1/7/10: Natty Self

It seemed like an hour passed before a car finally stopped for me. I must of watched dozens of light-skinned, elderly couples pass in sleek rental cars, all wearing sunglasses and frowns for me. But a van slowed down, and in a quick seize of ecstasy I folded my sign that I had scrawled that morning, and ran to the windows. "I can take you most of the way," he said. "Watch out for broken glass under the seat." Only seconds of silence elapsed, and we were in motion again.

"I only picked you up cause I thought you was a bitch," he said in a heavy accent from somewhere East of the Atlantic. "Not that I'm some creep looking for a bitch," he said, "And I mean bitch in a liberal, non offensive way."

No introductions were needed, and he asked only one question: "You working on a farm down there?" When I told him yes, he tore a wide portal of thought open. "The problem with the fucking system is it's like modern slavery. They've got you imprisoned in a hole in paradise, without mobility or friends, groveling your way out, so that ultimately idiots like you are begging for rides from assholes like me. And I mean these words without offense? You know what I mean?"

I was sitting directly behind him, in the only other seat in the van, and watching the ardent movement of his head and hands as he spoke. The car swerved over lines as he developed the more passionate points. He had a black ponytail streaked with silver, and deep lines around his mouth. He was missing half of his left pinky finger. He would turn around for brief glimpses of eye contact, like a wild cab driver in Manhattan.

"And the worst part of the whole fucking system is that you're always on the clock," he said, "You know what I mean? You can break your back for those assholes all day but you can't clock out, cause you're imprisoned right there on their land. And then they expect you to be grateful, to kiss their ass for even giving you such an opportunity." And the ironic thing was, he really had my situation pegged. He really outlined the capitalist hunger that gnawed at my boss, and the vicious snare of the work exchange system that has trapped so many on the island. Once he was finished with socialism, he turned to philosophies of metaphysics, religion and friendship. I sat behind him, quiet as a sponge.

"Believing in God is like playing the Superbowl," he said. "It's not enough just to be excited, but you actually have to pick the right team. There is only one Reality with a capital R," he said, "But infinite little r's amongst us. You could believe that we're driving West, or in a convertible, or that it is raining right now, but it simply isn't so. What does it matter what we believe outside this world? We are simply chained to this life, so we might as well make the most of it."

And near the outskirts of Hilo he became so overwhelmed by thought that he pulled the car to the side of the highway, procured pencil and a scrap of paper, and outlines his diagram of life. In an arc he drew the letters S-C-R-I-P, narrating after each one the evolution of Sex, Consciousness, Respect, Integrity, and Peace. "A friend of mine asked why I don't include T for Time," he said, "But I told him an evolution already includes time- each one leads to the next." He drew a rectangular outline around the R. "In an arch, this is the keystone," he said. "It is what holds the structure together."

I found Hilo and the Bob Marley birthday concert finally, lounging in the sweet glory of a sunny day. I remember the singer on the bandstage pointed to a small girl in the front of the crowed before a certain song. "This one I devote to you, sweetheart," he said. "You are da future, and many men will tell they have love for you, but you must remember be true to yourself first. Be Natty- that is- Natural."