An Unfulfilled Promise, An Unobserved Truth

Life, Truth, Happiness, the pursuit of all that matters to oneself.

In this day and age, it is hard to find a truth of that. A bottomless hole, an empty ravine of nothingness that fills up our perspective of the world. When we are so disillusioned with ourselves to think it possible or worthy, the pain accompanied with the reality always hurts so much more.

To dare to dream is to fight the hatred of our own soul.

Embittered by a life overwhelmed with ideas and impossibilities where criticism is a more friendly face than that of loved ones. What matters? What does not matter? Is it really that hard to say?

I used to think the primary meaning of life was to stay connected. Each and every person could share happiness and understanding if only given time and a minute to connect.

But alas, cold winds bellow from the sustainability of “what matters” in the long run. What is practical is the only solution for a problem.

But what of my heart?! What of dreams of flight like Wrights or dreams of speed as Ford? What of the man Gucci who was simply a bellhop one day with an idea to make bags for his guests…

What is this hope I feel when all I see is despair… The pain of never achieving. Do I not try hard enough?! Do I not feel enough!? The everlasting lust and need for more to be a thing I can tangibly grab within my fingertips. The something to hold and have, the mystery of the object to withhold!?

Desire… it is a dangerous and cruel game. Many win and many lose… the chips you bet are your heart. Thing is, how thin a line do you dance in giving it up or holding it close to your chest to find the truth.

It is a cruel mistress indeed. Hold your head high, hope and believe. For they can break your body, your mind, but do not let them break your spirit. Dream, Dream, Dream…

Dream, Dream, Dream…

Hold fast to those dreams. Until the day you may let them burn bright through life.

Tracks Don’t Always Lead Home

Across the ocean in the vast space of the Atlantic lay the next adventure, planned for long but happened so quickly. An island many know and the same love to call home, even when it is covered in foreign souls. The great Island of Oahu imbedded in the life of Hawaii, changed much by the many years of visit after visit.

Many years ago, as old as one of my age can claim, my feet settled upon the ground of this beautiful place. Young and full of energy, but dense as the coconut that grows on its native trees, I did not truly appreciate the grandeur and opportunity I had of going here. Interested in the colored screen of a birthday present as I raced imaginary go carts around, my only memory is of a tour guide grasping my attention exclaiming “Boy, you know what we have for them game boys around here!? Come here!” I stepped off the bus bringing us through the filming spot of “Jurassic” proportions, near the fence of a flower field, to watch as the tour guides finger poked at a plant for it to quickly grasp shut, not unlike a fly trap, but nay beautiful like a Lily.

Many years have passed since them, and though I did not call this place my home, I was back to explore this time what the real world had to offer. Growing up with such fantasies readily available at my finger tips in truth deprived me of the eyes to see the splendor of the one I lived. Only after a grandiose ordeal of rings and family was I to have an excuse to come back to this majestic place.

But alas, why do I not find it?

Cities and sky scrappers, cars racing through the streets, jam packed worse than the interstates of cross Florida travels. Even a frequent local in friendly jubilation of hellos said with a sad look in his eye, “The reefs no longer speak the colors they once had.”

A stretch of mind and money was required to visit here, I must find some place that is untouched, unabated from the monotony of unobservant fools only interested in themselves and not those that follow after. A muse that could sing to my soul with sights that could last forever.

A frequent tourist spot may do.

In all hopes of simply experiencing what this Island had we climbed a mountain called Diamond Head. A journey, a quarrel, a reunion of hearts, and a finished climb, such a great way to continue this celebration of love. With the sarcasm of confused hearts thrust into new places aside, a couple came to light the way. Two hikers, experienced by look, sweating but smiling with big glee. They mentioned another place one could visit, a little less known and even harder to reach for only train tracks near vertical could support your legs up to the top.

As we rushed over to this place, Koko Head, beating the islands mid day rain, the clouds looming in the sky did more than I gave them credit. For it was only when we reached the base I saw a mathematical incline equation, ever progressing more vertical by the second till the train tracks pierced the cloudy sky, no tip in sight. This had to be the place I looked for desperately.

Deep breath, we climbed. A foot slipping, we climbed. Breath escaping, we climbed. Afraid to look back, we climbed. Balance evading, we climbed. Higher and higher until we reached the clouds.

On hands and knees we break through the soft white, the jutting rock a little less flat than expected. Topped with relics of a time past when the world was at war with itself and supplies needed to be passed over mountainous troubles. A solitary landing pad, a closed off tunnel, signs of rudimentary electricity. A little journey for the historian inside me.

