I dreamt of my freely floating body being sucked into a wildly spinning vortex, and as I was dragged into this black hole I acutely felt the aching dullness of the void beyond.  I quickly reached the sharpest point of darkness that is the center, where I popped through and was immediately consumed by a heavy blanket of blackness.  I saw and heard nothing, but I felt elements all around me, palpably pushing on me.  It’s crushing me and yet at the same time this force or forces were trying to take something, everything from my internal being.  I grew angry and viciously fought back, but laughter filled this void and this mocking mirth echoed unmercifully through the emptiness.  I then heard their voices ringing in my head, still laughing and telling me that life isn’t real, that I am not real, and in fact, that I am nothing.  I am merely an apparition, for I am the void.

I fling open my eyes only to see a mental image of the partners standing side by side before me.

I quickly grab Bren’s hand for affirmation of my existence and casually glance out the plane window to the pervasive sunlight and I realize that we are on our way to Fiji. I look to the earth aglow below me as I soar through the clouds of Heaven and I feel the strength resoundingly within, for with this flight I am growing, I discern my presence as an ever expanding energy. With our harnesses tossed aside we now freely take to the South Pacific—encountering daily daunting tasks and unusual perspectives, but ultimately, discovering the uneasy tumultuousness lay within ourselves. We were now stripped. We lay freely exposed, and life's precious moments seemed to caress our bare skin and extinguish all our worries. The oppressive structure and turmoil lifted and effortlessly blew away with the gentle ocean breeze and we embraced this tantalizing call of Fiji.

Our Fijian boat captain met us at the small airstrip on the obscure island of Kadavu, if that's what you call one who steers a small ten-foot outboard motor boat by hand; in fact, I couldn't believe the old rickety wooden boat even floated. Fiji is an archipelago of more than 800 islands and lies about 1500 miles directly north of New Zealand and the same distance west of the Cook Islands. Although Fiji is already remote, we wanted something different; we wanted an experience—a true "get away." We chose Kadavu.

Our small boat bounced along the waves challenging the awe of the open ocean, heading for our beachside bungalow in a remote village on the other side of the isle. The wind swung up, spraying warm salty water into my face, as fish after fish emerged jumping from the water—flying. The mountains of the coast engulfed by the dense, undisturbed greenery, the white, pristine beaches, the endless palms, the shimmering light blue sea, and hardly a sole anywhere in sight. Aside from the boat engine, it was peaceful, serene. No words were spoken, just the ocean, palm trees, sandy coastline and the deep blue horizon. On occasion, we passed a local on shore who would pleasantly wave to us bearing a smile, almost as if they were personally welcoming us to their intimate little island. The captivating view, the swarming smells and the lack of sound was overwhelming—so simple, so open and pure. I literally felt my spirit release, unmoored by thought, responsibility or worries—free.

Our boat captain, Aponu, stood just behind me at the rear of the boat with one hand at the helm of the outboard motor and the other at his forehead shielding the sun from his eyes. As I looked at him, he stared off into the distant horizon of the sea. His dark skin outlined the bright white smile and tender eyes of his gentle-looking face. Aponu was in his thirties, and he struck me as a hard-working, practical person, and one who absorbed responsibility. Immediately upon seeing him, however, I knew he was a good-hearted person; and somehow, I knew he "understood" a piece of this existence—the essence of life. I didn’t understand it, but I did sense it, and without much more than words of a greeting exchanged between us, I felt an instant connection with him.

During our bouncing journey, the sun beat down on us mercilessly and the salty air created naturally an unfailing thirst; so, after Bren and I sipped from our water bottle, I reached back and offered it to Aponu. He quickly refused, and I then insisted by holding the bottle out even further toward him. Cautiously relenting, he took the bottle from my hand with an awkward, yet gentle smile. Although he drank the water and genuinely appreciated the gesture, I could sense that it bothered him. The second time I offered, he simply refused, "I have nothing to offer you," he said demurely.

"It's okay," I said unrelenting and a strong smile of assurance.

He immediately let out a hearty laugh that penetrated the thick ocean breeze and gave me a giant adoring smile as he said, "Thank you, my friend."

About an hour into the long trip, we stopped at his village to drop off some petrol and food Aponu picked up at the airstrip. I inquired if we could go into the village. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and gave a hesitant but genuine grin. He seemed shocked that someone would take such interest in his people and village, and he seemed almost grateful. However, I wasn't sure he took me seriously, so I asked again. Yet this time, to show I was indeed serious, I asked if we could meet the chief of the village. As soon as the request left my lips, I regretted it though. First, I felt in my anxiousness I may overstepped my bounds and offended him, and second, I then remembered reading that you should always bring an offering when visiting any local village.

So I backpedaled, "Maybe we shouldn't as I don't have an offering for the chief."

He let out a belt of laughter that echoed throughout the small cove. He placed his hand on my shoulder and with gentle squeeze he said, "My friend, I am very delighted, even honored, that you want to meet the chief of my village."

It wasn't until later that I understood he had actually accomplished two things with his statement. First and most importantly, he recognized my insecurity with the situation and he scooped me up and rescued me emotionally. He returned my assurance earlier that he should take the water even though he had nothing to give to me. Second, he showed me that he was genuinely proud that I desired to meet the chief. I would wonder later just how many times that someone had actually emotionally rescued me during my life; someone who could be selfless enough to recognize in another their feelings and actually take steps to assist--to give back--to give you the energy back.

