Endless Dunes
by Robin Tung
The Endless Dunes Retreat by the sea was exactly what Mia had hoped for. The landscape looked like it was recovering from a full-on manic episode. Windblown pines lunged ecstatically in every direction. The old redwood buildings propped themselves up on stonework. The new Scandinavian-styled villas on the northside had been constructed without much dialogue to the existing architecture. In the distance, invisible in the fog, the ocean washed itself ashore.
It was as cold inside the main lodge as it was outside. The doors had been wedged and every window thrown open. One guest stood in line at the check-in speaking to the receptionist who looked like a child. The guest hovered over the front desk, putting on her cobalt blue reading glasses, asking too many questions, taking up too much time and space. Though why not take up all the time and space—at the end of your life?
Mia could faintly hear the rushing sound of the waves beyond the trees and dunes. It was late in the afternoon but with the haze, it could have been any hour.
Beside the large windows, a very tall man with a shock of red hair sat at a desk, filling out postcards. He wore a jean jacket with a sheepskin collar, and his knees and legs were angled awkwardly under him. She watched him peel off stamps and affix them to the postcards. He looked like the TV host she’d grown up watching. Shocking to see him here--Colin. A gust of salty wind blew in through the hall. The curtains danced and the postcards flew off his desk. He cursed and then let out a big laugh before picking them off the ground. Sweeping bits of paper and trash into his hand, he stuffed them into his pocket and left the room.
The child receptionist waved Mia to the front and unfolded the brochure with its glossy map of the facilities.
“This is where we are right now,” the child receptionist said cheerfully and struggled to uncap a strong-smelling Sharpie. They circled the main lodge and drew a line to the dining hall where dinner would be served between six and eight. “Breakfast tomorrow is between seven and nine with coffee available as early as six. And lunch will be provided from noon to two.”
Then the child receptionist circled two buildings where workshops were held twice a day—and a white domed building at the north edge of the campus. The Endless Dunes Preparation Center was the pinnacle of the retreat. On the retreat website, Mia had seen it sitting prominently on the cliffs, looking out over the endless dunes, tall grass, and crashing sea.
“This is your wristband.” The child receptionist fitted a white and silver band to Mia’s wrist.
“It’s a little tight,” Mia said. The child receptionist adjusted the wristband and secured it.
“The only thing is that you can’t take it off. You’ll swipe into your room, for all meals, and workshops,” they said. The second workshop of the day was already in progress, so Mia would have to start the program in the morning.
“When you’re ready to end, you can access the Center though we only process one person at a time. But if you choose not to complete your journey, you’ll have to check out before the seventh day. The Center takes guests dawn to dusk.”
Endless Dunes had its own licensed county coroner on campus. Guests walked across the dunes alone and made their way to the ocean. Their bodies disappeared but their wristbands washed up or were fished out by employees. The wristbands had heartbeat monitors. And the wristbands continued to give heart rate readings long after the bodies were gone.
“To complete your check-in, I just need to know what you wish to come back as after a successful transmigration?” the child receptionist asked. Their fingers, the nails chewed to the quick, hung over the keyboard.
The Endless Dunes organization published annual reports summarizing the heart rate data. The findings had been written about in countless media outlets, proliferating rabbit holes all over the Internet and ensuing controversy for making biological inferences that couldn’t be validated.
More than half of the heartbeats were said to match patterns for hummingbirds with beats of 1,200 per minute and intermittent periods of torpor at about 50 beats per minute (bpm). And there were other birds like seagulls (150-600 bpm), crows (345-450 bpm), and sparrows (450-550 bpm). Or fruit flies (250-310 bpm) and spiders (48-175 bpm).
Another quarter of the heart beats seemed to suggest transmigrations to rodents: mice (450-750 bpm), rats (250-400 bpm), and hamsters (300-600 bpm). Less common were transmigrations to large mammals like horses (28-40 bpm), elephants (25-35) or whales (2-37 bpm), with some difficulty discerning between them. The same problem with dairy cows (48-84 bpm) and lions (42-76 bpm).
And even more rare were heart rates matching that of newborn humans (70-190 bpm). This also brought along with it a challenge in discerning humans from dogs (70-120 bpm).
Then there were the wristbands that registered no beat at all but a sort of fluid, low-grade static. It was theorized that these were the electrical patterns of plant life.
“What do most people say they want to be?” Mia asked.
“Birds—hummingbirds,” the child receptionist said, picking up the Sharpie again. “But this is just a survey. It doesn’t really impact the transmigration.”
“I’ll go with hummingbird,” Mia answered. “Or no—put me down for coyote.”
The child receptionist typed this answer into the computer. Then they drew a black line from the main lodge that zigzagged along small paths to Mia’s building and wrote the room number on the map.
They pushed the brochure towards Mia and laid a small flashlight on the table.
“This is for you—it gets dark early in winter, and we don’t have much outdoor lighting.”
It was as cold inside the main lodge as it was outside. The doors had been wedged and every window thrown open. One guest stood in line at the check-in speaking to the receptionist who looked like a child. The guest hovered over the front desk, putting on her cobalt blue reading glasses, asking too many questions, taking up too much time and space. Though why not take up all the time and space—at the end of your life?
Mia could faintly hear the rushing sound of the waves beyond the trees and dunes. It was late in the afternoon but with the haze, it could have been any hour.
Beside the large windows, a very tall man with a shock of red hair sat at a desk, filling out postcards. He wore a jean jacket with a sheepskin collar, and his knees and legs were angled awkwardly under him. She watched him peel off stamps and affix them to the postcards. He looked like the TV host she’d grown up watching. Shocking to see him here--Colin. A gust of salty wind blew in through the hall. The curtains danced and the postcards flew off his desk. He cursed and then let out a big laugh before picking them off the ground. Sweeping bits of paper and trash into his hand, he stuffed them into his pocket and left the room.
The child receptionist waved Mia to the front and unfolded the brochure with its glossy map of the facilities.
“This is where we are right now,” the child receptionist said cheerfully and struggled to uncap a strong-smelling Sharpie. They circled the main lodge and drew a line to the dining hall where dinner would be served between six and eight. “Breakfast tomorrow is between seven and nine with coffee available as early as six. And lunch will be provided from noon to two.”
Then the child receptionist circled two buildings where workshops were held twice a day—and a white domed building at the north edge of the campus. The Endless Dunes Preparation Center was the pinnacle of the retreat. On the retreat website, Mia had seen it sitting prominently on the cliffs, looking out over the endless dunes, tall grass, and crashing sea.
“This is your wristband.” The child receptionist fitted a white and silver band to Mia’s wrist.
“It’s a little tight,” Mia said. The child receptionist adjusted the wristband and secured it.
“The only thing is that you can’t take it off. You’ll swipe into your room, for all meals, and workshops,” they said. The second workshop of the day was already in progress, so Mia would have to start the program in the morning.
“When you’re ready to end, you can access the Center though we only process one person at a time. But if you choose not to complete your journey, you’ll have to check out before the seventh day. The Center takes guests dawn to dusk.”
Endless Dunes had its own licensed county coroner on campus. Guests walked across the dunes alone and made their way to the ocean. Their bodies disappeared but their wristbands washed up or were fished out by employees. The wristbands had heartbeat monitors. And the wristbands continued to give heart rate readings long after the bodies were gone.
