The long road to Honopue

About 10 miles from home, at the very end of highway 19, there is a forest preserve which begins at Pololu Valley and extends to the last major valley along the coastline, Waipio. It encompasses five other valleys besides Pololu; Honokane Nui, Honokane Iki, Honokea, Honopue, and Waimanu. Though the preserve is not humongous in terms of square mileage, it protects the oldest and most rugged and beautiful rainforest and temperate forest on the island. It is also incredibly easy to get lost in. Even the forested floor of Pololu Valley alone would take more than a couple days to explore.

The coastline is comprised of dramatically tall, verdant cliffs, and cut into them are hundreds of small gulches and drainages. When it rains hard enough, this can mean hundreds of waterfalls plummeting over the cliff faces and into the sea. Inland is a realm of remarkably deep, narrow gorges with constant waterfalls. There are valleys with steep, foreboding walls, that twist and wind up into the mountains seemingly endlessly, the rivers on the shady floors bending back and forth through damp forests that see sunlight maybe three hours of the day. Such places are almost constantly in a mist, either due to nearby cascades or an almost constant drizzle from clouds that hug the tops of the valley walls.

Fortunately, the preserve is accessible. Well, many areas within it aren't. There are some places no human has likely ever set foot in. But there are some superbly designed hiking trails, built decades ago for the purpose of maintaining an irrigation ditch project, which provide access to some truly marvelous places. Without trails, the rugged terrain would be nearly impossible to travel through. Even though they are there, most of them are hardly ever used by the public. Guidebooks only guide visitors a fraction of the distance they could go, and that's barely enough to really get lost in it. Civilisation can be left behind entirely. After traversing two or three valleys and progressing farther and farther into the heart of the wilderness, I begin to feel as if I have placed a very secure barrier between myself and society.

The only way I could discover what was along these trails was to follow them myself to see where they went, with the aid of a topographic map. Much of the time, they're fairly well-maintained and easy to follow, since they're often carved into the side of a cliff by necessity and follow contours, but not always. Wild pigs, which own the woods in many places, make their own trails and slop up the real one, making it much harder to follow the genuine article. In certain places, it can be downright frustrating. But the captivating scenery, and the feeling of having escaped into another world, makes it all worthwhile.


One evening last week, I was sifting through an old box of my junk. In it, I found a photocopied map of the forest preseve, with the vast network of trails highlighted in orange. As I studied it, my eye caught a massive feature; a valley whose walls exceeded 1,500 feet high on either side. A trail led deep into the valley and up along the opposite wall before continuing on even farther. I remembered having been there years ago, as a child. I had not been back since. I could vividly remember two distinct features: a narrow footbridge crossing a deep gorge, and a well-kept cabin. Oddly, these two images had served as the settings for so many dreams I have had. To revisit this majestic, otherworldly place known as Honopue Valley, would almost be like taking a step into my own sub-conscious.

I decided to take the trek the very next day.

So ambitious was I that I was on the trail well before sunrise. Though, I might have taken more of a risk than I should have in my decision to circumvent having to climb up and over the ridge to the second valley. I figured it would be much easier to walk around the base of the cliff along the shore to get to the next valley, but the surf turned out to be a bit more powerful than I thought it would be. In a few spots, there were no dry boulders upon which to walk, for the waves surged with intensity right up to the base of the cliff. I got my feet wet very early on, but I was lucky that I managed to time things just right so that I didn't get pounded against the cliff face. The first quarter mile was the worst, but after overcoming that, I was able to walk on a much wider and safer boulder beach and take the time to enjoy the sunrise.

From then on, I made good time walking up into the second valley, relocating the trail, and hiking up and down the narrow ridge into the next valley over. From the top of that ridge, I admired the view of the segment of my journey I had just conquered. I also felt content to spend a bit of time by the gorgeous Honokane Iki stream. The valley is tiny, but is also exceptionally beautiful, complete with a cabin and surrounding garden. Of all the times I have been there, I have never seen another occupant.

It soon became time to enter the long haul. The trail out of the valley weaved back and forth up a tall, steep wall before leading higher and higher up into the mountains. At one of the highest switchbacks, I was granted another exceptional view. After another hour of pressing forward, I came upon a painted white gate that bore the name "AWINI," and I knew I was close to my first destination, the Awini cabin. I had been to the cabin a few times before, and for good reason. Though it is reachable only by foot or horseback, it has always been so well-maintained, and even has fully functional plumbing. The surrounding atmosphere is also to die for. Located high up the slopes, it is always pleasantly cool, and mostly cloudy most of the time. And it is peaceful. Incredibly peaceful. The birds living in the trees provide any and all background noise. It has a nice, big, spacious backyard, and of course, no neighbours to see you running around naked and free.