"Aponu, truly I don't want to offend--" I began to say.

"Oh, I know, it's no problem," he said with a bit of chuckle. He was always laughing, smiling—he exuded pure energy.

"Maybe it would be better if you could bring me back another time when I had an offering?"

"Yes, that is fine."

"What should I bring then as an offering?"

"Whatever you like, it's all good," he said with a snicker, "but if you want something special, bring him a kava root."

"I truly would enjoy meeting your chief."

He raised his head to heavens above and laughed roaringly out loud.

His movements were torpid, calm...yet smooth, as leaned in, rested his hand on my back he said, "I know. I know you speak with your heart, my friend."

We were soon on our way out of the small inlet as the small children of the village hung on the wall waving to the newest visitors to their precious isolated island. It was a vision of another time, those precious children on the wall waving to us; it was a vision of unadulterated purity. It was a place, time, where no boundaries, no artificial lines existed, and my planet was their planet; simply, there were no differences between us. We were all the same.

Just before leaving the small inlet we passed another small boat, which as it turned out, contained Aponu's wife and their two-year-old daughter. Upon recognizing Aponu, they both instantly stood up and waved jubilantly. They were waving to all of us in the boat, but I knew it was intended for Aponu. I turned around in my seat toward him. His face glittered; the white teeth of his giant smile sparkled against the outlay his dark skin. He was ecstatic. He appeared so happy, so content; his face filled with pride as he told us that was his daughter. I felt like a child myself. For a split second, I seemed frozen in time, entranced by this transcendent feeling. Their life was so simple; so simple and yet, they were all a vision of happiness. So innocent, so pure. I could see it clearly, they truly enjoyed their lives, they truly enjoyed who they were. It consumed me as I reflected back on Garrett and Roaro and this theme of "happiness." The environment, the place, and the people, it all touched my spirit, the essence of me. I had done nothing, and yet something within me subtly signaled that I’ve never been happier.

Indeed, I was.

But how could I be happier traveling on a rinky-dink wooden boat, watching some kids waving to me from a wall and observing Aponu’s appreciation for his family, than I was in my own life in the States? It wasn’t just a moment grafted in time where a different environment seemed appealing; no, somehow my life seemed unfulfilled in comparison with Aponu’s and it went far beyond his wife and child. It was something deeper, something I didn’t understand but felt so clearly. Somehow I was disembodied—lost within my own shadow, and this light of Aponu drew me back to a state of physical reality where I again felt the radiant strands of sunlight upon my face.

I watched this happiness sprout forth like a budding spring flower, and with his family cheerfully waving to him, I had a brief glimpse into Aponu’s simple life. Indeed, I had a glimpse into life itself, for he embodied that purer form of "love" we search so desperately for within this existence. This uncomplicated, yet surreal, scene with his wife and child demonstrated with pinging clarity that "happiness" is a state of mind, for it’s derived from this purer form of "love" and the "meaning" to one’s existence. He had so little, yet so much. The oddity of the situation was that he knew it. He actually knew it. He had no other perspective other than living on this small island in Fiji, and yet he knew what he had. He appreciated his life and he had enough of a perspective on life to understand it and I think he knew what his life represented, the meaning to his life. Because his life is simpler, this love and meaning is closer to his breast, to his essence and it facilitates this crucial state of mind necessary to discover "happiness."  

He was the piercing, focused light within the void of blackness.  Within this light, "happiness" becomes a natural result and not a state contrived or manufactured.  When one discovers any “meaning” underlying this complex and chaotic world, “happiness” can then develop from this positive state of mind.  Again, the simpler the life is, the easier it becomes to not only uncover the dormant meaning within one’s life, but to actually appreciate it.  Within this appreciation, this gift of life, is the key to unleashing the golden anchor of our existence—to feel a sense of significance.  I know now that the expression on his face when he saw his wife and daughter waving to him will be forever fused in my memory. It will eternally endure. When I think of what happiness is to me, what it truly means and a sense of what it feels like, I know that I will think of Aponu and his radiant energy and glowing smile.

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

After nearly three hours of butt-wrenching torture, we finally arrived at the camp. We bid Aponu good-bye, and I shook hands with him as if I was bidding farewell to a long-time friend. We smiled together and he left to return to his undeniable happiness, his family. We were then escorted to our private thatched hut on the beach, where it stood a mere twenty feet from the water's edge. It had a sandy-rock floor with a small mat by the bed, thatched ceiling and walls and two openings for windows with sticks holding the wooden hatch open. In the middle was a bed with a mosquito net around it. No electricity. No hot water. It was real Robinson Crusoe stuff. There were nine other bungalows lining the beach and one in the back that had a hole in the ground "toilet" and a cold-water shower. Included in the price of the beachside hut are three meals served in a room in the owner's home behind the beach bungalows. The meals are our only source of food anywhere remotely close to the village. Without a doubt, we'd found our remote and simple getaway.

