I was Born on an Island

   by Lincoln Fullmer

Part 1

I was born on an Island -

It was a happy Island; verdant and green, awash with sunshine. It had great rivers and small streams, towering mountains and low shores, and the whole of it was filled with beauty.

Society on the Island was nurturing and pleasant, for we had the kindest Island elders who always, we boasted, demonstrated perfect love and compassion in helping every Islander grow, reach fulfillment, and serve their neighbors, and their efforts truly helped the Island feel like a paradise for all. Through their work, they kindly taught us how uniquely perfect our Island was - how the beauty of other islands paled in comparison with our harbors, forests, mountain paths, and united community - and we all felt truly blessed for being the lucky few to have discovered a most blissful dwelling place.

My family had lived on the Island for generations, helping to build it up and maintain it for everyone to enjoy ever since they first discovered it centuries ago, and several of my grandfathers and relations had been esteemed and respected Island elders. Knowing that the beauty of the Island, with its kind but firm elders, communal society, and stunning landscapes, was due in large part to the ceaseless efforts of my ancestors helped me to feel a strong sense of belonging and love among the other islanders.

The Island was a refuge - it was placed in a vast ocean that often had strong squalls, inflicting danger throughout its vastness, but we always felt safe and secure surrounded by the loving, protective embrace of our Island. And we were always heartbroken knowing that, somewhere out there in the sea, there were travelers without the safety of our Island to shield them from the buffets of the undulating waves, knowing how happy and secure they would have been with us.

The sea was a busy one - travelers and itinerants would float by our Island every day, always adventuring or seeking refuge somewhere new. They came from other islands in the sea which we heard of but knew little else about. Our elders explained to us that while no one ever left our Island because of its beautiful perfection, these poor travelers had left their unhappy islands because they realized how lacking they were and were searching for something better. Knowing of the happiness the travelers would have if they could only come to our Island, the elders asked every brave man and woman, upon reaching adulthood, to consider becoming a guide on the waters, taking up the mantle to daily risk going out into the sea to persuade passersby to come and live on the Island with its bountiful joys and safety, and the vast majority of the young adults living on the Island heeded this glorious invitation after having come of age.  Most travelers ignored our invitations, but many others were convinced to accept our refuge and hospitality and come to live on our Island. And every time a newcomer arrived, we all lovingly welcomed them in with open arms, as if they had been an Islander their whole life, and taught them patiently how to live life here. We were so happy to share our happiness with curious new arrivals and were proud that our little and most perfect Island was growing day by day, especially as we had heard that many other islands around us were shrinking, and I couldn’t wait to grow old enough to participate in this most exciting and meaningful work myself one day. There could truly be no greater joy than to bring about such pure happiness for so many of my fellow human beings.

But if nothing were so exquisite as sweet as our joy of receiving newcomers, so too were nothing so exquisite and bitter as our pain when an Islander left. Notwithstanding our Island being more beautiful and friendly than any other in the sea, as our elders consistently explained to us with loving smiles, every so often, an Islander would sadly choose to leave - going off to abandon their secure homeland and live in the dangerous waves. None of us could understand why anyone would want to depart from such a community as we had here, so the elders would explain that they left being misled by pride and arrogance that the Island in its protection and bliss was small and provincial, while the waves and the sea in their treachery and unforgiving nature  seemed exciting and new. They also warned us that many of those who abandoned the Island tried to come back and trick others into following them into danger, so we must be vigilant and wary when coming across such people. Each time this occurred, we all mourned the loss of our community members to such gross pridefulness and, with great heartache, resigned ourselves to the terrible truth that they, in their foolishness, were lost from us forever and were now doomed to a miserable life in the maw of the ocean when they could have remained happy and secure on the Island forever.

But except for the sad moments when a treasured friend abandoned the Island, life was truly happy and blissful. And thus I lived in security and contentment on this Island for the space of many, many years.

Part 2

But one day, this began to change. Because I loved my Island so much, I decided to learn about its geology and history as I grew older. And as I learned, I discovered the first blow to my perfect understanding of my world - that our island was just one of hundreds of similar islands within an expansive archipelago, all emerging from the same magma plume bursting through the ocean floor, and sharing many of the same geologic features that I had come to believe were sacredly unique to my own home.

“If this is true,” I wondered, “and we are just one manifestation of this cyclic and ancient phenomenon, then how can we claim our Island as the epitome with none like it? For if we continue to make this claim, we deny the validity of these many other islands that are just as beautiful as our own, and denying someone their validity is a most painful and cruel act.”

For a while, I desperately tried to ignore this gradually consuming unease, but suddenly I could no longer. I soberly came to understand that my integrity demanded that I accept the facts, no matter how uncomfortable. As a youth, I believed these untruths in ignorance, but to willfully accept them now would mean consciously choosing to cast the truth aside and deny other people their validity - a position I could not bear to take. As such, I decided that while I could no longer justify my community’s claim of uniqueness, I could still affirm my Island as the happiest and best place for me within my own personal context.

