Dreads blowing in the wind… a dinged up surfboard… nobody on the road but indonesian cow herders… who knows where they even sold the cows or for how much
Green rolling hills… the blue sky of dry season
No idea when the sun would rise or set
Listening to folk music from o brother where art thou
15k to my name
The freest I’d ever been
The happiest I’d ever been
Peace in motion
Faith in motion
Passing over
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“You’ll never know pain until you see a young dad in the basement crying because the check book doesn’t balance”
A trophy wife
A mcmansion
Two or three cars
A couple of kids
The wife with the 15k credit card bill looking at you in disgust and disappointment: “Are we OK?!”
Idols are quite heavy to carry… “A burden to a weary beast”
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God delivers.
The universe delivers.
Material things, wealth, power, beauty, strength… it all fades
We rent it all
Steward it while you can
But it’s gods.
It’s not yours.
It’s not ours.
Accept the yolk of god, christ, the buddha, alah, whatever the fuck you believe in.
The source.
Material things came from dust and will return to it.
Worshipping them is useless.
And heavy…
A weary beast you will become… grasping, fighting, owning…
All of it is a burden to carry around.
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“The way of man is not in himself
It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps”
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The work of man is made from the substance of the creator
Worship the primary source
Not your own finite creations
Let god and christ and buddha and alah and yahweh and whatever you believe in carry the weight of all the blessings
because blessings are what they are… something outside of us… delivered by something greater than us…
they’re the opposite of “a burden to a weary beast”
But when they’re mistakenly attributed to oneself, and worshipped as a benevolent creator in and of themselves… their lifeless weight will bleed you drive of energy, the fear of loss will make your walking state endless paranoia, and when you have to let it go… instead of coming home to our creator… you’ll die gasping for your last breath
A burden to a weary beast…
Or
An easy yolk with a light burden…
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After the drive I’d hop in the ocean…
Crystal clear water
Nobody else around really
No beach club or anything… just a couple of straw roofs held up by driftwood and a local indo woman selling fresh whole coconuts
“Well I guess I’ll just continue with my travels” she said.
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She and I met in a hostel on Kuta Lombok in 2015 when there were 2 paved roads and not much else.
I was a dirtbag surfer. Traveling out of an old backpack… weathered, gritty, with dirt and shit all over it.
She was a British girl… had been traveling for 6 or 7 months. Petite. Short blonde hair that worked for her. Not the bad short… like all these washed up american 30 somethings in 2025… trimming to try and imitate celebrities.
Beautiful short. Sun-bleached. Raw. Natural.
She had these old birkenstocks I’ll never forget. Old and weathered. Had been out in the rain a bunch.
I thought they were goofy.
She assured me they weren’t.
She wore around this black little thong 2 piece… definitely not goofy… definitely, definitely not goofy.
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“Well I guess I’ll just continue with my travels…”
We paused for a second. Didn’t make eye contact.
It was one of those private moments you share in deep love…
but a deep love that’s temporary and you both know it and the person who asked the question knows it too…
but you’re just so wrapped up in that love that you can’t really fathom the impermanence of it.
She inhaled her cigarette, exhaled… then looked out at the ocean.
__
I got barrelled earlier that day.
A gift from God.
Being in the barrel of a wave is one of the more transcendent life experiences.
The faith of pulling in. The shallow and sharp reef beneath. Understanding the consequences (and high likelihood) of a fall – deep cuts and gashes on a rural island.
And the sound… The sound in the tube is the most surreal part for me… suddenly the outside world disappearing… a weird sort of vacuum mechanical white noise as the wave envelops you.
The light blue curtain separates you from the outside world… The sun shining through on your path into a new dimension.
Then you either fall… skipping down the face of the wave, sucked over the top, covering your face and praying to god the consequences aren’t that bad.
Or you make it out… miraculously…
That moment though… deep in the tube… it’s never long enough… you just wish it could last forever.. It’s never long enough…
Every one is different… the same… but different…
A portal to another dimension
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On our way back from lunch that day some Indo yelled out “bro bro!” on the side of the rural road. He snagged a shot of that barrel I got…
“Goofy rasta” was the title of the photo. I’m goofy footed and had my dreads long… it’s wild how much youths of developing countries idolize dark skinned dudes with dreads…
She got a good laugh outta that one,… “Goofy rasta hehe”
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That night she and I found some gorgeous inlet. The swell was down. It was just calm glassy little waves. Mountains in the background. Untouched sand. Nobody there. Nobody was in west sumbawa.
I’m sure there will be some day… The same way Bali got developed. The same way Lombok is getting developed.
The pattern is simple…Surfer dudes bring their lover girls to some remote and beautiful and consequential break. Just looking for empty tubes…
Get surfed out… come back to a little shack by the sea to deep connection. Raw sex. Lust or love and connection with everything that is.