Upon finishing our dinner that evening, we sat around the dinner table chatting with the other travelers when one of the locals approached me and asked if I would join him in the back for "kava." I was a bit taken back at first, but with Bren's nudge of encouragement saying that she'd meet back at the hut later, my curiosity got the best of me. I agreed. I entered the room adjoining the dining hall where I was met by a few of the local men of the village who sat in a circle. In the center of the human circle was a large wooden bowl filled with a dirty-looking liquid, the kava. It's a special Fijian drink served in a half coconut shell, and it's customarily passed one-by-one around the room. It turns out that Aponu had talked with the other villagers about our experience on the boat, and they'd decided to invite me to share in their rich tradition of drinking kava. To them, it's a serious act of bonding, one of forging friendship. In fact, unbeknownst to me at the time, the chief I had asked to meet was actually one of the gentlemen around the bowl.

I sat down, Indian style, completing the circle around the bowl and immediately had the half coconut shell offered to me. I was told to clap once before accepting the shell filled with the cloudy liquid, then take the shell with both hands and down it; under no circumstance was sipping permitted. After handing the empty shell back to the server, I was to complete the tradition by clapping three more times. The shell was then passed to the next person in the circle and so around the shell went. We sat around casually chatting with each other while a couple guys took turns playing the guitar—it was basically a giant bull session.

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

The kava tastes like dirty dishwashing liquid, although it's tolerable basically because your tongue goes completely numb after the first drink.

"It's already my turn again," I asked startled at just how fast the shell swung around the room.

"Why yes," Bootie, the man distributing the kava said to me with a grin, "there's no sipping and no slowing down."

"Down it!" one of the others yelled out.

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

I met all the local villagers around the bowl. Henry, the chief I had desired to meet, who was an older gentlemen (70 or so) and quiet; Jimmie, a middle-aged laid-back fellow, who owned the place we were staying; Tony, a younger member of their tribe; Lemmo, the dive instructor for the village; and Buddy. Buddy was in his mid-30s, he played the guitar of mostly American music, the Eagles in particular, and we established a bond almost immediately.

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

"You are doing well, my friend," Tony leaned in and said with a typically rich "Fijian smile."

They were all so laid-back, so relaxed—they truly seemed harmless I was thinking as...

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

"Wow, this stuff is really potent," I said to Buddy, "what the hell's in it?"

"Oh, don't worry about it; it's just the root of the kava plant--it's ground down and mixed with water. Well, that's it for the most part. Actually, it's nonalcoholic," he reassured me with a nudge of his elbow and a sly smile.

"Whatever it is, nonalcoholic or not, my whole mouth is numb," I belted out. They all immediately roared with laughter as Bootie thrust the shell my way once again.

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

"Buddy, you guys are really going to kill me with this stuff," I said as a distinct spark lit up in his eyes.

"Yep, we got another one!" he was probably thinking.

"Ah, come my friend, you see, you can never say anything about how much of the kava you've had. Drink another."

"I think you are making up these rules as we go. Ya know, I'm finding out that it really isn't much different in other parts of the world after all," I reflected as...

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

Although Buddy told me it's nonalcoholic, it is no doubt intoxicating because I was feeling woozy. We sat around chatting mainly about America and Fiji. They were all so curious about the good ole United States of America, and although the conversation was certainly interesting, I think the goal was really to just get the dumb American plastered!

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

They just refused to accept "no" for an answer and around and around the shell went...and it seemed to be coming faster with every turn. I began to lose touch with my senses, and although I could think clearly I began to feel extremely relaxed, almost groggy. I found it distinctly hard to move. Strangely, the only move I could make with any proficiency was...

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

With the intoxicating kava and another rendition of the Eagles I began to bellow out a few tunes, which in the end was probably my savior. I know when I start singing, it's time to go...and at that point, they probably did too.

"I better get going, before I can no longer move," I said hoping to kick this gig and quickly scamper back to the hut while I still could.

"No, no, you must have a drink with me, Brian," Henry the chief offered.

"Oh, so now even the chief is in on the act...great, how can I refuse the chief I wanted to meet...if Aponu was only here to see this!" I thought as the cup was once again thrust my way.

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

"Okay guys, you got me, you got me good," I said chuckling, "I don't think I can feel a bone in my body...really."

"Yes, but can you still move?" Jimmie asked.

"Yeah, I think I can make back to the hut, thanks for the concern," I replied.

"Come now my new friend, if you can still move, you haven't had enough," Jimmie said handing me yet another cup. The room echoed with laughter and I knew that this is where prudence and just being stupid go their distinctly separate paths. I had a choice. Naturally, I chose the latter and...

Clap, chug, Clap, Clap, Clap.

I don't really understand it myself, I guess it's just one of the testosterone rushes I am biologically conditioned to have every once in a while.

"Okay, that's it fellas, thanks, I enjoyed it, although I'm sure not quite as much as you did..." I said as I stood with an uncontrollable sway.

I received hugs from each one, as well as a cordial hearty laugh. Henry, the chief, then rose and shook my hand and said, "Brian, I like you very much, you are a very funny guy, will you join us tomorrow?"

I was thinking, "Great, I was the entertainment for the evening and now they want an encore," yet I actually replied, "well, let me just see how I feel tomorrow and besides I don't want to leave my girlfriend again."

"No problem, you can bring her too!" the chief replied.

