i heard a voice

here's a bit of a ballad that came to me on my late night watches of semi conciousness-a bit unorganized and sloppy, but i like how it turned out any how because that is a bit how my state of mind was during the time and matches the feel of the gales at night.

I Heard a Voice

Surging through that stormy sea

I heard a voice 

carried in upon the winds,

whispering low inaudible mutterings

that filled my soul with fear and dread.

Casting aft a murky stare-

glassy eyes strain towards the door,

darting round in hollow sockets 

weary from the savage storm. 

I hearken to, breath suspended,

taxing ears to what was spoken,

yet in this pitch of quailing doubt 

all that was that I could hear

was tired groan of creaking ship,

the shrieking of taught lines squeezing

battered mast and ground down rails, 

the eerie moan of wind whipped sails,

the desperate wail of seabird's cry-wind battered wings 

struggling to keep aloft 

in the yawning trough of snarling waves

ripping across the gaping void 

of endless time and open space.

I know it was a voice I heard! --

A spectral tone, a muted murmur

that slid inside my pallid skin, 

crawling like a wingless scarab 

dancing a slow scratching shuffle along my bones.

Where is it now, that phantom sound 

that iced my blood and chilled my marrow? 

My mind is sound-I heard a voice!--

It came whispering in upon the wind,

groaning faint and muffled tones

rasping low an awful note, 

rattling a quaking shudder

from the very depths of a soul 

that has never known such terror.

My heart drums loud and breath draws short,

my back is soaked in nervous sweat,

and teetering in drunken dread,

a savage roll casts me prone. 

Crawling anguished up the hatch 

I slither on the rain drenched deck

crying out into that tumult- 

"to whom or what am I beholden?

Absolve me of my terrible debt!"

My hair whips madly in the gale-

briny tendrils sting my eyes-

my ears are filled with terrible howling,

the inky blackness has me vanquished

in that deep dark night of moonless skies.

Desperately I claw at nothing 

as lurching reel pounds me round,

to and fro and back and forth

across the deck spinning madly 

fingers fraught and searching frantic

for line or cable, cord, or rope 

to rein this ride, slow the whirl. 

Finally slamming to a side

wrapping round the ragged rail,

pincer-ilke they will not fail- 

clasping tight, with iron clutch

steely knuckles crunching white.

We dip beneath, the side goes under-

I must endure this icy plunge,

be patient for this sturdy ship

to rectify her steady course 

and muster for the coming waves. 

Yet underneath roiling surface 

the course of time and violent motion are

as if by some strange hex or vile sorcery,

constrained by paralytic spell. 

The maelstrom roar is suspended

and ghostly silence interposes- 

a muted world, a shadowland,

this trident realm has long transpired

swirling through the timeworn ages-

a lost antiquity now forgotten.

The stream and surge of her currents

flow in peaceful ease of 

watery equilibrium.

Circulating smoothly, serenely,

she emanates a dark appeal- 

a soothing charm of dream-like tranquility, and,

like some murky temptress 

she beckons with enchanting pull.

Time breaks free from its restraint 

and this mythic scene swiftly shatters

as I am wrenched back to the turmoil 

amidst the seething froth and foam.

Still transfixed from what I witnessed, 

the taste of salt brings me back

into crashing world of 

frenzied chaos and wind whipped waves

whose hoary caps cast into space,

prick my brow with venom spray. 

The icy droplets trickle down 

leathered lines of weary face

weathered by a thousand tempests.

Propelled on, this saline slobber,

through thick maze of bearded bristle

touches tongue in gaping mouth

gasping for a vital breath.

Like the kestrels of the sea,

we speed swiftly down a swell,

a moving mountain shifting shape,

formed by force beyond the bounds

of human grasp and understanding

and strain the thought and stretch the mind

to unknown realms of the divine.

Countless monsters throw us skyward

and plunge us into dark abyss,

until this wild and desperate journey 

unfastens my remaining sense 

of cognizance and self-possession,

my fleeting imperturbability.

Through the jaws of snarling beast,

we are swallowed down into the belly-

like Pharaoh and his golden army

the red sea walls surround, engulf, 

and inexorably consume us,

and the weight of an infinite age 

crushes us down, down, down.