As we walked to the other edge of the mountain, I did not think much of any cliffs, until I sat down on an edge side and clouds split.

So far, so far of a fall, how could my heart stay still. A piece of my heart sitting next to me, asking for safety despite the complaints. We sat and we looked out upon the vast green of this land. Sunlight piercing clouds to illuminate the sea and land, unified in perfect harmony in a blazing symphony of sight. Farms, trees, homes, and coves.

I sat in this moment, breathing deeply. Watched as others climbed from many directions, hoping to reach the top. I wished them good luck and good luck to this land. If only I could give back for what this place has given me, but alas it will take a life time.

For mother nature has given me a life worth living. On this big place I call home.

The Vast, Reminder of the Small…

Wind wiping through the ears, the sun a burning seed in the sky, yet your skin does not feel heat but a warm embrace. These large stones under your feet, with a threat to shift at any second deceive and refuse to move, providing safety. Protecting you from the rushing calamity of the waves below, drudging against the side of this path you travel, out out out into the distance. You reach the edge, and cast a gaze back inland. So far away now… the bridge connecting two islands, the sandy beach that is struck from a Dali painting. Standing upon the precipice of the Pacific, the furthest west man labels on a map of this country on shore.

These waves, their majesty, their power, their comfort; “How small we truly are.”

It was a night in Washington when I felt what I could only describe as a respectable terror in my gut. With my rental car in tow, I drove to a nearby park just hoping to make the most of this travel required for my work at the time. Pitch black, behind locked barriers and outside the parks curfew, I ventured into the night hoping to experience new wonderful things. Besides the occasional frightening jostle from the broken road accosting my tires, the ride was pleasant, a symphony of video friends with lets plays I had watched over the years.

It took about thirty minutes for me to reach the edge of the beach, park and leave the safety of my car.
At first the rushing of wind had thrown hard, strong enough to blow a man avoirdupois of 200 over in the more mild of pushes. Dunes on either side had allowed my feet to dig into the sand, halting the discomfort of being thrown by just a little.

What had delivered the greatest shock, however, was the vast empty sight. Nothing. The rental had closed its eyes to sleep till its next journey, and without any light to aid me, the moon hiding in the night sky behind thick grey clouds, the lines of the sea and land had vanished betraying me to the great unknown. Sound and feeling were my only companions aiding my sense of certainty. It is only in recent time I have been told of my better vision at night than most. Perhaps from my days of hiking in the woods as a kid among my friends in the troop. On this night however, nothing of that mattered.

The loud booming sounds of the sea below had reminded me of one simple thing. Its power, impossible to control, existing with or without sight.

I am so small.

My home town never experienced waves like these, overwhelming the ears with push after push. Here upon the dark sand that laid before me was a choice I could make; outlandish bravery, or scared humility. Would I walk towards the shoreline and dip my feet in the water to say hello or would I stay close to my car in this pitch black night and admire from afar? Thoughts were few in the large expanse of time, empty like the sky around me. It was only when I saw a pair of lights in the distance, another vehicle traveling the beach, that I was broken from my trance.

Knowing I was not alone, though they were miles away, was a comfort in itself. The risk of facing authority past hours however inclined me to make that choice faster. I was far from home, far from anyone in my heart. It was time to visit the hotel and pack for the plane.

I sighed and closed my eyes for the sake of my spirit and took a deep breath, felt the wind pierce my skin but not so cold on this summer night. The connection I feel with this wind, a conversation with a friend of times old, my companion, my element, holding debate with this foreign ocean for the focus of my ears. A moment passed, and then I reached into my pocket, flicking the light on of my phone, a slight pause….

My choice was a good one. Not but two feet forward was a drop of fifteen, in loose sand, and past that a wreckage on the coast. Battered by time and poor weather, this amalgamation of wood surly would be the splinter we all cried from as a kid, if not a stake to meet a fictional creature’s end. The return to the safety of my windows and doors would have been a hard one at best.

The dark ocean crashed once again, reminding me of its presence.

A gentle thank you escaped my lips.

Power does not make things scary, and their is a gentle love in strength.

A reminder, of the scale of my own life, but the value of my own soul. For even the ocean and wind can be friends to a man as tiny as me.

The pop of a door handle, the shuffle of clothing on pleather, the click of an ignition, and a departure.

The dark of the night, alone again, two friends still sharing pleasantries. I hope to bid them a good day again once I return.