The sun silently peeks above the flat horizon and with its arc of light life abounds along its illuminated path. We drove south from the Angola border into Botswana where our undulating, dusty road plunged into the green fertile loins of the Okavango Delta. This change from the arid desert was abrupt and the glowing golden rays now shimmered upon the green, lightly wind-blown leaves of trees as if to show me that this was life and I death. In this immutable earth of nature or nature of earth, it cleanses, refreshes the world, and I sit quietly, solitary within its magnificence. In this place without beginning and without end, this Nature breathes life and edifies. Yet we as human beings have separated from this purity, this divinity upon earth. The truck plods along further away from this land, this Nature, this place where the light explodes and life resounds, and I peer delicately into it from my abyss of death. Death speaks of the secrets that lay within this blackened fold and the future and our place in it unmasks itself. Must we be forced, as human beings, into humility in order to develop a selfless disposition and a creative perspective toward life? Does Pride hinder our evolution, and with it, as ego’s participle, do we suffer our death even as we live? Must we become part of the Nature’s recycling process, through physical death, to begin to feel this rejuvenation ourselves and to cherish the gift of life? So is a physical death necessary as it drips of the essence of life—for only in death do we appreciate life?

We rumbled through the rough, untamed prairie to the outskirts of the Delta, where we set up camp for the night. Our smaller group has gelled and we stand out in stark contrast to the mainstream group where their incessant condemnation has now turned on one another. Our small group sat around a large wooden table in the dining hut and Robert exclaimed, "You know the others, they've been asking a lot of questions about you two."

"Really, about us," Bren said a bit surprised, "What are they asking about?"

"Just the usual personal stuff; but I always just tell them to ask you guys if they're so interested."

"I can only imagine what they say," Bren said with a hesitant laugh.

"Well, I did hear them say that you're typical Americans, you want everything your way."

A blaze instantly ignited within Bren’s eyes like a predator searching the distant horizon for its prey and she looked to strike.

"I don't believe this bullshit!" Bren said flying into a torrid rage, "We've said hardly a word, haven't complained, and we've helped out at every turn."

"Sorry, I even mentioned it--"

"Bren, it doesn’t matter," I said resigned that our actions had no bearing on their perception, "It's going to be the same to certain people. You know that they only see what they want. They want to see us this way—for them, it fits. It's easier to think we've got the problem. This shouldn't surprise you."

Bren only returned a cold, menacing gaze.

"I know you aren't that way," Josh chimed in.

"See, even the Swiss guy acknowledges it, babe. Who would have ever thought a Swiss guy would have our back, huh?" I said putting my arm around her.

"Yeah, that's for sure!" Bren said with a chuckle to the inside joke and simmering to a slow boil, "But I still can't believe those guys, it makes me almost not want to try at all."

It was a resounding welcome to a world where perception supplanted reality. We have learned much about the world we’ve traveled through, and the way many in the world perceive Americans holds a solid grain of truth. The perception, the prejudice, must have begun somewhere; however, it now rolls with utter abandon unhinged from its origin of truth. And for the most part, everywhere we’ve gone as Americans, this golden perception—sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse, has preceded us. Sadly, almost everywhere, the truth is instantly replaced by perception where it becomes reality.

As the small dining room began to fill, our conversation eventually turned toward the United States.

"Interestingly, I never knew the influence of America upon the world until I began traveling. America is at the end of the table now, kinda guiding the world," Robert offered pensively.

"Yeah," I said drifting off disheartened.

"What’s wrong?" Robert asked a bit unnerved by my abashed enthusiasm.

"Bri, thinks that America is in decline, as he puts it, the core is being eaten away from the inside," Bren clarified for the group.

"I can believe that!" Kent interjected.

"Who thinks America is going in the putter?" one of the other Brits from our tour group called out from the bar next to our table.

"Brian here," Robert replied pointing to me.

"You're kidding me," he said moving a chair up to the table, "I've got to hear this!"

Many around the bar quickly got wind of the conversation and how the American was decrying the deterioration of his own Empire. Within moments, a small crowd had assembled at our table.

"Go ahead, Bri, unleash it, I guess this is where you have to start," Bren said encouragingly as she gently placed her arm around my shoulders, "As much as I'll probably regret their comments, go ahead explain it to them anyway."

I glanced around the table to the faces, the expectant eyes as they openly stared. I stared out at the oblong table surrounded by the partners once again; they encircled me as I sat in the glaring shadows of light at the end of the table. Why must I explain America to those who are just waiting to pounce on anything negative about my country? How can I now provide ample justification for their biting animosity toward the U.S.? Am I now a disloyal patriot, a traitor to the country that raised me? In my insanity, do I now freely give away that which I value most—loyalty? Why do I have to gaze upon this hardened truth, this ghastly death, why can’t I simply shut my burning eyes to this driving fury? Is this swirling sufferance my destiny? Why must I hold this delicate flower of Truth in my hand?

"C'mon babe," Bren said stroking softly my back sensing my hesitancy. She leaned in and whispered, "You have to do what you have to do. I understand that. I don't like it, but I understand it."

The Tioman monk was prying in close yet again, telling me to hold on, have faith, and trust in the underlying pattern, and that this was a moment laced with one of those universal Truths. I was nervous as the corrosive toxins raged through my veins, fighting their way into my limp mind, and I felt the desperate need to bolt back to the tent. The wind whipped in frenzy, it howled menacingly, and I knew it was taunting me, the Pemberton Tree stood hauntingly in plain view challenging me again. The gray sky turned dark and the clouds burst as heavy drops of rain fell upon this dry land, and as I watched the watery pellets fall from the edge of the roof above me, I felt these opposing worlds converging. As this dark world roared into reality, something silently beckoned as a light with a voice. Through this oppressive blanket of blackness, on the crumbling precipice of the lunatic fringe, I understood.

My heart pounded thunderously in my chest as I said, "Well, let me tell you about my home. The wave of the future for America seems to be one immersed in naked aggression, violence, and racism; it's a country where spirituality has been brutally stripped and replaced by our deep desire for anything, everything. In this mountain of materialism, we as Americans are motivated, driven by one measure: our eternal greed. It's a place where relationships have become symbolic of our way of life, where they are sacrificed for convenience designed to satisfy our selfish motives. It's a place where principles and scruples are thrown out the window for the right to have these material pleasures, to acquire yet another dollar, even at the expense of another. It’s a place where being human is lost, feeling alive is dead, and worship begins and ends with Self. Unfortunately, I now know that what begins with Self then suffocates any possibility for the ideals of peace, truth or freedom."

As I paused, no one said a word; only the chirping of the crickets and frogs beyond in the Delta could be heard. I gazed upon the solemn faces surrounding me and continued, "It has become a place where souls pilgrimage to become corrupted; a place to find that the little piece blackness which lies in the pith of each of our beings has actually become who we are. We, as Americans, are now lost in this blackness and we fester within this chasm without faith, without the slightest understanding of who we are and where we are going as human beings."

