Bren bounced around in the back of the camper preparing dinner, as I drove over the dimly lit, two-lane highway for Abel Tasman National Park. I reflected on the day, a day that began without a hint of promise and had serendipitously turned into a day filled with an uncompromising tide of emotional awe. We sought white from black, we took the risk, and indeed we were rewarded with a glimmering piece of our personal significance. We embraced the adventure and the prize was a life-altering day. I reflected on the experience—in the open sea awkwardly flopping around, not in my element and along came these spirited creatures racing passed so effortlessly, so gracefully—they epitomized uninhibited liberation. Maybe on an emotional level those dolphins represented what Bren and I seek on this trip, freedom—freedom of thought, body, and spirit.

Do they represent what we as humans ultimately seek in this limited state?

It was a mirror of our place in this universe and it made me laugh almost uncontrollably, for it was ironic. Here, in this physical world, we are always throwing our awkwardness into the wind, flopping feebly about—certainly not in control—and desperately trying to make sense of our surroundings, our place, and ourselves. By contrast, those dolphins represented the other side—the spiritual harmony of beyond—to freely tread upon the waters we walk. It’s a world of our own inland sea, one beyond our mere sight but plainly within our inner senses. For the first time, I was struck by the thought of a creature that may be more advanced than we are, for they seem to roam the expanse of their universe—frolicking and enjoying their existence—rather than fighting for survival. They seem at peace. And yet they live in the wild, they live in the open seas force to rely on their natural defenses to ward off the next ravaging threat.

Are we most alive within the wild; that is amongst the raw untamed force of nature are we most alive? Does the unbroken fervor of nature sweetly sing a melody to our inner spirit, one that rejuvenates and subdues anyone in its presence? Within this natural outlay of life, these poetic streaks of gray at least represent what it is we, as humans, are supposedly striving for in our lives; that is peace, happiness, and contentment. I did understand that woman weeping in the corner of the boat, for these hoary creatures of the sea weren't some simple "toy" or playful "animal" from which we arbitrarily gained a paltry sense of joy. Rather, they had an independent energy, they actually seemed "happy" and they nimbly exuded it toward us. They wrapped us in their blanket of effusive energy, and surprisingly, within these tawny rays of celestial magic they gave back much like Aponu did on his rickety boat. Within the primitive wild, surrounded by the intractable will of the animal kingdom, they generated selflessness. And this refined and focused energy that enveloped the diver would be enough to bring even the most thick-hearted to a misty revelation of self.

There is so much to learn from these messengers of the absolute. They live in an environment so close to ours. They are bound only by the sea, an environment they don't know everything about, a sea that on one hand represents all that they know in life, and on the other, represents so much of what they don't. Like our own environs, so much of their world is unknown. Like ours, so much of what is unseen dictates their environment. Yet, they seem so openly comfortable with this impervious element to their existence. Their singular march beats with the pulse of a sanctimonious Nature, its beat in tune with the loftiness of the Universe. Before this day, I know I would have thought that they couldn’t possibly be an intimate part of this harmony; they couldn't possibly understand, but now I'm not so sure. These vibrant creatures radiate such heroic energy that it did indeed feel as if they knew something I didn't. I didn't know what it was, but I did know that they possessed something we as humans have yet to figure out, and after this day, no one could ever tell me any different. Within this solemn sacrament to Nature herself, I now know that in this gracious creature of the sea we discovered something of what it means to be human. The budding seeds of life are found within the deep recesses of this subterranean world, within this bottomless reservoir of earth’s sublimity. For us, we certainly heard the distant echoes of this infallible inner call of our beginnings, of our rhythmic ascension into the silvery threads of freedom.

Abel Tasman National Park is located at the northern terminus of marble and limestone hills that rise up from the central part of the island and is snuggled against the coast of the Tasman Sea. It makes for an undulating nature reserve, which towers above the calm inlet of sea. The park is inaccessible by vehicle as there are no roads, no technology, just nature, and it’s all isolated from the "real world." It was a beautiful sparkling day, not a cloud in the deep blue sky, and we were determined to not miss out on trekking through this pristine setting. In the early morning, we packed a lunch and immediately set off along the coastal track and into the thicket of rain forest. As it was approaching winter the usually congested path was sparse, and we hiked for hours in complete solitude. We followed along the rising coast weaving in and out of the dense forest, and eventually, it reached a height that towered above the desolate strip of golden beaches below. And even within these months of hibernation this place harvested an indelible allure.

We stopped and ate lunch at this viewpoint, where the forest opened revealing the golden beach below and the green of the mountains reaching down to the deep blue sea. We were alone, and it had a profound feeling of isolation, no traces of humanity anywhere. As we sat on the cliff, our legs dangling over the edge, the sun beaming off our faces, mired in seclusion, I took in the fresh crisp air and a feeling of truly being alone gripped me. Bren was my only link with humanity. There was no sign of technology, no roads, no houses; just the outstretching unharnessed beauty of nature. It was an odd sensation, a riveting thrust to my solar plexus for it was distinctly unsettling. I almost felt as if someone, anyone, was lurking just behind us in the cover of the forest. Everywhere my eye could see was filled with undefiled, untouched beauty, and yet it was disturbing. It struck me just how much I had grown used to having people around me, dictating by their very presence, my thoughts, my emotions, even my actions. I had become the submissive donkey who had grown used to the whip upon his back and my eyes taught to never wander beyond the stony path directly in front.

It was within this uneasy feeling that I began to see a glimpse into the dilated pupils of Nature. The dolphins, this park, just looking at an otherwise plainly simple blue sky, pierced the gloom for the magnificence of the beauty was crushing. It's not just because of the concrete characteristics of nature but what it represents, that touch of our existence that rings of purity, of free will. I can also sense the shackles of programmed behavior falling aside with each breath of fresh air inhaled into my virgin lungs, and I bow unworthily to its purity, its grace. This potent touch of the wild diffuses the unwieldy demands of society for the smooth and spirited pioneer within; I taste the molecules of freedom dancing upon my outstretched tongue. It breaks the mechanical bondage because although we are never free from the social environs, this transcendent reflection from nature offers the freedom to take a stand against those repressive conditions. It provides the inspiration to utilize our free will to create those immortal footprints in the sands against those conditions which shackle our spirit and repress our expression in human form. The decision is solely ours as human beings and this natural beauty rouses the courage within my tenuous heart to strike out at the binds of this oppressive fear.

