After the short week in Kenya, we flew into Johannesburg, South Africa where we had bounced back into the Southern Hemisphere. We sauntered languidly through Jo’burg’s modern airport immersed in culture shock as we gawked wide-eyed at the triumphant display of technology.

"Welcome to contemporary civilization again," Bren said taking note of the terminal awash with electronic flight boards, neon signs, and familiar fast food restaurants.

"Wow. What a shock to see it all again."

"Look, vending machines!" Bren said charging to a corner with five different food and soda machines.

"Yeah, just look at the selection. We've gotta get something if not to just to say were back in the modern world! But Bri, I don't think I can decide. Really," Bren said slightly disconcerted with the myriad of choices.

"It's a wonderland. I feel like we've been away for years!"

"I definitely miss home," Bren said nostalgically.

I stopped and gazed around at the technological conveniences I had again at my fingertips. If I possessed enough money, literally the entire world was in my palm. I watch a discarded sheet of newspaper dancing from the unnatural wind in the corner, floating, abruptly falling and twisting within the manufactured cushion of air. I look up at the flashing flight board, all the flying machines moving to and from this modern hub, and then to the people bustling, pushing, and twisting, to get somewhere, nowhere. Every where my eye turns, it pivots in awe; advertisements jump out at me, and everything I see, touch, smell and absorb, has a name, a label within its proper place. Suddenly, this swift perception of order seems alien. It is not the technology, not even the people filling this giant edifice with a false sense of purpose that is stifling, but rather the associations. I stand now in this wonderland, but it is no longer a comfortable fit, no longer natural.

Something changed in my absence.

I think back to Fiji and the Cooks, where I realized that happiness is a state of mind, and a change in perspective helps you to define this joyful state for it highlights the duality of motion within us as human beings: Vegas and the Grand Canyon. As the trip progressed through the stunning natural landscape of New Zealand and Australia, I began to see, even feel, the indestructible beauty born into this earth, this Nature. In Indonesia, I began to see this beauty within myself, and it became an extension of those dolphins in Kaikoura—our immortality. With focus from the Monks in Thailand, and through the eyes of the penurious and downtrodden in Nepal, India and Kenya, I began to see the beauty in humanity. Even in the most disparaging environments and circumstances, the beauty of the human spirit somehow brilliantly pierced this gloomy veil. However, in America we see everything through a "programmed" filter of associations and names, rather than the intrinsic beauty beneath. We, in America, have permitted the gloomy veil, this programmed filter, to smother our humanity, and as a result we have become spellbound by the physical, material world to sustain hope and sense of purpose.

Sitting within this technological hive, I am now transfixed by the fundamental beauty of the newspaper dancing with its bowels. As I watch this free-flowing bending newspaper within this manmade environs, I realize that we must take a simpler view of life to peel back its fleshy appearance and see beneath the skin; yes, to break through the random labels and associations to uncover the underlying beauty, the subcutaneous pattern. This is the initial strand of awareness. We don’t necessarily have to maintain a simple life as in Fiji or the Cook Islands, but merely a simple, basic thought pattern to discover this underlying awareness. That is, simplify thought and build toward those personal "ideals" through the application of these rudimentary thoughts. Therefore, as the mind builds, the spirit grows naturally toward the desired end.

As we approached the ticket counter, I picked up a wilted white rose from the terminal floor, left to die upon the cold concrete, and place it in my backpack. Upon our arrival in Jo'burg, the big question was whether the $13 plane tickets to Capetown (we bought back in New Zealand) would still be valid since our scheduled departure date had long passed. I anxiously handed them to the ticket agent who carefully looked them over and replied, "When do you want to fly, sir?"

I stood stunned by the sheer luck that might fall our way.

"Today?" I replied almost in jest thinking there was no way it was possible.

"Okay, the next flight leaves tonight, and I have two seats reserved for you both."

It was another fortuitous bounce, a reversal of fortune after all the problems in Nepal, especially since the regularly priced tickets were beyond our means. It was another significant sign, another tangible slice of the mysterious matrix revealed. The airport terminal spins wildly, but I go nowhere, the planet stops its rotation, the flaming sun freezes, and the people around me are stuck motionless. In this moment, in the eclipse of an instant, time stands still. And I knew, in this crack in time, that just as crucial as faith is to our growth—to our interconnectedness and significance, so is the process of discovery. Because it is in the process of exercising free will that you discover the essence of your being, a place that you can confront your individual destiny. However, it's not just blindly believing in something more, it's not relying on God to right this crystal ship, and it's not just having faith in the unseen. It’s more; it’s actively taking an inward journey to actively utilize your free will to discover the underlying pattern within.

I now wonder if each of us follows our own distinct line of development and growth, one derived from our conditioning in other environments and circumstances, that is, our past lives. I know that I’ve found in some primitive form, this distinctive line, this raging path to the gently rolling sea. Indeed, I felt it in Kenya, the familiar landscape, the distinct smell, and in the eyes of its people; something rang within that it was a place of return. I have faith in this echoing force as I have freely taken to embracing this line, falling deep into its vibrating clutches. It's a part of my being that was probably always there, but now I have subtly tapped into its awesome potential. Ironically, what would have been utterly incomprehensible to me before the trip, not completely relying upon tangible reason, has now become the mainstay of my philosophical way. As we embark upon another journey into the heart of Jo’burg, I feel it thumping along within me, this underlying pattern of the universe, and it holds us close to its chest, cuddles us, and gently whisks us on our way toward our next crossroad of destiny.