"Oh, I get it, two to laugh at is better than one," I offered.

Henry bellowed with laughter, "Oh yes, my friend, I do like you very much."

"Well, we'll see chief," I was saying as he adroitly jumped over the kava bowl between us and gave me a giant bear hug.

What an odd gesture, I thought, one from the slender, seventy year-old man who's the chief of the village; but then again, we've all downed an entire kava plant by this point. I finally left, stumbling and staggering through the sheer darkness of the night back to the hut desperately trying to avoid bumping into the palm trees or tumbling over the ubiquitous coconuts strewn along the path. I entered our bungalow lifted the mosquito net and dropped like a rock into the comfort of the bed next to Bren. I then heard a soft chuckle. I thought for a moment that I had never really left the kava room, but I realized that it was just Bren.

"What the hell did they do to ya?" she said laughing hysterically, obviously not able to control the sheer pleasure of witnessing me helplessly bogged in this strange stupor.

"Oh, couldn't handle it, could ya....boy, they got you good!" Bren continued to torment.

My body was numb.

My head throbbed.

"This is a no-doubter...definitely the highlight of the trip so far," she said with a final howl of sadistic laughter.

"Yeah, another joker, I'm just surrounded by comedians..." I said as my eyes fell helplessly shut.

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

We have spent our nights and most of the days within our simple thatched hut, and yet for its austere appearance I’ve found it appealing—the window slats open, the cool ocean breeze blowing through and listening to the constant lapping of the waves on the shore only ten feet from our bungalow. It's been seductive. The basic living conditions have allured me; surprisingly, I haven’t been bothered by the cold showers, the "squat and drop" toilet, or the small critters that have freely roamed through our bungalow each night. I've actually gotten used to it all already. The place has had a feel of isolation and serenity that somehow consumed me, where the conveniences of life in America seemed to wash away with the roll of each soft wave of the South Pacific.

Ever since the first night we have been besieged with offers to have kava with "Jimmie and the gang." Finally, we agreed. Bren and I sat down around the bowl together and I showed her the basics: Clap, Chug, Clap, Clap, Clap. After only a few rounds Bren completely understood first hand how I had ended up back at the bungalow in such a delusional state.

Some of the other visitors began arriving for dinner next door, but upon seeing Bren and I, several came bustling in through the doorless entry into our room. They greeted us and nonchalantly plopped down around the kava bowl. I was seriously disturbed. Although the "gang" was typically Fijian in not saying anything directly to those who had so imposed themselves, they had nevertheless come uninvited into their home. Buddy, who was more outspoken than the rest, gave me an agitated look. I leaned toward him explaining weakly that, "I don't think they realize what they've done."

"What?" Buddy annoyingly exclaimed, "to walk into someone else's home uninvited!"

I quickly glanced at Bren who sat stunned, speechless.

I didn't know what to say.

"Let me ask you, would they do that at home in America?"

Certainly, he was right.

"I would have to say they wouldn't," I deferred.

"Hmmm," he said rubbing his chin in thought, "well, that certainly says something about Americans then doesn't it!"

Interestingly, it was only the Americans who parted the company of the others in the dining hall and entered the "kava room." Buddy had a strong point, however, and strangely I felt some responsibility for my compatriots.

I tried to lighten the moment, "Yeah, you know those damn Americans; we think we rule the world and everyone in it," I whispered to Buddy with a mocking chuckle.

He exploded with laughter, and at the same time put his arm around me and said, "It's okay Brian, you don't have to worry about them."

He appreciated my effort and I certainly appreciated his to recognize and even attempt to console my feelings of responsibility. It was odd that I felt responsibility for my fellow countrymen; I certainly owed none. Or did I? When you are virtually across the world from your home, you do feel on some level that you actually represent your country, and in essence, every one of your actions becomes representative of your country. That is, at home, your actions are solely yours and yours alone. However, when you leave it, your every action carries so much more significance. Your every action seems to become an extension of the people of the entire country. I certainly felt that then as I sat around the kava bowl. It was my first experience with foreigners' perception of Americans, and it provided me with a glimpse of understanding as to why many consider us to be arrogant and insensitive. I realized at that moment that I had probably done something like this during my previous travels as well. It was disheartening and I felt considerably embarrassed not only for the present actions of my fellow Americans but also for myself.

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

At dinner, the center for discourse, we barreled headlong into a heated, yet interesting, discussion with a Swiss couple. It began over whether I should dive the next day. My ear continues to bother me and has improved little since the Cook Islands, yet this will be our final opportunity to dive in Fiji.

"Are you telling me that if you had only one opportunity to dive the Astrolabe Reef in Fiji, one of the best dive spots in the entire world, you wouldn't do it because of a small ear infection?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying," Kent said.

"Truthfully, my fear lies with whether I can equalize the ear, if so, I'll be fine. Beyond that, I certainly comprehend the risk with the ear, but to me, taking calculated risks for the potential gain is part of what life's all about."

"I don't understand that at all. You're crazy. I cannot understand for the life of me how you could possibly even think of diving knowing the obvious risk you face," Kent said to me.

I calmly explained, "the risk is naturally that my ear condition will worsen from the dive, however, we'll be in Auckland in two days should medical attention actually become necessary. While on the other side, the benefit is to experience one of the best dive spots in the world...what is there to analyze really, it's just a personal decision of risk."

