Adelaide is a flat, square-grid, small city; nothing stands out, nothing immediately penetrates the senses, and yet it feels as if it would be a pleasant place to actually live. The city of one million clearly lacks the high energy of Sydney, and rather maintains a calming feel. The people seem more down-to-earth, affable, and genuinely interested in others. In fact, they seem to possess the practical wisdom and unsullied flavor of mid-western America. As we crept back into the hotel at dusk, the owner approached us inquiring where we were from, how we were enjoying his city, and gave us gobs of unsolicited information on the area, and tomorrow's destination the Barossa Valley. So far from home, Adelaide seemed to be welcoming us personally.

Feeling ragged from the flight and long hikes through the Blue Mountains the past two days, we decided to relax in our hotel and order a pizza. As I ventured down the long corridor heading for the lobby of the old, rickety hotel, I heard a chilling moan stream from one of the nearby rooms. I cautiously ignored it and continued onto the lobby to inquire with the front-desk clerk about ordering the pizza; the owner was again helpful, so much so, now I began to have reservations about this hotel. The whole place seemed odd, somehow out of whack. As I made my way back to the room after ordering, a guy with a punk retro look, sat squatting on the pot in the hall bath with the door wide open. I quickly stopped and peered in; dazed, he slouched off the pot and fell helplessly against the wall. I instinctively chuckled to myself (probably because this place was becoming so bizarre) and asked from the hall, "Hey, are you alright, man?"

"Oh, yeah dude, it's cool," he replied looking up at me with hazy, dopey-like eyes and immediately fell back against the wall of the stall.

I turned and continued to walk down the corridor when I came across a middle-aged couple, both banging furiously on the door where the moaning was still freely floating. They were yelling in thick Australian accents, "Answer the bloody door or we're goin' to have your ass thrown outta here!" I slowly passed trying to gauge what was happening as this well-groomed couple violently thrust their girth against the wooden door—I could actually see the light from inside the room with each drive against the door’s meager frame.

"This place is the Twilight Zone," I thought as I was approaching our door when a guy with wavy light hair, a young-looking complexion hardened around the eyes, and a huge peace symbol dangling from his neck, suddenly jumped out of the hallway next to our room.

Mysteriously he jumpily asked, "Hey man, are you American?"

I just stood startled, thinking, "Where the hell did this guy come from? And why does he want to know if I'm American?"

"Well?" he firmly asked.

As I gazed over his shoulder to see where he’d popped out from, I hesitatingly replied in the affirmative.

His head tilted to the side and he seemed pleased in saying, "Ah, man then ya gotta seek the mojo?"

"Mojo, like the Doors’ tune or what?" I asked puzzled.

He looked above me into the cracks in the ceiling and said firmly, "Yeah dude, it’s in all of us. And now we must find the palladium, for our spiritual survival depends upon it. The gates are closing, ya know…the gates are closing!"

He turned jerkily and without another word ambled away toward the ceaseless moaning and the door pounding that echoed through the hallway. I rushed to open our door and swiftly slammed it closed behind me and quickly locked the door. I explained the events to Bren who sharply replied, "You’re kiddin’ me, wow, this is a psycho joint! I'm glad we're outta here in the morning."

A half-hour later when I hesitatingly returned to the lobby to pick up the pizza, the door upon which the couple was mercilessly beating was completely shattered and the room vacant. As I looked in the disheveled, abandoned room, for the first time, a sweeping cold drifted over my flesh and dug its way into my bones. When I arrived in the lobby stilled chilled, and when I thought that this place couldn’t get any stranger, a hazy, haggish woman—one old seemingly far beyond her years—approached demanding that it was her pizza. This grim-faced apparition flintily tussled with me desperately attempting to pry the box from my clutches.

"Did you pay for the damn thing?" I angrily spewed at the boorish lady who continued to viciously pursue the pizza box.

"No, but it’s bloody mine, so fly off you brute!"

"Hey, what gives you the right—"

"I don’t need one," she said boldly interrupting me, "anything brought in here is mine, it’s all mine!"

"What?"

"C’mon Lucia, the pizza is his," the desk clerk then hesitatingly said to her.

Finally relinquishing her feisty grip, she turned abruptly with a snicker and floated away.

This peculiar hotel seemed to be breathing itself, it had a life of its own, a source of energy from its dark bowels and these freakish ghouls were its caretakers.

We ate our pizza in quiet confusion, as the room itself was filled with odd creaks and groans, and I could almost feel this hotel slowly inhaling the life of its dwellers.

"I swear this place is haunted," Bren said looking around for any ghostly spirits that might be lingering around us. Later, as we prepared for bed, I masterfully placed the pillows under the sheets of the bed and quietly maneuvered behind the room's bathroom door. When Bren slowly exited from the bath into the dimly light room, I reached out and threw my hands around her neck...

She cried out with a scream that shook the room only adding to the surreal aura of this place.

"Oh you'll get yours, you just wait, and it starts with finding yourself in the other bed tonight," Bren staunchly informed me.

"That was really unforgivable, you know that…’cause I’m telling you, this place really is haunted!" she angrily stated through the darkness to me now in the opposing bed.

The floorboard then unmistakably creaked violently within our room.

"Bri, knock it off, I’m getting mad now…"

"That wasn’t me, I’m still in bed."

"What?" Bren said as she jumped from her bed into mine.

"You heard it though didn’t you?"

"Yeah," I replied shining the flashlight through the darkness, "and it did come from within our room."

We cuddled together listening to distant footsteps and fading murmurs outside in the hallway, wondering if they were real. And as a low, inaudible groan emanated from the wall behind us, I suddenly confronted the sobering thought that Bren may be right.

"Dammit, I know I’m not going to sleep a wink tonight!" Bren mumbled softly under her breath.

As we snuggled together listening intently for any sound to verify our perception, Bren casually asked, "What did you think that guy was talking about earlier in the hall? Was he on drugs or do you think he was just some cryptic freak?"

"I really have no idea, and what the hell is the definition for ‘crazy’ anyway after this place! But he was definitely cryptic."

"What’s a palladium anyway?"

"I think it’s a sacred amulet that protects a people or place…"

"Why would we need that for our spiritual survival?"

"I don’t know but that whole scene was weird beyond its weirdness though, I mean like he actually knew what he was talking about…maybe the sacred object is the mojo within us?"

"Yeah, maybe it was Jim himself," Bren casually stated.

I quickly turned the flashlight to her face in disbelief.

With her face highlighted, jack-o-lantern like, she retorted in a sobering tone, "Hey, ya never know, I’m mean this place is out there—strange doesn’t even begin to cover it. So I say, old Jimmy it was!"