Surprisingly, they sat in stunned silence, waiting, listening, almost breathing with anticipation of the next word. A few more crowded in our around the table. As I looked into their eyes, in this profound silence they were sober and serious.

"Finally, it's a place where individual responsibility is only a theory, only a long, lost paradigm of dreams. I fear that we will soon discover that only one of two options are possible when you fail to accept individual responsibility—one your freedom is severely restricted to regain the control, or worse, two the society declines and fades into madness and anarchy."

Still, no one said a word, and the faces stared hard at me pensive, sad, mesmerized.

"Sounds familiar actually, much like our home," one of the Brits then reflected.

"Really, not that much different from Germany," another said.

After a pause of notable silence I continued, "Maybe the main problem is the lack of serious leadership. For the people who lead America have become merely golden mouthpieces for maintaining the status quo; they aren't interested in the problems within their own country let alone the world, and in this sad regard, those in control mercilessly sustain and glorify the positive toward this poisoned end."

"Now, it definitely sounds like our country," another Brit replied.

"Mine too, serious lack of leadership," the German said from the back.

"Yes, I can see it. I understand exactly what your talking about, especially not accepting individual responsibility and a general preoccupation with the material world," an Aussie from another group chimed in.

The towering wall that was between us, as Americans, and the mainstream group, strangely was broken into mere fragments. Instead of expecting an all out assault on America, I was awash in genuine reflection, even empathy for us, for our country, for their country, and the world. This was not just the plight of America; no, this was the plight of western culture, and perhaps even the world. Shockingly, they recognized it and we all were thrown into this same violently churning whirlpool. Still, all eyes were on me, they longed for more, and so I continued now brimming with confidence, "Most of you probably won't agree with me on this, but I personally believe that America is the hope for the world. You see if America dies, or even declines significantly, the natural force of losing this anchor will be hard to combat for most other countries—even the prominent westernized countries. It would be difficult to maintain stability, as each would begin hastily vying for position among this chaotic void. We can only imagine where the world would go from there.

However, America is presently wallowing in muffled dissension; for example, the friction between the races, rudderless political factions, and ruthless mega-corporations all create imbalance and contribute to the madness of the masses. However, if America can learn to amicably resolve the differences, so can all the countries of the world. Even more, America has the resources, the innovation, to stimulate and become the beginning of changing not only this decline, but actually in creating something new. Something beautiful, something in which we can all build, together. Frankly, no other country in the world has this capability; and so, I personally believe that the responsibility is mine. It is ours as Americans. This burden rests with us to at least begin this path of change. We must set the example, and become the catalyst for this remarkable beginning. In this genesis, we must generate this necessary and fundamental change in attitude."

I sat back in my chair, and anxiously waited for perception to overwhelm reality. I waited for the brutal onslaught, for the uprising, the revolt of emotion and long-standing animosity towards America to spill forth and attack. However, none was forthcoming. They stared at me with sullen, almost cold, mournful eyes.

"Actually, I believe you are correct on this point, America is the only superpower and they do have a certain responsibility as such," Josh, our Swiss friend, replied softly.

"Yes, as much as I wouldn't want to admit it, some of these things you speak of are most assuredly taking place in the UK," one of the Brits said, "But I think that we must all work together, we must change ourselves individually and within our own borders to help promote this change. I really see what you're saying, I never thought about it before really, but I can feel that you're on the right track. I believe that Josh is correct, maybe as a superpower you probably do have more of a responsibility."

"Oh yes, we have the speaker here, don't we," the Aussie said moving in and rubbing my shoulders, "I not only believe that it's true, but I think it's incumbent upon our generation to make this change. I don't know about your countries but my parent's generation is bloody shot!" And with that remark a somber laughter echoed through the dining hut. The rain thumped thunderously upon the large thatched hut, and suddenly the air felt light, crisp and cleansed.

"Yeah, and it's nice, almost comforting, to hear an American talking this way. Maybe there is hope for us after all," a woman with a distinct British accent expounded.

And they all went on discussing the state of the world, our world. Through the eyes of a generation faced with some of humanity’s greatest problems, we embraced this "reality," our reality and in some basic sense, it unified us. Within this artificial world, we held the hope of this paradise. Within this small group of humanity, we were the microscopic quark of the body of this universe. Again, I wonder do these colorful quarks that bounce chaotically know each other? Do these quarks act and react to one another to create a pattern? Do the wispy strands of the universe act in concert unseen, incomprehensible to us in this realm? Is this unique energy pattern inscribed upon the energy of our souls? In these questions, in this tiny group of people united by a past, by a vision of the future, for the first time, I distinctly felt the Oneness of the universe through the freshly awakened eyes of humanity.

If one could ever be dumbfounded, I was. I was utterly speechless, as my heart filled with magical warmth. I remember explicitly the feeling in Cairns in the corner of the room when I first confronted this ugly reality, but just as I can still feel that isolation—that penetrating feeling of be alone, I knew just as strongly in this moment that indeed I was not. Others felt it too; people from different cultures, different backgrounds, and different experiences all felt this pervasive blaze within. It was a worldwide problem, a moral and spiritual shift, and then time stopped again. I looked around, no one spoke, no one moved, like in the Jo’burg airport, time stood motionless, for the countries of the world were one, and our differences, our hollow associations and prejudices faded away with the Delta breeze. I actually felt a part of the inner circle of protection from some of the same people that in the past days I had felt so alienated. I felt this overwhelming "change," within the hut, within our group, and we all felt the bold future of mankind distinctly, and like it or not, America was at the beating heart of it all.

"Well, how are we going to start this change?" one of the other Brits then asked turning the conversation away from our problems to a solution.

"What's going to be the beginning, how do we do it?"

I looked at Bren who was smiling at me, gazing, tears swelled up and she grabbed my hand. I cried, I cried my heart out as I brokenly said, "I don't know exactly, it's something we must figure out collectively. Maybe we each need to go back home and begin this thread of change individually."

After a brief moment of awkward silence, someone yelled, "Enough of this end of the world stuff, let's have a toast, to our future, may the hands of this generation create a better world for us all..."

We all, the countries of the world, raised our glasses and bottles as they clashed in the air, resoundingly embracing our promising words of change, words of a future as One.

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

I laid next to Bren in our sleeping bags languishing in the muggy, stifling air of the Okavango Delta, and I was still wildly inspired by our rousing night. As the distinct sounds of the Delta rang through the thick, soggy air, I went through the entire night in my head over and over. The story kept playing through my mind until I got to the leadership portion of the discussion.

"Where has it gone?" I wondered, "Indeed where has Democracy, the basis for this leadership, gone?"

We are what we were, and our recent past has created a troubling precedent as to who we will become.

In the words of our own Declaration of Independence it says in part:

"...We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."

