AdamJ’s Weblog

It’s 5:45 am and I am up and ready to surf a world class left hand wave called Uluwatu.  I leave Kuta and head out, there is little to no traffic so I’m thinking this is going to be a breeze.  I get to the airport and it starts to sprinkle, I pull over donning my rain jacket, which I brought in case of this occurrence and continue onward.  Another 5 minutes pass and now I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open as the rain is pelting me in the face (notice I say rain not sprinkles) so I stop briefly and put on my sunglasses to act as a windshield.  Thankfully I did because not a min later it is pouring and I am charging through puddles, being splashed by oncoming traffic all the while getting drenched by sting drops of rain.  I think about turning back but by this time I’m half way, my Colombia Waterproof Jacket as been compromised and I’m soaked; so why turn around?  I just kept my speed under control and tried to avoid the rivers crisscrossing the road.

As I pull up to the stairs leading to Uluwatu the rain stops; a grab my stuff and head for the beach.  No one is there, just me on top of the rock overlooking the break trying to dry off a bit.  The swell is apparent but it is all over the place and the wind is playing havoc with the ocean surface.  The 2 outside sections aren’t working and the inside section is a random mess with little to no form. Another surfer arrives as I decide to get breakfast at the one café that’s open now; we talk a bit and he decides to paddle out.  I watch him as he fights the current and then catches two, non-fun, waves on the inside section.  I finish breakfast and I can tell that it is starting to clean up but none of the sections are connecting and basically the waves are pitching and then fading into nothing, 5 more guys show up and head out into the water.  On top of all of that the tide is 30 min away from its peak for the morning and it starts raining again; I decide I’m over it.  (In hindsight I probably should of surfed it but….)

I go to pay for my breakfast, a total of 36,000 Rupiah ($3.60 USD) and the guy, Richard, points out that I only gave him 10,000 Rp.; I thought I gave him 100,000Rp, it’s hard to tell the difference they don’t use commas on the bills.  Anyway I go digging for the rest of my money and realize I’m going to be 3000 Rp short. Not a huge deal since 3000 Rp. Is only like 30 cents but the fact is that I’m short and have no more money; wait this plays into the story later.  So Richard is cool and trusts that I will come back and pay him another day, I will by 100x. I know I’m coming back to Bali after Lombok so I jump on the bike and do some reconnaissance. There is a hotel overlooking the break and I discover its $50USD/night, only $10USD more than what I’m paying, I look into another place and it’s $110USD/night, the guy thought a bit before he quoted me and he read me wrong. After that I checked the rest of the other world-class spots that line the peninsula heading back to Kuta and they were all tiny but with less wind and more organized. I knew Liegean beach is going to get all the energy of the swell and it’s been glassy in the morning for the last 3 days, so I race back.

I’m almost half way back and out of nowhere a Polisi on a motor bike comes up along side of me and asks me to pull over.  I’m guessing it is a shakedown since I was behind a dump truck going down a winding hill; he asks me for my driver’s license.  I don’t have it, I brought nothing that I did not absolutely need, he has a solution I pay a fine and he gives me a piece of paper so next time I can just show it instead of a license.  Well I don’t have any money either!  I tell him if he wants to go back to Kuta with me I will pay him, he looks at me like I’m crazy telling me it’s too far.  Well I guess he believed me and I assume I really didn’t do anything wrong because he let me go! I had been warned about the Polisi and getting a shakedown, so I thought I’m going to have to go to the station or something, but I guess the Polisi are just as lazy in Bali as the rest of the world. Returning to the hotel I grabbed my other board and surfed till I couldn’t find another shoulder to surf as the overhead sets became complete closeouts in Leigean.  And it all happened before noon!