“To complete your check-in, I just need to know what you wish to come back as after a successful transmigration?” the child receptionist asked. Their fingers, the nails chewed to the quick, hung over the keyboard.
The Endless Dunes organization published annual reports summarizing the heart rate data. The findings had been written about in countless media outlets, proliferating rabbit holes all over the Internet and ensuing controversy for making biological inferences that couldn’t be validated.
More than half of the heartbeats were said to match patterns for hummingbirds with beats of 1,200 per minute and intermittent periods of torpor at about 50 beats per minute (bpm). And there were other birds like seagulls (150-600 bpm), crows (345-450 bpm), and sparrows (450-550 bpm). Or fruit flies (250-310 bpm) and spiders (48-175 bpm).
Another quarter of the heart beats seemed to suggest transmigrations to rodents: mice (450-750 bpm), rats (250-400 bpm), and hamsters (300-600 bpm). Less common were transmigrations to large mammals like horses (28-40 bpm), elephants (25-35) or whales (2-37 bpm), with some difficulty discerning between them. The same problem with dairy cows (48-84 bpm) and lions (42-76 bpm).
And even more rare were heart rates matching that of newborn humans (70-190 bpm). This also brought along with it a challenge in discerning humans from dogs (70-120 bpm).
Then there were the wristbands that registered no beat at all but a sort of fluid, low-grade static. It was theorized that these were the electrical patterns of plant life.
“What do most people say they want to be?” Mia asked.
“Birds—hummingbirds,” the child receptionist said, picking up the Sharpie again. “But this is just a survey. It doesn’t really impact the transmigration.”
“I’ll go with hummingbird,” Mia answered. “Or no—put me down for coyote.”
The child receptionist typed this answer into the computer. Then they drew a black line from the main lodge that zigzagged along small paths to Mia’s building and wrote the room number on the map.
They pushed the brochure towards Mia and laid a small flashlight on the table.
“This is for you—it gets dark early in winter, and we don’t have much outdoor lighting.”
*
Clusters of wooden buildings cropped up between craggy cypresses and massive live oaks. Big, black crows blanketed one tree and restless, flapped off to another.
Mia walked along the sidewalk where spots of bright lichen appeared in cracks. The air was cleaner here. She was glad to finally be free of the city.
She had emptied her personal savings and retirement accounts to pay for the retreat. She’d paid the penalties for withdrawing early. But she’d left intact the joint accounts and investments, and of course, the college savings accounts. On the retreat website, there was a Sacred Support fund for low-income BIPOC people, which meant that the only funded people at the retreat would be BIPOC. She wondered if people thought she was one of them.
Mia followed the walkway which snaked south of the main lodge and there she discovered a path that fed onto the boardwalk. The three-mile wooden walkway wrapped around the coast. Seagulls and crows glided overhead. She’d seen this seascape on the website, a wooden path cutting through the sand dunes and up a mound of seagrass and tawny reeds towards a purpling sky. The photos offered up a soothing anodyne. The sunsetting of one’s life in innocuous pastels.
She rolled her suitcase into the building that had been circled on the map and lifted the suitcase up a flight of carpeted stairs to her room. It was halfway between the stairs and the end of the corridor. The door fell heavily behind her, sealing her inside.
A king size bed with a blonde headboard faced a wall of windows framed by griege linen drapes. The view overlooked a grove of scraggy oaks and a narrow, paved service road. A live mist was creeping along the grounds. She drew the sheer curtains shut so that anyone walking past wouldn’t be able to see into her room.
On the heavy desk beside the window, she fingered the complimentary stationery embossed with three waves. She wondered what she might write down on the beautiful creamy paper. But who would want to hear from her now?
She turned on the heater to warm the room. The vent teased the curtains. She hung up her clothes and placed her toiletries and hairbrush in the bathroom. She looked at herself a long time in the mirror, stretching from side to side. She looked frail and tired, a little thin. The skin around her eyes was growing purple at the inner canthus.
It was nearly six by the time Mia finished showering. She pulled on a new shirt and patted a silky moisturizer onto her face. In the low light of the bathroom, a dab of fresh concealer around her eyes made a difference. She threaded the gold earrings into her lobes and slicked a lip stain over her cheeks and lips. She pulled at the tight wristband and tucked the flashlight into her jacket pocket. With the brochure map open, she found her way to dinner.
Mia walked along the sidewalk where spots of bright lichen appeared in cracks. The air was cleaner here. She was glad to finally be free of the city.
She had emptied her personal savings and retirement accounts to pay for the retreat. She’d paid the penalties for withdrawing early. But she’d left intact the joint accounts and investments, and of course, the college savings accounts. On the retreat website, there was a Sacred Support fund for low-income BIPOC people, which meant that the only funded people at the retreat would be BIPOC. She wondered if people thought she was one of them.
Mia followed the walkway which snaked south of the main lodge and there she discovered a path that fed onto the boardwalk. The three-mile wooden walkway wrapped around the coast. Seagulls and crows glided overhead. She’d seen this seascape on the website, a wooden path cutting through the sand dunes and up a mound of seagrass and tawny reeds towards a purpling sky. The photos offered up a soothing anodyne. The sunsetting of one’s life in innocuous pastels.
She rolled her suitcase into the building that had been circled on the map and lifted the suitcase up a flight of carpeted stairs to her room. It was halfway between the stairs and the end of the corridor. The door fell heavily behind her, sealing her inside.
A king size bed with a blonde headboard faced a wall of windows framed by griege linen drapes. The view overlooked a grove of scraggy oaks and a narrow, paved service road. A live mist was creeping along the grounds. She drew the sheer curtains shut so that anyone walking past wouldn’t be able to see into her room.
On the heavy desk beside the window, she fingered the complimentary stationery embossed with three waves. She wondered what she might write down on the beautiful creamy paper. But who would want to hear from her now?
She turned on the heater to warm the room. The vent teased the curtains. She hung up her clothes and placed her toiletries and hairbrush in the bathroom. She looked at herself a long time in the mirror, stretching from side to side. She looked frail and tired, a little thin. The skin around her eyes was growing purple at the inner canthus.
It was nearly six by the time Mia finished showering. She pulled on a new shirt and patted a silky moisturizer onto her face. In the low light of the bathroom, a dab of fresh concealer around her eyes made a difference. She threaded the gold earrings into her lobes and slicked a lip stain over her cheeks and lips. She pulled at the tight wristband and tucked the flashlight into her jacket pocket. With the brochure map open, she found her way to dinner.
*
In the big dining room, paneled in dark wood, the guests sitting so far from each other made Mia feel lonely. She scanned the room and counted one brown woman in what looked like a beige cashmere jogger set.
Mia walked briskly to get a tray and watched as the cafeteria workers filled her plate with potato salad, cooked carrots, and sliced ham. At the end of the buffet, she spotted one other Asian woman and smiled, but the woman only looked blankly at Mia before turning into the dining room.
And there he was--Colin. The late-night TV show host. He was sitting alone with a plate, his hair soft and standing sky high like red feathers. He opened his napkin and looked right up at her.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” Mia asked.
“Please,” he said, pulling the chair out beside him.
“Thanks,” Mia said.
“Actually, seeing you just now, I instantly thought this dinner will be better now,” he said, perking up.
“You’re not shy,” Mia said.
“No, I’m not shy,” he said, and let out a big laugh.
“How’s the food tonight?” she asked.
He looked down at his plate and then at hers.
“The ham is quite good, but the carrots have a strange aftertaste,” he said.
