprise; her mother was a breast-cancer survivor and her aunt died of it. Fiona was in good shape, had a positive attitude, and excellent medical care. She underwent a course of chemotherapy and, after three years, was judged to be cancer free.”
I took another swig of water. “We went on with our lives, and tried to start a family but were unsuccessful.” Again, my throat constricted. “Fiona’s Ob-Gyn said that Fiona was impacted by the chemotherapy, that it was likely temporary, and we shouldn’t be discouraged.
“Three years ago, a lump in her left breast appeared. Fiona had the lump removed but not the breast as she had always dreamed of breastfeeding our children.”
Tears filled my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. David slid a box of tissues to where I stood, and I used one to wipe my face. “Fiona started another course of chemotherapy. It was not successful. She was given the choice of extensive surgery or more experimental drugs. Fiona chose the drugs. They didn’t work.
“More than a year ago, Fiona realized that she was going to die. We had a long talk about what that would mean. Fiona wanted to die at home and not in a hospital or a hospice. We got her a special bed and arranged for nursing support.
“My mother was a nurse and, while I was attending Stanford as an undergraduate, I worked as an orderly at the VA hospital. Which is to say that I have the temperament to deal with sick folks.” I looked around the room. “Fiona spent her last days in our home. I was able to sleep next to her every night.” My eyes stung with fresh tears “I was there when she suffered.”
When I looked around the room, most of the workshop participants were crying. “Fiona began to use the morphine drip and that helped with the pain, helped with the suffering, but it dulled her humanity.” I sighed. “I could feel her drifting away from me. Even though we had a nurse to help us, I stopped going to work and spent all my time with Fiona. I helped the nurses clean and feed her. Her death was imminent, and I didn’t want to miss that moment.”
David Sanders touched my shoulder. As I turned, he placed a large beige pillow at my feet, and backed away. I knelt and began to talk to the pillow as if it was Fiona in bed. “At the end, you declined morphine; you wanted to be able to talk to me. I sent the nurse back to her quarters and you and I talked for hours. I wish I had had the presence of mind to record what you said, but I didn’t. The main thing that I remember was that you told me not to be bitter. You believed that the rules of the universe are unfathomable, and we just need to roll with them. You told me to go on and live my life. You knew that I would remember you and treasure our relationship, but you encouraged me to go out and meet new people; you said, ‘It’s okay to love again. You have a big heart, Tom; there’s room for me and someone New’.
“Fiona and I cried and laughed. And then she was gone.” The workshop participants were still crying. I placed my hands over the pillow and slowly lifted them towards the ceiling. “A light left Fiona’s body and drifted upward until it passed through the ceiling.
“It seemed important to personally care for her body. I washed her and tied her hair back in the same style of pony tail she was wearing when we met. Then I wrapped her in a clean sheet. I called our doctor and he arranged for paramedics to move Fiona to the mortuary.” I stood up. “After the death certificate was issued, I had Fiona cremated, as she requested. Then I began scattering her ashes in the locations she’d suggested. I even brought some with me to scatter here at Satori, below the baths.”
I looked around the group. “Fiona and I weren’t particularly religious, so we didn’t have a memorial service, per se. A month after she passed, I hosted a ‘Celebrating Fiona’ party at one of our favorite San Francisco clubs. There were no speeches, just music and dancing. Fiona would have enjoyed it.”
I turned back to David. “I think I’m finished for now.”
David got to his feet. “Are you ready for feedback from the other workshop members?”
“I think so.”
David looked around at the group. “If you have feedback for Tom, please raise your hand.”
A woman across the room raised her hand and got to her feet. “I lost a sister to breast cancer, so I deeply related to your story.” She dabbed her eyes with tissue. “I just want to say how privileged Fiona was to have you with her in the last days.” Several folks murmured agreement. She sat down.
“I was privileged to be with her,” I said. “It was an awe-inspiring experience.”
“What did you learn, Tom?” David asked.
“I learned how precious love is. I learned that when you have love, you should treasure it each moment.” My heart pounded and tears rolled down my cheeks.
“I’m going to stop here,” David said. “I know some of you may have feedback for Tom, but you can convey that privately. We’re going to take a ten-minute break and then move on.”
As the workshop members got up, I returned to my pillow and sat down. Kate took my hand and whispered, “You are so brave.”
I started to respond but was interrupted by five workshop participants who wanted to talk to me about their somewhat similar experience with the death of a loved one.
The workshop reconvened fifteen minutes later. David stood and turned to Kate. “You’re next.”
She bounced to her feet. “Wow. Tom’s a tough act to follow. My name is Kate Swift. I’m 36 and single. I’ve never been married and that’s one of the things I want to talk about.” She glanced at me and then looked away. “I’m a professional manager. I live and work in the City.” Kate reached down and took a sip of water from her thermos.
