Well, yesterday was quite fantastic. Any day involving getting wet and playing in the mud usually is.
In the morning, I was woken up by a rainstorm that hit with squall-like intensity. It wasn't the noise that shook me from the embrace of sleep, but rather, the fact that I was getting wet. The wind was carrying the rain right in through the windows, dampening whatever happened to be sitting beneath them, and even reaching my bed. I shut them quickly and wandered off to a different part of the house to watch the action. Let's just say quite a few things got knocked over by the wind gusts, and the driving rain flooded the deck.
This storm simply set the stage for my late afternoon experience. The weather was just beginning to clear about an hour before sunset, and, feeling antsy, I decided to venture off for a bike ride. I ended up jumping in my car and coasting down to a local haunt, Upolu Point, a mere 7-10 minutes away from home.
On the surface, there isn't too much to the place. A paved one-lane road leads almost straight toward the sea, through sweeping grassy plains and past a newly installed wind farm, before ending at a private commuter terminal and airstrip running parallel to the shore. Publically accessible dirt roads branch off in either direction along the outer fence surrounding the airstrip. It's possible to drive around the entire perimeter. There are a handful of houses visible farther up the hill, but absolutely no one lives in the immediate area. Its barrenness and isolation is part of the reason I find the region so attractive. It is a relatively dry corner of the peninsula (though not quite as dry as the leeward side) with wide open fields of windswept grass and trees in which one can romp and roam without a care in the world. One can walk along the sea cliffs for a great distance before running into any kind of civilised structure. There's something about the locale I find very spiritually invigorating.
Besides grass, there is also a lot of dirt down there. During normal weather, it usually stays fairly dry, but when storms hit, as happened yesterday, things get interesting. It got muddy. Very muddy.
Upolu mud is no ordinary mud. It is slightly reddish in hue and is very soft, thick and sticky. When saturated enough, as it was yesterday, it is also remarkably slippery. Consequently, the mud can play hell with cars and bikes. Even with the increased traction four-wheel drive provides, it's nearly impossible to drive on it without slip-sliding back and forth or fishtailing. Of course, that's what makes it entertaining. There are a few wide, grassy areas where doing donuts simply comes naturally. Yesterday, I slipped and slid into one of these clearings with my SUV, cranked the wheels all the way to the right, hit the accelerator, and slid around in circles as if I was on a merry go-round, kicking up mud everywhere. It was fun, and I realised that's it really just another form of marking my territory. For that matter, some could even consider it art.
Even more enjoyable was taking out my mountain bike and off-road riding along the sea cliffs. There is a certain place not far beyond the fence that seems like a naturally formed riding course. Even when the dirt is dry, the various mounds, steep slopes, dips, and ramps make it a fun place to ride. But when it all becomes mud... the enjoyment factor multiplies several times. I rode around like this until so much mud clogged my brakes that my bike became nearly inoperable. When this happened, I took a break to watch a rather impressive sunset from a grassy knoll. The view of Maui across the channel was even more impressive than usual. Only embellishing the majesty of the view were whales in several different pods shooting out of the water and making large splashes surprisingly close to shore... it just reminded that we actually are still in the heart of whale season.
I also glanced up toward the mountains, which now included windmills as part of the view, much to the dismay of many local residents. I personally viewed the conspicuous towers as not a "blight upon the landscape," but a sign of hope, promise, and necessary progress. If anything, I'm proud to have a wind farm in my backyard (not that we can see the wind mills from the backyard we own), for renewable energy is the future, and if there is one place that could use change, it's here.
As the sky grew dark, I decided to do something I hadn't done in a long, long time. After scooping a sufficient amount of squishy mud out of my bike's brake mechanisms, I rode back to the airstrip, hoisted my bike over the dark green chest-high chain link fence, and started to ride along the freshly resurfaced runway. Yes, it was quite a contrast from mud and rock, but I found the whining and growling of my tires against the asphalt to be almost soothing as I gradually picked up speed. It was actually a magnificent experience, careening toward the deep orange hues of the twilit sky to the west, surrounded by flocks of birds, with the wind mussing my hair. I actually closed my eyes for a few moments as I rode, allowing my aural and olfactory senses to experience it all. I reached the opposite end of the airstrip all too soon, but to my delight, found a couple large puddles several inches deep on the pavement. I sped through them several times over, washing several ounces of mud off my bike and getting myself rather wet in the process.