As sleep eventually swept my weary bones into its grip, I dreamt of medieval times and I was in the midst of a massive audience including the royal court. I stood in the middle of an enclosed circle as the court’s jester, and yet my tricks, jokes and magical movements fell upon deaf ears for I couldn’t make anyone laugh. Obviously, they didn’t understand the tricks. So, I jumped and howled through the air with even more conviction; however, still no one made even the slightest audible sound of jubilance. Somehow until this point I didn’t realize the talisman I had been waving vigilantly through the air, it was a simple flashlight that I held between my fingers. Within the bizarre realization that no one was laughing and I was holding a flashlight in my hand I became petrified; I broke out in a cold sweat as I suddenly stopped and glanced around me. Unexpectedly, the faces of the gallery were not filled with confusion or pity, but rather they were sullen and drawn, and for the first time I realized that their eyes were closed. I turned quickly in a circle, much like with the dolphin in Kaikoura, and instantly I was swept up in a ball of confusion, torn by this naked truth and yet, it seemed so incredibly strange that it couldn’t actually be true—this world.

"Why are they here if they’re not going to open their eyes," I thought as I suddenly woke with the flashlight still fastened tightly to my palm.
 

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

After a day in the Barossa Valley, the Napa Valley of Oz, and a quick stop in Victor Harbor, we began the long trek down the southern coast toward Melbourne. During the next two days, we drove through, appropriately enough, the virtual ghost towns of Goolwa and Robe and through the unspectacular saltpans of Coorong National Park. The weather has been drab and cool, the landscape bland and mundane, and with this noticeable lack of color and contrasts, Australia has been so far grossly unexceptional. The Land of Oz has seemed more like the land of desolation, especially after the visually inspiring New Zealand. Adding to the mounting sense of disappointment, we have spent our nights cramped in sleeping bags scrunched in the back of a Toyota Corolla to save money and it’s left us both frazzled and lethargic.

On our final day before arriving in Melbourne, however, we woke to a beautiful sunny day and the dawn of the Great Ocean Road, touted as one of the most scenic in the world. Our first glimpse at the beginning of the road and instantly we knew this would be different, this was the Australia we’d so deeply yearned. The land rushed out to the edge of the coast where it formed abrupt, sharp cliffs plunging straight down strikingly into the sea. This coastline was untouched, rugged, and sheer. Even more dramatic, over time erosion has created hundreds of oddly formed islands of rock sometimes rising several hundred feet from the depths of sea. These stratified rock islands have developed into a variety of spectacular constructs including, rock bridges, pillars, massive holes and grottos. The roaring waves pounded against this vertical mountain of rock sending water hundreds of feet into the air, and with every crashing wave upon this feral land, you distinctly felt the palpable blow rumbling under your feet, as it sweetly sang the savage song of its inner call. The entire coastline of the Great Ocean Road is literally speckled with incredible white sandy beaches interspersed with these outstanding explosions of rock creatively rising from the sea, and onward this magic rolled stretching out seamlessly to the tawny glow of dawn.

We spent the entire day sweeping along this spectacular coastline stopping at each of the major tourist viewpoints, absorbing this awe-inspiring vision of nature’s unharnessed fury. It was a side of this planet that we cannot control, as much as we try, nature will always have the upper hand. Following another night stuffed in the car trunk, we restlessly rumbled into the beautifully modern setting of Melbourne, the striking antithesis of the Great Ocean Road and nature’s unharnessed vigilance and ruggedness. Melbourne is a showcase for the beauty of concrete and steel. Sydney and Melbourne surely don't disappoint visually, for both reverberate charm for a big city, and quicken the heart with their effortless challenge to the senses. Melbourne is a sparkling modern city of just under 3 million built compactly along the Yarra River. Contemporary skyscrapers intermixed with Victorian style office buildings elegantly line the north side of the river providing a stunning composite of old and new, the simple and sophisticated. The antique-looking trolleys (or trams here in Melbourne) continued to serve as the main source of transport in the city center, and along with the age-old horse carriages, the stately government buildings, and a few gothic churches, the city is truly endowed with its own distinct character. Melbourne feels unique.

Over the next two days we combed the city center, visited the National Museum and the Southside, where there's a fantastic riverfront complex packed with a galleria of "up-market" shopping, cafes and international restaurants. The activities and people of Melbourne are both much more diverse than in Sydney. In fact, if you are looking for the strange, odd, colorful, or unique in Australia, Melbourne is where you'd find it. People here are far more individualistic; they are seekers and dreamers. However, it struck me as a city of gluttons as well, reminding me much of Los Angeles. As for every person truly displaying their struggle for individual taste there was another mindlessly consumed with fade and fashion. Melbourne seemed to be a polarized eclectic mix of clashing ideas, perspectives and direction. And for all the individuality and diversity, it seemed for many those things had indeed become the end, rather than a means toward finding their individuality. In their strong desire to be unique individuals, it seemed they were the same, and in this expression they were merely "conforming" to be different. For this reason, the city's energy seemed to be misdirected, lost within this hypocritical clash. Melbourne struck me as a city lost within itself. Sadly, in this regard, it distinctly reminded me of the feeling I have in many of the cities in the States.

On our final night in Melbourne we took the trolley to the scanty seaside suburb of St. Kilda, known mostly for its cosmopolitan atmosphere, diverse restaurants and cafes. While having coffee at a jazz cafe we bumped into a woman in her early twenties with whom we had sat next to on the trolley the previous day. Actually, she was on her way to work and was hoping to get away with paying the fare when we jumped on and sat next to her. Naturally the conductor didn't miss us "Yanks," and incidentally we had called attention to this woman forcing her to dish out the fare. So, we felt we owed her at least a cup of coffee and we invited her to our table.

We quickly raced through a couple cups of coffee as we excitedly discussed the problems of Australia's race relations. Recently, Asians have been immigrating in large numbers to Australia, and in particular to Melbourne, and many native Aussies are rebuking the government for failing to enact stricter measures to prevent this mass influx. Our new friend, Theresa, confided that there are many Aussies who believe that the immigration code should be tightened to prevent the overwhelming numbers arriving in the land of "Oz." They are now reaping the benefit of what the "native" Aussies had worked so hard to build. It sounded all too familiar.

Another recent discovery here in Australia (since we've arrived) is that it has come to light that in past generations the Aborigines suffered from prejudice and certain horrid atrocities at the hands of these newly admitted Aussie’s. It's caused an uproar of guilt and emotion from the present-day Australians, and many are now struggling with the prospect of having completely subverted the rights of the Aborigines and killed and maimed many in the process. For Theresa, she explained that it’s a daunting emotional task to come to grips with the inhumane actions of her forbearers.

Again, it sounded all too familiar.

Bren and I then explained to Theresa that we as Americans have faced very similar issues just in our lifetimes, and that race relations may presently be America's most complex problem.

"In fact, it may be the most critical hurdle facing America in moving forward as a nation," I said.

"It would be funny if it didn't have such devastating consequences...that we actually judge another person by the color of their skin," Bren followed up.

"I just can't believe that it happens at all, in your country or mine; hell, I can’t believe that it happens in world at all. It’s an utterly disparaging comment on us as human beings!" Theresa vigilantly exclaimed.

"Oh, you don't even know the half of it, in America prejudices run deep, and they scar everyone," Bren continued.

"…And no one is absolved from having it, and no one is removed from its crosshairs. It seems to be the American way," I quickly added.