I feel its life within, and I wonder: would we rather be controlled robots in an easy and stable world than freethinkers in a complicated and unpredictable one?

This thought lingered, and was a jagged tail to my every thought. That night after our hike, I slipped out alone to the beach on the cusp of the bay nearby. The air was cool and crisp, and it was the clearest night sky I'd ever seen; the stars jumped out at me and luminously filled the heavens. Brilliant white dots twinkled everywhere my eye looked, the sky was filled—it seemed almost like one bright light. I laid back and comfortably nestled myself into the sand, as I was seduced by this penetrating light.

"Oh, how utterly beautiful this planet really is," I thought to myself. Over and over again, it completely consumed my thoughts. It looked for answers within and I was helpless within its scrutinizing gaze. Just the sky itself casts an unmatched energy to the onlooker—surrounded by millions of suns shedding their infinite glow upon the night. Within this soothing darkness sprinkled with this twinkling light, I felt a deep equanimity grow and expand throughout my physical body. These dignified lights flowed deep inside with each flowing cell. The ocean and those dolphins swept a piece of me away into the dotted dome above. Tears began to streak the sides of my face and fell into the sand below; I felt like I was touching the bright white glow of each of the stars above and it filled me with such a quaking energy that it instantly dispelled any earthly gloom. It was at that moment I determined that such awe must be appreciated and preserved, as should our entire planet—no matter the personal cost or sacrifice. I was never overly concerned with the environment and its preservation before, but I was touched. I was changed. And I honestly felt that if everyone in the world could lay in the sand just as I was at that point there would be at least a "moment" of peace, even unity within this chaotic world. It was an idealistic, even naive, thought but one that undoubtedly filled me with a personal peace, and possibly even a profound feeling of what exactly it was to be human. I felt human. I could feel my presence, I felt alive. Somehow, within this feral place, the pristine light of the night sky showed me what that meant—to be alive, to be human.

It was the ideal.

For what would this world be without idealism, without an ideal of harmony and purity?

An ideal, even if naive, is the standard that unifies and instills the motivation for creating a better world around you. When you accept less than idealism, less than your own established ideals, then you have taken the first step toward accepting less, one toward creating a vacuum of complacency, one where disillusionment becomes inevitable. It's a step toward accepting less than you are capable. And there it was yet again, persistently taunting me: would we rather be robots in an easy and stable world…for what is worse than not even attempting to fulfill your potential personally or collectively as human beings? In the absence of these precious ideals, do we become merely fleshy vagabonds drifting through time? Have we as Americans, as human beings, accepted less than we are capable, have we chosen only the path which is easiest, and indeed, have we created a complex system of justification for our glaring weakness? Sadly, one look around us to the environment, our planet, one in which we seem to care so little, one quick thought back to the Vietnam War, and the answer shines and pulsates in bright neon through my otherwise dark mind. Indeed, those stars of the night sky told me so.

I glanced around me to behold the stark purity of natural beauty, and I could see, I could feel, the ideal. It represents everything that is right about being alive, about being human. Yet is it true that being human is just as innately to destroy that which is natural—for what do those dolphins have that we don’t? How can they embody one of the sacred ideals in being human and we cannot? Do we carelessly destroy the purity of the environment, do we maul each other in the hope of getting ahead, do we mock those characteristics which honor being human, and most importantly, do our simplest of actions selfishly taint the purity of that which binds us all, that is "love"? Do we cripple the purest of virtue; do we steal the purity from the world around us? Is this our true nature or are we just experiencing a lapse in judgment by giving in so easily to our primitive urges and desires?

Alas, what is the primary affair of man, what is our purpose—to "subdue" the world as the Bible proclaims? Yet, how can this be possible without first "subduing" ourselves—to first plow and till the earth of our own inner universe. I wonder: can we not see beyond our primitive side, beyond our Darwinian nature, to understand that in this ideal, in this beauty, in this purity, we are all One. When we destroy these precious principles and values, when we destroy the ideal, we only diminish that which actually makes us uniquely human. That is, when we destroy these "things," we mindlessly slaughter the potential meaning in our lives and destroy a delicate piece of our "significance" in this world. We haplessly emasculate our own free will to find this precious and elusive meaning. I know that this bears the blinding light of "truth," this universal law, because I feel those dolphins swarm around me and with a quick gaze upward to the heavens, the stars tell me so.

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

We traversed southward along the majestic west coast, where we made a quick stop at "Pancake Rocks." These natural "rocks" formed as flat stratified layers upon one another—as pancakes—creating columns of sheer rock rising from the sea. They’re prominently part of the rugged seaside coastline that runs as far as the eye can see with the snow-capped mountains towering as a backdrop. I gazed out over these rocks, these diverse stratums and pillars of differing size and color. The sun’s beams reflected off these rocks, much like the walls of the Grand Canyon, radiating a soft glow of their inner beauty and within them I saw myself—this mast to the gentle wind. They were connected by their similarity and yet separated by their individuality, these columns of souls reaching upward to the sky, layer upon layer, fighting against the constant friction of the sea at their toes. What could cause such a bizarre organic extensions of nature—for they bear out such an openness of the laws of cause and effect?

As I took a final glance back over this inspirational vision, I saw those rocks, those Pancake Rocks, together and indeed, they were a brilliant collection of one.

However, I wonder within this Pancake Rocks, what is this collection of unity, this oneness? What is the meaning of this "collective"; what is the meaning of this oneness? Indeed, what creates this oneness? At present, for us as human beings, this oneness is merely of our collective existence. We are merely the immovable rocks standing forced to stand together as one. So, is it a power merely of unity, or a power of something beyond driving this oneness? Is there more; is there something deeper to the human existence than this "appearance of oneness"? Does this oneness exist without us as human beings or are we an integral part of this experience?