When you finally discover your imbedded channel of fate, when you feel it and trust in it, you begin to understand the power and depth of destiny. In this basic awareness, you feel the Red Rock beneath the surface of earth, indeed within earth. Ironically, it may turn out that we understand our path before the genesis of physical life in this realm, that is, we "see" a series of crossroads, or fated positions, of that life. And this existence offers us, our divine purpose on a golden platter, the opportunity to utilize our free will to bring the spiritual into the material, to make those decisions subject to the unyielding laws of cause and effect. Why? Because along the path to this destined crossroad, we learn to trust in the underlying pattern, we learn the value of true faith, we learn to grow from bearing the consequences of these decisions. With more freedom comes more responsibility, and a man who becomes conscious of his responsibility, generates awareness, and then feels the meaning in his life; and once he takes action based upon this responsibility then he feels a sense of significance in being alive. Unfortunately, as I now understand this theorem, I visualize America and I realize that it is a place utterly plagued as a place of "means" but entirely void of meaning. In this cold, darkened reality, America stands alone above the others and is resolutely soulless.

In a country brimming with brash individualism, it has become a place that fails to see its collective ignorance—for it fails to even catch a glimmer of this most basic awareness. And it is in this basic awareness, that we develop meaning and feel, as we roam this glorious path, our significance as human beings. We feel a part of something greater than ourselves, and this crucial element is what seems lacking in America. Indeed, this swift river of fate whisks us away in its vigorous current, like the power of a river that seems endless, and its source unknown. Even though the power of this raging river is beyond our rudimentary vision, our spirit nevertheless senses it, and rides upon its inspiring strength. It takes us places otherwise impassable, places unfathomable to the mind, places only the spirit can travel. When you embark upon this raging river of power, when immersed in the waters of this elusive faith, your life forever transcends the tangible. I now understand, I now feel the true meaning behind the Tioman monk's distinguished words of this underlying pattern borne into earth. And, most profoundly, what would our existence as humans be without this channel of destiny, without an underlying pattern to the universe, and without faith. It would be a world to shake fear in each of us: icy and polluted, a place devoid of light where limp shadows roam the impenetrable darkness. So, I now cling to that which I have discovered, I cling to faith and its tentacles of life, for now I understand that my life is merely a reflection of what I seek.

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

We left our packs in a locker at the airport for our evening flight to Capetown and took a shuttle into the heart of Jo’burg. We wandered aimlessly through the streets of the capital of South Africa, and it immediately hit me that it could easily have been any city in the States. The skyscrapers of the city center, the perpetual purr of the traffic, the ubiquitous shopping malls and fast food restaurants, and even the torrid pace, all triggered flashbacks. However, the most striking aspect was the discernible segregation, where the whites lived in the suburbs while working in the city and the predominantly black ghettos within the urban core. As we walked the streets, I felt as if no place was really safe, and it was the first time I'd felt this way on the trip; and shockingly, again it reminded me of home. As we briskly walked its seemingly dark corridors, I couldn't avoid this pervasive reality.

"Bri, doesn't this remind you a little bit of home?" Bren said just as this powerful revelation hit me.

"So, it's not just me!" I said with a relieved lift in my voice, "I was getting worried there. One of the most dangerous cities in the world and it reminds us of being at home. My God, what does that say?"

"I know," Bren said completely bewildered, "but it's true. I know because I have that same feeling of discomfort I get at times in the center of a big city in the States. I haven't felt this way in any other city we've been to either. It's the feeling, that discomfort of constantly having to look over your shoulder. It's unnerving," Bren said as we ducked into a small diner.

Almost immediately upon taking a seat in a booth, an older well-groomed gentleman approached us and asked in an Australian-like accent, "Are you from America?"

"Yes, we are," I said with hesitation.

"Oh, it's a nice country, I've been there a couple times. How do you like Jo'burg?"

"Well, it's seems pretty dangerous actually."

"Kinda like the States?" he said with slick smile.

Neither Bren nor I said a word. I couldn't answer, because my mind was still digesting the statement as it smoothly swallowed my initial impression.

"Well, actually it's a bit more dangerous here than in the US, and if you can believe it, more people here have guns," he said lifting his jacket to show us the pistol strapped to the side of his abdomen.

"Whoa, are you a cop?" I asked startled by his unabashed boldness.

"Hell no!" he laughed, "Just a regular, regular. I work downtown here, and I've gotta have protection ya know. No one's going to fuck with me, if you know what I mean," he said with a wink and a smile.

"It's that bad?" Bren asked.

"Well, I don't know if it's that bad, but it's a crazy place and crazy things happen, but I do have to say that most who can afford a gun, carry one."

"Man, that's tough, but with everyone toting guns around don't you think that it only serves to perpetuate the problem, the crime?"

"Certainly, I don't think there's much doubt about it, really. I can personally vouch that I've seen the crime here escalate in response to the increase in guns. However, I'm not going to be the one caught without one, I know how to use it and I will if it becomes necessary. Why should I put my life at risk? I mean I’ve got to bloody protect myself and my family."

I could see in his eyes that he meant it; he wouldn't hesitate to blow another human being away and it was stark reminder of the problem not just here but back in the States. I wondered if he was always like this, so I asked, "When did you get the gun, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, a couple years ago, the day my wife got mugged and beaten up. That was the day. I remember it so clearly...having to go to the hospital to see her all battered and bruised."

"Did you own a gun before that?"

"No. Never owned a gun in my life before that day. That's the way it is for most of us here. It wasn't always a gunsliggin' fight for your life!"

I stared at this older man, a brash, singularly confident man who was just scared. His environment had created a desperate man, one who balked at being afraid any longer, and one who decided to fight back. He simply refused to be a victim like his wife.

While he and Bren conversed about South Africa and Capetown, I stared openly at his eyes, the embers turned cold and gray, and I could see in his ashen face that the gift of life had been stripped from his being. I could empathize with him, however; his position, one in which he adapted to the environment the only way he knew how, one in which he took a stand and refused to allow crime to possess a stranglehold over him. Without a slightest doubt, it's something I would do in his position—protect my family. However, when I looked into his eyes and I saw just how much it had affected him, how much the life had been sucked from his body, I saw the victimization of his wife and how he now almost relishes his opportunity to strike back. In this now wary, shaken man, I saw how much was taken.

