February, 2004. Hong Kong. I
was hiking Lantau Island when the trail unexpectedly brought me to a beach. No
other people, not a footprint. No boats on the water nor any other manmade
structures in sight. The Pacific like a still, breezeless lake under the overcast
sky. A scene of sublime inactivity.
Seeing now that this was my
destination, I took off my backpack, used a rock to dig a butt-sized hollow in
the sand, planted mine in there, and reclined against the pack. For an hour I
didn't move. Just my eyes panning the ocean, reading the horizon like the most
important poem ever written...
There was only one return bus
to town and not much time, so I sat up, brushed off, and continued along eons
sooner than I wanted. I've gone back many times in my imagination, though: that
boundless refuge where no distance is too far, our passport is always valid,
and touchdown is just a thought away. During the hard times especially, our
mind's eye sees us through. When the windows of the world let in the harsh
light―workplace anguish, imploded love, a fatal diagnosis―we can pull down our eyelid shades and take respite in whatever
setting we conjure. For me, it's that incidental shore at Lo Kei Wan. For you?
We can't ignore reality either.
The longer you spend inside, the more force the outside world amasses against
you. Bills pile. Disappointment turns to depression. The tumor doubles in size.
You've got to take care of life before it takes care of you.
In doing so, you enable the
next beautiful moment to retreat to when ugliness returns.
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