These words were written in support of our endowed right, as Americans, to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." Indeed, Thomas Jefferson, who skillfully drafted this Declaration, indicated that the words within were to be "an expression of the American mind." Today, how much do these heartening words of our forefathers ring true; how much do these words of our beginnings as an autonomous nation continue to be an "expression of the American mind"? How much do we pledge to one another—to our American brother, how much do we share our fortunes, and just how much do we pledge our honor? Just where did we get off the boat and become so blatantly greedy, so deeply prejudiced, and when did we become a people who almost seem to hold contempt for honor, for principle, even for the ideals established by our forefathers.

When did we become such a corrupted and conforming people?

Interestingly, as much as we push Democracy on other countries and hold it out as the shining beacon of freedom, it is miserably failing in the country renowned for its beginning. America’s leaders have become simply a debased symbol of who we have become as a people. Only so much blame falls on their meager shoulders since we elected them and that generation's ideals and mores have been promoted to positions of leadership. The power of Democracy, however, lay with the people who are its base, and when the people abuse and misuse individual freedoms, it strangles the puissance from the doctrine’s spirit and soul. It crushes its effect and influence, and with it, emasculates all of our freedom. Our leaders have failed us, just as we have failed ourselves, and in turn, just as we have failed our sacred system of Democracy.

With the failure of our leadership, simply we have lost faith. Beginning with JFK's assassination, this grand assassination of hope, our country has plundered through the Vietnam debacle, and countless Presidents who have conformed like "silly putty" into what we as a nation believed we wanted—an easy road to paradise. We all desperately want to lay the golden egg, to brazenly grip the brass ring, and as a result, we’ve become obsessed with these dangling material pursuits. You get what you pay for, and certainly, we, the American people, have gotten exactly what we have paid for. We've received from this paragon of freedom, Democracy, exactly what we put into it, virtually nothing. I stand upon the crumbling floor of the desert that links the Grand Canyon and Fish River and I gaze within this darkened chasm. The river is dried, banished for the source was tainted long ago, and the walls of this ancient gallery now become merely colorful markers of our collective fall. It's our own fault, this burden that future generations must painfully bear falls squarely upon our collective shoulders today. On some level, we already know this; we know that we've lost faith in our leaders, our fellow man, and even in some of our precious, sacred institutions, namely the government and our judicial system. Our sacrosanct world has become poisoned by our weakened will and gluttonous desires. We have become merely the ape beating mercilessly upon his chest for a piece of the jungle long ago stripped away and yet for another mindless purpose.

Reality digs its sharp talons into my supple skin, for Democracy becomes only a theoretical ideal when neither party running for office, or positions of leadership, represent the people. Democracy crumbles when the integrity of the system becomes burdened with corruption and the disingenuous. Over time, this lack of genuine representation naturally creates apathy because the people lose hope and faith that their beliefs, their ideals, will be accurately represented. We have become much like the woman in Hermanus, who became disillusioned with the state of her country and the world, so much so that leaving this earthly realm was no longer forbidding. So, "we the people" of the United States, self-proclaimed leaders of humanity, have also become. Naturally, this tears at the fabric not only of the system, but eventually at the esteemed paragon of Democracy. It's now clearly evident, almost painfully so, in the empire of the United States of America.

With this loss of faith, and the impetus of apathy, it's now easier to not care, simply to look the other way. The old man lay on the cold cement, helpless as we walk by undaunted, unfazed by another American Brother dropping to the ground. As long as we prosper financially, it enables us to carry on with our lives separate from the entity that has given birth to us. We've taken our forefathers and placed them in the nursing home because it was just more convenient and less bothersome. We’ve taken their character, their vision, their perseverance, and swept those principles into a chasm of unfulfilled expectation. And so we fall by the walls of this glorious valley, for it says so much about us as a people, that we fail to preserve and respect that which was created for each of us, that which gave us the freedom to prosper. What will happen the day we don't financially prosper? As a nation who fails to accept individual responsibility for its actions, we the people will, most predictably, blame the institution, the sitting President, the economy, even the rest of the world, before we ever gaze into the true fiery core of the problem, ourselves.

What we accept is what we are; it is who we are. And what is it that we as a nation tolerate, what do we accept?

Sadly, we already know, for we do anything but "...mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."

So, as we perpetuate this grand masquerade, this profound illusion, who have we become?

The tenants of Democracy hold sacred the underpinnings of freedom. It is freedom that breathes life into this giant being, it is freedom that rings the bell of liberty, it is freedom that permits each one of us the right to seek and find "happiness." America was once freedom—although tainted, it was freedom nonetheless. We must understand that when the system falters, then our way of life is threatened, that is, our freedom is so imperiled. We must honor that document of our beginning, our Declaration to be free, a crowning statement of our independence, as we must honor those who sacrificed for us. We must honor each other, our history, our sense of Democracy, but most importantly, our freedom. Otherwise, the sad swallow sings a tune of our doom, our way of life, the essence of what we believe is right in the world, and it will all be besieged by the sword of captivity and repression. With the auspices of Democracy crumbling, what will become of our governmental structure, the basis for our freedom, for our way of life? More rules, more laws, less autonomy, are the only path of reason, all because we can't handle the individual responsibility to uphold the system, or care enough to make a difference and to demand "change" from those seeking power. Simply, we will no longer trust in the system and the people elected to run it. It's a sobering reality, a reality that undermines everything that has been built by our remarkable framers, everything that makes us distinctly Americans, everything that we hold sacred, and it gravely threatens our revered freedom.

Ironically, in this land of the free, it's become agonizingly apparent that we have become largely a country of intolerance. Anything, anyone who threatens the pious ant march toward the diseased American Dream, or the dangling dollar in our pockets, anyone who breaks free of the chains of our society is instantly rejected, even ostracized. We, as Americans, only uphold tolerance when it perfectly suits our own collective way of thinking, when it complies with our often misunderstood and misapplied ideals, ideals that for the most part we don’t even understand. This is not true freedom, freedom of thought, debate, freedom of acceptance; a resounding freedom that solidifies and stimulates, freedom that creates a stronger, more substantial America and world. This is not freedom, one that embodies the search for the absolute Truths to our existence, to our essence as human beings or even simply as Americans.

This sharpened edge of intolerance exists, I know. I know that with this trip I have indeed felt this knife of betrayal, its deep gouge cutting through my skin, its cold blade touching my heart, and the hand of the ignorant tapping it all so subtly. It's a painful reminder of all that we've become. Ironic isn't it, that which we seek, only traps us, enslaves us. Isn't this mountain of oppression exactly what Democracy was supposed to prevent? Ironic, yet again, that my greatest sense of freedom is found upon leaving the land of the "free." Yes, we are the symbol of freedom, our forefathers provided the shining example of freedom, our government even wanders the globe promoting its causes in the sacred name of our blessed freedom, but just how much do we as Americans honor it—this ideal. Oh, we’ll clamor differently, we’ll sing a tune of "God Bless America" and wave our flags of Stars and Stripes, but in truth, our ignorance, our intolerance, our apathy, our lack of compassion, have become the shackles that bind all that was once held sacred. Indeed, each of us has placed the iron rings around the legs of this sacred ideal. Without honor and respect, ideals such as freedom and Democracy, quickly perish in the wind-blown rains of corrosion and decay. It becomes only a matter time and how hard the wind blows.