What an extremely fulfilling and satisfying day. I had to wash all the mud off my bike as soon as I got home, for if it allowed to dry, it becomes a nightmare to remove. But I must declare, 15 minutes of clean-up is worth several hours of getting messy. 15 minutes of getting messy is worth several hours of clean-up, for that matter.
Mar 28, 2006
Mar 24, 2006
Bring out your dead.
I was woken up early Friday morning, around 5 or so, by a very deep, heavy rumble. No, it wasn't my tummy this time, but rather, the sky. For the first time this year, I heard thunder! When I first stepped outside and trotted up to the end of the driveway, the storm seemed quite a ways southwest, over the hills. The occasional lightning flashes seemed a considerable distance away. But when a sudden brilliant flash lit up the entire night surrounding me and nearly blinded my vision, I couldn't help but gasp with awe. The next time it happened, two or three minutes later, I watched huge bolts of electricity sear across the sky. Oh, what a sight... and the accompanying thunder was getting louder and deeper, as well, as a little rain began to fall. The sudden brilliant flashes happened again and again, and I cheered each time. I honestly couldn't decide, at the time, whether I was more fond of the lightning visuals or the rumbling of the thunder so deep it nearly made the house vibrate. Altogether, it was one awesome spectacle. After awhile, the rain began to fall harder and harder, and the thunder and lightning seemed to vanish. Not long after I slipped back into bed, I was jolted into complete consciousness by what sounded like an explosion right outside my window. Now that's thunder.
Strangely, I happened to drive into Kona later in the morning just in time to catch a fierce hail storm rolling over the sea toward the mountain. The hail only lasted about five minutes or so before becoming the hardest falling rain imaginable. Weird, wild stuff... but I love it.
Strangely, I happened to drive into Kona later in the morning just in time to catch a fierce hail storm rolling over the sea toward the mountain. The hail only lasted about five minutes or so before becoming the hardest falling rain imaginable. Weird, wild stuff... but I love it.
Mar 10, 2006
loathsome
I got into very close contact with my were side this past evening.
Shift happens, especially around this time of the month, but it has begun a bit prematurely in regard to the usual pattern. Not to mention, the experience was more intense than it has been in months. I wouldn't label it a *positive* transformation, but it was indubitably a necessary one.
It occured beneath a heavily overcast sky, the surroundings still considerably illuminated by a persistent moon. I escaped into the rolling pasturelands well up in the hills from here, riding Seymour (my bike) for a ways up the steep, desolate residential roads until I was well past all the houses. I was conscious of an impending internal transformation, and my mind was set entirely on getting as far away from civilisation as I could. My legs pumped like pistons as I pedaled furiously up the winding hills. Searing pain coursed through my body as it begged for a break, and my legs felt as if they were engulfed in flames, but I did not stop even to catch my breath. By the time I reached the gate, I threw my bike over, feeling like I might suddenly keel over and die, and yet overcome with adrenaline... and testosterone. I felt physically powerful and strong, like I could move a mountain out of my way, and I felt like something was beginning to come over me.
It didn't matter to me that I was roving about on private property, but in retrospect, any poor soul who might have been out there for any reason to get in my way would have been sorry they had. I dumped my shirt, sandals, and Seymour all in one spot, for they were all unnecessary accessories. Getting in touch with the terrain to my primal satisfaction involves the loss of shoes and other superfluous clothing that restricts ease of movement. I trekked along the edge of someone's several dozen-acre large backyard. It borders a horse ranch which I once worked on for a couple months following graduation from high school. Several equinefolk nearest the fence quickly fled in the opposite direction, their hooves pounding the earth. I gritted my teeth as my nostrils caught the scent of their terror.
In the matter of a few moments, I slipped into a deep rage, bitterly rebuking the ways of humanity, ferociously cursing my imprisonment in a human skin. I became walking, stalking hatred, and in those minutes, I believe I could have exterminated anything that crossed my path without a second thought, like a vicious predator devoid of morals and human reason. I stumbled along slowly in the grassy field, clawing at my own body, drawing blood as I tried to peel away the hideous disguise bit by bit. Unfortunately, I caused some self-injury, but I am not sure whether I should regard it as involuntary or not. I was foaming at the mouth as I growled the words, "fuck humanity" at least a hundred times.
And then it must have really happened, for I can't hardly recall what happened within the next hour or two. I was amongst a grove of trees, as a scratched-up, grass-stained, muddy mess. I just laid there for fifteen minutes, trying to remember what had happened and how I got there. I managed to connect the dots and recall where I had dumped my bike.