He readily agreed that the influx of guns had significantly increased the crime. Unfortunately, the only way he can make a stand against that destructive beast now is to be a victim. Even then, he'll just be a number on a toe tag. The evolution of this situation is grossly disturbing and it carries with it a spark of the flame that could one day burn America. Sadly, it's one without an easy solution, one in which this rolling boulder of destruction will only pick up speed, one in which the simplest most obvious solution, obtain a gun yourself, only exacerbates the core problem. Worse, now the people forced to live in this environment, like our friend, will not give up their "protection" until the problem is not only dealt with but eradicated. So, the struggle deepens and grows ever so complex.

Plainly, guns were readily apparent and easily accessible in Jo'burg. There were parts of the city where our friend instructed us to enter only with grave peril to our lives.

"Damn it! Is this the future of America?" I passionately stated to Bren as we left the diner.

"Yeah," Bren deferred as we were now frightfully walking the streets of Jo'burg, "and the scary part is that it really could happen."

"No doubt, the evolution that has taken place here has clearly begun in the States. It's just that it hasn't impacted the white, suburban majority yet. When it does, and only then will any serious action be taken, and by then it will be too late. Jo'burg demonstrates that clearly."

After we returned to the airport and boarded our plane for Capetown that evening, I sat in the comfort of the reclined seat and I realized just how much even the threat of violence takes from your being emotionally, for I was exhausted, tense and wild with adrenaline. Still, hours later. I thought painfully about this crime and violence epidemic which plagues America.

"Where the hell are we going?" I passionately yelled and my trembling voice echoed through the tiny cigar-shaped interior.

"Bri, what's wrong with you?" Bren, abruptly snapped from her slumber, asked in confusion.

"I'm pissed, that's what's wrong! What are we going to do?"

"What are you talking about?" she cried out frustrated by my babbling gibberish.

"What's going on in America, the crime, the violence, the guns. I feel like I'm going to burst. That guy's eyes, the way he lived, my God, Bren it's killing me. I can't get it out my mind. I know that's where we are headed."

"I know, babe, I see it too—I was even dreaming about him. It's crazy. It's sad."

"It's totally ridiculous is what it is. A country with more resources than any other, with more brainpower and creativity than any other, and what's most disturbing is that we would be living just like that man if we couldn't afford to move out of the city. Just think, oh God, just think so many people do live like that! And in our blessed America."

I took the white wilting rose from my pack and stared at it intently within my unfolded palm. It's generally agreed that gunfire will in the next five years exceed auto accidents as the leading cause of traumatic death in the United States. If that doesn't demonstrate definitively this growing tumor, than this does: more teen-agers die from gunshots than from all the natural causes combined. It's a caustic, heart-piercing reminder of just how violent our society remains. The NRA (National Rifle Association) continues to profanely undermine the reality that our children dying at the hands of these weapons, that gangs control our streets, and children in the cities are now carrying guns around almost routinely, and now this trend is building momentum into the suburbs. Worse, all of this is occurring under the sacred blanket of freedom and beneath a fluttering flag of Stars and Stripes.

One of the undeniable travesties of this pervasive threat is that the average citizen now thinks twice about helping another in distress. Crime is not just crime any more, today it’s always laced with the appalling potential that at any moment your life could be taken away from some scared or bitter criminal or even by a seemingly innocuous citizen. That's what is so horrifying; guns bring violence, and the threat of it, to even a petty crime or average people who lose their temper. How can innocent lives, the hopes and dreams of our youngsters, be thrown away, or at least severely threatened, on an unfounded "right" to own a gun. How is it that civil majority must live in fear, and we're thought to be protecting freedom? No, if you want to see freedom restricted, see the fabric of freedom ripped to shreds, or see the bell of freedom ring hollow, then you only need to take a trip to Jo'burg and see the evolution of this gun madness. I stare at the limp white rose in my hand, and I can only wonder if this the future of our great country?

The NRA has perpetuated one of the most blatant misuses of the United States Constitution through their baseless claim that the Second Amendment of this inspiring document includes the "right" for all to bear arms under just about any circumstances. The intent of the Second Amendment of this hallowed document was to balance the right for each citizen to bear arms against the arbitrariness of a newly formed militia. Without this threat therefore, there is no such right borne directly from our Constitution. Even more, I find it extremely difficult to even fathom that if those same founders were alive and kicking today and were indeed creating such a document for the present United States, that there would be even the slightest mention of guns. Indeed that, men of such tremendous, pithy vision would have actively sought to create an inalienable right that each citizen could own such a simple force of destruction. In that document, the founders sought to preserve freedom, to protect the individual from living in fear of arbitrary intrusions, to protect individual liberty, not to create an "arbitrary right" which serves more to restrict liberty then to emancipate. I hearken back to Sydney and the couple we met who found Americans reluctance to change the Constitution a confounding proposition. We need to aggressively confront this penumbral issue, before our freedom is indeed held at gunpoint.

We all realize that we are an aggressive, impatient, tense and contentious group, that is we Americans, and as our society moves faster and grows more complicated, these attributes will only become intensified. We know this; in fact, we see it everyday. Frankly, and it's disconcerting to say, but we are probably the last group of people who should be toting guns around freely within the populace. Even if it was an inalienable right, a right of American freedom for every single one of us to carry a gun, I can't help but wonder then if it's time that we as Americans face the ugly reality that in a few, isolated instances we are simply incapable of handling unfettered freedom. More poignantly, that we as a people are not prepared to accept the awesome responsibility for ourselves, let alone others, that comes with such open and potentially dangerous freedom.

"People now carry assault weapons in the daylight streets," I said as my rampage continued, "metal detectors in schools are becoming standard issue, the television is absolutely plastered with senseless violence, children’s games focus on the violence and mayhem, and the children.... kids are killing other kids for no apparent reason. Now, I have to ask where are we are going? At what point do those who abuse our sacred freedom lose their right to that which the rest of us honor so deeply?"

