When
the frenzy and lunacy of Life pounds me too harshly, I sail off to a
special place. If my little ship’s autopilot had words rather than
numbers, I would be setting my course toward “simplicity” and
“serenity.”
That
destination is a little cove where time may not stand still, but it
definitely meanders. Everything here is natural, authentic and
elemental. The three houses spaced along the shoreline
were hand built by their
owners. No contractors were used – instead there
were brothers and uncles and friends.
I
needed to remind myself that there was a place untroubled by disease
and riots. I sought equilibrium in an unbalanced world. My quest
was to find peace amidst the chaos.
And
I found it. Here, in this
timeless lagoon where the Jungle meets the Sea, the
beautiful children still paddle by in their tiny, father-made
cayucos. The women still sing hymns on the Sunday
porches. The
men still use simple hand tools, whose sounds echo across the water
and speak the language of masculinity.
*******
This
is how I passed my days. Nature was my wake-up call. One morning it
might be howler monkeys. Another could be the flying chirps of wild
parrots. And some days the somersault of sting rays awoke me.
From
a bucket in the cockpit, I’d splash some fresh water on my face
that was collected from the night rain. I’d
whack open a green coconut with my machete and slip a straw into it.
Then I’d go
on deck to savor this Tarzan Tea while
the morning revealed itself
slowly and gently - as
befits the languor of the tropics.
The
bulk of my day was deliberately “anti-cerebral.” The last few
months had been spent researching and writing about the Wuhan Virus
and the hysterical over-reaction to it by supposed “experts”
and “authorities”. I
needed a respite from politics. I needed to retreat from my
observations that the worst of humanity has such a stranglehold on
the best of humanity.
*******
Sweaty,
muscular labor was my therapy. My little ship is now 44 years old,
but I try to keep her looking and performing like a teenager. The
hot, draining labor would be softened by dives from the deck into the
cooling water. After a solar shower rinse to remove the salt, I’d
loiter under the awning until I was refreshed enough to return to my
projects.
My
eating was light and appropriate for this almost Paleolithic setting
– clean protein and healthy fats. I was avoiding processed food as
much as I was avoiding propagandized brain food. Sleep was deep and
rejuvenating.
The
evenings were glorious. The
steep jungle reaches all the way down to the sea, and it produces a
lush
sonata of sounds. First,
the chattering parrots shift
to their sleeping trees. Then
the cicadas commence their faintly metallic buzz. Next comes the
noise of some unknown creature. Is it a bird or a frog or a
quadruped?
Soon,
silence settles onto the lagoon and the stars arrive. At
this latitude, all of the northern hemisphere constellations are
visible as well as a few
from the south.
The disparity between the majesty of Orion and the tiny
Southern Cross startles and intrigues me. It is as though the
celestial systems are mimicking the hemispheres of our planet. The
north is so terrestrial and the south is so watery.
Lying
on my back on deck, so solitary and yet so joyous, my thoughts
rippled like the wavelets tickling my little ship’s hull. I
realized that very big, ancient brains watched from the clear-skied
deserts centuries ago and tracked and named those star paths. Which
led me to thoughts of the star-crossed path that is the Human Story.
*******
I wondered whether there were dissenters when mankind made that all-important decision to change from tribal, hunter-gathering to highly organized agriculture. Did these skeptics warn of the possible consequences?
Could
they foresee the hierarchy, the rulers, the priests, division of
labor, the food supply under lock and key, the armies, wars and
slavery, the disease that comes with large populations crammed
together? When they communicated these dangers to
their tribe, were they
ridiculed or ostracized or killed?
And
if such wise questioners lived a few decades into the Agricultural
Revolution, and saw their warnings become
reality, did they wonder
whether there could ever be an escape from the cycle of conquest and
domination?
Did
these seers perceive that in hierarchical societies there are always
individuals addicted to power and unconstrained by empathy. Such
tyrants are oblivious to justice and morality; and so they will
enslave and
destroy anyone in their path. Could they foresee that Might would
always
defeat Right?
And
how would these Wise Ones respond? My guess is that they would see
the impossibility of profound improvement, and would thus choose
another course. They would return to one of the few hunter-gatherer
tribes still in
their
vicinity. And they would
not live as a part of the
larger society - but only ADJACENT to it.
*******
I
laughed slightly when this thought occurred to me. That’s because
I was looking up at the same stars that had shone above that ancient
tribal elder. I chuckled, when
I recognized that 10,000 years later, I had reached the same
conclusion.
It
– the big “IT” – cannot be toppled. Indeed, it can barely be
tolerated. But the further one removes oneself from the modern
world, the richer and more meaningful one’s life can become.