I feel as if Sunday nights  minor yet painful and inconvenient accident should mean something, so I recount the day wondering what smashing the knuckles of my left hand into a rock is suppose to teach me.  Yes it was dark, but I was only 150 meters from my hotel; yes I was tired, but I was going to have to walk back anyway; so what am I missing? What is my-Self telling my-self?  Maybe I’ll never know because I am not going to do whatever it is I was going to do if this accident wouldn’t have happened.  I am never-minding it; there is no cursing at myself, blaming or other ridiculous behaviors that I have to fight off (so to speak).  It is one more story, gruesome photograph and scar to commemorate the journey; here’s how it went down…

It’s not even 6 hours into my Bali stay and I was slowly making my way on the side of a one-way street going against little to no traffic at about 10pm at night. I had spent the afternoon and early evening walking Kuta getting reacquainted with this unique place.  After finishing a foot massage I decide to hire a motorbike for my stay.  I make the deal, B.S. with the Bail guys waiting for the motorbike to arrive, pay the guy and then head, like I said, 150 meters down the road to my hotel.  About half way the road switches to the other direction so now I’m going with the flow of traffic; I miss the drive way by about 2 meters and walk the bike backwards to the entrance; there is no light in the driveway or on the sign for that matter.  As I go to get back on, to finish the last 25 meters of my return to the hotel, I realize the bike is heading towards a wall, I try to correct, accidentally giving the bike more gas instead of braking.  Just as I’m about to regain my bearings the wall turns into a tapestry of boulders cemented to the wall to give it character.  All I needed was another inch, but instead my left hand, firmly gripping the handle bar, goes knuckles first into the first boulder attached to the wall.  Subsequently I let go of the bike as it drops to the ground.  Luckily I managed to get my left leg off the bike as I hit the pavement with a short slide, leaving me with road rash in a few areas.  Gaining my composure I pop up, ignoring the Balinese closing in on me, grab the bike and ride the last 20 meters as I feel the slippery texture of blood drip from my left hand.

The only thing I can think in that moment is, “not more stitches!”  Wishing not to make a fuss I keep my hand out of sight, catching the blood with my other one, bee-lining it to my room.  I cleaned it up under the facet just as the stinging pain and burning skin start to make their presence known.  I inspect the wounds ranging from a scratch to a few layers of skin dangling from the top of the big knuckle of my index finger next to my thumb; gritting my teeth I tear the skin from my finger.  It’s deep but short of a skin graft this one will make it without stitches.  I dress the wounds-many of which I had to leave exposed, letting them ooze until a scab formed-and prepared for bed.

I woke-up sore almost like I got in a fight; wait I did with a boulder laden wall.  As I scanned from my pinky to my thumb on my left hand the increasingly gradual state of swollen-ness is obvious.  I now know how it must feel to punch a wall at full force because my hand, shoulder and neck ache with trauma; it’s a wonder I didn’t break something…thank God.  The worst part is I keep finding sore spots and tweaked muscles all over my body; at least with the Chicama stitches it was just my right pinky.

Anyway I’m sure I will recover speedily, never-the-less I’ll be in the water for the swell arriving in two days.  As for the question of purpose and educational value I trust that it was either a matter of working out some karmic debt, a revelation to be discovered later on or just another thing arising, staying a bit and then vanishing.  Whatever the case, I am faithfully confident that it’s perfect.

Finally a day with nothing planned; no scuba, travel, checking in or out, surfing or driving. I tend to keep moving-Newton’s law: objects in motion tend to stay in motion-for if it’s not one place or activity it’s the next. In the past it was likely all my movement was an attempt to chase or escape something, now it’s genuinely a function of me; the more the world moves around me the more witnessing I gleam. I stay sharp, interested and engaged as things wiz about giving rise to a deep identification with the stillness of my-Self; plus it makes days like these special.

Finding a small garden cafe at the back of a flower shop in the trendy Paddington district of Sydney, on perfect late morning, I relax. It’s one of those brilliant spring days, just before summer arrives with its stifling heat, when I see that everything resides in the infinite moment between time and space; replaying how I got here and remembering I never left. The cozy garden is my personal oasis inspiring the pencil to glide thru my fingers as the mornings thoughts, dare I say insights, imprint themselves recording history.