"Yes, that's the way we are headed it seems," Theresa offered resolutely. "The problem here is that some are so quick to judge and speak out, while others are reticent to speak at all. What’s really sad is that most of the ones who are quick to judge are the ones who speak out the most!"

"Ha, we know how that works!" Bren excitedly exclaimed.

"The real problem with prejudices in America is that they run so deep that we are now predisposed to act a certain way," Bren replied.

"There's a channel of behavior grooved for each one of us in America, and very few are willing to challenge it or even to think on their own to get beyond this way of thinking," I again added as Bren and I subtly chuckled to ourselves realizing that we were finishing the other’s sentences. In that moment, Bren reached under the table and gripped my hand. We were back in Sydney in front of the Opera House after our fight, where everything else in the world fell away, meaningless, insignificant, all but us. I looked back to her eyes, where her gentle smile and deep glance simply melted my heart.

I tuned back into Theresa who was still talking about race relations in Oz…

"…That's amazing, I am really shocked. Ya know I always envisioned America as the paradigm of freedom, and to hear this really diminishes my perspective of America. I mean no offense, but it’s bloody crazy to think we have such similar problems, the same damn prejudices. What does it say for us as human beings, two separate environments, same bloody problems!" Theresa angrily spouted off.

"And there is not a single worse prejudice than judging a person based on their skin color—really makes you wonder, can we possibly be this superficial as human beings," Bren continued.

"You hit on it there, Brenda," Theresa returned with a quick slap to Bren’s leg in validation, "It really makes you wonder…are we that bloody ignorant as human beings?"

"Yeah, are we that primitive? I mean, just think about telling your child, who is not predisposed to judge: 'Listen honey, what we do as adults is we look at people with a different color and we treat them different; we don't like them because they don't have our color skin'," I joked.

"What do think that child would say?" I continued.

"They would ask, 'WHY?'" Theresa answered.

"Well," I continued, "that's just the way we adults are...that's the way we live," I answered.

"If children were actually told this," I continued, "instead of being implicitly taught to pre-judge another on the basis of their skin color, they'd laugh and say, ‘those silly adults there they go messing everything up again’..."

In our caffeine-induced state, we all laughed horribly at the pathetic state of the race problems in our respective countries. For me, as a white male from America, it was only a vision of the ideal, the ideal of equality that created my discomfort, the fiery core of my ire. The anger ran deep, however, especially between Theresa and Brenda who have felt this dagger of prejudice first-hand.

"I never knew just how deep racism ran in America, I just can’t get over it," Theresa said incredulously.

"It truly is a sad reality," Bren began explaining, "Even worse, is that when traveling to other countries around the world, we realize just how much stronger we as Americans could be as a result of our diversity. It's amazing that we as Americans are so blind...so blind of our potential strength collectively."

"Bren and I have talked about this before many times, and without a doubt," I added and now fully consumed with race relations in the States, "America is the most creative country in the world. Not, however, just because we foster and savor it, but also because of our diversity, for it naturally brings different cultures and experiences to the thought process. Also, and possibly more importantly, just being exposed to those different cultures and experiences, we can personally attest as a travelers, has the awesome potential to broaden the minds and hearts of Americans. This exposure has the profound power to assist each and every American find who they are and come to terms with their mission in life. Truthfully, that cannot be understated."

"I definitely agree with you about the diversity," Theresa interjected, "I can see it here, and we don't have nearly the diversity you do. It's funny though, when I look at America, I never saw these problems at all!"

"Oh, they're there, no doubt--"

"You'd see them everyday in America if you ever came," Bren added.

"The problem with race relations in America," I said, "is that very few of us truly attempt to genuinely understand the plight of the other races, we as human beings always take the path of least resistance, and this issue is no different. It's much easier to judge and dismiss, than to take the time to try and understand."

"We are all, as human beings, just so damn hypocritical! It infuriates me, we always want to be recognized on an individual basis, raceless, genderless, without labels, but when it comes to taking the time to look beneath the skin of another, we just don’t do it!" Bren said still filled with the sting of her revelation in Sydney about the superficialities of living in our modern world.

It struck her deep and I could feel her angst, her pain of coming to terms with the ridiculous reality that we as human beings could be so blind, so primitive, and so blatantly ignorant.

"Yes!" Theresa cried out filled with enthusiasm, "That's it, people don't care enough to take the time. As a woman I’m with you Brenda, I ‘feel’ it because it's the same bloody way here! Sometimes, I feel like slapping one of these damn judgmental, bloody know-it-all, because I’m shot up with testosterone, blokes…oh, sorry Brian, no offense. Of course, you’re not like that!" She said as her and Bren enjoyed a common laugh.

"Actually, I do understand at least what you’re saying. I guess that it's a bridge that all too often neither side feels like crossing, to understand the plight of those living on the other side. However, I can’t say that I was much different until I had an epiphany of sorts just recently. You see, I have always had friends of different races, ever since I was little really, and I would have never believed that I was prejudiced, but..."

I took another gulp of java and without hesitation moved into telling the story:

Whenever I got together with two black friends of mine to go out on the town, invariably, the discussion would end up in some form on race relations. On some level, we truthfully loved to banter the subject around; it was part of the friendship. One night despite all the inherent pressures against us, we realized just how much we meant to each other. We became friends. Simply put, they had my back, and I theirs—no matter the occurrence. How could this happen? They knew I was white, I knew they were black, and we both knew this was "America." What happened? We finally accepted one another in spite of the other's skin color and all the prejudices that came with it. I specifically say "in spite" because that's what you must do to overcome those primal fears, which devastatingly impact your judgment.

On this night, a night when the three of us were all already a bit chippy we began to challenge each other with direct, frank questions about what it's like being white and black in America. We literally pounded on each other with questions stirred by our life-long (or more appropriately "prejudice-long") curiosities, and we held nothing back. It all began innocently driving down the freeway when "J" bluntly asked me out of the blue, "Yo, Bri, do you have any clue what it is to be a black man in America?"

I immediately drifted off in thought, "What—what the hell, why bring this bullshit into our friendship...why put this burden on me!"

Then my prejudice crept back and began to roll freely through my mind, "Oh God, here we go again...of course, I understand, I really do understand," I said to myself desperately trying to convince myself, "and dammit, I'm sick of hearing about the plight of black America!"

I stopped for a second, and regained my composure as "J" waited in silence for my answer. Already, tension hung in the air. I looked casually out the window at the skyscrapers of the city skyline. Silence. Like the ticking of a bomb we all waited, we all counted down...

Finally, I replied, "Do you have any idea what it's like to be white and look a black person in the eye knowing our embattled pasts? And on the flip side, do you know what it's like to be white and listen to blacks constantly blaming their personal problems on the tyranny of 'white America'?"

Silence.

The lines had been drawn. We both had already said things that shouldn’t be said, and now our friendship hung delicately by a proverbial string, and we knew it. We felt it distinctly like the paths of this friendship led to this moment of truth. Indeed, it was a tantalizing reflection of our society wrapped up in that moment, the fear, the denial, the lack of empathy, and the simple refusal to even attempt to understand the plight of another human being or even a sect of humanity.

