Winter Bus Tour Photo Essay

A big silver bus outfitted with bunkbeds and filled with youth will head out to Mexico tomorrow for the 2013 Winter Bus Tour. Two years ago I had the honor of going on the Tour to perform bharatanatyam dance, sing kirtan with Madhava Prabhu, and connect with the amazing people on and off the bus.

In tribute of the Bus Tour, here's a photo essay of some of the pictures I took two years ago. 

waiting for prasadam

I often escaped to visit cathedrals

The Gita play

kirtan programs almost every evening

Agua Azul

kirtan with Madhava Prabhu

the ruins of Palenque

panoramic shot of a city wall 

Our Bus Tour Gaura Nitai and Haridas Thakur deities. They're the ultimate adventurers.   

The Bliss of Devotion: Bharatanatyam

Bharatanatyam (bha-ra-ta-nat-yam) is an ancient Indian classical dance form. I have been trying to write a blog post about my love of this dance for years. Literally years - I have written several posts from years ago that are still in draft form.

And yet in writing this series on bliss, I knew that I needed to write about bharatanatyam. Maybe writing about my love of this art form is such a challenge because it's so close to my heart.

So I shall begin at where all great love stories begin - the moment the soul sets on fire. In my very first dance class at the age of 19, I knew I would be dancing this ancient art form for the rest of my life. Even when I faced foot surgery and was forced to stop my studies for two years, my fire never died.

The other part of my love story was when I donned my jewelry and dance costume for the first time. I transformed into a queen. It's not every day that a 21st century girl gets to be a queen.

When I wear the temple jewelry of a dancer and invoke the presence of the gods, I know that performing bharatanatyam is truly like no other experience on earth.

On the flipside, consider that hours, months, and years of a dancer's life are poured into those 10 (sometimes 20) minutes of a performance. I personally feel that there is no way for me to reach any level of excellence without experiencing utter devotion to God in my practice. I am always seeking the perfection in my lines, my movements, my expression, and yet I never, ever reach it. So humbling and so beautiful.

For me, there is simply no other reason to dance than to serve God, to offer my body, mind, and soul to Krishna.

I offer my love and respect to Anapayini dasi (front and center above, below), who is my dance guru, for without her the fire would not be burning within my heart. 

(watch this dance on youtube:  http://youtu.be/wpPDRqe5AV0)

Adventure of the Soul

I write this in a mountain town of Mexico called Uruapan. As the Winter Bus Tour draws to a close, I reflect upon the journey that 28 of us have embarked upon throughout this magnificent country.

I am quieted.

I thought that when I boarded our bus on that now-faraway December night, I would be adventuring out into familiar pyramids, waterfalls, and beaches, then exploring far-flung villages to buy gifts and lots of earrings.And of course, throw in some kirtan for spiritual fun! As in previous years, I assumed a great outward explosion or curiosity and wonder.

Instead, the journey has turned inward. The wonders I thought I would be reeling in have lost their luster to me. It´s strange.

The true jewel has become the holy name. We sing kirtan every night for sometimes hours, and I teach sometimes hundreds of people to dance. I have witnessed miracles blossom before my very eyes - people weep in kirtan and smiles of the soul blossom on faces young and old. I have spoken with several people in my limited Spanish, and the words that come from their mouths are, "I am at peace. My heart is free! This is food for my soul."

I am humbled. This is my fourth Winter Bus Tour, but I realize that I´ve never dived into this country the way I have for the past several weeks. Some days I have almost felt disppointed to realize that Mexico is not about the pyramids or the waterfalls or beaches. And actually, I have not bought a single pair of earrings (oh my!).

Mexico is about the people; people who move my heart in a way no other people on earth have - people who have never heard of Krishna but as soon as they see His picture and chant His name, they instantly fall in love. Even the woman who collects highway tolls asked our bus driver today who Krishna is (since our bus is painted with the words Krishna Culture Festival Tour). We gave her a mantra card.

I am surrounded by people who simply love God and want to know Him and joyously chant His holy name.

Maybe because the holy name is so profound, I have found myself questioning the very foundations of Krishna Consciousness. The externals of my life seem to have been stripped away. I wonder at the purpose of service, and I question every direction in life I thought I was heading into. Some days I have retreated deep inside my heart, grasping and sometimes weeping for answers.

