Here in Maui nearly a month, and difficult to generate any impetus to create something other out of the bubble of suburban comfort, experiential paradise in the outer and inner realms: loving relationship, nurturing warm ocean and air, sunshine and earth, ample drumming and social opportunities, fresh local organic food, time to work on paying jobs and our own projects. The first week, true, posed challenges settling in. We had to futz with furniture arrangement, household supplies, wireless upgrades, computer glitches, phone plan options, car registration, assorted errands in mall-ville. On the fun side of daily life we've been reacquainting ourselves with familiar places and people: sampling beaches with good snorkeling, taking walks on our neighborhood streets interlaced with golf fairways, attending zikr, kirtan, and 5-rhythms dance, and playing drums and percussion at drum classes, dance classes, beach jams, house jams, jungle jams.
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Rising out of this swell of material contentment is an inner thriving, yet striving to create more, a reaching out and connecting to glimpse a bigger picture, at risk of contamination by endless conspiracy and unraveling, threats to peace and well-being, real or imagined. At every point of input is a questioning, a partial truth with another truth on its darker side, or a lighter truth hidden by the walls of projection. There is a risk of sheer reactivity, of responding in kind, of feeding polarity by leaning on one side or the other. Equanimity holds the balance, either with a balanced, classic "liberal" view, or a radical vision beyond dualistic assertions competing for attention.
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The natural world serves as the testing ground for what is real: flowing currents, blowing breezes, burning sun, lava and coral, with its attendant life forms that judge our actions as valid or remote by sheer comparison. Last week we were escorted in turn by a couple of turtles for an extended swim along the coral: one turning suddenly to eye us face to face; the other, a six-foot giant, content to match us stroke for stroke for a full half and hour. Today the turtle that appeared out of "nowhere" under our plasticked noses lay mute and stone-still on the bottom, nestled in a trough of old coral, only blinking to signal its questionable hold on life. Was it poisoned, injured, dying? Scared, or bored? Or just napping, extending the long moment before its next brief breath? What story unfolded that eluded our imagining utterly? On the sign to the beach was depicted a cute couple lounging on the sand: monk seal with flipper on the leathery turtle by its side. So, missing that lost love? 
In other news, we hear the revolution is afoot. Monday will reveal its truth or fantasy, forewarning or false lead. Or radiation about to bloom, sending us all to doom. Or, ascension at hand, holographic transformation an act of divine will. Or, more of the same mass diet of concocted terror, machination and mounting control, the mad dreams of a dying elite. Or, back to the basics of suburban life, outfitting the kitchen, walking the dog. Or, greeting the new sun each day with a smile, stretching the body under its unbending rays of glory.
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The beauty is, there is considerable choice in the channel to tune to, the show to create. One, two, a network and multitude at a time. At the speed of coral, turtle or seal, flower or sunset, slow shared meal.
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