Just Another Day …

by Christopher Lovejoy on August 4, 2011

A warm, tropical breeze caresses my face.

The sun is setting and I’m standing near the edge of a cliff, with my eyes closed and my arms outstretched to my sides, overlooking a vast expanse of deep blue water.

I can recall the day I arrived on this desert island, but I’ve since lost count of how many days I’ve stayed here – a consequence of occupying a mindspace absorbed by timelessness.

This small, warm, breezy, beautiful, temperate, tropical island paradise, which I now call home, is so far from civilization that I’ve yet to see anyone pass it by, and is so replete with fruit, flora, and fauna that I have to pinch myself to remind myself that I still have it all to myself.

With so much fruit, and with so many varieties of fruit, my needs for food and water are met with delicious ease. All year round. No hunting, fishing, cooking, or gardening required.

My stools are clean, regular, and odorless. A tasty treat for the microorganisms?

The sun has shone almost every day since I’ve been here. Living on nothing but tropical fruit, like coconuts and coconut water, my entire body has been bronzed to completion.

My skin no longer burns under the hot sun, like it did in the beginning.

A cave, naturally sculpted over time by the elements, is my shelter when I need it, which is rare. Mostly, I just sleep naked on a bed of leaves not far from the main shore of the island.

I feel safe here. At first, I had my doubts. I wondered uneasily about hidden predators, about being invaded by tourists or pirates, about the creepy crawlies, but so far . . . nothing.

Well, almost nothing. I do get the occasional insect bite.

I can’t say I have a lot to do here, but . . . I mean, I did have lots to do in the beginning.

I made a home for myself. I followed a daily routine for myself until it dissolved into immediacy. I explored the island at my leisure until there was nothing left to explore.

I learned when to pick the fruits and how to open them up and eat them, and I learned how to make a fire on those rare occasions when the air became too cool for my naked comfort.

These days, I exercise a lot: brisk walking, jogging, swimming, climbing, hiking.

I’d probably go insane if I couldn’t exercise a lot. With exercise, I earn my leisure and my leisurely ways, especially when you consider how much lounging around I do.

The only remaining source of novelty for me is the present moment.

Those moments when I see, hear, taste, touch, or smell something entirely new, or those moments when I let myself go and dance a wild dance of ecstasy in the pouring rain, or run, jump, and laugh with crazy gratitude – the kinds of things you do when you spend too much time with yourself.

Which is not to say I’ve lost my capacity for peace – or grace.

When I sit to meditate where I am now, near the edge of a cliff, I sink into the moment, to let my senses drink in the myriad sensations of sight, sound, and smell.

And when I follow my bliss along the main shore, walking at a pace that invites grace, this is when I feel blessed. Blessed to be here now. Blessed to live out my days in this island universe.

Fruit, comfort, safety, variety, novelty.

Within the constraints of my world, all of my needs are met. What more could I desire?

I do feel blessed. Truly I do. I inhale deeply and open my eyes.

I watch the sun melt into the horizon like I have countless times before.

It’s a sight I look forward to having almost every day.


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