I just returned from a fabulous long weekend in Big Sur, where I visited my friends Toby Rowland-Jones and Linda Sonrisa, who were hosting the first ever Big Sur Food & Wine Festival. The festival was Toby's brainchild, intended as a way to stimulate Big Sur's economy after last year's fires took a bite out of tourist traffic. Not only did the festival raise over $30,000 in funds to support the community, it also sold out hotels and filled local restaurants to the brim. Even more importantly, it cemented the sometimes fragmented community, as they rallied to rebuild, linking arm in arm with local winemakers, chefs, friends, and neighbors from far and wide. More on the festival soon, but first, a few thoughts about new growth...

We've come a long way since those fateful days last summer when Big Sur, which is the seat of my soul, the home of my heart, burned. Lightning ignited a forest fire that took nearly a month to extinguish. I was living in Monterey, where ash from the fire rained down and golden glowing smoke clouds blocked the sunset. I found myself crying often, unsure what it all meant. If Big Sur was where my heart lived, what did it mean that redwoods were going up in smoke?

It’s All Smoke & Mirrors

Highway 1 was closed for over a month, so no one but the firefighters quite knew the extent of the damage. It took weeks for me to gather up the courage to drive down. When I finally did, I saw the blackened, bald landscape, the treeless vistas. The smell of old smoke, like the back door behind a factory where everyone took their cigarette breaks, permeated the air, replacing the scent of evergreen and salt water spray.

On that first trip into the fire zone, I tried to revisit the places that bring me solace- my special rock that perches over a cliff, the energy vortex by the river amidst the redwoods, the water, where it falls on rocks into a crystal pool. But yellow crime scene tape and orange flashing barricades blocked my way at every intersection. I felt betrayed. Where was I supposed to go when I needed answers? How could Big Sur abandon me in the midst of chaos in my life? Where would I turn to find serenity?

The Answers Lie Within

What I learned that fateful summer is that you can’t go outside of yourself to find answers. While there may be special places in the world that inspire you, you don’t have to go anywhere to find serenity. All you have to do is tune in with that special part of your soul that always has pink sunrise morning, sweeping ocean vistas, jagged mountain cliffs, and redwoods reaching for the stars. I had come to depend on Big Sur, imbuing it with mystical power and transcendent wisdom. Yet, the fire taught me that Big Sur merely ignited within me the mystical power and transcendent wisdom that was already mine for the taking. By opening my heart to Big Sur, I cracked open my soul and invited the Universe to work its magic. But God can perform miracles in Big Sur or Houston or Birmingham or Mill Valley. Possibilities for transcendence are endless, and they can't be burned down, no matter how hot the fire.

We All Need to Be Cleansed From Time to Time

When I spoke to a Big Sur native about the fire, she said that Big Sur was overdue for a community cleansing. Like me, others come to Big Sur, in search of answers to difficult questions. Some get so comfortable in Big Sur’s loving embrace that they get stuck here- for months, then years, then decades- when they have missions to complete elsewhere. They quit listening to the answers and comfort themselves with crashing surf and wind through the trees, when there’s work to be done back home.

The fire changed all that. After mandatory evacuations unrooted people, some became homeless, wandering from place to place in search of whatever is next. Some, who had been living at Esalen for years, realized it was time to move on. The fire, while devastating, provided a ceremonial ritual of ablution for the Big Sur community. Something shifted- you can feel it. Those who were hanging onto the edges left. The committed locals who remained rallied together to rebuild.

Green Sprouts are Growing

While charred remains remind us still of what happened, Big Sur is rebuilding. You can see it everywhere. Judge Burley’s octagonal paradise high on the hill above Ventana Inn, where we once vacationed, exists no longer. But in its place, someone is erecting fresh plywood into a new structure with a different shape. You can see it from Post Ranch Inn, where they have finished reconstructing the famed restaurant Sierra Mar. Even the charred hills are sprouting new growth, turning the blackened landscape, now rich with forest fire minerals, into virgin forest.

I too am growing fresh sprouts. I can see it when I am here, remembering where I was two years ago, when I came to Big Sur seeking answers. Some of the questions have been answered. Some still linger, and new ones emerge. But it no longer stresses me to have unanswered questions. I have grown more comfortable with the living the question, rather than hunting in vain for the answers. Some of me is growing into tall sturdy redwoods, stretching towards the sky. Other parts have burned to the ground and are only now beginning to grow.

What about you, Pinkies? Can you see how you have grown? What parts of you have burned up? What has been cleansed? What is sprouting fresh? What do you need in order to evolve?

Owning my new growth & celebrating yours,

Lissa