My question is this: is
Fiji
paradise?
Really. It isn't a trivial question. Neither is this a
debate. It's actually a quintessential inquiry
into the true nature of
source.
In
Zen
we ask "If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to
hear it, then does it make a sound?". So I ask: if
Fiji
is
paradise
and there's no one there to say "This is
paradise!",
then is
Fiji
paradise?
Engaging in this
Zen
conundrum empowers
transformation
(for which
language
is the
tool).
It's a pertinent, pivotal inquiry, one which is
demeaned by pursuing a mere yes / no answer to it (along with all
the inevitable justifications which glom on each
position, along with all the inevitable interpretations which go
with either position). Rather, what this is is a scrutiny of this
essential issue (which, while using
Fiji
as a foil, isn't limited to
Fiji):
Is
Fiji
the
source
of my experience of
paradise?
Or: Is my experience the
source
of
"Fiji
is
paradise!"?
Choose.
Here's my response to the question (I decline to
mire it by answering it):
Fiji
is
paradise
if, when I'm here, when I'm fully
present
with it, I say "This is
paradise!".
Then it's
paradise.
What else is
paradise?
What else is
paradise
without us here experiencing it, saying it's
paradise?
Now here's the thing: if
Fiji
is
paradise
in this way, then everywhere else is also
paradise
in this way like a possibility. And if
Fiji
isn't
paradise
in this way, then nowhere else can be
paradise
either. Where I take a
stand
is as the
context
for
Fiji
and for everywhere else wherever I am, wherever I
stand,
occurring as
paradise
like a possibility. This is
who I am.
That may be abstract. So here's its real component:
carefully monitored by the
Fijian
government, privately owned islands can be developed. Development
here doesn't mean strip malls and cookie-cutter homes. Any
developer not counting on visitors wanting (no,
demanding) the pristine
Fijian
look and feel of the islands with perhaps the additional pampering
luxuries of clean sheets and towels, a warm shower and a cold beer,
would only be harming their chances. Here on this immaculate
island, the interior of which was once mostly a swamp, an
enterprising yachtsman and his wife were among the very first to
arrive. They built a few units for accommodation out of natural
materials. This attracted other yachtsmen as they sailed by who
dropped anchor and stayed a while, the tariffs for which allowed
them to build more units and even put in a generator to power the
island. True visionaries. They saw the possibilities.
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