The world is busy making preparations for this year’s Christmas celebrations as I am reminded of the pending day over hearing a phone conversation; ironically I just found out that today is Monday, and it’s already 11 am, more importantly I am going to have two December 15 Monday’s this year, since I never had Monday November 3^rd.  The first of the two 12/15′s started in the Bali airport at 12am as I boarded a plane transporting me to Sydney arriving at 9am for an extended pit-stop, 9 hours to be exact, on my way from Bali to Kauai.  The second one will start in the air and then on the ground in Honolulu at 6:45am when I change planes to make it to what might be my final port of call on this ½ of the journey; Lihue, Kauai.  I have worn nothing but board shorts and sandals for almost a month now and I can’t say I’m excited about the prospect of any other means of dress; I’m currently resisting donning a properly sleeved shirt under the overcast yet temped climate of this fine Sydney morning.  I hear Kauai has been a bit rainy but the surf is big and plentiful with a new swell on the way and I’m ready for it; well I guess I’ll be wearing nothing but board shorts, that barely fit me now that I carrying 10 less kilos then I had in Costa, for a couples more weeks.  It could turn out to be even more as I kick around the idea of spending New Years back in Costa with my new friend Todd, whom I meet in Peru.  I really want to make it happen but to get there from Hawaii is a bit of a trek either going through LA, Houston or Miami and I feel if I touch the US mainland I should say hi to the SD family that so graciously continues to support me with their love and positive energy…but I love traveling; the key is to never mind what happens. Guess I’ll continue to play it by ear, it has worked brilliantly thus far, letting the moments in Kauai lead the way.

Speaking of never minding what happens I had to go through Oz customs and since I couldn’t check my bags in for my flight to Kauai any earlier than 3 hours before departure I decided to have lunch in Darlington Harbor with Amy, my dive buddy from the Cairns leg.  She is a cool chic, so we sat drinking beer and enjoying a lovely lunch on what turned out to be a glorious sunny afternoon as we caught up on the happenings of the past month.  I took the train from the Airport into Sydney, which is easy and quite convenient, meeting Amy at Central station a few blocks away from where we ended up having lunch.  Feeling I had plenty of time as I enjoyed our conversation 3pm snuck up on me quickly, narrowing my window to get back to the airport on time, leaving little to no room for error.   Walking back to catch the train I decided to pop on at different station that was closer than Central yet just effective….or so I planned.

First off the turn-style refuses to take my roundtrip ticket, then the ticket office won’t take a credit card; so I found an ATM.  I get a ticket for what amounts to an extra $1 then I had already paid and head to platform 6 for the airport; there is a train already there just about to leave so I jump on.  All is going well until the train determines it is going to take a westerly path away from the airport into the inland parts of greater Sydney.  I realize this and get a bit of a nervous feeling, however I consult the map and figure I can change trains in 2 stops and pop on another line making its way to the airport; no big deal, right?… not so much.  I get off the train and go to the platform that I believe will produce the train I must board to get where I need to go, deciding to consult the list of stops displayed on the monitor at the platform this time I discover that the Airport is not listed as my building nervousness explodes into all out anxious worry.  I look for someone to ask for help but there is no one working the ticket office; it is now 4pm and my flight leaves at 6pm.  Feeling frantic at this point I start working to calm my-self by repeating over and over again; “Never mind what happens! Never mind what happens!”  Thinking to get a Taxi, after 5min of attempting to solve the train query, I end up spending another 10 pacing the street in front of the station looking for a cab. I see a cop and ask him the best means to make my flight.  He tells me platform 6, which is where I started, so I go back there and realize some trains are express and others make all the stops; ok this is beginning to make sense!  Realizing this, it’s now 4:20pm-I think I really should be smoking a ‘splif’ right now; this is vacation right?-as I determine that the train, that will take me to the train, to the airport will arrive in 8 minutes.  My chant changes from, “Never mind what happens!” to “God let me make it! God let me make it!”   I call the airline to see if I can buy some time, the operator is nice and all but he can do nothing for me.  The train pulls up and the first stop is where I have to change trains, to get to the train that will stop at the airport.  Arriving at the next station I run to the platform I require and find out the train the stops at the airport will be there in 3 minutes; I’m now chanting “I made it on time…I made it on time.”  The affirmative present tense is always the most powerful.  I get to the airport at 4:40pm run up three flights of stairs to get to the baggage storage and then with 50 kilos (100 lbs.) of luggage run up two more flights of stairs to get to the check in counter at 4:45pm…I made it!  No need to tell you I’m breathing like I just sprinted a mile as giant drops of sweat run down my face soaking my shirt.  Its 4:55pm when I get to the counter for check in.