Again this water kingdom swims

soundlessly into my vision.

The boat is bobbing to the surface

but my eyes are caught far down below,

and she beckons. Beckons with

inescapable pull, and I feel my fingers

by no command of mine, 

loosen from their steadfast grip.

Wraithlike, I slip over the rails

of that ship, floating free into the serenity 

of that dark silent world of eel and squid.

I watch as bubbles carry aloft to the shadow 

of her hull my last expiration.

And sinking, I offer a final prayer

bidding guidance for my soul, 

and in my subdued concession  

that life above the sea was done,

it was then I realized

that the voice I heard

carried in upon the winds,

whispering low inaudible mutterings

that filled my soul with fear and dread,

had been my own.

Thursday 10/15/09

It is midnight and the night of the new moon. The skies are clear, so every faint star normally hidden by the light of the moon is showing face. "The heavens declare the glory of God...", I wonder how many nights skies this ancient poet witnessed. I think I am beginning to understand what he was talking about. Tonight's heavens are a dazzling display of glistering diamonds bespeckling the dusky lavender ink of twilight's unbounded easel- it is a sight we all too often fail to catch as most of us are immersed in our various dreamlands during this time. Speaking of dreamlands, I just came from a most extraordinary journey. I had taken a 3 hour nap this afternoon so I gave up trying to go to sleep and began meditating. I am not good enough to control my thoughts right away yet, and normally I patiently let them fly about until they exhaust themselves, and only then can I begin to rein them in. As I lay flat on my back, breath deep and controlled, I spontaneously began to concentrate on my body. I started right down with my pinky toe, moving up the foot, heel, ankle, calf, knee, etc. pondering the miracle of each these parts and the role they play in the greater functioning of the body as a unit. I felt an overwhelming gratefulness to each part as they carry on their daily tasks, most of the time unnoticed and taken for granted. Its hard to imagine what it would be like without our current design-if our toes were fused, or if we didn't have elbows-and as I probed the flesh of my face and traced the contours of my brow, I was thankful for this housing unit of my spirit. Anyways, as my thoughts gradually moved up the body I slipped into a deep trance-like relaxation, and all thinking ceased. Who knows how many minutes this lasted, but it seemed like an eternity. I never felt my self drift into sleep, and it was as if I was given a third person tour to the very essence of my being. I am not even able to explain what that means. I can't remember much, but it was a long and exhausting journey through the universe into a realm incomprehensible to my waking mind. Strange dream indeed. I came back to this reality drenched in sweat. I hope I am lucky enough to go back sometime to wherever I was for that hour, for it was far different than anything I have ever experienced.  Anyways. Enough ramblings. I am gonna go take this watch on deck and soak in some starshine. 

