"Stop the van!"

"Hey, stop the van!" I again cried out.

He ignored me.

"Hey, hey, stop the damn van!" I yelled as the driver was turning onto the grass berm to go around the accident.

The two Australians in our party said nothing.

The Balinese dive instructor who sat in the passenger seat quickly glanced back at me and saw me seething; he then said something to the driver who finally stopped.

Bren was out in a flash.

"What the hell is your problem?" I spouted with fury to the driver as I exited and punched the side of the van.

We had been returning from our dive on the U.S. Liberty wreck in Tulamben, on the northeast coast of Bali. Dusk was rapidly approaching and we were ironically just outside the now infamous area near Sukawati, casually discussing the politics of Southeast Asia, when I saw through the side window of the van two motorbikes going in the opposite direction collide. Both parties went flying through the air as the bikes skidded across the pavement. Traffic in both directions slowed but still continued as they drove around the parties lying in the road.

The one victim was already up and walking around, while the other was lying prone in the middle of the road, writhing and wailing in pain. As I approached I could see the teen-age girl was lying motionless in a puddle of blood. Traffic continued to weave around her, however; no one would stop. Bren and I tended to the girl in the middle of the road, primarily trying to stop the bleeding from her head and leg, and prevent her from going into shock. Cars then began to slow even more and a group of people began to huddle in around us, for it became an entertaining sideshow. They wouldn't stop for someone helplessly sprawled out in a puddle of their own blood in the road, but they would to look at the two foreigners who did. Knowing that there were no ambulances, I barked out directions for a vehicle to take her to the hospital. At first, no one moved. They just stared at me curiously. For a moment, I felt like I did after the theft of the bags when everyone anxiously encircled us but did or said nothing. The young girl was losing blood quickly and I couldn’t stop it. That cringing thought and the inaction of the people around me caused me to simply flip out and I yelled bitterly at those around us. The dive instructor immediately picked up the cause, and shouted in Indonesian for some action. The three of us then carefully moved her to the side of the road where we continued to tend to her while the dive instructor worked on facilitating traffic, which was now crawling along, even stopping, just to get a peek at Bren and me.

A few minutes of chaos passed when a vehicle arrived to transport the girl to the hospital. Bren and I picked her up and moved her through the rear door of the utility vehicle. Bren had to run around and in the front door to finish pulling her through and to fix the position of her head when the driver just took off. I stood standing in shock as Bren faded into the distance of the darkness. I ran back to the van, finding the two Aussies still comfortably seated and informed them all that we had to go to the hospital to get Bren who had been inadvertently swept away in the rescue vehicle. Reluctantly, we turned around and drove in search of the hospital and Bren.

It was difficult coming to grips with the obvious casual view of human life, and it struck me hard. It was downright shocking to witness so many people ignore another human being, one drenched in blood lying helpless in the middle of the road. She was actually in serious danger of being run over and still no one stopped. Yet they would slow to "rubberneck" in observation of us. I reflected back to our second day here when we went diving at Nusa Penida and seemingly indifference of the Indonesians toward human life and their surroundings. Again, was it simply their cultural ways? Did human life really mean so little, or where they merely that blatantly callous?

As horrifying as it seemed, I began to wonder if they were that much different than Americans? I reflected back to a day toward the end of Mary’s case. I was briskly walking downtown to probably the most important meeting of my life. It was a decisive moment in the case and I couldn't afford to be late. As I was standing on the corner of a major intersection waiting to cross the street, I noticed out of the corner of my eye on the far diagonal corner of the same intersection, an older gentlemen trip on the curb and literally fall flat on his face. I watched for a second as he laid motionless on the crowded sidewalk pavement. His body sprawled out on the cold pavement without movement, and people merely began walking around him. I began to weave between the cars crossing the street moving faster with every second he didn't move. I kept thinking surely someone will stop and check on him, especially since he wasn’t moving. Yet, no one did. I reached the next corner, still no one stopped. They looked directly at him lying face down on the concrete and kept going, some even picked up their pace in averting him. I tore across the next crosswalk against the flow of traffic, and as I approached I could actually hear him moaning in pain still lying face down on the ice-cold pavement. I rolled him over to find his face covered in blood. I propped his head with my briefcase, placed my coat around his trembling abdomen, and wiped the blood with my tie. I desperately yelled for assistance, for someone to at least call an ambulance. Not a single person stopped. I saw a man talking on a cellular phone approaching, "Call an ambulance!" I cried out. He turned away from us, I then stood from my crouch and reached out for him, for the phone, and he switched the phone to the hand away from me and scampered quickly past. That man and the faces of those people who walked by are indelibly printed on my mind, their eyes meeting mine and how they casually turned away back to their business of the day. Finally, after a few minutes, an older gentleman stopped and told me that he was a doctor and had called for an ambulance. We waited together for the ambulance, after which I went to my meeting over a half-hour late in a blood-stained white shirt, no tie, and a bloody coat.