I wish I could just make up little stories like these, and that they didn't really happen, but unfortunately, every detail is true.
First of all, I know I'm a were. I've known it for years. As early as my mid-teens I began recognising the moon's effect on me, and the possibility of a savage beast lurking within, but hardly mentioned it to anyone. Since then, I haven't been so hesitant to write about my shifting experiences online. I figure potential readers would find it fascinating, even if most would not be quick to believe it. Truthfully, I don't care what others believe. They usually believe whatever makes them feel comfortable. That their God is going to come down and indemnify their pure souls from suffering. That their deceased grandfather's spirit is watching down on them from above. That what they do in life really matters. When I was in the initial transition period of my transformation tonight, I dismissed it all as absolute bullshit. I pretty much feel that way no matter what state I'm in, anyway.
Yes, the world does piss me off. It pisses me off something awful. I won't deny that or pretend otherwise. I am positively sickened by what humanity is coming to, and to have to identify as human compels me to damage or destroy myself, in hopes that I can somehow release myself from it all. In a normal state, I simply deal with it. Though, my quiet distaste for human ways is everpresent, and I can always feel the longing to be of the wild deep down inside. In a shift, I experience unspeakably intense loathing of what I am shifting from, and generally speaking, it's a good time for me to be away from people. I simply lose control of myself, of my otherwise apparently mild, laid-back behaviour, and usually end up hurting myself, the resultant injuries being worse in some transformations than others. Fortunately, I had trimmed my fingernails just a couple days ago.
I should probably take some better precautions to take care of myself over the next few days... a good start would be not turning on the TV. I'm sick of being a witness to the pathetic phoniness of people and all their stupid bullshit. They call it the American Dream, because you have to be asleep to believe it. Life for so many people in this culture is all about the acquisition of more stuff. More stuff that makes it easier to be lazier than ever before and eliminates as much hard work and effort on their part as possible. That's the selling point of so many products these days. People want to be lazy fucks in an automated world run by machines. I guess going out to the video rental place has simply become too inconvenient for some people, so now they've become dependent on having movies delivered to their door. It's all about convenience and ease, because everyone's time these days is so precious, and why work hard if spending money you don't have on miracle products you don't need can help you avoid it? Why waste time planting a flower garden the old fashioned way when you can let Roll-a-bed do it all for you, so you can run back inside and use your time for more meaningful projects that truly benefit mankind, like Crying While Eating.
I just need to do whatever I can to keep from getting sucked too far into this depressing world of human bullshit. It's beneficial that I live where I do, and not typical suburban America, though Wal-Mart culture is just as prevalent here. Stand-up comedian George Carlin did a very nice rant on this subject. America was beautiful before it became little more than a coast-to-coast chain of shopping centres, mini-malls, golf courses, fast food joints, and surburbs. America was beautiful before it was "discovered" and stolen from the natives, who actually lived respectable and respectful lifestyles. Now this nation just stands as the finest testament to just how despicable humanity has gotten. It's only going to get worse and worse. So much worse. Do I really have to be a part of this?
Maybe I don't. I've determined the main reason I'm not always feeling this enraged and cynical is because I spend so much time in my little bubble, lost in the magical voyages of my imagination in worlds that I actually care to identify with. But sometimes, it all gets the best of me, and there is little I can do to stop it.
I'm going to sit outside for a bit and listen to the wind through the trees... hopefully it will calm me down enough to get me in the mood for sleep.
Shift happens, especially around this time of the month, but it has begun a bit prematurely in regard to the usual pattern. Not to mention, the experience was more intense than it has been in months. I wouldn't label it a *positive* transformation, but it was indubitably a necessary one.
It occured beneath a heavily overcast sky, the surroundings still considerably illuminated by a persistent moon. I escaped into the rolling pasturelands well up in the hills from here, riding Seymour (my bike) for a ways up the steep, desolate residential roads until I was well past all the houses. I was conscious of an impending internal transformation, and my mind was set entirely on getting as far away from civilisation as I could. My legs pumped like pistons as I pedaled furiously up the winding hills. Searing pain coursed through my body as it begged for a break, and my legs felt as if they were engulfed in flames, but I did not stop even to catch my breath. By the time I reached the gate, I threw my bike over, feeling like I might suddenly keel over and die, and yet overcome with adrenaline... and testosterone. I felt physically powerful and strong, like I could move a mountain out of my way, and I felt like something was beginning to come over me.
