I Met God & the Devil at Newport Beach

It is said that the Devil strikes when a man is at his lowest point. 

When a man is in his prime, he needs the help of no one, or so he tricks himself into thinking.  He is either too busy with himself, or the Devil already has him. 

But when a man is in need, and he is hungry and alone, that is when the opportunity for persuasion is at its greatest point. 

As the story is told, after 40 days of fasting the prophet and messiah Jesus was approached by the Devil in the desert.

 And so it was when I was approached, by an angel and a demon.  And to this day I wonder how the path of my life was affected by that fateful day. 

I was still a boy back in those days, stuck between a man and a boy.  The life I had known had been robbed from me, and I was thrust into the world heartbroken and alone.  

My entire life up until that point had been a lie I had believed, I had followed the path that society had laid out for me.  

I had graduated from a decent college, had a decent job, a nice apartment in a good city, money, a car, and sufficient material wealth.  On the surface it was fine, but inside it was hollow. 

The love of my life up till that point had left me for another, and there was nothing more that I wanted than to be with her – but that was impossible, I had already tried.  The job I had wasn’t something I particularly cared much for, and at that point all I really wanted was a gun to the head. 

Like many other surfers, the sea was all that I had.  On most days, every free moment was spent in the surf.  It was the only thing in my life that I ever wanted to do, and at that point in my life it was all I had left.    Thankfully, at least I was lucky enough that the “American dream” life had placed me in a city by the sea.  And so on most evenings, after work, I would catch the last rays of light and paddle out for an evening sesh, no matter how bad the waves were. 

It was on one such beautiful evening when I met the Devil. 

I was surfing Newport beach, the waves were small and shitty, but the water was refreshing and the sky was a hazy, golden orange.  The wind was slightly onshore, and the waves were about 1 to three feet – California size.  The last hour had basically sent a bunch of wind swell closeouts.  But still, it was nice to be in the water.  As much as I told myself I wanted a wave in those days, deep down I didn’t really care.    

And then, out of nowhere, a set wave came through.  Along our jetty only came a closeout, but further down the beach on another jetty further south, the wave came in, and a lone figure took off on it.  As if defying reality, the wave barreled, the silhouette pulled in, and then seconds later, made it out.  That was the first sign something was strange. 

I remember being mesmerized by the wave, it wasn’t till some people started chatting near me that I snapped out of it.  There were a few more people in the lineup now, but there were three who most drew my attention. 

Of those three, the third is faceless.  His only importance in my memory is that he was talking to the First.

The First was a man with an afro.  He had a big nose.  His skin was tanned.  He was lean.  Tall.  Strong, but lean.  Surfer build.  Middle Eastern complexion I remember thinking.

The water was perfect, we were all maybe wearing 3/2’s.

He had just gotten back from a trip to Bali, I overheard.  Insane waves.  Beautiful women.  Warm water.  Islands you had never even heard of.  Couldn’t even dream of.  Time of his life.  He was going back soon. I vaguely remember something about him losing his bag.

Other than that otherworldly barrel that steamrolled through off in the eerie, misty distance, there were no other waves of note from that session.  All I remember is that it felt so nice to be in the water.

I remember exiting, walking in the sand.  The cold sand felt so refreshing between my toes. 

That’s when the Second man came up to me. 

A young man, maybe 18?

He had a handsome face. 

Blonde hair, pale skin. 

Good jawline.  Shorter than me.

If you opened the Newport High School yearbook, he would have been the president.

Out of the blue, he told me I should come to the local church. 

“All are welcome.”  He said.  Something to the effect.

He had such a warm smile.

I still remember to this day.

I thanked him.

I thought about it. 

I had gone to church in college.  Overall great experience.  But something happened, I don’t remember what. 

I was dating a girl at the time.  I think that might have been what pulled me away.

But yes, I thanked him and walked away.

And then ran into the First man.

I ended up walking back alone with him to my car. 

We chatted.

 I don’t even remember what he said, or what we talked about.

All I know is that

He was taller than me. 

He had a big nose. 

And with God as my witness,

It took me 4 years

but,

I eventually became a surf photographer,

 and flew to Bali. 

