*** BOOK III: The Search For "Destiny" ***

        We flew out of Kathmandu bombarded with trepidation about our visa-limited, one day in India.  We quickly realized that the apprehension was warranted as we inauspiciously arrived in Delhi only to discover that our bags had been ripped into again. This then became our indoctrination to the poorest and most populated country on the planet, and in this oppressive state of unexpected confusion, it would turn out to be more hectic, sensually anguishing, and heart wrenching than we ever could have envisioned. Fortunately, only a few small items were missing from our bags, and instead of becoming emotionally consumed with the repetitive occurrence, we considered ourselves fortunate and eagerly jumped at the opportunity to tour a tiny piece of India. Instead of allowing this event to become the centripetal force that pressured us into an emotionally frazzled ball, we turned the cube of perspective toward a positive outlook.

This was a new land, a new experience, and our Monks had taught us well.

After placing our bags in storage, we took a cab into the heart of Delhi. As we strolled passed the outskirts of town, passed the Hindu temples, and government buildings, it was any other city in Asia, but as we left the perimeter of the new and entered the fortress of the old, the reality of India was instantly heaved upon our beleaguered backs. In that unsuspecting moment, with the next breath of polluted air, we unknowingly bowed our heads to take its albatross around our naive necks. With the windows down, the sights, sounds and smells of India flowed and swirled through the inside of the car wrapping us in its essence. India flows like a torrential, raging river, and once in its waters, its demanding fury grips you absolutely, offering little option but to just hang on. You may be able to gradually steer yourself left or right, but your course, your speed, your fate, are all within its outstretched palm and controlled by an already cocked trigger-finger.

The penury, the utter squalor, sunk its long fingers into my chest and squeezed, as the filthy hands of the impecunious began desperately reaching through the windows of the car, groping, pawing for food, money, anything of value. That same feeling of worthless that I felt as we carried through the back streets of Kathmandu crept subtly into my gut. So, we jumped from the car at the first opportunity where we then found ourselves in the center of this old, stifling city. We had no idea where we were, we just wanted out of the cab, and so here we stood in the heart of the squalor, without a map, without our bearings, utterly confused and at the mercy of this spiraling kinetic energy. We had no choice but to go with the flow of this raging river, to splash along in its cold brisk waters and attempt, as we rolled over this rough white-capped sea, to gather a sense of place.

The life was immediately palpable; it was an intoxicating whiff of verity as the sheer insanity enveloped my being. It was tangible, this orphic confusion, this lack of focus and direction. I looked around, almost cautiously, at the sheer number of people, the bustling activity, and a sense of absolute chaos instantly sucked me into its black hole of madness. I felt like I was looking down from the roof of a building which held me above the crazed movement below, the madness was all laid out before me, seemingly separate, and yet I stood in the middle of it. As we walk the crowded streets, the eyes of the poor follow us, they lingered and haunted me, I am touched, I am pulled, "Please, mister, food, please," a woman desperately pleaded.

Another stops Bren and motions to her mouth with her hand for food.

"I will die," this filthy, frail woman agonizingly cries out.

I turn to see her fragile eyes filled with starvation, her spirit sapped and her dignity ripped from her breast, probably from birth. I gaze one way, I am touched another, I hear the overwhelming noise, and I taste the heavy breath of millions. I am touched again, I turn, yet there’s no one but a throng of people, people everywhere. I feel hands on my jeans, hands on my shirt, we push our way through the enveloping mass, and I see Bren’s confusion, she stands before me utterly bewildered. I am touched yet again, no one, everyone. The narrow, drawn eyes follow me. They're everywhere. We reach a small store and I drag Bren in where we can catch our breath, we can regain a sense of direction and recapture ourselves.

After a few deep breaths, we smile to one another and emerge back into the fray still dazed. The intoxicating smells of filth, rubbish, and urine sweep into our nostrils and overwhelm. The sounds, the constant begging, and pleading for food, for anything, follow us unmercifully. The screaming noise, the hustling and bustling of this massive city pursues us; everywhere we turn there's a new smell, a new sound, and a new face. But the eyes remain. They always remain the same, these windows into the soul all filled with undaunted desperation. From the emaciated starving to the indifferent elite, the people of India all wear the dearth, the suffering, on their faces. Its weight is now thrust upon our meager shoulders, and I feel despair cling to my soul, its tentacles sliver beneath my skin and attach to my spirit. I'm utterly torn, my body aches and my spirit unsettled, yet there's no escape. This world leans on me, I sense it, I feel it absolutely, and whether for money, in distrust or even disdain, the palpable pressure never subsides. The intensity rips through my body like a frenzied fire and with each exhaled breath, naturally it grows. So, this tumultuous river flows and ravages. It takes no prisoners and emotionally devastates.

Everywhere we go someone wants money—hands everywhere reach out to us, groping fingers touch our bodies for something, anything. And they subtly bully you into giving it. For all the compassion and humility that storms through my body, I feel the pressure rise, take control and torment my patience. The sheer momentum of this inalienable pressure overwhelms the good, my sweet passion for these people, and bullies it into a dark corner. I feel my body collapsing, giving in to the mounting weight, and it consumes all. Nothing else seems to live within me but this pressure. In just a few moments in this powerful world, the good, compassionate part of my being is gone, banished to the inner nadir of my being.

This, I began to sense, is just India.

In the early evening after a harrowing and draining day within the depths of Delhi, we took a cab back to the terminal for our flight to Bombay. We pulled into the terminal and I paid the driver the fare along with a tip.

He hopped from the car and held his hand out to me as I retrieved our bags from trunk.

"What? I already paid you!"

"Not enough," he replied.

"Yes, it is. I paid the fare, you even got a tip," I said my patience having been worn to a delicately thin strand, and this assault now seemed senseless.

"More?" he begged.

"No! Get out of here, I'm not giving you any more."

I quickly looked at Bren, "I gave him more than all the tips we gave in Nepal combined. And he wants more!"

He persisted and followed us into the terminal leaving his car, "You must give me more," he pleaded.

Bren saw my face and quickly said, "C'mon babe, just calm down."

My senses were in shatters, my nerves frazzled, I just couldn't simmer down and I lashed out, "Listen, that's it, no more!"

He ran in front of us and began pulling on our rucksacks to get us to stop.

"What your problem?" I yelled tersely, tittering ever so close to the brink.

He persisted without compunction and wormed his way in front of Bren and was about to touch her or pull her bag, when I quickly jumped in between and screamed, "That's it! You better get the hell out of my face asshole, and I'm not kidding."

He knew I was upset, but unfazed he continued to push on, as he reached around me to grab at Bren. I shoved him back, I seethed, and I moved swiftly after him determined to physically end his blatant taunting. His guile was beyond my experience, indeed beyond my comprehension. Bren grabbed me and held me from behind, "Bri, you can't do this, we'll never get out of here if you do. You can't!"

I knew she was right and yet I continued to drag Bren in tow, moving toward him filled with fury as he calmly slid backward.

"Stop baby, c'mon, he's not worth it," Bren desperately pleaded.

I stopped, reluctantly, and calmed to a mere boil. The driver then returned yet again and begged to Bren, who now shielded me from the pesky man.

"A little more, just a little more," he begged from a slouched, Gollum-like position in front of Bren.