I stopped there for lunch and took advantage of the full functional plumbing, then proceeded up the trail. Last time I had come this way, I took the trail that led into the depths of the spectacular Honokane Nui valley, but getting to Honopue necessitated taking the other fork. And the Awini trail was a pleasure to follow, for it so expertly and efficiently leads a traveler in, out, and over a series of deep gulches of impossibly dense vegetation. Not to mention, it was muddy, but very well-maintained.

I eventually reached Honokea Valley, a very scenic place in its own right. The weather was also unusually clear this particular day, which worked well for me. Much more could be seen when the heavy clouds weren't rolling into the valleys, and the sunlight brought out a striking verdancy in the surroundings.

The closer I grew to Honopue Valley, the more antsy I became. I was eager to see this place again, finally. A place of my dreams. The trail seemed to meander about excessively, in and out the back of one little gulch after another, before finally leading me to what I ultimately desired to see: Honopue Valley.

It appeared so suddenly as I just came over a steep hill, that it stole my breath away. I could see straight across the valley and instantly recognised and noticed the cabin on the other side, seemingly so close, yet so far away. A towering waterfall began just below the trail on the opposite wall and plummeted into the valley, farther than my eye could follow. Vertigo.

My ultimate goal was to reach that cabin, but I also had to see the bridge again. I peeled myself away from the riveting sight and continued down the trail, which was so impressively carved into the wall. It led all the way into the back, where the valley became incredibly narrow but no less deep. When I laid eyes on the bridge that connected the two steep walls and confirmed it was still there, I became enthralled. Alas, the bridge was unsafe. In truth, it is shaky and flimsy-looking enough to strike fear in the hearts of those who aren't even afraid of heights, especially if they look down. Oh, the thrills and chills were just so fulfilling.

It really was quite intimidating, however, especially since in my dreams, I had fallen from that particular bridge head first on a number of occasions. It always toppled over, and I could never hang on. It always resulted in terror. Now, I was standing on it reality, and nearly became terrified when I felt an invisible force push me up against the steel cables. For a split second, I expected them to break as I bore my weight against them, but they held fast. I regained my composure and ran off that bridge to the other side as fast as I could. I concluded that this was a place full of spirits not to be messed with, and I hoped that by offering my respect, I might not be haunted by them in the conscious or sub-conscious world.

...Vertigo.

As soon as I made it a fair distance along the eastern wall, I already felt the general mood of the area becoming lighter, and more normal. Even the sky seemed to brighten up signficantly. Something was truly beginning to weigh on my heart and soul back at the bridge, and I had only spent a few minutes there. I couldn't help but wonder how I would have begun to feel had I stayed longer. The trail led right past the the top of the waterfall I had witnessed earlier, and became nice and grassy. Oh, the temptation to go barefoot... I already began to feel as if I was in heaven on Earth. The atmosphere up here was decidedly much more welcoming. At this stream, there was an Eden-like pool which looked quite deep and inviting- no doubt the place to bath for any cabin dwellers. I wish I had stopped for a dip.

It wasn't long before I arrived at another gate and had another chance to peer into the valley. And then, and then... after half a day's work, I reached the cabin. There was clearly no one inhabiting it, but the backyard seemed very well-maintained. When the edge of your backyard overlooks a majestic valley, it might certainly be worth maintaining. The cabin's front door was unlocked, and I found it to be fully stocked with food, kitchenware, books, furniture, bedding, and all sorts of clothes. It appeared as if someone had just been living there yesterday. I even spotted a jar of money atop the bedroom dresser, but I of course didn't steal a cent. Everything was so nicely kept, tidy, and organised, it was almost unreal.

Whoever owned the place might have been into furry art, at any rate. On the kitchen wall was a framed print of an anthro boar warrior, and on the adjacent wall, another boar was taking advantage of a nude woman. It is such a pleasure to find anthropomorphics in the most unlikely of places...

I can hardly find the words to describe what a beautiful place it was. It seemed so full of positive spiritual energy, I was amazed a place of so much negative energy was so nearby. I could have spent another hour on the lawn resting up for the trip back, but instead, I decided to be stupid. I followed the trail past the cabin and farther into the woods, farther and farther and farther, hoping I might reach the end. I never did. After a certain point, I gave up and turned around, for not only was the trail getting so badly overgrown, I knew I didn't have all the daylight in the world.

