I can’t tell anymore whether I am more or less moved to self-deception than others, but I try not to be. So it is with caution that I relate a fairly unremarkable experience that nonetheless held mystical overtones. I’ve become an avid swimmer. It clears my head, restores my health and, despite a certain amount of physical exertion, I actually enjoy it. I drive up the highway a short distance to the beach park at the south end of Maui’s vast original resort complex, Ka’anapali, where there is an old cemetery between the road and he beach. It so happens that I don’t like cemetaries, but this has turned out to be the perfect place to park and shower. I enjoy it so much that I have begun to go with the moment. I don’t get in the water right away. There’s no hurry. And there has been this strange feeling tugging at the borders of my mind for days now, evoking that same curious phrase that came to me before when I camped in the rocky bluffs further north. The iron hills. Being suggestive, I suppose, of something ancient and immovable. The magical offshore island. The glorious Lahaina mountains. Idyllic palms curved elegantly over the water. I lay back on the sand with my fins on, let the sun bake me, and sank into to such a profound peace that time stopped in paradise. So this was why those old tombstones cluttered the sandy ground. Other people had felt the same on this spot. They wanted to be buried here. Where there was no death.