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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