Only when you backtrack over the terrain that you already covered do you realise how far you actually went to get to where you were. I had simply gone too far, and my body was paying the price very early on. Even though I consider myself a conditioned athlete, there is a limit even to what my body can handle before things get outrageously comfortable.

It was a rather hurried trip back to the first cabin, since I wanted to make the most of the afternoon daylight. I crossed that dreaded bridge without even thinking about it, and just pressed on. My body was already feeling the stress. By the time I reached the first cabin, the light had grown dim, and was I ever sore. Distances seem so much longer when you just wish you were already home.

I don't know how else to describe the rest of the trip back, other than "nightmareish." I was tired, see, and getting dehydrated. I could never have brought enough water for such a long, humid trek. My feet were in agony, and after awhile, I could feel several large blisters swelling. Pain coursed through my right leg whenever I took a step. My body was simply telling me that I overdid it this time. Way too much.

It was a test of my resolve... I had been through so many similar situations involving pain and discomfort, and I knew that getting through it all without cracking was a matter of putting my mind in the right place. I forced my mind into the right place and continued to make one painful step after another. I still had three valleys to traverse. At certain points, I felt as if there was a good possibility I would simply pass out. I was out hiking after dark, meaning I had been rambling around continuously for more than 13 straight hours. Crazy, crazy wolf.

I sang a few songs so that I did not have to focus on the pain, or the fear of what could happen to me. My biggest mistake would have been stopping, laying down, and succumbing to it. My entire body was searing with agony, but somehow... I clunked along, wincing, moaning, whimpering. I walked along the beach of Pololu Valley, and it seemed to be at least twice the length it usually was. In fact, it never seemed to end. When I got to the last uphill portion up to the lookout, I was almost crawling, but somehow, I made it all the way to the parking lot.

It may sound like I exaggerated this some, but that's not the case.

When I got home, it was a challenge walking into the house and standing up long enough to take a shower. I drank liquids feverishly, and I began to feel feverish as well, shivering incessantly. After tending to my poor torn-up feet, I felt as if I had just hiked thirty miles. Realistically, I might have.

The next time a nagging feeling tells me it would probably be better to play it safe and not push it too much, I won't ignore it. Next time, I'll go no farther than the cabin, which is a great distance anyway, or just stay overnight.

At least I was reminded that even my energy has limits.

The brief idiot's guide to Costco

∙ If it's there, and you want it, grab it. Chances are it'll be gone tomorrow. Forever. And you'll kick yourself so hard.

∙ Do your own research instead of coming in expecting a sales assistant to explain to you the concept of a "computer."

∙ Never enter the building through the exit door. Whether you are a clueless child or the warehouse manager, YOU WILL BE SLAPPED ON THE WRIST BY THE RECEIPT CHECKER.

∙ Don't look at any of digital cameras on display too hard, or you'll make the alarm go off.

∙ Say hi to the birds nesting up in the light fixtures. They provide the store music.

∙ Kirkland Signature is brand name quality at generic label cost. I mean, I use Kirkland men's body spray all the time. Trust me, it smells just like TAG or AXE, and whenever I have it on, all the hot chicks with celebrity bodies just can't keep themselves away from me, let me tell you. Sure, you can get lucky if you chew the right brand of gum, but nothing gets you laid like putting on Kirkland Signature Body Spray, you can count on my word.

∙ Don't come in asking where the mp3s are. We don't carry them, as they constantly get stolen or lost. They're invisible, you see.

∙ Almost everything small and inexpensive is sold in bulk. Don't come in expecting to purchase a rose, a pencil, or a Koosh ball. Unless you want three Koosh balls. Three jumbo Koosh balls that come in a container the size of a suitcase which is mostly just plastic trim.

∙ If you want headphones, you'll have to buy the iPod they're attached to.

∙ Always bring a cart in with you. Most products are bulky, heavy, and awkward, like your average McDonald's patron.

∙ Make sure you have decent collision insurance before entering the produce section. The cart traffic in that section is congested enough, but imagine members being in even more of a hurry to get out of the refrigerated area as quickly as possible.

∙ All children must be leashed and fitted with a muzzle before entering the store. We shall have no unruly, uncivilised beings climbing up the steels.

Mud, mud, mud.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.