Upon departing the "Rocks," we immediately picked up couple fellow backpackers hitchhiking along the two-lane road leading to the ice glaciers and the home of Fox Glacier. I have picked up hitchhikers in the U.S. before, but it's not a regular occurrence because of the obvious dangers involved. Here, however, there are so few people and those who do hitch are backpackers like ourselves, and having been in the same situation numerous times, we can't pass any up. Once again, we were back amongst travelers. The four of us quickly engaged in frenetic conversations mired in an exhilarating state—discussing everything, anything. Our spirits joined as often happens among fellow travelers where the commonality of our expeditions instantly unites our beings. It’s an unexpected pleasure to find harmony within discord, to embrace the spirit within a sense of camaraderie and rarely in life can you discover an instant bond any stronger than among travelers. However, as euphoric as the experience was, it was a clench-fisted thrust to my gut as I was so overtly reminded just how this camper prevents contact with such kindred souls.

Technology isolates us.

I keep seeing, even feeling, this penetrating pattern repeat itself, that with this grand "progress" we so easily embrace that we are likewise so easily alienated from our Brothers. Unfortunately, technology offers no way to build a subtle or subliminal connection of the human spirit as we find within nature and the experience of the human soul. In fact, technology permits us the opportunity to elude this aspect of our existence, and so forth we walk the blind leading the ignorant, and the ignorant leading the vagrant. And like a planetary orbit we revolve along this deluded elliptical path, all the while approaching the fatal heat of the glowing center. The more we fail to step back and see the Rocks of our being, together, the closer we drift to the deadly center. The more we embrace those ideals that are merely illusory, the quicker this drift toward the center will be. Nature, those dolphins, and the stars above us, all sit plainly in front of our path counseling our way. I listen and I hear the distinct call of those travelers behind me, whispering between their spoken words of our connection, the breath of our true journey, one that with each passing day draws me within its magical order and inhales a rejuvenating life.

I hear this tantalizing message and yet I remain hopelessly bound and shackled—seemingly forever torn.

Upon arriving at the Fox Glacier Village, the four of us stopped at the tourist information center to get organized and make reservations for a glacier hike the following morning. Bren and I then spent the remainder of the day hiking around Lake Matheson. The halcyon lake offered perfect reflections of the Mount Cook range in its mirrored black water. The setting sun glistened off the peaks of snow enshrouding them in a tinge of pink, while the sky glowed richly of an incandescent purple. As we gazed out over the picture postcard, the shadows of the forest swallowed us and provided an overwhelming sense of serenity. Yet again, we were alone.

"It doesn't bother me this time," I said to Bren as we watched the sun disappear behind the snow-capped range of Mt. Cook.

"What's that?"

"The isolation, I mean no sign of people at all anywhere."

"Me either. I think it feels just awesome," Bren replied as she got up and danced around the small wooden deck, "I feel so free, so free," her arms gracefully gliding through the air and her legs sprightly hopping from place to place. A penetrating smile lit up her round gentle face, "My God, look at that sunset, the mountains, Bri, we're free, we're completely alone, we're free," she softly sang, her voice echoing through the valley. She then turned quickly and charged at me to grab my hand, and we danced together among the purple sky, among the eyes of Nature, among the still silence of perfection.

"I feel like a bird who has her little wing clipped and finally is getting to fly again. Fly little bird, fly...we are free, Bri…we are free!"

We swung arm in arm around in a circle, faster and faster, we smiled and laughed, we were released, soaring to the clouds on her precious angelic wings where we touched the heavens above. Our shadows were within us, all around us, and their scary presence was no longer intimidating as we fought back their urges and desires, for in the precious arms of Mother Nature, we had found the heart of New Zealand. The Kaikoura dolphins swam with us yet again, we spun together merged as one in our expression, in our purpose and hand in hand we felt the inner liberation.

Within New Zealand, in this image of perfection, I held the ideal.

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

Early the following morning we met our glacier-hiking group at the Fox Glacier village and went by bus to the base of the glacier. The glacier is actually a puissant river of ice flowing sharply through this mountain range and stretching downward toward the sea. Because the glaciers are so steep, they move at a tremendous rate, up to 5 feet per day; in fact, a plane that crashed on the Franz Joseph glacier 3.5 kilometers from the terminal face found its way to the bottom in a little over six years. Eventually, the glaciers find their terminus at the bottom of the valley where they'll finally begin to melt, but not before creating an awesome spectacle of flowing ice.

It was another clear day and the air was cool but comfortable. We donned our special hiking boots and with the ice cleats strapped around our necks the group hiked up the mountain next to the glacier—the face of the glacier is not approachable without climbing equipment and even then would be extremely dangerous. As we hiked through the forest along side the glacier, I could see clearly just how powerful it was, its thickness, its sheer bulk pushing everything in its path to the side. It didn't seem all that impressive when I looked at it from a distance, but the closer we got, clearly the more impressive—and intimidating—it became.

After an hour and half of hiking, we found a safe spot to enter the glacier. We strapped the ice cleats around our boots and walked out onto the hundreds of feet of ice below our every step. Even with the cleats it was slippery and we were forced to dig the cleats into the ice with our toes to keep from falling or sliding. Surprisingly, the glacier itself is anything but flat. It parallels a rushing river with small rolling waves, while at other times when this sea of ice becomes rough; it forms sharp, steep hills and valleys of solid ice. These hills of ice can abruptly rise up to a hundred feet above you, while huge cracks and holes gouge the glacier surface falling to depths as far into the blue ice as the eye can see. Every step within this massive outlay of ice becomes a critical decision, for that step could be the one that sends you to your knees or ever further. We are forced to live in the present of each moment, focusing on every action knowing that for every step there is a possible reaction from this mountain of ice.

This pendulum of flowing water swings above me and taunts me in its sheer force—its undercurrent of power, and I feel its sheer strength beneath my cleats. Its force pushes and pulls me within its attracting currents of ice, and I wonder is there a magnetized force within nature. I see the Colorado River twisting through the Grand Canyon again, flowing with rapidity and strength within the chasm’s bowels. Does Nature guide us, does it naturally pull us in a direction, do we get swept away in its violent peaks and tides? If we heed this magnetized guide within earth will it lead us to our fate, our destiny? Is this part of the harmonic order of this place, the beating pulse flowing through the crust of this earth—through us?