I stood shocked; bewildered by his outrageous resolve, and Bren obviously felt the same as I thought that she was going to start swinging at any moment. Then, I suddenly had the strange feeling he was after more than just money, and I saw him glance at Bren's bag cravingly. So, instinctively I did what would get rid of him the quickest, I reached into my pocket and gave the cravenly man the last of our Indian money, the money for our dinner. Without a notion of thanks, he jumped up from his slouched position in front of Bren and ran from the terminal with a proud smile adorning his square brown face.

Bren and I immediately fell into a seat by the back wall of the terminal exhausted. I had lost. I felt horrible for losing control, and I felt ashamed for allowing myself to be manipulated into giving the money, for reinforcing his greed. There were so many others I could have given the money to, so many who were truly in need and I permitted this slovenly, avarice man to take it from me. His face haunted me. I was humiliated, and I was still bound tight in frustration.

I felt ravaged, tattered, and beaten down.

However, this uncompromising ball of frustration just kept rolling with abandon. After trying to call the airport operator to connect me with our airline so that we could reserve our seats for the flight to Nairobi, I was abruptly cut off and hung up on five separate times. The pressure began to rise again, and quickly matters were reaching a serious, almost desperate level. We didn't know whether we were even on the flight roster into Nairobi, and our Indian visas expired at midnight. We had yet to confirm our reservation and could easily be bumped from the flight and stranded in India without a visa. I then went to get some food with a couple of U.S. Dollars, I was willing to grossly overpay, but I was rebuffed at each food stall and my frustration grew wild. Just then, in my moment of gross despondency, an announcement came over the loudspeaker and echoed through the small building indicating that our flight to Bombay had been canceled.

I dropped to the ground, slouching to the tile floor, crushed in disbelief. After only one day, the albatross had brought me to my knees. Bren saw me and came in a rush over to me where I was laughing hysterically about our predicament, sprawled out on the floor of the terminal.

Bren panicked, "What are we going to do? We've got to get out of here, Bri!"

I ran my hands through my hair as I listlessly reached my feet, and laughed, "If that asshole at the embassy could only see us now, boy would he love this..."

"Bri, c'mon, what are we going to do? Seriously," Bren urged her face filled with the horror of being stranded here and the growing seriousness of our predicament.

For some odd reason, the Tioman monk popped into my head like a flash of lighting through a dark night sky. The thunder roared through my being, and I lifted my head to Bren and said calmly, "It's all going to work out."

"How? How Bri, 'cause I don't see it. Bri, I really don't see it. What are we going to do?" Bren said still riddled with panic.

"I don't know how, but it will. I know it. Somehow, I just do."

Bren would say later that it was the look in my eye. It was as if we were back in the Himalayas when she looked deep into my eyes about whether to spend another night on the mountain. She calmed. Suddenly, with everything in the world seemingly crashing down on us, we were freed, released; the storm was quelled.

Faith.

We spent the next two hours desperately explaining, fighting with practically every person from the airline to get us on another flight into Bombay, and as luck or the "underlying pattern of the universe" would have it, two people canceled allowing us to be bumped on. We were immediately rushed through the gates and security onto a bus for the plane. I sat down into the small seat mired in fatigue and defeat, I looked up to the sign above me: "Kindly check under your seat as there may be a bomb; if so, please inform the authorities."

I just started laughing uncontrollably.

"What's so funny?" Bren asked.

I pointed to the sign, and Bren actually became gripped in fear. I couldn't help but laugh, "In a country of nearly one billion people, you'd think that they could get one of them to check the bus before people get on!"

Lost in a world of madness, of crushing desperation, of a mind-numbing reality that stretches far beyond normal comprehension, an impassive consternation that flows from the lips of these people and their perplexing way of doing things, it had clearly driven us to the edge. I sat on the plane to Bombay, and I could only laugh to maintain any sense of sanity. I'd spent only a day within this world of wonder, and I already knew that this classic drama was the beating heart of India.

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

After an all-night flight we arrived in Nairobi, Kenya where several taxi drivers met us, all of whom coveted taking us into the city. The catch was that for a discounted fare we had to accept the Safari outfit of their choice, naturally the one where they would get the biggest commission. After haggling, we cautiously decided to go with a well-dressed Kenyan in his mid thirties, who agreed to take us to a Safari company that was already on our "recommended" list. We have developed over the course of the trip an attitude of caution towards these recurrent situations, but we have also learned, as with the restaurant owner in Thailand, to hedge our bets against something going wrong and only then go with the flow. As it turned out, our worries were completely unfounded. He became our own personal cabby, and surprisingly a genuine ally in the fray of not getting "ripped off" in the scathing competition for safari dollars. With the aid of our new Kenyan friend we went to the Safari outfit where we arranged a 5-day tour of Masai Mara Game Park as well as Lake Nakuru beginning first thing in the morning. We opted against climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania or trekking at Mt. Kenya since we had just come from the trek in the Himalayas, so this short tour suited us perfectly as it gave us ample exposure to the best game park in East Africa at this time of year.

Our friendly driver, Bugtu, then gave us a tour of the city and invited us to a local watering hole afterward. Nairobi is a small city with roughly 1 million people, but it is the largest city between Cairo and Johannesburg. It has outgrown its third-world status, as it is now the cosmopolitan hub for all of East Africa. What needs done, gets done here in Nairobi—exchanging money, getting books, sending mail, or even eating the diverse African food. Nairobi, however, isn't much to look at unless you do it from the nearby plains where you can observe a sight as nowhere else in the world: lions, elephants, and giraffes running the open plains uninhibited with modern steel skeletons towering in the background.

As evening approached, Bugtu took us into what appeared to be a small wooden shack on the rough outskirts of Nairobi. We walked through the narrow, dark corridor into a room that was open to the darkening sky above. Bugtu quickly guided us to a table conspicuously in the center, and as I glanced around I couldn't help but notice how much we stuck out—we were the only white people in the place. Yet the environment was comforting. I felt a discernible ease in the air, an uplifting ambiance; indeed, I felt that we weren't out of place at all. Strangely, it was a refreshing touch of liberation, as it wasn't something I was used to in the States. This would be the first of many feelings that radically annihilated the common perception of Africa as the "Dark Continent."

Bugtu had invited a couple of friends, and as we were finishing our first round of Tusker Lagers, a Kenyan beer, they joined us. We ordered two huge portions of "barbecue" (basted grilled beef and chicken), which was served along with a vegetable mash (which looked and tasted similar to salsa) and maize. We sat around the table eating the delicious spread and casually discussed our upcoming Safari, as well as probing into our long unanswered questions about each other’s countries.

"Would this be a traditional meal for Kenyans?" I casually asked.

"Oh yes, we like to eat all the meats and lots of beer," Bugtu said with a hearty chuckle, "In fact, Bu here, has gotten gout from eating so much meat and now can only eat a little."

"Yeah, and it's killing me, but I can still drink lots of beer!" Bu cried out with laughter.

They were a jovial bunch, in fact, all the Kenyans seemed to be so, as others from the bar casually stopped at our table to introduce themselves and welcome us to Kenya. It was all so laid-back and friendly, the people were open and communal—even in the city, it distinctly reminded me of the people in Fiji. They emanated an extraordinary energy, this benevolent warmth was all around them, and it flowed directly to us. I hadn’t felt this powerful sense of "happiness," this "love," since Bali. It was an oddly distinct feeling, one that penetrated to my core emotions and I couldn’t help but feel that in these seemingly lost lands that they had found something, something remarkably soul advanced.

