I have just come back from a most remarkable weekend at the Ojai foundation -- that famous, revered institution -- sister, or least, distant cousin to my own alma mater, Esalen. What a welcome break in my routine. In the months prior to going to the Ojai foundation, I had been working very hard -- almost at a feverish pitch. In between teaching at Santa Monica College, auditioning, auditioning, and shooting film, tutoring my two Harvard Westlake students, commuting down to Carson High School, working on my web project, helping out my friend Ronald Alexander with his web site, -- oh , the list goes on -- and there had, honestly, hardly been time to eat, sleep, and maintain some degree of sanity. So, the trip could not have come at a better time. Interestingly enough, I used to live in a place very deeply similar to the Ojai foundation. For five years. I lived in a yurt. I carried my own propane home. My window was a gateway into nature. And I woke up to the sound of the canyon river each morning. This would be my time at Esalen. 1995 to 2000. How far indeed I had gone from my roots in Big Sur to the hectic Los Angeles life. From the tranquil meditative monk -- I had become the quintessential Hollywood cliché -- the actor who strings together odd jobs and occasionally hits it big and then never finds it to be enough -- but somehow in the process discovers how much more he needs than what he already has. My mindset had become go-go-go. Silence, in itself, was jarring. I remember, quite vividly, when I was a gate guard, or even the coordinator of the friends of Esalen -- the incredible disdain that I had had towards individuals who arrived at Esalen, especially coming from Los Angeles. I always saw them drive up in their fancy, snazzy cars -- their hair a little too well coiffed, their clothes a little too stylish -- and I thought to myself -- "man, these people are superficial, Los Angeles, spiritual materialist-type people. They think they can come to a weekend workshop at Esalen and reach enlightenment. Baloney." How ironic that I had become one of these Los Angeles types. A Los Angeles cliché. God does have a sense of humor. On the day of the "silent meditative retreat" we were of course, ironically, rushing through traffic -- we were running 30 minutes late. I had to speed down to Manhattan Beach for a Saturday morning audition for Korean Air, Jamie was getting her Los Angeles coffee/tea across the street at some imitation Starbuck's place, and, wouldn't you know it, the car would not start. By the time we got there, silence was the furthest thing from my mind. Settling in took a while. I was still in "evaluate everything, trust nothing" mode. The people in the "Council Circle" seemed predictably granola crunchy -- and I was convinced that I had seen at least half of them before at Esalen. And I was still, very much, comparing everything to Esalen. And in a "compete for the alpha male position" frame of mind. What can I say -- the place, the silence grows on you. Grows on me. I found my rhythm becoming more and more peaceful over the course of the time I spent there. Contact. Simple contact. Feeling into life. I suppose, I always want to be a superstar. I always want to move the best, like when Gabrielle Roth or Anna Halprin chooses me from the sea of dancers. I want to speak most compellingly. I want to light up the room. Get the standing ovation. Hit it out of the park. Well, what can I say -- the afternoon was fine. The opening circle: I am still arriving. The silent walking meditation. I'm still trying to show off. The painting meditation. Try to stay focused. Closing Council -- well, don't show too much, can't go too deep, keep something in reserve Not particularly enlightened, I must say. But, then -- the dark of the night. The sunset. The sound of the coyotes. The stars. Waking up in the middle of the night, again, and going outside. Underneath it all. Well, that shifts me right back into it. Into a marvel of timelessness, An interruption of the mundane. Anything is possible. Anything can happen. The world is right here, again. And it is simple. Like this. Thanks for the time and the place and the space.