Wednesday 10/14/09

Emotional wires are wearing thin and quarters seem closer than ever before. Food is abysmal, the water undrinkable, and tensions are on the rise. This has become a test of spirit, and through it all I have done my best to stay positive. Tom had it out with eric again, and though a very easy going guy, has not learned to let the passive aggressive nature of a crusty old salt slip. I admit it is not easy at times to put up with the rigid and strange manner that many years spent alone has engendered in this captain, but it is usually best just to keep one's mouth shut. This spat was about the food situation on the boat, which is indeed terrible(which i think is pretty fair coming from someone who will eat almost anything). Tom was making a grilled cheese sandwich for a snack, and Eric made some passive aggressive comment about him not eating lunch(some less than desirable leftover canned turkey concoction with canned mushroom soup) and hogging the cheese or something. Like I said Tom is having a harder time adjusting to such a weird diet, and has hardly been eating. I imagine he has lost a good deal of weight on this trip- I know I have! He finally let fly the resentment of the, as he put it, "over the edge nature of an old fart". Not very respectful, but at the same time I understood his resentment. Eric is very stubborn about being the "chef" and has made the same few dishes over and over, all out of canned or preserved food. No fresh veggies, no fresh fruits, and he conjures up strange things like sardines and pickled chutney that only a Brit in finest form could do. We are allowed to go through the "snack locker" if we are hungry during the day, which is comprised of stale oat and raisin cookies(which brings back the good ol' days at south emporia bible chapel :)), some old chocolate mints, and instant tomato soup-hardly enough to satisfy what is now a constantly growling stomach. One day I got out a can of mixed fruit cocktail from, unbeknownst at the time, the "chef's locker" and he jumped down my throat saying that he needs to know exactly what was there for sake of inventory and he can't have crew rummaging through. I didn't even know it was "the chef's locker"- it was just an unorganized jumble of canned foods! I brushed off the ridiculousness of it all and apologized saying it was an innocent mistake(which it was). Another time later in the week, I humbly asked for permission if it was alright if I cooked a box of macaroni and cheese. He was hesitant, saying we need to watch our stores(there were like 15 boxes of them!) and let fly some comment about his cooking not being good enough. I told him we had more then enough to see us through to San Fran, and that I would buy him more boxes when we got there if need be. He reluctantly acquiesced, albeit with some other passive aggressive comment that I chose to ignore. What is far worse than the food situation is the water situation. The first part of the trip I didn't really notice how bad the water was, but for about a week now I have hardly been able to drink any without feeling sick. It has a strange metallic aftertaste which tingles the spine and leaves one wanting to wretch. Not even the instant coffee or tea masks it anymore! The water is clouded with particles and like I say, just tastes toxic. It is either bad dock water from Dutch Harbor or a dirty tank- I get the feeling it is very much a combination of the two. I tried foregoing it for a few days and just getting by on coca cola and beer(which for the first time in my life I was grateful for the cheap so-called "water-beer" that I have always ragged on). I would wake up for watch with a parched throat and suck on a stale chocolate mint to get my saliva running again. A can of warm millers genuine draft is not exactly my idea of a palatable drink at 4 in the morning in high seas. My urine turned as yellow as daffodils and I was slowly feeling the effects of dehydration on my body. I have finally resorted to choking down a few sips of this bad water at a time throughout the day, or as much as i can manage before feeling sick. Toxic or no, it is better than the raging thirst, and at a certain point even the bilge water looked tempting. I just have to shrug my shoulders and keep a silent countdown in my head for when we raise San Fran. The first thing I will do(after a shower of course) will be find a tasty ribeye somewhere with a fine red wine, and swish it all down with a chocolate milkshake for desert. Right now the ETA is saturday morning. Although I have enjoyed this trip I can't wait for a break from this mild lunacy! 

Tuesday 10/13/09

Just spent the last two days in a 40 knot gale so it's been rough ridin' as of late. This whole last week we have been unlucky with the wind direction and have been running low on fuel, so once again we deviated off course farther south to pick up the north end of a low pressure system moving through. The weather forecast only predicted 25 knots of wind; they were way off. Gale force winds starts at 35.  Needless to say we caught the low, or rather it caught us, and we did our best to ride it out. There is not much else you can do in that situation except hunker down in your bunk, try to ignore the shudder and crash of the boat getting pounded and sacked by "linebacker" waves, and pray that none of the halyards or sails break or rip. It is truly amazing the amount of forces this vessel can endure. Of course are engine decided to start having problems in the middle of the storm, so we spent the better part of the night rocking about in the dizzying confines of a dark fume-filled engine room trying to diagnose the problem. The engine was overheating, and we finally narrowed it down to the seawater pump which brings water in to cool the engine. We replaced the impeller and gasket, but that still didn't do the trick. Eric exhausted all his knowledge about what possibly could be the problem and he finally rigged up his own pump system and connected it to the engine. It would have bought us about half an hour of running time in case we weren't able to sail through the San Francisco channel. Still unsatisfied and undefeated, he read and reread the manual, and finally after the storm calmed down tried one last thing that seemed like such a miniscule detail that it would be a miracle if it worked. We merely flipped the plate at the head of the pump around, screwed it back on, and amazingly enough, the pump was able to circulate the water due to better vacuum this created. Of course this is a very limited explanation of what was wrong and what we did, but anymore detail would be too confusing, not to mention I don't think I could describe it in proper mechanical terms. 