It didn't matter to me that I was roving about on private property, but in retrospect, any poor soul who might have been out there for any reason to get in my way would have been sorry they had. I dumped my shirt, sandals, and Seymour all in one spot, for they were all unnecessary accessories. Getting in touch with the terrain to my primal satisfaction involves the loss of shoes and other superfluous clothing that restricts ease of movement. I trekked along the edge of someone's several dozen-acre large backyard. It borders a horse ranch which I once worked on for a couple months following graduation from high school. Several equinefolk nearest the fence quickly fled in the opposite direction, their hooves pounding the earth. I gritted my teeth as my nostrils caught the scent of their terror.
In the matter of a few moments, I slipped into a deep rage, bitterly rebuking the ways of humanity, ferociously cursing my imprisonment in a human skin. I became walking, stalking hatred, and in those minutes, I believe I could have exterminated anything that crossed my path without a second thought, like a vicious predator devoid of morals and human reason. I stumbled along slowly in the grassy field, clawing at my own body, drawing blood as I tried to peel away the hideous disguise bit by bit. Unfortunately, I caused some self-injury, but I am not sure whether I should regard it as involuntary or not. I was foaming at the mouth as I growled the words, "fuck humanity" at least a hundred times.
And then it must have really happened, for I can't hardly recall what happened within the next hour or two. I was amongst a grove of trees, as a scratched-up, grass-stained, muddy mess. I just laid there for fifteen minutes, trying to remember what had happened and how I got there. I managed to connect the dots and recall where I had dumped my bike.
I wish I could just make up little stories like these, and that they didn't really happen, but unfortunately, every detail is true.
First of all, I know I'm a were. I've known it for years. As early as my mid-teens I began recognising the moon's effect on me, and the possibility of a savage beast lurking within, but hardly mentioned it to anyone. Since then, I haven't been so hesitant to write about my shifting experiences online. I figure potential readers would find it fascinating, even if most would not be quick to believe it. Truthfully, I don't care what others believe. They usually believe whatever makes them feel comfortable. That their God is going to come down and indemnify their pure souls from suffering. That their deceased grandfather's spirit is watching down on them from above. That what they do in life really matters. When I was in the initial transition period of my transformation tonight, I dismissed it all as absolute bullshit. I pretty much feel that way no matter what state I'm in, anyway.
Yes, the world does piss me off. It pisses me off something awful. I won't deny that or pretend otherwise. I am positively sickened by what humanity is coming to, and to have to identify as human compels me to damage or destroy myself, in hopes that I can somehow release myself from it all. In a normal state, I simply deal with it. Though, my quiet distaste for human ways is everpresent, and I can always feel the longing to be of the wild deep down inside. In a shift, I experience unspeakably intense loathing of what I am shifting from, and generally speaking, it's a good time for me to be away from people. I simply lose control of myself, of my otherwise apparently mild, laid-back behaviour, and usually end up hurting myself, the resultant injuries being worse in some transformations than others. Fortunately, I had trimmed my fingernails just a couple days ago.
I should probably take some better precautions to take care of myself over the next few days... a good start would be not turning on the TV. I'm sick of being a witness to the pathetic phoniness of people and all their stupid bullshit. They call it the American Dream, because you have to be asleep to believe it. Life for so many people in this culture is all about the acquisition of more stuff. More stuff that makes it easier to be lazier than ever before and eliminates as much hard work and effort on their part as possible. That's the selling point of so many products these days. People want to be lazy fucks in an automated world run by machines. I guess going out to the video rental place has simply become too inconvenient for some people, so now they've become dependent on having movies delivered to their door. It's all about convenience and ease, because everyone's time these days is so precious, and why work hard if spending money you don't have on miracle products you don't need can help you avoid it? Why waste time planting a flower garden the old fashioned way when you can let Roll-a-bed do it all for you, so you can run back inside and use your time for more meaningful projects that truly benefit mankind, like Crying While Eating.
I just need to do whatever I can to keep from getting sucked too far into this depressing world of human bullshit. It's beneficial that I live where I do, and not typical suburban America, though Wal-Mart culture is just as prevalent here. Stand-up comedian George Carlin did a very nice rant on this subject. America was beautiful before it became little more than a coast-to-coast chain of shopping centres, mini-malls, golf courses, fast food joints, and surburbs. America was beautiful before it was "discovered" and stolen from the natives, who actually lived respectable and respectful lifestyles. Now this nation just stands as the finest testament to just how despicable humanity has gotten. It's only going to get worse and worse. So much worse. Do I really have to be a part of this?
