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Even in the morning shade, Dominical’s heat and humidity covered everyone in sweat. The path to the beach wound past thousands of multicoloured tents tucked under jungle trees, their inhabitants sleeping off last night or getting ready for a new day. The crowds and stifling heat drove many to the beach, where the perfect sand and the cool Pacific waves would captivate for hours. For me it had become a pleasant morning routine to do yoga and bathe in the ocean before returning for workshops. This morning’s tranquility would be especially precious as the coming weekend would turn the festival into a wild party of pounding music, flashing lights, and dancing bodies. Each days walk had led further down the beach. The southern end of the beach, a curved point ending in the middle of the ocean, had become the goal because there wouldn’t be another opportunity see what lay beyond. Sometime after finding and crossing a fresh water stream emptying into the ocean, I took a break to do the yoga routine I had learned at my neighbourhood community centre. Soft sand and a growing sense of confidence had led me to try maintaining yoga poses against the waves, with some success. Even though it was several kilometres away from the festival, the walk and the yoga hadn’t been tiring. Reinvigorated by a cool dip in the ocean, I decided to continue down the beach barefoot, leaving behind my towel and sandals on a large piece of driftwood. Walking in the cool ankle high waves and finally within a hundred yards of the beaches end, I felt my right foot step on something solid and slippery. The strike on my ankle was immediate. My meditative revery over, I stumbled onto the beach to examine what had happened. Seeing the blood bubbling out of the wound didn’t lead to panic right away. The burning sensation spreading around my ankle brought back memories of posters warning of land and sea snakes. Realizing I was all alone on the beach with venom spreading around my ankle, the reality of my mortality set in. Looking back down the beach, I couldn’t see anyone in the distance. I couldn’t even see the driftwood I had left my towel and sandals on. As I slowly started back towards the festival, I deeply felt the realization I may die on that beach. The festivals promise of spiritual focus and workshops on yoga had drawn me back. I had never imagined the spiritual experience I had been seeking would be encompassed within a near death experience. The most striking feature of that moment was the feeling of serene acceptance and the knowledge that I didn’t have any regrets about my. While I felt a pang of sadness for the grief my family would feel, I felt complete and hole about the life I had lived, the places I had visited, and the things I had a chance to do. The previous couple of years had been hard ones with a new job, break up of a relationship, and other tragedies small and large. It had led to a 12 month journey across continents and exploration of the wild places of the world. I had returned to Costa Rica where that journey had started. And I was relieved. I had always feared dying with regrets and I realized I had none, not anymore. The walk back to the festival had been long. But I had eventually run into other people down the beach who had been able get help for me. While the venom had been painful, it had been from a non lethal stingray barb. I even recovered enough to attend the rest of the festival with a great story and warning folks on the beach. But the thing I will always remember is that feeling of no regrets.