This was a strange storm because we went in and out of patches of sunshine. It is amazing how things always seem far less daunting when the sun is shining-it truly acts as a beacon of hope. That night nature granted me with another truly amazing sight that has been etched into my memory. I was on early morning watch and I popped the hatch because I saw a faint flashing through the window. The winds were howling and the turbulent sea was illumined by a celestial stadium of shimmering stars and a thin sliver of moon.  Unruly waves roiled wildly out from underneath us, casting spray that glittered in the nocturnal luminescence. Huge thunderheads filled the horizon from whence we had come, and about every ten seconds lightening flashed from within this seething cauldron, giving us faint bursts of light through the dark clouds. This was the worst of the storm through which we had come, but the lightening must have been obscured by the low lying clouds during our passage. I lifted my eyes to the other horizon which also was filled with looming cumulus storm clouds, the telltale bearers of the coming squalls, and they were golden fringed by soft natal light of a copper dawn. There are no cameras nor words enough that can truly capture the essence of this magical panorama! The whole experience of being out here has been unparalleled and of immeasurable value-in a sense, impossible to recreate.

Wednesday 10/9/09

There are, in my experience, various aspects of balance one has to learn when spending any extended period of time on an ocean going vessel. There are several different types of motion one is subjected to that depend very much on sea conditions and direction of travel relative to waves, not to mention what type and design of boat on which one finds themselves. I am on a 42 ft Westsail sailboat, a cutter if you will, do to the configuration of our sails.  We have a deep draft and no center board, and by modern standards of fiberglass thickness and hull design, this is a heavy sailboat. I find that riding out the buck of the sea bears similarity to my experiences of riding a horse. It is all about centering one's weight and sensing the point of counterbalance in motion. There are 3 main types of sea conditions that I can think to describe, all of which demand slight differences in balance and weight distribution. There is plowing into a headwind, where one takes the waves straight on the bow, usually resulting in a fairly violent up and down bucking. One stands with feet spread wide, a slight bend in the knee, lower spine slightly compressed with diaphragm taught(not flexed), shoulders loose, and arms relaxed and ready. The toes and the heels play the biggest part in feeling what the boat is doing and sending the message to the rest of the body. One roles from heel to toe as the bow drops down from the top of the wave. The brunt of the force of each shuttering blow is then absorbed with the knees, the lower back and diaphragm take the rest, and the upper body for the most part stays immobile except for stabilization against a plane.The point of balance here are the ankles when standing free, or the lower back when one has a counter or surface on which to lean. These are the hinging 'swivels'  that compensate for the inclination of each plunge. The second type of energy transference occurs when one is abeam of the waves. This results in the infamous rocking and rolling that has claimed the dinners of so many. This type of motion is not as violent as the first, but just as tricky and in my opinion more difficult in the respect of executing the normal daily tasks(using the head, washing dishes, moving about, reading and writing, etc.)The aforementioned stance stays the same, and with each roll, one must shift the weight of the body from one side to the other. This starts once again where foot is anchored to floor, the knee on one side begins to absorb and then transfer weight to the other through the roll. It helps to have flexible hips on this-in a sense it is similar to skiing in that the upper body once again stays as motionless as possible-it should only be a stabilization factor, not the equalization factor-that is the job of the lower body(knees, hips, and lower back). The last type of sea condition is the following sea, where waves overtake the ship from stern to bow. This is generally the smoothest and easiest of the three to master equilibrium, and the point of balance is a combination of the first two. As the wave rolls in from behind and overtakes the ship it picks up the stern, the boat surfs for a moment, and is then gently(in a relative sort of way) dropped as the crest of the wave moves through length of the ship, ending in a roll as the bow comes down off the backside of the wave into what is now the trough or what I call the belly(in between crests). This is my favorite sea condition, and it is often exhilarating due to the sense of speed and energy transference from the wave. There are of course many different combinations of sea conditions depending on one's heading relative to the swell direction, in which case it comes down to the agility, intuition, and balance of the individual on how successful they are at riding the sea. The life in constant motion can be a challenge at times and there are many little tricks that must be learned through experience. After a week or so things start becoming second nature-for instance getting up out of a seated position by timing it with the top of a roll, or using the momentum of a roll to get from one side of the boat to the other.  