February 25, 2005
Dead Calm
~~~
Four hundred and 30 miles out when the gale had started blowing. The small sloop was blown off course, out past the gulf. The blow was too strong for too long, I couldn't hold her. Sitting here now, I miss that struggle. She sits, black hull in still flat waters. Her tan sails hang limp, useless except for visual relief from the endless blue of sea and sky. Dead calm.
Fresh water is very low. I succumbed to a cup of sea water yesterday. Not delerious yet, but I must resist at all cost. It may seem to quench thirst, but its the wrong way to replenish. Each morning's dew is barely sustaining. But the stillness of the blue is so inviting.
This boat becomes very small very quickly when out on the ocean alone. When you are trapped in dead calm, sooner or later, rain clouds will come blowing their wet breath over the horizon. But in the waiting, the sloop becomes a prison cell, cramped in by endless unreachable horizon. And the blue calm becomes more inviting, as if it could quench my dry thirst.
Perhaps the flesh and blood of a fresh fish might help rejuvenate. But, no, it takes a whole school captured as One, to really replenish me. I have no need for net or crucifix. Besides, it seems like there haven't been fish out here for thousands of years now. Man's doing. Perhaps there still are schools, out of sight, down a bit deeper than the sun's rays penetrate. Maybe there is sustenance there in the depths. Maybe the key is behind my own blue eyes. Again the blue invites me.
This old rope hammock is a good way to past the time, swaying myself in the cool shade of the drooping mainsail. The creaking cry from the rope keeps a slow rythm, lulling me. Its comfortable without the constant pitching from the waves and the salt water spray that burns your eyes. Thats not true, I'm withering away out here. My sea-legs are getting wobbily, in desparate need of movement, exercise. My heart needs to beat this thick blood. I should swim. But I know there are some big black-grey shadows swirling around down there. They seem to follow the boat. And I don't want to move. The listless canvas sail is my straight jacket. Something so inviting, yet so full of resistance.
Where is the wind? Just a gentle breeze to fill the canvas. A brush stroke pointing home. Too much damn time out here. Too much time.
I know I have a mask and a spear somwhere under the berth. I can dive in and look around a bit. Maybe find some fish. Grab the rudder to stay close to the boat and kick, get some blood into my legs while gazing into the deep invitation.
Tomorrow. Tonight I will listen to the unknown sounds that sing to me from below, that echo off the wooden planks, and send my mind reverberating promises of refreshing rain. Let it wash away the encrusted salt, so I can see clearly back into blue, and sail on again, with a fresh wind, to distant, destined shores where I was born. Tomorrow...
~~~
Posted by Ocean at 04:11 AM | Permalink | | Comments (0)
February 24, 2005
REMINDER!
adapted...
"Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely, ... in an underused and unscarred body/mind, but rather to skid in sideways, pain in one hand, bliss in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and mind screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"
I need reminders...
Posted by Ocean at 02:50 AM | Permalink | | Comments (0)
Right...
...as steven wright says "there's a fine line between fishing and standing on a dock in the rain for hours, like a fucking idiot". just a reminder.Posted by Ocean at 01:28 AM | Permalink | | Comments (0)
blah
I remember, a couple of years ago, we were having some deep discussion in front of a fire. I said something like, "My biggest sin, is that I don't **live** life. When I die, the thing that will bother me is that I didn't live up to my potential, I didn't live life fully". Blah. (Spiritual Sloth?) Blah.
Posted by Ocean at 01:19 AM | Permalink | | Comments (0)