The Eastern Island of Legend

~ You can't calm the storm, so stop trying. What you can do is calm yourself. The storm will pass!~

The young sailor woke up and muttered some curse words he had overheard his father use in the past. It was lightly raining, and streaks of early morning light could be seen in the grey skies. He was alive! Somehow, after falling asleep or passing out from exhaustion, Kuni had outlived the squall.

The boy felt hungry and thirsty and realized he had urinated on himself sometime during the long night. But he was alive! Kuni did not know or care whether it was because of his sailing skills, sheer luck, or the grace of the Creator.

The days and nights after the thunderstorm became a blur. The boy kept reliving every word he had heard about the Eastern Island. How many days sailing should it be from Kuni's fishing village? Were the directions whispered to him by his dead mother accurate? Or was it something she had made up to entertain her young baby boy?

Were his calculations and orientation settings correct? Or was Kuni steering himself and his grandfather's boat further out into the vast and lonely ocean?

After taking stock of his inventory of food and water, it happened. The ship was becalmed. The boy felt no wind on his face. Absolutely zero wind moved the sails, which meant zero forward momentum. By day three, and still no wind, Kuni decided to fish.

He firmly tied approximately twenty feet of his best fishing line to his counting stick. Next, the boy took a colorful red bead that flashed brilliantly when it caught the light. Finally, Kuni tied his best hook, hand-made and hammered from rough metal. The lad started early in the morning when he saw fish circling his still vessel.

The boy knew he would probably die if he did not catch something soon. Kuni was entirely out of food and practically out of drinking water, and the becalmed boat had not moved forward for three days. After several hours of fishing with several nibbles but no solid bite, Kuni fell asleep. The boy awoke to find himself holding his counting stick, with about ten feet of line attached. The red bead, the hook, and the rest of the line were missing. Kuni cursed his bad luck and lousy fishing skills.

The boy's eyes blurred as he focused on counting the notches on his counting stick. Kuni had faithfully notched one cut in the pole for each day at sea. "This is the thirtieth day, Mizuko," he croaked aloud.

 🐉~Yes ~

"I have no supplies remaining and enough water for only two or three more days."

🐉~ Yes ~

"Don't you have anything more to say?"

🐉~No ~

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

🐉~ Perhaps ~

"What if I die before I ever find out what manner of a man I will become? That would be 'poignant,' wouldn't it, Mizuko?" Kuni tried to smile, but his dry lips were so cracked they would not allow it.

The boy lay down on the cool shaded bottom of the hull of his small fishing vessel, closed his eyes, and hoped he would dream of his sweet, dead mother. As he fell into an exhausted sleep, Kuni began dreaming about the day he had talked about tunics with his father.

Two islanders spotted the drifting, shabby fishing craft five days later. They quickly set sail in a larger, swifter vessel. They pulled alongside and hurriedly tied the two boats together. One of the rescuers gasped when he saw the tiny body in the vessel's hull; he spoke softly and sadly to his companion, then straddled the two boats.

The man gingerly turned over the small body. His voice immediately became animated as it boomed across to his companion. Miraculously, the child was alive, and wait; there was more; something was very wrong, something extraordinary with the child's eyes.

His rescuers carried him ashore. The boy heard the islanders' excited voices and instantly knew he had reached his goal. He understood some of what they were saying, but their dress and customs were foreign to him. They were all staring at him, gawking, muttering, and they named him "Kimyona-me," which in the Island tongue meant 'strange eyes.'

Shortly, this label evolved into the abbreviated nickname of Kimyo. Soon after, the youngster grew to hate the new name they had given him. Kimyo (formerly Kuni) lay sleeping on the cool, damp sand. He was under the only tree on this little beach corner, large enough to provide shade. Kimyo awoke feeling half asleep and half angry because he was having the tunic dream again. He had dearly hoped there would be no more dreams of this horrible day once he reached the legendary island. Kimyo nodded off.

Oh no! Here it came again, the dream (or nightmare) of the Last Day...

   END

Questions you might ask yourself:

Kuni has a new home. Does changing your location or your address change who you are?

Kuni has a new name- Kimyo. Does changing your name change who you are?

Do you believe you can move away from your troubles?

Or do your problems follow you wherever you go?

Do you ever wish you could have a fresh start in your life?

If you could begin again, would you?

Is Kuni/Kimyo naive for thinking things will be perfect on the island?