After having a group lunch on the glacier itself, we continued our hike up the glacier where we explored an intact ice cave. Unfortunately, Bren and I decided that this was the perfect time to have the first brawl of the trip, and we spent most of the afternoon hiking around the glacier snipping at one another. I think it was more of a product of our torrid pace than anything, but we fought again over the decision-making. In point, Bren believed that I had been making the majority of the decisions.

"I'm tired of you always being in control, because even when I'm supposed to be you're behind the scenes manipulating the situation."

"No, you just like to pretend you're going to make a decision, but you never do. It's a game of 'let's see how close I get before Brian steps in', you're not really trying to make a decision, just testing me."

She laughed, "God knows, I'd love to cleat your ass with this pole! That's because whatever I say is ignored anyway, and then you merrily make the decision without me."

"That's not true, if you'd actually make a freakin' decision, I'd live with it—right or wrong."

"Yeah right, well, we'll see," she said with a hardened glare.

The argument then turned to snippets of disparaging remarks directed at the other about all those small annoying things we've done to each other for the past three weeks. The others in the group undoubtedly knew we were engaging in slightly more than typical discourse, and it was disconcerting, if not embarrassing, for us both.

"I'm sick of you leaving your stuff all around the camper for me to pick up, I'm telling you while you're driving one day, you're going to see your precious clothes being tossed out the back door!"

"Well, there's no way you're as sick as I am hearing about how heavy your damn pack is," I returned.

"I wouldn't have to if I wasn't carrying half your stuff," Bren said as she defiantly turned her back on me.

"Oh, you’re such an ass, really, you know I'm carrying all the books and other crap we need. Come back here," I said in a whisper, "let me show you this little hole I found in the ice, it's really very interesting."

"The only hole you're going to see is the hole in your leg when I stab you with this ice pole," she said showing me the metal pole with a sharp ice pick on the end.

There we stood on this magnificent mountain of ice, an amazing occurrence of nature, undoubtedly one of the highlights of the trip and our focus was on holding back from coming to blows. It was another tormenting sign of the struggle, the pain, all bound within the impurity of being human within an environment of perfection. This paragon stood over me, haunting in its purity, its virtue. It was a painful stab within the soft folds between my ribs, as I then understood the suffering within this worthy ideal, for I was—for we—harvested the impure and always will. I realized that within this world, the most I could do was fight, fight with every breath to be worthy of this ideal—knowing that I will never reach its ultimate peak.

I will never be worthy of its perfection.

This fight then becomes the "struggle," and this struggle the essence of life. Yes, I will always be unworthy of its gifts but the beginning of an "aware" entity commences with the first conscious inhaled breath of this fight.

This fight to suffer.

I stepped out of our technological cage, I looked upward passed the colorful leaves of the trees to the sapphire cloudless sky above, and after a deep sigh, I sucked in deeply the fresh air of nature and with it the fight that will become my life.

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

The following morning we drove further south to the small pleasant town of Wanaka, where Bren wanted to stop at "Puzzle World" because it contained one of the largest human mazes in the world. Ironically, after subjecting one another to embarrassing vilification the previous day, we had the opportunity to accomplish a decision-filled task together. However, and to no surprise, we immediately had difficulty agreeing on which direction to take, and the tension between us quickly intensified. It became apparent that the only thing we would agree on was to go our separate ways. What had started out as a game then turned serious, and both of us hastened our pace from a walk to a trot to an all-out sprint. It became a mad dash—a race through the maze to prove who was right, not just on this day, but for yesterday and even for the entire relationship.

Bren had solved the end first, and after a half-hour caught me on this same final portion of the maze. We stood together staring intensely at each other, craving, yearning to be the one standing in the victory tower. I was even nervous, for there was much more at stake than just being first through this maze. She had already worked her way through this portion, and as a result, it should have been no problem for her. Or so she kept yelling over the walls taunting me, "You're going down, control boy!"

"Keep running your mouth, complacency will get you nowhere, noodle girl. You probably can’t decide which way to go, can you!"

"It's over, I've found it! I'm never, never going to let you live this one down either. The glory is mine!"

"You forget just how well I know you...and I know if you're still jabbering away, you don't know where you're going...you're lost!" I yelled back.

"Bastard," I heard her anxiously whisper through the walls.

"Getting nervous yet?" I taunted back.

Silence. She had become bound in a competitive haze, completely flustered and now she had forgotten the winning path to our personal conquest. For Bren, it became a sad day in the annals of the trip as I stood proudly in the victory tower overlooking the maze below. I whistled the tune of triumph, and with the camera in hand, snapped the picture of her still desperately clawing to find her way out of the labyrinth.

She looked up, saw me, and viciously hollered, "Ah, I hate you, I really do. You're such an ass!"

"Do you need some help," I jeered, "I can see where you are astray...my darling."

"God, you really are a jerk, and no, I don't need any help. Thank you very much."

Her determination was inspiring as she eventually made to the tower on her own. She walked straight up to me, gazed deeply into my eyes, and punched me in the chest, "That's for mocking me!" she said her eyes filled with anger.

It was my moment, strangely, like the spectrum of the sun’s rays piercing through a misty rain, for I felt Aponu’s smile creep upon my face. The corners of my lips creased the folds of my cheeks as I amorously embraced Bren. I put my arms around her, whispered in her ear that I loved her, and laughed warmly to myself. She was so determined, so intense and competitive, that I truly loved her with all my heart in that moment. I cherished it. I cherished it all.

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

It's a modern town with cobblestone streets and a pleasant harbor, all nestled in between the shores of one of the most picturesque lakes in New Zealand and the Remarkables Mountain Range. The towering snow-capped peaks, which cradle the town and the captivating lake at its doorstep, are both sensually alluring; Queenstown is a pleasant place so long as your pockets are deep enough for within this compact town laded with ubiquitous signs offering services for any and all adrenaline seekers. Yet for all the natural beauty surrounding the city, the unchecked development is destroying the inherent magic of the area—all for another Kiwi dollar. It vividly brings to life my earlier thoughts on technology, on its place, on its impact on our culture, but now I can see clearly its impact on our precious planet. Queenstown is a striking antithesis to the rest of New Zealand, as its innocence, its purity, has already been stripped away forever. It strikes deeply at my heart and leaves a vile taste in mouth. Do we not seek to "balance" our gross intrusion into the purity of nature; do we not seek this balance within ourselves? Again, I was reminded of our steadfast, blind pursuit of technology and material possessions, which tend to belie the qualities of being human. Instead of finding a balance within the folds of our technology, one that would naturally provide a sense of appreciation and perspective, one that would invite "happiness," we seek to be greedy, almost for greed’s sake. We want it all. Sadly, Queenstown is a stark reminder of just how far we have run over the line of balance, and have thoughtlessly trampled the "ideal" and with it, savagely destroyed our essence as human beings.

