On the Hard in Preparation
Fresh wind bit my neck. I’d turned sizing up the blow. My sailboat is a capable partner to be running with. Going against this howler would tax the durability of the helmsman’s spirit. Not destiny but the downwind harbor made this leg of the journey a more valued lesson.
With the compass I read a course heading South and the least bit of West. I am making my way quick as life will allow. For a lapse of necessary time I anchored secure in stillwaters claiming refuge.
Sacks of fresh potatoes, tins of garbanzo beans, jars of tahini, cubes of sugared ginger, pounds of dark roast coffee to buck up sagging spirits…. provisions meant to stiffen a spine and strengthen resolve.
Time itself is thrown into question. How much, how dear, how little, when to go, will we return, is this the moment? Does passagemaking make the kind of expeditionary sense in such a compact and well charted world?
In an event horizon measured by lifespan what piece of this sail– in all its vicissitudes– can be refracted and focused to provide a more accurate glimpse of what has been too self-sure arranged within?
Can a closer brush with the front range of our ambitious questing to the unexplored corners sail us any nearer to the more fully realized self we hear whispering to us in the wind?
Forces scaled to the size of nature’s wit and wisdom have a way of clearing the view from a cluttered mind. A good passage is what we find and feel from start to end— pieces of the experience can provide a sailor with satisfactions found out of reach just beyond the horizon. A good passage is a promise fulfilled.
End of Day
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Where Spirits Go to Fly
Much preparation is underway in readying our boat to sail from San Francisco to Santa Catalina Island. I’m working on acquiring a second anchor. Type, size, shackle, chain, rode and large bucket to stow the gear in is in process. Anchoring a boat requires skill. Next to going somewhere being able to set your hook into the ocean floor is right up there on the to do list.
I’ve carved most of the summer to make this round-trip voyage. From the middle of July to the middle of September we will be sailing. I’ve never been to Catalina during prime time, peak season. I am ever the busy busker seeking to know more about my California kind and how my kind behaves when the days are long and dusk is a straggler.
Sunset in Living Color
In the present there are shows to do, writing to get done, circus workshops to teach between now and when we shove off. There remains much on the plate with life not offering a momentary lapse to flirt with a standstill.
For hijinks I’m reading about the expedition and discovery of the source of the headwaters of the Nile River. The source waters eluded discovery and somewhat stubbornly were finally located in the latter nineteenth century.
Like consciousness it is always easier to witness the phenomenon of thought even if you are left to wonder from where our river of thought begins? When the headwaters to my mind can be plausibly located and convincingly explained, until those mysterious temporal coordinates are precisely set down, I will wait in the camp of those who seriously question whether this precise location will ever be found.
Heart Counting on Change