"I know I can’t believe it either," Bren said from a reflective haze.

But the seed of this problem is much deeper than gun control, for it’s a crass jolt to our sensibilities as Americans to open the top of this Pandora’s box. With a quick peek over the edge we can glean a deeper understanding of who we are and who we’ve become. That when given absolute freedom, we as humans tend to follow naturally our primal instincts, that without guidance and rules, we brashly imbibe a bitter pill of violence and hostility. Is this who we are, who we desire to be? Everyone, it seems, wants to throw around statistics to show general trends in crime, the violence in America. Simply put, statistics can be manipulated either way, but I know how safe I have felt traveling the world and nowhere, except Jo'burg and possibly Nairobi, did I feel as threatened as I do constantly within the borders of the States. It's a disheartening, if not agonizing, reality because on our economic budget we routinely stay in the very worst part of the cities and towns and deal every day with this potential criminal base. How far are we, as the citizens of our country, going to let this prevalent plague continue unchecked? As a citizen, as a human being, I have never understood why we tolerate crime and violence to the degree we do. This issue goes to the very crux of who we are as human beings, and it's absolutely mind numbing to think we are blatantly apathetic about it and what it’s doing to our progeny. Why do we tolerate this destructive weed? In truth, one could seriously argue that not only do we tolerate this weed, but that we fertilize it. Why?

There is no doubt that you only have as much freedom in your society as the person with the least right to it. However, there are people who live in absolute fear every day, people afraid to leave their homes, people afraid to walk the streets. Even in the suburbs, these shiny new escape pods that were built to shed the dwellers from the reality that grips the rest of the country, people now lock their doors, guns are being brought into schools with shocking regularity, and people are becoming afraid to stop at an intersection in their cars. Yes, this is quickly becoming our scorched reality, our precious life in the United States of America. Now, I wonder, just how much freedom do you have when your country lives in fear? Yes, there may be a theoretical "right" to freedom in America, but reality paints a much different picture. Indeed, in the land of the free, how is that not only are the people shackled spiritually but also physically? Yes, I see the blood flowing across the cold ground and the gun in the teen-age boy’s hand, his finger still wrapped tightly around the trigger. As I stand within this lunatic fringe, I see the future of this, the future of America. I see our children, our precious children, lying dead upon our own streets. Like the elderly man I saw fall flat on his face that cold, winter day, we now all walk silently passed, desperately attempting to shield our eyes from the blood that stains our shoes. Oh, we can walk briskly passed, but the red-stained shoes will forever endure. We must look to the black residue that clings to our fingers, because we are the ones pulling the trigger, and in this, ironically, we believe we are free.

Cry Freedom Cry, for the salty tears that stream down the cheeks of this entity, now turns a deep ruby red and stains us all. Not because of the deaths and scars from the senseless violence, or because of the guns, which make easier to take a life than to smile; no, this issue isn’t about gun control but rather about an America that cries from its every word of freedom, and yet lacks the perspective to understand it. Yes, America, the purveyor of this hallowed doctrine, has become in reality the platinum perverter of freedom. It’s admirable to have an ultimate ideal of freedom, but if the populace does not embody at least a basis for that freedom, then that ideal loses its value. As it rings less and less with each man, the ideal becomes hypocritically tainted, because simply, the ideal of freedom is not nearly as important as the application of it.

So let us tilt the lid a bit further, and we don't have to look any further than the preoccupation with violence in America. We unabashedly immerse ourselves in it; in fact, our desire for it is virtually insatiable. Truthfully, as much as we'd like to think different, we are not much farther ahead than our cave man ancestors. We still enjoy clubbing each other over the head, and at least thoroughly enjoy watching it. In fact, we are not so different from our Roman predecessors after all. They just couldn't create the illusion of death and mayhem like we can today. Again, the problem is though, that you don't change our primal society by holding up an unrealistic ideal for those who act out beyond the acceptable parameters of good judgment. That is, by holding out an unattainable "ideal" of a utopian justice system. Like the principle of freedom, it doesn't mean much to establish an ideal of cultivation that is purely illusory. An ideal, that in reality, will only cost average citizens their lives in the future. Indeed, you can tell the average man of any country to go and fight for freedom, but if he doesn’t understand the basic tenants of that doctrine, he won’t fight for it. In this ode to freedom, we undermine its potency and its effect, for so few within America apply this sacred doctrine of human evolution.

"No, I think we've lost control; we aren't attacking the problem, the source."

"Then what is the source?" Bren inquisitively asked.

I paused, looked out the plane’s window to the thicket of clouds we were flying through, and said somberly, "Us."

So, who are we, we Americans?

What do we, as Americans, seek?

Why do we serve America, or why does any citizen serve its country? Because it provides as a collective more than one can find individually, and it is the basis for the greater good, now and for future generations. In this form, it provides the opportunity for the pursuit of "life, liberty and happiness." However, in America we have failed to learn that the pursuit of "life, liberty and happiness" is found in the pursuit of these ideals. That freedom is found within that very pursuit, not in the ideal itself.

We in America, because our lives are built upon the spurious demands and frivolous thoughts of those few in control, are bound to this control—again, enslaved by that which we have blindly built. So, in feeling the shackles of this ingrained truth, we seek to create the grand illusion that we are in control. We decide our fate, we express our individual truths, and because we feel "in control" we believe that we are free. However, in truth, we are merely mindless plodders of flesh and bone, the frenetic beast crazed toward completing the next task listed upon the tote board for the next dollar, and within this maddening beast a frosty piece of the soul is lost. As this highly stressed warrior greets the dawning of another day with a thousand mindless tasks, it has naturally created a chaotic haze that prevents even the most grounded from observing its intrinsic beauty. It clouds our vision, our world, and in this choking all-encompassing fog, we feel the desperate need to passionately "control" others, mainly as a way of feeling "in control" ourselves. However, when one feels "in control," then this necessarily means that another feels "out of control" because for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction felt in this world and out. Sadly, therein lies the struggle for this elusive energy continues. And in this murky land, guns become just a prominent extension of our maniacal obsession with controlling the material world.