She forked one of the carrots and chewed it. It had a slightly soft periphery and corky aftertaste.
“That’s incredible,” he said. “You went for the strange thing first.”
His eyes glittered and she thought that even with this air of melancholy and fatigue, he was magnetic. Colin. She’d stayed up late in high school, fitted onto the couch with her sister like two sardines in a tin, snack bowls balanced on their chests, watching him on TV.
Mia had always admired his wild swings between self-grandeur and self-deprecation. She told him she’d followed his late-night career and had listened to nearly every episode of his podcast interviewing comedians, actors, musicians, and writers.
“Oh, well, that’s very nice,” he said. “Thank you very much.”
He looked behind him and said something about a coffee.
“It won’t keep you up?” she asked.
“I’m immune to caffeine,” he said. “I can drink a whole pot and fall asleep.”
He got up and Mia thought he had found an excuse to leave her.
But he came back with a cup of coffee.
“Tell me about yourself. What brings you to the retreat?” he asked.
“Oh, I hear the beaches here are to die for,” she said.
He put down his coffee and let out a big laugh.
“It’s probably one of the more dramatic ways to exit,” he said.
“But hopefully a quiet ending?” she said.
“Maybe for us, maybe not for people we leave on the outside,” he said.
“What about you? What brings you here?” she asked.
“You’re turning it around on me already? You didn’t give a real answer,” he said.
“Ambivalence,” Mia said. “Deep ambivalence about being alive that doesn’t go away.”
“All right,” he said, furrowing his brow and leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know what has brought about this ambivalence. But I hope you haven’t suffered though I imagine you have. You’re very attractive and seem like a smart and confident person. So I do hope you are at peace.”
“Thank you,” Mia said. “What about you?”
“I don’t know if I could put it as succinctly as that,” he said. “Unraveling. Grief. I’ve been incredibly lucky in my life and reached higher heights than I’d ever imagined. And last year—well, you know—and my assistant of twenty years left after that. So it’s really—you could say a series of unfortunate events and one very poor choice on my part. And here I am, ready to end the final chapter a little early. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. But it feels sad. Of course it does.”
Mia had seen news and speculation over the end of his career and assistant’s departure. The assistant had no intention of destroying him. She had simply quit and cut ties.
“Chances are slim you’ll come back as a late-night host,” Mia said.
“Oh, I’m coming back as an ape,” Colin said.
“A wild ape, or a captive one at the zoo?” Mia asked.
“A zoo ape with full meals and veterinary checkups. But I’ll escape each night,” he conspired.
“Won’t you miss an audience?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? I’ll have nonstop audience. Zookeepers, tourists, families—kids. By day, I can throw poop and perform physical vaudeville. By night, I’ll break out and entertain the other animals with dirty jokes,” Colin said.
“What dirty joke would an ape tell?” Mia asked.
He stood up then and shrilled like an ape, scratching his head with one hand and his armpit with another. He hooted and beat his chest.
She laughed loudly and he sat down.
“Yeah, that’s a good one,” he said, laughing, and wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh my god, I’m crying.”
When they finished their meal, they walked out together into the brisk night. He pulled his hoodie up over his head. His skin looked pale and frozen under the sallow lights posted outside of the dining hall. Beyond that, the landscape was black and impenetrable. She could hear the ocean rushing toward the shoreline across the vast dunes.
“Which way are you?” he asked.
“That way,” she said, and pointed south. She zipped her coat up to her nose, which muffled her voice.
“I’m this way,” he said and jerked his thumb north at the large villas on the opposite end. “I bid you good night, young lady. I shall dream of the pleasure of your company on the morrow.”
She pushed him lightly.
“Ow!” he howled and held his arm tightly.
Mia smiled behind her coat. He held his hand up as if to seek help from nonexistent bystanders.
“Find me tomorrow,” she said.
He straightened up and bowed slightly. “I will search high and low for you,” he said.
Mia walked briskly to get a tray and watched as the cafeteria workers filled her plate with potato salad, cooked carrots, and sliced ham. At the end of the buffet, she spotted one other Asian woman and smiled, but the woman only looked blankly at Mia before turning into the dining room.
And there he was--Colin. The late-night TV show host. He was sitting alone with a plate, his hair soft and standing sky high like red feathers. He opened his napkin and looked right up at her.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” Mia asked.
“Please,” he said, pulling the chair out beside him.
“Thanks,” Mia said.
“Actually, seeing you just now, I instantly thought this dinner will be better now,” he said, perking up.
“You’re not shy,” Mia said.
“No, I’m not shy,” he said, and let out a big laugh.
“How’s the food tonight?” she asked.
He looked down at his plate and then at hers.
“The ham is quite good, but the carrots have a strange aftertaste,” he said.
She forked one of the carrots and chewed it. It had a slightly soft periphery and corky aftertaste.
“That’s incredible,” he said. “You went for the strange thing first.”
His eyes glittered and she thought that even with this air of melancholy and fatigue, he was magnetic. Colin. She’d stayed up late in high school, fitted onto the couch with her sister like two sardines in a tin, snack bowls balanced on their chests, watching him on TV.
Mia had always admired his wild swings between self-grandeur and self-deprecation. She told him she’d followed his late-night career and had listened to nearly every episode of his podcast interviewing comedians, actors, musicians, and writers.
“Oh, well, that’s very nice,” he said. “Thank you very much.”
He looked behind him and said something about a coffee.
“It won’t keep you up?” she asked.
“I’m immune to caffeine,” he said. “I can drink a whole pot and fall asleep.”
He got up and Mia thought he had found an excuse to leave her.
But he came back with a cup of coffee.
“Tell me about yourself. What brings you to the retreat?” he asked.
“Oh, I hear the beaches here are to die for,” she said.
He put down his coffee and let out a big laugh.
“It’s probably one of the more dramatic ways to exit,” he said.
“But hopefully a quiet ending?” she said.
“Maybe for us, maybe not for people we leave on the outside,” he said.
“What about you? What brings you here?” she asked.
“You’re turning it around on me already? You didn’t give a real answer,” he said.
“Ambivalence,” Mia said. “Deep ambivalence about being alive that doesn’t go away.”
“All right,” he said, furrowing his brow and leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know what has brought about this ambivalence. But I hope you haven’t suffered though I imagine you have. You’re very attractive and seem like a smart and confident person. So I do hope you are at peace.”
“Thank you,” Mia said. “What about you?”
“I don’t know if I could put it as succinctly as that,” he said. “Unraveling. Grief. I’ve been incredibly lucky in my life and reached higher heights than I’d ever imagined. And last year—well, you know—and my assistant of twenty years left after that. So it’s really—you could say a series of unfortunate events and one very poor choice on my part. And here I am, ready to end the final chapter a little early. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. But it feels sad. Of course it does.”
Mia had seen news and speculation over the end of his career and assistant’s departure. The assistant had no intention of destroying him. She had simply quit and cut ties.
“Chances are slim you’ll come back as a late-night host,” Mia said.
“Oh, I’m coming back as an ape,” Colin said.
“A wild ape, or a captive one at the zoo?” Mia asked.
“A zoo ape with full meals and veterinary checkups. But I’ll escape each night,” he conspired.
“Won’t you miss an audience?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? I’ll have nonstop audience. Zookeepers, tourists, families—kids. By day, I can throw poop and perform physical vaudeville. By night, I’ll break out and entertain the other animals with dirty jokes,” Colin said.
