A Bite off Eden

Perseverance trumps exhaustion. At least today, because I am exhausted but must continue writing. Why? Because we are still somewhere by Teusday. Tuesday! Right now it’s Friday. Geez. I’m at the LAX baggage claim waiting for Dan but am still running on island time. Tuesday morning I woke up and did the usual loafing around the tent. There were footsteps outside but I saw no goat. As always the ocean was engaged in perpetual motion. Out here we perpetuate, baby! You could always hear it from the tent. Always. Sometimes it sounded like the wind. Sometimes it was the wind. Sometimes the two were indistinguishable. Either way a grand presence could be felt. After all this was Sacred Land. Everything progressed in holy motion, changing, evolving, metamorphosing. That morning I was going through an introspective dilemma. The Hindu temple was in my future. So was the Sleeping Giant. Geographically they are very close and could be experienced in the same day. Only a couple of miles apart. However, I was on foot, and this was Kauai, were the miles stretch for ages and time does its own thing depending on how good a terms it’s on with you. What an awkward sentence. It didn’t get the point across at all. Oh well. That’s the story of my life. I had a permit to stay at Ke’e Wednesday night. It turned out to be a permit for Koke’e, which I had been to earlier. Either I was hallucinating during my visit to the state office or the ranger fucked up royally. Not really a big deal though. “Oh, ranger, this is Ke’e? I thought it was Koke’e” or something to that nature. It could be pulled off. Yes, there would have to be a little white lie involved. Yes, my soul may have been docked for a delayed stay in this material dimension, but not for too long. So my prospective plans (which in Hawaii share the consistency of powdered air) took two forms. On the one hand I would spend Wednesday at Ke’e and hop around the North Shore beaches, sleep in Anini, lovely lovely Anini, jump on the Kilauea Food Mart bus early early morning (we’re talking 5am here folks), hitch up Kuamao, make it to 9am pooja and eventually hike up the Sleeping Giant. The other plan was more adventurous. I would sleep at Ke’e, hike Powerline Trail to the Sleeping Giant, crash for the night under the picnic tables and hitch a ride to the Temple for 9am pooja. I would carry the seashell offering there personally, my own ancient quest. Unfortunately (or not) neither plan would take form. Nope. But I didn’t know that yet. See? It’s pointless to speculate, especially in the most remote spot of an island jungle getaway. I got my scout pack packed, smoked the remainder of a bowl I had passed out on, took a crap and hiked into the grove, as I had done two days earlier. That grove is golden, it’s spiritual, it’s a metaphysical filter of cosmic rays and a doorway into the white light of perfection. There was a fire pit filled with bright white ash, all the juice had been singed out. I jammed my walking stick into the pit to bless it with a fire’s ghost. I rubbed some ash on my hand too and creeped around the grove slowly, taking it all in at once. The mosing took me back to the valley trail. I wanted to hit up the boulder to write and see if the trail went further than before. At the fork, where I could go either right to the boulder or left to the river palace I saw a group of people crossing the stream. Apparently the trail did go further. They were looking for the Big Pools. I told them about the River Palace and the small pools along the way. That had been the end of the line for me. The group consisted of Matt, his son Briceton, Brett and Jennifer Ginga. I had seen them on the beach the day before. Now, they all had their pockets full of oranges and offered me one. I gladly took it and promised to let them know if I found the Big Pools. Instead of stopping at the boulder were I had written two days earlier I continued upstream. There was a small, worn out path that was probably a creation of my imagination. Nevertheless it took me deeper into the wilderness. The canyon walls came closer to the river. I had the stick in one hand and the orange in the other. It was ancient mendicant shit: alone in the wild with only a soul to guide. Not only were the canyon walls getting narrower, almost enveloping the river, but they were growing greener. Very green, with plants sticking their heads out of the timeless rock. The stone was colorful too: mineral blues and reds stacked up on top each other in prehistoric swirls and layers. The best 4 bucks I’d ever spent in my life. Perfect for transitioning in and out of wet landscapes. No shoe laces either. Perfect! The river widened and morphed into a pool. I sat and soaked the beauty in. It was all green. There was another pool a couple of feet above, feeding water into the ages. They were both pretty deep, though I couldn’t get past the second one as the water was coming down hard and I didn’t think there was a way up. Well, there’s always a way up. But not always a practical one. I was writing near the first pool as a dragonfly buzzed by. A blue dragonfly. A big blue dragonfly in the middle of Eden. And this was Eden my friends. Even the mosquitoes only took what they needed. A bite. Or two. The orange was a bit acidic, picked early from the tope of the tree. It was delicious nonetheless. I threw the seeds into the river. Maybe they’d plant themselves downstream and it’d be raining oranges. After the snack I stripped to my bare bare bottom, buttass nekkid, and jumped into the fountain of youth. The water was freezing but manageable and refreshing. I didn’t want to tell a soul about this spot. I wanted it all for my own. But I made a promise, a promise sealed with an orange, a promise I had to keep. I also promised myself to return before hiking out the valley.

more to come