This is not freedom.

With each day that quickly fades into history, the collective loses faith in the system, even in each other, and this tumor swells and spreads cancer-like throughout the globe. It strikes me raw when I think about the living conditions in Jo'burg, and the pale face and chilling eyes of our friend. Those lifeless eyes, consumed by fear, as he desperately clung to his only measure of protection. His life had been drastically altered, so much so that he's been divested of his freedom. He lives his life now looking over his shoulder with every step, utterly consumed by the emotion of exacting revenge. It is without a doubt, a pattern that American society is beginning to absorb, in fact, it's already changing our psyches, the way we live.

Yes, in those cagey, anxious eyes, the glassy pupils devoid of life, I saw it.

This America.

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

We sat sipping Margaritas in a magical corner restaurant within the walls of Capetown Harbor, and I became mesmerized by the stark contrast with Jo’burg. Capetown is quaintly nestled between the deep blue waters of Granger Bay and a towering 3000-foot flat-topped mountain, called Table Mountain. It has a small town feel, it possesses the charm of knowing your neighbor, a relaxed, laid-back setting all with the amenities of the big city. Capetown, however, lacks the brutal crime that seamlessly pervades Jo'burg. It was within this brutal contrast that I was immediately suckered to light much like the wings of a moth, and impulsively driven to burn that which provides the freedom to fly. Icarus flies, he soars now through the heavens of America. Within this crusty, ragged vision of our world, I realize that we are restrained by the shackles of our own primitive ignorance. Yes, it is we the people who fail this system. So, you don’t change the deaths caused by guns merely by removing the weapons. No, we must first alter the state of mind that moves an individual to so flippantly exercise his or her free will in such a destructible force, and only then do you address the "right" to own such a weapon. We must change who we are, we must become more civilized, more individually responsible, before we can expect our system to live up to the ideal. Because then you preserve the sanctity of the doctrine, we hold so dear, freedom.

In America, we are for the most part only occupied with material self-concern. In this respect, our primitive impulses are often freely indulged at the expense of the moral duty of the collective. Examples abound, but none demonstrate this any clearer than the guns and violence permeating the creases of American culture. Indeed, the eastern philosophies all teach and promote a disciplined state of mind, one that reduces the suffering, and helps to remove the corrosive toxins from our being—which then leads to happiness. This makes sense even on a pragmatic level within our society, especially when dealing with impulses of violence, which can so easily take another’s life. Giving in to our impulses, therefore, is a direct path toward unhappiness for us all, regardless of the level or circumstance. Because usually there is little reasonable basis for the primitive impulse, and one will naturally become disillusioned by giving in to such a frivolous state of mind. Even more, by giving in to this unstable state of mind, you have conditioned the body to react to environmental conditions, a level that perpetuates the suffering. Again, when one merely reacts to a situation, it’s based on their previous experience and usually one will confront the same problems, react the same way, and therefore, achieve the same results. This ugly pattern has become the embodiment of American society, our way of life. Without changing this degenerative pattern first, any ideal placed within our system will ring hollow and eventually become ineffectual.

So, to enforce our way of life, we must create a society with an "ideal" of selflessness, one of giving back and thoughtful reflection. Within this simple paragon, we reduce the impulse of our citizens, which then reduces those corrosive toxins—the suffering, which naturally leads to a more disciplined state of mind—one hopefully immersed in happiness. This philosophical way of life provides no opposition to any religious belief or doctrine, in fact, it would enhance one’s ability to constructively put into practice their beliefs every day and seek their individual purpose in this existence. This would be accomplished by creating a unifying body of faith, one that promotes the interconnectedness of us with all living things, and assuage our primitive impulse to merely react to those destructive elements in our society. It puts us in control in dealing with the unknown, instead of blindly walking the halls of this realm, blind, forlorn, and consumed with fear. It is the beginning of providing a sense of harmony to an otherwise chaotic world. Indeed, America was created in the name and pursuit of individual concern, but now we must pull back the subtle folds of time to see that the allurement into this land now only serves to segregate our unity, our energy as one.

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

On another capricious whim, we set out again to track down the Southern Right whale. This time, however, we had learned much since our last attempt in Australia and so we had good reason to believe that we'd find them. We rented a car and after a morning at the famous wineries of Stellenbosch, we drove the 150 kilometers south of Capetown to the picturesque seaside town of Hermanus. It was one of the most peaceful endeavors of the trip as the bulk of southwest South Africa is stunning. Surprisingly, the countryside is delightfully diverse. Meadows of colorful wild flowers, the choppy mountains, the eclectic mix of the trees and flora, the open fields of deep green, all running up to the sheer rocky coastline and then stretching out to the horizon of deep blue can only be matched by the pristine beauty of New Zealand.

Upon arriving in Hermanus, we were immediately confronted with the dilemma of finding a cheap place to stay in this touristy town. As we checked through the list of accommodations we were given at the tourist information center, we had eliminated all but one as either booked or unreasonably priced. Although it was only a single room, the price seemed extremely reasonable, so surely it was taken. In fact, we were both reluctant to even call. However, it stood out on the page as if it was in bold, capital letters, and arrested with this strange urge, we called anyway. It turned out that a widowed woman had a small unit in the back of her house, and to our good fortune, it was vacant for just this one night.