It´s a strange life I live - a day filled with questions while the night filled with answers. 

I have found that each morning that I wake up on my swaying bunk, I wonder what the day and evening shall bring. What adventure shall the holy name usher into hundreds of lives... and into my own?

A Note from Mexico

I write this at a cafe in Mexico overlooking the glimmering Pacific Ocean. I feel strange to be writing this on a computer, connecting with the world.

Not even 24 hours before the Bus Tour pulled out of Alachua, Manu invited me to hop on. In a spirit of pure adventure, I worked out the kinks in my life and finances and bam, I jumped on.

I feel like I've been in Oz for the past week and a half. Every morning I wake up to a new adventure amidst 50 other youth as we travel across North America.

Right now we're off to dance and sing in the streets of Ensenada, and I must go. Many stories and pictures await.

A Glorious Encounter

(image by TrekEarth)

In Mexico, there is a mystical place called Agua Azul where a series of waterfalls cascade down a mountain. Once a year, the Bus Tour visits for one glorious day.

So after many adventures, towards evening I made my way to the main waterfalls to chant japa. Tourists crowded behind the railing, snapping pictures.

I grinned and ducked under the railing. I nimbly walked along a narrow strip of rock until it ended in a little spot just big enough for one person to sit. I had dubbed this The Radhanath Swami Rock, so named because once Radhanath Swami had sat upon a rock in the middle of the Ganges River in meditation for one whole month. When he had committed to a final act of surrender, the Ganges had given him the holy name, the maha mantra.

I settled on the little promontory. The majesty of the waterfalls enfolded my vision, and the roar drowned out the sounds of tourists. I unwound my beads from their bead bag and held them between my hands so that anyone who saw me would know I was meditating, and not just mumbling to myself.

I chanted and fell into a trance. I wondered if I listened closely enough the roar of the waterfalls would reveal the holy name to me. I've tried this a lot around large bodies of water ever since I heard Radhanath Swami's story, but mostly I just get an earful of water.

Suddenly, I heard someone call my name. I turned around to see a friend from the Bus Tour behind the railing, holding a plate of prasadam for me. I rose, walked to the railing, gratefully took the plate, and then my friend left. I ate the pasta as fast as possible - I wanted to return to chanting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an elderly couple observing me in silence.

"Excuse me," the woman suddenly asked in Spanish, "But were you chanting 'Ha-dee Kish-na Ha-dee Kish-na...'" she recited the entire maha mantra.

Dumbstruck, I replied in Spanish, "Yes,"

"And you go around the beads 16 times?"

"Yes! How do you know this?"

"There are Hare Krishnas in Veracruz, where we are from," she said. "Wonderful people."

"Tell me," the husband asked. "What do you believe?"

I lowered my plate. "Well... Ah... This is the science of how to love God, and how to love one another. It is the same in all religions, is it not? This," I gestured to my beads, "is how I connect with God, by calling out His name with love. God may have many different names, but ultimately, God is God."

"Beautiful." the woman said.

"God is so miraculous, isn't He? He created all this," the man gestured to the panorama in front of us. The sun was setting behind the turquoise waterfalls, the jungles were lit in emerald, and the sun danced through the mist in golden clouds.

"God is amazing," I said.

"God is amazing," they agreed.

We bowed farewell to each other, enlightened. I threw away my plate and once more tiptoed out onto The Radhanath Swami Rock. Just as I had settled down, an undulating black ribbon began to stream from behind the waterfalls and fill the sky.

Bats! Hundreds and thousands emerged from the waterfalls in the twilight to loop through the sky in dizzy circles, and then flew off into the jungles for their evening hunt.

Had the elderly couple witnessed this glory of creation, too? I twisted around to look for the couple, but they had vanished.

I closed my eyes and began to chant. Suddenly I realized that the waterfalls had revealed to me the holy name - the elderly woman, in her broken way, had recited the entire maha mantra.

Even out here, in this far-flung country of Mexico, the mercy of Srila Prabhupad had found an elderly couple; and in the jungles of Agua Azul, that mercy had found me.

Sometimes I see so little difference between the glory of God and the glory of His devotee.

