The sultry, intoxicating air of the tropics immediately invaded and consumed my body from the moment I stepped from the plane. I stood upon the exit stairs on the landing strip and looked out over the expanse of the island. It was the smell that rang the bell signaling our destination, the South Pacific. The tantalizing aroma of the wild fruits, the penetrating heat, and the salty air of the ocean swept through my body as if I was smelling a fresh, Spring rose in the middle of a sully, polluted city. It was open, primitive, and pure; here I stood in the heart of the South Pacific in the Cook Islands.

It was a hot, humid and sunny morning as we bounced along in the truck of our hostess bound for her bungalows on the southern part of Rarotonga, the main island of the Cook group. With the windows open, I could hear the low roar of the Pacific Ocean and feel the warmth of the morning air as it swirled and caressed my skin. I watched the palm trees and white sandy beaches drift by as I was sweetly taunted by the distinct aromas and my first impression of the Rarotonga was that it was a regenerative retreat for the spirit and soul. Where the beauty of the Grand Canyon was in the depth of its soul, this place was an overwhelming rush to the senses. Its beauty was like a bass drum being thumped repetitively for the beauty resonated through the body and actually moved one physically.

We entered our new abode to find a particularly simple hut: a wood-paneled interior with small kitchen, bath, table, and bed. At the rear, a double sliding glass door led to a balcony overlooking the spectacular blue waters of the lagoon only a mere ten feet from the stairs of the bungalow. A banana tree sat directly in front of the balcony where we could reach out and help ourselves to the ripe fruit dangling from its branches. A palm tree lingered just off our doorstep at the edge of the lagoon, where a few coconuts lay placidly around its base. The trees, the crystal clear blue waters of the lagoon, the sandy beach all at our doorstep far exceeded any preconceptions of the South Pacific.

Bren immediately dropped her pack and ran through our new place wildly waving her hands in the air and yelling, "Isn't this place great! It's just awesome Bri!" She continued romping through our seemingly palatial bungalow bouncing from place to place consumed with sheer jubilation, "the South Pacific...oh, Bri, we're here, can you believe it? Can you believe it? This is it, this is where it will all begin!" Her eyes glowed. Her emotion, her sheer delight, filled the room and penetrated my soul. I quickly glanced at Bren, then out the glass doors to the lagoon and the South Pacific just beyond, and I was overwhelmed with a sense of place. Bren slowly came up behind me wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her chin on my shoulder. We gazed together at the expanse of the sea reaching out to the deep blue horizon as Bren sweetly whispered in my ear, "I think this is the most beautiful place I've ever seen..."

It all gave me a profound sense of being in the right place at the right time. I knew just looking at her in those brief moments of elation and the pure enchantment of our surroundings that all the money, effort, and sacrifice, were worth it. This, this place of tropical dreams, was where we belonged.

We fit.

Later, we wandered down the one-road island determined to locate some type of grocery store for dinner supplies and although we miserably failed in this pursuit, we did find Muri beach. It was the purest beach I'd ever seen, and our vision of a tropical paradise was brought to life right in front of our eyes. Soft white sand, clear light azure water, brilliant green palm trees, coconuts strewn along the sandy shore, and not a soul could be found on this golden strip within Eden's backyard. We took off our sandals and walked along the beach, and with each scrunching step, I couldn't believe that only hours earlier we were in the Las Vegas. Now, we were in a different environment altogether, a different country, a different hemisphere.

Our casual stroll along the beach quickly gave way, however, as we plopped down into the sand and watched the foremost event on Rarotonga, the gentle waves of the South Pacific rolling rhythmically onto the sand at our feet. Alone, with our toes nestled in the cool white sand, we soaked up our first taste of a tropical beach as the circular orangish hue of the sun hung just above the horizon, kindling golden glistening lines along the small waves of the sea. We sat mesmerized by the orange globe falling into the ocean, turning the entire sky a bright deep red. I became spellbound with the expanse of the ruby dome above me, the cool sand between my toes, the dark outline of the palm trees, and the shadow of Bren beside me. I gently placed my arm around her and whispered in her ear, "Heaven on earth, that’s what this place is, heaven on earth."

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

Following our second peanut butter and jelly meal since our arrival, we decided to head to bed if not just to stave off the hunger pains, as we never did find a store. I couldn't sleep, however, so I slipped out to the balcony and moved one of the chairs down to the edge of the lagoon. There I sat in the thick of the night, dangling my feet into the soothing water of the lagoon, looking at the moon's reflection glistening on the waves of the South Pacific Ocean.

I realized in this moment of serenity and sheer beauty that living in our society becomes merely a pattern of habits, making it on the whole rather mundane and boring most of the time. At a minimum, traveling exposes you to different people, circumstances, and experiences beyond this normal pattern that naturally enlivens and broadens your personal horizon. It refreshes your perspective. Every day, experiences like today at Muri beach poignantly demonstrate just how truly precious life is. It's a place of wonder, of unknown delight, and it fills me with such sublime power to wade in its waters and feel the presence of this "life" all around me.