As we arrived, she rushed out and greeted us with the warmth of a long, lost relative, and immediately, she invited us into her home for tea. We accepted, and after dropping our bags off we sat on her screened veranda sipping tea and listening to the waves of the sea crash ashore. Sam was a lively woman in her late sixties, with grayish hair, a soft build, and engaging blue eyes. She was an inspirational conversationalist; so much so, that for the first time on the trip I found myself breaking out poetry, discussing our travels, and experiences in the utmost detail. She possessed an alluring energy; one that drew us both in and we unexpectedly found ourselves divulging information we'd express only to our closest friends. It was deep, enlightening, and frank—there it was again, another intensely coincidental meeting, one far beyond the words spoken.

Later in the evening, even though both Bren and I were famished, we dared not stray. We talked of South Africa, its beauty, its problems, our beleaguering experience in Jo'burg, and apartheid.

"Is it much different now that apartheid has been abolished?" I asked.

"Well, I'd have to say honestly, yes and no. It's a complex issue for us as South Africans, with no simple solution. It's probably much like in your country, you can change the laws, but changing people takes time. We are no exception in this regard."

"Boy, you said a mouthful there, indeed we are still mired in this death grip of racial tension."

"But to answer you question more directly, Brian, no matter what Mr. Mandela and Mr. Tutu do or say, it will take awhile. But in truth, the process is dragging tremendously, much too slow for my liking. The fact is many blacks believe that racial reconciliation is possible while most whites really don't. That says much for the essence of the problem. It's a disheartening reality, one that shakes at the foundation of our culture, our progress, and our future as a nation. It's so disappointing because we realize that much of the world is watching."

"So, the impact of apartheid is still being felt--" Bren asked.

"Almost as if it was still in force. Yes, the vestiges of apartheid are still clearly lingering. Frankly, not much has been done to at least lessen the gross disparity in fortunes and opportunities between the whites and blacks. Which is bad enough, but with the mounting frustration over the sluggish progress toward equality, it could be a dark future for South Africa if some major steps aren't taken."

"I didn't realize it was such a complex and deep-seated issue," I said, "I mean I knew apartheid was morally reprehensible but I guess it's much like the racial problems we have in the States. Changing the laws is only peeling back the skin to expose its inner core—and it takes a lot more peeling to get down to the seeds."

"Oh, I like that! Yeah, it's deep-seated all right. This white lady next door is a perfect example, prejudiced with every bone in her body. She has just pure hatred and defiance for the abolishment of apartheid. That woman, honest to God, makes me consider moving and oh, and it's a bloody shame," she said with fiery gaze to the neighbor's house, "It's a scary notion that some of us care so little about other human beings...have so little compassion."

Sam was engaged in this plaguing thought and Bren and I were content to just listen, to feel her sense of perspective.

"My time here on this planet is growing smaller with each day, and ya know, sometimes when I look out my window and see her, and people like her, I don't regret it one bit."

I contemplated the depth of her statement, and because I knew she meant it, the thought savagely attacked my being. She was a person of purity, a human being who had suffered and learned, and yet someone who’s faith had been, and continued to be, ravaged. I sat before her, aching, because she so desperately wanted to have this faith, to behold a people who honored being human. Now, she was crushed by its failures, by its willingness to so easily walk toward the dark side of existence, to not only accept, but actually savor, the bleakness. She was a women scorned, torn by that which made her feel a sense of significance here, and now she wanted it back; she wanted to again taste its delicate sweetness. However, every day as she peered next door, this heartening vision of our humanity was stripped and buried deeply, and with each passing day this idyllic dream faded.

"I know exactly what you mean--" I began, but stopped realizing that in reality, I probably didn’t. I was young, and experience had yet to crush my hope. I still retained the possibility of change, and I was arrogant enough to believe that I could make a difference.

"Yeah, if you could have only heard him on the plane from Jo'burg," Bren spouted off as she gingerly kicked me in the shin.

After a brief laugh she continued, "Even at my age, and through all my experience, the brutality of this world, how we treat each other, and how we treat this planet, is still downright shocking. Every day, it seems to be a battle to combat ignorance and not give in to it."

I smiled with intense satisfaction; to hear another state what was becoming so painfully clear, and it seemed to ring through the air like a nightingale’s final song. I passionately chimed out lifting my cup to toast as Bren stared at me from the corner of her eye, for this small moment mirrored the meeting of the Tioman Monk. Now however, the pattern was clear, every time we pushed upward to raise our level of consciousness, every single time we reached out and above, some one mystically popped into our lives to reinforce this process of thought—to assist in building our soul’s mind.

"I have to hand it to you two, you must be the beginning of change and you recognize this. It's just superb," she exclaimed enthusiastically slapping her leg, "I have to say just talking with you both tonight has filled me with such comfort, such joy, because at least I know that there's still hope out there. You have a long, winding road ahead of you, but I hope you'll never forget those words, because I have a strange feeling that one day you'll need them."

"I'm not really sure what you mean--" I said as I casually rolled my shoulders upward.

"Well, just chalk it up to experience, not wisdom mind you, just a lot of experience," she offered with a brief chuckle and she got up and warmly embraced us both.

As we bid goodnight and walked back to our small guesthouse, I knew that I had been touched deeply by Sam. This remarkable lady, one who we had just met only hours before had somehow reached into my soul and offered me solace, a sense of closure to all my plaguing doubts. Indeed, that I was here on this earth with a purpose—I had finally found it, but through her grace and insight, she had fortified it. She extinguished those lingering doubts, and helped me accept what it was that I had found. There it was once again, Mary Matthews' faith, and when I looked into the dark shadow of the future, this time I understood and eagerly embraced it. She had helped me take the first step toward something, something tangible, a path to the sea—my destiny.