Often times a sailboat stays at a constant 20 to 45 degree slant under heavy sail, in which case it is best to pick out a comfortable spot and ride it out.  I usually nestle down into my bunk, which has a "lee cloth" strung up on one side to keep me from rolling out. Other difficult things include preparation and consumption of food and drink. We have a gimble, which is a small counter on hinges with a lead weight on the bottom that keeps the surface level to gravitational pull. This keeps food and drink from spilling all over the place and is an indispensable innovation for a bluewater sailboat. The stove has adjustable guard rails on all sides, but cooking still proves difficult as the stove unlike the gimble, does not have a hinge. Making tea has become a bit of a ritual before each watch to wake myself up. I have learned that one fills the kettle with the least amount of water possible to save on propane consumption and quicken the process. Also, when pouring the boiling water into the cup(or any liquid for this matter) it is best to hold the cup in hand. This holds true for eating as well. Often times it is an illusionary experience when the plate appears to be at such an angle that food has no hope of staying on, where in reality it is the plate that is level and the person holding it who is at the angle. Drinking in a swell can be a maddening process. I keep a water bottle in my bunk, but i rarely drink out of it any more because i have spilled so much. It is a matter of timing with the waves and taking small sips, but even then you are bound to spill. Now i just drink over the sink. The toilet is at the bow, which like anything has its advantages and disadvantages. One can wedge in and stay on the seat without getting tossed about, yet the majority of motion occurs at the front of the boat. This can prove to be as dizzying as any carnival ride, and if one is not endowed with a hearty stomach at least the toilet is readily available. Life takes some getting used to aboard the Fiona, for one it has no place for squeamish stomachs. Most of what we eat is canned food and instant soup, and I have had to set my germaphobic(what i dub "germaconscious) tendencies aside. For example, on the first day Eric had me scrub some tea stains in the cockpit with fiberglass cleaner and a scrubby. I finished the job and much to my surprise he put the scrubby in the sink and asked me to do the dishes. I mentioned we should probably use a new scrubby as who knows what toxic chemicals were in that fiberglass cleaner. He shrugged and said, "too many people are so squeamish about these things, its a wonder they have an immune system at all anymore-thats what its there for". I didn't want to make a big deal out of it so i kept my mouth shut. The next few days during the gale, I saw him sponging brackish water off the cabin floor with that same dish sponge. Not to mention this same abused rag was used to wipe out the sink every time Tom vomited into it. The sink is positioned right above the head of my bunk, and listening to someone dryheave right above you the whole night through is one of the most unpleasant things I have ever endured-not to mention i get splashed by cold water every time the seawater faucet is turned on. We use cold seawater to do the dishes, as he doesn't like us heating up the water under guise of propane conservation. The dish towels are absolutely filthy as if they haven't been changed in years, and one wonders what the point of even washing the dishes is! Every piece of silverware is rusted like they've been recovered out of some shipwreck, and until i cleaned it, the surface under the dish-rack as well as the rack itself was moldy. I cleaned out the vertical refrigerator, at the bottom of which was sloshing about rotten slime. I took apart the stove surface and wiped it free of the crusted remnants of countless old dinners. I guess it will be an easy transition to the dirtbag climber lifestyle,  which i think might even be a step up in cleanliness. Despite her less then cleanly condition, the interior of the Fiona is beautiful. All her surfaces(counter, table top, cabinets)are crafted from a rich mahogany, and her floor is a dark teik of equal hue, with inlaid slats of a pale ash between each floor boards. The dark blue of the curtains and cushions compliment the warm feel of auburn wood. I would like to have similar theme within my future boat when the day comes. There are two berths in the main cabin, and a state room at the back of the boat, which provides a little more privacy and space for both crew and captain. The dining table also folds down into a bed if need be, but it is only practical in port and is not designed for traveling conditions. A diesel heater keeps us warm, and well designed as the exhaust is undetectable and all conducted outside. As aforementioned, we have a propane stove with four burners and an oven(which Eric does not like to use again under guise of propane conservation). There are plenty of windows which provide ample light within the cabin space. As far as electronics go, there is a cd player, computer, radar, gps, and single side band radio-the bare minimum for modern ocean going vessels. Eric only uses charts for navigation, which is now considered by most to be an antiquated practice. I like that though, and I watch every time he plots his waypoints in an effort to learn. Most people are completely dependent on their electronics, and are completely screwed if for some reason they quit working.

