Monday, November 16, 2009

~ Thoughts in Motion ~

I've plied my trades and lived my days in various ways up and down this coastline.

A member in a familial tradition

Not of one trade but of many

Not of one location but numerous

Ever onward a heartwood true grows, strives and survives amidst the storm's lull, the rain's temporary abatement.

Gulls wheel overhead navigating their course through air's flow and effect, like a fishboat chugging along through the pass. The tidal surge, the wind and weather, the plateaus, precipices, and prominences seen and unseen, known and unknown, all influence and impact the flow which follows its nature; its need.

Only fools and the ignorant surge forward paying no heed.
To them the glory and cost of their high stakes. One thing this coast teaches is that life is full of squalls that pass and blue skies that darken. The season is upon us and those that fear and fight and rail against the drizzle shall live in the selfsame gloom they reprove.

This is the season of life; of wind whipped waves and salt laden sprays stinging numbly any hint of exposed flesh. The dampness that communes in our bones with the water within. Liquid life lingers lavishly in the fall air we churn our way through. In and out, rise and fall, oxygen for carbon dioxide, carbon dioxide for oxygen, water water everywhere, in every cell that breathes.

It blows hard and cold outside and is testified to by the swell of white topped waves passing beneath the vessels bow. People sit, lounge, sprawl contentedly and warm in their space, in their place, in their seat, oblivious to the wonders that transpire outside of their shell; outside of their presumed safety.

To my right I see clouds I've never seen before, in this form. And I look towards and above Gabriola Island and Nanaimo. You may not think much of that statement until I share the next detail... I have spent over seven years with that daily view. Living in Roberts Creek we looked across. Living on Edward Rd in West Sechelt we looked across. Living at what was the top of McCourt Rd we looked across. Each day is different. Each moment unique as they shift and morph before your eyes. To me a clear hot sunny "perfect" day is about as exciting as 320 tedious television channels. I haven't even told you what transpires to the left. While dark round giant puff balls glom out past starboard, a glow emanates from the port-side. Looking up the Strait, bracketed by darkness blazes the golden radiant hues upon the freshly whitened peaks rising north up the Island. A transfixing fascinating beautiful view more full and deep and glorious than any television show.

Standing atop the ship having the wind whip and strip the heat from your hands
as you gaze
the greens of the sea one can easily see and be lost and found in that tempestuous tranquility.

Then to return once more to the confines of the present mindset in that particular moment with a fraction of the past a memory that one can only half hold like water in a bathtub. When immersed, your hand, your arm, your all is consumed by the experience. Once your hand comes out the water rapidly spills out and drips away leaving you with but a fragment; a minuscule pond in the palm of you hand, from what once clothed your being... your all

We frame our choices and with our lenses we dictate our sight. There are many who disinterestedly suffer the tedium of travel, the monotony of a ferry ride traveled numerous times, the amount of time wasted in waiting in a waiting room for another 45 minute sailing, currently 43 minutes away. Today instead of having to wake up early to drive straight to the ferry terminal I chose to wake up earlier still that I could drive past the terminal to a park to climb my way up a hill between garry oaks and arbuti to watch the sunrise. An opportunity acknowledged, observed, and appreciated. I had the opportunity of a nautical voyage through magnificent views in an area I love on a blustery day. I got to sit, ponder, reflect, and journal as I savoured some yerba mate as it melted the dark chocolate in my mouth and the warm horn lured increased blood flow back into my superior distal extremity.

There are very few decisions in life that are actually made for us. When we are born, sometimes when we will die, and perhaps alien abduction. Other than that we have the freedom, though often unacknowledged, to do what we will. Sometimes we don't see our choices, don't know they're even there, or don't like the ones we do see. Fair enough, but they are our choices none the less. So knowing that, what will I do? What do I see? And what lays beyond, around the next corner, next thought, next moment? I'm not sure but my second ferry has just gone into motion and I hear the wind calling my name, waiting to freeze my hands and my nasal mucosa.

written November 13th, 2009 between Departure Bay, Nanaimo, and Langdale Ferry Terminal on the Sunshine Coast.

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