“I’m here because I feel I’m in a dead-end job and I need to make a career change.” She sighed. “But I’m primarily here because I am terrible at relationships, and I need to do something about that. I’m a successful professional. In many ways I have a fortunate, privileged life. I have wonderful friends. But I’m unable to have a sustained intimate relationship with a man.”
Kate looked around the room. “How many of you have been in a relationship where your partner told you they loved you, and you let your guard down, and said to yourself, ‘At long last I have met my soulmate. Now I can relax and get the love I deserve.’ And then they cheated on you? Raise your hand.”
Almost all the participants raised their hands.
Kate nodded. “You understand my problem. I have good judgement about many things but terrible judgement about men. I keep hooking up with losers.” She sighed. “I decided to come here after I found out that my boyfriend, Earle, was cheating on me.” Kate moved into the center of the room. “Even though Earle had a checkered reputation, I believed him when he said, ‘I love you, Kate. I know I’ve catted around in the past, but those days are over. I’m a new man. I’m ready to commit to one woman; to commit to you.’”
She punched one fist into the other. “What the fuck is wrong with me? I believed Earle. My gut told me better, but my poor needy heart wanted to believe him. So, I ignored what my friends said and moved in with Earle. Only to find that he had lied. Only to find that he was fucking Marci, one of the women in our office.” Kate began to cry.
David pushed a box of tissues across the floor to Kate. She used a tissue to wipe her eyes.
“I feel so stupid.” Her voice choked. “I knew better, but I trusted Earle.” The tears poured out.
David Sanders walked next to Kate. “This is your moment, Kate. You can use it as you like, but I suspect that you’re carrying anger as well as grief. Perhaps it would help if you expressed your anger.”
Kate took two deep breaths.
David moved closer to her. “It’s your choice, Kate. This would be a good place to let your anger.”
“You’re right, David,” Kate said. She looked down at the floor and muttered, “Fuck you, Earle.” She jumped up and down on the floor. “Fuck you, Earle.”
Several of the women in the group joined the chant, “Fuck you, Earle.”
Kate continued to jump up and down. “Fuck you, Earle.”
I’d been in another of David’s workshops where he had encouraged a woman to get her anger out by punching a pillow. I got up, wadded up my pillow, and approached Kate. David encouraged her to punch the pillow.
Boff. “Fuck you, Earle.”
The first time she punched the pillow, I remembered that Kate’s a martial-arts practitioner.
Boff. “Fuck you, Earle.”
Now all the participants were chanting, “Fuck you, Earle.”
Kate kicked the pillow with her left foot. “Fuck you, Earle.”
The tempo increased and the chanting got louder. “Fuck you, Earle.”
Kate alternated hitting the pillow with her right hand and left foot. She screamed, “Fuck you, Earle.” I backed up.
Kate feinted with her left foot, swung it in an arc, and hit the pillow with the back of her right foot. “Fuck you, Earle.”
The pillow split open, and feathers flew over both of us.
There was a moment of shocked silence and then Kate and I started laughing. Kate tilted her head to one side and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
I put up both my hands. “No harm, no foul.”
David got up. “Clearly, it’s time for us to take another break.” He turned to the participants along the wood wall. “Would one of you please open the closet. I think there’s a vacuum cleaner in there.”
I wanted to talk to Kate, but she was immediately surrounded by female participants who wanted to talk to her about dealing with their errant boyfriends. I went to the men’s room and cleaned off the feathers.
Fifteen minutes later the workshop reconvened. The feathers had been cleaned up. Kate broke away from her fan club and plopped down next to me on a new pillow. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine as long as I don’t mention my middle name is Earle.” I smiled.
Kate tilted her head to one side and mouthed, “No.” then she punched me softly in the right shoulder. “Let’s talk after the group is over.”
David stood up and laughed. “I can tell that this is going to be a good group.” He turned to Kate. “Do you have more to say?”
“I’m fine,” Kate said and addressed the group. “Thanks for being so supportive.”
Most of the participants applauded.
“Okay it’s your turn,” David said to the young man next to Kate.
He remained seated but scooted forward. “My name is Earle.”
Everyone laughed.
“Not really, my name is Rory.” He sighed and looked down at the carpet. “I’m afraid I’m like Kate’s ex. I’m a womanizer. A sex addict.”
Rory was a twenty something wearing faded jeans and a black sleeveless t-shirt that revealed a large dragon tattoo on his right shoulder. Judging from his manner, I thought Rory is someone who has been at Satori for a while. Probably an intern.
“I’m Rory Goodrich. I’m originally from Glendale. After I graduated from USC I was at loose ends, so I ended up here.” He kept moving. “I’ve always been very social. Always had a lot of girlfriends.” He sighed. “Recently, one of them told me, ‘Rory, you’re great at sex and terrible at intimacy.’ That’s me. I’m terminally shallow.” He turned towards Kate and nodded.