Windows to the Bus Tour

For the first time in a year, I tapped into my photography passion full-tilt, for three weeks. Travel is always incredible inspiration for photography, to capture moments of explosive and also quiet splendor. As an amateur artist, I cordially invite you to view my albums from this year's Winter Bus Tour. Copy and paste the following links into your browser. Enjoy.

Bus Tour Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2129934&id=201408421&l=18ae0aec47

Bus Tour Portraits: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2129020&id=201408421&l=72609e5ab2

Also, below is the video that Manu Prabhu edited on this year's Bus Tour - a small snapshot of what we do, and the hearts we touched. [e-mail subscribers will need to click through to seedofdevotion.blogspot.com, or follow this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUUt2xZAfeo]

The Secret to Silence

I arrived into Mexico City silent, and I left silent. I had made a vow that for one day, I would devote my voice to Sri Krishna.

It was my third 24 Hour Kirtan; in each of these three events, I have committed myself to mauna vrata, or a vow of silence. And each time, my experience of the holy name goes one notch deeper. All day long, only the holy name cycles through my mind - over and over and over. In all shapes and forms and sizes, the holy name swirls around me - around and around and around.

By the end of the day, the power of the holy name has soaked into my skin, into my mind, into my heart.

Mauna vrata for a 24 hour kirtan is so beautiful and so powerful that I wish others would try it. Of course, the question is: How to only chant the holy names when I'm surrounded by such amazing devotees, by my friends? What if I have a service? What if I just need to ask for directions? 

I have several techniques which involve a notepad and plenty of hand gestures, but here's my secret to survive a vow of silence for 24 hours when you're surrounded by the whirl of a festival: stay in kirtan.

That's it.

Maybe you're immersed in a beautifully sung kirtan. Wonderful, stay there. Maybe the kirtan is off-key, or off-beat. Wonderful, stay there. Maybe you get up to dance, maybe you cry.

Stay there. Maybe the holy name will decide to dance upon your tongue.

The Last Knot

So.

The bus has wound its last knot upon the ribbon of highway of the Mexico Winter Bus Tour.

If I ponder too deeply how this experience whirled by in a blur, an ache will enter my heart. Just like the folding of a very long sari - both ends are so far apart, but with one quick fold, the ends touch.

Right now I sit on a whirring bus at 3am, wearing the same blue sweatpants I began this Tour in. It seems as though only moments ago I boarded a whirring bus in the night. It's like the first and last threads of this sari of a similar pattern, and now that they're touching, I feel this jumble in my senses, a disorientation of my heart.

This Bus Tour has breathed golden air into the lungs of my spiritual life. I've taught literally hundreds of people how to dance the Swami Step in kirtan; upon the encouragement of Gopal I've actually distributed some of the first books of my life; and every morning I would wake up to the adventure of jungles, oceans, pyramids and lost civilizations, which all prompted me to deeply ponder Krishna in my life.

Most of all, the mood of kirtan and service of the Vaishnavas on the bus has reached past my selfish shell and touched my heart.

I'm home, it's good to be home, but I'm still living in the phantom motions of the bus. I don't want to step off.

Not yet.

A Profound Answer

Three days ago on the beach in Tampico, Krishna Kirtan and I took it upon ourselves to dress the Bus Tour Gaura Nitai deities. So I rolled out a sarong on the sand and we unfolded all of Their jewellry and clothes.

The warm yellow afternoon surrounded us, and the sea breeze brushed the air. We fell into a companionable pujari rhythm. Kirtan is fifteen, quiet and deep, and our rapport echoes much of older sister - younger brother.

Halfway through our service, I asked one of my hypothetical questions.

"Kirtan, if you were to die tomorrow, and you could go to one place anywhere in the world for your last day, where would you go?"

In his detached way, Kirtan shrugged. "I don't know," He continued to search through bracelets.

"Oh come on, Kirtan, just answer,"

"I don't know, why does this matter?"

"Come on," I cajoled, "The value of my question is that you consider what is important to you, and what you value in life. Just consider my question,"

Kirtan was quiet, and we resumed our puja to Gaura Nitai. And then, in his nonchalant, profound way, he said, "I would go somewhere where I would cry."

I froze and turned to look at him. "Cry?"

"Well, cry with love. For God."

I was quiet for long moments. His answer rung in my mind. Then I said softly, "Thank you, Kirtan, that is a beautiful answer."

He tilted his head and smiled a little, and continued with his service.