"No, I disagree. There are too many unknown variables to consider inherent to this risk. You just don't know," he replied trying desperately to understand my analysis, "it's sheer madness is what it is."

"As far as I am concerned," I said with a hint of amazement, "the fear of the unknown doesn't have anything to do with the decision; you deal with the unknown every single day. Why should you be deterred when the risk is more apparent?"

"Yes, but wouldn't you agree that you are naturally adding to the variables of the unknown?" he said growing slightly agitated.

"Sure, but you can't allow the entire decision to be controlled by some unknown fear," I finally replied as I envisioned myself beating my head against the wall, "can't you see that, otherwise you're running away. The fear controls you!"

"No, No. I think that it is because of the unknown that you cannot accurately assess the risk and therefore shouldn't dive, regardless of any possible benefit."

"Ah, your thinking goes then, if a significant risk exists you shouldn't dive at all. So, let me ask you this: there is an inherent risk to diving in the first place, much can happen down there...so much of what is unknown. Would you be deterred from learning to dive because of these hazards inherent to the sport?"

"Yes. I would. It would be something I would seriously consider in whether to learn to dive."

"You're kidding. You would actually consider not learning to dive at all because of the risk. Even though, it is presently an extremely safe activity if you follow the guidelines?"

"Yes. I don't understand why that shocks you."

"Well because I never even considered any potential danger in my decision, and if I did, it probably added to the excitement...except maybe the danger of sharks, right Bren?"

"Oh yeah, you had to bring that up," Bren said with a quick, penetrating jab to my ribs, "but I can say that I never considered the danger either, except for sharks and whether I could actually do it or not."

"I think you as Americans focus your attention far too much on the gain," Kent sardonically replied.

"Well, I can say that I think you are overly cautious, you focus too much on the risk. What is life without risk anyway? Don't you find that when you come through a situation in which you risked something, you have some feeling of accomplishment...or even a feeling of elation."

"Not of elation, and I'd only feel a sense of accomplishment if the risk was a calculated one...like this trip. You must understand, Brian, this is the Swiss way. This is our way."

"So another Swiss person wouldn't make the dive tomorrow?" Bren asked.

"I would think not. I know for sure, I wouldn't. But you will, won't you?"

"You better believe it. You'd have to tie me up in the bungalow for me to miss it!" I answered.

"I'm sorry, but I think this thinking is pure craziness," Kent said ardently, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief.

"Well, this craziness, quite honestly, is the American way. No risk, no gain."

Obviously, they take only what's given, and if a risk is involved it negates any potential benefit I thought as I sat on the beach watching the moon light up the ocean beyond. For me, I have weighed the inherent risks and now accept the roughly calculated consequences. I am extremely comfortable with the analysis and the final decision; it is how I live my life. Fear does not, and will not, control me. I abhor it. So much so, I will seek out my fear and confront it.

Yet, it was fascinating to take the same situation and a decision I would otherwise take for granted and attempt to understand how another would arrive at a completely opposite decision. It was obvious to the four of us, that each couple rubbed the other the wrong way. I think that it was each of our perception that this represented the thinking of our respective countries; and to a large degree, it certainly seemed true.

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

After a day of diving, we shared a table at dinner with the Swiss couple, Travis from Canada, and Kary from England. Dinner has become a hotbed of discussion, as we sit around the table for hours rambling through topics concerning every aspect of the world. The topic this day quickly turned to Vietnam, and it immediately picked up a distinct pace and energy. I was actually taken back by the others, as they unabashedly conversed about the country with such fascination; they were all in absolute awe of it. Travis and Kary had already been there and the Swiss couple wanted to go. I squirmed in my seat, my concentration lapsed, my legs bounced with anxiety, and I fidgeted with my utensils. It became difficult to listen to their unadulterated praise of the country's beauty and people.

"Ya know, it's the way Thailand was ten years ago," Kary adoringly said.

"Yeah, it really is, and I found the people to be some of the nicest in the world..." Travis continued, "and the beauty of the landscape is unsurpassed."

The Swiss couple listened intently to every word.

My mind reeled. My heart throbbed.

Intellectually, I listened and attempted to reason, but my heart just wouldn't let me. I was frozen with this plaguing line of thought.

Finally, the fateful moment arrived, when Kary looked at Bren and I and asked, "do you two plan on going to Vietnam?"

My mind locked. I felt stymied, paralyzed as so many emotions raced through my body. I was speechless.

I was born in 1966 and was only 6 or so when the war ended, but I have family members who participated. I know of the horrible atrocities of the war--on both sides. I know of the dreadful things endured by the men who participated in the war. I know, therefore, when they spoke on the Vietnam, and spoke so highly of it, pure, uncontrolled, emotion surged through my body. It was unexpected. I didn't understand it, and yet it was absolute. I felt almost helpless in its grip.

Despite my desperate attempt to explain, I don't think any of them even had a clue as to precisely why it was such an emotional issue for me or for Americans in general. Of course, they knew of the war, the results and even of some of its events, but I realized they just didn't understand, nor could they really.

The Swiss couple, on the heals of my emotional binge, then mentioned the unmentionable, "Well frankly, you shouldn't have been there in the first place."