Maybe I don't. I've determined the main reason I'm not always feeling this enraged and cynical is because I spend so much time in my little bubble, lost in the magical voyages of my imagination in worlds that I actually care to identify with. But sometimes, it all gets the best of me, and there is little I can do to stop it.
I'm going to sit outside for a bit and listen to the wind through the trees... hopefully it will calm me down enough to get me in the mood for sleep.
Feb 27, 2006
Weighing and waiting
Sometimes I feel as if there are far too many decisions to make ... and that's when possessing a higher conscious truly feels like a curse. Life for an intelligent being is mostly about weighing and waiting. Mentally weighing the benefits or sacrifices involved with one possibility versus those of one or more alternatives. Constantly. And waiting, how much of our lives do we spend waiting for something? Waiting for work to end, waiting in line to buy something, waiting for a call or a calling, waiting for a reward of some kind, waiting to eat or drink or sleep or get up and stretch or have sex. Waiting to experience the outcomes of our decisions, all results of weighing.
I enjoy sleep because it takes me away from the pressures and pain associated with weighing and waiting. And I cherish mental shifts, for that is when things become basic enough to make sense. My urges are primal and my objectives are simple and clearly defined, just as my human side wishes they could always be. In a shift, an altered state of being, everything that matters and should matter is in perfect focus, and that which deserves only to be ignored and avoided is so out of focus I feel no urge to attempt to comprehend any of it. The phrases "in the wild" versus "in civilisation" lose all meaning, because I become the wild no matter where I am. I become everything surrounding me; everything that isn't superficial, yet still remain myself. Everything is so gorgeously basic and interconnected. Humans are overly complex, but the world isn't. When one is freed from the captivity of the human mind in such a fashion and spends time in a feral condition, he or she may finally realise this. The world makes perfect sense, all objectives are clear, and all the useless luggage is discarded long before the adventure begins. No more weighing, no more waiting. Just acting on instinct and living for the moment.
One of my goals for personal advancement? Shift into wolven form more often. Maybe I should put that down on my resume, since I can't really think of much else.
I enjoy sleep because it takes me away from the pressures and pain associated with weighing and waiting. And I cherish mental shifts, for that is when things become basic enough to make sense. My urges are primal and my objectives are simple and clearly defined, just as my human side wishes they could always be. In a shift, an altered state of being, everything that matters and should matter is in perfect focus, and that which deserves only to be ignored and avoided is so out of focus I feel no urge to attempt to comprehend any of it. The phrases "in the wild" versus "in civilisation" lose all meaning, because I become the wild no matter where I am. I become everything surrounding me; everything that isn't superficial, yet still remain myself. Everything is so gorgeously basic and interconnected. Humans are overly complex, but the world isn't. When one is freed from the captivity of the human mind in such a fashion and spends time in a feral condition, he or she may finally realise this. The world makes perfect sense, all objectives are clear, and all the useless luggage is discarded long before the adventure begins. No more weighing, no more waiting. Just acting on instinct and living for the moment.
One of my goals for personal advancement? Shift into wolven form more often. Maybe I should put that down on my resume, since I can't really think of much else.
Feb 17, 2006
Oh my god...
...I love Tariq.
http://www.wulfden.net/forum/lofiversion/index.php?t1064.html
I swear Tariq isn't me. My long lost twin brother, perhaps, but no, I didn't write that. Wow, this makes me so happy and that much less alone in the world.
http://www.wulfden.net/forum/lofiversion/index.php?t1064.html
I swear Tariq isn't me. My long lost twin brother, perhaps, but no, I didn't write that. Wow, this makes me so happy and that much less alone in the world.
A castle in the sky.
There is something exceptionally magical about Kohala Mountain, especially by moonlight.
It has its special features that distinguish it from the other four volcanoes on the island, such as very pronounced windward and leeward sections. When studied on a map, it appears to be almost symmetrically divided between "wet" side and "dry" side. A series of deep, lush amphitheater valleys are carved into the soggy, rainforested windward side, while the leeward side is home to keawe trees and shrubby grasses (which very frequently and effectively fuel brush fires), and plenty of dust and bare, crumbly rock. It's like two separate worlds.
The mountain road, a truly magnificent drive, leads through the green pasturelands near the zone of transition from wet to dry. I travel this route quite often, and happened to be doing so early Thursday morning, no earlier than 1:00 in the morning. At this time of day, the road was desolate. I encountered not a single car. The sky overhead was mostly clear, so the pale, naked moon above was gloriously exposed. I was on my way home, but felt that home could wait awhile, especially since I was feeling restless. My body was yearning to be exercised and treated to fresh air, and my spirit longed to be sprung free from the track.