I distinctly remember entering the conference room feeling overwhelmingly appalled and distraught. I was trembling from the shock and I just couldn't get it out of my mind, that hundreds upon hundreds of people saw that poor man laying there helpless on the cement and not a single one had even stopped. After explaining to the opposing attorneys the reason for my tardiness, the lead counsel looked at me and said, "That's not sufficient justification for wasting a half-hour of my time, counselor." I sat bewildered in my chair, it was one of those perplexing moments you can't seem to come grips with, I wondered if it was me or them. I sat in my chair motionless, numb, and my eyes locked with the dark embers of his eyes. My stomach churned and suddenly felt nauseous and a surging pain ran to the depths of my being.

Finally, his eyebrow arched and his eyes hardened as he asked, "Are you going to pay for the half-hour, Mr. Fisher?"

Without a word, I stood up, placed my material back into my briefcase and put my bloody coat back on and began exiting through the door of the conference room. He instantly became enraged screaming, "What are you doing? You can't leave, we have a meeting here!"

"Not anymore we don't," I sternly replied.

"I'll see you court! Oh, you’re going to regret this, I assure you of that!" He ranted at me as I walked down the corridor of the law office.

"You'll bet your ass you will," I was thinking to myself. If I wasn't determined before, I certainly was at that point. I was determined to work day and night to battle that idiot and the case to its end. It was at that moment, I knew. I knew that despite my inexperience, despite being up against scores of attorneys, despite them having so much more experience, despite the profound odds, I knew I could win. I realized what separated us. Ironically, it was the precise turning point for me personally in the case, for I would never be intimidated by their presence ever again. And that's all I needed.

Are we really any different, as Americans, than the people of Indonesia? Is it human nature that we care so little for others, or is it that modern man has simply gone astray? I began to wonder if it was me, was I merely an outsider in this world. Why did I chase that thief here and in Perth? Why did I go and help that man laying on the pavement? And how is that I’m now going to a hospital to get Bren all over assisting a woman in the street that no one else seemed to care about? On some abstruse level, I knew that I wasn’t much different than those passing innocently by, I was one of them, so what was it then that compelled me to stop to help or to chase the thieves? They were all questions that still had to be answered beyond a superficial level, and the friction of their presence burned deep within.

And was it connected with Mary’s faith?

I stared out the window of the van at the dark outlines of the rice fields and palm trees of the Balinese landscape, the wonders of this place, the mystique, it all seemed to lay within those fields passing by my view. It’s a place filled with enchantment even in the simplest of views and creates this mystical hue to even the most innocuous aspects of their life. I was fully absorbing this surreal moment, when one of the Aussies turned around in his seat to face me and said smugly, "Ya know Brian, you can't go around saving everyone. You can't save the world."

On the heels of seeing that young girl flung from her motorbike and soar through the air to the pavement, then the flood of thoughts on the callousness of human nature, I felt a sudden tidal wave of emotion surge through my body. Everything within me swelled, ready to explode. I heard the tantalizing call of those partners again, their voices rising in unison and echoing through my mind.

Seeing my obvious displeasure he said, "I only say that for your own good, because you'll only find disappointment otherwise. Frankly, it’s better to just worry about yourself, everything else will take care of itself. It’s enough responsibility to be concerned with one’s own being, Brian."

I calmly rested my head upon the seat and reflected on his statement, and I knew with that first thought about it that I didn’t agree. My prior actions, here and in Perth, told me so. No, I didn’t believe that one’s own responsibility extended only as far as his own skin and those whom he has directly accepted such a duty.