My blood boiled. I seethed. I clenched my fists under the table and clung to any semblance of control I had in my body.

My lawyer mode kicked in, and for one of the few times in a casual conversation, I was thankful. It clicked. My eyes narrowed, I calmed, my heart slowed, and my mind began dissecting his statement and its ramifications; I looked up, my eyes found his, I smiled gently and thought, "Okay, I'm ready. Let's get it on..."

"I say this from my heart, Kent, at least we took a stand."

"Yeah, but a stand for what?" he said incredulously.

"Maybe it wasn't a stance of purity I'll give you that, and I'll even give you that we shouldn't have even been there on some level. It probably wasn't a battle we should have waged. However, we did send our men there, and we did take a stand for what was perceived to be a just cause."

"But if the cause isn't just in the end, as it certainly wasn't there, you have nothing. In fact, it's less than nothing because you lost all those lives."

"I don't think that's true. We took a stand, and many of my countrymen lost their lives in making that stand, right or wrong. I will never forget that, and I can and will remind my children of that commitment. Why? Because, that my friend, was the heart of America. Commitment. Right or wrong."

"I don't understand, if you agree on some level that you shouldn't have been there, how can you justify the war in the name of commitment."

"I'm not justifying it. I'm showing you the difference between the American government and its people. I am not my government. So, if you take the politics of my government out of it, I'm showing you what's left, the heart of my people. They took a stand, and it's something that will never, ever, be taken away from those men, from my country, or its people."

"My God, why are you so emotional about it all?"

"Well, it's an emotional issue for Americans. We lost so much fighting that war. More than you could possibly understand. However, what makes it so emotional is, quite honestly, that the statement is coming from you! I mean it's what you represent, although I mean no offense to you personally. Please understand that."

"I don't take offense...so far...but please continue. Explain."

"Well, your philosophical way of life, one in which you embody such conservative principles, one in which you fail to take a stand, a failure which is clearly manifested in your history, is all precisely what being an American is not."

"I don't know how to take that..."

"Honestly, I don't know how you should either."

"We just don't admire getting involved in affairs that are none of our business. That's all."

"You see, you would rather not take a stand at all, for fear of being wrong...now we're back at our earlier conversation...you are allowing fear control you," I said as we locked eyes, "remember when you said earlier that we ended up with nothing from the war?"

"Yes. I remember."

"Well, my point is that one thing we will always know from that war, as Americans, is that we took a stand. That's crucial to our way of life and quite possibly, it’s crucial to everyone’s way of life. What's life without fighting for what you believe in. Think about that. Think about what it is to have the confidence, the passion, the determination, to face your fear and dammit fight it with all you have. No, I think you're mistaken because it's the one in your position, the one who stands on the sidelines, who is left with nothing."

"I really don't understand--"

"And it's something I don't think you ever could..."

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

We returned to the bungalow and I crawled into bed restless and distraught, yet I really didn't understand why. I laid in the bed next to Bren with the mosquito net around us, the sound of the waves lapping on the shore, and I stared into the open blackness. Visiting Vietnam plagued my mind and devoured my soul. I have always been fascinated by the war and how and why it happened. It's always bothered me but never to this degree. The intense conversation with Kent stirred my spirit, and now, it was palpable. It was an entity that now had form, it was tangible and I could feel its looming presence, I could touch it, and it disturbed me without mercy.

I had thought of visiting Vietnam before and it was always a thought bound within a myriad of emotions. During the discussion at dinner, Kary told us about other Americans who had gone. She said some Americans had no problems, while others were shown disfavor and even ostracized. I've also heard of some Americans being given a hard time. She told us that on one particular tour they made a special point of showing the dilapidated U.S. embassy! She also said that they sell American tokens they found from the war (lighters, knives, pictures, etc.). Surprisingly, none of it really bothered me in particular, but I still had this overwhelming feeling of distress--it was disquieting. I couldn't figure out exactly what I found so vexing, but somehow the discussion at dinner had caused my suppressed emotions to surface. I groped freely through the darkness but found nothing. Yet, after drifting into a restless sleep, I erupted out of the bed in the middle of the night. And in that instant, I felt it deeply and intensely that I'd never step foot on the soil of Vietnam.

I realized as I lit the kerosene lamp at my bedside that the Vietnam War cost us, as Americans, our innocence; but, even more, it stripped us of our FAITH.

It all began with the assassination of John F. Kennedy. We as Americans lost a bit of our innocence on that fateful day in 1963. JFK was rousingly engaging and he captured our nation, and sadly, with his death a small part of each American died with him. A small part of America died that day. However, his legacy continues even to this day undaunted, and affects future generations who weren't even alive then in much the same way. This haunting assassination was the true inauguration, for more than just the "man" was marred on that bloody day in American history.

Then came the Vietnam War and with each passing day of the war, each of us died a little bit more. Not so much because of the war, but more so, because of the conflict it created back in the States. It split us. It ripped us apart; it tore at the very fabric that made this country so strong, and ever since we haven't been the same. Ever since, we have slowly wilted away.