A Walk to Remember

Baja, Mexico; view from the cliff of our traditional Bus Tour campsite

Early Memories of My Guru: A Walk to Remember

I was seventeen on the second morning of my first ever Bus Tour in 2004, and I was one of the first to roll out of my bunk. When I emerged from the bus in my pajamas in the cool, gray morning, I stood on a cliff in Mexico which overlooked the Pacific Ocean. The ocean soared into the horizon, and the empty, epic beach far below disappeared into misty cliffs in the distance.

The night before, I had heard on the wind that some of the boys were going on a japa walk with Radhanath Swami along the beach. Secretly, I had planned to jump in.

But in deep dismay, a hundred yards away I saw a flash of orange and several boys hasten to the stairs in the cliff that led down to the beach. I felt this panic to run after them, shouting, "Wait! Wait for me!"

I even grabbed my japa mala and began to sprint after them, but they disappeared down the stairs and I lost my courage. “I’m a girl,” I grumbled. “A girl! If only I was a boy. If only.”

I trudged back to our cluster of tents and paced the quiet campsite. I saw the tiny figures of Radhanath Swami and the boys emerge from the cliffs below and become black dots in the distance.

I paced and paced the site, anxious. Finally, I decided that I just wanted to go on a japa walk, that’s all. Maybe not with the others, but at least by myself. That’s all. You know, just chant…

I set off for the cliff stairs.

While I walked barefoot along where the ocean meets the sand, I chanted and fell into a trance of meditation on the waves, and Lord Krishna’s words in the Bhagavad Gita: “Time I am, the great destroyer of the worlds.”

A mile into my japa walk, I looked up. There, in the distance, shrouded by the ocean mist, approached four or five figures.

I grinned.

I spun on my heel and began to meander back where I had just walked. Slowly, slooowly…

“Haribol, Bhakti!” I heard a voice.

I looked over. “Radhanath Swami! Well, Haribol! Good morning.” Fancy seeing you here. Several boys from the bus tour who hovered around him looked at me a bit reproachfully, as if they knew exactly what I was up to. Suddenly I realized I was in my pajama skirt, my long hair loose down my back.

“Would you like to join us?” Radhanath Swami asked.

“Yes, of course!” I replied. I grinned and joined their group. The boys looked annoyed.

“Maharaj?” I said.

“Yes?”

“I… I have a question.”

Right there, where the ocean met the sand, Radhanath Swami stopped in his tracks and turned to look me straight in the eye. I halted, too, surprised. The group of boys fell back and chanted at a distance.

I remember that my question dealt with the ocean, and I remember how his answer dealt with the mercy of Srila Prabhupad. But what I remember most was how the waves kept washing over our feet as we spoke, the gulls looping in the sky above, and the intense presence of Radhanath Swami, and how he seemed as if he had all the time in the world to answer my question.

We were alone, yet we were not alone. And in those moments, it didn't matter whether I was a boy or I was a girl. I was simply a soul seeking shelter.

When at last Radhanath Swami asked, “Does that answer your question?” I nodded. He smiled softly. Then he quickly turned on his heel, gestured to the boys, and we all briskly began to walk along the ocean in silence, chanting.

When we reached the base of the cliff where the stairs lead up to our campsite, Radhanath Swami sat in the sand, and we all followed suit. Our little group chanted together there on the beach as the sun rose on the ocean.

At that time (and now, as well) japa was my weak point, but every once and awhile I would glance over to Radhanath Swami and observe how he chanted japa with such power. I would then return to my own chanting with vigor.

The sun filled the air with gold and glinted off the ocean when I heard Radhanath Swami and the boys rise to their feet. I didn’t want to go, so I continued to sit, eyes closed. Maybe if they saw my concentration, they would just head back without me. But then I heard, “Bhakti devi, let’s go,” I looked up to the smile of Maharaj.

I stood up. Maharaj led all of us through the sand, and I fell in right behind him. I hopped from his footprint to footprint, catching his mercy, hoping to follow in his footsteps.

The following year, in 2005, the next time I sought out the association of Radhanath Swami, I took shelter of him as my spiritual master. I pray to follow in his footsteps.