"Look, I didn't do anything personally to blacks," I pleaded still looking out the window.

He pulled the car over to the side of the road without a word, and for a few moments, which seemed like an eternity we just looked, stared at each other. We said nothing, yet our minds raced. Our eyes fixed and focused on each other. Emotions stirred. Passion controlled our minds, it dictated our hearts, and in that moment we were lost within our embattled pasts, history, prejudices, and yet still bound by our bond of "friendship." His eyes grew cold, detached. I didn't want to deal with it either, and I stared back in the same menacing, unsympathetic way and in that instant we became divided. Our bond, what took years to form, vanished in that moment and now sat meaningless along side of the road with us. We both raged inside, both painfully torn.

"You wanna just go home?" "J" offered with petulance.

I looked once again out the window at the cars whizzing past on the freeway, all going somewhere, nowhere. Their path controlled by the line of concrete, and something clicked. I looked back to "J" and then back to the cars whizzing by and I said with an exasperated sigh, "No, I don't understand."

I had looked in the mirror and realized that just because you're on a road doesn't mean you're going anywhere. Likewise, just talking about race with another race doesn't actually solve anything; I was running away, I was just one of the millions of people in their cars mindlessly pressing the pedals, believing wholeheartedly that they were on the road toward a destination and yet in reality, going nowhere.

Until the sun came up the next morning we talked. We discussed and explained each of our difficulties and experiences with the other's race. It was candid and free. "J" explained how he had never stolen a single thing in his life yet everywhere he goes eyes are on his back. How he's been pulled over by the police nearly twenty times and only once given a ticket, and never arrested. By contrast, I've been pulled over three times and twice given a citation. It was chilling to bare the truth of this reality within the halls of America, the land of the free. Of course, I explained the guilt and shame some whites bear for the travesties of the slavery years and beyond. I explained further how difficult it is to give up control of any situation because we as humans always fear what we don't know...this is why some whites constantly put down blacks and vice versa. I explained that for many whites, it's the fear of losing what they perceive they have—a leg up. We all feel deeply insecure with our place in this world and this is yet another way to feel threatened. Frankly, most of us don't have the personal courage to fight off this pervasive feeling of being insignificant, and having someone, anyone, "below" you provides significance to his or her life.

"It's not your fault," I said.

He explained that for many blacks, they have grown accustomed to role of underdog and now accept the easier path of allowing things to be given to them. They even cherish this role and now take advantage of the race card and the guilt. They push the envelope for everything they can get from the situation.

"It's not your fault," he said.

Our environment plays a significant role in defining who we are, the people we become, and our race is without a doubt one of the key elements to the outlay of the American environment. Yes, we are all different, yet the same. However, we are allowing the environment filled with these prejudices to ravage our sense of right and wrong, to maim our sense of morality and equality, and ultimately, to distort our sense of being human. We must realize that, most importantly, we are all the same first, and different second.

For the three of us personally, we all became lifelong friends that night, a bond forged through listening, understanding, respect and opening our hearts to each other. I understood on that fateful night that I may never truly comprehend what it means to be black in America, but I did understand enough to realize that they were no longer my "black friends," but simply "my friends…"

"That story was bloody incredible, the struggle is incredible!" Theresa cried out.

"Well, they were just trivial acknowledgments of the problems facing two insignificant cogs in the wheel of America, as well as a couple superficial reasons for the prejudice on both sides, but I guess it’s a starting point. Anyway, it was an important step forward for the three of us, personally."

"No step forward is trivial especially when it concerns the blind eyes of racism, and nothing in this world is insignificant. God, I would love to visit your country. I am fascinated with America," Theresa offered, her face grim and serious, "It's a place where the struggle is so real. I can almost feel its battles within you. I could see it in your eyes, wow! I mean, we have similar problems here in Australia, but America is the bloody struggle!"

"I don't know if that's such a good thing--" Bren said.

"Oh but it is, it is! You are fighting the struggle for us all. You are fighting the battle for all of humanity. Don't you see it?" Theresa emotionally spewed, "Your country truly is the ‘struggle,’ don’t you get it?"

"Hmm. I think I see what you’re saying," I said with a brush of excitement, "America is the example; we are the living, breathing example to the world. If we can solve our differences and live together not only peacefully, but in harmony, so one day can all of humanity. In a world of discord and dissension, America is the beacon of hope."

"We are slice of the ideal," Bren said reflectively.

"Yes! Yes!" Theresa screamed out, "You two, as Americans, are the struggle; America is the struggle for what this world can become. The fate of us all may very well lie within the bitter and painful discord of America. You may be the hope for us all!"
 

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

We left the next morning before dawn for our flight to Cairns, still feeling the effect of the coffee with Theresa. Our fatigue, however, was tempered by the excitement of being back in a tropical environment and diving on the Great Barrier Reef. We arrived in Cairns, a flight similar to Miami to New York, where we took the airbus to the hostel. We received a basic bungalow with merely a bed sitting atop the concrete floor. The tiny room was cramped, featureless and far simpler than even a jail cell, but the surroundings were pleasant and the amenities comforting. It was the epitome of budget travel and after the "haunted hotel" in Adelaide, the myriad of nights cramped in the back of Corolla, and blowing $40 (US) on a dinky little room in Melbourne with no heat, this was a virtual paradise.

Cairns is a small city filled with mainly small shops, restaurants and bars; it's a tourist town. It is however inexpensive, pleasant, slow-paced, and laid-back. To save money for scuba diving on the Reef, we bought some groceries and cooked dinner back at the hostel amongst the onslaught of other low-budget travelers. At dinner we met a shy Scottish couple and immediately became consumed in a discussion on our respective travels. Since the beginning of Australia we have consistently found ourselves in absorbing conversations that devour any sense of time. That's what the trip is all about, meeting people from all over the world, thousands of miles away from our homes, outside our element, in different environments, and each bringing their completely distinct experiences. They are moments again when I feel like I'm "living life."

Immediately, they expressed their primary reason for traveling the world—to "escape the destructive path of their own country and to see if the remainder of the world was any different." Indeed, they felt that the people of Britain were losing much of their system of morality, a sense of direction, and as a result, they decided to travel and work for prolonged periods of time in other countries to see if this "decline" merely existed within their homeland. I suggested that it could very well be a global problem or at least a problem in westernized cultures, and they ardently agreed, concluding that they found the same in most of the "modern" places they have seen. It struck me raw; it was an acerbic pill forced upon my palette, as they weren't extreme moralists—just average, good-hearted people who seemed distraught with the direction of their country and the world. I looked upon their eyes as they spoke; they were cast with an iron arc of despair, like their lives had been thrown into an uncontrollable downward spiral. They seemed thrown through this world’s doors of misperception, and cradled to the hope that this reality, this place couldn’t be so crusty and worn by the virulent grooves of ignorance and hypocrisy.