“What dirty joke would an ape tell?” Mia asked.
He stood up then and shrilled like an ape, scratching his head with one hand and his armpit with another. He hooted and beat his chest.
She laughed loudly and he sat down.
“Yeah, that’s a good one,” he said, laughing, and wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh my god, I’m crying.”
When they finished their meal, they walked out together into the brisk night. He pulled his hoodie up over his head. His skin looked pale and frozen under the sallow lights posted outside of the dining hall. Beyond that, the landscape was black and impenetrable. She could hear the ocean rushing toward the shoreline across the vast dunes.
“Which way are you?” he asked.
“That way,” she said, and pointed south. She zipped her coat up to her nose, which muffled her voice.
“I’m this way,” he said and jerked his thumb north at the large villas on the opposite end. “I bid you good night, young lady. I shall dream of the pleasure of your company on the morrow.”
She pushed him lightly.
“Ow!” he howled and held his arm tightly.
Mia smiled behind her coat. He held his hand up as if to seek help from nonexistent bystanders.
“Find me tomorrow,” she said.
He straightened up and bowed slightly. “I will search high and low for you,” he said.
*
That night, sitting on the bed, Mia read through the brochure. She reviewed the program descriptions that were taking place over the week. A somatic stretch and release workshop to open the memory center. Another dedicated solely to one hundred and eight sun salutations to focus the mind.
The workshops focused on surfacing as many memories as possible, unearthing the shadows of the self, and integration before transmigrating. The endless dunes were a path into the next life, but unless this detritus was carefully dredged up, it might remain lodged in the consciousness and continue into the transition. She understood that the workshops were meant to purify her—surfacing her memories and trauma—so that she didn’t bring them over, but she didn’t think she could handle too much of that. It might spook her and make her lose her nerve. Let it carry over, she thought, and break off piece by piece in one life and the next.
Forty-eight hours of therapy was a pre-requisite for admission to the retreat. It had taken her six months twice a week for hourly sessions to complete it. She’d felt nothing short of triumph when she finished the hours and had brought her therapist a gift—sweets from a local, upscale chocolatier.
She spread the map of the grounds over the bedspread and tried to memorize the way to the wooden path near the dunes. These endless dunes to the water—did people ever get lost on their way to transmigration? She flipped the map around and looked at the grounds from the coastline. To the north, the expensive villas along the cliffs, and the Center. Between her and the Center stood the dining hall, the main lodge and gift shop, and the two workshop spaces.
The map didn’t actualize any geography beyond the retreat except for the road leading in. She traced her finger along the road, which dissipated as if swallowed by the coastal fog. The impenetrable haze over the grounds, carried in by the waves, acted like blinders. It was better she couldn’t see the living world and miss it.
The workshops focused on surfacing as many memories as possible, unearthing the shadows of the self, and integration before transmigrating. The endless dunes were a path into the next life, but unless this detritus was carefully dredged up, it might remain lodged in the consciousness and continue into the transition. She understood that the workshops were meant to purify her—surfacing her memories and trauma—so that she didn’t bring them over, but she didn’t think she could handle too much of that. It might spook her and make her lose her nerve. Let it carry over, she thought, and break off piece by piece in one life and the next.
Forty-eight hours of therapy was a pre-requisite for admission to the retreat. It had taken her six months twice a week for hourly sessions to complete it. She’d felt nothing short of triumph when she finished the hours and had brought her therapist a gift—sweets from a local, upscale chocolatier.
She spread the map of the grounds over the bedspread and tried to memorize the way to the wooden path near the dunes. These endless dunes to the water—did people ever get lost on their way to transmigration? She flipped the map around and looked at the grounds from the coastline. To the north, the expensive villas along the cliffs, and the Center. Between her and the Center stood the dining hall, the main lodge and gift shop, and the two workshop spaces.
The map didn’t actualize any geography beyond the retreat except for the road leading in. She traced her finger along the road, which dissipated as if swallowed by the coastal fog. The impenetrable haze over the grounds, carried in by the waves, acted like blinders. It was better she couldn’t see the living world and miss it.
*
The next morning after breakfast, Mia made her way to the somatic release workshop. She scanned her wristband to log her attendance and found a spot on the floor near the side of the room. She wondered if Colin would walk in. The room slowly filled with participants, most of whom looked lonely, nervous, or bored. It could have been a retreat teaching people how to meditate, or lose weight, or set personal boundaries. The guests adjusted themselves, stretching, wobbling too far backwards on the white meditation chairs set in a circle on the floor. Those who couldn’t cross their legs, because they were too big or inflexible, sat with their legs splayed like toddlers.
At five minutes past the hour, the workshop leader, a woman in her fifties with a beautiful gray braid, stepped barefoot to the front of the room and closed the session with a benediction. Deep listening to the body and total validation were the key to true intimacy with the self. The woman encouraged the group to take time alone after the workshop to walk in silence, eat in silence, and enjoy the scenic views in silence. Somatic release was part of the path to surfacing and integration.
Mia felt disappointed that Colin hadn’t shown up, and she hoped he hadn’t gone to the Center. But if he had planned to end today, he wouldn’t have said he wanted her company on the steps of the dining hall, she reasoned. She guessed that he was taking another track of workshop. There were only two tracks and so she had a reliable 50/50 chance of running into him. She decided to ask what he was taking next when she saw him again. Though she hoped he would find her as he had promised.
At five minutes past the hour, the workshop leader, a woman in her fifties with a beautiful gray braid, stepped barefoot to the front of the room and closed the session with a benediction. Deep listening to the body and total validation were the key to true intimacy with the self. The woman encouraged the group to take time alone after the workshop to walk in silence, eat in silence, and enjoy the scenic views in silence. Somatic release was part of the path to surfacing and integration.
Mia felt disappointed that Colin hadn’t shown up, and she hoped he hadn’t gone to the Center. But if he had planned to end today, he wouldn’t have said he wanted her company on the steps of the dining hall, she reasoned. She guessed that he was taking another track of workshop. There were only two tracks and so she had a reliable 50/50 chance of running into him. She decided to ask what he was taking next when she saw him again. Though she hoped he would find her as he had promised.
*
In the evening, Mia filed quietly along with a group of participants making their way to dinner. There was a certain mood about the people that Mia had a hard time pinpointing. It wasn’t necessarily somber—there was a certain thin line of electricity running underneath. It was a mixture of suppressed anxiety, which was maybe necessary if one was going to leave their body at the end of the week, and earnest vulnerability.
At the dining hall, several people were already eating. The guests were spread out so that no one was sitting beside anyone else. It was a strange scene to see so many solitary people in a big room. Mia picked up a tray and the friendly staff filled her plate with vegetable medallions, wild rice, and lentils. She made a cup of herbal tea and found a seat near a window.
“Hi, I found you,” Colin said, and picked something up from the seat next to Mia.
He sat down beside her.
“Coins,” he said, opening his palm to show her. “You choose the one you want. You were here first.”
She plucked the dime and left the nickel.
“Thanks,” she said, setting the dime beside her knife.
She watched him cut a small rectangle of butter and drag it over his roll.
“You missed some gems at the somatic release workshop today,” Mia said.
“Oh, I’ve already acquired all of the skills of somatic release,” Colin said. “I’m shocked you couldn’t tell how limber and dexterous I am.”
