Winds of Change

Still abuzz and dancing through tree tops I sit back and begin to contemplate what next. Where is this journey taking me? What is the next saga I call my life?

The winds of autumn bring change and have been this way for as long as I can remember. The crispness that blows through my window late at night creates a stir, an itch that I cannot ignore. The wind howls through every part of me and eggs me on. Come on, do it, follow your gut, take that step, take that leap. What is the point in standing still? What do you want? What are you waiting for? Do it. Do it.

And so I listen to this not so soft-spoken phantom, and I hear things loud and clear. The trouble is that my head is getting in the way. The heart, the gut, all on board, but it is the pragmatism, the rational side of my brain that is derailing me.

The heart screams go and the guts echo and cheer me on. They cheer on the thoughts of selling all that I own and head further away from here, head east. I’ve never seen the Atlantic from Canadian shores. I’ve never felt an urge so strong. They cheer on the thought of relocating to somewhere new, somewhere fresh and somewhere I could place so much hope, so much energy, and so much intrigue. They celebrate the magic and the mystery I sense. They stand for a feeling that might be more and the intensity of what couldn’t be less. They root for the forgotten underdog of love and passion – the stuff only writers write about but forget to experience along the way. I hear their thunderous applause for saying it like it is and see their vibrant gleams of bliss with each topsy-turvy sensation.

They bang drums and play trumpets to the tune of howling winds, never to miss a beat, never to miss a chance for me to hear. It is loud, it is clear but then the rational side of me rears its ugly head and questions the thoughts and raises doubts. It brings me back to a time where I made a pact with myself – one of chasing. And the heart and guts show their scars. The doubts of things working and being as real as they seem emerge. The heart tumbles and the guts twist, leaving a tangled knot, diving into a loop-de-loop gone oh so wrong.

So much of me wants to tune out the logic, wants to silent the doubts, the worries, even the fear. So much of me wants to hear the drums and trumpets, the roars and applause with absolute clarity that I will pack to the rhythm, I will dream with it and somehow walk along the shores of the Atlantic to its tune.

But for the time being, I am tormented; caught between my heart and guts and brain, and forced to listen to both sides.

Threads

How is it that we find friends? Why is it that there is a certain unexplicable connection between some individuals while others either leave you feeling drained and exhausted or with a numbness you cannot seem to shake? What is it that gives us this immediate buzz, the tingles, the joys, the exchanged smiles and an immediate comfort with perhaps a complete stranger? I guess I always ask questions even if there is no concrete answer. The questions are always there, always in the back of my mind, yet, with no proof in sight, I let things be as they may. I let myself to be consumed with these connections and appreciate each and every one of them, welcome each and every person that crosses my path and smile that somehow we have come to meet at these junctions of our lives.

I once read somewhere, perhaps it was Chinese fable, or some urban myth from another country…who knows really. But what matters is how much I appreciate this beautiful tale and how I it relates so much to what I see and question now. This tale states that we are all born with fine threads of silk connecting us to our soul mates – lovers or friends – and as we age these tie become woven into thicker strands moving us closer and closer together until we finely meet. The silk rope pulls us together and bounds us together for our lives.

I have been blessed, truly, to have been bound to some great individuals that I now call friends. But the beauty of it all is that I am still finding myself being pulled closer and closer to people that stretch the country, that stretch this planet. These individuals that I never knew existed have suddenly appeared like unexpected rainbows after a summer shower.

Although I cannot help myself to wonder, is it these threads that have stretched out suddenly become stronger and now reaching a point where the individuals are approaching closer and closer? The bond that is developing grows stronger with each new strand that is added? I don’t know the answer, but I do know that I am surrounded by wonderful beings who seem to be connected; whether we are joined with thick silk rope or delicate threads, we share something unique with each other .

Awaken

Churning, turning, twirly-whirly, dancing atop water, flying through space, nothing to stop me and everything to spark me. How long have I been dormant waiting for this explosion to erupt inside? How long has it been since I have forgotten who I am, who I once was? How long have I been sleeping?

Has some prince woken me from this slumber? Where has this prince been for so long? Has the time not been right for him to make his appearance? Or has destiny been up to her typical tricks? So my prince, what next? Are you ready for this intensity that you have stirred? Are you ready for the immensity of what this world has to offer; this space, this gap, this unknown with all the questions and intrigue, wonderings and delight, the smiles and the pure joy?

I feel me again; alive and buzzing, teeming with energy and creativity. I feel the connection to so many things. There are opportunities are abound, floating in the air, drifting like soap bubbles waiting to be grabbed and popped. The vigor hangs like over weighted fruit on the fruit trees that I planted so long ago. The seeds sown have blossomed before my eyes and are now gushing into bountiful pleasures that weigh down each and every limb.