So just what will we give up today to protect freedom, to preserve its hallowed worth?

Unfortunately, what we take from the system now will be felt by our successors, our progeny. Strikingly, we cannot demand change from our leaders until we ourselves desire to follow through and live within the path of change. In this land where we desire everything to be "easy," to take the path of least resistance, a place where this land is now the grotesque Paradise of Destruction, it will be a challenge that will require unprecedented fortitude because now we have a faceless enemy. An enemy, far more menacing and potentially destructive than anything America, this world has ever faced—ourselves. We must stand up, the time has come for a new strike of the match to ignite and preserve our independence, our freedom. For not only does Democracy hang in the balance, but a piece of the Democracy for the world, and most importantly, our humanity, our precious interconnectedness all are hinged upon preservation and application of this precious doctrine.

In order to preserve this freedom, each one of us must uphold its imposing burdens. Democracy must be inhaled with every breath and exhaled back into the community, for the tenants of any ideal exist only so long as it is actively consumed, and without a doubt in today’s world of material self-concern, this ideal of freedom has become polluted. The truest test of who we are as Americans has become charred and sullied. This now, is the chosen path. Yes, the time has arrived, but this time will only stand still for a scant split-second in the history of man, and the choice we make in this pursuit will change the history of humanity. We must carry the torch of our past, this sacred doctrine and its remarkable vision with us and begin to apply it again to our fellow Americans, our fellow man. Indeed, it is our solemn duty. We must accept individual responsibility, we must embrace the entity that gave us the opportunity to be free, we must share this blessing and we must stand up and show the rest of the world. In fact, it may be our responsibility for each American to look to the world and apply what our forefathers did for us, that is, "... mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor."

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

We sped along in a motorboat weaving through the narrow channels of the sprawling Delta, the largest inland waterway in the world. We cut our way through the dangling vegetation, twisting and turning passed the proliferous reeds and papyrus that lined the slow-moving stream of water. Aside from our small boat, there were no signs of the modern world, technology, or even Man. These small rivers of the Delta were a lush, untamed pieces of this precious world, and as we maneuvered our way past the entanglement of flora and outcropping of foliage, I couldn't help but be enraptured by the calming beauty of its purity. As we weaved silently through these tranquil channels, quickly stopping and starting to avoid harming the surroundings and ducking from the ubiquitous overhanging branches, I somberly returned to an earlier plaguing thought: Does Man taint the purity of this world? Do we ignorantly ruin those creatures that inhabit this planet so naturally and the overwhelming awe and beauty of our planet? Do we senselessly ravage that which we've been given, this gift of purity? Do we taint even the purity of love? In our unscrupulous, infidel ways, our lack of compassion, do we rape the essence of that which binds, that which brings us closer to the embodiment of the universe? Do we blindly undercut our own path to virtue and understanding by destroying the purity of our surroundings, of each other, even within ourselves?

Instinctively, I quickly gazed at Butch, and see death reflecting in his hardened glassy balls.

Isn’t it a fundamental element of western cultivation that Man can create peace and justice, even faith? I cannot help but see the error of this path, however, the depth of fallaciousness in this pattern of thought, for it places Man ahead of the heavens, ahead of the Universe. Indeed, Earth and its inhabitants are a mere reflection of the heavenly realm and not the converse. Does our unfailing ego fuel our insatiable desire to believe that we can control our environment, our surroundings and even each other? No, these sacred elements are found inherently within the Universe, they are universal virtues, Truths that must be discovered. At most, Man can only hope to create a virtuous path toward these Truths, and from it, learn a greater Truth. These ideals then become the cornerstone of life, for in this earthly realm and beyond, once the mind builds upon these universal ideals, the soul grows naturally toward this end. In it, we can as human beings then add, contribute to the value, the purity of this earth and its precious occupants. It is the unification of oneness.

As we arrived at a small island, an eagle soared above me, and circled in the air just above us. In this auspicious moment, we awaited the locals who would take us into the heart of the Delta. They would pole us along in small wooden, dugout canoes that are ideal for traversing the shallow, lily covered waters of the Okavango Delta. Filled with the information that our stay in the Delta would only consist of a single day instead of the promise three, I overheard Butch informing the group of Moroko polers that he'd didn't have enough food for them; they would have to bring their own.

"What's wrong, babe? I mean besides not getting to spend enough time here?" Bren asked.

"The asshole over there has now informed the polers that he doesn't have enough food for them. It is to be part of the payment that we pay for their food and supplies. The Moroko leader even informed Butch of this tradition—he told him that it's always been this way, and Butch told him, 'not this time'. That's why we are waiting here, they have to go and get their own food. This guy is absolutely unbelievable."

"Jeez," Bren said with a depressed sigh, "I can't believe he'd do that to them."

"Oh, he doesn't give a shit, just look at him, he thinks they are just paeans to be toyed with and manipulated. He has no regard for principle, for compassion, for understanding," I said as my voice became increasingly louder. Butch quickly looked over at me, our eyes locked, and I stared hard at the man before me. I knew our time was growing close.

I slouched down into the chairless bottom of the wooden canoe just behind Bren, and our personal poler, Serenju, stepped in the back and pushed us into the tranquil expanse of the Delta. He stood at the rear and pushed us slowly through the tall reeds, where the placid waters opened up to the prolific lily pads and the white and violet pedals protruding from the black water. The copious birdlife surrounded us, as everywhere I looked a different type of bird flew gracefully above. As we slowly passed through the canvas of this Monet masterpiece, it was a step back in time, a gaze into the past, and we were captured in its painting, captivated by this mystical place.

We set up camp within a small outlay of trees and underbrush and lit our campfire for lunch. As we knew the unwritten rule for meals to be supplied for the polers, Bren and I gave half of our meal to our personal poler, Serenju. He looked up at us and a small glimmer of understanding seemed to light up in his eyes as he thanked us. After lunch and as a group, we plodded along single file behind Serenju, who was the leader of the tribesmen who accompanied us. We were bushwalking among the dried open plains of this small savanna island. Patches of thick, dense woodlands sparsely dotted the plains, and provided the much needed cover and sustenance for the abundant wildlife here. After seeing a herd of antelope and impalas, and a brief glimpse of some African wild dogs, Serenju spotted an elephant lingering on the outside of an island of woodlands. We quickly broke into a brisk trot to get downwind from the animals to prevent alarming them of our presence, and we entered the distinct patch of woods. As we stood watching the few elephants pleasantly mingling among the trees eating, only a few hundred yards from us, I was filled with utter astonishment. To be on the ground level with these mammoth creatures, watching them break huge branches down from the tree with grace and ease, to see them trample nonchalantly over smaller trees and underbrush was difficult to fathom. The group watched in awe and just as equally, horror.