I know as well that as I sit here in this vision of "paradise," I believe it to be so because of the time and place. Should I stay here for a year, I will naturally lose that perception; it will become a pattern of life and it will fail to be as stunning. It is the fresh perspective that enhances the beauty and so captures my spirit. That's why I know that it's important to always challenge yourself to change the time and place as much as possible in order to alter your perspective. Every day, we must seek contrasts; seek black from white and white from black. Even if the change of perspective is merely standing on a table in a room you've lived in for years or includes doing nothing physically—it nevertheless changes the perspective and gives you contrast. It's from this contrast that we receive depth, of thought, of emotion, and of perspective, and these naturally stimulate and refresh our being. It is the basis for finding a semblance of "happiness" because it gives us a sense of appreciation and satisfaction.

"Happiness" is determined therefore by our "state of mind," not external factors, events, or conditions. Those factors may impact our state of mind, but they are not precipitating elements in making us happy. When I look around at this wondrous paradise, I gather a sense of joy because it influences my state of mind positively. However, this external factor, physical beauty, is merely transitory, and naturally when I become used to this environment it will no longer impact my state of mind, and I will no longer feel this sense of sheer joy as deeply. I will then revert quite smoothly back to my original state of mind. Again, it’s only transitory. By contrast, if this paradise lives in my memory by giving me a sense of appreciation for the world around me, the environment, the people, then it will forever alter my perspective and provide a sense of internal satisfaction. This will, in turn, lead to a deeper level of "happiness."

So, "happiness" is a function of our outlook on life—our state of mind—and not on the external factors around us. I see the Grand Canyon and Vegas rising within and I sense the duality of being. I realize that they are merely a continuum of one; they are opposing forces within each of us that spin dynamically within our bodies, physically, emotionally and psychologically. They are equal driving forces within our psyche and bodies. So, part of discovering "happiness" must be to recognize and understand these forces within us, those forces that so drastically influence our state of mind. Just as I know I will not always perceive this place as "paradise," I do look forward to my days here living in contrast and developing an appreciation for my internal world. Because in doing so, I realize that in seeing this world, I see within my personal world. Then, I will accept the challenge of finding other places that will again create contrast, depth to my being, and provide a path toward genuine "happiness."

However, is “happiness” even relevant?  Is it a pursuit we should endeavor to embrace, or rather is it merely a by-product of positive growth?  Is this a higher state of “awareness” that I seek?  Is this "faith" that I seek, based upon finding "happiness" or a heightened state of "awareness?"

Indeed, I also think personal relationships fall into the same pattern of thinking. In relationships, it's certainly important to change the perspective, to seek those contrasts that will renew your perception of the one you love. Yes, it gives you a sense of appreciation, and a level of satisfaction. Maybe that's precisely what's wrong with so many relationships today, we simply fail to take the time to understand that we need to develop the relationship, to develop depth. Rather, it's just easier to use it for convenience and then move on—something that we tend to do with everything else in our disposable society. What we don't realize is that this pattern of behavior creates a distinct emotional anchor that we continue to carry with us, even though we've physically moved on. This contributes greatly to the dysfunction of the next relationship, or even to its demise. We never develop a sense of appreciation, and a level of satisfaction from the relationship, and it pushes us to desire more from others or another relationship. It pushes us all to extract these desires from another instead of within—and sadly, in the process we then throw our emotional baggage and anchor onto this next person in line. Even worse, this next person in line, despite our feelings to the contrary, is usually just someone who matches our desires for that moment in time and what it was we "didn’t" receive from the previous person or relationship. Naturally, therefore, as our desires change, so does our perception of "love" for that person and either the relationship finds its painful demise or we merely stay out of obligation or fear. We have created in American society a twisted, vicious circle that devours each one of us, and mercilessly beats upon each of our souls without submission. Truly, it's absolutely numbing to think that the majority of relationships in our society are dysfunctional. I can't help but think of what will become of our children as a result the gross indifference to the relationships that support these fragile lives.

The contributing problem, which is now inherent to living in our society, is time. We make it so we never have enough, enough to understand ourselves let alone another human being. After struggling through several relationships, I have learned these invaluable lessons. I have therefore vowed to take the time, and whatever resources are necessary to avoid this destructive trend in our society. Traveling and taking the time with Bren, therefore, becomes an integral part of our relationship and indeed my life. I look forward to experiencing this aspect to the journey with her, for it is our "struggle" to become a cohesive one. However, just as I look "forward," I know that part of this journey leads backward, back to understanding our past and its contributions to the present. It's crucial to understand your partner, and to do this you must experience life with them in a variety of situations, from which can glean insight into their behavior, into the essence of their souls. You develop an appreciation for them, a deeper "understanding," and I now believe one that naturally fortifies a more positive state of mind about life with that person. Indeed, it becomes a heightened state of existence to be with that person than without, not merely a fulfillment of your fantasies or contrived desires. It becomes the energies of two individuals naturally complimenting the other, one greater than their individual parts and one moving in unison toward an even greater energy.

