He had been present. That was the summary of it all. He WAS there. Nowhere else. His mind, WAS there. At that beach. And he knew, objectively, that he took on more than he could chew. Regardless, a pinnacle reached. No voices. No sounds. No distractions. Just the ever present arrival and retreat of ocean waves. The light of moon. The night of beach.
Incredible temptation to continue. As far as he knew, it was lust, to be on his knees, on the beach, with the warm caribbean ocean water, and the sand covering his skin. Lust, not felt in years! Not from a touch, not from sight, not from anything. The purest source, like the last leaf falling on Autumn from the trees, and this water feeling like the tremor the ground feels when the leaf hits the ground, finally, announcing, a new era.
At the age of 27, naked. Pure. Unusual. No shirt. No shorts. Nothing. The lightness of the night. And the fading bar light. Aroused by palm trees, four of them, the Army of Four. Unacceptably insane. But without apologies.
The wind felt his testicles. His inner thighs. Pressed to particles of outdoors, to air carrying random ocean drops to his legs. Life suddenly became manageable, clear, simple. Life became common place. And clear. "How ridiculous, these are precisely the gates that mind opens. The meticulous, ever present, self-analysis, requiring you to tall standards. Well, today, you are not invited, but you still keep coming". There was something about that night being about water, ocean, moon, night, silence, and music, and libations. And nothing else.
But he failed. Centuries went by his mind. He decided to dress. He was completely distracted. Everything understood, was gone. It all took flight. And as he dressed and looked up, the palm trees had no answer. He should have taken care of himself. There. Right then. But did not.
******
The next morning, X rose. The air outside felt fresh, the ocean smelled. The morning breeze of the island felt like an extension of his breathe descending the stairs to his balcony, he looked at the ocean ahead. The ocean a reminder of his brief and failed encounter. The night before. His walk of gain. He was dumped and observed and humiliated by trees. They allowed him to walk back alone. They did not make an effort to stop him. They did not talk back. He still wondered what he was supposed to do now?
A cup of tea rested on the table in front of him. He stopped drinking coffee for an entire year. On his way to the ocean, he stopped at the village's downtown. Roughly about 80 households and 2000 inhabitants. In 3 days, he felt, they all knew him. "A few more days," X thought, "they are mine too" Tea in the coast always felt a tad strange to him. Warm drinks and beach did not mix. Tea, behin a British induction (according to him) felt terribly aristocrathic for this kind of primitivism. He abandoned it, he looked, at the street in front, without really looking at it. He was back on the motorino, on his way out to the airport.
X's inner monologue went like this:
"The motorcycle under my body, between my thighs, reminds me of my grand performance last night. Four poor innocent palm trees got the best of me. How strange it was that I suddenly started asking a question like that: "What am I supposed to do now" First, why am I asking this? And second, why am I asking it to palm trees? It is very dramatic of me indeed. And now, why is all this a problem. And why is it seminal to whatever I am doing now. Why does it matter at all? Is it the "now" in the statement that matters? Everything else, I understand, but the "now" could only mean two things:
1. that something important took place recently, something changing, that requires something unique
2. that something, anything, took place and I simply do not know how to deal with it
On this motorcyle, I know, the "now" and what it is all about. I have met someone. And I have given way to letting myself out. Enough of the secrecy. The crap. The double life. Reaching the beach was the conclusion of my own "revolutionary process" - of claiming myself, back, like an animal, to feel instinctive, effortlessly light, and fine with it all. There was a now because a lot was understood, and accepted."
He got on a boat and floated on it. To the dark blue sea. He got on a private plane. Later that day, he sunk 30 meters into the ocean.
