This morning I stared outside the window at a dirty, lived-in city. Honolulu is a mixture of the functionally dingy, and the tourist-y pristine. It's surrounded by a dark green mountain that defines the city's boundaries, and bounded by the endless vista of a deep blue ocean.
The mountains are overlaid with shadowy and wispy tendrils of storm-laden smoke, a remnant of last night's storms. The ocean's misty embrace covered the island, and laid down a staccato beat of rain -- a gentle beat, followed by a torrent of water, followed by a gentle reprieve -- a pattern that repeated itself throughout the night.
This morning, the island feels refreshed and sunlight is peering out from behind the clouds. The sun is patiently waiting for its turn, it's waiting for a chance to bathe the island in its glorious warmth. I long to bask in its light and dream of a world filled with love, joy and peace.
I feel the verve and beat of freedom pumping in my heart.
I see the possibilities of an infinite skyward reach reverberating through my mind, touching each part of me along its frenetic and bouncy path.
I taste the slightly tangy and wild breath of nature beckoning to me, calling to me, hinting to me in a secret whisper. It speaks of skylit vistas and inspired, euphoric delusions to come.
In a language beyond words, I sense the gentle touch of the numinous calling out to me. It is met forcefully by an existentialist cry for meaning and purpose and joy. It hints at a conflagration of mind, spirit and nature that burns brighter than any star and provides a brief window into the infinite.
David Abrams observed that, "We experience the sensuous world only by rendering ourselves vulnerable to that world." Today, I feel very vulnerable.
Abram, David (2010-08-24). Becoming Animal: An Earthly Cosmology (p. 58). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group.
Originally written on 2014-01-03