On the quest to find my white whale I've fallen a few times. I clumsily get up though, to see the sun rise over fertile South African valleys and set behind majestic Adirondack mountains, to feel the sand of the Indian Ocean or the wrath of hurricane winds. I've been a prisoner and i've been a pirate. Now I can tell The Story, the one where I run and find and hope and conquer. Stories where my shoes are too big or too small, or tapped together, or i'm wearing none at all. My feet aren't as calloused as my soul, yet both have journeyed far and wide. I've had moments I thought I would burst into specs of silver and gold, raining onto grass like an angry wind storm, grass that was so green you'd have to put it on the skin of your face just to know it was real.
On this day I set off to find a cure for my soul's discontent. What I found was Tampak Siring, a water temple set in the Ubud hills, where children and grandparents alike bow their heads under spewing spouts of water, repeating their mantra, grasping their faith. Everyone is praying for something different, but ultimately the same. Everyone wants to achieve happiness and inner peace, to see the world be just and those in it to act justly so. Among the graceful orange and ivory koi, atop soft rounded stones, from one spout to the next, each pilgrim walks, sipping the water, then spitting it out. It was here that I asked to begin again. I asked for the nightmares to cease, to no longer be chased up never ending stairs or through labyrinth homes. With eyes heavy to fall on fair skin, I clasped my hands and closed my eyes, imagining all that could wash away. Feel it as it leaves you. Raising my foot from the soft stones to the algae slicked stairs I felt graceful, like sap, in a slow golden drip, showcasing how elegant the tiniest bits of light can be.
