A nice segment from the film The Black Stallion (1979).
This little boy is shipwrecked on an island, alone, with only this black horse, who also survived. For about thirty minutes in the film while they are on the island, there is no dialogue. It's quite nice.

The desert sharpened the sweet ache of his longing, amplified it, gave shape to it in sere geology and clean slant of light

"As for me, I've decided I'm going to live this life for some time to come. The freedom and simple beauty of it is just too good to pass up."

“I read somewhere how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong, but to feel strong.”

---

"In April 1992, a young man from a well-to-do family hitchhiked to Alaska and walked alone into the wilderness north of Mt. McKinley. His name was Christopher Johnson McCandless. He had given $25,000 in savings to charity, abandoned his car and most of his possessions, burned all the cash in his wallet and invented a new life for himself. Four months later, his decomposed body was found by a moose hunter.."

This movie has deeply affected me.
I've been pretty obessessed with the story of Chris McCandless ever since I saw Sean Penn's film Into the Wild. The movie is inspiring, and breathtaking, and absolutely heartbreaking. I'd read the book (of the same name) by Jon Krakauer five some years ago, and after seeing the movie, I decided to reread the book. I've been completely engrossed by the story; by McCandleness, his free spirit, and his choice to live out to the fullest his dreams and ideals; the idea that "the very basic core of man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences," not soley from human relationships.

The official soundtrack was done by Eddie Vedder, but there was one song in particular, not performed by Vedder, that came at a sweetly somber moment in the movie. Another one of those things I can't get out of my head. You can listen to it here if you're so inclined.

One of his last acts was to take a picture of himself, standing near the bus under the high Alaska sky, one hand holding hi final note toward the camera lens, the other raised in a brave, beatific fareweel. His face is horribly emaciated, almost skeletal. But if he pitied himself in those last difficult hours-because he was so young, because he was alone, because his body had betrayed him and his will had let him down-it's not apparent from the photograph. He is smiling in the picture, and there is no mistaking the look in his eyes: Chris McCandless was at peace, serene as a monk gone to God.

Note: This blog post does not do adequate justice to my interest in the story, nor to the story itself. The movie is an absolutely beautiful film, and the book is completely engrossing, and I would highly suggest seeing/reading either for yourself. (You can read the original article Krakauer wrote for Outside Magazine in 1993 here.)