Paradise (Part 5)
April 24th, 2021
Starring: The Survivor
The island. Ah yes, the same one from months and months and months ago. There’s still blue water, a sandy beach, a few small trees for shade. But the rest of the island’s changed. In one area, there’s a garden, growing plants. In another spot, a campfire, next to a nifty water filtration drip. An outhouse, a tool shed. Just off the beach, a hut. Nothing fancy, but an actual freestanding home: door, roof, and all. Finally, a small wooden raft with a sail, pushed up on the beach.
Morning. The sun’s starting to rise, just enough light to see. The Survivor opens the door to the hut, stepping out, taking in the day. They sit on their trusty rock, forever stationed in the sand. Everything is as it should be:
THE SURVIVOR
Nirvana.
I’m not there yet, but close.
In the neighborhood of no desire. Peace.
…
I got myself there. I’m proud of it.
There was a time—when I still thought about time—when living itself felt like fantasy. Desertion and delusion ruled. Death was heir apparent.
But I took back the throne. Through the work. Surviving. Day by day, whatever that meant.
Modes engaged, mechanisms clicked.
I realized I could do things. Amazing things. Not because I was amazing, but because I had to. This was my life. I had to grab on.
And now...I can loosen my grip. Transcend suffering, to the other side. Enlightenment.
I have everything I need.
…
…
Which is why I need to go.
To work, to survive, is to be alive.
If I’m satisfied, desiring nothing...am I really living?
I want the process again. I can do it better. There has to be more.
…
I’ll miss this terribly. It saved me. A place for refuge. Expression. To find me.
But it’s time. I’ve gotten and given all I can.
The Survivor gets up from their rock, turning around and saluting their home.
Thank you, island.
Goodbye.
Taking nothing with them, The Survivor pushes their raft off the sand and into the water. They unfurl the sail, hand-paddling away from shore. The sail catches wind, sending The Survivor off into the sun. They never look back.
…
…
Back to the beach. The Survivor has just disappeared over the horizon. The tide rolls in, then back down.
Something has washed up onshore, sticking into the sand. A bottle of mineral water.
Inside, a rolled up note, on printer paper. The top of the page has curled in a little, revealing the note’s opening line:
“Dear kind survivor,
I know you’re out there. I care. Keep going.”