My penchant for night wandering is still as strong as ever. That's why I found myself trudging up a path leading up steep grass and cacti-laden slopes. I'm not sure why, but I just felt like climbing higher and higher into the rolling hills that seemed to hold so much delightful mystery and intrigue in the moonlight. As I gained elevation, I noticed the thick layer of mist that obscured the distant slopes above me. And when I turned around to gaze back downslope, I could see the lights of several towns and resorts a great many miles away, as well as three other mountains taller than the one I stood upon. The view was marvelous enough to take anyone's breath away, and the higher I climbed, the more spectacular it became.
The air was cool, but not uncomfortably chilly, and a brisk wind rolling down the mountain was strong enough to turn my hair in to a mess and make climbing uphill even more difficult. Looking up into the band of clouds looming above the rolling verdant slopes, my imagination decided to start having a ball. After all, reality would be quite bland and tasteless were it not for the spice of imagination.
I envisioned a castle. A large, majestic structure of stone standing tall somewhere up in these hills, cloaked in heavy mist at least half the time. I could not help but gaze upon the landscape and imagine where I would build it. What an extraordinary place to live it would be, for the farther I ascended, the more it began to feel like another world. Some medieval fantasy world of dark mist and fog and rolling green hills. Depending on the weather, I would either have a stunning view of much of the island from my castle, or be comfortably and cozily wrapped up in heavy fog, an insulator from the rest of the planet. And even when the sun was shining, the air would always be pleasantly cool, the wind keeping all winged pests at bay. It would be a silent retreat, but of course, being so far away from anyone, I could play music within my castle as loud as I want.
After ascending a certain distance, I arrived at a point where I could look up and see the patches of white mist soaring speedily by just above my head and simply vanishing into the zone of warmer air not far away. It was quite a remarkable thing to behold. Even more incredible was almost immediately being completely immersed in fog, brightly lit by the moon somewhere above, the view I had previously had down the mountain disappearing instantly. I could see no more than 10 metres ahead of me in every direction. At this point, I truly felt as if I had teleported to some floating island, and the fog was simply obscuring the edges, which I might plummet over if I was not careful. This was such a breathtaking sensation I actually found myself murring in delight. As I walked a bit farther, a lone tree suddenly materialised, its limbs twisted and gnarled, and my ears picked up the cries of nightingales nearby. I felt like I was involved in some phantasmal lucid dream. This, I determined, would be the ideal place to build my castle. I could just feel the magic in the air, and sensed the enchantment surrounding me. I was on the edge of the world, and it made me shiver.
I kept climbing slowly, noticing more and more trees appearing as the road skirted along a deep gorge. Eventually, it simply ended at the edge of a rainforest, what all of the terrain I just wandered over had been before it was converted to pastureland. If nothing else, my muddy bare feet attested to how much wetter it was at this elevation. A wooden stepladder crossed the cattle fence that separated the forest from the pastureland, but I felt a little too weary to lose myself in the woods that morning. I simply savoured the ghastly nocturnal atmosphere at 5,000 feet for awhile before finally heading back down ... just so I could be home before the rudely revealing sun caught up to me.
It has its special features that distinguish it from the other four volcanoes on the island, such as very pronounced windward and leeward sections. When studied on a map, it appears to be almost symmetrically divided between "wet" side and "dry" side. A series of deep, lush amphitheater valleys are carved into the soggy, rainforested windward side, while the leeward side is home to keawe trees and shrubby grasses (which very frequently and effectively fuel brush fires), and plenty of dust and bare, crumbly rock. It's like two separate worlds.
The mountain road, a truly magnificent drive, leads through the green pasturelands near the zone of transition from wet to dry. I travel this route quite often, and happened to be doing so early Thursday morning, no earlier than 1:00 in the morning. At this time of day, the road was desolate. I encountered not a single car. The sky overhead was mostly clear, so the pale, naked moon above was gloriously exposed. I was on my way home, but felt that home could wait awhile, especially since I was feeling restless. My body was yearning to be exercised and treated to fresh air, and my spirit longed to be sprung free from the track.