"We definitely like our beer," Bugtu said raising his mug for a quick toast, "Although it's now a big problem because many are becoming alcoholics."

"Really, how'd so many become alcoholics?" Bren then asked.

"We have several breweries here and you can always find beer no matter where you go in Kenya. It's always around. It's become a big problem, almost as big as our politics," he exclaimed loudly as everyone broke out in laughter one more time.

We knew the political situation was a bit tenuous in Kenya (from the British Embassy) with recent outbursts of violence in Mombasa in particular, but Bugtu assured us that it had nothing to do with tourists, "Not to worry my American friends, you are safe from the Kenyans."

Interestingly, at that moment, the words hung in the air, and I thought about the situation with our fate resting in Bugtu’s grip. Crime is a huge problem in Nairobi, we were now in an awkward predicament as we were slinging down beers with proficiency, and had to rely on a man we just met hours ago. Yet, I trusted Bugtu. I respected his "Way," and somehow, this potential peril wasn’t a worry for either Bren or me. We felt safe, secure.

"Bugtu, let me ask you, are you part of a tribe?" I asked curiously.

"Oh yes, all in this room are part of a tribe. We three are part of the same tribe," he said motioning to his friends.

"What tribe would that be?" I asked.

"Well, it's a derivative of the Masai tribe. You see, there are many tribes, but most of them have tribes formed from those main ones. There are really hundreds if not thousands of them."

"Each with their own traditions and rituals?"

"Yes, and even their own language! There's probably over a thousand different languages spoken in Africa, if you can believe that."

"Has it been difficult making the transition into the ‘modern’ city?" Bren then asked.

"Yeah, you guys all seem like you made the transition pretty well into the ‘modern’ world if the way you dress is any indication--" I joked looking at Bugtu’s nice suit and Bu’s jeans and T-shirt.

"Well, we want to look like you!" Bu joked as grabbed me and put me a loose headlock and rubbed my head with laughter. With our table becoming a bit raucous, others were now moving in to listen intently to our conversation.

"No, we keep our traditions," Bugtu followed on a more serious note, "but it's important for us now to mix into the ways of the city to support our families. You see, family is the most important, most sacred part of being in a tribe, and it doesn't stop with just your immediate family. In fact, in Kenya, many go to the city, like me, to make money to support ten, or many more, family members. This is not uncommon."

"Wow! Are you married?" I then asked.

Bugtu chuckled, "Well yes and no."

"I don't understand, you're either married or you're not," Bren said.

"Maybe in your country, but not here in Kenya. You see, am I legally married, well, yes. But am I married according to the traditions of my tribe? The answer is, no."

"Hmm. So which one takes precedence?" I inquired.

"It depends on who you talk to," Bu said to the amusement of the crowed which had gathered around us, "And I think we need another round of laaagers!"

"Let me buy those," a well-dressed gentlemen said from the throng that had gathered around us to listen. The room had developed an all-encompassing energy, a pervasive warmth. The black faces all surrounding us, their white teeth shining broadly, their limbs dancing, and the roar of laughter filling this small wooden pub gripped my soul. I felt a part of their world so much like I did with the villagers in Kadavu. They created a sense of family with us, and indeed, they created a oneness with total strangers. The feeling with Jay and Lisa returned, that significance, that awareness, and as I looked around with wide-eyed wonder at these dancing joyful souls I wanted so desperately to scream aloud to the open heavens above, for I felt so alive. On my first day on the "Dark Continent," my first day within the borders of East Africa, I knew that this experience was a resounding affirmation of the people within this mysterious land. Fiji, Bali and now Kenya, there was distinctive tie, a bond, I felt from these countries, one that was a part of me, and maybe always was. Indeed, I felt the ghosts of my eluding past rise up within me, cast their wholeness, their presence forth, and become a part of this magical union.

"But seriously," Bugtu said interrupting my mystical feeling with a perfect smile, "it does depend on who you're talking to because if an issue arises that deals with the law, well I'm married, but for any other reason I'm not."

"So you are married according to Kenyan law, but you do not consider yourself married. Why?" I probed.

"Well, in my tribe to be married, first you must become a warrior for a number of years before you can even propose marriage, but this tradition is slipping a bit with many like myself having to cope with the modern world. Anyway, to marry you must make a formal proposal to her father, who will then set the amount for the ‘offering’ you must make in order to marry his daughter. This is usually paid in livestock or something like that."

"Really," I said with a genuine smile of interest, "So how much do you have to pay?"

"I must give him twenty cattle and a few other smaller things...but it will take me many years to make good on the offer."

"How close are you now?" I asked my mind ablaze with curiosity.

"About half way, it's taken me about four years so far. But to my tribe until I give the final cow, I am not married. But that doesn't mean that I don't have a family. That's very important to understand, my friend."

"So, you have a ‘family’ before being married. For you, marriage doesn't necessarily make a family?"

"Oh yes, that’s it. But, whatever gave you this impression that it would be any other way?" he said to the others around us who all belted out with a laughter.

"I guess it's just the way we live in America—for us, most don't believe you have a 'family' until the parents are legally married."

"Now that's interesting!" Bu cried out as everyone doubled over with laughter.

"Seriously though, our commitment to family is sacred. Number one," he said with his long index finger held into the air.

"When I had my first child with my legal wife, married or not by the tribe, that's it. She's the mother to my children and this becomes my family. My first obligation is always, always to my family, then my tribe. Later, when I finish the offering, I will marry my legal wife in the traditions of my tribe, but that's between her and me. Once we are married, that's forever. She will always be my wife, always the mother of my children.... I love her."

With his closing, Bugtu drifted off in sweet contemplation of his wife, his family.

"Will there be a ceremony after the offering is complete?" Bren then asked.

"Oh yes, for a time, she must do whatever I ask, a way of thanking me for making the offering. Then, a big celebration where she must feed me; it's a sort of symbolic act."

"So, Bugtu," I interjected with a sly smile, "and you'll like this Bu, if you are not really married, you can do what you want, go out with the boys, hmm, maybe other women?"

"Ooh," Bu cried out with laughter, "What you say now Bug, what you say now!"

"Well, my obligation is to my family...to preserve it."

"So others are out, you remain monogamous, that is, just with your wife," Bren asked.

He smiled softly, his gaze caught in mine, "I didn't say that, my only obligation is to my family."

"Oh, c'mon Bug, spill it, spill it!" Bu taunted.

Bugtu only smiled. I smiled back. I already understood.

"I'm not sure I'm following you," Bren interjected.

"Look, what he's saying is," Bu quickly offered, "that if his wife would come into the bar and he was with another woman, I would say the woman was with me. You see now?"

"You'd lie," Bren said a bit taken back.

I laughed out loud, "Well, no matter how far you travel, no matter how different things seem, they stay the same!"

"Oh Brian, he understands!" Bu cried out as he high-fived me.

"Yeah, guys will be guys, or guys will be little boys I should say," Bren said humorously with a jab to my rib cage.

"Oh, she fights back, feisty, feisty," Bu continued on rousing Bren.

"You must understand, in that situation I would be preserving my wife's dignity, protecting my family. I love her, she is the mother of my children, and anything else is of little consequence."

"Yes, but if you cared so much about her dignity, you wouldn't do it in the first place," Bren quickly added.