I laid quietly in bed next to Bren caught between sleep, a dream, and reality. I felt my body smile and strangely it seemed almost out of my control. I felt the pitch-blackness encircling me as my arms rubbed the smallish bumps that rippled up and down the flesh of this body. In this same moment, as I vaguely felt these physical aspects of my body, I felt the ethereal spirit as it soared passed the darkness filled with an incredible uplifting energy. It flew into the beyond, drawn by the faint light of forever more. I dreamt in this condition of the storm in Fiji, the dolphins in Kaikoura, running into Jay and Lisa in the remote rocks of Oz, the theft of my journal in Bali, Eebu—the clairvoyant, the Tioman monk, the climb to the top of the Himalayas, the boy in Nairobi, and now this widowed, lonely woman in Hermanus. I saw below me, pear-shaped balls of bloodied tears streaking down the face of this disconnected body; however, the power of this new place consumed me, for it was the sweet, tantalizing taste of elixir, so beautiful, so pure, so peaceful. I floated without time, without a body, and without the brutal realities of the earthly realm. I was free. The vision of what is and what could be somehow subtly wormed its way into my soul, my soul’s mind, and even though I didn’t understand it I nevertheless felt its heavy presence. I then felt the immense weight return, the taste of salt, the pervasive fear and overwhelming melancholy, as reality sucked me back. There I was, breathing heavily, laying in the hard bed in the stuffy, still blackness, listening to Bren snore.

I knew then that I would never experience the fullness of life until death, until I felt the spirals of Nature’s cycles within that same moment. Only in death can I experience the gravity of life. And in this surreal vision, I understood that it mattered little what I expected from life, for those preconceptions blew into the wind along with the seeds of a dandelion, but rather what life expected from me. The pattern. This inward spiraling, ever selfless, ever guiding, subtly heaved this expectation upon me, and until I learn to experience this with selfless compassion I will never experience the depth of grandeur in existing in this life, in this realm.

Did the hand of God touch me in those moments, a time that I recognized all the "coincidences," all the opportunities that have opened for us on the trip? Was this, this underlying pattern that unfolded merely for our understanding, for our spiritual vats to be filled, and to hold the hand of faith? Was I, for the first time, simply feeling the power of accepting this "underlying pattern of the universe," and breathing this glorious life as part of an earthly rite of passage? This magical feeling had told me, it reached into my soul and massaged Truth into the fabric of my being. I had brazenly accepted my fate, and I was being shown finally the path of my destiny. The path I may have chosen myself, and the path I have struggled so intensely to discover. The fingers were unfolding now, and my divine destiny rested plainly with its palm, it was clear now, and I felt it growing within me, in fact, a piece of me that always was, finally surfaced. It beat a life within me that was separate and distinct, it was supported by something beyond, beyond what we know in this realm, and possibly it was beyond our comprehension. I didn’t know how, I only knew of its inspiring presence, its life and now it was within me, glowing, and brightly illuminating the path, my path.

My destiny.

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

Do these patterns within us contribute to our oneness, and if so, do they lead us away from the tragic moment of our "fall" from divinity? Once, our souls experienced this "fall" and now in order to attain our oneness again, do we have to work upward naturally from the soiled depths? Is America the embodiment of this "fall"—enslaved by that which was blindly built? Has America been brought into existence as a spiritual entity to prominently display the failings of man and its blackened future, should it not embrace change? Does the being, upon manifesting this inner awareness, then extend outward naturally to touch the pattern? Must we learn, as Americans, to see and feel these spiraling patterns within ourselves to uncover this grand collective destiny for America, and possibly, all of humanity?

Does it stand presently upon this fingery crossroad of fate?

Is this its destiny?

We ebulliently wandered along the rocks of the rugged coastline in search of the elusive whales. The sun finally broke through the clouds, and the rays glimmered upon the shiny black rocks from a recent rain. In this incandescent light, this warmth, we looked out to the hazy horizon; we gazed upon this watery earth for a glimpse of freedom. In this remote spot of the South African coast, in its wild splendor, we finally saw the sudden puffy mist rise into the emerald air. As we sat upon these steamy rocks, alone, we had finally found our much sought after Southern Right whales. Four dawdled a mere fifty meters off the coast, spouting water into the air, frolicking amongst one another in this golden pervasive light. I knew as I watched them, the beauty and grace of these creatures, that once again, in our determined search for these whales we had found something of ourselves as human beings. And even though finally observing the whales was satisfying, it wasn't nearly as profound as the search itself. Just like my internal search for faith, and life itself, the magic was hidden in experiencing the winding path to reach its golden mantle.

I gazed passed the whales to the open horizon, and I thought about Sam. How she ardently stuck to her principles, her moral code, so much so that she’d rather not live in this realm if she couldn’t embrace the hope that they would be fulfilled. Is she the striking antithesis to most of us as human beings; is she a walking angel among us? Do we abide by fear and doubt to such a degree that we lose sight of our principles, our moral code? Is this human nature, and does the majority fulfill their version of reality and ruthlessly swallow the lives of the few attempting to live with a heightened awareness like Sam? These souls that are swallowed then at least have a sense of belonging, as they become a part of the majority’s version of reality. However, what happens when the conscience of each citizen becomes muddled in this reality maintained by the majority and then freely given to the spurious few? Do we merely sacrifice our autonomy, our history, our identities, and our sacred significance as human beings? Is to be American then, to be a mechanized plodder of flesh and bone?

So, in this destitute minority of one, I must be insane. For my perception, my perspective of this world has become merely a shattered reflection of a distorted majority vision. I am engulfed by the truth of millions around me, and I am but one. Yes, of course, the feeling that consumed me in latter days in Bali must have been my glimpse into this reality, for I am now utterly insane. Even worse, I am insane in a sane world, one bound by the mordant call of a material world seducing all souls into a realm of physical pleasure and self-gratification. I now stand upon this fragile precipice of mental instability, gleaning anything I can from this crumbling world, struggling with every cell to understand my position, my fall.

