Aitutaki, Cook Islands
by David K. Johnson
On August 31, 2001, I flew to Aitutaki for a one week stay in the only house on One Foot island (the small island just to the right of center in the picture below).
From the lower deck of the house I had this view of the lagoon, looking to the northwest -
And this view looking towards the northeast -
Lessons from Aitutaki
At first I resisted this place and its primal beauty. I chose the safety of the beach. The next day (Sunday, our day of privacy and solitude) I chose to venture out.
After I clumsily snorkeled across a deep channel ("deep" is anything over 4 or 5 feet) to the adjacent Motu I began to improve my form in the water and my use of the swim fins. Then I waded towards the reef, where I snorkeled. As I became more comfortable in the water I began to observe different things - lessons of life and nature.
There is beauty in every environment. To experience it, you must enter that environment, you must live it. It's not sufficient to be a bystander, to watch from the outside. Only by diving in does one see the beauty as nature intends.
The other discovery related to snorkeling is that most of our own limitations are self-imposed. These limitations are insidious because they result in irrational fear. My high school classmate Deanne drowned in the ocean a few weeks before graduation. Graduation ceremonies were preceded by a funeral. Joy and sadness, the beginning of adult life and the end of life intermingled. To avoid Deanne's fate I must avoid deep water, especially the ocean. My limitation was firmly set and would last for 40 years, until Aitutaki. Even now I mentally struggle each time I enter the water, but I know this fear is one I created.
Another lesson occurred to me while I sat in the water feeding bread crumbs to several varieties of fish. One variety is nearly transparent in the water. At first one sees their shadow on the lagoon floor. It takes a moment to see the fish themselves. I think people are like that. We see and know only the shadow they create. It takes more effort to know the person, effort we rarely invest. As a result, we rarely know people.
Feeding fish, or feeding the mind, requires several ingredients. The location must be conducive, you must have food, and you must be patient. Once the feeding starts it is as though nothing else matters. First one or two fish nibble, then a few more, and then a frenzy of fish come to you. Knowledge works the same way. First a little, then a desire for more, and then a frenzy of neural activity. Feeding the stomach or feeding the mind - it's the same process.
Color,
Form, Shadow and M
Aitutaki is a continuous celebration of the interplay of these basic visual elements. No two days or nights have been the same. Light always dances on the ripples in the lagoon. But the "jungle" and the beach take on extraordinarily different characters as they subtly change color, as shadows form and disappear, as motion begins and stillness settles in, as the water rises to consume the sand and then slowly, gently gives it back.
It's impossible to think about motion without thinking about the crabs. In some places the beach is in constant motion as hundreds of tiny crabs move their adopted shells about. Most of the time there seems to be little logic to their march across the sand. Are they moving towards the lagoon or away? They only stop when the giants (people) appear, and their shell offers a place to hide.
Today I discovered something extraordinary - a bush filled with crabs! Every branch held several crabs in their shells. How did they climb into this bush - and why? What does it offer that the beach or the lagoon don't? A better view of the stars?
Sunset, Moonrise and Rain
On September 3 I sat on the beach at the west end of One Foot to witness another beautiful sunset. The few clouds turned the traditional orange and purple as the round orange ball slowly disappeared over the lagoon.
About an hour later (I'm guessing, since my watch quit working on the flight from Los Angeles, and I could care less!) I moved towards the east end of One Foot. As I poured a nice Australian Cabernet-Merlot blend wine a full moon began its ascent from behind the adjacent island. It was spectacular! It seemed as bright as the sun that had set earlier, only its color was pure white. The sun and the moon each took turns ruling Aitutaki with their light (with a respectful period of darkness in between).
On Tuesday I saw this paradise during the rain. Leaves glistened with drops of pure water. I placed several pots and other containers out to catch the drops. The two large water tanks behind the house also collected water for the first time in several months. Perhaps now the toilet will flush without manually filling the tank. Perhaps, just perhaps, a shower will be possible! (I have been bathing in the lagoon, and then doing a short rinse with fresh water from a barrel.)
No Shirt, No Shoes - No Service
Since my arrival on One Foot I have not worn shirts, shoes, socks or underwear (well, okay, a T-shirt on a couple cool evenings and sneakers for walks around the island due to some stretches of broken coral on the beach). Shredding traditional clothing and traditional thinking, that's one beauty of this place. Somehow the things which are most important (joy, love, peace) are easier to express and to recognize when "tradition" is set aside for a few days. Obviously the change in clothing is simpler here at this time of the year than it would be in Fairbanks in January. But the key, I believe, is to set aside "tradition", both in symbols and in thoughts. One has to go well past their comfort zone to open the mind and free the spirit. (David, wearing a skimpy "parea" or walking naked on the beach - Never! No way! Forget it! Well, maybe. FREEDOM! Do I have to put something on?)
For me this has been a journey into my own mind, a reawakening of thought, a realization of possibilities. I have saturated my mind.
Copyright 2001