"Well, I understand your point, but I am away from my family for a long time trying to support many, to us it's not a big deal. My heart is with my wife, I love her and only her, and I think it would be more false of me to ignore the realities of the world in which I live, and deceive or lie to my wife. That is dishonor or lack of respect. I would never do that!"

"I guess the big question then is," I began, "after you are married in your tribal tradition, would you remain monogamous to her?"

"Yes!" he said without hesitation. "That's not to say that others would feel the same as I do, that's my personal belief, but no matter what others do, the people of my tribe honor the family. It is always first. It is sacred," Bugtu said holding his closed fist to his heart.

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

We bounced along the deeply gouged, brown dirt of the Serengeti Plain in the Masai Mara Game Reserve. Seven of us sat in the open-air van, and after a two-hour drive from Nairobi we were finally in the flat, open grassland of East Africa. We had arrived at the optimal time as the renowned annual wildebeest migration had taken place, where the wildebeest migrate up from Tanzania to the "Mara." They bring with them the rest of the food chain, and it creates one of the most spectacular sights in the entire wildlife kingdom. I stood up and felt the warm air of Africa swim into my lungs with each breath; I looked around, and it all seemed strangely familiar. It harbored an alluring appeal to me personally, the flatness, the open yellow grasslands that stretched seemingly forever, the distinctive flattop Acacia trees, and the huge blue dome engulfing us. They were the only signs of confinement, these characteristic elements of nature, of East Africa, seemed to be all that held this mysterious open land together. It jumped out at me, this roaming landscape, and like an odd, incongruous drumbeat that yet seemed strangely in tune. For some unknown reason, my mind lit up with Aponu and Bugtu’s brilliant smiles, their sparkling white smiles and their ringing laughter. Their laughter now seemed to somehow echo across the naked land in front of me, and accentuate this beating drum within. I felt their spirits; they were with me in this land, this unique land where the beast roam free, where our being is brought home, back to its roots. I then understood this intemperate thumping for it was the heartbeat of my auspicious beginnings.

As we entered the park, the van quickly filled with palpable electricity, for our brief experience with wild animals was scarcely limited to visits of the zoo. Here it was conspicuous, wild, free, and our carnal instinct to witness the torrid passion of the beasts of the "Mara" bush ripped through us all with unmatched adrenaline and expectation. It was one of the few places on the trip that as I was experiencing it, I couldn't believe the moment was upon me.

"Look, it's a zebra!" someone called out as if we'd never seen one before. In synch, we all then jumped up to our feet and rushed to the one side of the van and peered out beneath the raised roof enraptured with a creature we'd all seen hundreds of times.

"Snap, snap, snap," cameras raced to capture this universal shot.

"Look at just how many there are--"

"There's hundreds," another said.

"About a thousand," our driver, Zurlu Baba, more accurately pointed out.

"Hey Zu, why do they have the black and white stripes?" I casually inquired.

"You will almost always see the zebra in a herd, because the stripes help them to blend together, and make it difficult for the predator to zero in on any one. That's why you'll see many other animals around the zebra too," Zu offered.

"What's that?" someone called out pointing to a couple different animals.

"That's a Thomson's gazelle over there," Zu said pointing to a small, light-footed, gazelle, "you can always spot a Thomson's by the black slash on its side separating the brown back and white belly. Those over there," Zu said pointing to the other side of the road, "are topi—they are a sassaby, and as you can see with a dark glossy coat and rounded horns."

"What the hell is that?" Someone yelled from the back of the van.

"Oh," Zu said with a robust chuckle, "that, my friends, is a wart hog."

"My God, they look bloody ridiculous," another fired out about the pig-like animal with huge wart-like bumps dotting its face and two tusks.

"Ahh, I love them. They're precious," the British woman said endearingly.

"Look at that!" Bren said laughing hysterically at the wart hog, who had turned and begun trotting away with their thin, narrow tail blazing straight up into the air.

"It's like an antenna! That's absolutely hysterical."

We drove on, now the car filled with grand expectation; this small taste had moistened our desire for more. We now had a sense of this untamed part of our globe, and desired to sample it all.

"My God, look over there," someone cried out to the dark line which flowed continuously over the hills in the distance, over the grasslands in front of us and culminated in a large group of wildebeests congregating on a dry grassy knoll.

"Jeez, that line has to be a couple kilometers long!"

"More than that I'm sure," Zu interjected, "It's all part of the migration of the wildebeest, now you can see just how many there are!"

"They look prehistoric, don't they?" I offered observing the thick yellow beard-like mane that hung from their oversized heads with small horns and their skinny knobby legs.

"They act almost as funny as they look," someone said pointing to a couple of them bucking wildly, snorting, and running literally in circles.

"I just can't believe how many animals there are, it's unbelievable really," Bren offered.

"Yes, you are lucky, you've come to Kenya at the best time. The very best," Zu excitedly replied.

We moved onward, and now after a small taste, we’d go in search of some of the more elusive game animals. Our goal for the trip to Mara, established by Zu, is to see each of the Big Five, so attributed for the value of their skins to the big-game hunters: elephant, lion, hippo, buffalo, and the leopard. No one dared sit, even as we bounced hard over the rutted dirt road, instead we all stood up through the raised roof, gazing out over the expanse of the Rift Valley in sheer awe, immersed in expectant silence. A magnetic energy rippled through the van leaving us all frightfully jittering for what we'd see next, what sight lurked just through the cover of the next golden bush.

As I looked over the "Mara" Reserve, it was painfully evident that technology once again had made its inroad into nature as we bounced through the sandy-brown rutted tracks which criss-cross the flat tall grass of the plains. The tracks were deeply grooved in the dry, cracked dirt from the ubiquitous minivans filled with tourists running through trenches to where the animals were frequently spotted. It's no longer a pristine haven for the wildlife. Yet, for the Kenyans it's a no win situation. The revenue from the tourists is an integral part of their economy, and to restrict access or even the flow of tourists to the animals is to restrict and limit their own well being. A controversial example is that in the Mara Reserve the vans are permitted to leave the road and venture into the grasslands in pursuit of a close-up view of most of the animals. Very few places in Kenya or anywhere else in Africa offer the mainstream public this exceptional view of the wildlife. It's a serious perk for a tourist, one that is difficult to pass up, the sheer intimacy, the close-up experience with the animals, is a "once in lifetime opportunity." And we soon saw it first-hand.

We jumped out of the ruts and Zu challenged the open wonder of the Kenyan landscape, driving with abandon through the grass to a cluster of Acacia trees. There they sat, silent, still, in the shade, neither opposed nor enticed by our presence. They stared openly through the long blades of prairie grass to the expanse beyond, seemingly content, happy. No one in the van moved, completely entranced, almost afraid to stir, as we moved to within ten feet of the intimidating "King of Beasts." There were eleven in the pride all sitting comfortably among three half-eaten, gutted wildebeest. Two cubs playfully bantered back and forth, rolling and slinging paws at one another. The lead females sat at the front of the group, calm, ears perked upward, their shiny tawny coats glistening softly in the warm glow of the sunlight. Their beauty was unprecedented; they seemed almost docile.

"Can you believe this?" someone cried out in disbelief.

"They are incredible, I would have never thought they could be so beautiful."

"I know I can't take my eyes off them!"

"Did the females catch the wildebeest themselves?"

"Yes, the females do all the hunting," Zu offered, "and as you can see they prefer the wildebeest...or zebra. But to bring down some of these bigger animals like a wildebeest, they must hunt in a group. They sneak up on the prey while the others cut off the escape routes, then one will charge and knock the wildebeest down, and with a quick bite to the throat it's done."

