The ocean roars around me, and the black sky fills with more stars than I've ever seen at sea level. I drop to my knees and fall back onto the sand. Jupiter, Antares, Scorpio--the only identifiable objects I can see in any direction. I close my eyes and sink deeper and deeper into the sound, into space, into a void so empty and so dark all I sense is the mystery that is all around me and within me, always.
During my first week on Borneo, I lapsed into what I can only describe as a mix of separation anxiety from my little Thai island home and an out-of-body experience gone wrong in which I failed to fully exit or re-enter my body properly. In other words, I felt weird. And it didn't help that my bunk mate had gone missing.
Kota Kinabalu is a grungy little port town, an entry point to Sabah, Malaysia on Northeastern Borneo. It's not the sort of place you'd want to get stuck in too long. Before Carla had gone missing, she kept telling me these stories about Filipino pirate kidnappings and clandestine wanderers. With each passing day that first week, it was as though I was falling down a well of wicked illness and nightmares--one that you don't so much crawl out of, but just keep falling through until you end up somewhere else.
One foot in front of the other, I walk steadily across the narrow suspension bridge 43 meters (nearly 150 feet) up in the jungle canopy. I've never seen so many shades of green, all glistening from the sprinkling rain. I've never breathed such clean, clear air. Being in the thick of the jungle is like slipping through a portal to another world. Like stepping out of time, you simply don't exist anywhere anymore.
Mid-July, Yolande calls and gives me the weather report. I'm not one to put much faith into how astrological events impact my life. I'd like to think I have the power to override these celestial influences, but when she told me about the insanity happening in the July skies, I embraced it. That explains a lot, I heard my voice say. After we said our goodbyes, I closed my eyes and fell into a delirious, restless sleep.
The Klias River--where magic and mystery collide. The boat glides down the river and passes a half sunken ship and abandoned river huts. The sun sets and the sky darkens. Fireflies blink and a deafening silence fills the air. What is it about rivers that flow through jungles that is so eerily magical and unreal? Stories hide in the jungle, and if you listen close enough, they will tell you their secrets.
I re-watch part 4 of the Ring of Fire documentary--the one in which the Blair brothers trek 800 miles across Indonesian Borneo in search of a nomadic tribe no one was sure still existed. They took off into the jungle, into an area of the island unmarked on any map, that not even their native guides had covered. How exactly would they find a nomadic tribe trekking blindly into unknown, uncharted territory?
Dream wandering, one of the guides told them--the dream wanderer can travel beyond the body, see with different eyes the way to scattered members of their tribe. And sure enough, one morning the guide announced he'd found the tribe through his dream wandering and was able to lead their group straight to them in two days time. Something had happened to us...we could discard our useless chart and wander freely into the blank spaces beyond the known world.
One would think after my experience in Laos I wouldn't be too keen to hop on a motorbike and drive through a country I'm not familiar with at all. But I also know that my greatest experiences (for better or worse) come from flinging myself into the world wholeheartedly, following my curiosity, and never losing trust.
Tampat Do Aman means place of peace, I was told when I arrived at my destination, the northern most tip of Borneo. And like in the jungle canopy, I slipped out of time and place. The longhouses and huts, the preservation of the land, the clear sea, the breathable air, the otherworldly magic shrouded in mystery. The roaring ocean, the dark, empty void, my body lying in the sand staring at the star filled sky. Like the Blair brothers, I found something I didn't think still existed. I found it by wandering into the blank spaces beyond the known world.
Look around you and within you--what do you see, what do you sense? Are you able to tap into the mystery, those blank spaces beyond the known world? Tell me your stories.
Oh, and as for Carla....turns out she wasn't missing after all. We just kept missing each other coming and going. On her last full day, we island hopped. We ziplined from Gaya to Sapi and swam about the shallow waters of Mamutik. But when it came time to catch the last boat back to Borneo for the day, she was no where to be found...
During my first week on Borneo, I lapsed into what I can only describe as a mix of separation anxiety from my little Thai island home and an out-of-body experience gone wrong in which I failed to fully exit or re-enter my body properly. In other words, I felt weird. And it didn't help that my bunk mate had gone missing.
Kota Kinabalu is a grungy little port town, an entry point to Sabah, Malaysia on Northeastern Borneo. It's not the sort of place you'd want to get stuck in too long. Before Carla had gone missing, she kept telling me these stories about Filipino pirate kidnappings and clandestine wanderers. With each passing day that first week, it was as though I was falling down a well of wicked illness and nightmares--one that you don't so much crawl out of, but just keep falling through until you end up somewhere else.
One foot in front of the other, I walk steadily across the narrow suspension bridge 43 meters (nearly 150 feet) up in the jungle canopy. I've never seen so many shades of green, all glistening from the sprinkling rain. I've never breathed such clean, clear air. Being in the thick of the jungle is like slipping through a portal to another world. Like stepping out of time, you simply don't exist anywhere anymore.
Mid-July, Yolande calls and gives me the weather report. I'm not one to put much faith into how astrological events impact my life. I'd like to think I have the power to override these celestial influences, but when she told me about the insanity happening in the July skies, I embraced it. That explains a lot, I heard my voice say. After we said our goodbyes, I closed my eyes and fell into a delirious, restless sleep.
The Klias River--where magic and mystery collide. The boat glides down the river and passes a half sunken ship and abandoned river huts. The sun sets and the sky darkens. Fireflies blink and a deafening silence fills the air. What is it about rivers that flow through jungles that is so eerily magical and unreal? Stories hide in the jungle, and if you listen close enough, they will tell you their secrets.
I re-watch part 4 of the Ring of Fire documentary--the one in which the Blair brothers trek 800 miles across Indonesian Borneo in search of a nomadic tribe no one was sure still existed. They took off into the jungle, into an area of the island unmarked on any map, that not even their native guides had covered. How exactly would they find a nomadic tribe trekking blindly into unknown, uncharted territory?
Dream wandering, one of the guides told them--the dream wanderer can travel beyond the body, see with different eyes the way to scattered members of their tribe. And sure enough, one morning the guide announced he'd found the tribe through his dream wandering and was able to lead their group straight to them in two days time. Something had happened to us...we could discard our useless chart and wander freely into the blank spaces beyond the known world.
One would think after my experience in Laos I wouldn't be too keen to hop on a motorbike and drive through a country I'm not familiar with at all. But I also know that my greatest experiences (for better or worse) come from flinging myself into the world wholeheartedly, following my curiosity, and never losing trust.
Tampat Do Aman means place of peace, I was told when I arrived at my destination, the northern most tip of Borneo. And like in the jungle canopy, I slipped out of time and place. The longhouses and huts, the preservation of the land, the clear sea, the breathable air, the otherworldly magic shrouded in mystery. The roaring ocean, the dark, empty void, my body lying in the sand staring at the star filled sky. Like the Blair brothers, I found something I didn't think still existed. I found it by wandering into the blank spaces beyond the known world.
Look around you and within you--what do you see, what do you sense? Are you able to tap into the mystery, those blank spaces beyond the known world? Tell me your stories.
Oh, and as for Carla....turns out she wasn't missing after all. We just kept missing each other coming and going. On her last full day, we island hopped. We ziplined from Gaya to Sapi and swam about the shallow waters of Mamutik. But when it came time to catch the last boat back to Borneo for the day, she was no where to be found...