"Oh, so you know that I'll find disappointment from your own personal experience?" I then asked breaking my own personal line of thought.

"No, but of course, I've witnessed it more than having personally experienced it."

"Well, at least you're honest about it. But I don't understand then how you could possibly make a statement like that."

"Let's face it, I appreciate your effort but frankly you are just being naive."

"First of all, why is it always the cynical mind who finds the naiveté in someone being idealistic...showing deference for others?"

"Okay, that's a good point," he said chuckling placing his arm on mine to reassure his sincerity.

"Second, I'm by no means trying to save the world only trying to help out another person in need. I think you are trying to avoid dealing with your own guilt and responsibility by pretending it's a much bigger task, it soothes your guilty conscience to think that it's all too much."

He turned back around facing the front again seemingly pensive. Silence.

I continued, "I guess it's easy to think you wouldn't have made a difference, it much more difficult to truly believe you would have, and after taking the easier path you then search for the justification."

"Yeah, you're probably right about that," he finally replied continuing to face the front, "but it's just not worth the risk, ya know?"

"Not worth the risk?" floated endlessly through my mind, "Not worth the risk? We’re talking about human beings here." 

We rode in silence for a few minutes, and his assertions were seriously disturbing on a personal level. The partners rose up before me once again and forcefully asserted themselves into my conscience. It towered above me like a menacing black cloud; their call, their singular, oppressive voice ringing through my head, "Let us handle this, Brian, we’re only doing it for her...think of her best interests." I felt them within me, I felt them with every word the Aussie spoke, I felt them beckoning yet again for a solemn piece of me. However, I also saw, indeed felt, Mary angelically floating through this darkness. On some basic level, I then knew why I had gone beyond the usual call of duty to help that girl, to chase the thieves, and Mary’s faith showed me the way.

"Look," I said, "I'm just trying to help make a difference and accept what responsibility I personally believe is mine. I don't know where it will lead and you can throw all kinds of labels on it, but I'm just trying to help others while I seek to understand the world I’ve been thrown into. You see, when I see this world, I see so much negativity, so much destruction, physically and emotionally, and sadly enough most of it is self-imposed, self-created. It's no longer the natural negative consequences from just trying to survive as human beings, we have emancipated ourselves from a truly Darwinian environment, we now have the inherent freedom of personal choice. It’s our choice how to act, behave, what to seek and what type of people we want to be. We have the absolute freedom to do whatever we'd like in the world. However, with more freedom comes more individual responsibility. I think that's something we as Americans have yet to come to grips with. That is, the more freedom you possess, the more it's incumbent upon each citizen to be individually responsible, for not only themselves but for the unit, the culture, the society, the country and maybe even the world. We have chosen to avoid dealing with our responsibilities in so many ways, however, we as Americans have so consistently taken the path of least resistance. In general, we, in Australia and the U.S., have made our societies this way, and we are beginning to make the world this way. No one wants to accept responsibility. And no one especially wants to believe that their personal responsibility could extend beyond themselves and their own actions. Can't you see that?"

"Yeah, I definitely see what you're saying, and I even agree...but I think it's just too much to ask people to change. People won’t change unless they are forced to do so; yes, they will always take the path of least resistance. Always."

"Oh, and the cynic returns," I chimed in.

"And I think you are just being naive," he returned.

"Let me ask you this, Australia--and the United States to a smaller degree--is profiting immensely from the Southeast Asian area by basically opening the their markets to a new, brighter, bigger world of products. Without a doubt, we are gaining a huge economic advantage from our influence in this area. As an Australian businessman in this field of interest, would you agree?" I asked.

"Yes, I would agree with that statement."

"Well, don't you feel that we should accept the responsibility of preparing them, preparing those from whom we receive such an economic gain? Don't we have a responsibility to prepare them for the downfall or pitfalls by using these products and the abuse to their people and resources? For example, don't we have the responsibility to show them how to recycle, the harm of cigarettes, the danger of using their resources without replenishing them, and the overall abuse to their culture? These are situations we have created for our own gain. Don't we have a responsibility?"

