Noted British actor Benedict Cumberbatch observed that, “You come into this world on your own, the same way that you leave it. It’s made me want to live a life less ordinary.” That’s not the kind of quote that you will usually find from someone in the smug bubble of film and television but demonstrates a unique appreciation of the true value of living your life well.
Another of a similar ilk maybe, and similar sentiments certainly, is Hope Kponi, a recent graduate from the University of Benin, in Nigeria who writes:
I’m not scared of dying,
I’m just scared of not living.
Watching life go by without being a part of it,
Sipping reality’s liquor without getting drunk,
Touching the sky without flying.
I have lived trapped inside this body
Wondering when and how I’d live
Little knowing that I have been living
Just on other people’s terms.
From now on, I’m living for me.
… and I think maybe we should all, especially in a time of Covid-19 inspired reflection, engage with nature, the land, sun, sea and skies, when and wherever we can.
These thoughts wandered into my mind, and rather unusually and fortuitously maybe, stuck around, while I was standing on Biyad Beach on Masirah Island as the Sun came up on a beautiful morning recently. The thoughts lingered, and persisted through catching a nice Koffer fish (and missing some as my concentration drifted somewhat from the fishing), eventually prompting me to put the rod down and just look around me at the beauty that nature has wrought in this amazing country.
I put my rod down for a while and just stood, lost in thought for half an hour as the light waves softly for once, caressed the shore, washing my stubborn footprints away, massaging my feet and toes gently as I removed my trainers to dwell on this almost ethereal experience. For those few minutes I felt closer to lost friends and loved ones than ever before. This, maybe because faith has never become a tangible and complete part of my life, that Mother Nature has assumed the role? I know I wiped away tears, because it felt like Mum, Dad, my sister Gayleen, and my good friend
Steven were here, with me. It was a surreal experience, powerful and compassionate, because when they went, they were gone, and I was left with no pain and no regret at all, only happiness!
The following day we took a road trip, wanting to check out the kite-surfing beaches and to see what the fishing prospects were on that side of the island. It’s certainly not a demanding drive, and maps are of very little use, and we were soon convinced that exploration was the best policy. One of the most interesting sights between the road and the sea was an interesting black hulled wooden vessel, maybe 50 meters above the high tide line, it was a graphic illustration of a different boatbuilding culture, with metal nails and rivets used throughout its cladding. I loved the fact that we could write our own history for this vessel as we admired it, with thoughts of the Arabian Nights, Ali Baba, and Ibn Battuta never far away.
Not far away was Ghab Beach, where a handful of local fishing boats graced either side of a little headland. Lena swam in the calm, unbelievably clear waters, while I climbed the headland to check out the view, and then wandered back to sea level and had a couple of casts without attracting any bites. Telling myself there were no fish here today, I picked my way carefully through the tidal rocks and pools at the foot of the headland when my attention was taken by a big Rock Hamour cruising in his element less than 2 meters from me. All I could do was laugh out loud at his timing and audacity!
Sure enough, as day dawned the next day, we returned to Biyad Beach, to be closer to God, closer to nature, and closer to our loved ones, a compelling footnote, here yet again appreciating the ‘Jewel of the Arabian Gulf’ that is Oman.
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