Where the Ashes Go

By: Toni-Lee Hazlett

The night air of Puerto Vallarta was thick with humidity and sound, alive with the chatter of insects and birds, each layer a symphony of wild, unfiltered nature. The scent of sea salt and smoke pulled me into the present. The moon, sea, and jungle formed a sacred backdrop as the Spanish yoga instructor built the rooftop fire with care, placing tropical flowers and crystals among us pilgrims who had traveled hundreds of miles to be here. The lead yogi was fully engaged in sacred preparation for the evening’s burning ceremony. The process was simple. Participants were asked to write down what they wished to release into the flames.

Living with a muscle-wasting disease had been my reality for a decade, making my presence at this yoga retreat nothing short of a miracle. The journey towards this evening’s burning ceremony had begun several years prior. While the actual planning of the trip only took days to organize, the consistent, massive, bold action toward reclaiming and restoring my life had been going on for years. This Mexican Yoga retreat answered a question I had asked six months prior: “What would blow my mind if it came true?” Visions of daily yoga, clean eating, and soul connection sprang forth in my mind. I couldn’t… could I? Surpassing all the odds and obstacles, I had finally arrived at the luxurious ‘Beyond Yoga’ retreat. I was committed, and there was no way I would squander this opportunity.

Incense filled the air as the fire crackled, hypnotizing me into a lulled sense of safety. The warmth from the flames was a tangible reminder of the heat that had covered the day. Sitting still, gazing into the flames, I revisited the density of my struggles: the relentless physical weakness, numerous hospital visits, surgeries, tests, the crutch of wheelchairs and canes, weekly blood infusions, and medications that pulled me to the brink of madness. I felt the shame of dependency, of being a perceived burden to my husband, mother, and children. Frustration haunted me amongst simple daily tasks that seemed to mock me at every turn. Dressing, washing, and even drying my hair were all reminders of a once-thriving body that had been weakened beyond imagination by the tender age of thirty-nine. I had been living with this disease for the last ten years, and I was ready for the next chapter.

The sound of distant crashing waves knocked at my opening heart, and profound clarity about what to let go of settled into view. Picking up my pen, I began to write on the tiny piece of paper, “I am releasing the story that I am without power or strength. I am restoring all my power and burn away any entanglements with others. I am free. They are free. And so it is!” 

Just as I finished, a fiery ember burst forth from the flames, landing squarely on my paper. In shock, I watched as it caught fire between my fingers. In a heavy Spanish accent, the instructor urgently said, “Rapido rapido — toss it in!” Startled into action, I threw it into the flames, watching as the weight of my heaviest burdens disappeared into the fire. Images of rotting muscle biopsies, hospital stays, and endless doctor consultations swirled around me as I watched the paper turn to ash. Unfamiliar with the new space now in my heart, I joked, “Wowzers, I guess that really wanted to be burned up!” and laughter rippled through the group, mixing with the ocean breeze like smoke lifting from what had once felt heavy.

As I settled into bed that night, dreams of liberation flickered anew: What if there was magic in the fire? What if I could finally be free from the muscle weakness and truly step into my power after all these long years?

~~

The next morning, I awoke with a quiet fire in my chest and an energy I hadn’t felt in years, as if something sacred had been sparked awake within me. After a morning class and a nourishing gourmet vegan breakfast, I prepared for the day’s activities, eager to play in the mystery. That day’s agenda included Nature Therapy, and we were set to snorkel at Los Arcos near Mismaloya Beach. Having never snorkeled before, I was determined to reimagine myself as someone who did.

Thinking myself prepared and eager, I contemplated taking anti-nausea medication, wary of my tendency for seasickness. Hubris nudged me away, as I believed my yoga and meditation practice had elevated me beyond such needs.

Alas, as the boat rocked and the shore tilted, my stomach resisted the movement, and a storm began swirling within. Trying to escape the feeling of constant free-falling into nothingness, I jumped into the ocean, hoping for relief from the hellish prison of inescapable seasickness.

Once I made my way into the cool water, I discovered that the only thing worse than being on a bobbing boat was to be inside the wave itself.

It only took a few moments to spill my fancy breakfast in front of my newfound friends. The release was unstoppable, with no space for regret or embarrassment. The only thing to exist was the unreal unfolding of the moment. In an instant, a frenzy of vibrant fish surged toward me, their dazzling colors flashing beneath the water’s surface like scattered jewels. Hundreds circled me in a living, fluid storm, their silvery bodies brushing against my legs, back, and belly with slick, electric grace. They nipped at me gently and curiously while I floated and bobbed in strange stillness. In the middle of that chaotic beauty, a vast calm descended. Buckets of peace poured over me, unshakable and deep, even as the water swirled. Then I heard or maybe felt it, a voice both inside and around me. It didn’t come from any one place, and there was no religious context for the voice, yet I felt it with a certainty I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t a voice I heard with my ears; it was a knowing, ancient, cellular, and undeniable. A message not delivered, but remembered, "The imbalance is no longer present. Your return to truth is complete.”

With complete surrender, and my eyes closed, a vision of the ocean’s essence surrounded me. Connecting with a serene presence, my Soul had discovered compassionate grace. This touch offered solace, and its spirit exuded a tranquil strength that inspired soft melodies of hope within my once weary heart. I understood that amongst the galore of seasickness and frenzied fish, I had experienced another miracle.

Concerned for my well-being, yogi friends rushed to rescue me from the fish tornado I had found myself in. They scooped me back into the boat and floated me to shore. 

Finding myself once more on solid ground, I surrendered to a beachfront massage while my friends continued snorkeling. The soft weight of the table beneath me and the steady pressure of hands on my skin brought me fully back into my body. The earth cradled me, held steady after the waters had carried so much away. With each stroke of lavender-scented oil, the masseuse honored my battle-weary muscles, coaxing them into rest. Somewhere between wakefulness and dream, the rolling sound of waves lulled me deeper. The warm and salt-kissed breeze swept across my skin, lifting the final traces of ash, the last remnants of what no longer belonged.

What had begun in fire and passed through water now rooted itself in earth, and was carried away on air. The extraordinary experience I’d just lived pulsed through every cell of me. The sickness, the heaviness, was gone. And in its place stood something unshakable. I remembered who I was: the architect of my own masterpiece. My strength was no longer lost; it had simply been waiting.

I was clear. I was whole. And I was free to fully embrace the extraordinary life that awaited me.