The future attempts to invade the moment crossing lines that never exist, posing questions: “What am I going to do with my life?-How long before I return home?-What’s the goal?” The future loves to distract me while the Moment continuously reveals the answers. If I didn’t know better I’d be a prisoner-driven to know what never existed-tossed and turned till my sense of direction was forfeit to the Ego’s whims. Luckily I’m blessed with the gift of recognizing the difference, as I watch my hands join together; bowing my head in reverence and gratitude.

Clearly it is all perfect. Among the chaos organized patterns are highlighted as I look passes what I think; in that Moment I’m always greeted by a smile. Tears blur my vision of the material so I can see the eternal; feeling the ego shrink with each word scribbled upon the page. The perfection of this journey announces itself with each breath; gradually losing the distinction between in here and out there; knowing a breath is a breath no matter the depth of the sea above me.

Wandering Sydney is the theme of the day, aided by the hotels complimentary mountain bike. I wonder what adventure awaits as I explore the character and landmarks of Oz’s most famous city. Excited to embrace the new gifts Life sees fit to bestow upon me as I wander the inner recesses of my-Self; ready to do the same with Sydney.

[---The 2nd 1/2; after the ride--]

The afternoon was a self directed biking adventure of greater Sydney. The folklore of Bondi Beach and the prediction of swell drew me to start at the beach. Mother Nature provided a perfect day, the sun shined as a mild breeze regulated my body temp, keeping me cool as I climbed hills and warm along the flat straight-aways. I arrived at Bondi after tossing the bike over the fence separating the Expressway and surface streets; I climbed over after it. If not for the barrage of honking cars I would have found myself in quite a pickle; there was no sign warning me of the impending danger. Making my way back to the surface streets I navigated the remaining distance to the beach. The swell was waist high with way too many heads in the line-up; I decided to remain dry. However I could see, with enough size, that both sides of the cliffs lining Bondi’s boarders and the middle beach breaks would work with some sick sections.

Fully entrenched in “go” mode-prepared to tackle Sydney on bike (and that’s exactly what I did)-I headed north from Bondi. Attacking the neighborhood streets that traverse the Cliff-edge shoreline leading to the mouth of Sydney’s enormous harbor I reached the headland. From there I circumscribed the harbors south shore like it was my own yellow brick road, stopping to absorb the gorgeous bays and parks that provided a brief reprieve from my constant peddling. Taking pictures at various vistas, each one closed that gap between me and my destination; the world famous Sydney Opera House.

The road was fraught with dangers…unmarked expressways, unwieldy motorists, unaware pedestrians, unruly hills and a park range. All in all the trek consumed 4+ hours and 25+miles, sharing with me some of the most spectacular views I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter. Without a map to guide me I rode virtually non-stop; trusting my instinctive sense of direction. I wonder to this moment where the energy came from, even when I finished the loop, arriving back at the hotel, I felt I could have just kept on going.

Today was an unplanned masterpiece of touristic genius accompanied by a complete surrender to the Moment. The gentle breeze dancing with the tree just outside the window illustrates the joy of presence and the power of never minding circumstance. The blessings are without an end-for I feel the familiar tingle of Praná running down my spine opening my heart and the 1000 pedaled lotus. Recognizing that the uncomfortable confines of this body is an itch that reminds me of the Moment’s perfection and my dis-identification with anything witnessed.

I’m in surrender, unaware of what’s next yet totally in tune with the ever expanding Now. The goal of the days ride was Sydney’s perfectly framed Harbor Bridge and Opera House; yet I have a hard time believing that my goal has ever been anything less than the recognition of my-Self.

Twenty-five half full glasses of Red Bull lined up across the bar with a shot of Jeggar carefully balanced between each one.  A gentle nudge on the first shot glass starts a cascading chain reaction as they all bomb into the Red Bull falling like dominos.  A loud roar fills the room and we all raise our Jagger-Bombs to the sky in celebration of our 3 day dive of the Great Barrier Reef.  Officially the drunken fun begins as the inhibitions drop to the floor like a towel falling off your body before your step into the shower, turning the innocent flirting into overt sexual innuendo.  

