Paradigm of Paradise

Over the summer, I embarked on my first trip out of the country--ever. I was flown with my boyfriend and his family in a small commercial plane to the island of St. Thomas, one of the U.S. Virgin Islands.

http://www.google.com/imgres?um=1&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=643&tbm=isch&tbnid=H4xANULk4or-1M:&imgrefurl=
http://www.marolanga.ws/islands.htm&docid=Va9Hryhe7ijVdM&imgurl=http://www.marolanga.ws/islands-map.jpg&w=445&h=323&ei=hmKHUNjvHYGg8gT3h4D4Bw&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=179&vpy=339&dur=126&hovh=191&hovw=
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This HooDoo VooDoo (Mumbo Jumbo) island enchanted me. It was almost haunting.
The island itself was rather poor, open air markets littered the streets--and how the tourists flocked, myself included. The people were, for the most part, destitute. And I loved it. Suddenly, I found myself day-dreaming about my life on the island. I would walk around the downtown area, scoping out eclectic artifacts from the open air markets. I would ride my bike around (but avoid riding down the ridiculously high and steep hills because I'm a pansy). I would live in a cute, little run-down home on the mountain side, maybe own a small car. I would have pets to run around my house and yard. I would haunt the local restaurants, bars, island social locales, etc. Island life wouldn't just be a part of me, I'd be a part of it too. This place was my paradigm of paradise.

I have never been inclined towards money. I don't desire a lux life. I want to work hard for everything I have, but I don't care for the money other than being able to pay my bills. I'm more people oriented, and I find that the less monetarily fortunate communities tend to be the most social and function like a large family--because they actually care. I find the the more money you possess, the more you become attached to it so that you want to save more to buy yourself nice things--in reward for all of your hard work, you did make that money--instead of share it or use it for the benefit of others. (Don't get me wrong, I'm no socialist. I just want to place myself in communities that would help and give to each other like a family.) I've always been a very compassionate and empathetic person; it's in my nature to want to help and nurture. I want this for myself, this sense of life, of community, of belonging. It's always nice to belong. I felt like I belonged there. My paradigm of paradise. 

I'm not interested in The American Dream. I'm interested in my own. 

The Sound of Music

http://www.jessebrodd.com/art/music-tree-of-february-5th-2008/

I thought I heard the trees hum once. It was closing in on dusk, I had had a turbulent week and I was partaking in one of the few relaxing pleasures I had at the time: walking.

I had dropped my dog off at home and had continued on my own by this point. Having exhausted my path on the sad excuse of a Nature Trail for the day, I continued on in the opposite direction towards a wall of trees destined to be cut down for further development somewhere down the line.

It was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard and, to this day, I’m not sure where it actually originated from: maybe I was having auditory hallucinations caused by stress, or maybe the idea was already planted in my mind after hearing about a new method of detecting cancer.  

Human cells “scream” when they are exposed to infrared. Cancer cells apparently omit an out-of-tune sound that is noticeably different from healthy, noncancerous cells.

If cancer cells and cells used to create human tissue have a sound, then the cells of a tree or any other plant must have a sound as well.

The music was deep. It hit you in your soul, or, at least, in my soul. It was reminiscent of Gregorian chants, only at a lower tone and more of a hum than an actual chant. It was like the Dharmic “Om”—a mix of the two. It was other-worldly in a sense, haunting. I felt like I was partaking in a highly guarded secret of the ages, like I was privy to some fundamental knowledge that only a select few ever stumbled across. I had a fleeting glimpse into Nirvana, like the secrets of the universe were unfolding before me to the tune of the trees.

There was a quality of clarity to it. That even though I couldn't fully comprehend what it was that I was experiencing, what it was about this sound that made me feel so strongly and alien-like as it did, I was completely convinced of every conviction I had pertaining to the world and life as I want it to be. It reassured my worldviews.

I haven’t heard the music again. I listen for it when I walk around town, but maybe the trees just don’t sing over here.