Tuesday 10/6/09   

Today I am filled with an overwhelming restlessness. As i search within myself for the cause of this mental unrest, i realize that my body has been atrophying away for a week and a half, where I have done nothing but sit, eat, and sleep, with only very minor interludes on deck. My hair is an oily mop of tangled tendrils, my face is pale and eyes ringed by dark circles, my skin has turned ashy and is flaking snowy dust, and my muscles are rapidly losing their tautness. I suppose I am suffering from the proverbial cabin fever, but at least in a cabin one can walk out and about and survey their surroundings. Here I am confined to a space smaller than most people's bathrooms! Reading and writing even grow tiresome, but I am exercising my strongest will to continue this discipline. I hate to begin this entry in so negative a manner, and I am doing my best to improve my spirits, after all it is I who signed up for this journey, and I knew I would be ragged and worn by the time we get to port. The wind picked up this morning and we began sailing again, although about 80 degrees off course, so we are hardly making progress. We are sailing close-hulled port tack, meaning we are sailing at the tightest angle at which the sails draw the wind. If we were to hold any truer to our course we would be heading directly into the wind and the sails would flap uselessly about. Port tack just means the side from which the wind blows. We are actually about to switch tacks to see if we can get any closer to our course, but I suspect our deviation will be very similar- we may be lucky to improve by 20 or 30 degrees. (The old sailing command for switching tack is "ready about, hard a lee!") At any rate we are headed south. And it is nice to have a break from the engine anyhow. Eric gave us another tidbit of history during happy hour of which i had previously never been educated. He told us about the Argentinian war in the 1980s in which they invaded the falkland islands. The falkland islands have an extremely rugged and harsh environment, and i couldn't imagine why any country would start a war over this place. Apparently the political leader at the time(Galtiier?) was trying to incense an upsurge of nationalism within Argentina to gain popularity. Tension has long spanned the gap of this large country and small cluster of islands, and Argentinians have always believed in a false sense of ownership, I guess maybe because of their proximity(this is conjecture- exactly I am not sure). The leader thought he could play on this public perception and invaded the colony, which is a protectorate of Great Britain. The British quickly dispatched their military might to the region and defended the archipelago. The war lasted only 72 days and the Argentines suffered far more casualties then the Brits. The South American leader ironically lost popularity and was thrown out, and a democratic government was put in place. Eric told us of the lasting effects of war he witnessed when he visited the islands. He said there were fields into which the Argentinians dropped mines from helicopters and there was no plausible way for the British to sweep and disarm them after the war without further casualties so they were ordered to stop trying. Today there are caution signs in various parts of the islands as there are still many armed mines, not to mention the many three legged sheep. We talked about the follies of war and how unfathomable it is how it can be that the millions of lives that have been lost throughout the various wars of the ages are most often due to the whims and fancies of a single man(who, most of the time is completely insane). It is unbelievable when one takes a step back to truly contemplate this. And so devastating. What a waste of precious life! Eric is extremely knowledgeable about World War 1 and he gave me a brief history of the factors leading up to the war and its culminating effects. He said it can be argued World War 2 was a direct consequence of the first world war-that is to say it set the stage altogether. He told me to read the book "The Guns of August" by Barbara Tuchman, and that she outlines the start of WW 1 very clearly and concisely. I have never taken a thorough course in European history, and with the fascination of it all came a sense of horror and disbelief. What humans were capable of! And what we are still capable of.... When i go back to school(whenever that may be) I think I am going to primarily take history classes. A good teacher makes all the difference though, and one has to remember that history is all in the perspective of the winner-rarely do you hear a loser's side-they are either exterminated or their voices are lost in oblivion.