**Fin**

What's a picture worth nowadays?

Some photos I tuck away and can't bear to ever see again,

others bring me joy every time I lay eyes on them.

With cameras on every smartphone and on every street corner

we've cheapened the value of a photo,

till we drop our phone, blow up our hard drives and lose everything.

Don't forget to appreciate the little things

not just the photos but the moments they capture

because the photo sometimes is all that remains

Wildlife

| Wildlife |

#Talesfromtheotherside

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“Are they wild?” I asked.

“Well, they belong to a guy actually.  Have you ever seen that guy who rides around town on a horse?”

“Yeah, the guy who is always drunk all the time?”

“Yeah that guy.  Those are his horses.”

My mind drifted back to a few nights prior as I was laying on my couch in my open-air living room when I heard a rustle in the bush.  Expecting an iguana, my eyes widened as I realized that what actually stood 15 feet in front of me was a 1,100 pound horse, taller than me with only some short grass as a barrier between us. 

There were two horses to be precise, peering at me from the edge of darkness where the feeble light of my iphone reached with only jungle abyss behind.  To think, two horses had snuck up to within 20 feet of me and I hadn’t even noticed them.  The chicadas and other insects you hear throughout the night create a relatively large amount of background noise and it’s basically pitch black outside.  As usual, the two machetes I owned were 100 feet away from me in the cabin (with the horse between us no less) so I simply just grabbed my broom as a weapon.  My solid, 70 pound hunting dog continued to enjoy his after dinner nap.  

Eventually I shooed them off into the darkness.  Weeks later I wondered to myself if I should have offered them an apple.  

Eventually my mind made the connection.  Those horses must have been his.   

“So he just lets them loose?  They just wander around free?”  

“Yep.  Whenever he needs them- like when he gives gringos riding lessons- he just goes and fetches them.”

“Huh.”  I pondered incredulously.

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy, this local gringa vet girl was complaining the other day that nobody is taking care of them and some of them are sick.  One of them died the other day. It was kind of a problem because there was just this rotting horse carcass on the side of the road.  Eventually the town had to hire someone to go pick it up.”

“Why doesn’t the guy pay for it?

“He has no money.”

“Ah right, the drinking problem.  Makes sense I guess.”  

We sat in silence for a while, meditating on reality.  After a time, I tenuously broke the silence:

“So… they’re basically wild then.”

“Yeah I guess so.”

Later that week the two horses visited my house again.  A baby fowl was with them. 

The Kapok Tree

| The Kapok Tree |

#TalesfromtheOtherSide

Once upon a time, among one of the many stops in the course of my travels, I came to live in the jungle. 

Life was leisurely and slow, as my only methods of transportation were my own two legs, and the pace of life in those days matched the slow speed of my walk.  Some days, my legs would take me down to the beach to surf, and on other days, in the evenings, I would go for a walk in the opposite direction, into the jungle, with my dog Nalu.  On one such stroll, I came across and was intrigued by a strange, haunting tree. 

On this particular occasion, in the warm rays of the evening sun, Nalu and I walked for a time, following a road we had never walked before.  The road twisted and turned, past farm houses, abandoned wood cabins, and large empty ranches.  The further we walked the more overgrown the vegetation became and the larger the trees grew - the uppermost branches of which towered high above our heads, far beyond the reach of any man. The path led us down a hill and then up another, twisting and turning until it led us to a spot where the sun did not shine, as the trees were so tall that they blocked the light of the sun from shining through.  It was in this spot, along this stuffy, desolate road that I came across the tree.     

It was dry season, and the jungle was in desperate need of water.  Many of the trees lacked leaves, and this particular tree was no different.  The tree was barren, and in the shade of its many branches, its trunk was dark – almost black.  But what struck me the most about this tree, was that from top to bottom, every inch of this tree was covered in thorns.  

From the base of its roots, through its trunk, up through the very top branches, thorns the size of nails and just as sharp, protruded outwards in all directions.  No man, or monkey, or any other animal could climb such a tree without finishing the endeavor bloody and full of holes.  It was the sort of thing that one could only imagine existed in a fairytale, guarding some sort of precious treasure for eons in plain sight, as no sane person could ever hope to climb such a devilish, and evil looking tree.    

