Time in the mountains

Dark and dusty, a sanctuary amongst the ruthless mountain beauty. The unforgiving peaks cut through the clouds and will of any who dare summit them. Drakensberg Mountain range is a cathedral of suffrage and unfathomable reward. Tears, laughs, and all in between. Embedded in this scenic hellscape is a cave, is a dark and dusty cave.

This hallowed hole offers protection from the relentless wind and bone-chilling air. It is the resting place of a weary traveler, where a boy, barely a man, makes his shelter from the harshness of the outside world. He stands there at the cave’s mouth. Looking out at the rain pounding on the rugged plateau of the mountain range. He knows it is impossible to continue with weather like this. He drops his bag, admiring the hole in the mountains he resides in. The black rock walls provide a feeling of stability yet roughness and pain. He enjoys it. He runs his hands across their smooth surface smiling. 

The young man opens his bag and pulls out a pot and stove, preparing his meal for the day. He starts a fire with a small collection of sticks and cotton balls. He stares into the flames. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, then another, and another. He opens his eyes to reveal a melancholy face, longing. However, he looks back to the rocks again, and his smile returns once more.

“What are you cooking?” says the older man.

“Rice and beans.”

“My favorite.” 

“Yeah, mine too.”

“Why are you in these mountains?”

“I’m summiting the peak. I’m summiting the tallest there is.” 

“Why?”

“Because it’s hard. I want to do what is hard.”

The older man looks at him from across the flames. The lack of light discloses his face, but his eyes are ablaze. His eyes are the same as those that stare back at him, except they’re older, worn down, and tired.

“You think you will make it?” Asks the older man.

“Do you?”

“I’m not sure, doubt has crept its way into my mind, and it’s spreading.”

“Don’t doubt yourself. Anyone can do it. Anyone can make it.”

“But why do it? Do you think you’ll get something out of it?”

“Yes”

“Do you think you’ll be saved?”

“Maybe.”

“You won’t.” Says the older man as he puts out his cigarette.

“Nothing is final. The crater you’re looking to fill, it’s not a crater at all. It’s a river. A river that ebbs and flows through time, never leaving you. Sometimes it’s calm. Other times it’s chaos, but it flows. That is all.

An elderly man sits on a rock against the cave wall, smiling at the older man. The young one is gone.

“What?” Asks the older man. 

“You think you have it all figured out, right?”

“Do you?”

“Not at all, kid, not at all.” The elderly man says with a smile.

“So what’s next for me then, where is the garden, where is the river leading to?”

“I don’t know.” He continues to smile.

“How could you not know?”

“We never do, there never was a destination son, just another river leading to another, and on and on.”

“So why go forward?”

“The view.”

“The view?” The older man barks.

“The view is one special sight, worth a thousand lifetimes. Those people, those moments, cherish and love them, it’s all that comes with you.”

The old man is alone. He takes one last bite of rice and beans before packing his bag and throwing it over his worn-out shoulders. He smiles again, walking to the mouth of the dark and dusty cave. He looks out at the sprawling mountains and rolling hills. The rain finally subsides, and the sun begins to peek through the clouds. 

Photo by Jones Windhoesel, Instagram at jones.wdl and abovethecloudzz_

New Tides In South Africa

I’m searching for something stable, and I’ve found it. The surf is my crutch in these times of change. The tides of Gqeberha are different than those of the Pacific West Coast. South Africa’s Indian Ocean is a new beast, untamed in the landscape of my mind. The waves behave in a different process, but not an unfamiliar one of the home waves I once knew. The swell, the producer of the wave sets, and its energy is constant. Driving forward over and over again. Unlike San Diego, there seem to always be waves, granting me the freedom to leave behind life’s futility on shore and enter a pure state of mind. However, the wind dictates my quality of surf. It is my greatest enigma. One day it is onshore, blowing from sea to land, creating a chaotic mush leaving frothing surfers only with a bit of windburn and a lot of disappointment. However, as it seems, at a moment’s notice, fortunes change. The winds within the same day will flip 180 degrees. As a result, I am treated to vacant perfect waves. Well, the wind changes, but one thing remains constant: water’s unrelenting power.