I was only a small child during the war, but anytime I think of the Vietnam War the overwhelming feeling is revolting disgrace. To me, it wasn't just the government that was a disgrace—who in their elected capacity took their constituency's trust, manipulated and eventually crushed it—but rather, it was our country as a whole. I understand the atrocities, and how they were brought first hand into the living room of virtually every American's home each night. I understand the misstated and misused cause, one which Americans lost hope in almost from its inception. I understand, even, the government of our glorious country blatantly lying to its people. These, I understand.

What I fail to understand, however, is the blatant lack of support...the lack of support not for the cause, but rather the lack of support for the men who served, our men. They fought for their country, our country. Indeed, they fought for me. Some believed in the cause, many did not. They did it out of a call to duty and loyalty and I respect this more than any words I can write. Further, many of the men, even a large majority, who fought for us were already victims of oppression in our country, namely the inner city kids and African-Americans, and in a time of unrest and civil discord, the oppressed became repressed yet once again.

And a little bit more of us died.

It brings a tear to my eye and my heart to my throat to think of a man, a man ripe with pride, proud to be an American, proud to fight for his country's causes, despite his personal beliefs. That is to be held high in any civilized culture and without challenge, respected. It bound us, it transcended our differences: race, religion, cultural, and made us one, it made us all Americans. From the elite and rich to the downtrodden and poor, we all felt patriotism in our breast, because we were Americans, and it unified us on some significant level. Once you lose respect for this, this "sacred" duty of patriotism, what as a country do you have? This loss will tear at the fabric of your society, and most assuredly, it did to ours. We lost pride, loyalty and faith during those turbulent years.

We lost who we were as Americans.

On and on it went with battles raging in Vietnam as well as in the States, with politicians basically running the war, not the military and certainly not those men. Yet, the more our men couldn't quickly dismantle the Vietcong, the more we at home began to lose our place, and the more we blamed those men. When they finally returned, the hostility and fury of our lost expectations and hope, was taken out on them. It was an absolute disgrace. Personally, I can say I have witnessed only one example of "pure" courage in my life. It was what I witnessed as a small child, and now know to be true, of the American soldiers returning from Vietnam to their own soil only to be spat upon. To think of a man spilling his blood for a cause he doesn't believe in, but rather for the love and pride of his country and then to return to endure his countrymen spitting, cursing, kicking, punching him caused unmitigated pain and torment within. What it was that made us distinctly American, our commitment, our stand, was ravaged by those Americans. What each of those men endured is the single best example of courage, true courage, I think I'll ever see.

If you believe that a team is only as strong as its weakest link, then you certainly have to believe that freedom only rings true for the person in your country who has the least. Undeniably, many of those who served in this war were those who possessed the least freedom—they had the fewest options in getting out of it. We forced them to go, we relied on them, and then when the war didn't develop as envisioned, we turned on those same men. We turned on many of the men who had the least reason to honor America.

Is this America? Is this who we are as Americans? Is this the resounding example supplied by the "greatest" country in the world?

I don't ever want to step foot in Vietnam because it was the war, upon the heals of JFK's assassination, which began the deterioration of American society. It crushed our faith, and ever since we have failed to believe...in our leaders, our government, our country, and each other. Vietnam taught us this. In essence, the lesson we learned from Vietnam was distrust. Even further, it destroyed our glowing fantasy of being the "white knight of hope" and we have found no reasonable and pragmatic philosophy to replace it. Stripped of our faith and this philosophy, we've been lost ever since. Apathy grows and tightens around our necks tighter and tighter every year. Truly, now we could almost care less. Look at who we've elected President ever since JFK; it's abundantly evident we could care less. We don't demand more from our leaders, we don't take control of our country, and indeed, we have placed the power of one of the greatest empires the world has ever seen into the hands of the righteous indifferent.

We have surrendered.

Yes, the people of America have surrendered.

And no, we didn't really lose the Vietnam War back then in 1972; we lost it in the years that followed...

Until we recognize what it was that tore us apart, what the consequences have been, we will as a people fail, regardless of how hard we try or how desperate the situation. We will fail. If confronted with another World War we will not rise to the occasion, we will fail. If confronted with another Vietnam War we will not rise to the occasion, we will fail. As an American, to even think of failure is difficult to swallow. I know, however, that it's true. Boldness only blinds us now. I know, even further, that we will fail until we are able to unite, and only then will we be able to take our country back. Only then will we restore our faith, only then will we again recapture our pride and dignity, that is, of the esteemed red, white and blue and all that it once represented.

As I extinguished the flame in the kerosene lamp and darkness once again blanketed the room, I knew that Vietnam was a place for our lost souls, a place where our men were sent to fight in the name of freedom, and a place where over 50,000 returned home in body bags. Their names are now intentionally forgotten, their faces buried, and their souls forever marred. I realized that those men who lost their lives serving our country have now become utterly "wasted," for we have failed to honor what it was that they solemnly represented: an unquestioned commitment and loyalty to their country and to some lesser degree, to the world. What at least they had represented in death has now been senselessly defiled by our mass disillusionment and loss of "faith" even to this day, a day where the next generation doesn't understand what those men died for, or indeed, what those principles meant. That is, what it meant to be an American. I laid in the darkness, and as I drifted back into a sleepy somber I realized that I had seen the menacing monster that lurks deep inside me, it had revealed its ugly head and I knew that I'd never forget the penetrating horror of this ringing reality.