As we were talking about the hunting prowess of the female lion, a male approached and entered the ring. He was stunning; his flaxen coat, the thick, robust mane encircling his full rich face, and even his prodigious tail waving proudly through the air added character to this powerful beast. The lead female then in response rose from her comfortable position and moved in toward the male.

"Oh, we may have something here!" Zu excitedly remarked.

The male sniffed the wildebeest closest to him and snapped its powerful jaws around the wildebeest’s neck and picked it up. The female moved in even closer.

"Ooh, something's going to happen," Zu said as he inched the van even closer to the action.

The male then dropped the wildebeest and stared at the female. They stood toe to toe. Not a sound from inside the van or out. Silence. Moments passed as the lions locked stares, then suddenly the male snapped up the wildebeest again and coolly glided out of the ring. The male passed directly in front of the van, the hollowed trophy dangling in its mouth and the guts dragging along the ground in tow.

"Ooh, look at this," Zu excitedly whispered as he started the van back and spun around cutting the male lion off. The lion immediately stopped, dropped the beast from its powerful grip, and looked up at us menacingly, its thick mane waving in the gentle breeze and its eyes pierced through each one of us. Bren shivered in the thick tension-biting moment. He was agitated and his deep yellow eyes stared us down, almost taunting us, begging us to step from the van.

"Zu, what would happen if I, or rather Bren, stepped outside the van right now, would he attack?" I asked with chuckle.

Bren turned and gave me a cold stare.

"Oh, I don't know if he'd attack you...or her," he said with a small laugh, "because he has dinner in his mouth, but it would be very, I mean very dangerous, to do so. Let me tell you this, it's not something I would ever do!"

The poised lion then cockily picked the beast up again in its jaws still eyeing us, fully composed, watching us as he continued his path around the van.

"Let's go, let's go Zu, let's get 'em," I frantically cried out.

"You like this...huh?" Zu replied.

"Hell yeah, we can't stop now!" another yelled.

"Look at him, look at him. He's simply majestic, that's what he is!"

Zu fired up the engine and quickly swung around toward the lion, this time short of cutting off his path. However, it mattered not as the lion came to a stop again. He stood staring at us, proud, stoic, imperious, the beast still hanging solidly from his mouth—this was indeed his badge of honor. He was showing off, he wanted us to acknowledge his trophy. Yet, his intangible whisper echoed through the van tempting us, daring us, to move a little closer, to block his path just a little more.

"We move no closer!" Zu sternly mumbled.

"Yeah, no shit!" another said, as we all clung desperately to the one side of the van, the seven of us crunched in lining the top of the van, captivated.

"Click, click, click," our cameras sounding off were just enough to excite our friend, as he dropped the beast to the ground with a thud, and let out a low resonating groan.

"Oh my God, did you hear that!" someone said in cringing disbelief.

An instinctive shot of pure fear slice through the group. Bren's face turned pale as she tightly gripped my forearm and moved in closer to me.

"I say again we move no closer," Zu repeated almost to himself. This time no one uttered a word.

The "King of the Beasts" stood proud, he had certainly made his point, as he again snapped up the wildebeest and proceeded confidently toward the underbrush just ahead of him.

"Wow, he really means business!"

"Yeah, let's roll around for one more shot," another excitedly offered, "but Zu, do you think he could jump up through the opening here?"

A reserved laugh filled the van until...Zu answered in the affirmative where a collective groan instantly overtook the hesitant smiles.

"Well?" Zu inquired, "Do we challenge the beast one more time?"

"Definitely," I said as we turned and moved to the edge of the underbrush, where Zu killed the engine and we watched the proud lion strut toward us. He was amazingly collected, almost frighteningly so. We watched engaged, mesmerized by this beast in the wild that strolled by only feet away from our window. It was thrilling, yet horrifying. His grace, his pride dominated, he knew it, and we all did to, and indeed, this was the "King of the Beasts."

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

I laid next to Bren on the ground of our two-man tent looking at the shadow of the Masai warrior, who stood in the woods just beyond to protect our camp from lions. I am struck yet again by an overwhelming disbelief that we’re actually in Africa. It's a special place, this inspirational berth of beauty, this land of purity where the wild roam free. With this feeling of inspiration and strength, I am consumed with the previous night's discussion with Bugtu. I toss and turn, but the shadow of the warrior remains, his spear, his headdress clearly outlined upon the tent canvas. I am attacked by the thought that the first African I met here in the heart of the Dark Continent, this land of the obscure, I sat talking about family values. It was profoundly ironic that one of America’s biggest problems is handled so simply in the "backward and lost" land of Africa. The thought strangled me. It left me groping for answers, for what more lay deep in the pith of this mountain of darkness?

One of the largest and most damaging aspects of our obsession with economics is that although we are given this pervasive "power," within our land and beyond, we have had to sacrifice greatly to acquire it. It is clear, especially here in Africa where their lives work up from a simple base much like in Bali, while ours work downward from a complex one—America’s money pyramid. One of the undeniable pitfalls of our ever-expanding economic empire has been the deterioration of the "family"; and with it, our societal base. For Bugtu and the Masai warrior, the family is the basis for their tribal life; it is the beating heart of their existence. This sense of family is created when the first child is born. At that point, the family has an impenetrable ring of protection, from grandparents downward and outward preserving the family’s integrity with the inclusion of that child. The family is always the first consideration. This thought process begins with the immediate family, and then extends to the outer family and ultimately with the tribe. It is a way of life that preserves the foundation of their family, the tribe, the society, and their philosophical way of life.

I think about the lions, how the lead females took the furthest point outside the ring, while the cubs and the meat of the wildebeest were harbored securely on the inside, protected. The Masai warrior bends to a knee, his shadow looms over the entire side of the tent, and he stares into the wild expanse of the prairie. He searches the darkness for impending danger, and he becomes that wall of protection. The outer lions would sacrifice their lives for their cubs, to preserve their creation and the next generation. In the Kenyan tribes and the den of lions, it’s not the "marriage" or the "relationship" which bore the offspring that is the focus, rather it's the entire entity, the family. Marriage is a man-made construct designed to stabilize this precious base of society, the family. As such, it is not necessarily an end in itself. The actual marriage decree becomes merely what those two partners personally decide that relationship to be; the power is solely theirs to consummate the parameters of its creation. In America, is the illusory concept of marriage being ravaged so thoroughly that we no longer understand, or can even see, the purpose of this virtuous and chaste doctrine? Simply, has marriage lost its meaning, its distinctive role in binding not only the two together, but binding the family, and the basis for all of American society?

Once a child is brought into the world, shouldn’t the parents then fully shoulder the responsibility of their product, their offspring? Shouldn’t this be held absolutely sacred? This should be so regardless of any marital decree between the partners, and shouldn’t this be our focus—raising a ring of protection for our delicate progeny? It is the way of life not only for the lions and animal kingdom, but also for the Africans and their families. It bears out, in the animal kingdom and the tribes of Kenyans, an inherent logic that is difficult to dismiss. I now see the warrior's spear, its shadow dances on the tent and strikes out at the evil that lurks, and still I feel safe. Much like in the pub in Nairobi, I felt the circle of protection around me, embracing my existence and cradling me within its loving arms. In our "modern" world where life is led so freely, where a plethora of decisions confront us each day, and the fast pace of American society swings us onto the traffic-jammed highway of life, we've lost the essence of our character as Americans. That is, the bonds that forged unity, that instilled the character, that forced us to strive for the sky, and ultimately, to honor our being. In so many ways, we are quickly becoming the striking antithesis of the ancestors who founded and created the great land of America, and none is as apparent as the declining role of the family.