             The learning curve of the ocean is grand. At home, I am a novice, but here I am in infancy within my knowledge of the water. I know nothing about anything, but I have learned before and will learn again here. See, well, these waves are new; they are not unfamiliar. I know the feeling of riding down the line. I know what it’s like to wake up with friends at 6 am and get there before sunrise. However, here, in this place, it is different. My life treads a new direction, one I’ve never experienced before. In South Africa, every person, place, and thing is new. Every fear is 10-fold. Every shortcoming is exacerbated by uprooting my life and the subsequent loss of all comfortability. However, every moment pushes me out of my tight box, farther and farther. Until I feel I cannot go another inch. But the waves and my board stay by my side through it all. Acting as my tether to the ground as the storm of culture shock, pressure, and social anxiety whirls around me.

             The ocean, through it all, calls me. When I am lost, it, no matter the upheaval in my life, shows me the way. My identity is mysterious at this moment. Like a mouse trapped in a desert, finding shade and protecting in the company of an oasis, that oasis, my life in San Diego, has dried up. I have nowhere to hide from the scorching sun. It looms on the horizon. My identity longs to hide, but I must face reality’s piercing rays. My life is gone. Nothing is normal except the peace I find in every breaking wave. The ocean and its graces have delivered me what was lost but not forsaken. Friends and a circle of positive individuals whose lights burn far greater than mine. They are new, yes, but not unfamiliar. They are foreign, but here in this new land, we are a part of the same nation. We are people. We are human beings bound by the same love of life. As a result, the storm has no power here. This land of South Africa has quickly become my home, and I am embedded within it.

The ocean, it calls me once again. We go at it together with my friends and companions on this new journey, reminding me home is not a place. It is a feeling, and when in that water surrounded by new friends, I feel at home.

Fleeting

Art by Milo Stibor, the homie*, follow him @milo.stibor13

I have been very desperate lately. I reach for a string to keep myself out of the all-consuming abyss of worry. The strings wear thin. I think soon I could fall in. Going overseas for an entire year is not a decision. It is a calling. Maybe even beyond a calling, more like a road from which I am irreversibly connected. The road leads into a murky cloud of uncertainty, a frightening but endlessly fascinating darkness. Now that I am departing in less than two weeks, I am closer to that dark cloud. I can begin to hear sounds radiating from its contents, laughs, cries, and everywhere in between. My consciousness fills in the lines in these waning hours in the States. I project memories onto that cloud, fantasizing about future moments for myself. However, my imagination and life experience are weak. I feel the gaps in my understanding and don’t know what will happen. Those gaps scare me as much as they excite. Gaps make room for questions. What will come of me when I am gone? Who will I lose in my life when I am overseas? Will I ever be the same again? Questions fly around my head like flies trapped in a jar, buzzing with incredible speed only to meet a glass wall. My thoughts, they too repeat this motion, hurling towards answers where there are none. The subsequent anxiety from the unknowables. It is strong. It is painful. But I am alright, remember, just breathe. 

The cloud of uncertainty lies across the ocean in South Africa, specifically the port city of Gqeberha (formerly Port Elizabeth). I know nothing of this place. I have never crossed an ocean for travel in my life. I am not familiar with other cultures on a personal level. I am not well versed in the schools of thought outside of America. In many ways, I am just another copy of the “Dumb American” archetype. However, where I see the difference within myself is my openness. I love people. They are fascinating and beautiful in their uniqueness. The discrepancy in people is what makes humanity the grotesque yet ethereal beauty that it is. I want to pursue this disparity, and I will go as far out on a limb as I must to get a piece of it. So I set my sights on South Africa, a place with a history and culture that mimics the enigma of us. From apartheid to the gracious heat of Nelson Mandela and all that is between. I want to come as an outsider and witness a life lived absent of the west’s supreme influence. I will record this journey here on this platform and within these words. To my loved ones, thank you for what you have done for me. To my friends, you inspire me every day to be better than I was the day before. God bless you all for putting me in the position to make a leap forward in the story of my life.