I moved up next to Serenju and whispered, "Ju, think we could move in a little closer, get a picture or two. I mean just me and you?"

"No, Brian, we cannot do this!" he abruptly replied, his eyes still focused on the immense beasts in the distance. Then just as quickly, his head swung around toward me, a smile broadly imprinted on his round black face, "Come, Ju gets you closer."

A few in the group then wandered up behind me, seeing that we were moving in closer, "No, you stay here," Ju tersely exalted, "It's too dangerous!"

We quietly worked our way through the underbrush and stood behind a large tree only a hundred yards from the closest one. I could hear clearly the branches snapping, the leaves crackling with each step, and the swooshing of their giant flapping ears. I stood alone with Ju, a mere stone’s throw from a wild elephant without the slightest hint of protection. The heart of Africa was beating within me with every inhaled anxious breath. The wind suddenly shifted and the elephant caught our scent, Ju immediately grabbed me and we briskly jaunted away back to the group. I could see in his demeanor and his instinctive reaction that this was no animal to mess around with at any time, but especially in the open. As we departed the small patch, the group bifurcated as Robert, the Swiss guys, Bren and myself wanted to continue, while the others wanted to go back to camp. So, Serenju and another one of the tribesmen, Berajube, stayed with us.

"What do you want to do now?" Ju asked me for the group.

"We want to track the elephants?" I said after earlier discussing it with the others.

"Oh, track de elephants, huh? Very dangerous, you know."

I looked at the others and replied, "We know, we want to do something different, something exciting...especially after our close encounter earlier," I said with a joking smile and a soft jab in Ju's arm.

He laughed, "You brave souls, you want to track de elephants," he said mired in thought. "You know, I do this for many years," he said holding up all ten fingers into the air, "but no one asks me to track de elephants," and he finished with an uproarious laugh that echoed through the soggy delta air.

He put his arm around me and put me in a gentle headlock, "Okay, my friend, we track de elephants," he said still laughing.

As we walked through the plains in search of the elephants, I thought back when Ju took me in closer to see the elephants, and why he was now taking us on this private elephant trek. I knew that when I gave him half of our meal, I earned his respect. I had done it however, because it was the "right" thing to do. Earlier as we began the bush walk, Bren and I naturally shared our water him and the other tribesmen, but I did this out of sheer respect. He acknowledged our act of kindness and respect by taking me closer to the elephants. It was a relationship that I most enjoy in traveling, in life, where two people who appear so different, act so different, come from utterly different worlds, find a connection in the human spirit, one born out of respect, humility and benevolence. It was a tender moment personifying the best of humanity, and this precious spark occurred with a person I had just met only hours before.

"Stop!" Ju cried out as he scrunched down to his knees and motioned for us all to get down. We hid among the long blades of brown grass and peered into the distance at a few elephants that were emerging from a small wooded area into another larger one. The line of elephants continued on, one by one, as they emerged and kicked up a large cloud of dust lumbering through the open plain.

"I've lost count at about one hundred," Robert whispered.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Bren casually remarked, "This is the best, just look at them, the babies, the mamas, the papas. I just love elephants."

"Let's get closer, Ju," I enthusiastically asked.

"No, we wait. It's bery dangerous right now. A change in wind and it could be trouble."

"Even this far away?" I asked amazed.

"Yes!"

I wanted to ask more questions, probe, but Ju was resolute and serious. So we waited, watching the parade of elephants in silence.

Finally, we saw the giant bull elephant at the end of this massive caravan. We watched as he cautiously examined the area before plunging into the dense thicket of woods and out of sight.

"Okay, we can go now. Are you sure you want to do this, track de elephants?"

I looked back at the others yet again, their faces still filled with eagerness, and turned back to Ju and said, "Are you kidding me, let's go."

"Anyone ever tell you that you are very funny man," he said shaking his head at our unabashed enthusiasm.

"Actually..." I said with a smile thinking of our friends sitting around the "kava" bowl in Fiji, of whom Ju fondly reminded me.

He led us to the edge of the thicket and without hesitation we followed into the darkness. Immediately, I was struck by the devastation. A clear path through what had been almost impenetrable thicket of jungle was now reduced to a trampled easement. Small trees were snapped off leaving only a small stump, the underbrush smashed to the ground, and branches of the larger trees sheered completely off or dangling broken overhead. It was an intimidating, daunting vision of power, and a sense of foreboding, hesitation quickly rippled through each of us. We moved on nonetheless, nimbly following in Ju's footsteps weaving in and around the underbrush to come up behind the herd. In the thicket, the light was much dimmer and every view seemed the same, but the sounds were unmistakably ahead. In the distance, I could hear the trumpeting of the elephants echoing through our jungle, and goose bumps ran the length of my spine. The danger was palpable, yet I was still excited beyond my wildest imagination. We pushed onward quietly, with Ju in the lead; I followed, then Bren and Robert, the Swiss guys and Berajube brought up the rear. As we penetrated deeper into the entanglement, I could suddenly hear the flapping of an elephant’s ears, the snapping of branches, the crunching, and I knew we were close, real close. The trumpeting continued bellowing through the trees that remained, and unique swooshing of the ears became louder, the branches were being savagely snapped off just ahead, I could see the greenery moving.

"This is crazy! It sounds like Jurassic Park in here," Bren said out loud, and everyone began snickering and laughing.

"Shhhh," Ju harshly reprimanded us.

We moved in a bit closer, but still there was no visual sign of the beast. Yet I could hear his breathing. It felt like we were right there on top of him. Ju stopped, crouched slowly to the ground as I huddled in next to him and the others behind us. He gingerly lifted the huge branch of green before us, and directly in front of us, a mere 10-15 yards away stood our trophy, the immense bull elephant at the back of the pack.

The Swiss guys startled by how close we were, had already begun backing away and Robert slowly followed still looking over his shoulder. Bren began tugging anxiously on my shirt, and I waved her to go on. I wanted to savior the moment. So, I stayed with Ju, who put his arm around me; we sat kneeling on the loose leaves peering at the towering elephant before us—where only a thick patch of undergrowth stood between the towering beast and us. It was a triumphant moment of stupidity, and yet I was enthralled. I suddenly heard a branch break followed by a thud emanate from behind us, clumsy Kent had smacked into a branch and was knocked to the ground. However, we weren't the only ones who had heard it. The elephant twisted around to us, raised his trunk in the air and resoundingly trumpeted, which rocked the ground around us. He then charged into the thicket just in front of him, and the tracking was on. Ju grabbed my shirt and tugged ravenously as he began running back through the jungle screaming, "Run! Run for your lives!"

