It’s raining on Maui and I don’t mind. The skies are gray and low, and the humidity is almost oppressive as it surrounds me like a moist woolen blanket. The birds sing quietly from their nests or covered branches, and the world waits for the rain to stop.
Long ago, I became a friend of storms. I understand their nature and purpose, and I’ve broken through to the place where I no longer seek shelter to wait their passing. I try a=to accept the storm, to welcome it and to thrive on its energy.
But today I wait, because I know that a Maui storm is brief and that the sun will awaken in this Paradise. I’m grateful for the time I am here to enjoy it. In the distance, I might even see a break in the clouds already. I don’t mind if it waits awhile.
Places, like people, have personalities. Maui has always been a peaceful place to me, a bastion of serenity. I woke up early this morning to enjoy the sounds of the surf, the fleeting appearance of rainbows as rain patters across the horizon, and the occasional evidence of whale plumes. The air is softly caressing my skin, and the birds chirp happily.
Today is the fifteenth anniversary of my stepfather’s death, a date that he shares with hundreds of 9/11 victims. Today, our country mourns…but not for my stepfather. That’s okay, because it makes my sorrow seem a little bit more normal, and my contemplation seem common. Today is a day for mourning, and the serenity of Maui seems a fitting background.
Maui will take your sorrow and put it in context — that sadness and even death are part of the beautiful circle of life. This wind on my face reminds me that the universe is beautiful and constant and that we’re connected to everything around us. The surf sings that there’s a cyclicality to everything, a rhythm to the Universe. The evidence of whales make me feel joy amidst the sadness.
It’s a good day and an appropriate place for mourning.
We build bridges to connect.
We construct transport mechanisms to propel us into the unknown
Not destroying them behind us, because bridges leave a sense of comfort
Always keeping our options open, in case the unknown is intolerable
Happy in the moment of the connection, the final step-off. But nervous.
Our bridges go foggy with disuse, squeaky and warped where no feet have trod
Sometimes, we begin the journey across them…but the pall of failure dissuades
The people across the span have grown strange to us, the places no longer familiar
No matter how unpleasant our present, the trip across the bridge seems worse.
Perhaps the bridge should be destroyed.
We end up residing neither here nor there.
Feeling like a stranger in a strange land forever, wondering if we should build
New bridges to flee the sense of displacement. New bridges to bridge the gaps.
We also know life should be more than building bridges, than crossing over them.
Everyone must discover a true home.