Kate moved close and whispered to me, “Keep me from throttling him.”
“I joined this workshop to work on my addiction. Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to do.” Rory turned to David.
“Why don’t you start by telling us more about yourself.” For the next hour David worked with Rory, getting him to describe his unorthodox upbringing that featured a lot of material comfort but little real affection. Halfway through this process I tuned out and started thinking about Kate.
Six months before, she and I had met in San Francisco at a Democratic fundraiser, “Women Who Make a Difference.” The Speaker of the House, who lived in San Francisco, hosted a gathering that featured prominent women. One of them was a Federal Judge that Kate, a US Marshall, was assigned to protect.
My firm was responsible for event management and general security. The Secret Service provided for the Speaker’s protection. At a planning session, Kate and I realized that we both regarded the head of the Secret Service detail as a bloviating incompetent. Kate and I bonded in our distaste for this individual. This led to a couple of coffee dates, which I thought we both enjoyed, and telephone conversations. We scheduled a dinner date and then Kate broke it off saying, “I like you Tom, but I don’t have time, right now, for a real relationship. I’ll call you.”
I waited for her call, but it never came. I told myself a story that perhaps, after Fiona, I would never have another major relationship. I immersed myself in work. Decided to come to David’s workshop. And Kate reappeared. I struggled not to make too much of this.
Meanwhile, Rory’s struggles to differentiate sex and intimacy found a receptive audience. Everyone in the group got engaged. Everyone but me.
“Okay,” David said, glancing at his watch. “Why doesn’t you all sit down, and we’ll wrap up.” The cluster around Rory went back to their pillows.
“It’s after 10,” David said. “We’re going to break for now and resume at 9am tomorrow morning. Our Monday schedule will be 9 to noon, 2 to 5, and 8 to 10. When you return, I want you to take the same positions that you were in today.” He looked around the circle. “Tom, Kate, and Rory, if something came up that you need to process, you can talk to me or to Cheryl after the group adjourns.” He looked at Cheryl. “Anything else?”
“Don’t forget the baths,” she said. “If you’re feeling emotional, it may help to soak it off in the Satori hot baths.”
“Good advice,” said David. “Good work, everyone, see you tomorrow.”
“What’s the deal with the baths?” Kate asked.
“There are maybe a dozen tubs, some communal, some smaller. They are located directly below here, overlong the ocean. It’s very nice.”
“Clothing optional?”
“Yes. Everyone tends to go nude.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“That’s okay. No pressure.”
“Do you go in the baths?”
“Yes,’ I said. “I like to go in early in the morning when no one’s around. Often the whole area is covered with fog. It’s a good time to meditate.”
“Maybe I could do that,” Kate said. She looked around. Rory was talking to Cheryl but everyone else had gone. “Can I buy you a drink, Tom? I owe it to you.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled.
“You don’t owe me a drink, but I would like to understand why you never called me.”
“Let’s walk down to the dining room,” Kate said. “I’ll tell you what happened.”
We got up, put on our shoes and coats, and started walking down the gravel path to the dining room. The path was well lit, but several times, when we came to steps, I put my hand on Kate’s arm to help.
“You’re a gentleman, aren’t you?”
“Old school, I’m afraid.”
“I bet Fiona liked that.”
“She did. It was one of the things she mentioned on our first date.”
“Does it hurt to talk about her?”
“Not right now. My process felt cathartic.”
“It was awesome.” We turned a corner. “You know David Sanders?” Kate asked.
“Yeah. As a therapist, not as a social friend. Over the years I’ve done a couple of workshops with him.”
“You and Fiona?”
“No. Once I did a men’s workshop with him while Fiona was here working. Another time I did a sort of ‘wilderness experience’ workshop with David where we rode horses back into the mountains.”
“Sounds interesting. Do you like to ride?”
“Yes. But I don’t do it very much. What about you?”
“My family has a ranch in the hills above Fresno. I’ve been riding since I was a little girl.” We stopped to look at the view and then Kate asked, “What do you think about Cheryl Taylor?”
“She’s been at Satori a long time. I’ve never done a workshop with her, but Fiona did. Cheryl and Fiona became friends.”
“How’s that for you?”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“I didn’t get a read on Cheryl,” Kate said.
“I think she and David will work well together. David has this very ‘avuncular’ style; he’s warm and fuzzy. Cheryl is more conventionally clinical, more spiritual.” I ran my hand across my forehead. “David’s training is eclectic. Cheryl studied at the Jung Institute in Switzerland. David is an outdoorsman. Cheryl is a meditator; a Zen Buddhist, I think.”
“Thanks. That’s helpful.”
We came to another set of stone steps. I put my hand on Kate’s arm and she reached across and covered my hand with hers.