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

The nervous anxiety quickly wore off, and I immediately noticed the lack of noise and gathered a sense of tranquility. The silence was startling. I could only hear myself breathing, the soft dribble of bubbles exiting my regulator, and yet the life was bounding all around me. It was a striking realization, to see the flurry of activity and yet not hear a sound. I know I'll never forget the feeling of being neutrally buoyant—freely flowing, gliding, through the water almost effortlessly, and yet, I could still breathe. It blew me away to be surrounded by this pervasive blueness, and my perspective of the ocean was endearingly changed forever.

However, for everything that personifies beauty and grace, there was me flopping along in all this bulky equipment trying to maintain some sort of neutral buoyancy, something so natural for the creatures of this giant aquarium. The fish themselves are surprisingly eclectic—they differ so greatly in size, shape, and color--so many different species and they all act so differently. The sea is simply filled with life: coral full of color, a moray eel, sea cucumbers, anemone, and urchins. It's truly a vision of another world, and I realized at that moment as I soared over another massive piece of colorful coral that I was an alien. It's their environment, and profoundly, I am a mere visitor.

We had passed our certification tests and were on our final dive before full certification. And it began almost immediately. We watched cautiously as a moray eel slithered passed Bren and I departing from its comfortable spot in the coral, when our dive instructor, Garrett, then pointed out two stonefish that he had spotted earlier. A giant grouper later approached the group where we could stroke its side all while a small group of barracuda slowly passed. Later in the dive, I was navigating the group with the compass when I came upon a break in a wall of coral just ahead. As I led them toward this same opening, two sharks suddenly emerged, cut abruptly, and glided through the opening directly toward me. They drove straight at me fearless, completely unintimidated. This was their environment, and this time, I knew I was the alien. I slowed captured in their gaze. I was shaken, but surprisingly, I didn't stop or panic; actually, I was drawn by their grace and elegance, their symmetry. They closed to within ten feet, where I was eye to eye with this menacing creature of the sea. As I stopped and hung in the water with them seventy feet below the surface, the sharks suddenly jerked downward, and drifted into the coral below me.

Bren, who was at the back of the group, had finally caught up with me and she tugged hard on my arm. Her eyes were wild as she motioned hysterically for me to follow. She was desperate. In a flash, she turned and darted away. Sharks were her worst fear in the world and she was gripped in terror. I turned and swam as fast as I could after her desperately grasping for her fin to slow her from panicking and bolting for the surface. I finally reached it and held on. Forced to stop, she flung around toward me. Her face was shaken with fear. We were instantly swarmed with bubbles from her fanatical breathing as she twisted and squirmed in my grip. I held her arms tight while she continued to struggle. She was trembling. I held her tight and as the bubbles ascended away from us, and I was able to finally look into her mask. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated and unfocused, her breathing was erratic and quick, and her legs continued to flail uncontrollably. She desperately wanted to bolt to the surface; however, we were seventy feet below, and if she did, she'd severely risk blowing out her lungs.

"Dammit, how do I communicate without being able to talk to her," I kept saying to myself.

After again seeing the utter terror in her face, I just reacted. I clung to her arms and looked directly into her eyes trying to get her to focus on me; she wouldn't. Her head spun frantically around, and side to side, as she nervously continued peering in every direction for the sharks. Her eyes were wild, possessed with pure fear. I gently held her chin and forced her to look directly into my eyes, and I just tried to show her that I was calm. I began taking exaggerated deep breaths hoping that she'd take my cue and do the same. She did, and slowly she began to calm. As she finally regained control, she gave me a fragile smile knowing she'd survived.

Upon surfacing ten minutes later, she was still shaking. We floated together on the surface as she began to weep.

"I can't believe I did that, I can't believe I panicked Bri. Dammit, I could have blown out my lungs!" she painfully confided, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"It's okay, baby," I said as I swam closer to embrace her.

"I'm so mad at myself," she said with a deep sigh and more tears, "oh God, I'm so embarrassed. I just can't believe I did that!"

I stared at her. I smiled.

"Why are you smiling? You jerk, it's not funny--"

"I'm not laughing. I'm smiling because I'm proud. So damn proud of you," I said stroking her reddened cheek.

"My God, for what?" she cried out.

"You faced it! You confronted your fear...And not only did you not bolt for the surface, you actually swam toward the sharks to get me. You swam to save me."

"But I panicked, Bri, I lost it."

"Yeah, you did, but I'd rather be with someone who saw and attacked their 'demon' than one who's never seen it or confronted it before..."

She hung in the water, silent, as her body convulsed slightly from the crying.

"I wouldn't want anyone else down there beside me," I said offering solace.

