dilettante

Tower Power

It's time for me to talk a little bit about what's good.

What's good is taking a vacation. Nothing fancy, mind you, just maybe a little drive up to the Dry Creek Valley in Northern California to do some wine-tasting (read: sipping for free). This is after the trip to Big Sur, so we had had our fill of hiking and gawking at nature's blatant beauty, and so we were in the mood for something more subtle. And nothing soothes like a lot of green trees and some really nice wine, let me tell you.
So here we are driving north, passing little towns and some zealous bike-riders, and we stop to sip some wines (and the pourer asked us for y\our birthdays, which was quite a nice treat, having just hit our third decade and all), and then we drove up to find the place we'd booked for our overnight stay.
Because I am a fervent reader of travel guides but a lover of the small and unconventional, I took the advice of the Moon Travel people and booked a night at the "interesting" Isis Oasis Sanctuary. Check it out for yourself: you can gape at animals or have a peaceful temple meditation, hot-tub, or just retire to your cozy little yurt. We had booked the "tower room" on the advice of the proprietrix, who was the proud owner of this ten-acre property.

Picture a medium-sized building, roofed entirely in opaque plastic fiberglass to allow the sunlight in. The building houses one large room filled with round wicker chairs, a fireplace, 1970s padded metal chairs, and synthetic wood-topped tables (you know, the kind whose legs you can fold underneath for simple storage). Several people--perhaps ten or so--are seated around the main table and at small two-tops to each side. Nearly every woman is wearing a caftan and excessive eye-makeup. There is no time to stare, however, because the proprietrix and her priestess friends turn their heads toward us and say, "Ah! You're staying in the tower room, right?" As the proprietrix walks toward us, the bejeweled headress that tops her grey Cleopatra-style hair jingles.

Is it that obvious that we're not here for the worship services or the hot tub?

I was actually very sorry to stick out so, because they all seemed like lovely people. We were given the keys to our room even though "it's already unlocked" and told to come down for breakfast at 9:30. X and I eyeballed each other as we drove the short path to the tower. Our eyeballs were saying, "well, let's just see how it is."

Essentially, this place was a commune. The wild animals are a hobby of the owner--exotic birds, small wildcats, and semi-domestic fowl make up the collection. The other people we saw wandering the grounds seemed very comfortable, as well as very aware of the fact that we were definitely visitors. A commune that brings in a little B&B business on the side. Good for them.

The tower was nothing special--just a two-story shack, cobbled together out of wood and plywood with shake shingles. The light fixtures, however, were statues of Isis hoisting lit globes, the wall heater was a large canvas-sized painting of Isis, and lotus flowers were prominent in the bedspread and small stained-glass windows. Upon climbing the stairs to the turquoise-walled tower room and settling ourselves on the turquoise cushions, we started to feel the tower power.

Perhaps it was the fact that the roof was a pyramid channeling universal energy. Perhaps it was the woosh of the highway just several hundred yards away. Perhaps it was all of the wine we'd sipped. But we definitely were feeling the tower power. It feels a little like the tingle you get when you're jazzed up about something, or have had a little too much coffee, but it extends itself to all of the nice sensitive parts of your body. It wasn't just a one-time thing, either. We spent a lot of time in the tower at different times of day, and the tower power prevailed. Whatever the source, tower power is real. Trust me.

Perhaps you'd like to book your stay at the Isis Oasis now? That's fine. But please wait until I've finished my story.

We dined in Healdsburg that night, chatting with the locals, who were shocked to hear where we were staying ("The only people I've met who've stayed at the Isis have multiple facial piercings"), and fell soundly asleep in our profoundly comfortable bed among the white noise of the freeway traffic.

Upon arising, we showered in the room-size, fully-tiled shower and spent a little more time absorbing the Tower Power. Later, sauntering down the path to the main building, trailed by a large Maine Coon cat, we headed towards the main building for our breakfast. We passed the temple and the fountain dedicated to the goddess, crossed the large lawn, and visited with the animals (who seemed rather agitated on this morning) and the large brown cat that guards the ancient fir. When a reasonable breakfast hour arrived, we passed through the sliding glass doors and were invited to rest with some tea or coffee while a toothless, ponytailed man made our breakfast ("scrambled eggs, or over-medium?"). Lovebirds squawked from a nearby cage.

And the breakfast, when he brought it to our table, was fantastic. He served two other women in caftans (whom he referred to as "priestesses," as in, "priestesses, your breakfast is served.") at the same time, and we had the very distinct pleasure of eavesdropping on their conversation about the care and handling of exotic birds. Everything was so pleasant and not at all creepy (no one even invited us to celebrate the mass, which was taking place later that day, or to stay for the 'spiritual massage'), and we got the feeling that they were just letting us be--because we were also allowing them to simply be.

What struck me the most about the Isis Oasis was that these people--priestesses and otherwise--were living in an environment they had chosen because it allowed them to realize some aspect of their life that had previously been lacking. In addition, I found myself envious of the conviction it must take to be a commune-dwelling, caftan-wearing worshipper of Isis. I have no interest in religion, but I continue to be fascinated by people with a great deal of conviction, especially when it involves a great deal of open-minded acceptance. I did find myself wondering, however, what would happen if one of the priestesses took a notion to go down to the Goodwill one day and get herself a halter-top, some capri pants, and a pair of rollerblades. Would they be as accepting then?

Posted by care at April 17, 2003 10:20 PM | TrackBack