“I still like you,” Kate said.
I flinched. “As a friend.”
“More than that.” We’d reached the dining room. “Let’s get that drink.”
Unfortunately, the bar was closed. “What about tea?” I asked.
Kate made some spicy tea for herself, and I got chamomile. We walked out onto the deck and sat in Adirondack chairs facing the fire pit. In the distance we could see the dark ocean.
“I owe you an apology,” Kate said. “What happened was all my fault. After talking to my therapist, I realized that I was afraid of having a relationship with you and I took the coward’s way out.”
I had been holding my breath, but now I let it out. “Thanks, but it wasn’t all on you. I hadn’t let go of Fiona. It was stupid for me to wear my wedding ring to our coffee date.”
“I notice you’re not wearing it now.”
“No. I talked to my therapist about what happened between the two of us and he pointed out that I was still wearing my ring.” I sipped my lukewarm tea. “I thought about it and realized it was time to move on. The next day I went to my jeweler, and he helped me get the ring off.”
Kate drank tea and looked at the fire. “My therapist helped me understand that I sabotaged our relationship. I was afraid that I would get involved with you, it wouldn’t work, and I would be devastated. So, I chose a ‘reclamation project.’ I chose Earle because it was a familiar, fucked-up pattern.”
I started to ask Kate a question but stopped myself.
“I have an insidious self-esteem issue: I don’t think I’m worthy. Therapy has helped me understand it stems from my relationship with my father, who was a star in the Fresno PD. I never thought I could come up to his standards.” Kate took a deep breath and turned to look at me. “My therapist helped me understand that I thought that I wasn’t good enough to be in relationship with you. I believed I wasn’t a star, like Fiona.”
I started to respond but Kate stopped me with her hand.
“It may be too late, but I would still like to explore our being together.”
“It’s not too late. I’m not seeing anyone. Before I came here, I had half reconciled to being single the rest of my life.” I’ve done nothing but work.
“There was a picture in the San Francisco Chronicle of you and an attractive woman.”
“That wasn’t my date; that was Stella, my sister-in-law and business partner.”
“Oh.” Kate smiled and looked into my eyes.
My heart was racing and my next words came out in a whisper. “This would be an opportunity to explore being together.”
Kate’s eyes misted.
We sat in silence for a few minutes and then Kate said, “I’m exhausted. I need to go back to my room and go to sleep.” She got up from her chair and extended her hand. “Walk me back, Tom. There’s something important I need to tell you.”
We went into the dining room, deposited our cups in the “dirty dishes” tub, and exited the side door. As we crossed the lawn, Kate started talking. “I’m here as part of my psychological leave. I’m thinking of leaving the Marshall’s office.”
“I thought you liked your job? I thought you just got a big promotion?”
“True. I’m the first female supervisor in the San Francisco office. But something terrible happened.”
I stopped and looked at Kate, but she kept walking.
“U.S. Marshalls do three things. We protect US government officials, particularly judges – that’s what I was doing when we met. We arrest people that are subject to Federal warrants. And we administer the witness protection program.”
“You are on psychological leave because of something that happened in that program?”
“Yes.” Kate stopped in front of her room and turned to me. “One of my families was murdered by the Mexican mafia. The wife tried to contact me, but I got her message too late. I rushed to their residence, in the Mission district, and found the bodies of my assignee, his wife…” Her voice broke. Kate paused, composed herself, and finished, “and their three little children.”
“Ugh.” I stopped and clasped her hand.
“Tom, in my line of work, I’ve seen some heavy shit. I’ve seen really bad traffic accidents. I’ve seen the aftermath of gang fights. I’ve seen mafia guys blown away with sawed-off shot guns. But this was the worst.” Tears flowed down her cheeks.
I wrapped my arms around her.
“It was so fucked up.” She sobbed into my chest.
I had to bend down, to kiss her hair, her cheek, and taste her tears. Then I got an erection.
After a few moments, Kate’s tears turned into chuckles. “I’m glad you like me.”
I pulled back. “I’m not good at keeping secrets.”
“Apparently not.” She chortled.
“I’m embarrassed.” I kissed her hair.
“Don’t be. It’s sweet.” She nuzzled into my chest.
Kate’s roommate, Norma, walked up and offered, “If you want to have the room to yourselves, I can sleep somewhere else.”
“That’s a kind offer,” Kate said. “But Tom and I are saying goodnight. Go ahead into the room. I’ll be right in.”
Norma walked around us, unlocked the door, and went inside their cabin.
“I don’t want to let go of you, but I’m going to,” Kate said.
My heart hammered in my chest.
Kate let go of me and took a step back. “Did you mean what you said, that we can use this time to explore being together?”
My throat tightened. “Yes,” I rasped.
“Good.” Kate kissed me on the cheek, turned around, and went into her cabin.