Map of the lost island

I have created a partial map of what I have explored so far on this island. I have not gone much farther than this, so I do not know what the other side of the island looks like, just enough to know that it is an island.

Stick-Paul

I went past the monkeys the other day and decided to explore a bit up above where the cliffs start to form again. I was walking through the trees, and suddenly came to where there was a circle of bare earth under the trees. It must have been a meter and a half in diameter or so, and no vegetation grew in it at all.

I thought that was a little strange and walked around the circle a bit and then stepped into it. I looked up through the tops of the trees at the blue sky overhead. Birds sang, insects hummed, a butterfly fluttered past. I stepped out of the circle and suddenly, I was no longer on my island.

Like a ghost stepping through a wall, in an instant I found myself in the presence of a black and white, two-dimensional stick man.

Stick-Paul comes from a two-dimensional universe and has been visiting our three-dimensional universe. Stick-Paul is a poet who has a way with words I can only envy and not hope to emulate. His manager is somewhat aloof, but actually quite sympathetic.

I realized that the circle of barren earth on my island must be a portal to Stick-Paul's universe. After reading a bit of Stick-Paul's poetry and something on travel between universes of different dimensions, I was pulled back through the portal onto my own island. This particular portal seems to have a time limit. I believe I shall go through again, some other time and visit some more

Of meditation

I have built a tiny chapel in the woods. A quiet place to meditate.

I face the east and pray. Noone interupts me. I sit and meditate. Noone cares because their plans are interupted by my insistance on spending time with God. At some point in my life I became blind to consequences. I chose to ignore obvious outcomes of my decisions. I suffered for it later. Here I purge that suffering.

I have built my chapel on the side of the sleeping volcano, but only a few paces up. I have yet to explore the top of this mountain. Perhaps some day I will fly with the birds up there?

A few minutes restores me, refreshes me. I must go more often.

Generosity

I arrived at my hut yesterday, after a long walk on the beach, with a few fish in one hand and a bunch of bananas in the other, to find El Alejandro sitting on the crude bench in front of my door with a smug smile on his face.

It appears that El Alejandro noticed all the cracks in my walls and set about filling them all in. He also fixed the roof while he was at it. The result is a stauncher, more esthetically pleasing wall. I was very happy. It is so nice to come across true generosity in this world, pure and free, nothing expected in return.

I invited him to supper of course and we talked of greek mythology and Jane Goodall while I prepared the fish.

Today is a bit cooler, with strong winds rolling in off the ocean. I close my eyes as I sit on the bench in front of my hut and enjoy the caress of the wind on my face. It has been so long since anyone caressed my face or played with my hair. I enjoy the wind even more knowing that if I want to escape it, it will no longer venture into my hut.

I have also taken precautions against the monkeys. I am in the process of finding ways to keep them out of my things, should they manage to get into the hut again

Cleaning

Hurricane Nameless has blasted through here and upended everything. Actually no, I exagerate, but it seems that way. In reality, the monkeys visited my cabin in my absence, and seem to have had a bit of fun. Also I hadn't cleaned up yet from my last visit with Gollum.

Gollum can be a rather messy eater, (and he prefers his fish raw, blechhh) but also, sometimes he brings things with him, which he forgets behind, things I don't necessarily need or want in my way. So then I have to place them somewhere, out of my way, until he finally deems to take them away or make use of them.

I shall go now and clean the place out. I believe that should put me in a fairly good mood.

To love...

To love is a gift. To love is to create. God is pure love, He is the creator. Love can change even the hardest of hearts. I do not believe in making an effort to convert anyone, one cannot be converted by desiring it. But perhaps I should be making an effort to become the kind of person, who by temperament alone, unconsciously converts those around her. Alas, I am no saint. I do not even come close to sainthood. Perhaps my continued stay on this island will inevitably bring me closer to God?

The parrots make such a racket some days, I lose patience and yell at them. Even the monkeys get on my nerves from time to time. But they are only parrots and monkeys, doing their thing.

I pray for patience. Impatience destroys.

I need to pray more. Period.

El Alejandro

I have met yet another strange character on this island. He appears to be a wanna-be greek warrior, yet he has given himself (or was given) a Spanish name. The other day I sat for hours with him in front of my hut, listening to battle strategies and learning all about Greek heroes and legends. His name is El Alejandro. He is an interesting character to say the least, even though what he talks about (for someone not impassioned on the subject like myself) is rather repetitive and I found myself drifting off and thinking about other things as he explained the advantages of one type of weapon over another.