My penchant for night wandering is still as strong as ever. That's why I found myself trudging up a path leading up steep grass and cacti-laden slopes. I'm not sure why, but I just felt like climbing higher and higher into the rolling hills that seemed to hold so much delightful mystery and intrigue in the moonlight. As I gained elevation, I noticed the thick layer of mist that obscured the distant slopes above me. And when I turned around to gaze back downslope, I could see the lights of several towns and resorts a great many miles away, as well as three other mountains taller than the one I stood upon. The view was marvelous enough to take anyone's breath away, and the higher I climbed, the more spectacular it became.
The air was cool, but not uncomfortably chilly, and a brisk wind rolling down the mountain was strong enough to turn my hair in to a mess and make climbing uphill even more difficult. Looking up into the band of clouds looming above the rolling verdant slopes, my imagination decided to start having a ball. After all, reality would be quite bland and tasteless were it not for the spice of imagination.
I envisioned a castle. A large, majestic structure of stone standing tall somewhere up in these hills, cloaked in heavy mist at least half the time. I could not help but gaze upon the landscape and imagine where I would build it. What an extraordinary place to live it would be, for the farther I ascended, the more it began to feel like another world. Some medieval fantasy world of dark mist and fog and rolling green hills. Depending on the weather, I would either have a stunning view of much of the island from my castle, or be comfortably and cozily wrapped up in heavy fog, an insulator from the rest of the planet. And even when the sun was shining, the air would always be pleasantly cool, the wind keeping all winged pests at bay. It would be a silent retreat, but of course, being so far away from anyone, I could play music within my castle as loud as I want.
After ascending a certain distance, I arrived at a point where I could look up and see the patches of white mist soaring speedily by just above my head and simply vanishing into the zone of warmer air not far away. It was quite a remarkable thing to behold. Even more incredible was almost immediately being completely immersed in fog, brightly lit by the moon somewhere above, the view I had previously had down the mountain disappearing instantly. I could see no more than 10 metres ahead of me in every direction. At this point, I truly felt as if I had teleported to some floating island, and the fog was simply obscuring the edges, which I might plummet over if I was not careful. This was such a breathtaking sensation I actually found myself murring in delight. As I walked a bit farther, a lone tree suddenly materialised, its limbs twisted and gnarled, and my ears picked up the cries of nightingales nearby. I felt like I was involved in some phantasmal lucid dream. This, I determined, would be the ideal place to build my castle. I could just feel the magic in the air, and sensed the enchantment surrounding me. I was on the edge of the world, and it made me shiver.
I kept climbing slowly, noticing more and more trees appearing as the road skirted along a deep gorge. Eventually, it simply ended at the edge of a rainforest, what all of the terrain I just wandered over had been before it was converted to pastureland. If nothing else, my muddy bare feet attested to how much wetter it was at this elevation. A wooden stepladder crossed the cattle fence that separated the forest from the pastureland, but I felt a little too weary to lose myself in the woods that morning. I simply savoured the ghastly nocturnal atmosphere at 5,000 feet for awhile before finally heading back down ... just so I could be home before the rudely revealing sun caught up to me.
Feb 16, 2006
Checkpoint
Recently, someone inquired as to why I keep "so many journals" online. While it's true I have gone through quite a few journaling services (**suddenly recalls Diary-X**) the reality is that I use only two with any dependable regularity. I still use a third to keep in touch with a particular friend from time to time, but rarely post entries there anymore. It is mostly for commenting.
Online, I keep a blog and a journal. The most significant difference between the two is that the former is used for public-oriented entries of greater substance, and the latter I use for more personal entries I don't care to leave viewable for every stalker or lurker who watches and gathers information but never comments or makes any attempt to communicate with me (and I know you're out there). I once had a third journal, Reflections of Resplendency, which was a blog solely for posting random photography of mine. I deleted it a few months ago, since I was never motivated enough to keep it updated and it seemed excessive ever since I invested in a Smugmug account.
I feel it is a very good thing that I have been maintaining journals since 2001 or 2002. Reading many of my entries from that time period provides me some incredible insight as to how greatly I have changed over four or five years. Admittedly, though, such entries are often extremely difficult to read. It's hard not to harbour a fair amount of contempt for the way I used to act, and some of the things I have done. I often feel like traveling back in time and visiting my past self to beat some sense into him.
A review of entries several years old provides me a fine glimpse of how hopelessly naive and ignorant I was about such things as relationships and college-related matters in contrast to the present. There is evidence of my having gone through a "rebellious punk" phase, where I purchased a few t-shirts with punk-related messages on them (anarchy, anyone? protolol) and a spiked collar, and started acting like a total misanthrope online. I really have no clue what that was all about, but I'm certainly glad it didn't last. Of course, it came and went while I was in Phoenix, so I can always blame that horrible place for having such a bad influence on me.