Within the tranquility, amidst the colorful trees of fall, the melodic tunes of the birds, and the unmistakable sounds of smallish animals roaming through the fallen leaves, I hear the high-pitched screams of the frivolous and the concentrated screeching machines of Man. Yet this senseless invasion was a part of me, I was a part of this assault on nature for we took the sky rail to its viewpoint at the top to watch the sun set over the town. I felt the Man and Nature within me, their spirits independent and palpable, and with this fatal clash, the ultimate battle has ensued. Queenstown slowly lit up thousands of feet below us next to the lake as the sun's final rays reflected off the lily-white peaks of the mountains enshrouding the town. As the light of Nature diminished and the light of Man illuminated below us, I couldn’t help but wonder, yet again, if it’s just human nature to destroy that, which is pure—not only within ourselves but also everywhere we look and in everything we touch.

I see the impingement of this tourist town upon the virginal side of nature, I see the reflection of human frailty within these people sleepily jumping from bridges and cliffs; I see our waxen minds as we perpetuate our ignorance through bloated egos and frivolously destroy that which is life, that which is our chaste link with the true beating heart of this Universe. So, within this Wanaka Maze, I sense the imbalance of Nature and Man, and Man within themselves, within myself, I see the struggle and the forlorn path of humanity. Lost within this intricate labyrinth, I see within the grand spectacle of Nature just how machines that think are suffocating Man’s agile imagination and we are becoming as such so easily the robots who comply. We silence our strength and perpetuate our weakness. We therefore build our own graveyards, the plots open and tombstones already imprinted with each of our names, as with each acre of soil tarnished we fall deeper into our tombs. We are merely composites of this grand earth, and therefore when we destroy nature, when we fail to respect her blessed gifts, we blindly raze a distinct piece of not only the Universe, but of ourselves. Is this another component of "oneness"? For I now witness clearly a nature that needs rescuing, a nature that harbors the intelligence we seek and within this harmonious structure of the universe the undiscovered wisdom we believe to already possess. From cycle to cycle we encroach more, gloat more and arrogantly believe more, yet we seek less, think less, and feel less. Eventually, the inevitable will surface and we will become less.

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

We spent the night on the outskirts of Te Anau and drove into town early the next morning. It's a five or six street town built on the shore of lake Te Anau, but it's primarily known for being the gateway to Milford Sound and the beginning of the fjord lands in the southern reaches of New Zealand. It's one of the most anticipated portions of the entire trip. Some of the best-known trekking routes in the world begin here, including the most famous of the bunch, the Milford Track.

Although we were bustling with excitement about Milford we stopped in a bookstore to look for more reading material. I bought a poster of Milford Sound and a canister tube to mail it home, but as we exited I found an error on the receipt.

"Bren, they didn't charge me for the poster."

"Really? They must have missed it since it was stuffed inside the tube," Bren offered.

"Ah, remember those two faulty phone cards we got back in Nelson that we had to pay for? What a scam--now it's pay back time. No way are we going back," I said.

"Well it's not like we tried to avoid paying for it," Bren rationally added.

"Yep, we got a free poster, babe!" I said as I scampered happily back to the camper.

However, by the time we got back to the camper I was having doubts. I plopped my head back on the headrest of the driver's seat and sighed. I stared out the window at nothing. Normally, I would have been gone, but something gripped me. I couldn't leave.

Bren watched me agonize over the dilemma, "It's your call," she said to me, unintentionally adding to my agony, turning even further the screws of my anguish.

"Take the poster back in, you didn't pay for it," my subconscious cried out.

"No, I'm not going to take the damn thing back, every day people are ripping me off, I'm sick of it--"

"Maybe so, but you shouldn't act like an idiot, you are only contributing to the problem, to this frightening epidemic," my subconscious continued without mercy.

"Forget about it, just forget it, I finally got one ahead and I'm not about to give it back. I'm telling you that right now," my conscious mind desperately reasoned.

"Besides, the store owner wouldn't come busting out to flag me down if I had overpaid. Ha," my conscious mind asserted as I turned the key to the ignition and fired up the camper.

"It doesn't matter, this is an issue of character, and dammit why degrade yourself over some stupid, cheap poster," my subconscious taunted, manipulated.

"No, you're not doing this--"

"I've got one word for you...guilt," my subconscious calmly whispered in the depths of my mind.

That did it. "Dammit," I yelled at the windshield as I slammed my open hand on the steering wheel in frustration. I flung open the camper door grabbed the stupid poster and receipt and headed for the store. I was pissed.

I desperately attempted to change gears as I humbly walked back into the store, to put it in perspective. Oddly, I was a bit nervous as I explained the oversight to the clerk. Actually, she didn't believe me at first, so I had to convince her. I pulled the poster out from the canister, gave her the receipt, and reasoned, "You must have missed it inside the canister."

"Indeed, you are right. How could I have missed that?" she said a bit perplexed as I gave her the $10 note for the poster. She rung it up on the register and said in a somber voice, "Why, thank you sir. I would have had to pay for the missing amount at the end of the day, so I really don't know how to thank you."

"May I ask where you are from?" she then pleasantly asked.

"America," I said after pausing for a moment still thinking about her having to pay for the poster, it wasn't something I had contemplated.

"Well, Americans must be very honest people, 'cause I don't know many around here that would have done this," she said looking me directly in the eye as if with some deep meaning.

"I think we try just like anyone else, but truly if you only knew--" I said smiling thinking about just how difficult it was to return and pay for it.

She wryly returned the smile and again thanked me as I left the store. I skipped back to the camper filled with pride. I recalled the kava party in Fiji when the Americans imposed on the locals, and I then knew it had been the right choice to pay for the poster. Again, it showed me the impression you can make on another person about your culture, as she'll always remember that an American came back to pay for that poster. And so will I.