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Then that spot gains a little momentum…
The surfer girlies open a little yoga studio and a little cafe…
The wrong dudes find out… who bring the wrong girls… who tik tok or insta or snapchat or whatever the fuck they’re all doing nowadays that’s putting all the gems on the map
More of the wrong girls come.
More of the wrong dudes come to try and get more of the wrong girls…
Posers… literal posers…
Then it’s ruined…
And then 2 years later my friends from college start talking about some cool new spot that they wonder if “like have you ever been there, nick?”
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“Well I guess I’ll just continue with my travels…”
This quote was Issy’s response to an intrusive couple that had asked about our story and what we were gonna do when I left indonesia for the U.S. peace corps in Mozambuqie…
Such a sad reminder of the finite when we were just chilling in timelessness at this indo-australian couple’s bungalow… that couple had been chilling in timelessness for a while… they had a little garden to the left and would serve up these huge curry bowls to all the surfers every afternoon
We were so obviously deep in love… so obviously deep in the moment… the nerve of that other couple to take us out…
But I’ll never forget that moment. We were both so surprised I think by the question. Like, how could we even concern ourselves with “what’s after?” when the moment was so good.
We were just so caught up in it. We hadn’t even thought about it ending. What would happen when it ended? Why would it end? How could something that visceral even end?
And could something that felt so powerful and real… dreamy… but real… really die for quotidian / finite-structural circumstances?
…….
Yes. The answer is yes. Most things like that do.
The deeper I get into life. The more this is evident to me.
The dream of life dies with the quotidian… with reality.
The quotidian is insidious.
Reality is limiting.
We have to guard against the creep of the quotidian.
Guard against the seemingly inexorable “reality.”
Or we’ll be left on our death bed with deep, deep regret… Regrets of all the bullshit limitations we hoisted upon ourselves and unrelentingly held onto for no fucking reason at all.
__
Is it even possible to avoid the quotidian without letting go?
To live in a dreamy world while grasping for our perceived reality?
Because once something is fully integrated and accepted doesn’t it become quotidian?
Once something becomes finite / structural / measurable… doesn’t that make it real?
So then… logically… isn’t the whole art to a soulful and dreamy life just as much about letting go as it is about falling in love in the first place?
__
Life’s big questions…
What I do know is moments like these…the one here that issy and i shared as we motorcycled around the Indonesian archipelago…are the point of life.
It’s why I could die tomorrow with tears of joy… because of how beautiful and full it’s all been.
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EPILOGUE
Issy and I still talk from time to time. She has a kid with some guy.
I’m doing my thing.
It probably pisses her off a little… the fact that i ping her outta the blue with some visceral and emotionally triggering memory.
She also probably loves it a little…
I think I know that too… I think it’s sorta funny…
Still fucking around with her over things that are borderline not OK to fuck around with her about…
I know she thinks it’s sorta funny deep down too.
That’s part of why we fell so deeply in love.
__
The humor behind it is why we know we need to be careful.
She knows she can’t get reeled in too far.
And I know I can’t reel her in too far.
The infinite dance between the masculine and feminine
I went to Biarritz. This was the purpose of this trip.
I left beaming, my soul moving with the rhythm of the music.
I thanked the vineyards for their peace, the birds for their songs, the insects for minding their own business.
And the fresh air.
The little stray cat I’d befriended ran in the house as I was trying to lock the door to leave.
I called it back out.
It jumped over a little concrete wall and looked at me. Then looked out at the vineyards.
I called to it, and we locked eyes for what I thought would be our last moment together.
I thanked it and wished it well. I don’t know if it understood.
Then it turned around and walked slowly off into the vines.
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Biarritz was a lot. The Airbnb was nestled in a neighborhood. Albeit not a pretty one.
Boxed in, a bit run down. Windows right on the street. I’d see day trippers parking there and walking 15 minutes into town.
Why? Because the town’s parking and narrow roads were just too difficult to navigate.
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I’ve surfed all over. I’ve worked through the etiquette, egos and tides across the world. I’m a local at Malibu first point. Was a local at Kuta Lombok. I’ve charged cloudbreak.
I’m not an asshole. I’m respectful. I longboard, short board, mid length… whatever.
I’ve felt welcoming lineups, and I’ve felt stiff performative ones as well.
__
The locals were judgey. Glaring eyes. Posturing. Styled. Weird. Napoleon complexes abound in performance shortboarding.
The waves were good for France. But it was that fat deep water European stuff. Chunky. A lot of water moving. Not shallow enough to really get a good push into the wave.
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Sometimes you don’t know what your soul needs until you get there.
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What my soul wanted was a chill beach town, beat up rental log, a few soul sliders before and after work. All smiles; that’s the first thing I realized when I started longboarding. Way more smiles. Way more soul. Way less doing. Way less testosterone. Way more babes.
yea… way more soul…
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After I checked the surf and realized… “yeah… this is gonna be a whole thing” … I grabbed a beach cruiser and cycled all around the gorgeous bluffs of biarritz.
