I Am
I move like the ocean’s waves
I Am
Why hold back? Runaway to the sky! Let your dreams fly . . .
Years ago, I was dating a man who
had recently retired from the police force and was ready for some serious
downtime. He wanted to actualize sailing
as a hobby, and asked if I would take lessons with him. Once he was comfortable enough he wanted to
buy a boat and sail to Cuba and then down the Caribbean. I thought it was a fantastic idea, idyllic
and adventurous. I had watched many a
sailboat in the waters surrounding our city of Sarasota, and at last I would be
the one out there. Well, we broke up
soon after, and those lessons never happened, but the dream of sailing never
died inside my heart.
I recall the day I was curling my
hair for a ballroom dance competition I was about to attend. I was on the very last curl, and at the last
moment I moved wrong and accidentally burned my arm, leaving me with a scar, well,
a branding, the shape of a sailboat, looking very similar to Nautica brand’s logo. The branding hasn’t gone away to this day, and
it’s been almost 4 years. Not long after these events I was
modeling for a group of artists. I
positioned myself on the platform, sunk into my pose turned my head and
froze. What is the picture in front of
me, but a beautiful painting of a sailboat in sapphire water. For the next three hours my gaze was on that of
this romantic teak-trimmed boat. With the branding on
my arm, and the colors of the sailboat on its waters, it was like sailing kept
coming up serendipitously and its yearning had stayed rooted in my soul.
********
Hmm, here I am 2 years later living
in the Windward Islands . . . In my mind the event of sailing beautiful
Caribbean waters had seemed like a difficult, grandiose dream to achieve, one
where you’d have to have a lot of money, and have to know how read wind, swells,
and tie difficult knots. Something which
seemed like an unattainable dream to some day achieve, turned out to be as simple as connecting with a friend of a friend within my every day setting.
It’s ironic that our favorite
Friday night hang out was the marina. We
just went for the sushi, or pizza, but overlooking the restaurant, bar scene,
the reality was that we were at a Marina… a marina 90% populated by
sailboats. The marina was also the
morning coffee spot for foreigners and locals alike, and I found myself there a
majority of mornings sipping my tea, typing away at my computer, to a view of
these sleeping boats in their slips.
Through my man I was introduced to
an expat Brit with a 41 ft Catalina sailboat.
I had often seen him around some mornings there. He always looked reddish tan, relaxed, and with a smiling
face. Upon our introduction I came to
find he was going to Grenada for Regatta week and it just so happened he had
extra space enough for me and my girl, and did we want to go along? It
didn’t matter that we didn’t have any former sailing skills. Without a moment’s hesitation the answer was yes,
yes absolutely we would go!
*****
It was quite special gazing upon
the surrounding islands. The sun waking
up the sleeping mountains with its emanate glow. The forested green and their curvaceous
shapes. The haze-like halo of ether
hovering around and above. Vast blue
waters shone silver in the reflected light.
Waves dancing on by.
The main sail goes up and we begin
to harness the morning’s wind. A golden
glow paints an idyllic picture. My eyes keep
We were just passing the southern
tip of St. Lucia, saying goodbye to the Piton mountains when all the sudden the
Captain calls out “dolphins!” Squealing
with pleasure we notice a large pod that were now swimming along the boat. It was easy to notice how playful they were,
rapidly zooming alongside us, underneath us, and jumping up for graceful dives. We watched the show for the next 20 minutes
and when they finally departed we all felt like we had been blessed with a
magical accompaniment to our first journey.
********
A night sail, almost full moon, and
constellations so vivid, painted across a deep navy blue sky. Nothing but the sound of waves against the
boat, and the feeling of cradle rocking as we headed south. Each of us took turns staying up, helping
keep watch, and keeping the navigator company as not to fall asleep. Stories were shared, and while we all got to
know each other much better, for in such purity as witness to sea like this,
one quickly opens their heart and is able to connect.
Arise to the boys, “Chop chop!” “Let’s roll!” hurried rushing out the boat for their race. I put on clothes and decide to go with. Four of us in the dinghy and I’m driving. The rain begins and it only gets harder. My mood, already irritated from a disturbed night of creaking noises affected my sweet sleep. Robin’s demanding attitude worsens. I can barely see and I’m now soaked and freezing without a towel. At least a brilliant full rainbow appears in the background. We arrive to the marina rest stop and I see a yoga class on the stage that’s filling up. Without a mat, I fancy the idea of not attending, but as I observe the instructor, an older French gentleman, with a bald head and a Buddha-like smile, I decide to participate on the wood floor anyways. Another kindred spirit we met nights before shows up as well and we begin. Strong awareness and strong postures I sweat and gleam with delight through an amazing class.
Sunbathing nude on the bow of the
boat while everyone is ashore. I am
Sophie Em’s figure- head. Gentle rocking
and swaying to the blustering waves blown of these windward islands. An osprey flaps his strong wings as he
dangles a fish from his talons. The
bruise on my knee pains me- add another to the collage. It has become common getting banged and
bruised. Scraped, dryed out, salted
out. Sailors aren’t deemed the title
“drunken sailors” for nothing. The pain
in my head from the past week's "celebratory spirits" is affecting me.