A Wrinkle in Time

The pyramids of Tikal enchant me. They seem to glow with an ancient, kind wisdom, unlike the brutality of the Pyramid of the Sun (Aztec) or the lethal intelligence of Chichen Itza (Inca). Most of us on the Bus Tour take off to the western jungle, for there, perched on a distant mountain, towers a pyramid that rises above all, inspiring awe.

We wend our way through wide jungle paths. The hike up the mountain is twisting and arduous, and I exult in every step. And then at last - at last - I reach the summit of the crumbling pyramid.

I step out onto the pyramid's ledge.

My breath slips away in awe. In every direction, as far as the eye can see, the jungle flows into the horizon like an ocean, blue-green and mist-laden. In the distance, several pyramids regally rise from the forest, as though ancient guardians to a deep secret. I feel like I'm soaring over the world.

And so I take a seat there, atop of the world, and let my mind fall into repose. In places so majestic, I feel a deep connection with time. I ponder the great Mayan civilization that built this all, this thriving city, and now not a trace remains but crumbling stones, here to entertain little visitors like me.

I feel my own mortality pressing against my little chest up here on this pyramid. I am but a wrinkle in time in the vast fabric of the universe.

Radhanath Swami often says that humility is simply accepting the truth: we are insignificant, just a microscopic dot in the cosmos. It would be depressing if it weren't for the fact that we have a loving relationship with God.

And what could be more significant than that?

My Moment of Christmas

Note: I know we're nearing the heat of summer - a far cry from Christmas - but I believe you can relate with curiosity and, above all, seeking the essence. So have some fun while you're at it.

The Market of Chichicastenango, December 21st, 2007

I'm searching for an authentic Christmas, none of this American Christmas trees-Rudolph the Reindeer-Santa Claus bunk. Something with soul.

So I capture photos of children, courtyards, fruit vendors... but I think my highlight happens, though, when I approach a bright white building, towering over the whole town, colorful flags in fluttering stripes hanging from the peak.

Curious, I scale the steps, where men in sombreros and elder Guatemalan women lounge ponderously.

I reach the surreally bright white walls. I read a sign that looks as though a 5-year-old created and it survived Vietnam. The English warns (basically): Don't take pictures. Please give alms.

I pocket my camera. I breathe in deep, then step into the cool air of the church. I slowly make my way to the altar, passing pews that look as handmade as the sign.

Another sign awaits me at the altar, as if berating me for the thoughts of photography that flood my mind. Homemade candles flicker as an offering to... what? Someone in a coffin? A woman worships behind the glass box which contains a manequin. She knits the air with her hands as she prays and murmurs and prays. I believe she's been there all day, if not for days.

I feel as though I'm holding my breath. But this strange monophonic machine that plays American Christmas carol tunes (Jingle bells... jingle bells...) from somewhere behind the altar/coffin breaks the mood and adds to the eeriness. A small, bloody effigy of Christ stands to my right, a glass coca-cola bottle placed in front of Him, as if an offering.

I can't resist. I dart furtive glances around me, then pull out my camera. My heart pumping and probably looking totally guilty, I shoot several photos of the candles, the coffin, the effigy... I curse my camera when the flash goes off... twice.

A very old man approaches the altar. I nearly jump, then discreetly tuck my camera under my hand. "Ahhhh... senor... who is the man in the coffin?" I ask in Spanish.

"Jesus," he replies simply.

"Really? Interesting..." I say. Then with a pause, I begin to back away. I admire the church as I leave and nod to a family that's staring at me from the pews, then step out into the bright sunshine and the noise and ruckus of the market below me.

I dig into my pocket. Wait! I dash back into the church. The old man is tidying the altar. I place 10 quetzales (about one dollar) in his hands. "I know, it's not very much... I want to give more, but it is all I have..." I say rushedly in Spanish, but he just nods appreciatively and smiles just a bit...

"Feliz Navidad," I finish sincerely, and he replies,

"Feliz Navidad," his eyes twinkle, then he turns and places the money in the beat-up wooden box and returns to sweeping. That's it, I think breathlessly. That's my moment.

I bound out of the iglesia, beaming, laughing, the locals examining my peculiar behavior. I wave to them. Okay, so maybe I reasoned that 10 quetzales kinda canceled out my sneaky photography, but I don't think Jesus minded. He seemed quite well-acquainted with modern culture.

I don't care, because I got my moment.