I`m interested but not directly attracted to anyone; ok that`s a lie there was one female that sparked my interest.  The energy was strong and shared but the expression of which remained unrealized; and there is no doubt it is as it should be.  So I decided to get silly with my dive buddy Amy.  Amy is a fun, pretty and super cool girl from Las Vegas that knows how to have a good time.  There is no sexual energy between us; so it made it easy to hangout like two old friends drinking, talking story and generally being ridiculous; she is a master of the ludicrous.  We move on to the next bar, where the music’s blasting and the game steps up another notch.

Amy starts flirting with a group of guys as I grab a drink and head to the dance floor with the rest of the group.  Next thing I know a 22 year old Canadian girl, from the group, backs into me and it is obvious she is ready to go.  While she`s cute, fun and down I`m not feeling it.  I think to myself that I haven’t been with a girl for 2 months so how picky can I be, I mean beggars can`t be choosers…right?  So I make a half hearted attempt to embrace her energy and get into the flow…it`s not happening and she knows it.  I literally decide in that moment that sex is not enough, there is got to be something else, a genuine connecting energy for me to close the deal; what`s happening to me?  It `s like the old days when intimacy and energy were the goal…or maybe she just wasn`t hot enough; my standards are quite high!  Anyway she gets over my half-assed engagement and heads off to the rest of her life with her friend.  It`s 2am by now and after 3 days and 11 dives I’m hungry and tired; I recruit Amy and her friend to go in search of food.

The three of us end up at a Kebab stand on the main drag in Cairns drunk and silly.  The “Granny”—that was herself proclaimed title—takes our order as we sit down in anticipation of our Kebab.  Amy is on fire and proceeds to spin a yarn about the three of us being lovers on a brief stop before our evening of sexual adventure.  The 8 or so people, that are also waiting for their late night drunk meal, play along; they`re still probably not sure if we were full of shit or if we`re an actual three-some.  Granny decides to get in on the action and proceeds to `mount` me as she drops her dentures out of her mouth for an unforgettable photo.  I can`t stop laughing as I try to eat my Kebab, almost chocking on my first bit, while Granny jumps on me again…maybe I should have gone home with the Canadian.   Anyway as quickly as the mayhem began it ended and the three of us walked back to our respective hostels. To think I barely got up from my late afternoon nap to go out for the night.

Lots of thoughts and I think not to have them…but I do.  There`s tons of them; jumbled, twisted and what not…so many it seems that I hear nothing!  Here`s one; “I’m blessed with fresh fish and a concocted mix of veggies!” So my mind produces a whole conversation; adding to the clutter. The soliloquy continues on:  I went to the grocery store–yes I know; a grocery store.  For those of you that don’t know I avoid the grocery store, I’m not really sure why but I do.  Anyway I sautéed the veggies in a light bath of Kiwi pinot noir, lime and a taste of salt and pepper; as I start to add the fresh fish, I discover a ginger beer in the fringe; “what an idea”, I thought.  And so the ginger beer dove into the pan of steaming veggies with the fresh fish—the fish was a gift provided by Tony, he`s like the godfather of Raglan.  It’s amazing; there is nothing that Life doesn`t provide, while providing Nothing at the same time.

It`s all fiction, a story I make up…a well placed sneeze in the unfolding aberration upon the kosmos.  I feel the flow, and it seems like I am fighting it!  Or maybe It`s at such a speed that my fingers struggle to catch up….again I`m off on another tangent. I was sharing my story of my home cooked meal; all natural, healthy, tasty and sprinkled with love.  You know it is said that a person`s consciousness is transferred to the food when they cook it–that is why the Sages only eat what is given to God first.  The food is purified thru God; or think of it in practical terms.  By offering the food to God they have purified their own thoughts, for when you think of God you are thinking of Pure Thought, or `The Thought`; thus cleansing your-self and hence the food.  Because when it comes down to it; it is all about what you believe…right?