"Again, you're just being naive, someone else would step in and give it to them, or they'd find other ways to strip their resources and culture."

"How can you honestly say I'm being naive? To take for your own gain, to destroy and strip away pieces of their culture, without offering anything of substance in return, aside from a few lousy bucks, is exploitation. Pure and simple. We are the leaders in exploitation, that's what it's all about isn't it?"

"They get money, they are able to survive because of our business there. We provide them with products they couldn't get before and they have more money in their pockets than ever before--"

"At what price though? And they don't have a choice in the matter either. If they did, they'd probably tell us to get out. They survived before we entered the system, and if I was in their shoes, a few extra dollars surely wouldn't be compensation for the destruction it's bringing. Besides, as the countries leading the world, don't we have an inherent responsibility not to take advantage, not to exploit, and to set the example? What kind of big brother are we that we're always bullying and taking the toys of our diminutive, weaker little brothers. What does it say for us—as a big brother, as human beings?"

"I understand what you're saying, you're just being naive about it, it's much more complex than that."

"Sure, it's more complex, but the principle remains. We have an unfulfilled responsibility, and we can't just rationalize this type of destructive, uncompensated economic gain away, we can't just blindly justify exploitation of the rest of the world. Is it naive to think that we have a responsibility not to exploit the people, the cultures and resources of the rest of the world?"

"No, but it's naive to think that it won't happen."

"I'm not saying it won't happen, just that it occurs to the extent that it does."

"Okay, but what do you think the average citizen of your country thinks about this situation?"

"Well, I think that the average person doesn't really care about the exploitation of another culture so long as they continue to have unfettered access to the material pleasures they now possess. Oh, they may raise an objection, but I don't think they'd raise a finger, I don't think they'd sacrifice some of their material goods to help curb the exploitation."

"Yes!" the Aussie cried out, "There you go, you said it! It's the people of our countries who are really the ones exploiting these countries, we in the business side are only providing what the people as consumers desire. That's why I said earlier it's too much to ask people to change."

"Your point is well taken, but to me the gap in the logic is that I don't think the people of our countries really understand the exploitation or its extent. I certainly didn’t."

"Oh c'mon, they aren't that naive," he quickly interrupted.

"I'm not saying that they are that naive, just that the vast majority are not informed and the ones who are simply don't want the rest to hear about it—they have a stake in the exploitation. Also, these businesses and governments which are making billions of dollars from this type of exploitation certainly aren't going to go out of their way to point it out to the consumers either."

"Yes, this is true. The true problem with the theory is on a practical level just as you suggest. Your government would never admit to the type of widespread exploitation you’re talking about, and big business is simply making too much money. It’s not even just the big business, because you know that in a free market you need financially viable markets to trade with, so it’s the indirect businesses that truly profit from these markets. And no way are they going to come forward to do something. The people will never really discover the true extent of the perversion because it’s such a complex issue that government or business can always find areas to hide within."

"That’s why it’s so important for people like us to step forward and accept the responsibility to bring it to light," I offered.

"It doesn't matter, the bottom line is that people won't change. They won't give anything up...sad to say, but it really doesn't matter, my friend."

"I guess that's where we disagree, I'm not so cynical. I think if you truly explained to the vast majority of Americans that we were exploiting a culture for a few material extras, they would give up some of those things for the betterment of the world and that culture. I really believe that."

"You're right that is where we differ. They won't. Just like the Aussies, they won't give up a damn bloody thing!"

"I would hate to view the world the way you do. It’s idealistic I know, and maybe even naive, but although there are times like today when people act like idiots, I think generally they'll do the right thing. I don't think you do, however."

"You're right, I don't. They won't unless they are absolutely forced to, and I mean pushed to the brink. That's been my experience. I've learned at least that much in life."

"Maybe you have learned that, but you've also now taught that."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," he accepted with a hearty chuckle, "Well, Brian, maybe that's your calling in this world to help those like me change their minds. I commend your commitment, but believe me I'd like to change, it's just that my experience has taught me otherwise."

