“Let there be a vaulted dome in the midst of the waters,
and
let it cause a separation between the waters.” -Genesis 1:6
A hazy line, which one could deem as the horizon, lie on the
distant, deep ocean before me as I stared at the junction of sky and water. One
lending its dull blue-grey hue over to the next. My feet solid on dry
ground—the following scene in God’s Creation story aforementioned—but my mind
wandered out to sea.
Lost, but with purpose; solidarity of mind and body.
What did that feel like?
I could only create my own assumptions from the logs of seafarers
past. What was the world like when vessels were not powered by steam nor
engine. In the days of Joshua Slocum, the horizon must have seemed endless.
Hopeful but also hopeless.
Boats always against the current. In search of that elusive
future—that distant shore.
Deep sea. A place where one could rest and find solace in
the peace of the air and the calm of the blue sky above.
____________________________
The dreary mood of the early morning burned away by the
still rising sun and the cooking of oatmeal in a pot set upon a bed of ancient
lava rock. A bottle of wine to send the ½ cup packet of oats down. And why not?
What other drink would best suit three wanderers besides an aluminum chalice of
blue ribbon beer, a taste I am not fond of and which lent to the purchase of
bottled beverages instead.
For in our field of solid lava, we are young— a direct contradictory
to the igneous rock beneath our feet. The crashing waves beat against the cliff
walls, percussion for our morning. Drums of the deep— glacial blue waters cast
into pure white sea foam above our heads. Engulfed but not drenched.
We were soaked from the night before, however. Plans never
made to begin with had to be remade, our options endless but ludicrous each in their
own way. Like sardines we kept one another warm in our sleep the night before,
though only I can attest to both warmth and dryness. Only accomplished through
the sacrifice of comfort by my tent-mates.
We experienced. Laughed hysterically at nothing. Acted like
children. Walked with fervor amongst the old bones of a violent volcano. We
lived. Explorers in our own right. Christopher McCandless wrote while on his
final life journey, “Happiness is only real when shared.” And nothing could be
more true. I experienced it—the feeling of happiness, contentment amongst good
company. What use are 50 foot waves crashing above you, salt water rushing to
your feet, birds soaring above, or sheer cliff drop-offs to steal your breath
away—what use for these things if you cannot experience them amongst friends?
“Friendship brings people close no matter how great the
distance between them.”
I know them now. Our steps one after the other as we hiked.
New pieces of their story falling into mine. Different backgrounds, interests,
families, opinions, but one goal in mind—to familiarize ourselves with this
world. To see places unbeknownst to our eyes until now. Leave home, sail away.
We are those pioneers of old. Responsible only to ourselves. Our frontier
before us—Hazy and grey. And a horizon sits far in the distance and is what we
work for. We row on, beating the current, breaking free.
Becoming who we are meant to be.
“Two paths [rivers] diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one
less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.” -Robert Frost