Sleeping sounds good.
Moonlit night under the stars. The boat sways with currents of waves. The boys return and in the fresh air I lie
on my back on the yoga mat, on the bow of the boat and listen. I listen as planes fly by. I have the perfect view. Captain Robin cooked a delicious hot meal, creamy,
spicy vegetable and rice. Reggae plays
in the background. I could meditate
right there, even with the lads down below.
I could easily be swept away in the vibe, cradled in the tunes, and be taken away high.
The waves run up against the rocky wall beneath the gorgeous expansive
home above. A smartly lit home with a
bit of orange glow, its beautiful compartments standing individual and
solid, revealing its Asian influence. Amazed by the sound of the waves they must be used to hearing. Other sailboats sleep in the harbor around
us. Single mast lights shine like
scattered stars.
Each night I watched the view. Beneath a full moon and stars, the setting
beyond the sea looked almost fake. A
vignette of picturesque water highlighted with reflected lights from star
topped sailboats parked quietly. Water
reflections like a Van Gogh’s conte crayon squiggles. Oranges, blues, and white. The waves gently rush to finish at
shore. I spark the local herb, lie on my back gazing up at the moonlit view. Playful clouds, white and gray, move on by
disguising the moon, highlighting its mystery like a vale. I dive deeper into the oneness of nature,
aware of trees, night and breeze.
Timeless presence, ecstasy with palpable divinity, I breath. I go back to the party at the marina. Dance in vain. Socialize in vain. Dance with an admirer, sway him off as fun
and free as I feel. What I really want
is not here.
Awake at 7am, sun gleaming through
the hatch. The corner fan whirs, the
boat is beginning to stir. Rocking
gently back and forth I contemplate pulling myself away from the last bit of
sleep. More would be nice after a very
late night, a rum and pineapple drink and a very fried Trini double. My body lightly ached and I could feel my
head swelling. Nick calls out, “Let’s
roll!” I figure he’s still drunk from
the night.
When we had all came to, we dingyed, walked, bused it until
our 7 sisters waterfall destination.
With one locally made muffin in the belly, we began our trek
down through the rainforest. Greenage,
foliage, immense tree trunks, rope vines, ferns, fuscia ginger lilies, the
stream with heavy and slippery rocks- and most of all, mud! Oh and more mud. After some hours we reached the “great final
fall.” A brisk victory frolick in the
powerful cascade and we were on our way back.
More mud, climbs, and crash in the taxi bus.
This would be my first race. I was no longer tacking weight, but I was in the midst of the action. I was set to sail with a new acquaintance on his historic looking, red painted sloop. Captain Robin dinghied me over. We were to race in an
hour and the crew was still at breakfast.
I’m left with 2 very “not all there” individuals from the crew. Secretly making judgments, unconsciously
thinking how I’m better than these two crewman due to their lack of social skills and
abilities, and for God’s sake their speech is terrible and I can hardly
understand their accent. The three
of us sat there on the boat’s bow, waiting . . . in silence . . . staring out
onto the gleaming water. Trees rustled
as winds blew, sounds of birds strewn against the mountain- sides. Rocking gently side side as waves caressed
the boat’s hull. 10 . . . 15 minutes must have gone by. No words were spoken, and what should have been perceived as awkward or rude turned into beautiful silence. In that silence, all became ONE and all was communion. Suddenly, I had understood enlightenment. It was so simple and not intricate at
all. In communion was pure contentment
and pure peace. I saw all that exists. Its buzz and its warm daylight beauty shining
and delighting. Trees dance. And we, all that IS, laughed together and were one
together.
The race was long, was wet, but an utter blast. I couldn't be happier being out on the open sea. The entire week in Grenada was magic. Encounters with new and interesting people, sights of super yachts and sailboats of all sorts. Food, drink, live cultural entertainment. I never slept so good; being rocked to sleep each night from my cabin was a nurturing for the soul. I also was graced with tremendous healing during that sea adventure. My dream of sailing had manifested itself before my eyes, dazzling itself in silver sun dances across idyllic waters. Looking back, before my path to St. Lucia, I had wanted to travel to see the islands, and now I was actually living there. I had wanted to sail the open waters, and I had done that too. What else was possible . . ? Again, I am reminded that we are creators of these gifts of lives we have. We are the ones that can limit ourselves, and we are the ones that can expand ourselves. What will you choose? How good can you stand it? How many dreams will you let manifest?
Oneness
The exhaling
murmurs of whispering waves swooshing to shore
Whistling hellos
from tweeting birds
Humming doves coo
and moan
Bending trees dance
as air and nature breath in presence
Crackling seed pods
sweep against each other
The calls of
crickets
The sounds of
stillness
Where we all become
one
Draped together in
a vast cove
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