"Really, you mean it?" Bren asked stunned.

"Hell yeah, I know you're a great diver, and what you did in coming to get me was purely reactionary, and that was true courage of the soul."

She smiled and her entire face lit up.

"You confronted those sharks, you drove straight at your fear," I said with my arm held high in the air, clenching my fist together in an emphatic ball, "and that can never be taken away from you. Ever."

As we rode back to the dock in the boat, I thought to myself that courage can only be measured during times of utter exigency. I know personally that there is nothing that can bring you closer to that than your own personal demons. For me, my personal demon is a fear of heights, and I can feel that my day of reckoning is close. I know it and look forward to that day...the day I meet my demons. They patiently lurk, waiting for their moment to rise up and seize a piece of my heart, and like a flash of lightning through a dark night sky, to steal the life from my body.

As for that dive, we'll never experience another even remotely like it. I know that now. Not just because of the sharks, eels, barracuda and stonefish but because of what happened between Bren and me. She came after me first thinking that I might be in danger despite her riveting fear and overwhelming instinct to flee. We got through the situation together. We were there for each other. It was all purely impulsive and that's what makes it special, even unique. This is exactly what was important about taking the course together, to help the relationship grow, to develop our trust and respect for each other. On this day we certainly accomplished that...and much more.

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

That evening we took Garrett to one of the local pubs to thank him for such great instruction and to celebrate our certificates.

"That was really an incredible dive! I've logged hundreds of dives, and that was probably one of most spectacular. To see as much as you did on that one dive...well, you may never experience anything like it...and it happened on your final certification dive," Garrett said with an ironic chuckle, "it took me about 300 dives before I saw my first shark!"

"I think Bren's wishing it was that long for her too..." I said.

"You got that right. I still feel like I'm shaking!"

"You did fine. I can honestly tell you that many, I mean many, would have just taken off for the surface. You definitely earned your certification," our instructor said with a laugh.

"Garrett, what brought you to Rarotonga?" I asked turning the conversation.

"Well it's a bit of a long story, but in all started in New Zealand. I was to be a farmer back there, just like my father and his father before him. In fact, I was always clearly slated to be farmer," he said.

"Although, not destined to be..." I offered.

"Yeah, you got that right. I was a farmer, and along with my wife we were pretty well settled with our two kids. That is, until..." he said as his voice lifted, "well, I never felt secure with the farming. It was never me. One day I decided to take a scuba course, and it changed my life. I absolutely loved it. I couldn't get enough of it!"

"It was your passion, I can clearly see that," Bren said with a smile.

"Definitely. I then went all the way up the diving ladder to an instructor. I didn't really know what I'd do with it, but I loved it so much, I just kept taking classes."

"Well, how'd you end up here in Rarotonga though," Bren asked.

"My wife and I came here on a holiday. I went diving with a group up the road here, and afterward they offered me a 12-month teaching position. I was, of course, shocked."

After a short pause of deliberation, he continued, "well, my wife and I went back and forth, and I really didn't envision myself being a farmer all my life. So I took it. The kids stayed in school in New Zealand while we moved here for the year."

"You left your children?" Bren asked incredulously.

"Yes and it was hardest thing I've ever had to do," he sullenly reflected.

"Anyway, after the year was up, I had an offer to buy out the small dive shop I now own."

He looked up at Bren and I from the table, and as if he was trying to convince us said, "this was my chance of a lifetime."

"I agree, those moments only seem to come along once, don't they..." I offered.

"Yes, I think so."

"So you packed up the family and moved here?" Bren asked.

"Yep."

"I can say, it seems to have paid off exponentially," I said.

"Well, I may have made more money back in New Zealand, but I'm certainly much happier where I am now--"

"It shows," Bren interjected, "but what did you wife think about this all?"

"I think she was a bit reluctant to leave at first, especially her family, but then it grew on her and now she tells me she couldn't even envision her life being any different."

"Boy, what a commitment that must have been for her though," Bren said.

"Isn't it strange how a single decision like that changes your entire life, your entire perspective," I said.

"It most certainly does. I've been doing this now for nearly ten years and I still absolutely love it. I still can't get enough of it. I couldn't be happier."

"Do you think then that simplicity breeds happiness?" I asked.

"Well, I'm really not sure. I'm not much on the philosophy, but I do think that the simpler things are, the easier it is to find what will make you happy."

"And if you reflect back to being on that farm, do you think that if you're life was more complex, if you had more that tied you down that you would have made the same decision?" I asked.

"Definitely not, I can tell you that. As it was, it took every ounce of courage and desire to get away, and I was simply turning the farm over to my brother. Even if I had to sell it to leave, I probably wouldn't have gone, and I wouldn't be here today...I wouldn't have found my destiny."