He stopped eating and smiled sheepishly. “And to be honest, I’ve taken it before. This is actually my second visit.”
“To the retreat?” she asked and studied him. He was very tall, handsome in an angular way, and as sinewy as he was muscular. He had an air of exhaustion and mischief that she found endearing.
“It’s hell for my people on the outside, I’m sure,” he said. “I swear it’s my last time here, though.”
Mia kept quiet and ate her lentils. It seemed unlike his personality to make his family and the people in his life suffer. Knowing that he’d come and gone and come back made her a little faint of heart. She hoped it wouldn’t weaken her own resolve. Maybe this was why the guests in the dining hall sat so far apart from each other and didn’t socialize. Hearing things like this could make one lose nerve.
“I think it’s the final day workshops that gave me cold feet,” he said.
She nodded and looked down at her plate, wishing someone else would sit down so that she could listen without having to react or respond.
“Sorry if I’m bothering you,” he said quietly. “I can shut up.”
“You’re not bothering me,” she said.
But Colin finished his dinner quickly in silence and got up. “See you around,” he said and pressed his lips into a faltering smile.
Mia took a sip of water and deposited her tray. She wished he hadn’t gone.
Outside, she was surprised by how completely dark it was. The sun was nowhere, and it felt like twilight. She wanted to walk the boardwalk, which was unlit. She clicked on the flashlight and followed the wooden slats west. The ocean roared at a distance. The air smelled of salt and rain. She braced against a cold wind sweeping the path. The sedge grass and brush rustled in the sand. It wasn’t really frightening, walking in the dark, seeing nothing, enveloped by the sound and smell of the sea.
She followed along and wondered where the path would let out. She didn’t mind walking for a while, but she’d forgotten the scale and distance laid out in the map. And now the mist was turning into a light rain. Up ahead, she spotted a light dancing on the path. She could ask the person just ahead. She sped up and overtook the other walker, who had their hood over their head. It was Colin.
“Hi,” she said. “Do you know where the Center is?”
“It’s right up this way,” Colin said. “But are you going there now?”
“I just want to see where it is,” she said.
A cold gust whipped Mia’s hair into her face. She could taste the salt on her lips. The light rain was turning back into a heavy mist. She walked beside Colin, their tiny flashlights bouncing in the dark until the boardwalk split between the Center and the villas.
“Strange weather,” she said, looking out toward the dunes.
“It’s always like this here,” he said.
“You can’t ever see the sky,” she said.
“It’s kind of unnerving,” he said. The invisible ocean crashed against the shore.
“Would you like to have a drink with me?” he asked. He held the flashlight against his chest. His other hand was tucked deep into his jacket.
“There’s a bar?” she asked over the wind.
He laughed. “No bars here,” he said. “I have a bottle of wine at my villa. But you’ll need to lower your expectations. It’s really just a cabin with a deck.”
“I’d love a glass of wine,” she said over the wind.
“Come on,” he said.
They turned off the boardwalk and up a path, which led to a compound of newly built A-frame cabins. He pointed ahead to one of them. She stood behind him as he held his wristband up to the door. It opened and he held the door for her.
His villa was a studio decorated like her room at the lodge. Greige furniture and linens with wood accents, except that he had a fireplace and kitchenette. And instead of the oatmeal-colored carpeting, he had shiny wood floors and a thick rug.
They took off their jackets and Colin flipped a switch to start the fire.
“I would have preferred to build a fire log by log to show off my outdoorsman skills, but it’s a gas fireplace,” he said.
Mia smiled even though her face was numb. They were standing so close together, their hands stretched out over the fire. It was surreal, looking out the window and seeing only their reflection in the glass. She was in a room, alone with Colin. The late-night TV show host Colin.
“I’ll get the wine,” he said, ruffling the wetness from his hair. In the kitchenette, he slipped a bottle of wine out of the cupboard. Mia heard the wine pouring into the glasses, and she watched the flames in the fireplace twist orange, yellow and blue. He handed her a glass.
The small leather sofa in front of the fireplace had been piled with clothes, towels, and his suitcase. He started to move things around but she said not to bother. The only other place to sit was on the bed.
“Can you close the curtains?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said. He pulled the greige curtains closed on each of the three windows.
“How long were you married?” Mia asked, propping up the pillows on the bed. She took her shoes off and stretched her legs out.
“Forty years,” he said, and sat down on the other side of the bed. He slipped off his shoes and crossed his ankles.
“Were you married?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mia said. The wine was sweet and acrid.
“Where did you live before you came to the retreat?” he asked.
She told him where she lived on the east coast, down to the cross streets, which satisfied him. He prided himself in having traveled to all of the states.
She realized how strange and unbalanced their exchange was. She knew so many intimate and maybe disjointed details about him because he was a public figure. She knew that his ancestors were from Scotland, from a town near Loch Fyne, and that he’d grown up in Boston. He played the banjo and liked singing folk rock tunes but had a hard time singing earnestly in his real voice. His wife was a playwright from Toronto. His daughter had been killed two years before. He’d gotten the late night show the day after his thirty-second birthday.
“What kind of work were you in?” he asked.
“I was a political consultant,” Mia said, and before he could follow up, she added, “My feet are cold.” She said this reflectively, speaking to the body part, the way she’d been taught to do in the somatic release workshop.
“Oh, I could turn up the heat,” he said tenderly, as if she were hurt. He reached the dial from his side of the bed and turned it up.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Would you like more wine?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mia said, and swallowed the last of what was in her glass.
Colin got up and refilled their glasses. Then he sat back on the bed and crossed his ankles.
“What did people think when you went back home last time from the retreat?” she asked.
“They had mixed feelings. But they were also relieved, especially my wife,” he said.
They stared out at the fire. The light was mesmerizing.
“What did it feel like to go home after you were here last time?” Mia asked.
“Disappointing. And I had a lot of guilt,” he said, scratching his head. “I was disappointed I didn’t have the courage to go through with it.”
He poured out another glass for her and himself, careful not to spill wine on the bed.
“How long were you back in the world for?” she asked.
“About six months,” he said. “My team wanted to restart the podcast and record a few episodes about it. But I didn’t do it. It felt like a violation of this place and the people here.”
She rolled the stem of the glass in her fingers. She could feel the wine going to her head.
“Any children?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
She pressed her lips to the wine glass and looked at the ghostly print it made.
“How does it feel for you to be at the retreat?” Colin asked.
“I don’t know if it feels like anything,” Mia said.
“You know, I think there’s medication for that.” Colin laughed his big laugh.
His mirth was infectious, and it was impossible not to feel good around him.
Mia set her glass on the nightstand. She peeled off her wool sweater. It was very warm now.
“We can turn down the heat if you like,” he said.
She shook her head and turned towards him.
He set his glass down. He touched her shoulder and kissed her deeply. She could taste the sour wine in his mouth. The full weight of his body pressed down on her. She had the strange sensation that she was actualizing his body. He was becoming more real to her, and every part of her body that he touched with his mouth and hands was becoming more real, too. When he stopped to pull a condom out of his suitcase, she knew that he wasn’t going to stay at the retreat for long. He still cared about real-world consequences. They laughed struggling to get under the tightly tucked covers. And as she pulled into him, she noticed a faint smell around him, which smelled of sadness.
At the dining hall, several people were already eating. The guests were spread out so that no one was sitting beside anyone else. It was a strange scene to see so many solitary people in a big room. Mia picked up a tray and the friendly staff filled her plate with vegetable medallions, wild rice, and lentils. She made a cup of herbal tea and found a seat near a window.