I was running as fast as I could, dodging between the trees, holding my camera like football, hurdling small patches of undergrowth, as I followed Ju weaving ahead. He was still yelling, "Run, run, we are in danger, de elephant charges," while Bren was screaming incoherently just beyond us. I could still hear the elephant crunching through the underbrush blazing a path to our demise. My heart was pounding almost as fast as my terrified legs would take me. The others were far ahead, being led by Berajube.

"Keep running, don't stop, run, run....quickly, weave, weave," Ju was yelling frantically as he ran swerving between the trees that remained.

We then emerged from the thicket and into the open plains. Ju barked out instructions to Berajube as he ran, to take the others down wind and into the small tract of woods just beyond their current position. Ju and I quickly followed and plunged headfirst into this same patch. We quickly climbed to our knees and turned around, breathing heavily, and peered through the dense entanglement. But there was no sign of the rampaging elephant.

"Fake charge," Ju said brokenly as he tried to catch his breath, "We are lucky."

Now reluctant smiles began to spring forth on all our anxious, terrified faces.

"Now that's a trackin' some elephants!" I said ecstatic.

"You're a stupid asshole!" Bren said socking me in the arm, "Why the hell were you lingering back there you idiot?"

"I was relishing the moment with a photo--"

"God, I could kill you!" she stammered, "Sometimes, I just don't understand you!"

"That's living life, baby, I was right there, toe to toe with him, and I got his picture. Yes!" I yelled out high fiving the Swiss guys and Robert, "Now, that's living life."

"That's living to die, is what that was--" Bren was saying with disgust as I moved away from the fury to the cover of safety with Ju and Berajube.

"Thanks guys," I said with a smile and a pat on each of their backs, "that was just incredible!"

"You like that? You like de danger?" he asked with wry smile.

"I don't know, but I liked that! The best moment in the entire trip."

"Oh, yes, you're American, right?"

"Yeah, Brenda and I are both Americans."

"I like Americans den, you are fun," Ju said with a hearty laugh and a rub of my arm, "C'mon, we better be getting back, we have a long walk."

Bren and I silently sat on the ground eating our cornmeal mush dinner, and since she was still not speaking to me after the elephant confrontation, I stared out at the campfire. I watched the glow of the campfire flickering on the faces of Butch at one end and Ju on the other. I couldn't help but think of the two men from opposite sides of the world, two men so utterly different. I knew as I looked at them both, they were two extremes clashing, struggling, ever so subtly, for supremacy. I never learned so much about the human race as I did just seeing those two symbols in the soft glow of the fire. I realized that you could see a glimpse of the true substance of a person when they are in control of another, or conversely, when one is at the mercy of another. Butch is a callous, selfish, pompous man who revels in his power as a person in control. He offers very little, if any, respect for the tribesmen here, and especially for Ju, all because, simply he can. He abuses his power by belittling, even mocking these people. It demonstrates clearly what I already knew about this man, a man who desperately attempts to disguise his weakness by humiliating others.

I then looked at Ju, a man at the mercy of Butch and his money. He understands this, people like Butch have been coming here for years, sadly, he understands his position and there's not much he can do about it. Most astonishingly, however, he's not a bitter man; he doesn't resent or loathe the rich man who comes in and attempts to taint his dignity, his pride. I am a shining example of his remarkable attitude; he let me into his heart, Ju showed me a precious piece of himself and his world. I know it takes a special individual to have taken this gross inequity, one that he has no escape from—one he's forced to live with, and graciously put it into a positive perspective. Truly, it's a tremendous tribute to him, his family and his tribe, that like the Okavango Delta in which Ju lives, he remains, in large part, pure. I realize that, much to my dismay, I exist somewhere in between these two opposite entities for I know I couldn't maintain such an attitude in face of a threat to my pride and dignity—my ego.

Butch and Ju represent the ego and the id, the open cruelty and compassion, and the good and evil that lurks within us all and within this realm. It was again my distinctive position to be in the middle to see the horror of what we can become in the partners, and a piece of the "ideal" in our existence in Mary. Butch and Ju are this symbolic representation to me. In this warm reflective glow, I see a man who stands like a giant before me, and another who is a mere shadow. Ironically, from this dark shadow of one who has been given all, and a giant who has been given nothing, it's from nothing I learn.

Again.

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

"Brian, what the bloody fuck are you doing?"

It was Butch. The much-anticipated time arrived. I stood toe-to-toe with the immense beast, the cover of the forest had been removed, and I stared deeply into the strained, red eyes of this monster. As a group, we huddled together eating in a small town on the edge of the Delta. We sat among the thatched huts of the village on the main dirt road where we had stopped for lunch. A frail, middle-aged woman had approached our smaller segregated group (the Swiss, Robert, Bren and me) and plopped down to the ground within our circle. She looked up directly at me with eyes filled with desperation. Her eyes were stained in deep yellow, bloodshot and the edges creased with dried puss; her face was deeply wrinkled and the teeth that remained were grossly stained. Her feeble, limp body lacked definition and sloped listlessly to the ground. Clearly, she looked as if she hadn't eaten in a week. Yet, through her starvation, she attempted a smile.

It was our first meal of the day, and as it was mid-afternoon we were all famished. We had only just sat down. But her condition, her humility, and her fragmented smile broke me easily. I suffered so deeply in that moment, pain seemed to consume everything within me—breathing even became immensely difficult. The air was stuffy and stale, the world seemed fuzzy, out of focus, and as I looked down at this woman before me, I had no choice, none whatsoever. I placed my full plate of food into her lap. Robert briefly glanced at me and shoveled more food onto her plate. Her head slouched downward and she bore her full concentration on getting her uncontrollably shaking hand to help her lift the precious morsels to her mouth.

And with that first morsel to her mouth, Butch broke loose.

"I can't believe this bullshit, c'mon Brian, if you give to one, the whole fucking village will be over here like a bunch of vultures!" Butch vehemently blared.

I quickly lunged upward, as the small stool flew away from my thrust upward, and I approached. I seized my time.

"Look, that woman right there, take a good look at her, look," I screamed pointing to her mauling the food off the plate.

"That poor woman hasn't eaten in a week, and I'll give her whatever I have...and I'll be damned if you are going to prevent that!"

He meagerly glanced at the women, and paused before continuing his tirade, "Well then, I'm locking up the truck, no one gets any more food!"

"Oh no you're not, you arrogant prick. I paid for my share, and I can do what I want with it. I gave her my lunch, no one else has to make it their concern."

"You don't understand," he pleaded with scorn, "They're like vultures, they'll all be over here attacking us for food."

I looked him deep in the eye with all the fury that twisted inside me and said firmly, "So be it!"