Knowing of the beauty of these other islands, I began to notice the base corrosiveness that this belief in our superiority was wreaking upon our community. People everywhere were so self-satisfied that they smugly dismissed all others as merely “false” islands, barely deserving of respect - if they even cared to realize that these islands so similar to ours existed at all! This hurt me deeply, as I now knew of the profound beauty of these other communities even though I had never seen them personally, and it stung me to realize that I formerly peddled the same hurtful ignorance. For the first time in my life, I felt ashamed of my Island.

To help me make sense of these strange and confusing facts, I decided that there was a difference between the Island and the culture of the inhabitants thereof. Sure, these people could sometimes be horrifically rude and misunderstanding, but they were usually my kind neighbors, family, and friends. Besides, anyone can be rude. And the Island itself was still so wonderful and beautiful.

So I continued to stick it out.

Throughout this period, I began increasing my studies of every aspect of the Island, for who knew what else I might uncover? Sadly, my next major discovery was more painful than I could have ever imagined. 

While wandering through the pleasant forests lazily carpeting the majestic mountainside at the heart of our Island, I noticed the placement of several vents spewing noxious gases scattered across the Island, seemingly deriving from the underlying volcanic activity that produced the islands of our archipelago. Curiously, I had never noticed these before, nor seemingly had anyone else I knew, as the gas was mostly odorless and harmless to most people - but, as I soon uncovered to my great horror, to a select few, it was anything but. The small minority of people affected by the gas would invariably lose their ability to breathe without severe pain, gradually wither away from want of food, and become covered in blistering sores. The only cure seemed to be abandoning their home and setting off into the waves, a frightful prospect for anyone, but all the more especially for those part of a culture like ours that believed their Island was the most perfect of them all and that leaving was a fate worse than death.  Worst of all, because these great afflictions were caused by the Island itself and because of the nature of the cure, I discovered that these suffering souls were malignantly demonized by the Island elders as faithless traitors, cutting them off from their previously close friends and family, as well as their community more broadly. As these sufferers came to the devastating realization that they were no longer welcome in the place they blissfully called home for an entire lifetime, they were sadly compelled to leave for their own safety.

Pondering this further, I sorrowfully understood that the masses of people I had been conditioned to view as traitors in my childhood for abandoning the Island for their own selfishness were often only after the hope that they might be cured from their terrible afflictions amidst the loss of everyone who ever loved them - and all because of the harm the precious Island, both mine and theirs, caused them. I entered a state of profound remorse then, such as I had never experienced in my life. I was full of indescribable grief, knowing I was complicit in these vulnerable people’s exquisite pain, and I even began to fear that I couldn’t live on an island that could be so deadly and inhospitable to the very people I was taught it was self-evidently the most embracing and loving of.

And yet, the Island was still so lovely and beautiful and I couldn’t even smell the gas that was so cruel! And since this harm did not affect me personally, I was finally able to push these concerns aside.

To my great surprise, even as I felt my worries and concerns mounting higher and higher, I recognized that I still had great love and conviction for the most basic nature of my island and the rest of the expansive archipelago within which it was a key part - the mountains and streams, the moistened dirt beneath my feet as I walked along river beds - it was all incredible. 

This commitment settled even deeper into my heart one day when I decided to voyage to our sister islands to see for myself the beautiful places I had only read of in my bookish studies. During my expedition, I found the same exquisite beauty I was used to from my own island scattered throughout all these many isles. At one atoll in particular, I remember I stopped by a gathering of locals and asked if I could participate briefly. To my delight, they graciously granted me the opportunity, and I walked carefully into their small gathering place. As I watched them congregate, laugh, and pray, I felt the strong feeling wash over me that for all the heartache and failure on my island, there was still profound value within that I should continue to prize within my life. That lovely feeling persisted throughout the rest of my trip - and I hope I shall always treasure it.

Early on the last morning of my voyage back home, I contemplated the prospect of sailing to one of the smaller islands in the archipelago and making a home there – after all, they seemed to avoid many of the pitfalls my homeland had – but just as I did, I saw a sight that stole my breath. In the calmness of the early morning, the full majesty of my island suddenly came into view, and I saw something I had never seen before – a vibrant rainbow of coral beneath the water, teeming with all manner of shimmering fish and mollusks, such as could be found on no other island in the entire sea. And in that moment, I remembered all the powerful ties that bound me in love on my island – and I decided I would try to preserve my right to exist within my community for as long as I could.   