So many thoughts and they all waited till I returned to my-Self.  Tonight will commence another span of time where I know only me.  There are no prior acquaintances or friends left to meet on this trip…or at least it hasn`t been foreshadowed.  From here on out the people I meet are to be encountered for the first time; all over again. For I am writing my story right now; we are continuously writing it, changing it, erasing a word here or there, discovering new themes and dramas to create.  And now I’m reminded to be the story; to be in the Moment of the story where it`s alive; breathing.

The past 7+ days of my story have involved a group, 3 or more people, traveling in a pack; exploring the surf of NZ`s Northern island.  It started with Petey Boy, his crew–2 brothers and their brother-in-law–me and three cars. We headed south to Taranaki home of the Volcano goddess, a jet-a-send mountain of earth punching to the sky as it surveys the ocean while nurturing its beautiful children. When I speak of children, I speak of 30+ surf breaks facing every direction except East, for the East is reserved for the white sand beaches of Mt. Manganui. I was blessed to surf Stent Rd., even though the conditions ultimately rendered no surf at Manihi, Sky and Manga.  So instead I dream of how it would to be to sit in those lineups filled with the breath-taking view of Taranaki as her coastline stares back at me from each spots unique perspective.      

From there the team broke up; Pete, Mark and I roamed southward, than across the middle of the island to discover the East coast as we were welcomed by a 5ft swell with light onshore-ish winds and warm sunny weather.  I wore shorts for the first time in 3 weeks! (I thought I planned this trip to follow summer around the world…I guess not??)  The east shore has the white sand beaches of Hawaii, surrounded by the green foliage of Coasta, highlighted by the rugged rock structures of Thailand, yet with the climate of northern Cali….wow!  I’m not sure what happened to the other 2 guys but we surfed; bungeed over a mesmerizing rever; frolicked, by the light of the moon, in thermal hot springs; drove crazy-ass-windy roads; passed a freshly powdered ski resort; and drank more “cuppa`s” (that`s Kiwi for coffee) then I will ever drink again. It was all perfect; we were even hooked up with a free place to stay most nights…thanks Mark.

I left the boys in Whangamata this morning (11/13) arriving in Raglan just in time for the tide to reach the optimum height for my session at Whale Bay–a sick left point smack dab in the middle of 2 other sick lefts running down the far south head of Raglan`s enormous bay.  Nothing is ever the same, yet it doesn`t seem to change either.  The Moment is and all these things happen within and about it.  I`m just a static expression welded in unison with the eternal story playing hide and go seek with itself. In a nut shell that`s the past week graciously blessed by the Volcanic goddess, Marks`s local knowledge and Tony`s fresh fish.   

Chile has long since been left in a moment; a space in time lost in the past few days I`ve spent in a caravan roaming the North Island of NZ.  Petey Boy and Mark (you have to say it with a Kiwi accent) and I have found good waves, friendly hospitable people and non-existent nightlife.  Everything closes at an unreasonably early hour.  It was Saturday night at 8:30p and we had just finished surfing; we`re all starving and think to get a bit.  Well Oakura , with its 2 restaurants, is absent of a kitchen with a staff willing to work it…so we drive 10min down the way to find a bar just about to close.  We made it by 5 min; you could see it on the chef’s face as we walk in; like “Fxxk, I just want to go home!”  I had spent just over a month eating clean, healthy, cheap food all over south america; available at any hour of the day for pennies on the dollar; and now I’m eating fried, gravy crap for almost dollars on the dollar and these people aren’t open passed 8:30 pm…come on mate!

At the same time life holds this illusion that I have been starved spiritually.  I have stayed present, clear and aware…enjoying the simple pleasure of the moment unfolding.  Yet I’m caught up with the outside, with the interaction, positioning and process of being with other people…even though Petey and Mark are super cool mates.  I’m just uncomfortable in my body—I watched myself on a video, not knowing that I was being filmed, and the twitching and abrupt movements are overtly obvious, it looks as if I’m trying to fit into clothes that are too tight.  I think that there is meaning to all this but it`s probably just another means of restraining the True.