"I am sure that you do have lots of experiences that have taught you to accept human nature as frail, rigid and unwilling to change, but you've probably also experienced the exact opposite. I think that it's just easier to think they'll never change, then you don't have to absorb the disappointment or the pain if they don't. But what you fail to realize is that you are part of the problem by maintaining that mentality. You are perpetuating the thinking that people won't change; that they are mentally and emotionally frail, and it becomes contagious. You have become part of the problem. Sadly, it goes much deeper because it creates a steadfast reluctance to change or to strive to be better, and then that becomes acceptable. And I don't think that's at all acceptable."

"It may not be acceptable, but it’s reality."

"Sorry, I don’t buy it, I think you’re just willing to accept it as reality because you don’t want to make the effort to help change it. Doesn’t someone have to step up and accept responsibility for others, especially when they are in part the cause of their downfall? Even more, what is our responsibility, individually and collectively, to those who aren’t as strong, for we are all human beings right?"

"We are all human beings," I repeated softly, almost to myself.

He didn’t respond, but rather sat in reflective thought as we finally arrived at the hospital. As we stepped out of the van, he placed his hand on my shoulder and whispered under his breath into my ear, "Just so you know, Brian, I am sorry I didn't get out to help that girl..."

***************

As we entered the dilapidated building, the stench smacked me immediately; it reeked of death. I anxiously walked through the small foyer and waiting room filled with short, wooden benches desperately looking for Bren. I passed beyond the waiting room, and without realizing it immediately entered the "emergency room," a small plain room with four wooden tables, where I found the girl and Bren. It was difficult to believe I was in an emergency room. The paint on the walls was horribly chipped and peeled, the floor was laded with dirt and debris, and the open room contained precious few medical instruments. It was a devastating vision of the standard of medical care in a third-world country.

Bren instantly ran up and flung herself into my arms, "Thank god you came for me, I was so nervous. I didn't even know if you'd find it. Can you believe this place? Isn’t it just unbelievable!"

"It's definitely scary," I replied peering around Bren to see the source of the incessant moaning. It was the girl lying supine on the table just behind her.

"Some guy went to get her some pain-killing medicine, but she keeps falling asleep, Bri," Bren said to me worried.

"What'd the doc say?"

"Nothing. He was in here briefly, thirty seconds at most, and then he went right back to his chair over there in the corner," she said pointing to a middle-aged man sitting in the corner of the room reading a newspaper.

"Anyone else show up for her?"

"No."

"Anybody here find out someone to contact for her?"

"I don't think so. This place is unbelievable, I'm tellin' ya."

We approached the girl, who was flopping around on the table writhing in pain, and after ten frustrating minutes of breaking down our communication barrier and keeping her from slipping into a slumber, we managed to get her parent's phone number.

As Bren went to call the parents with a man who was going to translate, I approached the doctor.

"She keeps falling asleep, this is no good," I said trying to speak in Basic English.

"She okay," he replied.

"No, she's not. I am sure she has a concussion, her helmet was shattered, torn apart, and it's dangerous for her to fall asleep," I was pleading.

"No, no, she okay...I'm doctor."

"You cannot let her fall asleep," I repeated.

"She okay, I'm doctor," he then repeated to me, agitated.

"Fine," I said beleaguered and frustrated realizing that this conversation wouldn’t be much more productive, and I walked back to comfort the girl and make sure she stayed conscious.

Bren returned along with the guy who had the pain-killing medicine. The doctor immediately jumped from his seat and grabbed a syringe from an old, crusty bucket and began to extract the medicine. "What a minute, you don't have a new syringe?" I asked the doctor.

"It okay..." he said injecting the reused syringe into her arm.

I just stood there paralyzed, stunned.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this!" Bren cried out as a policeman walked in with the guy who had collided with her. He instantly began poking and prodding the girl. He observed the blood on her leg and began beating on the contusion with his fist. She let out a blood-curdling scream as he remained impassive simply making a notation in his report. He went over her entire body in this manner, and with each probe, she would scream out in pain. This cycle of investigation and medical care began to weigh heavily on my chest, as it certainly seemed that the victim was the last anyone was concerned over. Still, the girl was twisting around on the table in obvious anguish and the officer continued, persisting in an attempt to interrogate her about the accident.

