Checking in—I am moving back toward semi-daily posts, but the last thing I want is to bore the people following my journey with consecutive posts about my long days under the coconut trees—life is slow down here. I fit right in.
Sunday, I rented a scooter for 10 days—the same price per day as one taxi trip into town. I assured the guy of my riding experience (not so much), signed the page, traded cash for keys, and I was on my way. He brought their largest helmet and it fit—the same way my baseball helmets fit, before I cut the padding out of them, or the way hats fit when they have elastic bands.
Still safer than driving manual from the right side of the car. When driving a scooter, gas is on the right, brakes and horn are on the left (extra brakes also on right), and STAY LEFT. Use the horn freely, its considered a courtesy in the islands: around blind corners, passing pedestrians, passing slower drivers or cars parked on the side of the rode. Horn.
Day one on wheels, I drove the perimeter of the island—still getting used to my land-jet-ski, and soaking in the sea views. I meandered along the sides of cliffs and through faded fluorescent colored houses. My smile was as wide as the morning sun peaking over the Caribbean Sea. You can picture me now: the big goofy white boy, with a slanted helmet and a silly smile.
Each hidden beach became a jewel for my chest. Each one held a unique opportunity for a swim, so I did. By the time I made it to my apartment, I waddled up the flights of stairs—very appreciative that my mother sent me with Aquaphor. Day two, more of the same. I spent the morning in town, playing dominoes behind the spice market; the afternoon, laying on the most popular beach.
Around 4 o’clock, I decide that if I had a heart attack in that instance, I would welcome it. But hear me out, this isn’t meant to be sentimental about the perfection of the situation. I am confident I would have survived. Surrounding me on the beach were 100 med students—80 of them women, 75 of them dimes. Channeling my inner-Squints, I was looking for the high-dive to jump from.
Last night, Spencer and I went to Hooters—or maybe it wasn’t until this morning. The details of the dream were so vivid: so much joy in the simplicity of togetherness and love. The intimacy he and I created over chicken wings, cold beers, and inappropriate jokes—there is nothing greater. I woke with confidence in this idea: each thought, each action, reflects all others; just as one soul mirrors all other souls. Therefore, redemption of one soul, through joy and consciousness, illuminates the opportunity for all souls’ awareness.
God—the creator of all things—is uncreated; He who evades sight, is evident in the essence of all things. Creation is the highest form of consciousness; one must be fully present to be the creator of their vision and the creation of an omnipotent vision that is all loving and all wise. Excellence is as difficult as it is rare.
Guidance, Blessings
Capt. BZ