Speaking English however is a welcome change, it`s nice to understand what’s being said without working to assimilate each word from Spanish to English and back.  Don`t get me wrong I like talking; but I find myself talking more than usual, I guess it true that you need to say a certain number of words a day—it seems I had a few on backorder.  And even though it`s nice to talk; I find myself truly saying nothing of value—I need to speak of and with value.  But value is only worth the value I assign it—so does it matter?  Does the 3D video game called “life” able to provide me with anything I don`t already posses?

I hear, “it is what it is!!” rolling off the tongue of a Kiwi, in their English-Aussie-Maori accent, and I think it’s a cop out, an excuse…or is it?  For the truth is…that it is what it is and that`s it!  The line, no matter how fine it may be, that separates the “fxxk off” attitude and the recognition to `never mind` what is arising seems a bit blurred here, maybe even misplaced.  I agree that it makes no since `to mind` the attitudes and things that appear to be nothing more than a means of ignoring the Self—a  Self that decided it would be fun to forget its` true nature.  But remember that Life it real and real life is relatively true.  It`s all a paradox, mystical and without a means to express it; but it is none-the-less.  And the Truth is without opposite.  No amount of words could explain it; for that would mean it is not its antithesis and that couldn`t be.  So I wonder of my own nature, and why I think there must be a meaning—for the only meaning is the one I give it—right?

Anyway I feel a bit spiritually starved since I’ve been with people I know and a language I understand…

It`s been said that the Masters find the little things of the greatest joy…and while I have agreed with this sentiment—I find that most of the time I must deliberately let-go of minding things, to actually recognize the joy of the Moment.  Today however, a travel day none-the-less, the littlest things have provided the most joy.  This whole blog started with me opening up my new Mini Computer, it is so cute, and finding great joy in the process of pulling it out of my bag. I just smiled; feeling a simple happiness come over me…it`s wonder-full!

I also had a great charge of excitment and enlivened energy as I was engulfed by the majestic grandure of the Andes Mountains—I had to actually tell myself to breath—it was radient.  And then I catch a glimpse of an attractive woman; I love those moments!  Even if they don’t look…I find such giddiness in being in their presence, no matter how brief.

Another smile fills my lips as I remember two brothers, 5 and 3 years old, taking their morning pee on the side of the hill, in the fishing village of Yacila- Peru, as I sat in meditation.  Or another time when my eyes meet the innocent face of a child—I made a silly gesture—and watched as she lit up and a smile broke through with intrigue while she walked, hand in hand, with her mom.

I tell you they`re right…it is the little things! The more present I am, the more I recognize it in the moment and not so much as an intellectual theory.  Everything always seemed to be an intellectual or experiential process; now instead, I know it as it is, for what it is…or not.  I am just going to smile, never mind what happens and wake up every morning recognizing the joy of the little things.

There is `hope in the world`…it might seem over stated but it`s completely obvious that the world has found hope in the decision of the American people to elect Obama.  While, for me, a deeper understanding speaks; reminding me that there is only one person that makes a difference in this life; and it`s you. You are the determining factor; the circumstances may appear to be at the whim of the wind yet you decide if you `mind` the wind`s whims. Nevertheless I have seen, heard and felt the world place its faith in this US election. The blessing is…that the nations of the world, on the personal level, are beginning to awaken to them-self as part of a single global entity; interconnected at every turn. The outcome of the American people’s decision; has become a symbol of hope. 

The power of the suffering world economy is inspiring an even greater awareness, forcing us to recognize what otherwise we ignore.  That we are all conspicuously intertwined!  Initiated by the self-correcting state of the US economy, the world has irrefutable proof that the boundary between us and them is disappearing–coupled with the impending `change` of the political landscape– there is a hope that if the US can make a historic choice than just maybe it’s true; anything’s possible.