During the conversation, however, my thoughts kept drifting away, toward what ultimately drove us to undertake our journey. Beneath the skin of my search for "faith" something lurked deep inside, something which had been churning in the belly of my being. I could see and understand the beginning, the knob of disillusionment and it commenced with not being "happy" or "content" in a society where I possessed the inherent freedom to have it, to have it all. It was a distinct seed, one that I realized would only continue to grow, one that was so easily planted by a society filled with "partners" from the firm, and one that would forever flourish within if I were to remain passive. I knew, profoundly, that the line in the sand had been drawn, and with the first step across I would be eternally bound.

Specifically, I knew that I couldn't continue fighting the illusion of happiness and contentment in what I had accomplished with my life—for its distorted blackness cast a shadow even larger than myself. No, I could believe in this deluded hope, this tainted dream no longer. They had been ripped from my innocent heart, and I was left without "dreams," "direction," or "purpose." For me, the "American Dream" was dead and life resoundingly rang hollow. I sensed it absolutely. I gazed backward to the person who left the States, one utterly confined by the bondage of the body and held hostage to perceptions, prejudices and labels of this sullied world. Are we the insolent darkness cast upon the brilliant light of the elegant universe? Do we walk this earth forever moiling the inner passages of our beginnings, forever emasculated by our closed cerebral doors?

I realized that something had to change, indeed that we had to forge a new path. We had stared intently at the line, the thin line in the sand, and even as one by one others thoughtlessly crossed over, we decided that we had to take a "step back." For better or worse, as our fleshy skeletons were pushed down the conveyor belt toward intangible goals and desires, we had to evaluate our place within this massive machine. With time, we discovered that this was no normal line; no, it was a permanent barrier, and possibly, a permanent barrier to our humanity. As we sold our possessions to undertake our mission, I remember distinctly how those close to us couldn't understand. That is, those who had innocuously drifted over the line could no longer see back to the others who hadn’t, and in this regard, they couldn’t possibly understand our reluctance to mindlessly join them upon their narrow precipice.

"How can you give up all that you worked so hard for to just go and travel...when you get back you'll have nothing, absolutely nothing," one of my best friends inquired.

"I feel like I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't try and persuade you not to do this. You'll have to start over...do you realize this? Why are you throwing away all that you’ve accomplished?"

It was the Scottish couple's pronouncement that they just weren't content with the direction of their country, a vision that drove them to seek something beyond, and this concurrently snapped clarity to my fuzzy delusion. I realized that we were now doing precisely the same, seeking answers, embracing our destiny, and clarifying our personal direction. I knew as I looked at the distinct line in the sand that, for us, these answers didn't lie in America, or if they did, then we were now blind to them. I knew that we had to reach out to the world, to other cultures, to the people of this world; I knew my personal destiny called me to find these esoteric answers, and my fate rested plainly with its powerful palm. Oddly, our fate somehow rested with the Universe, with others in this world and on some small but tangible level, it was out of our control. Like a dream that seems so real upon waking, one so strong that it affects your mood the entire day, my destiny beckoned to be shaken from its prosaic slumber. I sensed it, and I knew that it required what was the basis for the journey, it required "faith" and I had to find it.

After retiring to our bungalow that night, I laid awake in bed. The day seemed achingly ancient, almost a never-ending story played out in years, and yet I couldn't sleep. Our Scottish friends’ candid and insightful revelations about their country jolted me, for I knew much of it also held true for the United States. A chill quickly gripped my body, and like a cold metal object against my warm skin, it penetrated even the deepest parts of my being. Restless and disturbed, I slid out of bed and crawled over the cold cement floor into the dark corner. With my knees bent toward my chest, my head listlessly dropped down into my hands. I sat cowering in the corner, truly terrified by a distorted vision that now seemed to be clearing with each passing day. I felt a profound disquiet take over. My thoughts were consumed with the troubling, even alarming, state of the place I loved, my home. I shuttered at the thought, but I knew the "truth" had now been bared, and it stung with the power of thousands of bees covering my skin. I was helpless, and I felt deeply a sense of being isolated in this massive world we live in, and during moments of this trip where I felt so remarkably part of something greater than myself, a penetrating significance, I now felt completely the opposite. I felt alone. I felt pathetically insignificant. There was no one, not a single soul to shield my pain, to absorb the emotional blow, which now sucked the life from my soul. The "truth" blatantly told me so; the light wavering just beyond could no longer simply be dismissed. It was plainly before me and I could no longer idly turn away from its blinding rays, it beckoned: the fabric of my country is being ravenously ripped apart. There was no avoiding it. I desperately struggled with myself trying to remove the veil of insecurity to which I clung, one that prevented me from seeing this resounding "truth." I now trembled with utter fear of what I'd find, what horrors lay beyond this jagged cusp of "truth." Indeed, what lay even deeper within this pervasive "truth"?

I realized that having been born and raised in America, I had been taught how to avoid dealing with the reality of American life. That is, how to isolate myself from its problems, how to rationalize events, how to allow the media to manipulate and guide my thoughts, how to focus solely on myself and my own personal objectives, how to believe that the "end" was more important than the "means," and ultimately, how to protect myself from observing my country critically—that is, how not "to think." In a nutshell, I found it difficult as an American to remove the selfishness, the fear, and the denial, from the equation of viewing America through an objective, realistic lens. However, simply leaving America and being exposed to different cultures and experiences has pricked the air from this superficial balloon. It has been the exchange of ideas and thoughts with people from other countries, understanding their perceptions, that have helped puncture this "veil," and to see what’s left of my country after removing the "hot air." I can see the state of America much clearer now, and it has given me the strength to see America as it really is—good and bad.

I looked up and out the small window seeing the faint light emanating from outside the bungalow, and because it remains so dark inside, the light outside seemed so much brighter. It actually hurt my eyes and it burned into my boiling brain. I breathed deeply, closed my eyes and slouched further in the corner, but still, I couldn't avoid the light. It seemed to find and taunt me. I knew what I wrote, I knew what I saw, I knew what I felt, since leaving America all were unfortunately true, and it was an intimidating revelation. I understood clearly that our path or way of life was wholly destructive, destructive from its inner core. We have lost the base and foundation of our society—that is, something we all believe in, something that unites us as one and pushes us collectively toward a common "ideal." As a result, America has become a country devoid of faith. Simply, America is now empty, it’s a place lost within the trappings of a material world, a place so consumed with the physical and personal motives that the essence of being human is ripped from each of our breasts. Now, America is only a fragile shell of a being, its inner core having been savagely devoured from within; each one of us now marches around merely in the flesh of our exposed inner beast. Indeed, it has become a soulless place, where we are now unmercifully caught in a "downward spiral" carrying us into the obsidian darkness.