All set and with a bit of time to kill I discover there is a shower in the airport bathroom and since I have not showered or slept in 36 hours I figure I’ll do a quick rinse and make a costume change.  Freshly rinsed, everything is falling right in place as I breeze through customs until I get to the security check and they stop me as the detector goes crazy-just kidding; I think God said that was enough excitement for one hour of a 48 hour day-everything went smooth from there on out.  Writing this as we cruise at 37,000 ft going 601mph I swallow an ambien to shorten the 10 hour flight that ends with me setting foot on US soil for the first time in 3 months.  What will Monday #2 bring?

Monday #2…

It started with the end of a 28 hour travel marathon and the odd feeling of being somewhere you speak the language and know the customs.  I was then spontaneously blessed by a right-hand cover up barrel with a clean exit and the day finally concluded with an unexpected Food Network quality dinner hosted by the gay couple that lives behind Petey-boy.  My first recollection of this second Monday, December the 15-the day I was scheduled to return to San Diego, was waking from an ambien induced 5 hour nap as the glowing sunrise breeched the slight gap at the bottom of my window shade.  Today, or the second day of today, is now ending in a jetlag coma struggling to make progress with connecting thoughts and thus recording them with my fingers.  I contemplated waiting till morning to write, then though it better to have the chance to reflect on my now present reflection as I rewrite it tomorrow.

When I checked-in for my puddle jumper to Kauai at 7am I was denied surfboard transport until, by Gods grace, Jennifer materialized from the Hawaiian ether and started working the phones finally getting the right guy to approve my surfboard’s boarding pass with the guy on site; never-the-less kisses and love to Jennifer because she did it completely out of the kindness of her humanity-I know this, due to the fact that she made it happen despite working for a rival airline, not the one I was flying.   Next thing I know I’m in Kauai sitting with my thumb up my proverbial butt as I wait for Petey-boy to show up or at least call or text me back.  He arrives 30 minutes after my landing with no shirt, ½ sagged shorts and the wake-full aroma of a flat white filling my nose as I get in his truck.  After a long black of my own and dare I say a well earned and defiantly needed refreshment of my bodily cleanliness, we went to check for surf; finding a waist to chest high beach break with ride-able corners popping up here and there.  On the third wave of my session I pulled in to a forehand-inside shore break cover up barrel that exited me on to a clean walled section that setup a bottom turn and closeout floater.  I few waves later my toe started cramping which lead to my arch and corresponding foot muscles turning to rock after each wave…figuring my body was telling me something I caught a ½ backside barrel as my last wave…stoked! Hungary from the surf Pete and I got a late lunch as we cat napped, during my attempt to watch my first American football game since my attendance of the Charges Monday night win over the Jets in late September; I lost interested and stopped watching after the 3^rd quarter.  Lastly, in celebration of my return to the US (not really but I like to think it was), we were invited to join Pete’s gay neighbors for dinner.  It turned out to be a restaurant quality, healthy, well balance meal, full of flavor, inspired by the culinary muse known as Food Network.  That, in a nutshell, was my 2^nd Monday of December 15^th, 2008.

Mentally I feel a resistance, trying to grow into a fear, stimulated by the possibility of returning to a pattern of living in the past or future.  For I remember my only consistent behavior on record in “regular-U.S.-life” is to be blinded by the delusion of identifying with the ego, obsessively trying to control through over planning and the compulsive nature of minding everything.  The fear loses momentum however, as I surrender to the conflict of the ego’s double agent routine-chuckling-as I watch it try to trick me into the past or future.  Instead I bring my awareness to my abdomen knowing every breath is the presence of the Moment bestowing Life’s force, as the angels sing the gospel of enlightenment.  Their melodic council is crisp and clear helping me work-out the obvious here in-between the lines and the crevasse defining these words.  The rain fills me, falling outside the window, until I am as full as the ocean; one with the tranquil-silence that eternally dances with the chaotic-organization of the wind. In that moment I am reminded that I am as wet, as deep and as powerful while simultaneously as much the opposites of those qualities, resulting in the balanced equation. I remember fear is petrified resistance that acts as another solid object when exposed to the right amount of heat, slowly liquefying and thus finally dissolving back into the ether from which it came.  My heat, my passion is my heat so I embrace the fear with a bear hug finding my arms empty as I kneel in humble obeisance at the feet of the Moment; nothing can refuse the remedy of acceptance.  Gently I commence sketching out my next moves, being careful not to use too much pressure, for no mark needs be left if I erase what I have written.  The Moment leads and it is my duty to breath; heeding its wisdom as my dharma is recognized in the emptiness between inhale and exhale.  Dare I mention it here…nay I think it has its own voice not yet spoken.