Yet, I was drawn to the thing in such a way, as one is drawn to the site of a car accident, or some other scene of tragedy.  The rational brain tells the mind that you approach in order to understand what caused the event, yet the heart knows that this is just a ruse.  The energy of such a thing draws you to it, and the trap is set.       

What confused me so much about this tree was that it challenged my concept of what I thought a tree was supposed to be.  All of the trees that I had ever encountered in my life had always given me very pleasant feelings.  A sense of unity with nature, a source of sustenance and fruit.  Man plants the tree and gives it soil, water, and space on his land - and in return, the tree provides the man with shade from the hot sun, the occasional fruit, and a place for his animal friends to nest on.  But this tree was different.  This tree did not bear fruit – it was barren – there was barely a leaf on any of its branches.  Instead of a sense of peace, I felt darkness.  The tree was like a parasite of the earth, taking everything and providing nothing.  Worse than nothing, it gave off an energy of repulsion, I sensed that it wanted to be left alone.  I did not like the feeling it gave me, but I could not look away. 

As a man brought up in the disciplines of science, deduction, and critical thinking, I reasoned that the tree must have evolved over the millennia to be covered in thorns as a method of defense so as not to be disturbed by any animals eating or messing with its seed or its bark.   The thorns were meant to protect itself, and to discourage visitors.  Certainly, it discouraged me.  As much as I stared at the tree, I certainly had no desire to touch it.  Yet, strangely, as if in a trance, I continued to stare, and dare I say I approached just a tad bit closer. 

And then, as I stood there, looking high at its uppermost branches, I noticed a flicker of movement.    A tiny bird, I saw, was prancing on the upper branches, hopping this way and that, its little feet the perfect size to fit in between the thorns of the tree.  And then suddenly, my eyes picked up more movement.  I realized then, that there was a family of birds up there, flitting around between the various little branches, chirping away, seemingly happy and filled with life.  It was by looking at these upper branches where the birds stood and which, in contrast to the lower ones, were bathed in plenty of sunlight, that the tree was in fact a light grey color, almost white - not the black that I had originally noticed in the shade.    

As if that very sunlight had illuminated my own brain, it occurred to me then, that the tree had chosen this for itself.  It – or should I say its ancestors before it - must have suffered for so long that they evolved over millennia to grow their protective thorns.  This history of pain then, must have been passed down to the already ancient tree which stood before me, through no fault of its own.  I thought to myself then, that in a way, maybe trees and people are not so different.  No matter how different we may seem now, as we are all beings bred of this Earth, did we not have a common ancestor at some point, countless eons ago?  Imagine, how painful it must be, to be forced to grow thorns in order to protect oneself. 

At this realization, my heart melted a little.  As I stared at the tree now, in this new light, I was filled with a sense of loneliness.  And then sheepishly, my attention turned inward and I thought of all of the thorns that I had sprouted deep within me, and I wondered if I was not out in the jungle - in solitude - for a rather similar reason? 

It was then, with the coming of twilight, that the last rays of sun angled their way past the thick array of trees that surrounded me and illuminated the pathway home and thus the trance was broken.  I turned and looked at Nalu - his tail was wagging excitedly, and his head was looking back at me eagerly over his shoulder, questioning me as to when we would be hitting the road towards home again.  I started towards Nalu and the road home, hurrying as the light was fading.  Just as the tree was about to disappear from view however, I shot one final glance back at it.  The birds were chirping now, and the tree looked less alone with its family of birds nesting in its branches.  Although they may have arrived unwanted, that did not stop the birds from settling down and making a home out of a perfectly good tree - as friends sometimes do.  And, as I looked now I thought, “oh how those little birds gave life to such a depressive tree!”

And with that, Nalu and I took off hurriedly for home, our minds quickly devoid of any thoughts of strange trees, concerned only with what we were going to be having that evening for supper.    

** FIN **

Interestingly enough, it is said that when the kapok tree matures, it sheds its thorns.