I could see it so clearly here in the heart of Australia, the close "cousin" of America. The assassination of JFK, our torn innocence from the Vietnam war, Martin Luther King's assassination and the civil rights movement, have all essentially evolved us into a people who lost the institution they believed in and the leaders who were entrusted to run it. When this belief in the system was shaken over those twenty years, Americans were stripped of their faith, and their belief in both the system and their leaders. We desperately kept clinging, however, hoping beyond hope that these leaders would "lead" us back someday, lead us to the place we all at one time desired our country to be. We still do, we still hope. However, as we slowly realized that they are indeed part of the problem, lacking the character, strength, and vision to truly lead us as a people—to overcome our mass disillusionment with the system in the 60’s and 70’s—we have now settled instead for the "easy" life. A life so consumed with money and possessions that as long as the freely flow of dollars continue unabated, we are willing to overlook everything else. Unfortunately, to that end, we’ve been bought. We, as Americans, have settled for the cheap tawdry hooker waiting on the corner, that when all else fails, we’ll just buy it. In the process we have "sold out" our country for the "easy" life, and even worse, we sit back and blindly justify our ignorance in the insidious name of "progress." In this bone-chilling fray, we have lost who we once were as Americans, and today we are quickly becoming merely skeletons with flesh happily dancing to the tune of our own impending doom.

Unfortunately, the disillusionment came at the vulnerable time when we were, and still are, struggling to find our identity individually and collectively as a nation. For example, minorities in America began the brutal fight for their rights, and justifiably so, but one of the unintentional results was to alienate many others, even other minority members. And in a system designed to restore hope and equality, it has always been a system that has done either too little or too much—primarily due to the lack of leadership to help us all "see" beyond the inadequacies of the system. Yes, to "see" that in the struggle for equality for all, that in fighting for this "ideal," we were all indeed one. Consequently, each of us now for differing reasons have lost even more of our precious "faith." We lost not only faith in our sacred system, but more importantly, in each other. We are now, as the band strikes up the tune that, "it’s every man for himself," beginning to turn on each other. It’s just always easier to blame the system, our leaders, and even our fellow countrymen, all instead of simply taking responsibility.

In our struggle, in suffering through our adolescence as a nation, we have forgotten what it was that helped us reach the summit in the first place, the values that forged the path, the passion that sustained the struggle through the darkness, the character that developed from the bold hearts of a determined people. We have forgotten those ambient elements that made us great, those elements that at least attempted to make us all "One nation under god." At best, we have misplaced these elements, and at worst, we've completely lost them. Today, we have become desensitized to the leaders we elect, the things they say and do, the blatant corruption of the system, to the manipulating media who write more for reaction than to inform, to the inherent rights and liberties of others, and overall, we've become detached to the action taken on behalf of our great land. The people of America have become apathetic and frivolously comfortable in complacence.

Most disturbingly, we neglected to look inward for strength or to our fellow man for answers. Instead of finding solace and comfort with the human spirit and our inner connection as human beings, we have turned toward things we could manifestly control, namely technology and money. And in this alarming fall, we have fail to be Men at all for we give our inherent power of the people to a select few, and our government, our economic system now rules its obedient servants—us. We have so easily replaced the gaping wound left by our shattered faith and wilted passion with technology and material possessions. This has now become the new belief system of America. It's our new way of life, and now it controls, even enslaves, us. We are indeed selling our souls for the false hope of finding happiness by surrounding ourselves with the material, the physical. In fact, our currency should now be changed from "In God We Trust" to "In Green We Trust." As I learned from Roaro and Garrett on Rarotonga, you can't find happiness in objects, or the "happiness" will only be transitory; rather, it must come from inside, and painfully, in this regard America's till seems to be empty.

Are we going to devour the impious apple to its bitter core, knowing that with each bite we give a way a sacred piece of our souls?

I look up at the ceiling to the ever growing, omnipresent light that pervades the room, my soul. I sense that my time has come, it lurks, it seeks. I cringe in its presence, fear controls my bones, and my small space in the corner seems so open, so conspicuous. It looms and follows me like the darker shadow it casts upon the walls of cold darkness around me. The "line" in the sand grows ever so distinct, and I know this is my time. The light grows brighter and the shadow darker, the steely knife raises from behind waiting for the call to swiftly take my throbbing heart. This is it; my moment of truth has arrived. This palpable moment flows through my body with each flowing cell, and in this Midnight hour, the heavens look down upon this fragile being confronted by his reflection in the Grand Canyon walls.

This light casts no normal human shadow but a hazy, indistinct form of blackness. I can no longer hide from it penetrating rays. I cry out in stinging pain for I know: the baby-boomer generation has sold out, they sold their children's souls, and now, we are being conditioned, taught, to place the children of the next generation on the block. It has become the American way to forfeit family for money, indeed to replace love with money, and to give material possessions in place of quality time. Simply, we’ve been explicitly taught to look outward instead of in. Undeniably, the children of our nation will feel the effect of this cross burning deep within the pith of each of their souls. We burn their flesh, and charred and blackened they now walk our streets, forever tarnished, forever branded and programmed to justify the "means" by the "end." We have allowed our pure objective of an "American Dream," one of a stable environment to raise our children and a fruitful life, to become tainted by our greed for more. Always more. What exactly are we getting in return for the sacrifice of ourselves, and more importantly, of our children?

I sit in the corner weeping in my hands, shivering, alone, bare, and I know that I will have accomplished nothing with my life, nothing if I can't fight this blinding light to see the "truth." All that I have done with my life to date amounts to nothing, my achievements ring hollow, if I can't see and touch the crux of the truth about myself, about my country, about humanity; otherwise, I am merely just another contributor to the poisoning of the well. I am just another mindless toiler in a deluded empire. No more, no less. The line is clear now, and I must choose. My hands tremble uncontrollably, tears fall helplessly from my cheek, I can't help it, "Am I alone? Do I face this wraith by myself? Has the throat of ‘hope’ been callously slit, as I now watch its blood ooze along the floor around me?"

I reach down and dip my finger into the pool of blood and hold it up to the light, indeed it’s a deep ruby red. Excuses and justifications only mask the "truth," they only provide the pillows and blankets to make our slow deathbed comfortable. Meanwhile, the wraith covertly slips beneath the covers of our cozy beds and plunges his cold fingers into our chests for yet another beating heart. He stands above our collective self and gleefully flings it into the throng of ravaging monkeys who with red-stained lips feast on this sacrifice of our humanity. Our sad day of self-induced death has come, and now we actually call to him, to seduce us to our death march, to take us, to strip the last vestiges of our faith, to mock our brilliant ancestry, and shred the stars and strips of red, white and blue. I try and wipe the dripping blood from my fingers, but I can’t, for it has forever stained my nimble digits, and with it, my soul.

For I know that we have willed it so.

"Am I alone?" I cried out as I watched the soft flicker of golden light dancing over the walls of the room, and I suddenly realized, I was no longer afraid. The choice had been made. I knew in that moment that if I am truly alone and no one else wants to see this "truth," then so be it. That's the way I, and I alone, must then lead my life. It's my path to understanding, one toward my own personal significance, and I must embrace it. I see those "partners" clearly now, and I can freely turn my back on them, and I feel the overwhelming sense of empowerment. I realize that human life is empty, unfulfilled, without the pursuit of this "truth." I understand more than ever before, I see it, this "truth," for I know that it’s imperative to human existence that we attempt to acquire an understanding of who we are and our purpose in this realm. It is imperative.