As this journey, or at least the surf portion, winds down i want to thank you for reading these blogs and taking this trip with me, so to speak.  At times i have wished to have someone to share these experiences with and have found comfort in writing and thus sharing them with you.

I came across some pics of a party I missed recently in SD and it made me realize how much i value my friends and just how much fun and supportive you all ar.; so thank you and Ill see ya soon…I think?

Four days now and there still seems to be some question how I got here; Scar Reef, Sumbawa Indo.  Retracing the moments I guess it started with my day long search through the harbors of Bali for a boat to Lombok about three weeks ago.  That search resulted in my eventual backing out of a deal when the process of securing the trip became more work than necessary.  Most probably in the past I would have worked to push the deal through regardless of the friction, yet now that is no longer the case; trying is a waste of time.  Instead I discovered another means of achieving the goal and flew to Lombok which is where I meet Hariss, whom brought me to Gili Air and thus the KotaBaru.

After surfing with Hariss for a day in Lombok he left and returned to his home on Gili Air but continued to stay in touch and just as I was winding down my time in Lombok he called asking if I wanted to go on a surf trip to Sumbawa-home to some of Indo’s heaviest barreling waves-of course I wanted to go.  After a bit of negotiating I ended up on a boat trip to Sumbawa for half the price of the trip I originally tried to get to Lombok.  Crazy thing is I never spoke of or even mentioned the Bali quest to Hariss; he just offered…so to speak.

After a total of four days, where I am the only westerner for miles, I have been adopted into the Gili Air family as the rich foreign uncle.  The four guys that comprise the crew are all related to Hariss; cousins, uncles and the like-for that matter I think the whole island of Gili Air is related in one way or another. We all reside on a 15 meter (50 foot) island transfer boat that has been retro fitted with paper thin plywood, a portable gas stove and generator to create a surfing charter.  The KotaBaru motors us from spot to spot with its two 40 horsepower outboard engines as we fish for dinner along our search for surf.  Most boats I’ve been on sustain their living quarters above the water line however not the KotaBaru we sleep at or below the water line which leaves a thick film of damp sea breeze on everything.  I am painted from head to toe in the residue of the sea which when coupled with the files and mosquitoes makes sleeping an uncomfortable requirement; after-surf naps prove to be much better.  Literally the 2^nd night in Sumbawa the wind died serving me up as fresh piece of meat…I woke to over 100 mosquito bites covering my feet, legs, arms and hands. I love the raw adventure and the gentle rocking of the oceans embrace however; for life is truly the simple calm of living unmasked as the barriers between man and nature dissolve into the creative emptiness from which we pull them.  Breathing is easy out here; a little rain and a tender breeze cure the humid bug infestation of the equator cleansing the soul as I inhale the en-lightened air.

The surf is not stellar and the best spots like Supersuck’s are virtually non-existent but we are finding waves like Tropical and Scar Reef Inside which are providing a fun, fast, challenging wave and it is only Hariss and I out in the middle of the world floating about.   It is the simplicity of being in the water, somewhere I’ve only heard about, that melts away all the stuff I create separating me from you.  The wave knows no difference I am just as wet as the ocean, just as real, subject to the same laws that govern its inevitable crash upon the reef as I seek to unite with it.  Sometimes we are one and I feel as if I have lost my-self to find my-Self in the wave and at over times I crouch to fit inside the hope of a barrel only to be smacked across the face by the lip.  It is grand, full, and complete for every wave is perfect when I let go of what I expect and accept what I find.

Two-a-day surf sessions have my body sore and exhausted as it cries out for the magic touch of a masseur and the blessing of a shower.  Yet energy abounds as the wonder-full beauty of each new surf spot awakens the heart causing me to bow my head in gratitude for what is given.  I sit in active meditation-suspended in the crystal waters of the Selat Lutan Lepas Sea with my feet dangling over an endless garden of coral reef-silently waiting the Waves arrival.  It is the present that recognizes my-Self here, where I’ve never left; for now my consciousness expands to accept it. One wave and then the next allows the Moment’s wisdom to unfold calmly wiping clean the clouds from my vision as the windy-thunder and lightning-rain stir above the surface.   Lucid without thought of what was or will be; rather it is, what is that consumes the space my mind seeks to fill.  I am me like never before yet have always been, wishing to express my adoration and gratitude for the gift of the KotaBaru.