Something Small Right Now

Winds move across the desert, shifting the barren landscape side to side

Mountains rise tall, their peaks connecting this world to that of the divine

Rivers flow with crystal clear water, running and rumbling day and night, all the time

The ocean, vast and unmatched, housing the essence of life from where we came and from which we shall go, forever in a bind

There always was, and there will always be

For me, I am light amongst the endless cosmos, one single piece in the grand landscape of space and time

Yet I am changing

I am not going to be the same

I yearn for something, some assistance in this time of upheaval in my life, but there is none

I return to my breathe, I know my decision is the right one

I turn my head, looking up at the stairs, I am at peace

What I felt before I wrote: A different Age by Current Joys

Egypt, Shukran!

Shukran means thank you in Arabic 🙂

My soul is so grateful for my time spent in Egypt. I’ve transformed in the hands of my ancestors… This year my sankofa manifested and my perspective grew in reflection of that. One of the most important things I learned about myself and the world this year is that I have so much to learn.

Winter is Coming

Compared to the sunny beaches of San Diego, Berlin is in the middle of the Ice Age. While I hoped that midway through December I would have already weathered the coldest front that Germany offer, I fear that is not so. Like the people of Winterfell, the snowmen of Berlin keep reminding me that the worst is yet to come.

Winter is coming.

Givers Never Lack

It is my personal belief that our highest calling as spiritual beings of this world is love.

This is true no matter your religion, political opinion or past transgressions in life. The simplest summary of my spirituality is that we are called to love ourselves deeply, others as a reflection of ourselves and the world as an even greater and clearer reflection of us all. And that love will always find its way back to us.

Reciprocity.

China Series: Disenchantment

Boy am I homesick as the holiday season rolls around yet once again.

Where is “home?” Right now, it’s somewhere with continuous sunshine under a blue sky, and brunch. Preferably I’d have both, simultaneously. Maybe a view of the beach thrown in here and there. Definitely not what I see out my window every morning when I open my eyes. I want to prepare for the “cold” season by surrounding myself with autumn-themed decor, ordering hot cups of sugar water from Starbucks, and listening to that never-ending loop of preemptive Christmas music.

But alas, it is but a wish, even with Santa in the picture.

Still in China and Still Alive

Hey world, it’s been a while and I still have no idea what I’m doing! But hey, every day is a brand new day, or so they say… here’s my update, over a month after which I arrived in China!

Wait, does that sound choppy?

Which leads me to my first observation: my English is deteriorating. Proof? I had to google the “opposite of improve” to grab the word “deteriorating.” I’ve also been Google translating certain Chinese characters into English. I guess it’s really as they say, language is a skill that you either use or lose. I mean, I’ve been using English with my friends on a daily basis, but only to discuss basic matters, like food, classes, weather and how the smog seems to permeate our entire vicinity before magically disappearing a few days later.

All of my classes are taught in Mandarin, and the local language is, of course, Mandarin with a heavy Northern accent, which prompts me to think and speak in the same manner. While that’s great for my Chinese, it’s not so much for my English. But enough about my little conundrums, here’s a report on China:

Changes

I gingerly positioned my spices and utensils around the kitchen counter, like an underpaid Food Network intern. I hoped my effort could compensate my friend Ophelia for my clear lack of cooking skills. She didn’t seem to mind. We laughed at my constant checking of the recipe and my week-long commitment to vegetarianism.

Living Dreams and Nightmares at the Cape Coast Castle

My life story is filled to the brim with pivotal points. Many losses, gains, transfers and complete rebirths within my path have made me feel more than prepared for any change that will inevitably come. And yet the entire week before touring the Cape Coast slave castle, I felt an utter hopelessness in finding any way to prepare myself. How do you look your people’s enslavement in the face, and keep your own straight?

You don’t. You can’t.