As I sat in my family’s apartment on the 9th floor of our building that overlooks towering skyscrapers and the bustle of people on Broadway, any chance of silence was impeded on by car horns and sirens of police cars and firetrucks. The cursor on my word document was where it had been for an hour, at the top left side of my page. Its constant blinking seems to be in rhythm with the steady beat of some obnoxious song being played on a stereo in the apartment above mine. Constant distractions.
Now as I sit in a large arm chair in the living room of the main lodge I’m surrounded by serene and clear waters with a constant flow of waves crashing upon the jagged rocks that separate the deep blue ocean that seems to have no bottom, with the pearl white flats. There, bonefish, tarpon, and the gem of Guanaja—permit, live and dwell. I am enjoying the silence with a coke on the coffee table, my feet propped up, and my computer on my lap. As I began to think about what I should write for the daily Fly Fish Guanaja student blog, I notice a fluidity in my mind. Fluid like the water that flows from the top of the highest peak of Guanaja, down to the waterfall, through the creek, and out to the ocean, mixing with the waters of the reefs and the flats. I can see more connections, and more cycles, and can see a natural world in a simple state, everything is clear.
When I am home in Manhattan trying to crank out a final paper due the next day, with my dog barking at his reflection in a pane glass window, with sounds of the hectic atmosphere of New York outside, my mind is clouded. However, as I sat here thinking about what to write, I thought that I could write about just that. The process of the blog itself is a vital and important process of our program. Every day one of the students has to sit down and think about our surroundings, spurred by a discussion circle. We make connections, have revelations, and see things differently and I think that it is shown continuously. In all the blogs each one of us post every day, we stop and think about this place, and it goes on to change how we think about things in our life back home. For me, I have learned to appreciate silence, the silence of my reflections, supplemented with crashing waves.
By: Alex Guira