As I drove away, I realized that it was a valuable lesson, and another incident where traveling seems to magnify an ordinary event. Back at home I probably wouldn't have given it much thought until it was too late, and sadly enough, then I would have rationalized it away. It's a reflection of us as Americans. It's the way we have chosen to live. Our society has become so aggressive and intolerant that we have become impassive about others or about doing what we know is "right"; in fact, to remain sensitive to others in today's environment has become a serious challenge. It has become mental warfare not to be taken advantage of, let alone trying to do it while remaining open and conscientious of others. We are now captives to our own personal mental bondage. We have created a world where we always expect to be given something instead of thinking about giving back. We have become selfishly consumed with our own personal desires, our individual needs, so much so, that it has become a societal mantra that the individual is greater than the whole. Do we forget so easily the foundation of America, do we not realize that the precious pillar of humanity is giving back, indeed that no one individual, no matter how significant, is greater than the whole.

As we drove onward toward the gem of New Zealand, the purest place in this virtually unspoiled country, I wondered as I reflected back to Queenstown, "Is this blatant self-centeredness the America of the future? Are we so blinded by our chests puffed with self-importance—do we not understand that selfishness and self-centeredness can only be a betrayal of our destiny?"

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

The clear sky clouded, the sun disappeared, and we immediately sensed an intense difference in the surroundings. The mountains sprung forth again, and the mist and fog clung to them in thick, broad strips, while long-bladed grass and dense trees blanketed the landscape. It hung over us, it had a mysterious feel, an irresistibly eerie appeal. It called for us, singing its enticing melody. We were stuck to the windows, silent, watching this intriguing, alluring land sweep by. As we approached, the gorge the road passed through became narrower, the cliff-faces steeper, the trees greener, and the fog ever thicker. It became noticeably wetter. In fact, water was abundantly prominent, it was everywhere: bristling streams, placid ponds, raging rivers and cascading waterfalls, at times, impressively dropping over 2000 feet from the black glistening cliffs above. It surrounded us; it engulfed us. The flora and fuchsia became copious and various trees of deep green were shrouded in moss and lichen casting a light green hue to the surrounding vegetation. It was strikingly lush, and it seemed to embrace you each overpowering moment. Nothing here was faint or languid; it was power, it was emotion, and it reached out and penetrated the soul. We had arrived in the heart of the fjordlands. We’d arrived in Milford Sound.

We rose early the next morning to find it overcast, misty and the Sound blanketed in dense fog much like we did in Kaikoura for the dolphin swimming. We met our guide at the Milford Lodge for sea kayaking in the Sound, but at least a full one-third of our group dropped out due to the weather. I was immediately reminded of the dolphin experience and Bren and I quickly decided to do it. We suited up in unmatched long underwear, a Gore-Tex kayak suit laced in purple and black, and a kayaking life vest. Bren and I were naturally paired together in a two-person kayak; so we carried it to the shore of the Sound, climbed in, and pushed ourselves out into the deep, calm, black water beyond.

Instantly, I realized that we were both paddling furiously and yet were going in circles.

"What are you doing with that paddle, 'cause I know your not using it to propel us?" I said to Bren sitting in front of the small kayak.

"Listen, I'm just getting comfortable here," she said as our paddles collided.

"C'mon babe, you have to be consistent, you have to paddle in a rhythm."

"You're the one who is being inconsistent, you keep hitting my paddle," she yelled back, "There you go again!" she continued as our paddles smacked together once again.

"It's you! Dammit, you're going too fast, slow down, maintain the rhythm."

"Look, you do it your way, I'll do it mine."

"Believe me I wish I could, but the whole point is to be working in tandem," I argued, "okay, let's try a turn, remember maintain your rhythm."

We paddled hard and yet we weren't moving in either direction because Bren was trying to turn left and I right. Frustration mounted.

"That's it, I give up," Bren cried out smacking the paddle into the water.

"No, we’re not giving up, that's for sure, but you are giving me some ideas for ulterior uses for this paddle," I said jocularly.

"Oh, believe me, you're lucky I can't turn around in this thing."

"Look, one of us has to be in control here, otherwise it's not going to work," I said.

"That's the first thing we can agree on," Bren returned, "and that person would be me!"

I couldn't help but chuckle; however, much to my surprise, my chuckle carried through the Sound, reverberating off the surrounding mountains—and embarrassing Bren.

"Oh you find that funny," she said reaching the paddle into the water and back splashing me, causing a water battle to ensue.

"I usually split couples up for this very reason," our guide said to us in passing, as we were the only ones still left near shore.

"Okay, enough of this, really c'mon Bren, let's at least try and work as a team. I will follow your lead, just maintain the rhythm so I can follow," I said relenting since it was logical with her in front.

"Fine, mark that one down, giving me control," Bren said flippantly raising her finger in the air to magically mark this moment down, "But please, try and stay with me."

"Yeah, why don't we mark it down, because I don't want to keep hearing you whine about how I've never given you control," I said still running through the gambit of options I had with the paddle.

We quickly became proficient with the kayak and joined the group on the verge of entering the main part of the Sound. Our kayak gently pierced the placid inky water that mirrored the sheer striking peaks enveloping the Sound. The black tranquil water stood out in stark contrast to the white rushing waterfalls falling from the green bush-clad mountains surrounding us. The dense strips of fog gripped the side of the mountains, adding to the overwhelming feeling of sheer awe of this pristine harmony. The serenity, the purity of Milford Sound, placated the soul and inspired the heart. It was a destination in itself, it’s one of the few places on earth that you can sit and merely observe and it becomes a separate journey all on its own.

Our guide took us torpidly along the shoreline telling us all stories, many times that had nothing to do with the Sound or kayaking. Bren and I quickly became distressed.

"Bren," I whispered, "I don't want to follow this guy around like a bunch of ducks, floating along listening to these stupid stories."

"Yeah, it's pretty ridiculous."

"Let's paddle, let's experience this place, there's so much here; let's go, let’s go…"

"We didn't come all the way around the world and learn to kayak just to sit around listening to stupid stories on the shore," Bren said obviously mimicking me.

"You're damn straight, it feels like we're slapping Nature in the face by being here and not paying attention to its enticing offer."