We stood eye to eye, I filled with rage as I said, "If they do come over, I'll give them everything I've got, and so will Bren I'm sure," and after a quick glance to the rest of our small group, "and so will the rest of us! And you know, if you were so damn concerned, you shouldn't have parked here in the first place, it was blatantly insensitive and thoughtless. To pull this brand new Mercedes truck, full of food over in the middle of their village where people haven't eaten in God only knows how long and break out a full buffet!"

Then I moved closer, directly to his face, where I saw his dilating pupils and I whispered to his soul, "I know what you did to those tribesmen back in the Delta!"

He quickly turned and walked away around the truck and as he sat back down, he mumbled, "Give all your food away then, you fucking asshole."

I returned to my stool and looked down at the woman before me. The woman occasionally glanced upward at me, almost as an animal would guard its kill. She was terrified that I would take the plate away. The fork in her hand shook wildly, and she was barely able to control it just to get the food to her mouth. My heart ached. Our small group sat in complete shock at the unfolding of events, paralyzed as they stared upon this weak, frail woman sitting conspicuously before them—a stark, inescapable example of the overt suffering that takes place in the world. We were nipped to silence as we listened to incessant mumbling of contentment as she lined her aching stomach with sustenance.

Three kernels of corn remained on the plate, yet she couldn't control her hand sufficiently to push them onto the fork. One by one, she attempted to push the kernel onto the fork, and each time it fell helplessly back to the plate. She became increasingly frustrated thinking that I would take the plate away and the three kernels along with it. She became desperate, even more guarded, putting her arms around the plate, hugging it. Bren began to quietly weep. I slowly bent down to a knee before her and gently pulled fork from her grip, and I smiled softly while motioning for her to pick the kernels up with her hand. She quickly did so, and after wiping the plate clean, she worked herself back to her feet and handed me the plate. As I stood before her, she smiled, gave me a soft-shivering hug, and as she pulled back, her trembling hand reached up and stroked my cheek. My spirit flew to the clouds and beyond, as it was the most precious, sublime moment of my life, for God Himself couldn’t have taken my soul any higher. It was a culmination of all the good things I've ever done in my life and a stern denouncement of the bad. On this day, within myself, good had triumphed; instinctively, I did exactly what my heart would have wanted, exactly what I would have wanted to do in that situation. Her smile, those coarse eyes filled with such deep appreciation, were a resounding rejoicing of the human spirit and I could hear it floating softly through the air of this grand earth. On this day, we had won.

The following day, as we pushed toward the northwest corner of Zimbabwe, we stopped at the border to proceed through immigration. An African woman stood at the gate suitcases in hand and three children by her side, attempting to get a ride through the border and into Victoria Falls. In a note of absolute shock, Butch offered her the ride. I jumped down along with a few others from the group and helped her and the children climb aboard. The woman and the children sat with Robert, Bren and myself. She explained that she had come from her home in Harare and had hitchhiked across Zimbabwe, through Botswana and into Windhoek, Namibia so that her son could get the necessary medical attention. He had the received the treatment and they were now returning home. They'd been gone over two months; this harsh reality of living in Africa was a punishing jab to my gut. As she continued on elaborately telling the trials of her remarkable journey, I reached into my pocket and pulled out all the money.

Bren eyeing my action looked up at me and said, "Should we?"

"Yeah, go ahead, babe, I think so," I replied.

Bren opened up her small rucksack and took out our reserve of money from South Africa that we'd saved just in case of an emergency, and handed it to me. I subtly slipped her all the money we possessed for the next two days. As we exited the truck on the other side of the border she said with a grateful smile, "God bless you both, and may he always be with you."

"Thank you," Bren said returning her smile, and as we walked away I put my arm around Bren, and said, "I've never been so happy, God, I feel so good."

"I know babe, I know that's why we could never live here, 'cause we'd never have anything, you'd give it all away!"

I smiled, walking arm in arm with Bren and as we approached the immigration line, she nudged me remarking, "Look! Look over at the woman."

I turned around glancing back toward the truck, and much to my heartening surprise there were the members of the mainstream group giving the woman money and carrying her suitcases.

"How 'bout that! Now that's special. Just think, Bri, remember the first day when we got on the truck and no one even moved to give us a seat. This is something I'll never forget, to see just how much we all have changed."

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

We arrived finally at freedom's doorstep, in the small town of Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, a place created primarily for visitors seeing the world-renowned falls. After a full day of white-water rafting along the Zambezi River, the world's wildest rapids, our small group woke before the sun and walked to Victoria Falls National Park to watch this glorious light sprinkle its lamb’s delight over the falls. On this remarkably clear morning, the resilient orange ball rose above the mass of water thunderously falling into the calm mist below. The falls are over one mile long and drop on average 300 feet into the vast Zambezi gorge. The falls have an overwhelming feel, a mystical serenity, as in this early, dewy part of the morning the white rough water helplessly plummets into darkness, while a golden hue of mist which blankets the valley rises into the beckoning sky above. A divinely centripetal pressure tugs upon my spirit, the spirals unite, and in this organizing element of the universe it whisks my soul beyond the course walls of the unknown.

In this penetrating awe, ironically, this would be the last stop for us with the Swiss. It was at the edge of the dense rainforest that surrounds the falls, with the water crashing into the valley below, that we parted. We parted, knowing that these guys forcefully retarded our perception of the Swiss people, and peering beneath the skin of prejudice revealed the fine strands of friendship. Reality then shaped our delicate perception and with it harnessed a deeper sense of compassion not only for the Swiss, but also for friendship, and those virtues that create love. As the leg irons had been removed, I felt this distinct side of freedom again.

We parted company with Butch in silence, and Robert, Bren and I jumped on a bus for Hwange National Park. We negotiated on a small cabin with a couple twin beds and a bathroom to celebrate our freedom from the shackles of the dastardly tour group. After a bushwalk game drive with one of the rangers of the Park, Robert and I sat around the small cabin room relaxing from the tethers of the tour, yet obviously still gripped by its effects.

"You know, Bri, the whole group was transformed, and I think you changed them. I think, as hard as it is to conceive, you even had an impact on Butch," Robert said to me casually leaning back in his chair sipping a beer.

"You can't change those who don't want to be changed."

"Well, they were a lot different from the beginning to the end, they were even discussing it themselves. You had an affect on them!"

"At most, I just helped to bring out the good that was already there. Well in all but Butch," I said sarcastically, and after a brief laugh together I continued, "Maybe my acts helped them to see the good in themselves, but it wasn't me."

"No, it was you; when you said that stuff about America and the world, then the good old confrontation with Butch, and then the haggard women you gave your food to, it all made a difference to each one of them," Robert passionately argued.

"I know it did for me, I realize that I'm only 22, but it made me think about things I never considered before, and it made me think about my own actions as an individual. It really did, and I'm grateful. It's something I'll never forget!"

"Thanks Robert, that's probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I wish I could honestly say that was my intent, but it came from within and just poured out. You know, we all changed on that tour, myself included, and even though there were times I wanted to strangle half of them, Bren was right, the group's metamorphosis is what was so special about the whole thing. That's what I'll remember."