Later that night, I found my spot by the lagoon while Bren slept and my thoughts were with Garrett. He represents so much of what life is all about as he does exactly what he loves each day. He cares so much about diving and has such enthusiasm for it, that it's infectious. I can't help but think of what a world this would truly be if everyone had such a positive attitude. Unfortunately, more often than not people in Garrett's spot stay at the farm and they remain unhappy and resent their entire lives away. Sadly, this is infectious as well.

I admire Garrett and it has nothing to do with scuba diving. Rather, he's taught me that you must know yourself well enough to understand the priorities in your life, and exactly what will provide a sense of satisfaction. It alters your perspective and clears your state of mind, and helps you to develop a positive outlook. You "understand" a deeper sense of self, and so when that fateful opportunity finally does appear, as it does for us all, you are able to snatch it up and accept your destiny. He has actually found his calling. He's content; he's fulfilled, and his outlook on life remains positive because of his perspective, his appreciation for his position. Yet for it all, he was so close to never finding it; one added responsibility, one more decision, one more person against it, and his escape would have been forever closed, his destiny eternally sealed. For me, he's now truly "living life," and he does it every day. It’s such a simple theme yet so difficult to attain.

Until recently, I always allowed "life" to lead me. I envisioned myself bent down on all fours with a leash tightly strung around my neck, and this imposing entity, called "LIFE," yanking relentlessly on the leash pulling me so fast I could never keep up, my legs and arms would begin to shake and eventually I would stumble and crash helplessly to the earth below. Of course, "LIFE" doesn't stop. Despite my desperate clawing at the ground against its formidable grip, I can't control it; it persists and literally drags me face first along the ground. This had become my living nightmare. "LIFE" always seemed to be leading me, rather than me leading life.

I know that I was lured into this trap. The trap designed for us from childhood, that we must achieve the ultimate, the renowned "American Dream."

Now I question, what is the "American Dream" anyway?

Unfortunately, I found out the hard way. I discovered the "American Dream" and lived it. "Listen son, go to high school, go to college and grad school, get a job, pay the bills, buy a house, a car, take your two weeks vacation, have kids, pay the bills some more, again take your two weeks off...and most importantly, to show your status, a sign of your acceptance of the 'Dream' and your 'success,' accumulate these material possessions."

It goes on and on, for we live this vicious circle every day. To compensate for this circle we must convince ourselves that we do it in pursuit of this elusive "American Dream." This "Dream," as it turns out, is merely the apparition of material success; in other words, the more possessions you have, whether you even own them or not, naturally the more successful you are...and the closer you are to attaining the "American Dream." You must accumulate wealth, acquire property and possessions; buy bigger houses and luxury cars, jewelry, more "things" to illustrate your "success." Even worse, any method that facilitates the procurement of these possessions and wealth seems to be readily acceptable, even justified by American society. Yes, show Mommy how proud she should be with all your material wealth, that you've made it—even if it meant stepping on others to acquire these frivolous badges of esteem.

We are smothered by it from birth. But why? Because in the "dog eat dog" world that we've created we find it necessary to measure ourselves, indeed our system of upward mobility demands it. So, we have created the easiest way to measure our "success," that is, the boy with the most toys wins. Funny yes, but it's also a bold reminder of who we are, what we've become, and indeed where we are going.

I can't help but wonder if this "Dream" is actually the diseased seed of corruption and oppressive gluttony for the next generation? As we are all pressured into pursuing this "Dream" from a very early age and are frowned upon, frivolously judged and even ostracized, if we don't diligently follow. Indeed, we are not taught respect, honor and principle as a component of this upward mobility, one that would provide "safe" boundaries for genuine "success." Rather, our society has haplessly induced a foray into undermining the sanctity of American culture—one in which we actually believe that the end result is the ideal, not the path of virtue and how you achieve this ideal. Again, it’s the "results" that we focus on, not the "means." To say the very best for this "Dream" it places most of us in financial ruin personally, not to mention what it's doing to our country...that is, having a couple hundred million in search of these material trophies of success. And strikingly, at the very worst, it is completely ravaging our values and priority system, which in the process utterly denigrates the purity of American culture. The most disturbing impact of this "Dream," however, is that it will have devastating affect on our children, the ones who won't have a choice. They will have been raised in this environment, pampered in its graces, and blindly lured into their own fallacious "Dream." This is exactly what we have taught them. We have blindly built the walls that will suffocate them and their "true" dreams, the walls that will forsake their "right" to discover their inner self and build their character. And oh, the walls which will one day create their own personal saga of dolor and despair, as one by one their souls are lured to their deaths, and their lives then become only a compilation of material trophies dangling from the otherwise stark walls of their being.

What is your life if it's motivated by this "Dream?" What does it say for us as people, as a society, for this to be thee goal in our lives? Well, for me, I don't see the point. I've seen what lies at the end of this rainbow and I've given it up. I am flying directly in the deformed face of this "American Dream"....'cause I've been there and I know it's just "fool's gold."