Hair down, dreads blowing, smiles from all sorts of babes. Meandering through the town. Biking in places people don’t usually go. Trying to keep it together and keep my eyes on the road because of the beauty of the whole place.
I take a lot of photos. I swear though, the most beautiful ones don’t get taken. I’m just too wrapped up in it.
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The town of biarritz has three sceney spots. Just annoying.
Women with stiff faces, probably botoxed, sipping some sort of light colored drink in perfect see through glasses.
I breezed by the first scene on my bike… I realized it was a scene when I peddled half way through.
Then there’s this huge bluff with a switchback. The old rusty beach cruiser I was on didn’t have enough gears. I was hoofing it, lol! Climbing with a huge smile on my face.
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When I got to the bluff I was astounded. The overlook had about 150 yards of railing. Jam packed with people from, I assume, all over Europe. I don’t know.
Giggling to myself I thought… “What the fuck?!?!” lol.
__
The rest of the ride was cruisy. Less populated. Gorgeous ocean. And then the final scene with the douchey surfers… yikes.
__
Coming back I passed the bluff again. Even more crowded. A bar that was more packed than I’d seen in a while.
Everyone drinking and smoking.
I went up and left my bike unlocked on one of the overpacked bike racks… Multiple layers of people watching the sunset. I couldn’t even find a spot to stand. It was like a music festival…
I picked up my bike and started walking it out. I saw a couple of style people wearing those light yellow sunglasses that are getting popular again in SoCal. I smiled and laughed.
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On the way home I biked through the town… Scene #4. Patios, drinks, trendy restaurants. Loads of babes.
I smiled at everyone of them. They smiled back. We held eye contact long enough to know what might happen if we spoke.
__
When I got back to the airbnb I knew Biarritz wasn’t it right now.
I ordered Uber eats.
The driver stole part of my order.
__
I hopped on Airbnb and booked the place I stayed in Saint-Émilion.
I woke up in the morning and knew I could make Biarritz work if I wanted to. I abound with optimism every morning – I’ve trained this.
__
I found ants crawling all over my luggage. Everywhere. All over my shirts.
And left promptly after.
__
I wrestled with a lot of emotion over this decision. I felt like I was giving up. The idea of the trip unraveling.
But did it truly unravel?
Isn’t the point of adventure the unexpected? Isn’t the growth of the soul a deepening of the appreciation of that which you couldn’t even fathom?
If you told me I’d rather stay in the french countryside surrounded by vineyards, vs. a surf town like Biarritz… I woulda laughed you out of the room…
But here I am…
__
Discerning ego from soul is simple. The soul is light as a feather. Truth is as simple as a thought that lasts a millisecond.
The ego constricts. It makes the world small. It doesn’t flow. It grasps. It doesn’t let go. It holds onto ideas. The ego is exhausting… And inexhaustible.
The ego in this scenario beat me up–why don’t you just make it work? But you’re losing money if you go back to the place you were at… some of the best things in life are challenging, why don’t you just push through? Maybe your wife is here? Maybe you’ll meet that victoria long boarder girlie and fall in love like in your fantasies….
Looking back on the ego, it’s so clear that it was ego. Hard in the moment though, especially when it has its tentacles around your brain
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Wouldn’t it be so simple if there was a roadmap for following your heart? For following your soul?
__
The ride back to Saint-Émilion was perfect. The ego kept popping up. I kept letting go.
When I pulled up to the little house, the stray cat I adore and had been taking care of greeted me. It appeared out of nowhere, immediately when I started pulling into the driveway.
When I hopped out of the car it came up and rubbed on my ankles like the first time we met.
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I unpacked… And put my suitcase down on the table outside.
Ants crawling all over it still from the prior airbnb.
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I called airbnb to let them know. Messaged the hosts.
Airbnb responded, the hosts didn’t.
I sent a video.
Got refunded.
The cost of my trip actually decreased.
I was honest, truthful… I followed my instincts and went to where my soul was at peace.
The airbnb hosts were upset after the refund. They berated me. I walked in peace. I couldn’t help but think “maybe I and this scenario are a learning lesson for them”.
The universe has a way of taking care of things when you walk in truth.
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I had the best run in months that night. 6×10 minutes on 1 minutes rest.
The bone stress injuries to my tibia had finally healed after 4 month–they felt so strong…
New bone. Strong. Rested. Rejuvenated.
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That evening I went for a walk. There were scattered showers earlier.
I turned around overlooking the rolling hills of Saint-Émilion.
The most vivid rainbow I’d seen in years encompassed the entire horizon.
I’ll never forget it. The best photos go untaken
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God works in mysterious ways.
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letters from publius. 