Moorings

                               My beautiful ship

                                       O my memory

                                       Have we sailed far enough

                                       In waters vile to drink

                                       Have we sailed far enough

                                       From the beautiful dawn

                                       To the sad evening

                                             ~~Apollinaire

                                                Cape Cod Bay

 

   When you live in rooms that stand at the end of land, you can sense that you are floating into nothingness at times. You turn from the room to the sea for too long, and you are suspended in the sky and adrift. At other moments, you turn your back on the sea and retreat into your shell like those creatures you find on the rocks and sand. Walls become your second skin, and the space that you inhabit is indistinguishable. You are sheltered from vacuity.   The wind coming at you from the sea speaks of places unseen and unknown. You look for mental paths to return you to your life and the things you should be doing. You mind becomes a bridge built from driftwood and scraps of sea salvage and everything remains fraught with meaning: the book lying bent on it's spine, the glass reflecting sunlight on the counter. Staring off into objects, you think back: shared moments of happiness and sorrow, and your joys and regrets bob like buoys.

                                    A flooded road.  Scorton Creek.   

Is this what life is finally all about? The imperative to go forward and the varied paths, some flooded with misreadings? Solitude seeks answers. Walt Whitman said, "To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow. All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means...I think I will do nothing for a long time, but listen and acrue what I hear unto myself." Introspection can lead you to deeper levels of memory, and you can easily sink, wondering if you will ever surface again. We remain in each other's memories...for as long as we chose to. For those we have lost-- we know they won't be swimming to shore, shaking away time, joining us with where we have gone on in our lives.

Ultimately, we can never truly know others. At best, we guess. We are condemned to being these isolated islands of self. What remains important is to keep trying to break through, even though we know we can't. Tonight, I watched clouds pushing against the sky and setting sun, pushing their heads against the darkening sky. I turned my face back to the land hoping the way will be smooth: trying to remain true on course and keep from taking false steps again.

 

 

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