Presently, in a world where the "adults" can't make heads or tails of their life, their morals, their decisions, or their direction, we must realize that our children will be the ones to suffer. We once had the family, consummated with the first child, protected and preserved, and it was a profound ring that instilled direction and character into the child regardless of outside influence. Now, with so many broken marriages, the selfish motives of the parents dictate the child’s future and these children are inherently abandoned emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Even within families where the parents remain together, the children are left alone in pursuit of the poisoned dream, without this precious outer ring of protection. Ironically, in America, the children bear the mistakes, the gross indifference, and the lack of good moral judgment of their parents. More than any other group, the children in America are made to suffer from the overbearing weight of our materially obsessed world. Even worse, the sanctity of marriage is being undermined and destroyed because of inherent pressures built in our society and our personal narcissistic desires. Unfortunately, it's a mark of collective infidelity and betrayal that's been indelibly burned into their little chests. The family environment was never perfect, but at least it was a construct that created a sense of love and protection. Do we in American society place our cubs on the outside of the ring? Do we expose them to the horrors within ourselves, our society, and to the realities of our horrid indiscretions? We certainly don't shelter them, we don't protect them, preserve their dignity, their innocence, their eminence as the future of America. All that we inflict upon ourselves now tortures us, and its pervasive destructiveness now gnaws at the foundation, the precious basis for our society, the family. We are throwing away our heritage, our history, our inalienable right to preserve that which we bore, that which we created. If to be aware entities, as I discovered throughout New Zealand and Australia, we must accept responsibility for others and the world, then what does it say for us as Americans that we don’t accept responsibility for even those beings we created ourselves? So, if our purpose here in earth is to learn, to understand and grow, and to grow we must become "aware," and to become "aware" we must accept responsibility for others and act selflessly, who are we as Americans, to so blatantly disregard our foremost responsibility to this world?

In this thinly veiled Orwellian land, marriage once meant an eternal bond formed out of love to solidify the family, to sacrifice for the creation. However, even this bold foundation has now been brutally plundered as our children are now so often sacrificed for the selfish motives and desires of the marital partners—all in pursuit of the precious dangling dollar, in pursuit of sustaining the magical material bubble. In America, what does marriage really stand for if it's not to preserve and protect the offspring, the key to America's future? It means nothing; in fact, it represents nothing. You become just two arbitrary people living together for convenience. For in America, we are implicitly taught to marry for love, and this concept is dangerously romanticized; so, when the "love" changes naturally over time, the walls of marriage inevitably come tumbling down and with it the family, and the children suffer. Today, marriage has evolved to become two people together simply to help fulfill each person’s own personal aspirations and desires. Even worse, to supplement their feeling of "significance" in this world, they produce children. So many children are brought into this world not for the benefit of the child, to give life; no, children are brought into this world merely to contribute to the illusory feeling of "significance" for the parent. That is, the parent’s life then "feels" more fulfilled; indeed, much like American life in general, we want it all and we want it instantly. Our total disregard for these children once brought into this world further emphasizes this alarming trend, this profane defilement of our precious "gift of life."

Paradoxically, Americans place the emphasis on marriage as the full-bodied cure for this nagging problem; that is, once married the situation is resolved for an instant "family" is created. I am distinctly reminded of the sea monkeys I pulled from a plastic packet and created in my childhood, and once I became bored ended up flushed down the toilet. Somehow, we’ve got it backward, shouldn’t marriage be based on love but with the purpose of stabilizing the lives of the offspring, and therefore preserving the family? By classifying the relationship with the stamp of "marriage" cures nothing. In fact, it’s creating in our complex world even more problems. It’s simply another way in our land, where we’re obsessed with convenience, that we can sweep the nagging problem under the carpet for another day. Because, regardless of the term placed on the relationship, the reality remains: where the commitment is not made to the children, it's simply two people living together for convenience. Marriage or no marriage, this tormenting reality remains the same. Simply, there isn’t a sense of family without a commitment first being made to the children. Without the children being placed inside this circle of protection, there is no purpose to the family.

More dramatically, by merely throwing an arbitrary stamp of "marriage" on any relationship, one that has now become doomed from its inception, we have destroyed yet another sacred doctrine, another ideal in our existence. For undoubtedly, the vows of matrimony presently ring achingly hollow, the commitment silent, and the kiss poisoned. The framework of our society has now become inextricably cursed by our own wretched hands. We do very little, if anything, to prepare our growing children for the realities of long-term relationships, and instilling the character-tested basis for our country, that preserving the whole outweighs any personal desires. Yes, that you have an inherent responsibility to the whole—your family, your society, and your humanity. And in Bugtu’s words, "It is sacred." These are not only the basic doctrines of long-tested societies, but also the maxims that help foster a basic "awareness" in this realm, and also, in this regard they become the beginning strands of purpose as human beings. Instead, however, we have not only tarnished the sanctity of the family, but by misusing the conception of "marriage" to comfortably sweep our weak and selfish desires to the forefront, we have forsaken the most chaste bond two people can share. And worse, we have abandoned our children in the process. Indeed, we don’t show our children the truest values in having a monogamous relationship, because we can’t figure it out ourselves. We are simply too consumed with our own personal, self-indulgent desires to understand another person, let alone share with another, or set the example for our children.

Sadly, it's a course we freely accept, even cherish, but what grisly darkness will now stain our children's hearts as they grow to begin their own circle of life?

Yes, this problem runs a deep destructive channel through the heart of American life. Even more, Americans in general have become disillusioned with organized religion, a body that once promoted a moral code, and at a minimum, provided a semblance of unity. It is what the tribe does for the Masai, what the tribe does for Bugtu. It provides a moral code, a framework of conduct and understanding—one that provides simple "truths" to daily existence, and in doing so offers unity. As we have broken free of the prescribed binds of organized religion, which has now enabled us to seek our own individual spirituality, one of the undeniable downfalls has been the lack of a strong force that binds us—to place us on the same moral or ethical page. Yes, a defining force that gives us all a unified perspective and direction, an ideal to our existence. Like the Buddhists in Thailand, the tribes of Africa have a system of morality that binds and unifies. It's something we desperately lack—unified guidance and direction. A common ideal. Today, we even lack a body of "secular ethics" to instill a practical methodology into our society and help us develop the "wholesome" sides of ourselves, one that not only binds but one that can be taught to the next generation. We have seen time and time again that with more freedom comes more responsibility. And in America lay the foundation for the most freedom. So, with the precipices of organized religion thrown back and our spiritually empty lives exposed, don’t we have more responsibility now than ever before in the history of our country to find a system of morality, one that can once again unify, one that can propel the next generation into a life filled with love, protection, and hopefully one day, harmony?

