Fishing and Philosophy

Turquoise waters greet us as we arrive at Patric’s semi-secret fishing spot. We leave our bikes and cross open grass to avoid the hot stone paths. On a rise behind us two ginormous Hindu deities strike dramatic poses, their bluish skin made from painted bronze.

We cross a helicopter platform where puddles of rainwater makes the stone surface slippery traps for inattentive tourists. We gather speed and sprint over it, sliding through the pools sending droplets flying, while to the side an older German gentleman is preforming a dance like Bambi on the ice and cursing like a sailor.

Through a hidden path between big leaved trees and we exit onto a cliff. The stone under our feet is made of ancient lava rock, shaped like bubbles frozen upon bursting and we tread tenderly. Ahead on the ridge, Indonesian men stand widely spaced, each with a fishing rod in his hand. They look at us and we nod in the internationally accepted term for friendly salutation. From my backpack we grab our snorkeling gear and carefully make our way down to the where waves wash ashore. Cleaning out the toothpaste from our scuba masks in the salt water (pro tip right there).

I stand in the swell and let waves wash over my feet, the water is warm and the current strong. I look out upon the endless blue and think of the what lies beneath the surface. Barely ankle deep, still I feel it pulling me, beckoning. Not just the pull of tidal forces but the urge that drove men to explore, long before these lands were settled. A lusting for the unknown.

I draw breath and dive into the ocean.

Underneath the surface everything is still, or rather everything is in motion, but it is a slow and rolling motion, back and forth, back and forth, unending ever-changing. The only sounds are the muffled swirl of rolling waters and a the trickling tumble of moving sands.

I walk on my hands in the shallows, the stones are here covered with mossy slippery algae but still sharp enough to cut in places. One of the stones moves by its own volition, it is a tiny crab, covered in algae and perfectly camouflaged against the stones.

Further out the ocean floor is cracked through with rifts where brightly colored fishes, fleet and flutter through flickering rays of sunlight. Patric shows up beside me, wearing flippers and a harpoon gun. I see him draw breath and dive towards the bottom, nose squeezed to even out the pressure. Rainbow striped fins flutter nervously as he lays down in the middle of a rift, searching the the sides of the small canyon. A drawn out moment of waiting. Bubbles rise towards the surface.

Then a jolt, a flash of metal, and a fish is struggling for its life at the end of the harpoon.

We meet at the surface, he shows me the catch.

“Parrot fish.” He tells me. “Look at the colors, this one has to be quite old.” Its blue green scales are covered with dark stripes. The spear piercing it looks quite gruesome, but such is life, a fragile thing full of blood and organs easily ruptured. Death is everywhere, everything kills to survive. It is a part of the karmic cycle, the natural order of the universe. Whether you kill plantae or animalia, something has to end in order for you to continue.

That is just how it is.

This is what I think of as I swim around, exploring the bay on my own. Something near the surface catches my attention. It is a coiled snakeskin floating on the currents

Both revered and feared, snakes are viewed as sacred animals in Hinduism. The shedding of their skin is a symbol of renewal and rebirth. And as I write this, now some two weeks later about go fishing once more, and after having shed my own skin to the tropical sun, part of me does no longer feel like the same person who got the plane in the beginning of October. So much has changed, so much has happened. The traffic no longer feel as chaotic, the sun is not as blazing as it used to be. I’ve fallen in and out of love, just a little dip. I’ve ridden the ocean and made out with models. Blunders and little glories, lessons all.

One of the perks of traveling, I guess.

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.”

Heraclitus

You can try your hardest to remain within your comfort zone, but none of us will stay the same forever, if nothing else we grow older and we die. None of us are under any obligation whatsoever to remain the same person we were a year, a week or even a minute ago.

We can change whenever we decide to. Just by letting go of what we cling to.

New haircut, new country, new people - new life. If you take away all that used to define you then all that you are is what you choose to become.

“You can’t...” You won’t...” “You’ll never dare...”

Do not listen to the words you tell yourself, especially when you are sad and lonely.

You are capable of so much more than you have yet had time to learn!

So take a chance and run with it.

Leap of faith - have fun with it.

Play and fall and play again

That which breaks you, makes you, in the end

So break your mind-frame, break the game.

Shake your worldview, shake the pain.

Reclaim your life, remake your name.

The world is yours to make again.

Do something you never thought you’d dare to do.

Try something they said were ‘not for you’.

And you might become someone completely new.

That if you never tried… you never knew.

Good night world, I'll see you tomorrow!