"Yeah, we’re slapping Nature in the face, where is that face, I’d like to take a look?" Bren continued mimicking me as we paddle away from the group and wandered off.

After paddling out into the middle of the Sound, with Mitre Peak rising majestically from the sea in front of us, we stopped. While the others remained by the shore listening to stories, we just idly floated in the center, listening, observing, feeling the environs, our senses besieged. Our journey began. A seal approached and began playfully swimming under and around our kayak, rolling and twisting in the water just beside us. Bren was bursting with excitement, afraid however to make a sound to scare it away. We sat motionless, breathless, watching the playful seal duck beneath our kayak, only inches away from our hands.

"Hey, hey, why did you guys leave the group?" the guide asked scaring the seal away to shore.

"I’m going to kill this guy," Bren whispered back to me.

"I think we're trying make stories here, not tell them," I replied.

"We're just trying to broaden the experience with 'em, that's all."

"Well, I think part of the experience is playing with the seal you just scared away," Bren snapped with fire.

"Oh, okay, well, ah, don't stray too far," he said as he turned the kayak and began paddling back to the group, "Damn bloody Yanks," he said under his breath.

We followed the seal back to the opposite shore where we found a half dozen other seals frolicking in and around the rocks on shore. Bren was spellbound. We paddled about the entire cove, dropping just below a massive waterfall covering us in mist, fought our way up a creek to another falls, saw two bottle-nose dolphins, and observed the bounding wildlife of all that is Milford Sound. You can almost reach out and touch the birdlife and fauna. It abounds, it’s alive and it jumps out at you every moment and from every angle.

We left Milford Sound with sincere remorse and emotionally fatigued; it's a special place and I know I left a piece of my heart in that Sound. However it was grossly unsettling, for I felt within this chaste environs much like I did scuba diving, that I was the alien; yes, here I was the intruder. I didn’t blend in, I was not a welcome addition to the harmony of this ordered place, rather I was the oil blotted in with this distilled water. I felt this gross imbalance within me; in fact, I was the source of imbalance. I was a ghost merely roaming its corridors of long-lost memories, a scattered composite of a world without a tangible reality. Only our superior and dominant position as Man provided the rose-colored glasses to see beyond our failures to admire this soul-inspiring beauty.

Is nature this transcendent or are we just that blatantly ignorant?

The pattern of imbalance continues in its tormenting vividness, for I see this awing beauty and I feel a sense of "significance" in being a part of it. However, just as it sets in, it wickedly slaps me as I realize the purity of this place and my suffering within its sensual embrace. I begin to feel unworthy, my fallibilities become distinctly apparent, and I am resigned to my own inner state of odium. This painful dichotomy of Man and Nature rises prominently before me, much like the Pancake Rocks, and everywhere I look and see, I feel this contorted imbalance. It’s all around me. And again I hear its distinctive call but remain lost and frayed.

Indeed, I see this imbalance within me, and again I suffer within this faultless aspect of our universe. How can I achieve this internal equilibrium that my soul so wistfully seeks? I feel this inner emptiness; all my accomplishments ring so achingly hollow, and I see nothing within me that identifies me with humanity or as purposeful man. I bring to this purified world my savage void, and just as this town clearly impinges upon nature, so I do upon this world. My spirit is tormented by the constant eddy of disparity, which swirls violently with every solitary action—the blissful moments of spiritual freedom and independence of mind contrast with the suffering of the rotten cavity that lay within. I shudder with indiscreet folly of my ego-filled world, that I am indeed "someone" with this physical body. My growing fear reaches an interminable crest as I see those damn walls of the Grand Canyon again, the mirror of perfection, and what emptiness it now reveals.

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

After a day exploring the southeast coast for Penguins, we spent most of the early morning in and around the Mount Cook observation area. It is another typically New Zealand setting with a large deep blue lake surrounded by snow-capped mountains of the Mount Cook range rising prominently above the lake. It's a highly fitting way to end our camper tour of the South Island of New Zealand. As we huddled together in the golden grass surrounding the shore of the lake, it slammed into us like a ton of bricks; the sudden realization that our time here in New Zealand is virtually done and we'll be moving on to Australia tomorrow. The excitement of seeing Australia certainly buffers the sorrow of leaving New Zealand, but somehow it doesn't seem enough. Maybe it was the fast pace, maybe the breathtaking countryside, or maybe that we found such inspiration within its walls of life, but it is difficult to think about leaving this place of wonder.

"You know, for me, the best part about the trip so far has been that I feel like I've broken free from those nagging little things which are always on my mind at home. Those little reminders that you always have something else to do, ya know," Bren offered reflectingly.

"Like you've been released?" I whispered completely enraptured with the view.

"Exactly! New Zealand has made me appreciate that all the more, no pollution, so few cars, no one else around, no worries, just the beauty of this place everywhere you look."

"Yeah, our lives at home are so complex and generally inundated with bullshit."

Bren chuckled, "Bullshit is right! But I love this place. It's so pure…and it gives me such a feeling of freedom...I feel so much love, so much inside me, this place seems to just bring it out in me. Do you feel it?"

"Yeah, I do Bren."

"It frightens me, Bri, I mean the way we live otherwise. You may think I'm weird, but I feel somehow whole here—it’s not the country, but the place. You know?"

"Yeah, I do babe, I know," and I did know what she meant. I felt the depth, the purity of the ideal of what should be, of what we are capable of as human beings. What special gifts we have been bestowed from this inspirational planet of ours and what abilities we have been given to understand and feel its endearing touch. I gently pulled Bren in next to me as we sat arm in arm amongst the long strands of grass and stared out over our vision of beauty. It was our vision, our ideal, and indeed, it was the sweetness of our struggle together.

But this drastically contrasting ride through life continued, euphoric one moment and painful the next. As I watched the ebb and flow of the waves softly wading on shore I knew that as much as I understood Bren’s comment, I felt differently. Because somehow I felt broken within this world of the ideal—the dramatic perfection ingrained within us. I felt pathetically silly even breathing the fresh and untainted air for it provided the means for my nothingness in this world. My suffering would then ensue and our purpose, the meaning of living in this horror show crept into my head, and left me once again with a deep and echoing void. The dream in Fiji returned—the vortex, the partners vilifying and taunting me—and I was forced to reach deep within, beyond that void to discover something, anything, to find the hidden anchor that defined me. I didn’t know what it was, but something dwelled within this black pit clawing upward to help focus my attention. It was a distant light, and for the first time I realized the darkness that dwelled within me—for without the semblance of light one cannot see even the darkness.