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

Trudging through the thick underbrush and underneath the canopy of jungle, we began our cross-island trek. It was the final day on Rarotonga, and we had left the harbor front in the small town of Avarua and walked the two kilometers along the paved road to the beginning of the trail. Our initial attempt to ascend upward was immediately thwarted by the immense thicket of entangling branches and bushes.

"Bri, there's so much underbrush here, where's the path? Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all," Bren said hesitatingly.

"We didn't come this far from home, just to sit on the beach all day--"

"I know, but it's already so late and the sky looks like rain. Do you even think we can get through to the other side in three or four hours?"

"The sky does looks threatening, but c'mon Bren, we have to overcome these small obstacles. Just look at the beauty of that mountain," I said pointing up through an opening in the canopy to the giant rock rising into the mist above, "We'll find the path…and yes, we can make it through..."

Our innocence, our pretension, our passionate desires breathed within our being, for they gave us life.

"Of course we can, but sometimes the hurdles turn out not to be so small," Bren offered as we pushed on into the dense thicket.

We fought through the thick underbrush and eventually discovered the covert path. We stood together at the base of the path that drove straight up into the jungle above. Darkness seemed to engulf us from the overgrowth of tangled jungle surrounding us, doubt then purged the courage and we both fought the overwhelming desire to turn back. We stood within this deep blackness, a darkness merged with the light of day; for us, they were one. We were being tempted from something beyond, something within, and our egos swelled as the juicy apple was begging to be bitten. We actually yearned for it, to climb this mountain of life.

We looked at each other despairingly, unsure, and Bren’s eyes were clearly burdened with the immense task before us, "Well, this is obviously our last chance. Are you sure?"

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye unsteady, but without a word took the first step up the mountainous path before us. We could only climb, however, by stepping on the roots and reaching ahead for a branch or another root to then pull ourselves up. We relished the beauty, it was our sustenance and inspiration to seek this magical peak. Like a dog innately drawn to bury a treasured bone, we were magnetically drawn to this upward pursuit. But the ominous signs continued to unfold, warning us to take heed, as it began to drizzle lightly, making the trail muddy and the roots even slicker. After climbing for a solid half hour we reached the first of two summits, and twenty minutes later we reached the second, which was the base of the "needle," the highest point on Rarotonga—the object of the hike.

At the base of the "needle," we looked up at a 400-foot piece of mountain that towered above, shrouded in the mist surrounding its peak. A sign stood threateningly before us: "The trail ends here." Chains and ropes line the rock edge, which led up the "needle." We were among the clouds of Olympus, and the gods were plainly within a rope’s climb. What was driving us was beyond our comprehension, but clearly we were allured by the challenge and our ego impetuously complied. With the mountain on our left, we began the arduous ascent. The mere two feet of rock as a path was as intimidating as it was slick, as it left only a half-foot cushion from my right foot to a 1000-foot drop off. As we anxiously grabbed the rungs of the rope, distorted human figures seemed all around me, smothering me as we climbed upward. Their presence within my mind was unnerving and our pursuit in that moment struck me as impure, almost wrong.

However, it was too late.

We had reached the small perch, which is the highest point on the "needle." We sat together, our backs against the mountain, and sipped some water as we looked out over the dense treetops of the island. The view was intoxicating, certainly enhanced knowing the perils we endured, and yet unsettling. I immediately felt a sense that we were out of place, not that this rock in the Heavens was forbidden, but how it was that we reached this dancing cloud within its realm. It was within this gripping, almost suffocating thought that it began to drizzle again, then rain, and finally, a few moments later it turned into a furious downpour. The sky above us had clearly darkened and now it rumbled through the valley before us. What glory we had received from our climb now seemed to be washing away with each falling drop of rain. The light around us diminished, and the land that was once beautiful to behold now seemed oppressively deformed, even ugly. The feeling swelled within, and immediately I knew that we were being banished from this outpost to the jungle below.

We quickly retreated from the "needle" and descended back into the extraordinarily dense fold of the jungle on the other side. However, now a path that was already slippery was becoming fatally treacherous, and either way down was not without sobering danger. The torrential rains increased with admonition, causing the path to become a small riverbed. Our boot soles instantly became clogged with mud giving us no traction, and the roots which once before were the hardened rungs to the top now became the slippery branches hastening our "fall." We couldn’t "step" down the trail, root to root; instead, we were forced to rely desperately on the "step, slip, fall, grab and pray" method of hiking. In fact, we couldn’t even stand upright, and we were forced to rely on our basest instinct and the will of this mountain for our survival. The jungle was darkening, it seemed unyielding and that it was closing in on us with every passing second. Again, the skies roared with thunder and clapped with indignation.