Throughout all this time, I was very careful not to discuss my growing concerns with any but my most trusted confidants, for I knew that it would permanently tarnish my relationships and social standing in my ancestral community. I especially feared speaking to an elder on this matter, for they could potentially exile me if sufficiently concerned about the well-being of the community – which I did not want at all. I felt I was doing alright, but the strain of having to constantly defend my true self from exposure on all fronts was beginning to take a soul-thrashing toll. To further complicate matters, I reached adulthood in the midst of this crisis - the age at which each able Islander is asked to serve as a guide to passersby in our sea. And in gross spite of myself, I found my juvenile desire to brave the winds and the sea and invite lost seekers to our island beginning to burn in my heart once more, even with the bitter complexities that had recently arisen. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to shake the feeling without following it through, even though I knew it would be painful, I steeled myself and decided to pay my local Island elder a visit and ask if I could be permitted to serve as a guide.

The elder was exceedingly happy to see me, as he suspected I would ask him for permission to be a guide and thus fulfill my island duty - but his happiness soon melted into concern and dismay when I admitted that I no longer shared a commitment to most of the Island’s traditional narratives. I had hoped that my love of the island and the broader archipelago would be enough regardless, but he resolutely refused this of me for he feared that my newly constructed thoughts would be irreconcilable with the hard-set traditions we would be expected to profess. And although I knew he was right, the official declaration that I was no longer fit to be a proper member of the community deeply, irrevocably stung me.

With this blow only just behind me, I soon encountered something far more dreadful than I ever could have imagined…

While taking a midnight stroll one crisp and pleasant night, led unconsciously by the vagrances of my feet, I inexplicably arrived at a familiar place – the home of the most prestigious and respected of all the island elders, where the faint refrain of hushed voices diffusing softly through the back window, and naturally, I carefully approached. To my great horror, I listened as all the most venerable elders discussed their efforts to grow a noxious  weed in the Island cave networks to “soften the hearts” of those who were to breathe it in. It seemed this was a regular meeting to explain the recent progress of the project. They further explained that although harmless to most, the weed had been recently found to cause grave and incurable injuries to some of those who had had long term exposure, but that the unpleasant effect could not be avoided and was not a significant enough concern to desist from using the plant as a method of control. Upon hearing this, and realizing that the terrible pain that I’d seen cruelly inflicted upon innocents was not merely a tragic but natural aspect of the Island’s ecology, but rather a carefully calculated measure instituted by the elders who were meant to protect us, I became exceedingly sick – first in metaphor and then in fact, as I noticed with increasing terror the early symptoms of people afflicted by the gaseous disease. From that time forward, I knew I had to leave.

Part 3

The next day in secret, I gathered together wood, ore, water, deseret, and other provisions to prepare to build a boat – but before I did, I opened my mouth to God in prayer, seeking Their guidance. “O, God,” I said, “hear the words of my mouth. Here I am, preparing to leave behind my history, my family, my community, to which I’ve given my life, my talents, everything which which You have blessed me, and truly all I’ve ever known, and this I do in search of a new way of life so I can avoid the pain and suffering that the only thing that ever mattered to me threatens to inflict upon me in a gross betrayal. If I stay here, I will surely die. Lord, I feel so lost. What must I do?” And They responded to me, saying “Our dear son, you know you are correct in preparing to leave, yet you also feel fear and great loss. Remember the positive aspects of life here and take them with you to rebuild wherever you may land. Go, collect a pure jar of dirt, unblemished by the evil toxins, and carefully preserve it on your journey. It will serve as a comfort to you and as a reminder of the good this place has done you, in spite of its derelictions, and when you land, plant that first as inspiration to build your on community without the trauma of this place. Go to, for We are with you and will be an aid to you. Thus saith We, the Lord your God.”

Armed with this powerful inspiration, I did as I was commanded and gathered a jar of dirt from the graveyard of my foreparents, a corner of the Island wholly without the reach of the toxic caves. And, before I left, I wrote letters of love and sadness to all my friends and family. That done, I stepped into the harbor with my boat laden with provisions, tearfully whispered goodbye to my dearest and loathsome home island, and sailed away. Crossing the edge of the atoll, I suddenly caught one final glimpse of the coral reef whose beauty so captivated me all that time ago. I knew I could not take it with me, but the memory of the ideal I should always strive for was permanently etched into my heart.

It has been many months since that bittersweet day. I do not not know quite where I am or where I’m going, but I’m following the principles of my heart, the directions of nature, and the lovingkindness of my Gods every step of the way. There are many other sailors here, some lost like me, others with a clear destination in mind, and others laboring to persuade us to follow them to their own “perfect” island. They all have interesting things to say, but I fear I will be wary of such travelers forever more. I just hope that I’ll be able to find a place where I can labor in service of my fellow man and my Gods someday in a state of security and stability. But for now, I’m adrift in the sublunary sea.