So, I now turn toward my path, my divinely fated path, one that carries my personal destiny, for the "truth" brightly illuminates the way. I must live my "truth." I cannot escape the mark of my country, which is forever emblazoned on my forehead, yet I know now that I must fight it. I must fight not my country, but that which controls my country and its people. I walked outside the bungalow and looked at the light outside. I stood and stared, and as I shielded my eyes I could see through its glow that it was not some menacing all-pervasive light, it was just a single bulb hanging noose-like from the limb of a tree. I now stood determined; I wiped away the tears, and my eyes hardened as I stared at the masquerade unfolded before me. I knew that despite my mark, unlike the instincts of a moth my wings would not be mindlessly suckered to this light, this light that pushes us across that "line" and forever turns our flesh to dust.

I know now that I will never have children until I can personally vow that I will not sacrifice them for personal wealth. I simply refuse to sell their soul for a larger house, a more luxurious car, a gold necklace, or an extra personal convenience. It must become a personal quest, a struggle, for me to understand myself better, to understand from precisely where these desires come from and put them in perspective. It is the tantalizing call of being human and fighting the primitive beast that rages within, I know that I must confront and conquer it. I must fight to find what will make me happy personally, what will fulfill me, to seek out challenges and not be tempted by fear and doubt. I must understand what entity lay beneath the primitive skin of my body, and I must cling to it with everything that is in my being. Why? Because in this process, I now realize, that I will begin to discover our most basic of questions as human beings, I will take a "step toward" to understanding who I am, and with it, I will release its awesome potential. I know now that in just understanding this pursuit of self-discovery lays one of the key elements to feeling a sense of "significance" in being human. It is the test that softly cradles our sense of purpose.

Our friends and family didn't understand our sojourn. They still sit cowering in the corner of darkness, attracted by the unknown light but yet so afraid of it. Truly, they are blinded by what they seek, and the barrier has been permanently raised trapped by the "American Dream." For Bren and myself, we always realized that the trip wasn't about seeing the infamous Opera House in Sydney, the lions in Kenya, the beaches of Thailand, or even the pyramids of Giza. Rather, it was about sacrificing material wealth for the broadening experiences, experiences that would help us determine who we are and where we are going, and what it is that will provide a sense of fulfillment to our lives. It was about understanding that our destiny lay in wait to be discovered, and not permitting the fear of bucking the inherent societal pressures to control us. I don't know how or what caused us to slip blindly into the quicksand of our society, but I realized at that moment that we had to get out. Somehow, we had to claw our way out of its formidable grip or we would be forever buried and our souls lost.

As I stood below the harmless light bulb dangling overhead, I could see and understand that this trip was clearly a journey inside, not out. That is, the more we travel around the globe, the more we reach inside ourselves, the more we learn, the more we discover the essence of who we are, and then the closer we'll come to finding our true peace and happiness. It was our fated path to discover our inner strength, to pursue the grand sense of harmony, and ultimately, to feel the grandeur in being a part of something greater than our individual selves. That within this arduous inner journey was a tangible piece of our individual "significance." Ironically, it was in the undertaking itself, and by confronting the struggle and this painful glaring reality about my home has unleashed a deep sense of "significance." I feel a sense of the whole just by pursuing the quest, that is, "significance" is found in the struggle, in the "means" and not in the "end" result.

And I finally understood, as I turned out the pesky light that this, this painful and agonizing growth, this seemingly unending suffering, was the epitome of "living life."

And so it is for us all.
 

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

He was in his early thirties, short, stodgy with a pouty face and beard, yet it was always accompanied by a giant endearing smile. "Uncle Brian" was the spirited leader of our tour into the Atherton Tableland, a small interior section of Australia’s rainforest. The Atherton Tableland is inland from Cairns and rises to nearly 3000 feet, along with the area's abundant rainfall and volcanic soil provides a true tropical rainforest environment, one said to be the greenest in all of Australia. Our tour took us on a lengthy hike through the rainforest, where Uncle Bri lectured on the elements, the animals and plant life indigenous to the rainforest environment.

After hiking the entire morning, we enjoyed a picnic lunch where we discussed the Cassowary, a timid, flightless bird native to Australia that takes its place on the endangered species list. They are similar to the Ostrich, and it’s believed that there are less than 100 left in the world. Uncle Brian shared a story about the Cassowary where just recently at a nearby park, despite signs to contrary, people inadvertently continued to leave food scraps in the park. As a result, the Cassowary attracted by this food source gradually came out of its natural habitat in the forest. Shortly after leaving its reclusive spot, it was killed by a passing car. Now, the food policy is strictly enforced throughout the park; in fact, there are no garbage cans. The point was well taken though, that unknowingly we as humans can completely alter the behavior and habitat of the wildlife, that we take for granted our gifted position, and more importantly, our responsibility here on earth. Even more, we lack the forethought to preserve nature without a horrifying incident occurring first—again, much like war, we need the pain to reinforce our sense of history and judgment, for otherwise we’ve shown a sharp propensity to not learn our lessons. Sadly, I never gave it much thought previously, and it was another stinging reminder of my ignorance, my resounding imperfection.

Our indoctrination into Australia’s rainforest continued the following day with a trip north of Cairns into the coastal area known as Cape Tribulation. Much of the area is accessible only by a 4x4, and the dirt road we followed twisted and wound its way through the dense forest. Occasionally, the road popped open into a clearing revealing the fine white crystals of the beach, the lush green canopy of the mountainous rainforest, the clear azure ocean, and the sparkling blue sky. This surreal vision seduced us into its sinuous hands. This was no single piece of magic; no, it went on and on, mile after mile, isolated, desolate, and brilliantly captivating. It was a revelation of "paradise" if I'd ever seen it. As we bounced along the undulating dirt road piercing our way through the entanglement of the jungle, I couldn't help but reflect back on Abel Tasman Park in New Zealand, where no roads existed inside the park at all. It was a place where technology seemed in check, where respect for the land and its inherent beauty was permitted to ring true. Here, the road along with telephone lines and some houses being built were a haunting reminder of man once again succumbing to the pressure of convenience at the expense of nature. The knifing pain in my gut returned as Man’s destructive inroad into the purity of nature was again so patently clear.

Our aboriginal guide quickly stymied the wondrous views of this "paradise" by offering tidbits of information on the destruction and depletion of the rainforest. We were particularly stunned to learn that almost all of Australia was once completely covered by rainforest. By the time, however, Europeans began settling here, only 1% of Australia was rainforest, and today less than 0.3% is left with more than half right where we are today, the Daintree Rainforest. Most importantly, Rainforest depletion has a devastating impact on the entire surrounding ecosystem. For example, by cutting down only a small portion of the rainforest not only increases toxic greenhouse gases, but it also drastically affects the habitat of the land species. Even further, the natural runoff of the soil into the sea from eliminating the tree roots and underbrush inevitably causes damage to both the remaining rainforest and the Great Barrier Reef and its delicate ecosystem just off the coast. It becomes an unavoidable string of potentially destructive consequences. That is, the "Cassowary effect," where we as humans ignorantly or defiantly strip the natural environment at the expense of other species’ habitat. What took millions of years to build we can now destroy in seconds—again with more freedom, more technology, comes more responsibility, not less. Fortunately, after a series of battles over the depletion of the rainforest, and despite the road being bulldozed along the coast, the remaining rainforest here is now largely protected.