“Hi, I found you,” Colin said, and picked something up from the seat next to Mia.
He sat down beside her.
“Coins,” he said, opening his palm to show her. “You choose the one you want. You were here first.”
She plucked the dime and left the nickel.
“Thanks,” she said, setting the dime beside her knife.
She watched him cut a small rectangle of butter and drag it over his roll.
“You missed some gems at the somatic release workshop today,” Mia said.
“Oh, I’ve already acquired all of the skills of somatic release,” Colin said. “I’m shocked you couldn’t tell how limber and dexterous I am.”
He stopped eating and smiled sheepishly. “And to be honest, I’ve taken it before. This is actually my second visit.”
“To the retreat?” she asked and studied him. He was very tall, handsome in an angular way, and as sinewy as he was muscular. He had an air of exhaustion and mischief that she found endearing.
“It’s hell for my people on the outside, I’m sure,” he said. “I swear it’s my last time here, though.”
Mia kept quiet and ate her lentils. It seemed unlike his personality to make his family and the people in his life suffer. Knowing that he’d come and gone and come back made her a little faint of heart. She hoped it wouldn’t weaken her own resolve. Maybe this was why the guests in the dining hall sat so far apart from each other and didn’t socialize. Hearing things like this could make one lose nerve.
“I think it’s the final day workshops that gave me cold feet,” he said.
She nodded and looked down at her plate, wishing someone else would sit down so that she could listen without having to react or respond.
“Sorry if I’m bothering you,” he said quietly. “I can shut up.”
“You’re not bothering me,” she said.
But Colin finished his dinner quickly in silence and got up. “See you around,” he said and pressed his lips into a faltering smile.
Mia took a sip of water and deposited her tray. She wished he hadn’t gone.
Outside, she was surprised by how completely dark it was. The sun was nowhere, and it felt like twilight. She wanted to walk the boardwalk, which was unlit. She clicked on the flashlight and followed the wooden slats west. The ocean roared at a distance. The air smelled of salt and rain. She braced against a cold wind sweeping the path. The sedge grass and brush rustled in the sand. It wasn’t really frightening, walking in the dark, seeing nothing, enveloped by the sound and smell of the sea.
She followed along and wondered where the path would let out. She didn’t mind walking for a while, but she’d forgotten the scale and distance laid out in the map. And now the mist was turning into a light rain. Up ahead, she spotted a light dancing on the path. She could ask the person just ahead. She sped up and overtook the other walker, who had their hood over their head. It was Colin.
“Hi,” she said. “Do you know where the Center is?”
“It’s right up this way,” Colin said. “But are you going there now?”
“I just want to see where it is,” she said.
A cold gust whipped Mia’s hair into her face. She could taste the salt on her lips. The light rain was turning back into a heavy mist. She walked beside Colin, their tiny flashlights bouncing in the dark until the boardwalk split between the Center and the villas.
“Strange weather,” she said, looking out toward the dunes.
“It’s always like this here,” he said.
“You can’t ever see the sky,” she said.
“It’s kind of unnerving,” he said. The invisible ocean crashed against the shore.
“Would you like to have a drink with me?” he asked. He held the flashlight against his chest. His other hand was tucked deep into his jacket.
“There’s a bar?” she asked over the wind.
He laughed. “No bars here,” he said. “I have a bottle of wine at my villa. But you’ll need to lower your expectations. It’s really just a cabin with a deck.”
“I’d love a glass of wine,” she said over the wind.
“Come on,” he said.
They turned off the boardwalk and up a path, which led to a compound of newly built A-frame cabins. He pointed ahead to one of them. She stood behind him as he held his wristband up to the door. It opened and he held the door for her.
His villa was a studio decorated like her room at the lodge. Greige furniture and linens with wood accents, except that he had a fireplace and kitchenette. And instead of the oatmeal-colored carpeting, he had shiny wood floors and a thick rug.
They took off their jackets and Colin flipped a switch to start the fire.
“I would have preferred to build a fire log by log to show off my outdoorsman skills, but it’s a gas fireplace,” he said.
Mia smiled even though her face was numb. They were standing so close together, their hands stretched out over the fire. It was surreal, looking out the window and seeing only their reflection in the glass. She was in a room, alone with Colin. The late-night TV show host Colin.
“I’ll get the wine,” he said, ruffling the wetness from his hair. In the kitchenette, he slipped a bottle of wine out of the cupboard. Mia heard the wine pouring into the glasses, and she watched the flames in the fireplace twist orange, yellow and blue. He handed her a glass.
The small leather sofa in front of the fireplace had been piled with clothes, towels, and his suitcase. He started to move things around but she said not to bother. The only other place to sit was on the bed.
“Can you close the curtains?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said. He pulled the greige curtains closed on each of the three windows.
“How long were you married?” Mia asked, propping up the pillows on the bed. She took her shoes off and stretched her legs out.
“Forty years,” he said, and sat down on the other side of the bed. He slipped off his shoes and crossed his ankles.
“Were you married?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mia said. The wine was sweet and acrid.
“Where did you live before you came to the retreat?” he asked.
She told him where she lived on the east coast, down to the cross streets, which satisfied him. He prided himself in having traveled to all of the states.
She realized how strange and unbalanced their exchange was. She knew so many intimate and maybe disjointed details about him because he was a public figure. She knew that his ancestors were from Scotland, from a town near Loch Fyne, and that he’d grown up in Boston. He played the banjo and liked singing folk rock tunes but had a hard time singing earnestly in his real voice. His wife was a playwright from Toronto. His daughter had been killed two years before. He’d gotten the late night show the day after his thirty-second birthday.
“What kind of work were you in?” he asked.
“I was a political consultant,” Mia said, and before he could follow up, she added, “My feet are cold.” She said this reflectively, speaking to the body part, the way she’d been taught to do in the somatic release workshop.
“Oh, I could turn up the heat,” he said tenderly, as if she were hurt. He reached the dial from his side of the bed and turned it up.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Would you like more wine?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mia said, and swallowed the last of what was in her glass.
Colin got up and refilled their glasses. Then he sat back on the bed and crossed his ankles.
“What did people think when you went back home last time from the retreat?” she asked.
“They had mixed feelings. But they were also relieved, especially my wife,” he said.
They stared out at the fire. The light was mesmerizing.
“What did it feel like to go home after you were here last time?” Mia asked.
“Disappointing. And I had a lot of guilt,” he said, scratching his head. “I was disappointed I didn’t have the courage to go through with it.”
He poured out another glass for her and himself, careful not to spill wine on the bed.
“How long were you back in the world for?” she asked.
“About six months,” he said. “My team wanted to restart the podcast and record a few episodes about it. But I didn’t do it. It felt like a violation of this place and the people here.”
She rolled the stem of the glass in her fingers. She could feel the wine going to her head.
“Any children?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
She pressed her lips to the wine glass and looked at the ghostly print it made.
“How does it feel for you to be at the retreat?” Colin asked.
“I don’t know if it feels like anything,” Mia said.
“You know, I think there’s medication for that.” Colin laughed his big laugh.
His mirth was infectious, and it was impossible not to feel good around him.
Mia set her glass on the nightstand. She peeled off her wool sweater. It was very warm now.
“We can turn down the heat if you like,” he said.