It was one of those precious moments when life seems to go your way, like a channel was grooved before time brought you to its crossroad and waited for you to jump into its silky smooth passage to the sea. It’s a moment that flies passed in an instant and yet with post-reflection seems to last forever. In those brisk passing of seconds, you make a decision, one based upon prior experience and reflection. So, the way you desire to act is the way you actually do. Fear subsides, strength resounds, and your simple act with the right motive takes motion in its fated direction. Right motive, right action brings you to the crossroad of destiny—for we meet our destiny every day. In this I replayed the haggard woman sitting before me.

Does our interconnectedness create an interwoven web of consequence? Are we merely projections of our real self, shadows or outlines of this reality here in earth, where our real self already understands the right motive and its right direction and our shadow plays out these decisions? Does our destiny harbor our karma; that is, do we roll ever onward to meet the consequences of our own past actions? Yes, must these projections, these shadows, reap what they sowed? Regardless, our every action is recorded upon this earth, because for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and every movement we make impacts another. It is indelibly imprinted upon the crust of this rock, as we impact other human beings, the animal kingdom and Nature. I thought about all the profound lessons of life I had learned on this journey and I knew clearly that I had learned one more: that in our interconnectedness one indeed could change the whole.

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

After two days of hitchhiking, we arrived in the capital city of Zimbabwe, Harare. We were dropped off in the penurious suburbs, where we wandered aimlessly through the dirt streets, passed the flimsy wooden shacks, and the hardened eyes of starvation. But even beyond the destitution, this place was markedly different than the poor of Nepal and India, for death stagnantly hung in the air. I gazed passed the emaciated bodies ambling by, the depraved, piercing eyes that possessed neither the energy nor spirit to recognize these affluent, strange travelers in their land, and I was struck by the ubiquitous signs: Coffins for sale. Here death, survival, tears, and endless suffering were a strangling part of daily life. In this country of very young and old, a whole generation has been wiped from the face of this enormous blue globe. The children roam the streets alone, without guidance, without food, without shelter, and they scarcely even know their age. They have no order, no ties, no dreams, no future; they wander disconnected, abandoned by humanity. More than one in four are HIV positive and nearly one million children are AIDS orphans. Dramatically, this epidemic isn’t inflicted upon a slice of society, a particular segment; no, its silent spear stabs everyone, including doctors, politicians, economists and highly skilled workers. This pandemic disease is wiping out an entire country.

We pass a funeral rite, the death procession flows in silence, with sorrowful tears dried upon the sullen faces of those still living. Are they numb because they’ve been here before—burying yet another whose life has been abruptly taken away, or because they fear that they are next? In a world where universally we all fear death, these people are confronted with this reality every day, and with it they fear absolutely. They pry their crusty eyes open every morning to fear death, and if they persist beyond this, they find starvation next waiting to test their courage even further. In America, we consider it a profound tragedy for a young life, full of promise, to be taken away; so what is it to watch them drop all around you while wondering when you will be next? I think about Vietnam, in fact all who fought in War. This was life for them, but here these people have no hope, no hope of ever returning to a place of sanctuary. Indeed, as most Veterans indicate it’s not death that creates the tentacles of fear and shakes the cold into your bones, but rather not knowing. I walk already in the shadow of death, in this valley, and unlike the starving woman in Botswana, I have nothing to offer. I merely walk by and pass into another world, a realm bound with walls of safety and security.

The suffering returns, it swallows the communion I shared with the group, the lessons learned, and the selfless act to give food and money to the women in Botswana. They’re gone. The energy sapped, stripped from my being from this simple parade of death through the dusty streets of the valley. I understand it now, this suffering, but still I don’t yearn for its purgative fingers. Universal Laws are but an expression of infinite pattern within this finite reality, earth. Suffering is a Universal Law because it offers meaning in this finite world. This suffering strikes out at this Midnight blackness, for it seeks through the dark night air deeper meaning, and provides light in the form of enlightenment and compassion. By following this path, walking through this shadow of death, we can learn to accept our fate and discover the crossroad of our destiny. It meets us, the pattern is revealed, as we walk this divine valley upon earth, for it is in the rhythmic poetry of sufferance that we find the deepest meaning.

I laid in the darkness next to Bren in the twin bed with Robert across in the other. We talked through the night air about our dreams, our spiritual progress, our travels, and changing the world. As I drifted into a somber, sedate state, just before sleep actually takes you in its arms, I thought of the destitute woman in Botswana, the woman and her two small boys, and this place filled with the dying. I realized that the suffering would never end, for them or me. I can only hope to learn from this agonizing suffering—of others and within myself. So, to do nothing, to remain idle in the clenched face of this suffering, whether my own or others, is to deny not only my purpose in this realm, to learn, but it is to deny my existence altogether.

The force of gravity presses downward creating spirals within the pattern. I understood clearly within this swirling madness, this blackened finite cloud, that within life, we all as human beings, find ourselves feeling a deep void within, an inner emptiness. This void sucks all within its torrent of pulling energy. Our pain, bliss, rage, contentment, bleakness and hope are all sucked into this void. We become in this void, the void itself. Within it we suffer. So, what is it that helps us to climb out of this vortex of suffering is "awareness" and "meaning." So, if this void is inevitable in one’s life, then finding purpose within this realm is based on discovering this awareness and meaning. From this crucial step we then learn self-love, self-worth, and selfless compassion. How? It’s a natural by-product of this universe—the underlying pattern. That when we open ourselves, and discover ourselves, we unleash our potential to "feel" this otherwise hidden dimension of love. And in this love, this agapē, is all that binds us as souls.

I dream diseased dreams, I inhale poisoned air, and I taste the salt of my physical bondage, but I understand. I felt genuinely unworthy in the presence of Aponu, the Nature of New Zealand, the limbless man in Penang, the indigent boys of Kathmandu, and the tiny boy in Nairobi, because my underlying motive was always filled with self-gratification. I wanted to see differently, be different, but I wasn’t. I was merely a foolish dog howling at the moon, for I only gave when it suited me, or when I was assured of something in return. I turned my back upon their unfortunate plights, gave money merely to appease the guilt, or to receive some internal satisfaction or benefit. However, what began with sharing food with Serenju in the Okavango Delta—to right the wrong that befell him at the hands of Butch, then carried over to the selfless act of giving up all my food to the starving woman. Where in Nairobi I simply stripped a few dollars from a pile, here I gave all I had. This woman now becomes the Light and this simple act the spirit of Truth. A sense of worthiness pervades my being and swallows the suffering for I gave without a reciprocating benefit. This selfless act is the beating heart of humanity, and it embodies our divine purpose and meaning.

It is our significance.

For, we are who we were.

We are what we accept.

And so are we all in both life and death.

Copyright © 2000 PbFisher. All rights reserved.