This Is My Rifle: Finding Heaven in Hawaii Posted by Jason James on 09/04/13 | Filed under Opinion, This Is My Rifle

Right now I’m standing on the shore of Kahe Point in West Oahu, Hawaii staring out into the ocean- a facemask and snorkel dangling from my right hand. I don’t like snorkeling in open water - not without a knife. My girlfriend looks over at me and says, “Well, what do you think? Should we do it?”. At this very moment I’m unsure of myself. I know about the ocean and I know that warm water attracts fish, which also attracts sharks.

A man in his 40s walks over to me and can see that I am concerned. “You can’t be scared”, he says, “I’ve been coming out here for 8 years and I’ve never encountered a shark. It’s one of those things that you want to see but you don’t want to see, you know?”. I let out a tense bit of laughter and watch as massive waves come crashing into the cove. I look at this talkative man from Sacramento and say, “It’s not just the sharks that I’m worried about, it’s also the current. My girlfriend isn’t the strongest swimmer and these waves are picking up momentum. If you know of an area where the current settles we’ll follow you out, but otherwise I don’t think it’s a good idea”.

We leave the shore and end up 150 yards away from the island. The water is empty today; the snorkeling tours have left and now it’s just myself, my girlfriend, Jim from Sacramento and another young couple cutting through the crystal blue abyss. We find a stream of warm current- runoff from a nearby power plant- and we are suddenly surrounded by thousands of fish.

I dive down through the stream and feel as if I’m falling upwards through a second skyline. The fish are a multitude of colors, like bright snowflakes drifting past me completely unaware of the intruder in their midst. Some stop to get a look at me, while others swim by, almost unimpressed by the foreign invader. I would stay here forever if I could. I would never write another word for the rest of my life if I could live in this parallel universe eternally exploring new domains, until I eventually come face to face with a man-eating predator and fate inevitably lays it’s hands upon me.

I can hear the clicks and whistles in the water. We all stop and float in suspended animation for what seems like an hour. They’re getting closer. I poke my head above the surface and see the dorsal fins - dolphins. While Jim from Sacramento is adamant about swimming further out to get a closer look, I am content just listening. For some odd reason it’s more interesting to me to listen than to interact with them. Their language is fascinating and feels like children on Christmas morning. The vibration moving through the water is putting me at ease; the clicks and whistles like torpedoes slamming into me and filling me with peace.

A few hours later and I’m floating on the surface of the ocean at Waikiki Beach staring back at the shoreline littered with hotels and tourists. The most sound investment of this trip - a neon air mattress that lays underneath me like a three-dollar plastic throne for an aquatic king. My mind is flat. Typically in these moments my thoughts rage inside of my head- various topics picked apart to become songs or articles- but not now. I am content just laying here under the sun. I am not critical here, I am accepting. I am not analyzing the fine details, but rather observing them as a whole.

Turtles pop their heads up from the ocean depths and catch a few seconds of fresh air. It’s fascinating to watch them. Slow and powerful, they glide through the water close enough for humans to see them. I imagine that this is their way of connecting with us. They are gigantic and graceful, swimming past us as if knowing that their presence alone brings joy to onlookers. I’m startled when surfaces from underneath me, but I force my hand onto his shell. He slows down and allows me to feel the grooves in my palm. This is an incredible experience. I’m awake but this may be the closest I’ve ever come to bridging the conscious and unconscious worlds together. My reality is clear but fragmented. The colors are brighter than they’ve ever been and the air is smooth as a light breeze wraps around me. If I am indeed awake, then I am absolutely positive I am a member of a larger dream. A player on a stage set inside the mind of a sleeping god.

At nighttime we weave through the main strip in Waikiki. Thousands of tourists shuffle in and out of shops searching for a memento of their time here in heaven. But instead of floral shirts and hand crafted ukulele’s- they opt for pricier possessions. The street is aligned with brand names- Dior, Prada, Coach- and the cynic inside of me scoffs at it. But I am not here for that. I have been granted a week in paradise and I have vowed to be indifferent. If these products will represent a nugget of truth upon their return to the mousetrap in whatever country they reside, then so be it.

The street is alive with a magnetic pulse of happiness. It hums with the sounds of performers and artists eager to draw a few dollars from each passerby. The locals are warm and friendly and greet me with kindness. I am a large man with hard features. I have a muscular build and a weathered face from years of living beyond the boundaries of normality. I am confident and unafraid, but only because I have been severely beaten. I have lost more than I have won and I have fought more than I have walked away.

In my daily life these features that make my physical appearance generally deter people from introducing themselves or getting to know me, but not here. Here I am viewed as a unique individual and I often find myself engaged in conversation with waiters, retail workers, taxi drivers and doormen. Perhaps they have been instructed by the corporate authority to chat up the tourists and to create a friendly atmosphere, but once again I refuse to be critical. Their warmth and generosity feels genuine and I am more than willing to oblige them. These people are unapologetically human, with their own stories to tell, and I am enthralled by their honesty. Even if they are pushing through pain and sadness with smiles and laughter in order to make me feel comfortable, I am grateful for their sacrifice.

On the flight home I’m still high from the vibrations of the island. I listen to Pink Floyd on my iPod and close my eyes. I can still smell the mixture of ocean, sand and perfume that illuminates the beauty of Hawaii. As the plane lands and we arrive back in Vancouver, my body still feels like it’s bobbing up and down on the ocean’s surface- the waves have left a permanent imprint on my nervous system.

That night I walk around and get back in touch with my city. It feels cold and empty. The pulse of happiness is not here and the brilliant hum of Waikiki is half a world away. I am no longer met with warmth and kindness, and as the piercing eyes of misery shoot back towards me from people I pass on the street, my old wounds open again. I stare back into their eyes and they cower. I know all about them- sheep in wolves’ clothing. They are ferocious when feared and docile when challenged. They are the sons and daughters of dreamers- people who built Vancouver into one of the most beautiful cities on Earth but forgot to instill in their children the value of living in such a place.

So here I am, at square one and working to get back to my island. Hopefully I get there sooner rather than later.

(Jason James is an artist, freelance columnist and writer for RefinedHype.com. You can read/download his free eBook, "This Is My Rifle" and listen/download his most recent album, "Pyramids in Stereo". You can also contact him here and here.)