We must understand that it has become a deep-seated, complex problem, one that will not go away simply. Indeed, it’s a problem without an easy resolution, and unfortunately, it has been woven into the fabric of everyday life in America. The first step is one back to see first-hand this afghan of despair and moral decay. And sadly, this begins with the deterioration of our distinct base, the family. Because religion is an individual choice, a matter solely to be dealt with from within, it's the way of the Masai that I find particularly striking. It makes sense that within the tribe, the family is the focus; it becomes therefore, the entity that teaches, from which the most crucial elements of one's character are learned. The bindings of family naturally create an environment that has the greatest impact on the individual's life and being. It must be our collective challenge to come to terms with our societal framework, with marriage, with family values, and alter the current path that is ravaging the essence of the American way of life. For now, our circle of protection is broken and our offspring, our babies, are opened to the unpredictable and savage whims of the wild world we’ve built, and as a result, nothing stabilizes us, nothing binds us, and nothing guides us.

Unfortunately, this problem goes even deeper than the deterioration of marriage and the family. Isn’t the truest energy we can have here on this planet, what fulfills our sense of significance, our communion, our bond of humanity? If so, then we as Americans must reevaluate our way of life, from beginning to end. Indeed, separation from other humans is one of our greatest fears developed from infancy, our fear of loneliness, and naturally it cultivates anxiety and fear—those "corrosive toxins" that inhibit personal growth and "happiness." Americans however, are growing more reclusive every day, bound in their comfy boxes, and we are actually creating "anxiety and fear" from dealing with other human beings. If every day we are giving in, even perpetuating those corrosive toxins, just how will this affect the coming generations, our children? Maybe, we understand on some base level within ourselves that our society is unnatural, that our beings are motivated beyond the natural order of humanity and we each individually seek an escape from this chaos, we seek a place of refuge?

Without a doubt, our way of life is not only manufacturing those "corrosive toxins" but it is stressing the material, the superficial, over the tangible, deeper aspects of our existence. In America, we cherish and value independence, not interconnectedness. So, what we value and promote within the grand walls of our society not only demeans our sense of significance as human beings, but essentially, it denies our existence altogether. Strikingly, to this dramatic end, we sacrifice our children. We prostitute their souls for this path, and one that in turn only perpetuates our individual and collective "suffering."

Simply, economics may control the world, but it doesn’t have to control us, especially at the expense of our societal base, the family, and especially when the burden of this mentality tears at those in our society least able to deal with its imposing weight.

I look up and see the warrior bending to the ground, listening, guarding. My ring of protection is fortified. I reach for the flashlight and flick off the switch, and a rich, inky darkness descends silently upon the tent, but I feel safe. Ironically, I feel safe in the wild, the open, I feel safe in the still darkness of Africa.

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

"We must move, otherwise he may charge!" Zu cried out as the smaller elephants looked to cross the road in front of us and a bull stood staring fifty feet from the van. The large gray beast stood huffing, moving his trunk side to side violently.

"They'll actually charge the van?" Bren asked incredulously.

"Oh, will they charge the van, most definitely, and they're very fast too...maybe reach 40 kilometers per hour," Zu said moving us slowly down the road away from the bull elephant. Something inside me festered, I wanted to stay, and I wanted to see what would happen. We all turned around in the van and watched the herd crossing the road behind us, and I could immediately see they were much larger than the ones in Thailand. They were immense, yet remarkably graceful, and even more remarkably, they were almost silent in their affable grace. They reminded me of the whales we searched so intensely for throughout this trip.

"Is ivory hunting still a problem here in Kenya?" I asked Zu.

"Yes, poachers are still a problem, not so much in this park but in other less touristed parks."

"Do you think it's still a serious problem?"

"Well in the 1970s and 1980s over 150,000 elephants were killed for their tusks here in Kenya alone, now we have only 27,000 left, that's total. So, what do you think?"

"Giraffes," someone cried out, "giraffes, look over there."

We all made a mad exodus from the rear to view the gawky giraffes slinking about the mass of Acacia trees, their longs necks stretching to nibble from the branches.

"Look at how many other animals there are, it’s amazing. I just can't get enough of this place," Bren whispered to me.

"You see, the other animals hang around the giraffe because he will see the danger first," Zu offered.

"That's what I think is the most unexpected thing about the safari so far, just how many animals congregate together, use one another—their instincts are unbelievable. That a zebra knows to stick around the giraffe."

"It's incredible. The land seems to stretch out forever; it gives the appearance that the animals are so free. They look free, you can see it in their wild eyes. It's not something I could have understood without being here. I feel their freedom," Bren casually said to me.

"Yeah, I don't think I could ever go to a zoo again," I replied as Zu drove us onward into the ever-brightening darkness.

Everywhere we turned, everywhere we gazed, glorious animals sprung forth, from the grace of the gazelle to the ungainliness of the hippo, from newly indoctrinated to those on the verge of tasting death. Here Nature, Life itself, abounds, so simple, so chaste, and sprouts forth into the open air like the bud of a fresh spring flower. It unfurls its dazzling pedals, its arresting beauty seizes your attention and captures your imagination, and there is even an inherent beauty in the ancient savagery this world creates.

"Look, vultures!" Someone cried out at the massive birds circling in the air in the distance, and off Zu went in pursuit, bouncing over the dry earth of the plains kicking up billowing clouds of brown dust. We leaped from the road, crashing through the throngs of tall grass, "Hang on," Zu yelled back, "It's going to be rough!" We charged recklessly through the grass weaving around the patches of underbrush. We desperately clung to the metal edges of this roving metal can, peering out of the opening above and barking out directions to assist Zu in pursuit of the descending vultures. We arrived on the scene to find a fallen zebra. No other creature was around and all was eerily silent, for death was in the air.

The wailing of the incoming vultures pierced this cold silence. One by one, they landed, and the screeching increased. Each anxiously approached the zebra, and with this precious prize lying conspicuously within plain view, the fighting quickly ensued. The leader then took his bestowed position on top of the carcass, screeching vociferously and wildly waving his wings toward those closest. The others drew in a circle around him and began cautiously picking at the skin of the black and white beast. The leader cock his head back, spread fully his massive wings, and thrust it violently downward, plunging its beak into the zebra's gaping mouth. Its long stretching neck penetrated ever deeper, deeper to the core of the fallen beast.

With more money comes power, not only within the inner workings of the United States, but throughout the world. Let’s not make any mistake about it, economics drives America, it is the top of the pyramid and it makes everything else possible for those of us within its blessed borders. And indeed, it is what drives America to the forefront of the world. There is no problem inherently with the lead vulture, or even its position amongst the others, rather it’s how the power is used, which creates the moiling vortex of animosity, even disdain. It’s not the economic system, or even the power that America wields that is the problem, but what is done with this "economic power." Much like technology, it is a path toward the future for us all, but it’s the value we place on it and how we freely permit it to rule our lives, which has become the glaring dilemma. Unfortunately, it now indirectly rules so many others in the world.

On one hand, the world is far from ready to live as one, and for America to give up their economic farm or at least a portion of it in pursuit of this lofty goal would be wholly disastrous. On the other, how we wield this arbitrary sword of power is often in conflict with bringing the world together and cauterizing some of humanity’s greatest problems. Simply, at this point, we continue to take for the near-sighted gain not only within our borders but outside them as well. It’s not the power that our strong economic position brings, but rather our deliberate blindness with how we wield it. My generation will soon be faced with a hostile world, one where Americans have become the tyrannical Master just waiting to turn his back to be slain. Like it or not, there are global problems—economic, environmental, terroristic, which rage unchecked and will worm their way into all of our lives in the near future. Simply, we as the leader of the "free" world have not put ourselves in a position to attack these problems on a global scale, rather we have shown a warped propensity to merely take from, even abuse, the system. When, in the future, we attempt to deal with these glaring problems unilaterally, we will find that the world has become too complex, too integrated, for us to make a difference on our own and our power will become ineffectual. Even worse, we will have isolated ourselves from being a coherent piece of the unity of this world, and solving the problems together as one.

