A Month of Breathing, Part 1

A life-changing workshop at Esalen

It was a warm and sunny Friday evening in May, 1982. A large group of forty men and women sat on pillows on the floor of the large living room in what was known as “the big house” at Esalen Institute. The room was painted white with a wall of built-in bookshelves, lining the south side of the room. Colorful hand-woven rugs from some far-flung country covered the dark wood floors. Hints of eucalyptus mixed with Nag Champa incense infused the salty Pacific Ocean air moving gently through the open windows.

We were gathered here for a month-long workshop with Stan and Christina Grof, pioneers in human consciousness, known, as were many workshop leaders at Esalen, for pushing the boundaries of human exploration into the uncharted realms of the unknown. Trained as a psychiatrist, Stan had run experiments with LSD, and once it became illegal needed to find another way to facilitate inner journeys. Christina, as we would later learn, had some intensely personal Kundalini experiences, triggered initially by childbirth and later by yoga. Together, they crafted a process meant to intentionally trigger altered states of consciousness—they called it pranayama breathing (later to be named holotropic breathwork).

There was a fairly even mix of men and women. At twenty-two, I was the youngest person there. As we went around and introduced ourselves, a common theme arose—almost everyone had had a near-death experience. One woman shared a story about a car accident she’d had on a country road in England in which she’d floated above her body watching the people that had stopped to help, trying to revive her. She described feeling no pain whatsoever, but a sense of freedom she’d never known. 

Story after story followed. When it was my turn, I simply shared my interest in learning more about these transpersonal states. I felt as though I was an outsider, like I didn’t belong to the secret club of people who knew what it was like to exit the body, and who had experienced, however briefly, something greater than the constraints of the physical. 

I had high hopes for the breathing sessions ahead.

Stan and Christina explained that the breathing sessions would alternate with information sessions in which we’d be given guidance and explanations about what we might encounter once we entered into the inner realms. They’d invited guest speakers to share their wisdom and knowledge with us about these realms which would also help us integrate our experiences.

One of those guests happened to be author and mythology expert, Joseph Campbell. Most people know him from his work on the hero archetype and the hero’s journey which focuses on specific aspects of the human journey, and is often used as a template for story telling.

We spent two wonderful days with him learning about universal mythological and cultural patterns and themes that we might encounter during our breathing sessions. He showed us slides and guided us through archetypes and symbols and told us stories from many different cultures. I had no idea at the time, how significant it was to be able to have that time with such a gifted pioneer in human potential and consciousness.

Many years later, I read the book, A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living which is a compilation of some of his Esalen lectures along with excerpts from his past writing and the writing of others. One of the things that stood out for me in that book was that Campbell wrote about quitting his Ph.D. program and moving to the woods in Woodstock, NY where he spent five years doing little except readings books and taking notes. He had no money, but said he felt free. He wrote this about that time:

“It takes courage
to do what you want.

Other people
have a lot of plans for you.

Nobody wants you to do
what you want to do.

They want you to go on their trip,
but you can do what you want.

I did. I went into the woods
and read for five years.”

In that moment, my appreciation for him soared, and it confirmed for me that his wisdom didn’t just come from his years as a professor or writer, but was rooted in those precious years in the woods.

Back to the workshop.

After our immersion with Campbell, it was time for us to have our first breathing session.

Early in the morning after breakfast, we gathered in a large room next to the Esalen Lodge, the building that housed the administrative office, bookstore and dining hall. The room had shiny honey-colored wooden floors and plain, unadorned, white walls and high ceilings. 

A series of small windows close to the ceiling along one wall and floor-to-ceiling curtained windows along another wall let in some light, but the room was dark and cocoon-like. It was a stark contrast to the bright, sunshine and colorful flowers on the deck just outside.

I felt a rush of apprehension and panic flood my body. What was I thinking when I’d signed up for this?  Was it curiosity? Was I trying to make sense of my father’s sudden death the year before? (I was at Esalen when I learned my father had died.) Why would I come back to a place so full of memories, the very place I’d lost so much?

I thought of leaving. I wanted to be outside where I could see the glimmering light of the Pacific Ocean. I could call the airline and change my flight. I could learn about consciousness some other way.

As my mind began to spin, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Stan. He must have seen the fear in my face.

“Are you ready to begin?” 

His gentle touch, warm brown eyes and generous smile were soothing. I felt the fear drain out of me, replaced by a sense of reassurance that I’d be okay. Stan had years of experience. He was an expert. He knew what he was doing.

“Good morning everyone,” said Christina Grof. She was in the center of the room looking rested and pretty in her Hawaiian mumu. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a bun. “Please choose a partner. You will take turns sitting for each other.”

An older woman with bright blue eyes and white hair turned toward me. She wore black yoga pants and a tie-dyed purple shirt. Without words, we nodded at each other. 

“Please select a mat and some blankets and find a spot on the floor,” Christina continued. 

I followed my tie-dyed friend, enjoying letting her take the lead. We found a spot in the middle of the room and sat down.

After a brief discussion, my partner decided to go first. 

Continued in Part 2 which can be found here.

Until then, I’ll leave you with a couple of wonderful quotes from A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living:

“The call is to leave a certain social situation, move into your own loneliness and find the jewel, the center that’s impossible to find when you’re socially engaged. You are thrown off-center, and when you feel off-center, it’s time to go. This is the departure when the hero feels something has been lost and goes to find it. You are to cross the threshold into new life. It’s a dangerous adventure, because you are moving out of the sphere of the knowledge of you and your community.”

---

“Your sacred space is where you can find yourself again and again. You really don’t have a sacred space, a rescue land, until you find somewhere to be that’s not a wasteland, some field of action where there is a spring of ambrosia—a joy that comes from inside, not something external that puts joy into you—a place that lets you experience your own will and your own intention and your own wish so that, in small, the Kingdom is there. I think everybody, whether they know it or not, is in need of such a place.”

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