I drew on this light, and it fed me; this light grew brighter in strength, and within its presence I seem to expand. I grew. I looked at Bren and although the intense suffering remained, the void faded. Like the boat ride in Fiji, I felt a magnetic force that drew my attention to the sharp point of light rather than the enveloping darkness, and it was within this tiny dot of light I felt a sense of my soul. Within this light was more than my soul, for it was my consciousness. How does one realize consciousness? What is consciousness? Consciousness is that tiny point of light buried in a wall of blackness, within our beings; prior to this beginning, this realization, it is merely a black wall that we see—eternally. For me, within my inner awkward depths, I am swarmed by this ever-present darkness—my impurities within this pure world. However, this Nature is the ideal of our inner perfection and it becomes the lumens of this brilliant dot of light.

I quickly glanced at Bren, and mysteriously, I felt within her gaze a deeper responsibility to her, to the relationship, and with it a deeper sense of love. Does this enlivening of "consciousness," this realization, create responsibility? I couldn't help but think of how much we already redefined our relationship on the trip. She was definitely a component of this loving light. Besides the time together, we've discovered so much about the other...Vegas and the $100 wager, the sharks in the Cooks, and the struggle for control here in New Zealand. Today, relationships are infinitely difficult. We have so many choices, so many needs and desires emotionally, so many ways to express ourselves, and so many ways to hide from dealing with the hardships. For most, it simply becomes easier to move on instead of facing the demons within. We give in, we accept less and we become, therefore, a mere shadow of our true inner self—for without commitment what do you have? For much like the Vietnam War, without a commitment to your beliefs, what is your existence as world, as a nation, as a human being? Indeed, most of us haven't a clue as to who we are, let alone are able to constructively account for the myriad of daily choices we encounter. Sadly, without knowing what lies beneath the skin of those decisions, we merely become a complex web of jumbled confusion and hypocrisy. If we are only a representation of our life-long line of decisions, then we are definitely a society on the edge of madness from all the hypocritical and judgmental minds floating around. Even worse, when we finally do have an opportunity to learn something from another person, many times we just don't have the time to understand it. So once again, it just becomes easier to give in and become the dark shadow—that is, accept less than we are capable, less than the ideal and eventually become less altogether.

If there is one thing I've learned about human nature, it's that we inherently take the path of least resistance. It has become our melancholy reality. It is who we have become, a society of computerized decision trees—trees that are predictable composites of the road most frequently taken. We must be taught to fight against this easiest path for it becomes our free will that drives us against this seemingly uncompromising force—this least resistance. Every day, it is precisely this will that inherently develops our character as a human being; it is what provides our individuality. So, the struggle against this stream of least resistance is in large part to shape who we are and in essence shape who we'll become. It is from this confrontation that we begin to see the glimmer of meaning within our individual lives. So, with the pain of suffering toward this confrontation, we begin to develop meaning.

Hence, the fight to suffer.

Ironically, it seems we have given up our free will, we have given into the path of least resistance and now it is evident in our recent societal slouch toward conformity. What has the most to do with building our character and our individuality is the part we honor the least. We no longer seek our destinies, we no longer seek to establish the ideal, and indeed, we no longer confront the struggle. We mindlessly defile nature and with it, the divine meaning in our lives. We have chosen, each one of us, to conform toward that which destroys—in nature, in our purpose, and in each other. Most emphatically, we don't respect those who undertake such a search, those who courageously confront this beast within us as human beings. As a result, our knowledge and wisdom now lay wasted and our spirits stranded as free will falls helplessly into the abyss of uniform decay.

I too have sung this oppressive tune of doom as it savagely clubbed my brain into a predetermined mode and way of thinking. I had given in to it; it had become me. I was no more than a mirror of my eroding culture, lost within a sea of preordained expectation. I was merely the blade of grass thrown into the channel of water against curb after a rainstorm, flowing without control, without thought, its course chosen and within plain view, and its end always known to lie within the bowels of the next sewer. My course has changed here in New Zealand, however, and an escape has been found with the bird's tantalizing song of a new day; the sun rises, and Bren and I now borrow from time for the walls have fallen and I sense absolutely the freedom. It is within this freedom that the struggle is so much more intense, for we are free to choose, free to embrace our vision, our ideal, and ultimately, we are free to rebuff the path of least resistance. The choice is now ours. The triumph of the struggle now beats within me, it invigorates my sense of life and rules the day from its throne of free will. I close my eyes as I hold Bren in my arms, I eject my tongue into the open air, and I taste the sweet, intoxicating air of life, for I feel that I am human.

I am human.

And I feel the heartbeat of its "significance."

New Zealand took us in its rugged arms, plunged its hand deep into our chests and gently took hold of our beating heart; it challenged our senses and our spirit tasted the sweet nectar of life. We embraced the freedom and it left our souls forever changed, forever inspired. Ironically, it was technology that whisked us into the soul of this place, this New Zealand, and it is from this experience that we learned what it is to be human, what it means to be alive, what it means to look upward to the sky and actually feel the beating of your heart as a part of the universe. What it is to be human, what it is to be a part of the oneness in our existence, and what it is to hold that precious piece of our "significance." Truly, I don't understand it or my part in it, but I now feel it freely flowing within me and with each breath I feel it sinking ever deeper.

However, in contrast, I know that darkness of the inner self can be as black as soot, and I know, even more, that within its eternal presence I will suffer. This terrifying impression lay within me, and quite possibly always will, but within this sensual glow of Nature is the inspiration that we seek in this life for it sweetly taps our senses and brings awareness to our being. I feel it and I cling to it firmly. With this celestial beam I sense the light growing within and I taste the expansion of my mind, my soul. It is Me. I am. I am, for I am now aware—I exist with consciousness. I am now beyond the grasp of the bony digits of eternal darkness, for I am aware.

Because of this blackness, this suffering, I exist with meaning; because of Nature, I exist because I am.

Copyright © 2000 PbFisher. All rights reserved.