I knew that within this darkness, this void, I'd never step foot on the soil of Vietnam...

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

On our final day in Fiji, we departed early in the morning taking once again our small boat ride back to the tiny airstrip with Aponu. Leaving Kadavu was difficult, as we made so many friends, especially with the locals and Buddy in particular. He was always looking for me, offering small tokens or explaining the Fijian way of life. I will genuinely miss him. Most of the other visitors we met came out to wish us "bon voyage." There must have been 25 people lining the shore waving and yelling to us--it gave me such a warm feeling. It says much about the type of people we have met and the strength of bond you can create together in such a short time. Experiences like this can only be measured by the heart, and mine is certainly swelled with the gifts these special people have offered to us.

Dark, thick clouds then rolled ominously overhead and a light mist began to fall. The sea became rough. Our tiny boat desperately flung from wave to wave, as Aponu dressed in full, bright yellow rain gear stood over the engine with anxious, unsettled eyes. The wind gathered strength and swirled, whipping the rain and sea into a frenzy...and into our faces. The boat began to rock with each rough wave and began taking on water. Thunder then cracked and roared through the open sky above me, and Bren clenched my hand as we bounced from our seats with yet another cresting wave. I knew we were in nature's hands.

"Let's hope the storm continues as it is," Aponu said to us pointing to the black clouds that streamed from the island behind us, "If it does, I think we'll be all right."

I look all around, to the swaying palms, the convulsing waves, the darkness, the heavens above, and I feel a palpable sense of "paradise" lost.

As we cling to the seats of the boat in silence, I begin to think, oddly enough, about the Swiss and Vietnam. I can't help but think of all that was stripped away as a result of the Vietnam War, so much of who we were as Americans. I must question if we are now moving toward the Swiss way. Are we losing the battle, are we losing who we are as Americans?

The rain pelts my face, it stings. I bend my head downward away from this biting water and watch as it drenches our clothes and packs. I watch the water building in the bottom of the boat, and I writhe and struggle to find faith. With the next crashing wave, I am knocked to the floor of the boat. I don't know what faith is, but I know it's what will help me through this storm. How do I find it? I crawl on my knees through the stream of water along the floor of the boat and back to the seat next to Bren. Aponu softly places his hand on my shoulder as the boat continues to sway, I turn, and he gives me a reassuring smile. Silence. I look, I search, I reach out...I peer desperately into my palm, nothing; I look within, I feel my heart beating, still this faith eludes me; I struggle to understand and yet nothing. I feel the vortex spinning, I feel its magnetic pull.

Where is this elusive faith?

The black clouds quickly roll up behind us. Faith is what made America, it bound us, it fortified our union, and without it, what will we be, where will we be? Will we evolve into a country of Swiss? Will we allow our morality, our faith, our commitment, to be dictated solely by the pocketbook, or worse, by our fear. Will we succumb, will we in the face of the storm, simply give up? Will we accept "less" than we are capable?

It terrifies me now, this storm. The darkness keeps coming, it's relentless. Yes, Vietnam showed the best of America but it also showed us the worst. It showed our heart, our commitment, but in the end, it showed our lack of faith and sadly our disillusioned soul was bared. Now, the thunder claps above us and lightning strikes in the hills of the island just beyond. It's closing quickly. One day, will we for the betterment of ourselves, stand down in the face of blatant evil. Do we seek to bite from the poisoned apple? Bren shrieks. The waves are cresting high above us, our tiny boat twisting in its grip. The anchor of this past has been buried, yet it remains a profound weight around our collective necks pulling and twisting us into the swirling vortex. Aponu is thrown to his knees, the helm abandoned. Our leaders failed to help those men who served, they failed to help the people of this country understand, they failed to help us heal. Our boat continues to take on water; we're sinking. Bren and I bail...we bail for our precious lives. I don't feel "faith" but I know I'm not giving up. Those leaders buried it and ran. What they failed to realize was that the chain was still wrapped around our necks. It still is. I feel us going down. We must now go back and uncover this anchor and deal with it, or be forever bound.

"Look it's clearing!" Aponu cried out as the sun sprung forth on the horizon, "See, it was no problem after all, my friends."

"Paradise" found.

Bren and I laid on our backs in the water of the bottom of the boat holding hands. The clammy fog has been driven back, my worries released, and my soul bared. Within the liberation, I have touched the wings of freedom, and I've discovered a sense of purity, an openness to my existence. I know that the South Pacific, this warm glow of light, will forever be a precious piece of this existence. I realize this because you can remove me from the place, but you can never remove the place from me. Just ask those who served in Vietnam.

I then looked up to the rays of sun shimmering through the rain that continued to drop lightly on my face...and I see that there is my faith. I can't touch it, I can't feel it, but now I at least know that it's there. I see Aponu towering above us standing again at the helm, and I gaze at the light piercing the ominous clouds beyond him. I know that in America lies hope; hope of what once was and what still could be. A place where faith is restored and our sense of commitment again honored, a place where the people of this great land can once again rejoice in the spirit of their liberty. I look upward once again to the clearing sky above and I know. I know that there is something tangible beyond the void, beyond the aching blackness.

It's there and I am not the void.

Copyright © 2000 PbFisher. All rights reserved.