The light begins to break through the darkness and it has
a soft glow. Filtered by luminous clouds (with their bellies full) the sky stirs and they release their load -
but this morning… it is a gentle rain.
A hint of a
rainbow appears letting it be known the sun is moments away from a grand
entrance.
It is early and the sea takes on many shades. A chameleon of
sort in multiple hues of blue – it’s all a reflection. As above so below the
water is our life source and I say I little thank you.
The gentle rocking of the boat soothes my soul.
I am
cradled by the sea and feels so right.
The water is lapping against the hull, the birds dance and dive then
perch themselves on a near-by buoy to stand sentinel.
Life is simple, untethered and quiet in one bay to the
next, and each day has its own unique serenity. Connecting to the ocean has
deepened my respect for its immensity and heightened my ability to tolerate
inconvenience of certain things I once deemed important – thankfully they are
no longer a thought.
From our boat, I watch the village awaken and I think...
Existence on shore now seems tilted, harried, stressful
and sad. A place I cannot embrace anymore so I say a little prayer. I could
easily shut my eyes to solid ground but I don’t, I won’t and I adapt when
needed.
We go to land to provision, to take in the heritage, and the way of life. We are constantly
reminded of just how lucky we are and to never take for granted where we come
from – life is not easy on these Islands. The things we have grown up with are
only a pipe dream to the West Indies.
Respectively, we are spoiled beyond our
wildest imagination.
Just beyond the juxtaposition of the clashing cultures in
each village/town is the sacred jungle. A place where the old ways dominate by
far. Technology couldn’t, or wouldn’t dare try to master or duplicate the
strength of blood wood trees, the beat of the hummingbird wings and the might
of the rivers that feed our soul. The light under the canopy of trees is beyond
words. We walk in awe and brilliant beauty.
And I say to myself, “I wish I could share this with everyone.”
We travel in solitude with time and tide. Our schedule is
predicated upon the will of the wind. We can only go when Momma Nature nods her
head as we are at complete mercy of her whim. She often acts like an
adolescent; her mood changes in an instant, so awareness is key.
Full sails are a rarity; the winds are too powerful and
build in the blink of an eye.
A 40-mile passage is a seven-hour day of nothingness; it
gives way to the things buried deep in the subconscious. Thinking, forever thinking – I call it
“sea therapy” – you can’t run, you
can’t hide; you are called to the mat until the smallest object catches the
eye. Heightened sensitivity to the
little things are imperative, they are omens of sea state, wind direction and
unseen life below the water.
Every now-and-then a school of dolphins will come play in
our wake. They taunt, they arc, and they race our hull and peel off as quickly
as they appear. Nearing shore the Yellow-footed Boobies try to land on our
rigging, sometimes they make it, sometimes they don’t and the effort they make
to land is exhausting to witness.
I bring my attention back to the sunrise – the magnificent
sunrise, it never gets old.
And I write:
I love the way the morning gently takes away the darkness
and no one questions its motives.
I love the gap, that momentary gap where day and night are
not defined.
I love the way moon knows how powerful it is no matter how
much of itself it is showing.
I love the wisdom of the soil, layered and majestic – there
are stories, many untold stories.
I love how trees reach for the light and cede to the wind.
I love the unimportant that is wildly important
I love it all, and we dance… (dl)
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