I have watched this US election from the world perspective; amazed at the love / fear relationship that binds and separates us.  The fear that the illusion is just that; some construct to make us feel safe, while deep down we fear for every moment of our life.  If McCain would have won– the residents of the world would have lost themselves in the rhetoric of condemning the` corrupt` US system.  If McCain would have won the worlds fear would have been realized– based on their perception–that the `Man` is still in power and we are powerless to overcome him.  But these feelings have nothing to do with McCain or Obama for that matter; they are ours to confront, each one of us.  For we prefer to embody our hopes and fears in something out there…something that `I` don`t control thus have no responsibility for…if it were only that easy!

I many ways,’ we`, the world lifted the veil of ignorance a bit; we created more hope, a deeper awareness of our unity.  Yet at the same time we dodged another bullet, skirting around our personal responsibility, again leaving it to someone else; namely Obama.  I believe that if Obama recognizes that his true work is within himself and thus tends to that, he will truly be doing the work of the World and thus giving reverence and respect to the hope the world has placed in him.  I however will place my hope, faith and trust in my-Self, the Self that resonates as the single unifying Life eternally connecting us all; therefore I place my Love in you.

 As all the great Masters and realized souls have predicted we are, as a whole, awakening to our-Self.  And it is through our collective suffering and corresponding joy, that we inch towards the next step in the evolution of mankind…may we stay awake and alert, knowing that it is everyday that we realize hope…not just every four years. 

To those of you reading these posts i now have a computer and the next time I find a wi-fi connection, which is rare and hard to come by in new zealand–although they were every where in peru and chile, I will be posting pictures to go along with each previous post; I hope that will be in a day or 2…

Anyway I learned the basics of kite surfing and will continue to learn and one day call myself a kite surfer…I tell you it is fun being dragged around the ocean by the wind..it will be more fun when I can get to my feet with ease.

Lots of Love to you all, I dont think Im ever gonna come back…ha, ha! 

AJ–

The last and the first days in any place, along with those days or hours in-between are the most challenging of any trip. For these are the days where you learn of your true attachment to who you think you are; in this experience of life. After having had 4 sets of lasts and firsts I have noticed the difference…

Naturally last and first days come back to back, on a trip such as mine, while occurring in ever new and different places; with varying cultures and languages; customs and attitudes; allowing you to see beyond the what`s apparently happening. Then take in to account all the personal variables regardless of the macro ones:

• You have check-in and the belief that when you let go of your possessions they`ll magically appear on the other end.
• How about the altering of your inner clock and the likelihood that you won’t be able to sleep on the plane when you want to. 
• Factor in the whole arrival, preparation, take-off, flying and landing of the plane and all of those unpredictable circumstances; which by the way are completely out of your control.
• Then, just when you think the list is narrowing, throw in the human ego and its fears, frailties, desires and expectations and you have what character is all about.

Well I struggled with the last day in Peru and the first in Chile, documented in a former post. But the last of Chile and the first of New Zealand have been a text book example of unattachment to the things that don`t truly exist anyway.  It started with the questioning, “Do you have a visa for New Zealand?” I knew none was needed but maybe I screwed up and thus I would have been unprepared…I find it very important to be prepared and pride myself on it. Then the fact I was so into writing that I almost missed my flight to Argentina, connecting me to NZ. I would have if they wouldn`t have called my name, in a barely recognizable Chilean accent over the PA. Add on a 14 hr plane ride, 14 hours in any confined space can drive you mad, with an almost overtly inhospitable flight crew. Take into account that my suitcase with all my clothes and the like fails to appear on the baggage carousel. And lastly, to top it off, everything is the opposite when it comes to driving in NZ…it`s not just being on the left side of the road but all the controls are flip flopped…every time I want to turn I flip on the windshield wipers…errrrrr! Nor had I truly slept for 48 hours…crazy!

It hasn’t, it didn`t, it can`t faze me when I`m in the moment; for the moment is perfect when you never mind what`s happening.