The dive instructor standing next to me explained that this is the Indonesian way of justice, the parties are brought together immediately by the police who then after listening to the explanation from each party makes a decision of guilt. The guilty party will then be incarcerated. Worse, if he believes that you are lying, off you go to the clinker as well. A trial on the matter can be granted before a judge but it’s not an absolute, it’s within the discretion of the police.

After interviewing us as witnesses and the two parties, it was obvious that he believed the girl for he left taking the guy with him to his vehicle. The parents arrived soon after where we informed them of their daughter's predicament, namely that she shouldn't be permitted to slip out of consciousness. We finally took our leave nearly three hours after witnessing this horrible collision. "Now that was certainly interesting!" I casually mumbled to Bren as we entered the van.

"Thank god we have medical evacuation with our insurance, that's all I have to say."

This bizarre day continued when our van was pulled over by a traffic cop just outside Denpasar, only minutes after being back, strangely enough, in the safety of Kuta. The driver and dive instructor were actually taken into custody and would have been incarcerated if they couldn't have come up with enough Rupiahs. The bribe, as it turned out, was for cigarettes. Our dive instructor explained that when they see a small tourist van, they know the company is making money, so they pull them over and give them the option of a bribe or jail. Naturally, you come up with the dough. Interestingly enough, as soon as the cop got his bribe he shut up shop and went off-duty for the night.

After our twenty-minute parlay with Bali's finest, we came across a roadblock at the very next intersection. It was designed to catch people driving motorbikes without a license. Our instructor explained that a motorbike license is extremely difficult to acquire, so many illegally drive without them, and we soon found out just how many. Just while waiting in line, we observed a guy on a motorbike zoom past us, jump the grass median and fly off into the opposing traffic on the other side to escape the roadblock. Another tried to ram his way through the blockade and a cop with a long metal pole swung it like a baseball bat, cleanly knocking the driver off the bike to the pavement. Yet another tried to turn around. He was caught, yanked from his bike and then continuously punched in the back of the head until he got to the building where the others without licenses were being held. As we arrived back at our hotel, with all the crazy things that occurred already, I half-expected the bag to be sitting at the hotel desk.

It wasn't, and our hopes began to fade that we’d ever see our bag or journal again.

***************

I rotated back into an uncomfortable slouch in the wicker chair on the deck of our bungalow. It had begun to rain and the sheets of water fell in front of me, splashing on my bare legs as I dangled them off the edge. The coolness of the rain dampened the overwhelming heat and the smell of a wet Bali permeated my lungs and created a peaceful feeling within, a soothing stroke to the back of my neck. I hadn’t seen rain in weeks, maybe a month, and it was remarkably beautiful that falling water, it smelled of purity, the world being cleansed and indeed, I felt as if I needed it somehow.

I stood up and walked into the rain, I held my arms up above my head and looked up into the pelting drops, and I felt apart of it, the beauty, the landscape, the smell, I was apart of the purity of this dripping essence of life. I licked my lips and tasted the sweetness of the insipid water, a chemical simplicity and yet the basis of life itself. I licked its purity, its virtue and in that moment…

"Bri, what the hell are you doing?" Bren yelled from within the bungalow.

Yet, I didn’t answer. Instead, I swam amongst the dancing droplets, and even as I looked above to the darkened sky, the black clouds looming overhead, I smiled. I remembered the Grand Canyon, its immensity, its innocent and yet imposing presence, and I recalled being afraid to truly peer into its soul for I knew of the mirror it held up. I knew I was afraid to look within myself, to understand who I was, but in this moment, singing in the pouring rain, I was no longer afraid. I was free. I swung in circles, immersed in the freely flowing water, I was soaked and with each dripping droplet over my face, my body, it became a part of me.

I could sense that I was no longer scared of myself, of what I’d find within. I had an idea now what was beneath the skin of my being, within the heart that beat in my chest. I knew it because I had chased down those thieves, I had run to the aid of the fallen man, and because of the motorbike accident. I thought about my conversation with the Aussie in the van, I thought about my responsibility, and I thought about faith.

"Does pure, absolute ‘faith’ truly exist?" I solemnly wondered.

