A taxi takes me to the shore. I look at the buildings, inhale the smells and try to remember the sounds humanity makes while conducting daily lives, to draw on when storms or nightly disillusions will make me wonder if I ever truly existed.
Someone once said that a sailor is used to dying, and if dying is having to depart - not only from loved ones but from every aspect of human life – and go to “another place” for an eternity, then that someone was right.
The ship lies still, almost alive but more alike an altar. Behind it starts the ocean; earth’s grandest wilderness and its most underestimated, misrepresented and mysterious entity. We know more about the next galaxy than we do about what goes on on the ocean floor.
In many mythologies the sea counts for the great unknown. Dry land gives footing and stands for certainty and past. Sea gobbles up, brings forth, changes in the blink of an eye, and stands for possibility and future. It’s no miracle that sailors, from Noah to Captain Kirk, have always been topic of grand stories. It’s they that reached out into the howling infinite like prophets and returned with treasure and tales.
I must follow my nature. Out to sea again.
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