Keith and I are celebrating our 6th wedding anniversary today, and in October with an extended trip to Maui. Happy Anniversary, my darling!
For our first anniversary, Keith and I went to Maui.
The first day we were there, we knew something special was happening on this island. We sat on a little patch of green grass at our hotel, basking in the moonlight and watching the ocean. We breathed the deepest we'd ever breathed.
The second day, we drove the Hana Highway, a 50-mile stretch of narrow road that makes some 250 hairpin turns. We smiled a lot that day with our co-journeyers John and Julie. There were waterfalls. And taro fields. And rainbows. At one stop, Keith thought to himself, "huh, I'm a little hungry." A giant avocado immediately fell off a tree and rolled across the street, stopping at his feet. He stooped down, picked it up... and ate it.
Then, we arrived in Hana.
We had been trying to pry information out of our teachers Tom and Bobbi Best about how to prepare for the trip. How much does it rain? Are there mosquitoes? What kind of shoes should we bring? Each time we asked a question, no matter what the question, they would reply with something like, "Well, when you pull into the park, you get out of the car and stroll down to the black sand beach. [Takes a deep breath] The sun warms the rocks, which warm you. You listen to the pulse of the ocean going in.. and out.. in.. and out... The breeze blows across your face. You smile."
Whether we asked about typhoid shots or backpacking gear or anything, they gave us the same answer.
And now we know why.
Hana is so enchanting that when you arrive, you are a different person.
The place, the land itself, insists with infinite gentleness that you relax. All the details of mainland life fade away. The place itself assures you that you are completely loved and that the universe is indeed a good place to be. The land is so alive, it provides anything you'd ever really need. And when you have all the love you could ever want, somehow, the precise material that your raingear is made out of becomes a distant concern.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
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There is a stereotype about being married for many years that goes like this. The husband says, remember that time when we did x and you did Y. And the wife replies, no honey, you got that all wrong, don't you remember, we did A and then B happened.
When I studied how to write therapeutic metaphors with the master story creator and NLPer, David Gorden, he told the story of watching a movie with his wife and later figuring out that they had both interpreted the key scene in different ways. Each of them was so sure that they had it right that in a sort of competition that agreed to to watch the whole movie again to see which one of them was right, and by logic, which one of them was wrong. Right!?! This was in the days before everyone had DVD and VCRs, so they had to wait for the movie to come around on the late, late show.
Well they watched the whole movie and when it got to the critical scene they each waited with baited breath. As the actors stated their critical lines both David and his wife turned to the other one and said, "See.. I told you." At the exact same time. But it was too late. The moment was past and the argument would have to wait to be resolve upon another viewing. They both thought they were right and so their filters caused them to hear what they were expecting to hear.
When Katie and I went to Maui the first time, it is true that the island was extremely abundant. No doubt. And it is true that as I stood waiting for Katie to procure her items from a road-side stand, watching the breeze play in the fronds of the coconut palms and gazing off to the distant line where the ocean horizon meets the lighter blue of the sky, I heard the rustle in the leaves above and looked up to watch a fruit fall to the ground, take a football bounce and roll across the road to rest at my feet.
The only thing is, I remember that it was a coconut that so generously presented is prosperity to me that day. Katie thinks it was an avacado.
A little thing, perhaps. Best not to sweat the small stuff. It is just that I cling so tightly to my reality, even though I know that "The world is what you think it is," that I find it disconcerting to think that what I remember so clearly is wrong.
I know that memory is not real. Not a tape recording of high fidelity. I know that it is a synthesis created over and again each time I remember. But how odd to realize that one of us is missing a key fact. It can't be me... that might mean my memory is failing me, that I am getting older.
If I can't trust my memory, what else can I not trust to support me... Soon I will be swimming like Richard Bach through the waves of my floor.
I think I will just do a bit of denial and get on with getting older instead.
Honey, you are right. I am wrong, completely wrong. I'll see you on the island.
Love,
Keith
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