El Alejandro is a rather handsome dude, even if he is a bit dark for an ancient greek. But I imagine that even back then, there were dark greeks even if they prefered blond. El Alejandro wears armour and carries a sword. He wore a laurel wreath around his head the other day. He is very passionate about war and battles but he has not yet enlightened me on the finer points of greek society or philosophy. Perhaps we might talk about these things the next time? Or perhaps he is too busy conquering other lands to even learn much about philosophy.

Gollum

Sitting here, alone on my island, I have plenty of time to think. I think Gollum would have liked to be like everyone in the upper-middle class. At some point, he found out that all he really wanted was to have a very good salary, a nice (big) house, not more than two children and wife who worked and also made lots of money. I think he resents not having this "ideal" of society, another thing which makes him bitter. Unfortunately, this is something Gollum can never have, or at the very least he will have to wait a few years before he comes close.

Ahh, the burden that weighs him down gets heavier as the years go by. It is a horrible thing to carry, yet he cannot let it go. It consumes him.

I , on the other hand, do not need material riches. I could live simply and with little, as long as I am surrounded by friends, for as long as I live. Which is why I do not mind my island so much, only the solitude sometimes. Gollum cannot understand this in me and it irks him. But I am my own person, I do not need another person's approval

The desert isle, blessed solitude

The wind blows through my hair, which has grown longer since I have been here, and I am reminded of a old photo of my mother, long hair blowing in the breeze, surrounded by children. Here, though, there are no children, instead I am surrounded by monkeys, jumping and chattering in the trees.

Sometimes it is just easier to get things done by yourself, on your own. Sometimes it is worthwhile to not include reluctant people in your plans, no matter how important they may be to you, however important it might seem for them to be with you, just to avoid conflict and stress. I have begun to purge Gollum from certain areas of my life. Gollum is a strange mix. He desires good, but does not know what good is. He can be patient and generous with many things and then suddenly turn around and crush me.

Gollum was once a happy, innocent lad and then something happened to him. He carries a great load, it eats at him, it makes him very bitter towards certain people, places and things. I have learned to avoid certain subjects of conversation around him. I have learned to hide certain things. I have learned to avoid going to certain places with him. I must now learn to leave him out of certain projects as well.

Gollum mostly stays in his cave near the water's edge when he comes and does not visit much of my island, he would not understand it. On my island, I am free to talk of the things I wish to speak about, do the things I wish to accomplish, visit the places I want to see.

The monkeys do not seem to appreciate my presence here, so close to their home. This is their territory, I should return to mine, my humble beach hut. Or maybe I shall go take a short dip in the hotsprings just a few minutes walk from here?

Rainy Season

It is just grey and rainy here on the lost isle of Juana la Cubana, if this is a taste of the rainy season, it is pretty depressing...I wonder if I do the right things, make the right decisions, should I have put more grass on the roof of the hut? Or more mud? Would it make a difference? Maybe I should not have built the shelter here, maybe I should have built it in a better spot? I am undecided, unsure.

I am a prisoner of this damp dreary hut while it pours outside. I can think of only one thing, my FREEDOM! I ache to get outside and run around, but the rain keeps me inside, cold and miserable. I think the parrots must be equally cold and miserable, I do not hear their usual squawking. I hope the rain will let up soon, so I can go fishing again. Coconuts and bananas, as good as they are, are just lacking in protein.

Thunderstorm

There is a thunderstorm here, rain is coming down in sheets. The grass roof of my hut does not keep out all of the rain, some of it is dripping down. I have a blanket around me to keep myself warm as it has gotten a bit chilly because of the dampness and the wind. The waves are crashing on the beach, and against the rocks, it is almost as loud as the thunder itself. Thunderstorms are usually brief and the sun comes out and dries everything up after. I wonder what the rainy season is like.

The sandcastle I made on the beach has been totally destroyed.