Truth is, especially in American society, only transitive. It’s an ideal held up to justify our own sense of reality, and it becomes therefore merely a conception of truth. However, the inherent danger with this perspective is daunting, for then whoever controls this aspect of reality necessarily controls the truth. For if you can get enough to believe in this reality, then you control the truth for all. And if you can control the truth, you can control the people who believe in it. For now, America is bound within this nebulous and asphyxiated version of reality. Within this world, truth is controlled by the few in power while the rest of us walk in stomping unison to our scorched and darkened catacomb. Even worse, these few, in essence, now control this pliable truth for all humanity; for upon our rock, whoever pulls the economic strings, manipulates their own version of reality. Much like the Masai warrior who protected me for mere pennies, economics dictate the terms of our living conditions and opportunities. The economics control us on an individual level, a societal level, and unfortunately, even on a worldwide level. If we as citizens of this economic empire blindly permit the strings to be covertly pulled by those in power, then we allow those in control to manipulate the reality for all of humanity, to spin their version of truth for every last one of us. Even for the grossly insane, this becomes a resounding bill of truth, one for all, because it becomes the only truth.

If we cannot see passed our own ignorance, those corrosive toxins—doubt, fear and anxiety, to tame our demons and see that there are simple Truths in this world; that is, a natural order, within this realm of existence, then this distorted "reality" becomes merely a state of mind within each of our programmed heads. And further, our sense of truth is manipulated toward the majority’s perspective, one that is controlled by the few in power of this imposing beast. In this denigrated state, we become mere robots searching the channels of our televisions for our own personal "reality," to justify our sense of truth. As such, we have become witless beings programmed to arrogantly believe that we can manufacture our own reality, our own truth and even, that we can discover happiness within this chaotic land. And in this vision, again, we believe that we are free.

How is this happening? Simply, by living in this profound darkness, we mindlessly contribute to an economic world, and create a stable production line for sustaining this material world. In fact, our version of truth doesn’t exist and our perception of reality is merely illusory. As we walk in unison toward our prescribed points in the production line every day, how is it that the majority is so easily seduced into this pitfall? Simply, by being sold the American Dream. We have been programmed to believe that we are living the American Dream, one that holds the elusive ring of happiness. We are haplessly seduced to this state of mind, one so easily manipulated to create this singular notion of truth, and one so desired by the few in control to sustain their hypnotic power. However, this is not some grand conspiracy by those few in control, because in order to conspire, one must necessarily have a "plan" of conspiracy. None is existent. No, this undulating slide into nothingness is a torrential foray merely designed to maintain this perceived control, to merely pull the strings of our "reality," all without direction or vision.

It becomes imperative therefore that we on an individual level seek those universal Truths, those so imbedded in the "underlying pattern of this universe," for it is something larger than ourselves as human beings. Precisely, they are universal Truths because the wisdom holds true for all human beings and yet no one is in control of it. We must therefore seek out these precious, simple Truths—to understand this natural order, so that we can validate our purpose and significance. In this process of discovery, one is forced to confront their soul, their responsibilities and their destiny. Within each soul upon this earth is Truth, one spawned by the universe, and it is here that we must begin the search, for our essence. Indeed, it then becomes critical to the future of humanity, to our spiritual evolution, and understanding ourselves that brings us to this unique crossroad in the destiny of human life.

Everything evolves, including our truth, yet there is but one greater Truth. However, in this world, this realm, it is beyond our primitive cognition, only the branches leading upward to this Truth are laid bare in earth. So, we are left with only evolving toward this end as a basis for guiding our lives and discovering meaning; that is, to attempt to develop toward Truth, by following those branches, or universal Truths, that exist as a "pattern" uniquely engraved within us all. Unfortunately, to understand this natural order, the underlying pattern of this fascinating cosmos, we must actively seek these Truths. We must look for the branches. Within the search, much like the whales, we will eventually discover ourselves, touch the purity of our souls, and eventually, we will collectively garner the courage to look upward to see our dangling strings. One day we can then embody these Truths, and set the course of humanity upon one of spiritual evolution. However, this cannot become our collective reality until we can release the primitive binds to the physical, material world. Until we begin to peel back the myriad of layers of our primal ignorance, and attempt to reach a heightened state of awareness, our lives will be, and forever will be, merely programmed tin men driven by whimsical impulse forced to manufacture their own version of truth. And it all begins with claiming victory over this primal truth, this programmed reality, for we must conquer the random associations, perceptions and prejudices to uncover the intrinsic beauty in this world. The beauty is resounding because it exposes so clearly, so painfully, that world of the unseen.

Yes, the Red Rock rises; it rises from the open plains and into the blue sky like it had been hurled through the air by the hand of God.

But what are these universal Truths to our existence?

That’s our quest, and possibly our purpose here, to learn to seek and discover.

I stand upon the rocks, pull the white rose from my pack and smell the fading fragrance of its essence, and toss it to the whales, to the sea, to this earth. One thing is for sure, without these simple Truths, discovering the natural order—where we fit and where we are going within this order—we would become again, mere actors fulfilling a role in the drama of life. Today, those who aren’t these actors, therefore, become the insane because their thought process doesn’t conform to the majority’s sense of "reality." To retain this grand status as sane, therefore these actors must justify their movements by covertly covering the strings, and for now the material wonders spark their imagination and insatiable urges, which keep them from ever looking up. I now peer beneath this manufactured reality, to see its mechanized wheels churning and I stare upward at the invisible strings pulling upon these fleshy puppets. I see, I understand, that for those mere mortal actors, those so dancing from their coarse wires, there is no destiny—no magical flick of the finger of fate, because their life is played out in opposition to free will. In this rich state of melancholy, I close my eyes and see the sheet of newspaper flipping gracefully through the air, and this elegant beauty strikes out at this maddening world, and in it I see myself. I see the ineffable wispy strands of beauty and grace. I reopen my eyes to the chaotic realm around me, and I sense it absolutely, I feel it palpating, that I am utterly insane in this maddening world of the sane.

Copyright © 2000 PbFisher. All rights reserved.