As dangerous as it was to go much faster we were being forced to, because we could easily find ourselves stranded here if got much darker. Without a flashlight and nightfall approaching, we stepped up the pace. After sliding down the majority of this uncompromising path and through its thorny underbrush, we finally made it to the bottom of the first tier of the mountain without any severe injuries, yet caked in mud, sweat and rain. Indeed, I felt soiled. The track then followed a stream, crisscrossing back and forth, and as we'd been hiking for well over three hours we began to tire. I ached already from falling so many times and Bren was noticeably lethargic. The tangled chaos surrounding us was stifling; indeed it was stealing our energy, our light. This darkness actually hurt, it lacked depth and was unfocused, and it engulfed our beings and painfully sucked the life from our bodies. I looked at my dirty hands and I knew that this place was not only visually oppressive but it was tainting our very souls. Yet, it wasn't long before we both realized that we were back within the folds of the thick entanglement of the jungle; yes, that it's raining, dark, the path is sodden and treacherous and we have no idea how much further we have to go. Rational thought perished, choked off from this environment, and ironically, the skies above cried out with fury yet again. Scared and panicked, we then developed our intricate plan...haul ass.

Not but fifty yards from where we had developed this brilliant plan of running through the jungle along a path we couldn't see, however, I felt the plan's demise. As we began to descend steeply once more, I slipped jogging down the invisible path and lost my balance, fell, popped back to my feet, and began skating down the path with the sides dropping off again to perilous levels. I grabbed a small tree, but I was moving far too fast, it bent and swung me out over the edge with my legs dangling over the muddy edge.

Bren came running down the path screaming, "Bri, Bri, where are you?"

"Oh my god, Bri are you okay?" she said as she found me draped out over the small cliff clinging to the branch of the small tree. In that moment, I sensed that we were the beginning and yet the end; we were alone. Bren then helped me back onto the muddy path and we continued onward torn by two opposing terrors, the slippery death trap that was our path or being stranded in the jungle as night descended. We hiked onward in exhausted, nervous silence for the next thirty minutes through the pitch-black night without a flashlight, feeling our way through the jungle. Just as it seemed that we were lost, achingly twisting in the circles, we popped out into a clearing by a waterfall where a light from the star-lit sky gazed down upon us. It was simply the moon, and even though it now seemed far beyond our tangible touch or reach, we at least possessed this steady stream of light to guide our way back to the main road and home again.

After a thirty-minute walk back to the main road, we found a passing bus and sauntered on, where all eyes quickly fell on us. Battered and bruised, caked with sweat, mud, spots of dried blood, and a stench that preceded us both, I pulled out the soggy money from my pocket and silently offered it to the driver. He looked me up, then down, and up again where he met my eyes and proceeded to repeat his scrutinizing gaze yet again. He then peered around me at Bren, his eyes wide with utter disbelief. He looked down at the money in my limp hand, and with his hand held up he said, "No pay today."

"Thanks," I replied in my deranged and weary state as we moved to an open seat. We sat down with a discernible squish, my eyes rolled into the back of my head and I went limp with exhaustion. I gazed out the window at the distant moon as Bren limply rested her head on my shoulder and said with a laugh, "I think we can safely say, we lost our hundred bucks this time!"

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

The local people of Rarotonga are often thought by foreigners to be stoic or even rude. Specifically, they will look directly at you in passing yet fail to say anything or even smile. If you greet them, however, my experience has been that they will almost jump at the opportunity to talk to you or assist in any way. Personally, I have found the Rarotongans to be proud and at times stern, but without a doubt, extraordinary in reciprocating feelings of hospitality and even friendship. This was borne out when we returned from the trek and we were "taken in" by the husband and wife team, Roaro and Iko, who own the bungalows. Roaro deftly sliced up some coconuts with a machete for Bren and I, as we recuperated from our "loss" with the unknown, our trek through the island's jungle. The four of us sat around at the edge of the lagoon chatting and eating coconuts, but Bren and I found listening to Roaro's life stories the most intriguing aspect of our glimpse into Rarotongan life.

Roaro's darkly sunned skin was oppressed only by a pair of shorts and sandals, and after each softly spoken sentence he would pause for a moment allowing the teeth of smile to pierce the darkness of night. He was a man made for Rarotonga, a middle-aged fisherman who, with Iko, made his home here on the island. In fact, they were living in a small house across the street from us. Their house is basic, built from the same mold as our bungalow. Surprisingly, on a tropical island they don't even live on the water. Indeed, they seemed as simple as their lives. Yet, as it turned out, Roaro has a Master's Degree from the University of Hawaii and all of his three children are in or have graduated from college. I would have never remotely thought this at first glance.

It struck me immediately that for all his simplicity he maintained an almost profound insight into life and happiness. He talked at length about the people on the outer islands.

"They have so very little in the way of possessions, some have none. They live in the jungle," he said with a deep sigh as he reflected for a moment, "and yet they are some of the happiest people I've ever been around. I truly enjoy my trips to outer islands for this reason."

Ironically, I thought the same about him and the people of Rarotonga.

"What is it that you enjoy about it?" I curiously inquired.