Et tu, Brute?

So why do we continue to walk upon this tenuous ground? Well, because for now, we can sit comfortably atop the carcass and wildly flutter our wings asserting our dominance and plunge our ever-stretching neck into its core, taking as we desire. The head finally retreats from the throat of the carcass, doused in blood and with loose guts dripping from his beak. He instantly sees the others who had moved in an attempt to gain even a small piece of the fruity insides. In one swift, unbroken motion, this imposing leader swings around with his wings still unfolded and viciously claws at those closest. His ferocious tantrum of high-pitched screeches and deadly claws quickly drives back the competition, and once again he stands atop of the carcass and hails to his dominance with yet another plunge. Eventually, the leader had his fill and he gave way to total chaos as the rest of the group became entangled in a bloody battle each vying for the throne upon the black and white carcass.

"You see the leader over there, he's eaten so much that he's now too heavy to fly," Zu said laughing.

"It's unbelievable…the irony," I remarked still filled with disbelief over the savage melee that continued without a dominant winner.

"Yes, my friend, the irony," Zu muttered.

As I watched this gruesome drama play out, amongst this Nature, amongst this wild, I saw the grim, limbless man laying in the garbage-strewn corner street of Penang, the penurious in the back alleys of Kathmandu, and the desperation of the proud people in Delhi. I am a part of those worlds now, those worlds are me, and I cannot close my shifting eyes to its oft-horrifying reality. Just as it lifted my soul from its physical binds in Nepal, that trek within, now it casts its imposing burden upon my back, and the once soft, enchanting melody of being human quickly becomes an aching dirge floating through the suffocating air. The pain, the suffering, of our Oneness now breaks through its eggshell flesh, spiraling inward to rip at the decaying fragments of my heart. It implodes, and again I feel the knifing pain rippling through each cell of my being further defining my stinging sense of worthlessness.

I think back to Nairobi, and as we waited to embark upon this Safari I stood at the ATM to get cash for the trip when a small boy approached. He hobbled before me, this man of three years of age, and he stood alone. He stood, slouching, beaten, as he looked up through the top of his head with yellow eyes his cracked lips stayed somberly silent. I took the money from the Machine, and placed in his limp hand more money than he has seen in his short lifetime. His starvation however prevented a smile for life seemingly had already left his meager, frail body. I anxiously turned away from this lifelessness, torn by a life so fragile and I walked away. But he never leaves me, and the suffering, the pain returns strangling my every breath. What can I do? Does the money only prolong his physical suffering or does it become a sun finally breaking through the clouds lined with hope? Is my act filled with self-indulgence, pity, and guilt? So, then what is my purpose to this boy I turn my back on? What is my responsibility to this world that offers me so much?

And although I feel deeply an imbedded lack of worth to exist in this place, this world, I know it. I know as this underlying pattern spins wildly before me in this child’s yellow eyes, I know that this world is opened to me for a purpose, for a reason. I discern this feeling deep within my being, and I know. Within the dark underbelly of this realm is me, I am, and so I must endeavor to accept this daunting path. I return to the van, to a sense of civilization and reality; I sit down next to Bren and as jovial laughter fills the steel container, I glance out the window to the boy who has followed me. He looks at me, and as our eyes meet, he smiles softly and waves. All else in the world seemed to fall away, and as I looked upon this fragile creature, I saw the joy bounding within him. He could have walked away, he already had my money; however, he followed. I knew then that it wasn’t the money that made him smile; no, it was that I would gaze upon his agonizing condition, his misery. I reflected back to Aponu, to Jay and Lisa, and the monks—the magic of selflessly giving that emotion back and how it rejuvenated and lifted the spirit of another. As I gazed upon this wilted child barely removed from his infant’s crib, I wondered had I inadvertently done the same for him?

It was that moment that I saw it for the first time, this pattern in earth, as he stood along the dirty roadside waving to me, and what once was incongruous now formed a distinct path—my river to the sea. I saw the soul of this energy, this underlying pattern, and I felt it as an active force within. So, does this profound inner search I have undertaken now expand outward to others, does the seed within me blossom and spring through the warm, cottony air to the rivers of others? Is this my destiny? Am I being brought yet again to another fingery crossroad of fate?

On our final morning in Mara, we had seen all of the Big Five except the cheetah and leopard. As we were making our way through the muggy dew of the early morning air, Zu screamed out, "Look, look over there!"

I quickly turned to see a yellow blur streaking across the open field toward two zebra already running as fast as their legs would take them. The moment broke down into slow motion, both the prey and predator I was, this singular extension was time and space wrapped uncomfortably within me. I sighed, for I saw both the little boy in Nairobi and the old man in Kathmandu who offered me water, and I saw myself, an American, in a open and free land tearing through the pliable strands of long grass toward my prey. Yet in that same moment, I was not American at all, for I was the helpless zebra and I fell. In the thick cloud of dust, the black and white streaks emerged, motionless, breathless. Zu quickly veered onto the grass and within moments we sat ten feet away from two cheetahs hungrily devouring the beast they'd killed in mere seconds. I watched sullenly, excitedly, as the life from one floated away to the unknown, and the cycle of life continued onward within the bloody jaws of the cheetah.

As it was our final day in Mara, we sat in the van watching the huge ball of fire fade from view over the expanse of the grasslands of Kenya. No one spoke as the dynamic dark outlines of the Acacia trees stood alone highlighted by the saturated sky of deep red and purple. It was a silent emotional farewell to this land, this land where the beginnings and ends of life are displayed in such crisp brutality, and as the circle of hydrogen and helium descended, I was gripped by an intoxicating joy. The sun was glowing reminder of our interconnectedness, a resounding ball that bounces through every human being’s soul every day. I felt a sense of the whales in Western Australia here, the search amongst Nature, to be free amongst nature, and be immersed within its perfection. The beauty of the endless, symmetric cycles was plainly before me, and in this innocence, this unmerciful purity, this brutal place of the unforgiving, the rainbow-spotted butterfly flew gracefully toward the heavens. This freedom was absolute. This Africa. This world. And from the supposed backward, enigmatic world of Africa, ironically, my greatest sense of freedom rang true.

But just as the fading flame created this luminous spectrum of beauty, it was light fading nonetheless. And within every breath of freedom, I now must gaze upon the darker side of this land. They die of Polio and Measles, they live without medicine, they have no clothes but the tattered rags upon their back, and they embark upon a fruitless mission to scavenge for food everyday. Yes, everyday, they live in the shadows of life itself. As I observe this enormous energy, this light, this God, rolling into earth, I stand again along side the limbless man in Penang, within the back streets of Kathmandu, and I wander the inner fortress of Delhi, in my humility, my worthlessness. I stand before both, the light and the dark, utterly torn as its sharp edges shred the milky skin away from my bones. The small destitute boy’s yellow eyes stare into mine, unexpectedly they don’t beg and they don’t shed a single tear; no, they ask one simple question: why. As the question lingered and he faded into the soft recesses of memory, I opened my eyes and set these fiery windows upon the glorified vulture atop its prized carcass and I wept, for I had no answer.

Copyright © 2000 PbFisher. All rights reserved.