She shook her head and turned towards him.
He set his glass down. He touched her shoulder and kissed her deeply. She could taste the sour wine in his mouth. The full weight of his body pressed down on her. She had the strange sensation that she was actualizing his body. He was becoming more real to her, and every part of her body that he touched with his mouth and hands was becoming more real, too. When he stopped to pull a condom out of his suitcase, she knew that he wasn’t going to stay at the retreat for long. He still cared about real-world consequences. They laughed struggling to get under the tightly tucked covers. And as she pulled into him, she noticed a faint smell around him, which smelled of sadness.
*
In the morning, Mia woke up first and touched Colin on the arm. She told him she was going to get dressed and go to breakfast. He said he would meet her there. She returned to her room on the other end of the campus. With her bed untouched, the sheets and blankets stretched tightly into the corners, it was as if she had never checked in.
She got into the shower and slowly lathered her arms, stomach, and legs. She saturated her hair with the entire tiny bottle of conditioner while she shaved her armpits. After, she blow-dried and brushed her hair until it was silky. She spread a thick layer of her expensive moisturizer over her face, neck, chest, and breasts. She placed her gold earrings on the counter for the cleaner to take. Then she cleared the bathroom of the soaps and bottles and threw it all into the trash along with her bag of toiletries and makeup. She zipped up her jacket and before she walked out, took one last look at the map.
Along the boardwalk, a light rain blew into the collar of her jacket as she walked towards the dining hall. Still, she couldn’t see the sky or the sea. The wind rattled the reeds and rushed over the dunes. Taking the path that let out to the main lodge, she spotted Colin. At first, she thought he was simply looking out over the trees. But he was standing with his suitcase. He was waiting for a car. He was getting out of here again.
She ate alone in the dining hall, at a table laughably far from everyone else.
After breakfast, she watched the diners walk north to the workshops. She walked south to the gift shop and bought a beautiful card with a blue jay painted in watercolor perched on a pine branch. But not knowing what to write, she left it in the windowsill of the shop.
She followed the boardwalk and walked north. The air was so thick with fog that it collected like a veil over her face and hair. She wiped her eyes and breathed in the cold, ocean air. She still hadn’t seen the water, but she could hear it rushing toward the dunes. Where the boardwalk split, she headed northeast to the Endless Dunes Preparation Center and saw the Asian woman in the distance, entering the building.
Mia stood still on the boardwalk. She felt fortified seeing the other woman go ahead of her. She turned back and walked along the path. She didn’t want to crowd the woman. Would a half hour be enough? Mia found a bench near the dining hall, out of view of the main lodge, and sat down. The salty breeze swept over her. The sun strained weakly behind a thick mass of gray clouds.
She imagined the woman going over the dunes naked, her face expressionless. Did the woman care what she came back as? Once she was fully submerged, and washed out into the sea, her body falling gently into the surf and sand, would she wake up as a songbird, or a pomegranate seed, unfurling itself and reaching for the sun?
It was hard to tell how much time had passed. The strange light hurt Mia’s eyes. It blanched her thoughts. The sound of water filled her ears. Mia stood up and walked north along the boardwalk again, slowly, taking her time. The sand on the wood path made a gritty sound beneath her shoes.
At the Center, a staff member welcomed Mia and invited her to sit down. The walls, the furniture, and textiles inside the domed Center were cream or pearlescent. At the top of the dome, light poured in gently through a milky circle of glass. The staff member, dressed in beige linen, handed Mia a glowing tablet on which to sign a series of documents.
Mia took her time. It was the last time she’d ever move her finger across a screen to sign her name. It was maybe the last time she’d be in a human body.
After, she was handed a cup of warm barley tea and given a thick white robe and a pair of slippers. She closed the curtain of the small dressing room, which did not have a mirror. She touched the nubby silk noile of the robe. It was luxuriously thick and soft without being cumbersome. Her feet sank into the plush, velvety slippers. She would have kept them had she planned to go home.
A second staff member was waiting for her outside the dressing room when she emerged.
“Are you ready?” the staff member asked.
“Yes,” Mia said, wrapping the robe a little tighter around her.
“Wonderful,” the staff member chirped. “It’ll be a pleasant experience. We know that each of our guests has made the best decision for themselves. We’re honored that you’re completing your journey here at Endless Dunes.”
Mia followed them outside to a set of stairs that led down the cliffs. The staircase was narrow and made of wood.
“Make sure you hang onto the railing, and watch your step,” the staff member said, and led the way down the cliffside.
Mia’s slippers caught between the slats because they were a little too big. She wondered how long it would take to cross the endless dunes. She wondered if she would disappear immediately, or whether she’d see others wading out in the surf. The mist was so thick she could taste it. Mia tried to see through the fog, but even from this high up, she couldn’t see the water. But the rushing sound of water grew louder. And her heart was racing now.
And then they reached the dunes.
“You’ll be able to find your way from here. Just keep walking towards the sound of water,” the staff member said, and checked to make sure that Mia’s wristband was secure. “If for any reason you feel differently about the decision today, you are welcome to return to the Center. We won’t submit your documents for twenty-four hours.”
“Okay,” Mia said, and looked up the steep staircase.
“Do you have any questions?” the staff member asked.
“How long does it take—to transmigrate?” Mia asked. “Does it hurt?”
“Transmigration is different for everyone,” the staff member said, and Mia knew that there was no way that the staff member could give a definitive answer. “But it shouldn’t be painful. There’s a period of forgetting that can happen before the final process. Which may be disorienting. But just remember that it’s normal. And no matter what, just keep going into the water.”
Just remember! Mia thought. She felt her nerves now.
“Safe journey,” the staff member said.
Mia stepped out into the sand. With much effort, she trudged up the first dune. When she turned back, the staff member was just disappearing up the staircase into the haze. Mist crept over the top of the sand. The ocean roared. Mia walked carefully down into a valley, slipping and catching herself. The bottom of the robe was dredged in beige sand.
With every labored step across the dunes, she kicked sand up with her slippers. Up she climbed, cresting a dune, and then half-slid down into the valley before she had to climb up another. The sound of the dry grasses rustling in the wind was drowned out by the waves. They crashed and filled her ears. Her legs were burning with effort as she climbed up and slid down again.
Mia slipped down the fifth dune and steadying herself, realized she was already standing in the water. It was warm. She took off the slippers and threw them onto the sand behind her. The water lapped gently at her ankles and then receded. She looked down at the creamy froth. The foamy water disappeared, leaving a stain on the beach. Then the water came up again, bubbling around her calves. The mist thickened in the distance so that there was no telling where the sky and sea separated. They were one indistinct, nebulous mass.
Waist-deep, she loosened the robe and let it fall into the water. She steadied herself as the water rushed in again. She fingered the wristband on her wrist. What would she come back as?
The water was so pleasantly warm. It reminded her of how once, she’d gone surfing with her brother, and on a particularly cold day, they’d paddled out. The mist rising from the water that day with her brother had been just like this. Or no, that had been Iceland—a thermal pool, not the ocean. Steam pulled away so thickly from the blue water, and she had swum away from the children to hide in it, and for a moment she’d been lost. This was like that. Here she was, twenty-something, or no, was she already forty—however old she was, wading into a warm broth to end and restart.