Back to the question at hand; where does it end or how does it end?  I think the answer might be found in the serenity of a temple in Kauai-that I visited last time I was there-if I sit there, breathing and listening. I am aware however that everything exists-past, present and future-in this moment regardless of the self imposed barrier seeking only to know it by name; for there is safety in knowing the infinite wisdom of my ignorance.  It all starts with awareness, so to be cognizant of my ignorance is a beginning. I guess my task is to let it be with faith in its perfection; never minding my attempt to make it what I imagine it should be.  What expectation could ever express the true nature of what is beyond knowledge; reminded by the Master’s thunderous silence.

The ocean is a mentor-always on the surface busy dancing with the wind and giving voice to the crashing waves while within, it’s perfectly consistent in quiet surrender.  So I take a breath filling my abdomen as I am drowned in the abyss, once again suspended in the compassionate embrace of acceptance-absent of what has or can be-simply being.  Gliding gently between what I perceive and what is obviously missed the realization of the question becomes effortless, for it is only completed by the answer given and since I have not chosen there is no rest for the inquiring mind.  Thus I give it no mind, releasing my grasp on the sand slipping through my fingers and the ceaseless desire to design the formless. There is no fight in the sea as the currents ebb and flow, there is no battle between the fish and swaying protection of the enenime; so what purpose do I expect to find in my desire to lord over it.  This realization awakens me revealing the chains binding me to my-self as the blood from my struggle against them stains the ocean attracting the sharks of control.  I stop, regaining the energy panic robs, to float back to the world for another breath.

When will this journey end?  It ends in the decision to give the question an answer; and I have not chosen…

The first 48 hours in Lombok have been odd to say the least.  It actually started with me showing up for my flight and being told my reservation was cancelled due to time, which I don’t and did not understand, however there was another plane leaving 2 hours later so I jumped on it.  When I arrived I was meet promptly by the hotel transport only for the driver to realize, as we were about to pull out of the parking lot, that lights did not work.  It was deep into sunset and Lombok has virtually no street lights so headlights are a must.  Using our phones as flashlights the driver attempted to fish under the dash to reconnect the misplaced wires.  After 15 min or so, with no luck, we discovered the fog lights worked so we started our hour and half ride to the hotel.  It doesn’t take an hour and a half because of distance but rather due to poor infrastructure and slow driving.  Luckily 10 min into the drive, as he continued to fiddle with the wires, he miraculously got the lights to work.  Arriving at the hotel at about 10pm, exhausted and starving I ate dinner while the local motorbike rental guy started in on me…they are relentless.

Before I left Bali Sholin, the driver that I befriended in Bali, got me on the phone with a surfer named Ari that lives on Gili air Island just off the coast of Lombok, to act as my guide.  Ari becomes dead set on meeting and surfing with me while I’m in Lombok…I agree.  So after numerous phones calls Ari arrives the next morning about 11am just before I’m about to bail and go for a surf.  He’s a young, cool type surfer guy that totally plays the part; so I hop in his hired car, which was really my hired car, and we follow another guy I had meet that morning to a surf spot called Grupuk that’s 15min from the hotel.  I know none of this seems too strange but the whole context and means by which it all came to pass is odd; it just kind of happened without any effort on my part.

Suddenly I had an entourage…Me, Ari and the driver and we’re cruising Lombok in search of surf.  We ended up surfing Outside Grupuk in the morning and Inside Grupuk in the evening, although we checked two other spots for the afternoon session.  Between surfs we stop for lunch, we all order and they let me pay for everything, not even thinking to ask or offering up cash.  It was only an extra 6 dollars but at this point I’m kind of feeling like the sugar-daddy, not too sure what the deal is.  After the 2^nd surf we get back to the hotel and I do nothing waiting to see how this is going to pan out now that it’s dark.  Ultimately I ended up paying for the driver and car for the day, which included: transport to 3 beaches, Ari’s ride from Gili, a 30min trip to an ATM and a stop at a grocery store for a total of $40 u.s., 2 extra lunches and dinners and a pack of smokes.  I never felt manipulated but it was all barely on the right side of the line that marks where things get shady.

