I arrived in darkness.
This sounds like a metaphor embodying the reasons for this journey to Fiji I have taken alone.
Warm wet darkness cloaked me, driving rain against my face, clothes soaking up the rivulets, as the tin punt sped along an unknown river in an unpopulated corner of Fiji. I was a world away from my expectations and I realised with a jolt that no one actually knew where I was. What was I expecting? I wondered wryly to myself. Tropical paradise? Other people? Fine weather? I don’t know…. But not this!
We had travelled over an hour of dark winding roads away from Nadi where the plane had landed and civilisation departed. We - myself and the corpulent overflowing taxi driver (at least I can outrun him - the thought sat in the back of my animal mind) - had arrived down a gravel road where the taxi driver had unceremoniously shovelled me out into the rain and darkness onto a riverbank bereft of human habitation. Ummm…..I vacillated reluctantly in the car doorway. Suddenly this known human quantity had become safer than the next unknown step into darkness.
‘They pick you up here’ he said, as he drove off, taking with him nearly all of the cash I had exchanged. Right. Of course they do.
Two big dark men appeared from the inky blackness, one climbing down from a perch somewhere and another as if by magic. One of them pointed down a rickety walkway, little more than a plank, onto a dubious looking tinny pulled up alongside the riverbank, the other took my suitcase from my hands. Their faces blended into the darkness and I could make out very little expression. I briefly contemplated not putting myself on a boat alone with these strangers and then realised I had absolutely nowhere to run to anyway. I didn’t really want to sleep alone in the jungle in the rain. I boarded like a lamb surrendered to its fate. I was not in control of this unfolding situation and there was nothing I could do about it. Strangely, as soon as this thought arrived my body unwound and I let something go. I relaxed into the moment, I had to trust the Universe; there was no other choice. A sense of adventure swelled inside me and I felt a smile begin to form on my heart. Were my lessons beginning already? Alright then, I was a willing pupil.
The air on the river was thick with warmth and rain, the sound of the engine wrapping each by necessity into their own thoughts. No lights, no moon, just moisture crowding in through the clear plastic sides designed to prevent the tourist from discomfort. It did not work. The skipper couldn’t see a thing along the surface of the river. I know this because I have near perfect vision, and I couldn’t see anything; not a ripple glistening on the water, not a reflective navigation buoy. I had no idea my journey to arrive in a place of silence for my soul would entail this flight from the lights and comforts of crowding humanity. On reflection it seems poetic. In the moment I was acutely aware that I was a boat, somewhere on a dark river in the driving rain, with two big black men scowling against the onslaught of the weather, and not another soul in sight. Not even the lights of domesticity along the river banks. Just the dark shadows of mangroves; the only indication of the vessels route was the complete absence of light at the edges of the watery path ahead.
And so I arrived in darkness dripping wet, and in the grand finale of the flight from my everyday life, I was made barefoot to disembark into water, to the tiny island where I would spend the next nine days. More and more this arrival feels poetic, a rebirth, wet and barefooted, stripped of comfort and control. I am here to go inside myself and find treasure. Nuggets of gold, or joy, or ideas or realisations, I am not sure what I will uncover. Feet on yellow sand, small and now soaked suitcase in hand, fuzzy haired angels greeting Bula! Bula! From the darkness. I had arrived.
The bure (boo-ray), a thatched hut beneath the coconut palms, had the bare basics. A bed, a sheet, flyscreens on the louvers (a necessity for people like me whose scent seem to attract mosquitos from far and wide to dine on sweet blood), a powerpoint to charge my writing brick (computer) and my audiobook device (phone) both redundant of any other function in the absence of network connectivity.
After a circle about my lodgings like a curling cat, I wandered towards an eclectic gathering of people in the semi-darkness. There was a rock reggae beat and several island men moving to the rhythm. Their hands were busy plunging and wringing a wet white substance into bowls. A few bedraggled people who at first appearance might be lodge guests were sitting around watching them. A half coconut bowl was being passed around at intervals by the wringing men at the centre and the recipient would throw back the liquid inside and hand the bowl back. There was an air of solemnity and ceremony about the process. I joined the fringes of activity and was made welcome by a family who confirmed this was an informal kava ceremony and the local men had been at it most of the day. It was Diwali, festival of lights, a public holiday and the men were making, drinking and sharing kava.
In turn the coconut was handed to me. Dirty root-water assaulted my mouth and nostrils. The texture was powdered vegetable, the water like dishwater, muddy and whitely opaque the alcohol** slapped the back of my nose and throat with burning sensation. An almost anise aftertaste played around the edges of my mouth and tongue, both at first swamped in sensation and then becoming almost numb. It reminded me of chewing coca leaves in the Peruvian Andes. I did not feel the heady mindlessness of alcohol following the mouthfuls, but a warm chilling and dreaming.
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As I record this arrival it is the following day. I am seated on a deckchair facing the eerily calm water. The rain of last night has become low foggy cloud and the air hangs warm about the island as though jagged on the tall coconut palms whose roots must surely hold this sandy bank of an island together. The surface of the water is shiny and unbroken. It is as though the island is completely asleep. There are few people, no activity and no movement anywhere. The stillness of the world around me seems the perfect environment in which to dig into my darkest self and find the gems that I know exist. To uncover and heal old wounds, to rediscover and let go of the trauma I have patched over at busy times in order to just go on.
It is time. It is time to let go of all the people, things and circumstances that do not serve my exploding forward in joy and abundance. It is time to release resistance to stepping into my greater good, uncovering my gifts, and to discover the ways I can serve the world. It is time to write, to grow, and to let go.
I am not entirely without a toolkit. I have removed myself to this remote location with deliberation in the knowledge that if I create the space and pose the correct questions the answers will flow into my consciousness. I know that if I use this space to set up positive habits for my body and mind I will reap the creative rewards.
Habit number 1. I will practise gratitude every day. Here is today.
I am grateful for;
- Creating this space to go into myself to discover buried treasure.
- For this beautiful white flower at my feet, waving ephemeral stamens at me, like an underwater goddess. I don’t know what it is…but it is beautiful.
- The ideas already flowing into my mind as I sit in stillness.
- The support of Stephen in this part of my journey. His encouragement and enthusiasm for my growth and discovery, his willingness to bear the full parenting journey with me. His unconditional and ceaseless support for everything that is me.
**(I have subsequently learned that there is absolutely no alcohol or fermentation process in Kava. It is simply the powdered root of the pepper kava plant mixed with water and can have depressant physiological effects when taken in sufficient quantity. It is known to have anti-anxiety qualities and to aid in sound sleep.)