If she came back as a person, she hoped she would remember nothing from the past life. But if she could choose, she wanted to come back as a coyote. Running along the hills and yipping at night. Sleeping curled up with her pack in cool, underground dens during the day. Inhabiting her coyote body and mind, nothing else. Or maybe she could come back as a big, leafy maple or a lush fern. Or maybe a seagull floating on the rippling wind, flying up and down the coastline. And maybe stopping in one of the ancient pine trees near the lodges, she would catch sight of Hayden, tall and handsome with his feathery, red hair, smelling sad, and returning to the retreat for a third time.
She got into the shower and slowly lathered her arms, stomach, and legs. She saturated her hair with the entire tiny bottle of conditioner while she shaved her armpits. After, she blow-dried and brushed her hair until it was silky. She spread a thick layer of her expensive moisturizer over her face, neck, chest, and breasts. She placed her gold earrings on the counter for the cleaner to take. Then she cleared the bathroom of the soaps and bottles and threw it all into the trash along with her bag of toiletries and makeup. She zipped up her jacket and before she walked out, took one last look at the map.
Along the boardwalk, a light rain blew into the collar of her jacket as she walked towards the dining hall. Still, she couldn’t see the sky or the sea. The wind rattled the reeds and rushed over the dunes. Taking the path that let out to the main lodge, she spotted Colin. At first, she thought he was simply looking out over the trees. But he was standing with his suitcase. He was waiting for a car. He was getting out of here again.
She ate alone in the dining hall, at a table laughably far from everyone else.
After breakfast, she watched the diners walk north to the workshops. She walked south to the gift shop and bought a beautiful card with a blue jay painted in watercolor perched on a pine branch. But not knowing what to write, she left it in the windowsill of the shop.
She followed the boardwalk and walked north. The air was so thick with fog that it collected like a veil over her face and hair. She wiped her eyes and breathed in the cold, ocean air. She still hadn’t seen the water, but she could hear it rushing toward the dunes. Where the boardwalk split, she headed northeast to the Endless Dunes Preparation Center and saw the Asian woman in the distance, entering the building.
Mia stood still on the boardwalk. She felt fortified seeing the other woman go ahead of her. She turned back and walked along the path. She didn’t want to crowd the woman. Would a half hour be enough? Mia found a bench near the dining hall, out of view of the main lodge, and sat down. The salty breeze swept over her. The sun strained weakly behind a thick mass of gray clouds.
She imagined the woman going over the dunes naked, her face expressionless. Did the woman care what she came back as? Once she was fully submerged, and washed out into the sea, her body falling gently into the surf and sand, would she wake up as a songbird, or a pomegranate seed, unfurling itself and reaching for the sun?
It was hard to tell how much time had passed. The strange light hurt Mia’s eyes. It blanched her thoughts. The sound of water filled her ears. Mia stood up and walked north along the boardwalk again, slowly, taking her time. The sand on the wood path made a gritty sound beneath her shoes.
At the Center, a staff member welcomed Mia and invited her to sit down. The walls, the furniture, and textiles inside the domed Center were cream or pearlescent. At the top of the dome, light poured in gently through a milky circle of glass. The staff member, dressed in beige linen, handed Mia a glowing tablet on which to sign a series of documents.
Mia took her time. It was the last time she’d ever move her finger across a screen to sign her name. It was maybe the last time she’d be in a human body.
After, she was handed a cup of warm barley tea and given a thick white robe and a pair of slippers. She closed the curtain of the small dressing room, which did not have a mirror. She touched the nubby silk noile of the robe. It was luxuriously thick and soft without being cumbersome. Her feet sank into the plush, velvety slippers. She would have kept them had she planned to go home.
A second staff member was waiting for her outside the dressing room when she emerged.
“Are you ready?” the staff member asked.
“Yes,” Mia said, wrapping the robe a little tighter around her.
“Wonderful,” the staff member chirped. “It’ll be a pleasant experience. We know that each of our guests has made the best decision for themselves. We’re honored that you’re completing your journey here at Endless Dunes.”
Mia followed them outside to a set of stairs that led down the cliffs. The staircase was narrow and made of wood.
“Make sure you hang onto the railing, and watch your step,” the staff member said, and led the way down the cliffside.
Mia’s slippers caught between the slats because they were a little too big. She wondered how long it would take to cross the endless dunes. She wondered if she would disappear immediately, or whether she’d see others wading out in the surf. The mist was so thick she could taste it. Mia tried to see through the fog, but even from this high up, she couldn’t see the water. But the rushing sound of water grew louder. And her heart was racing now.
And then they reached the dunes.
“You’ll be able to find your way from here. Just keep walking towards the sound of water,” the staff member said, and checked to make sure that Mia’s wristband was secure. “If for any reason you feel differently about the decision today, you are welcome to return to the Center. We won’t submit your documents for twenty-four hours.”
“Okay,” Mia said, and looked up the steep staircase.
“Do you have any questions?” the staff member asked.
“How long does it take—to transmigrate?” Mia asked. “Does it hurt?”
“Transmigration is different for everyone,” the staff member said, and Mia knew that there was no way that the staff member could give a definitive answer. “But it shouldn’t be painful. There’s a period of forgetting that can happen before the final process. Which may be disorienting. But just remember that it’s normal. And no matter what, just keep going into the water.”
Just remember! Mia thought. She felt her nerves now.
“Safe journey,” the staff member said.
Mia stepped out into the sand. With much effort, she trudged up the first dune. When she turned back, the staff member was just disappearing up the staircase into the haze. Mist crept over the top of the sand. The ocean roared. Mia walked carefully down into a valley, slipping and catching herself. The bottom of the robe was dredged in beige sand.
With every labored step across the dunes, she kicked sand up with her slippers. Up she climbed, cresting a dune, and then half-slid down into the valley before she had to climb up another. The sound of the dry grasses rustling in the wind was drowned out by the waves. They crashed and filled her ears. Her legs were burning with effort as she climbed up and slid down again.
Mia slipped down the fifth dune and steadying herself, realized she was already standing in the water. It was warm. She took off the slippers and threw them onto the sand behind her. The water lapped gently at her ankles and then receded. She looked down at the creamy froth. The foamy water disappeared, leaving a stain on the beach. Then the water came up again, bubbling around her calves. The mist thickened in the distance so that there was no telling where the sky and sea separated. They were one indistinct, nebulous mass.
Waist-deep, she loosened the robe and let it fall into the water. She steadied herself as the water rushed in again. She fingered the wristband on her wrist. What would she come back as?
The water was so pleasantly warm. It reminded her of how once, she’d gone surfing with her brother, and on a particularly cold day, they’d paddled out. The mist rising from the water that day with her brother had been just like this. Or no, that had been Iceland—a thermal pool, not the ocean. Steam pulled away so thickly from the blue water, and she had swum away from the children to hide in it, and for a moment she’d been lost. This was like that. Here she was, twenty-something, or no, was she already forty—however old she was, wading into a warm broth to end and restart.
If she came back as a person, she hoped she would remember nothing from the past life. But if she could choose, she wanted to come back as a coyote. Running along the hills and yipping at night. Sleeping curled up with her pack in cool, underground dens during the day. Inhabiting her coyote body and mind, nothing else. Or maybe she could come back as a big, leafy maple or a lush fern. Or maybe a seagull floating on the rippling wind, flying up and down the coastline. And maybe stopping in one of the ancient pine trees near the lodges, she would catch sight of Hayden, tall and handsome with his feathery, red hair, smelling sad, and returning to the retreat for a third time.