My Island

On my island it is always hot and humid, or warm and humid at the very least, but with the continuous breezes off the ocean, one does not notice the heat so much. There is air here, plenty of it, tinged with the scent of salt, decayed seaweed and marine-life. I walk the beach and listen to the music of the waves rolling in, the gulls shrieking overhead, the breeze blowing in my ears, the sound of my feet on the sand... there is no other music here, except the sound of my own voice.

I do not pretend to sing well, but I sing. There is noone else to hear me anyway. If I had someone else to sing with, I would. There is no instrument more beautiful than the human voice. No orchestra of instruments invented by man sounds more lovely than a choir singing in perfect harmony.

Here, I am close to God. He speaks to me in the breeze, in the thunderstorm, in the butterfly flitting.

Here, there are no controversies, there is no war. There is no injustice, no false idealism, no consumerism, life is simple, I do not worry about the cares of the world. I am on level ground, I have not made it yet to climb the sole hill on this island, the result of an ancient volcano. Life has not taken me there yet. There is much to be done here, where I am

Alone but not Lonely...

On my island I have no husband, I have no children, I have no job, no errands to run... I am alone, but not lonely. I eat coconuts and go fishing. I sweep the dirt floor of my hut and then my housecleaning is done because I have so little that there is very little to clean. I have a few visitors from time to time, Aquaman and the Gypsy Queen,... but mostly I am alone, except for the parrots. There are parrots on my island. They fly around squawking and I do not have the patience to try to teach them to speak.

I have time for painting on my island, and noone to get into my stuff while I am at it. I draw and I paint. I am an artist in my soul. I write poetry and then I rip it up and burn it in the fire if I don't like it which I often do not.

I have no phone, (except for my satelite phone, which needs to be charged), and mail is never delivered to my island.

The sun is shining today. I am alone, I have not had a visit in awhile. The parrots are doing their thing, and I am breathing poetry, but I do not write it except in the sand with a stick where the waves and the tide will eventually do away with it.

I have loved and I have been loved, this is what is important. I am at peace. I close my eyes and the smell the salt air and feel the breeze on my face and tugging at my hair. Here, there is nothing unnecessary, life is simple.

I wonder...

Aquaman is sick, and I sit on the beach on my island and listen to the surf and I wonder how much longer does he have and will we have that last dance?

The Gypsy Queen has appeared again and we shall be dining together, and perhaps dancing afterwards? I do appreciate the Gypsy Queen, she knows how to listen, she doesn't judge or tell you what to do, or how you should or should not feel, she just listens. Everyone needs a Gypsy Queen in their life.

Sometimes, I wonder, how did I get here from there? I think I took a wrong turn somewhere. I went west when I should have gone south. For awhile there were hills to climb, but then I hit the prairies and there have only been prairies since. But who is to say that the southern road would have been better?

I sit here on my island and I wonder...

The Lost Island

I live in a metaphorical world. I am Juana la Cubana of the Lost Island, where everything has a hidden meaning.

I used to be the woman lost in the infinite space of a grain of salt, but that was a long time ago, before I knew Aquaman. Aquaman comes to visit me on my island and accepts to dance with me even though he says he dances like a log, or a piece of wood. I used to talk to the Man-Who-Eats-Pencils back in the infinite space of a grain of salt, but I no longer go there, and the Man-Who-Eats-Pencils has died of lead poisoning.

There are trees on my island, there are mountains too, that I like to climb, and I can see the entire island from the highest point. There are a few valleys, but they are small and far apart, mostly I roam at sea level and I dance in the rain with Aquaman, when he comes. We dance salsa and then we jump around like Brazilians. I also sit in the shade of the Coconut tree and talk for hours with the Gypsy Queen.

Ups and Downs

There are ups and downs in life, but why does it feel like there are never any ups in mine? I am either at sea level or down in a valley,... (mind you, normally, I like valleys) but there are no mountains in my life. I feel like scaling a mountain. I want to dance in an alpine meadow, I want to feel the wind blowing hard on my face and discover the tiny stunted flowers...

It is like being out on the prairies, on level ground for long periods of time with occasional dips into canyons that have been eaten out of the sedimentary rock over time by rivers. My life seems to be one long level period with occasional dips into canyons. When do I get to the mountains? I am tired of the prairies. There are no trees here...

Well, at least sea-level is better than the canyon... Maybe I should quit walking through life and hop on a train somewhere, and close my eyes only to wake up when I reach the mountains... Sounds like a plan.