acknowledgement

Monday 10/5/09

Today we have reached the halfway point of our 2000 mile journey. We are just south of the latitude of Astoria, Or and about a 1000 miles off shore. We traveled this far south on the recommendation of an airline pilot who crewed on the Fiona for a short stretch of the Northwest Passage off the coast of Greenland. He reported a forecast of strong southerly winds further south then our original course, so we deviated from our original waypoints. It turns out that we are moving parallel with a high pressure system(high pressure denotes calm weather and little wind) so now we have been motoring for the last day and a half. So much for the accuracy/relaibiltiy of weather forecasts, but i am having a wonderful time nevertheless. Today the glassy seas are quiet, and there is hardly a breadth of wind in the air. I am sitting on deck soaking in the quiet calm, listening to the gentle lapping as our hull cleaves the water, and pondering the many questions that have been swirling about in my mind of late. We are encompassed in a misty fog, and the fiery sphere burning through this haze casts about a blinding white light. The water shimmers a molten silver until it disappears into the obscurity of these low lying clouds, and silence pervades the static air. Out of the white wall of this impenetrable carpet materializes an albatross. He is but a silhouette in this strange light, and his enormous body dips and swoops effortlessly around the ship. He lands for an instant, so gracefully no splash can be heard, and a moment later takes off again on his lonely journey through the mists. I am filled with rapture and silent jubilation from this heart stirring visit from the sea farer symbol of good luck. We push onward through the fog. The engine purrs softly in the background, more a subtle vibration then audible sound. There is an aperture in the whisker pole situated directly over my head(stretching from the mast over the starboard rail), and the airflow from our forward progress is creating a soft humming note, one whose pitch I am contemplating. If I had to guess, based on the range of my own voice it is middle C sharp or D. Dave with his perfect pitch would know instantaneously. I have thought so much about him out here-remembering his hearty laugh and enthusiastic smile, his uninhibited nature and his eagerness for fun. I wonder where he is and in what form, and if he has retained the unique composition of spirit that made him who he was, or if in the end we all just fade back into the fabric of the universe. The great mystery of life, the origin of existence, has for the first time in my adult life invaded my consciousness and taken hold of my entire being. Up until now I have been content to recognize that there are things we can never know, and hence have never bothered myself to give it thought, but now... but now i can't train my thoughts away from matters of the spirit. The miracle of life in all its forms, the wonders surrounding me, the deep emotion and powerful sentiments within my soul, my newfound and unfamiliar connection to unknown forces of the universe have forced me to meditate on such things. I am not looking for answers, I am merely learning to acknowledge the presence of the great mystery, power, and energy that drives the life forces on our planet and beyond. I am learning that there is something far greater than myself, but a thing of which I am a part, which is continuously revealed in our surroundings, in humanity, in every creature, and in all the flecks of matter that compose this planet; a higher power, a godhead, timeless energy, the indecipherable entities that big-bang theorists propose preexisted matter, great spirit, the spirit that moves in all things-this force which in our need to label things, the human brain seeks to recognize, understand, and form connection to. And with this acknowledgement comes a reverence and appreciation to be part of this miracle of life so irrepressible that I must bow my head and bend a knee, although i know not exactly to whom or what, but nevertheless, an overwhelming consciousness of humility and gratefulness emerge from within. I am beginning to realize that it takes as much faith to believe in random chance as it does to believe in creation. How can this all be a random occurrence, yet at the same time, how can one internally process the undeniable evidence of evolution throughout the ages? I try to imagine the different stages of life, the protazoic life-forms steadily changing, growing, transforming, emerging out of the slime and muck of the bubbling goo in a world already millions of years old. It is impossible for me to span the gap from these first single cells to the millions of integrated cells constantly executing the countless chemical processes of my body. This in between, this shroud of mystery that the atheist tries so desperately to trace and the creationist tries so desperately to invalidate, is an impossible thing to comprehend. Time is such a human concept, as is the idea of some gigantic creator amusing itself like some child with play-dough, but what i am beginning to worship is the creativity of the nuances, of the processes that, nevermind the 'how', did happen and occur daily in front of our very eyes. It is miraculous and fantastical, indecipherable and arcane, but it is there-we are here. Some say it is the code of DNA that is eternal life. There is a bit of truth to this I think-what remains of us is what we pass down-what we are, our very composition, is directly descendent from our stone-wielding ancestors who, long-armed and stooped, shuffled their ways across the continents. What is difficult for me to grasp is that this view of eternal life still must have had a beginning somewhere in the saga of existance-regardless if they were codes that were writ in the primordial mire or if they were swirled out of dust by the breath of some great being. I spend hours with my mind wrapped around such thoughts, but in the end, I draw in a deep breath, and thank that unknown force, be it chance or providence, that I am here and am given the capability to be aware of the wonders that surround me. For the first time i am truly beginning to understand depth and meaning of the phrase we all have heard so often: Life is a gift.