Maybe on a theoretical level it does, but for us as human beings, it’s an unattainable goal, it’s a state we cannot, alone, achieve. We cannot merely by ourselves manifest the strength to consistently have "faith" for we would always be put in a compromising situation as a result of that faith, a position that others would naturally take advantage of and subvert our feelings and good intentions. No matter how strong an individual may be, without some reciprocation or possibility for that faith to be given back, the "faith" will wilt and die. Between us, as human beings, there is not a more glorious yet destructive force in the universe, because that which can unite and create a bond of energy can also be used against us to break us down to our most primal instincts and desires. We can become with faith, a spiritual energy of purity and without it, animals roaming a planet selfishly consumed with our own personal plight. It is hinged so delicately upon this "faith."

So, for us to have "faith" in one another, we certainly must need to understand that others will on some basic level accept responsibility for another. That is, a piece of this "faith" necessitates that we as individuals understand that we have an inherent responsibility to one another, to selflessly give back, to reach out even when we have nothing to gain. It is this strand, this precious beginning, which creates a baseline of "faith," one that permits an individual to depend upon, one that we together can enjoy the comfort of the human spirit. Again, without it, we turn on one another. We become the savage beast restrained by the chains of fear and genetic impulse, submitting to our natural state of rebellion, and we ingratiate ourselves into the state of discord and tumult that lives and breathes within each of us. It’s within the state of basic "awareness" that the initial strand of "faith" in the world around us exists. It is indeed the truest beginnings, and this element, this genesis was found within the souls of all our great individuals…Jesus, Ghandi, Mother Theresa, Mohammed, and so on.

Indeed, if we are all the same, and we are all on this massive "playground" together, what could be more important than feeling this bond of our communion? Ironically, much like that of the diversity within America, one that creates so much discord and tension, but is the strength, the source of "energy," this "faith" is the bond which creates so much of our differences in religion, culture and beliefs, and yet it’s our profound strength. It’s our bond, it’s the essence of our spiritual revolution. In this respect, maybe Theresa, the girl we met in Melbourne, was right. Within America, and its people learning to grow with one another, is the hope for us all.

In today’s world, each individual is merely based on who they are individually, not on a greater power of the collective. That is, instead of being a composite of the collective, who we are merely amounts to a composite of our individual decisions within each of our artificial environs, our societies. However, that is not to say that we should lose our individual identities--for it’s imperative to our personal growth, but rather that we don’t have the strength of the collective to draw on, to make us more significant, somehow deeper than we are on our own. No matter how many people are around, we still feel inherently isolated, abandoned and alone in this world, that’s precisely why loneliness is our greatest fear, and it exists because we have yet to feel a sense of the awesome power and energy of our collective existence.

However, to see and touch a glimmer of this power, we must have "faith," we must begin to understand ourselves, and for all of this to occur each of us must have a basic idea that others will be there for them. That they’ll step up, even when they don’t have a personal stake in that particular person’s life or circumstance. It’s taking a selfless stand to assist, to become a positive contributor to something greater than yourself. It is taking an "active" role in confronting the darkness, to selfless walk toward the painful world around us. Ironically, it is within this "giving back" that we gather a sense of our "significance," just as occurred with Jay and Lisa. The gift of human compassion and understanding, and our willingness to express it selflessly creates this sense of the human grandeur. Further, even in possessing this "feeling of selflessness," you are giving back for you are implicitly telling others that you will be there for them, to have "faith." It’s a cycle that builds, first as a thought, then as an emotion, and then is communicated to another through one’s heart, and to another and hopefully another—it’s an act of mind, body, and spirit. It’s a commitment to climb onward and up the steely rungs of the Pemberton Tree, to assert ourselves in our evolution—it’s a motion of Oneness. You see, in developing "faith," we are truly building a sense of our communion, one that is our truest form of energy, love, and possibly even our spiritual connection with "God." Indeed, it could very well be the most inspiring lesson we can learn here in this realm.

"Bri, what are you doing?" Bren said again but now embracing me from behind in the rain and filled with an air of confused excitement. I said nothing as we turned together and drenched our souls in the purification of life itself. I felt the purity, I felt the bond, and yes, I felt a piece of "faith." I felt it within me, not somewhere on the outside, not as an abstract thought or idea, it was tangible and I felt it for the first time.

And it was beating within me, within us, within us all.

Copyright © 1999 PbFisher. All rights reserved.