It becomes obvious at this point that Ari is not going back to Gili, as the driver drops us off at the hotel at 10:30pm, so he ends up sleeping in my board-bag on the floor of my hotel room with a pillow and my towel and sarong as a blanket.  At about what I’m guessing was 5:30am Ari wakes me to go surf, I roll over and tell him to wait an hour till it’s light outside.  After a quick breakfast, I paid for his, we both hop on my rented motorbike and head back to Grupuk for a surf, it wasn’t as good as the day before.  So after catching a few waves and kind of being over it I decided to help a French girl, who was learning how to surf, catch a wave.  One of the first things I teach her is the ‘turtle roll’; good thing I did.  After a few failed but improving attempts to catch a wave we are paddling back out just as one of her girlfriends comes surfing in from the outside directly at us.  I duck dive, as she turtle rolls just as her friend loses control on the wave and launches her board into the bottom of ‘my students’ board.  That’s why I said it was lucky that she learned to turtle roll because otherwise the nose of her friends board would have ended up in her head, or some other body part.  I mean I heard the boards collide, and I was a good 30 meters away by then. I’d like to think that my decision to be a surfing instructor prevented a potentially major accident but the fact of the matter is that if I would have never been involved those circumstances would have probably never occurred; none-the-less that’s the story.

My time with Ari, to this point-since he says he is coming back tomorrow-ended as abruptly as it began when he announced he was going back to Gili!  What a strange, random and quit odd set of happenings…all in the first 48 hours of my time in Lombok.  I can only guess what the next 4 days will bring.

It’s a strange feeling to be tired, physically exhausted and in many ways wanting to go home, while at the same time restless and eager to roam without any concrete purpose.  Ok there is a purpose and it’s to roam; I mean the other day on my way out to Uluwatu I loved the ride, I don’t think it was even about surfing or waves, it was about watching the world wiz about me.  I think that is my meditation!  I have been fighting to sit still, to focus on my breathing as I concentrate my attention on the spiritual vision of the 3^rd eye; I’ve tied sitting on the beach, on a rock, in my hotel room and it’s all been a half hearted attempt to do what I think I should, when I feel I must keep going.  I had a thriving meditative practice before I started Freeform and I felt lost without the deep breaths of those calm moments; it soothed me.  I feel no requirement for soothing now although I have had strings of days, along with definitive moments of clear deep meditation while on this journey yet I’ve always been in motion.  It’s always in the reflection that I realize those meditative periods for if I did in the moment I would be thinking and true meditation is without thought.

Surfing for example is a definite means of letting go of the mind, almost every session has one wave where everything comes together and the Surf-gods smile on me, no matter the conditions. I use to spend the rest of the session trying to duplicate it with little success because I didn’t and don’t really know what happened and how it came to pass; it just was and I was with it.  If I think about it-I’m really trying not to think-any significant occurrence on this journey has happened when I wasn’t deliberating over it or trying to design it.  So as of late, like today when I caught that one great wave of the day, I simply paddled back out and sat studying the ocean; I wish I could tell you that I caught another one even better but let’s say on a mixed up morning where the set waves ended as monster closeouts I raced 3 set waves making the sections to finish them off with a big maneuver.  I guess true meditation is being in the Moment, in removing the past and future from my need to control and smiling instead.

Yet even now, three days into my stay in Lombok, I think I need to be stationary, without movement, enjoying the static momentum of one place yet I am failing and even after being completely exhausted I am challenged by the idea of 24 hours of rest.  I had a dream last night; at least I think I did, about returning home and all I seem to remember is a feeling of “what now?”  This whole life is a story I write moment to moment so why can’t I write a chapter filled with sitting meditation instead of relentless restless energy that, regardless of all the roaming, has me focused, calm and productive.  The pencil and paper are the instruments of my product addressing countless thoughts as I wonder how the result will mature with each new letter.

In Sydney I was perusing through a book store and came across a book predicting the nature of 2009 for an individual based on their Chinese horoscope.  Being at a time of rebirth in my life I sat and read what it had to say about next year for the Wood Rabbit, my Chinese sign.  Here’s what I took from what it said…  It predicted that the coming year would be absent of any tangible fruit to give objectivity to my labor yet it is to be a key period in the development of my life’s direction thus setting a definitive course along the path of my dharma.  My challenge in 2009, it said, is to be patient, allowing the momentum to grow as I stay the course recognizing the deeper aspects of my true Self through the process.  It also said 2008 was the completion to what I had spent the past few years doing…isn’t that the truth.

I know that the reality of any prediction is my belief in it; I simply recognize everything exists in the perfect emptiness of the Moment-for I am but a servant; an instrument of the Supreme Consciousness.  So I close my eyes envisioning myself prostrate at the feet of the sincere devotee; for my will is found in the gracious revelations of the Master.  I pray I may forever be merged, with absolute faith, in the revealed wisdom of the omnipresence of The Good, The True and The Beautiful; aware that I am baptized by the flame of the Spirit’s Vision and the eternal knowledge of the Self; finding the path to my-Self at the lotus feet of the Guru.

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.

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.

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.