The True Rush

We load our stuff - luggage, Deities, bhoga, pots, propane stove - onto the two boats. When we motor away onto the lake, wonder and awe seeps into my body. I behold a magnificent sunset on the volcanoes, misty far-off valleys, jungle shores, the glassy lake we glide over, and the wind fills my lungs. I am in a tucked-away corner of the world.

When we approach and anchor at the docks, a glowing woman in a sari and tilak greets us. The mood is complete when the other boat pulls in and they're rocking out to a beautiful bhajan, filling the air with Krishna's name.

After we set our backpacks down in our rooms, we head down in the quiet evening to the glowing templeroom.

We array in one giant circle on the warm wooden floors beneath a vaulted roof of palms.

Manu then introduces us to our Japa Retreat facilitators: Divyambara, Purusha Shukta, and Giri Govardhan. I feel a rush in my veins very unlike the rush from exclaiming over my room or even speeding over the lake. No, this is a rush to draw closer to the holy name.

We end our orientation with a kirtan. Still riding the high of such an exhilarating day, I expecting a rousing, get-up-and-dance kirtan.

I am softly caught by surprise. Someone dims the lights down low and lights candles for our beautiful Bus Tour Gaura Nitai deities. Divyambara begins to sing. Her voice and soft emotion sends chills down my spine.

Aaaahhh... the Japa Retreat has begun.

Join Me On My Meander

(This is an entry for taking photos - in your mind. Taken straight from my Mexico journal, the following post is simply here to transport you...)

We near our destination as the sun turns golden and begins its descent. We abandoned civilization a long time ago; our bus zigzags on a crazy mountain road through ash-green forests. At one point, the ocean reveals herself in a staggering, breathtaking view - in which the entire Tour gasps - and then we're plunged back into the roads.

We reach the bottom of the mountain, pass a security checkpoint (military men stomp in and stomp out in their boots, then direct us to the nearest beach with a grin and a wave), and we then drive down some even MORE outlandishly OUT-THERE roads. And all this is going on in a surreal golden light, as if we're in a dream.

We pull in. When I climb out, Manu calls, "Go, go! You only have two hours 'til the sun sets, then we gotta go! Use your time wisely,"

I am greeted by a villager pulling water from his stone well for his vibrant, pushy goats. Chickens dash about. Thatched huts surround me in a sweeping semicircle.
I hear the waves crash in the distance and the salt on my skin and tongue. I walk to the ocean, feeling the cool sand in my toes, the wind in my hair. As I emerge from the little village of thatched houses, my jaw softly drops in wonder.

The ocean. The mountains. The setting sun. The beach stretches off to my left to meet the towering mountain in the distance - the one we just drove down - and to my right the sun sets on another majestic mountain. And here we are in the valley, facing out to the deep blue Pacific and her shimmering waves.

After so many straight days of traveling, I feel peace flow through my veins. I dash into the amazing water, then take off sprinting. I run and run amongst the waves until I bend over catching my breath, laughing.

I look back to everyone else swimming, tiny figures in the distance. The sun is setting behind them, and I revel how the misty air seems suffused with gold, silhouetting those who walk amidst the sand.

I continue on, breathing in... breathing out, soaking in every moment. I know: soon it will be back to the bus and more traveling.

I then observe a fascinating work of art in nature, forming before my very eyes. As the wind blows across the sand, ripples and rivulets form. I watch, entranced, as the sand then channels through these rivulets like sashes of gold, whispering, rising to life then melting away.

As I continue on my japa walk, two villagers on horses - riding bareback - gallop past me, their shirts clinging to their chests, the horses' manes and tails streaming behind them like banners. They ride off into the distance, becoming tiny figures then finally disappearing. I wonder what it would be like to be that free - the villager OR the horse. Imagine living so deeply in nature.

When I return from my very long meander down the beach, the sun has set and the valley is filled with a soft twilight glow. Everyone has left the beach except for a crew of jolly potwashers. I join their company and capture some photos, laughing and chatting, and I feel my spirit soften after such intensity of this first week of the Tour.

As we board the rumbling bus in the cool, soft blue evening, I turn around to gaze out over the thatched roofs to the empty sky that hovers over the sand and ocean, the stars emerging. A thought runs through me like a current: I'll be back. One day, I'll return. It will be years from now, but one day I'll stand on this ocean again, appreciating nature and revelling in life.