It apparently made me fairly depressed, as well. That's about all I see in most of my old entries: depression, estrangement, loneliness, hopelessness, anger, even suicidal tendencies. I won't lie, though; there were some very difficult times I endured from 2001-2003. When I look back on the overall tone and persona I was conveying in my entries then as opposed to now, though, I am simply astonished. I feel like I have matured one-hundredfold, and now seem almost perfectly content and at peace relative to how I used to be. The extreme turbulence of the past seems to have evolved into mostly smooth sailing. Even in a few years I have apparently gained much more wisdom through experience, education, and training of the mind.
The thrust of all this musing and reflection is that I truly feel as if all the pieces are coming together. At this point in time, I feel like I have a very firm grasp on life, and am in complete control. Things simply make sense; as much sense as they can make for me in this bewildering realm of innumerable sensory distractions. I have discovered a very comfortable niche for myself, a lifestyle and state of mind, body, and spirit in which I feel I truly belong. I have discovered and recognised what I now know myself to be, and I love and cherish who and what I am. Anyone who knows me probably knows what I am referring to. I once felt many times like I was losing myself, or already had, but I no longer feel that way.
And of course, things are going to change again, for better or worse, but at the moment, I feel quite optimistic. I am two days away from starting my full-time job, I have nearly successfully completed university, and as usual, I seem to be in excellent physical and mental health. My sense of beauty has not faded in the slightest. Several years from now, it should be interesting to re-read this entry, wherever I am, whoever I am with, and however successful I may be.
Online, I keep a blog and a journal. The most significant difference between the two is that the former is used for public-oriented entries of greater substance, and the latter I use for more personal entries I don't care to leave viewable for every stalker or lurker who watches and gathers information but never comments or makes any attempt to communicate with me (and I know you're out there). I once had a third journal, Reflections of Resplendency, which was a blog solely for posting random photography of mine. I deleted it a few months ago, since I was never motivated enough to keep it updated and it seemed excessive ever since I invested in a Smugmug account.
I feel it is a very good thing that I have been maintaining journals since 2001 or 2002. Reading many of my entries from that time period provides me some incredible insight as to how greatly I have changed over four or five years. Admittedly, though, such entries are often extremely difficult to read. It's hard not to harbour a fair amount of contempt for the way I used to act, and some of the things I have done. I often feel like traveling back in time and visiting my past self to beat some sense into him.
A review of entries several years old provides me a fine glimpse of how hopelessly naive and ignorant I was about such things as relationships and college-related matters in contrast to the present. There is evidence of my having gone through a "rebellious punk" phase, where I purchased a few t-shirts with punk-related messages on them (anarchy, anyone? protolol) and a spiked collar, and started acting like a total misanthrope online. I really have no clue what that was all about, but I'm certainly glad it didn't last. Of course, it came and went while I was in Phoenix, so I can always blame that horrible place for having such a bad influence on me.
It apparently made me fairly depressed, as well. That's about all I see in most of my old entries: depression, estrangement, loneliness, hopelessness, anger, even suicidal tendencies. I won't lie, though; there were some very difficult times I endured from 2001-2003. When I look back on the overall tone and persona I was conveying in my entries then as opposed to now, though, I am simply astonished. I feel like I have matured one-hundredfold, and now seem almost perfectly content and at peace relative to how I used to be. The extreme turbulence of the past seems to have evolved into mostly smooth sailing. Even in a few years I have apparently gained much more wisdom through experience, education, and training of the mind.
The thrust of all this musing and reflection is that I truly feel as if all the pieces are coming together. At this point in time, I feel like I have a very firm grasp on life, and am in complete control. Things simply make sense; as much sense as they can make for me in this bewildering realm of innumerable sensory distractions. I have discovered a very comfortable niche for myself, a lifestyle and state of mind, body, and spirit in which I feel I truly belong. I have discovered and recognised what I now know myself to be, and I love and cherish who and what I am. Anyone who knows me probably knows what I am referring to. I once felt many times like I was losing myself, or already had, but I no longer feel that way.
And of course, things are going to change again, for better or worse, but at the moment, I feel quite optimistic. I am two days away from starting my full-time job, I have nearly successfully completed university, and as usual, I seem to be in excellent physical and mental health. My sense of beauty has not faded in the slightest. Several years from now, it should be interesting to re-read this entry, wherever I am, whoever I am with, and however successful I may be.
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