"Well, I find that it changes my perspective...it shows me on some level to be grateful, but it also shows me that these people have found happiness. And that absolutely amazes me."

"How do you think that they have found this...such happiness living so primitively I mean?"

"Over the years I have given this considerable thought, and I have come to the conclusion that which is pure makes you happy."

"I don't understand that really," Bren casually stated.

"Well, it's the accumulation of things or possessions...eventually it will corrupt, and once it does, it will pull you away from those other things that make you happy."

"So do you believe that it's the possessions themselves or the accumulation of those possessions which is the catalyst in pulling you away from happiness?" I asked.

"The accumulation! Happiness is something that needs a feeling that lasts and the accumulation of possessions is by its very nature something that doesn't...the feeling never lasts. I have found that you cannot find happiness from something that doesn't consistently provide some measure of feeling good...that is, some feeling of contentment."

"Is that why you live here in Rarotonga?" Bren then asked.

"Well, yes. I'm an islander, but I could have lived in New Zealand or the west coast of the United States, but I chose to live here instead."

"It certainly seems to suit you both--" I said.

"Thank you. I have tried to live my life on a simple level by surrounding myself with those things that bring me a consistent feeling of good: my family, meeting new people, and fishing. I spend my time doing those things. I try to lead my life by that simple principle..."

"But are you happy?" I asked with a tinge of sarcasm and a sly smile.

He quickly returned the smile and answered with a chuckle, "I am a man who is 'happy' to cut a coconut for you, Brian. But, seriously, I am a content man; life has been good to me and I try to return it, and should I die tomorrow I would have no regrets..."

We talked on many subjects that night, from Neil Armstrong walking on the moon to him fighting off a shark to protect his wife. In the end, however, he left me with the distinct impression of a man who had fought the great "struggle" for happiness, and found it. I realize, for myself, I couldn’t agree more with much of what Roaro said. In particular, that the pursuit of acquiring material possessions only serves to deteriorate the soul and eventually causes you to lose sight of the purity in your heart, a purity which ultimately provides a path to happiness. The path to "happiness" becomes restricted because beneath the affluence, the individual is experiencing spiritual and mental discord—for one tends to focus solely on their monetary well being. Indeed, the feeling of "joy" a new possession brings heavily reinforces this focus, and more poignantly, this focus is also fortified in the Western world and in America particularly where wealth is a prominent status symbol, an overt and highly respected sign of success. They cloud our vision of what is truly important.

So, if “happiness” and the drive to embrace it often pulls us to covet those physical and material wonders of our modern world, then the search for “happiness” itself as a primary goal must be questioned.  That is not to say that it’s not important to have contentment among people, certainly it makes for a peaceful, more selfless group and should be cherished; however, happiness is better understood as a by-product of good intentions and developing perspective as opposed to achieving it through specific acts of selfishness or manipulation. For example, Roaro often seeks contrast with the people of the outer islands, and this naturally encourages a different, fresh perspective.  This perspective brings a sense of appreciation and internal satisfaction to his life.  Simply, it helps him, like Garrett, to understand what truly brings them contentment—because they have created a state of mind that enhances growth and opportunity for more growth.  It boils down what we have in our lives to a baseline of satisfaction and contentment.  So, for us as Americans, it’s this failure to appreciate and develop a heightened perspective of the world around us, which inherently undermines our pursuit of “happiness.”  We always desire more, and what’s even more destructive, we always want more of the external—those things that distort our perception.  Indeed, we would rather have these external desires, so easily fulfilled by a simple expenditure, than to take the time and effort to seek within.  Our state of mind is therefore clouded with these external desires that supplant the truer notions of “happiness.”  So, it is the endless pursuit of “happiness” that ultimately dislodges our sense of purpose and growth, because we seek it as a magical end, a tangible goal, rather than a natural consequence of learning and growing. 

As I laid aching in bed upon our last hours in Rarotonga, I was left with the distinct feeling that maybe I wasn't so crazy after all, maybe, just maybe, America was the wayward one.

The following morning we boarded our plane for Fiji as the rising sun showered the land with the soft glow of dawn. I took my seat and looked out the plane window at the sun shimmering over the island palms dangling in the mist of the early morning, and I realized that Roaro and Garrett are those rays of light glistening so brightly for their way of life. One of the few of us who break through the thick shroud of the clouds; they are laded with happiness, and within each of them the gift of life seems fully utilized and its awesome potential somehow fulfilled. They are men who cut the shackles that bound them, and they've never been so free. They stand side by side bellowing the triumphs of true liberty, and yet they almost stand in direct contrast to the philosophical way of life within America. They have harnessed the Vegas within us all, and they've reaped the striking beauty of the Canyon; they have sipped from the nectar of life—now, they have no regrets.

No regrets. No man can sing a sweeter tune in life than "no regrets."

I, as of yet certainly cannot, but it brings a joyous tear to my eye to have been touched by men who could.

Copyright © 2000 PbFisher. All rights reserved.