eulogy to the sea

Here I stand in the epicentre of my world, marvelling at so distant an uninterrupted straight line bisecting sea and sky.

As I sit still I am moved through a rhythm of the swell and on past each variation in this theme of blue. A seascape of such apparent substance as to be suited to walking out upon, yet my being is contained within this machine for living in, boundaried and protected by a fibre-glass shell. I go to sea not to escape the parallel realities that each individual crosses each urban day but to envelop my conscious mind in a single reality and thence to free my subconscious.

In this way the geography of the route is vital in the moment but irrelevant to the journey. It is the being at sea that matters. Time and direction take on new meanings in the sleep-deprived rhythm of the watches as we zig-zag our way out to a point marked only in the mathematics of a chart. A boat is not a car, a sea is not a road, there is no direct route here…only angles enabling Velocity Made Good. Nor does complexity end here, moment by moment changes of the angles of wind on the ears of trimmers and helmsmen changing expectations of speed, direction, sail set and weight on rudder.

As I sit still I am moving to the balance of the boat and her reaction to the sea states and wind patterns. Here I am in extra time, a gift of living slowly through a world conflated by ease of communication and increased speed of travel. In this sea surrounded world conversation becomes an alternative to quiet rather than the focus of companionship. And, in the hours or days between tacks, time expands and is filled by the meditative demands of a well-trimmed sail.

On a fair day land gives good warning of approaching arrival. Sizing him up as we run parallel to the coast, petulant and defiant yet ready to concede a certain relief of a safe mooring…relief that oft takes the form of alcoholic stupor as crew put aside hoses and sail bags for a harbour view and a beer.