It is at their feet that I find myself.: On Nahlap

We spent the weekend following Christmas on retreat on Nahlap, just off of the main island of Pohnpei, cooked over a fire, slept in a local nahs and hammocks, and got some much needed rest and relaxation. I wrote this in my journal, the first part during our first few hours there, and the second part the next morning. I figured there would be no better way to share the experience than by this:

12.26.09, 4:00pm - Away from the roosters, dogs, pigs, children, neighbors, and cars of Mabusi, I realize the peace of the islands that I've been missing - the soft sound of my own footsteps, the gentle fingertips of wind on my face and its roar in my ears, the sun's warm hands on my back, the soft waves I'd forgotten my hair can take when not overcome by humidity. I've just spent the last two hours doing absolutely nothing: first, sitting in 5-inch deep water watching all sizes and colors of fish swim around and under my legs; then, reclining in a ripped hammock barely big enough for my whole body, allowing the sun and wind to take turns washing over me. I sang softly to myself, knowing no one else is anywhere close to being in earshot, dozed for a few minutes at atime, and finally settled on writing - something I've failed to do for a while now (my college roommates who bought me the journal I'm writing in will not be happy to read this). To be honest, I have forgotten at times in the past five months where I am. Kolonia, especially Mabusi (our neighborhood), can feel so similar to the States - that is, until we're interrupted by a sudden island power outage, or don't see eggs or vegetables for weeks at a time, or catch sight of a six year old with a machete. But here on Nahlap, I remember very clearly where I am, and I'm not sure how to feel other than extremely blessed.

12.27.09, 6:00 am - I don't think I've ever known a peace like what I'm feeling this morning. For the first time since I've had this terrible sinus infection, I am thankful for it - because, as it has every morning for the past week and a half, the congestion woke me before dawn, demanding to be worked out of my chest and nasal passages. This morning, however, as I left our nahs for fear of waking the others with my cough, and settled into a hammock instead, I said a prayer of gratitude for the beautiful, full sun rising over the Pacific that my congestion had woken me to see. The dim grey light was just beginning to wash over the island as I settled in, and soon, I was able to begin to make out the gentle waves bashing against the shores that matched the sounds they had been making. I saw the main island looming powerfully in the distance. The fish began to pop their heads above the water's glassy surface, and the hungry birds began planning for breakfast. Small ripples of waves, still dark in the dim light of dawn, made their way ominously toward me, and larger waves crashed at the reef further out, ever elusive as to where exactly they begin and end. As the sun peeked its head over the horizon - first his eyes, then a hint of nose, and finally his mouth and chin - the clouds blew in on both sides to cover him completely, erasing any trace of his short visit. I looked around and saw no one else, and knew, without a doubt, I was the only person in the world to have seen that sun at that exact moment. My face smiling and my chest cleared, I laymy head back in the hammock's sweet cradle and allowed the wind to rock me back to sleep.