We spent the rest of the afternoon slowly meandering by boat up the Daintree River, a river enclosed by mangrove trees and the thick rainforest. It reminded me distinctly of the backwater bayous of Louisiana. Today, we were in search of crocodiles and to take in the prolific birdlife indigenous to the rainforest. We weren't shorted of our expectations either as scores of crocs roamed the shoreline and a plethora of birds constantly swinging overhead. Most of the afternoon, however, my mind was consumed with the environment. I, of course, had heard and read much about the depletion of the rainforest, especially in South America, but it was entirely different to see it, to hear it, to reach out and touch its robust branches. Oh, how the life abounds, it jumps, it hops, it soars, it clings; it's just so full of life. It’s zesty and penetrating, and the emotional impact of standing within its grip reminded me of Milford Sound. To physically stand in it and realize the potential harm and devastation to our overall environment we do as a result of our lack of respect for this unique place on our planet, simply pounded on me. I felt so ignorant, so guilty. I could see clearly that our prostitution of the rainforests for our own near-sighted gain could be understatedly calamitous. It was an eye-opener and profoundly so. For here I stood across the globe from home living out a dream to see the world, in the midst of the most visually stimulating places on earth, and I was hauntingly perplexed by man’s utter defiance to the gifts placed at our footsteps. I was given a precious glimpse, within this ecosystem of swirling perfection, into the soul of human beings.

As we bounced along the open road through the forest and stunning strip of endless sparkling white beach running along side returning to Cairns, our tour guide mentioned that the hole in the ozone layer is practically right above us. It's a topic, which for obvious reasons, is much more evident and talked about here than in the States. Here in Oz, there is little doubt that we as humans are contributing to the poisoning of the ozone layer, and it exists in direct contrast with the States where so many still doubt man’s devastating impact on the environment. It was one of the few direct clashes I’ve noticed between life in the States and here in Oz. For me, the more poignant question was, are we humans responsible for the marked climate changes that have been taking place in recent times?

There's just so much more to this story than just additional green house gases causing global warming and a hole in the ozone layer, for the effect is devastating and is apparent already. Global warming has already been altering the world's flora and fauna, sometimes to drastic lengths. Our guide taken with the conversation stopped and took us down onto the beach where he showed a few types of plants and that are vulnerable to extinction with just a slight alteration in their habitat either by man directly (with building roads and buildings), or indirectly, by changing the atmosphere. Some have already become extinct just in the past twenty years. It's truly mind boggling to think that we as humans are contributing so significantly to the pillage of our own planet. I think I remembered reading before I left the States that at the current pace of climatic changes, Glacier National Park will be completely void of glaciers by the year 2030. This single, even isolated event, starting at the very bottom of the food chain will have consequences that trickle the whole way up never stopping until it meets us.

To me, whether our burning of fossil fuels is the direct culprit of the mass of greenhouse gases in our atmosphere which results in global warming isn't completely relevant, right now we must cooperate in finding a solution to this devastating world-wide problem. The interesting part is that as salient as the problem obviously has become, we have still done so little toward finding a solution. In fact, so few of us go much farther than simply acknowledging the existence of such a problem. Remarkably, some still don't even acknowledge that there is a problem. I guess we are just going to passively permit the problem to escalate, probably until it's too late to save our own planet, that is, to save our own planet from ourselves.

Yet again, I am reminded of the endangered, flightless bird, the Cassowary.

It's not that surprising though. Ironically enough, why would we pay such close attention to the greenhouse gases we ignorantly throw into the air, which corrosively devour the environment, when we don't pay attention to the forces in our own society that eat away at its interweaving fabric. On both counts, it seems we'll wait until it's too late, or at least until the consequences are heart-felt by each one of us. We'll cling to this delusional state of denial until we begin choking with each breath. As we sat in the midst of earth’s most absorbing creations, it all smacked Bren and I squarely in the face. We quickly came to the conclusion that we must be personally conscious of our own actions toward the environment. It must be a conscious choice we make to preserve, to become givers, not takers. I couldn't get it out of mind what it would be like for my children or grandchildren not to be able to see first hand this magnificent part of our planet. Not to mention how would I explain to them how I unwittingly participated in its destruction and demise. I just couldn’t get that thought out of my mind and having to explain to them how little I really cared.

So, later that night we decided to attend a class, called "Reef Teach," which focused on interaction and preservation of the reefs of the world, and the Great Barrier Reef in particular. Our instructor, a Marine Biologist, entertainingly presented a slide show along with models of the reef and fish we'd encounter, and provided handouts all in preparing us for "appreciating the reef" and its beautiful but precious ecosystem. He imparted more than mere information; he provided depth and meaning to the reef environment and underwater habitat. It was our first step toward accepting responsibility for the world around us.

It all came to fruition as we embarked on a 3-day diving expedition on the Outer Great Barrier. Simply, it far exceeded either of our hefty expectations as one of the natural wonders of the world. The water was stunningly clear, the diversity of species of fish, the palpable brushstrokes of color dancing within the water, all were ineffably overwhelming. We encountered giant sea turtles, close enough that we stroked their backs, a giant Bat fish who permitted us to pet his silky sides, a reef shark, sting rays by the scores, a giant manta ray sweeping gracefully through the sea, the always dangerous Lionfish and Scorpionfish, and even a white, albino moray eel. However, the special, enriching part of the experience was being able to identify the fish and types of coral, to understand how it all functioned and behaved, and to appreciate the ways to observe and interact with the fish and coral without harming their habitat. We truly felt apart of the spirit of the sea, somehow we felt ingratiated into its gracious soul. Once again, it was a process of understanding; understanding what we were seeing, touching its delicate grandeur and elegance, developing an appreciation for our observations, and from it gathering a feeling of being absolutely free with the sea and its inhabitants. It gave us a humbling insight into their fascinating world, and more broadly, the world we all live in—our home. We were a part of this nature, a part of its spirit, and I felt distinctly converse to the disgust earlier for Man’s unyielding arrogance and invective means of "progress," for I was swimming in the harmonic waters of the universe, finally free from the burden of living within the darkness.

For us, it marked the beginning. It was the beginning of the beauty in understanding the world around us as well as our journey inward, both of which contribute to our "significance" as human beings. Yes, the mojo indeed lay within us all to be discovered, harvested like a ripened crop and consumed for the betterment of the collective; it is the process of learning selflessness. That is, to become a contributing part of the harmony within the universe, rather than a mere thorn in its ever-growing side.

To grow is to suffer, to suffer along this path is to exist with meaning, and to exist with meaning is to begin the journey toward understanding one’s purpose, and to explore the inner self toward one’s purpose is to embark upon your fated path into a realm of divinity.

As a rider on the storm, I hold this sacred amulet in my hand, the flashlight piercing the darkness of this world, and I know that this rejuvenating cycle is "living life," and it exists for each one of us as creatures of this pristine land, this glorious Nature.

Copyright © 2000 PbFisher. All rights reserved.