I use the time to write and to open myself to unlimited discourse within myself and with others. I lust for conversations that feed my fervor, I yearn to dream with another, I ache for the intoxication of life but in all my independence and quest for freedom, and the enjoyment of being a loner, I wish I could share it. I wish I could thrive along side someone who sees me for me, who understands my oddity, who is intrigued with my thoughts, who appreciates and inspires me, who laughs with and at me and makes me grin. And to this person, wherever he may be, a thought for you:

Climb the trees, kick off your shoes and let the breeze tingle your toes in this season of crisp. Walk beside me and hold my hand, but not in a way that chokes. Chase rainbows with me, dream, explore, laugh with strangers, inspire me, and inspire you. Build sandcastles and watch the tide carry them to sea. Let diamonds sparkle upon us. Quench my thirst with your curiosity, your view of the world, your intrigue. Allow me to wipe tears and trace your smile. Trip through fields of daisies and fall down with me to watch the moon rise and stars beam.

Lessons Learned :: Karma (Part I)

Somewhere on the Timor Sea

Karma was a word that floated through my vocabulary. It was something that I had heard and said, yet, never really understood its full and true meaning until I was several days out from Australia and less than a week away from Indonesia on the Timor Sea.

I left Australia by chance, catching a ride on a Canadian yacht out of Darwin. Destination: South East Asia. First stop plotted was Indonesia via Singapore, Malaysia and up to Thailand.

The first day out, and my first time on the open seas was a bit rough. I wasn’t sure if it was sea sickness or the after effects of a big night out, perhaps it was a bit of both. I sucked ice cubes and lied flat on the deck, with my head over the side. Land slowly faded behind us as we forged ahead, a warm breeze billowed the sails pushing us onward. The only sounds came from the splashes of the water, the lanyards, the sails and our voices.

And then there was the sound of a plane; the Australian coast guard flew over keeping eyes on their borders and shores. We were in contact and it was a reassuring fact that there was some communication to someone else. Getting closer to the equator, the sun sets around 6 and darkness comes quick, segueing into the most magical evening show I have ever seen. Still on the deck, flat on my back the stars danced upon the velvet sky. Shooting and falling, I was in awe. I slept under the stars on the deck with the seas and rigging and flapping sails lulling me to sleep.

The next two days passed quickly. My land lubber legs were slowly adjusting to the motion of the sea and I could keep food down. The captain shared stories of his adventures between leaving Canada and Australia, made great popcorn for afternoon snacks, plotted our course with the GPS and had our daily encounters with the Coast Guard. Dolphins would drop by and play in the bow wake on a regular basis to both of our amusement. Balls of fish would dance and flicker in the water as tuna were no doubt lunging at them from beneath. Flying fish would find their demise as they leapt onboard.

I still couldn’t stay in the cabin. I lived on the deck. And while the captain went for a nap I found the chinks of shade and slept. The soft spouting sound of dolphins woke me and was captivated by their playful spirit as they approached the yacht from ever angle. And that is when I noticed something on the horizon. A mere dot breaking the unobstructed views and I wondered what it was. The captain had told me stories of modern pirates on this stretch of ocean so I kept my eyes peeled. And slowly the shape of a boat took form. I woke the captain and grabbed the binoculars; we kept our course, watched, and waited.

Slowly the boat on the horizon began to take a recognizable form. Sails and a large hull. Of course our thoughts turned to pirates. Perhaps the Captains thoughts ran a bit deeper with fear, troubles, a touch a panic. Our eyes squinting towards the ship, wondering and still waiting as slowly the wind pushed both of us closer on an inevitable path.

But the shape of the boat changed, was it the angle, was it the sun toying with our vision, or was it our fear? And through the binoculars the shape of a small outrigger canoe and two lone figures became apparent. And again we wondered and waited. Time crept by. And the figures in the boat becoming more real-to-life with every stroke. They were 20 feet off the bow and made a sweep to the side. And there we were - virtually face to face.

Leathered skinned and wearing sarongs, the one man took off his straw hat to cool his head from the effort put in to catch up with us. The other fumbled around the canoe, looking for something. The Captain, trying to push me into the cabin, was afraid that the blonde haired maiden may be an appealing capture for what he regarded as pirates. And honestly, they were the most disappointing pirates I had ever seen. No patches, no hooks, no "Argghh Billy" or "Ahoy mate" drawls.

And as I fought my way through his arm lock and gritted snarls, I saw the one man find what he was looking for and he held up a coconut, then another. Two coconuts dangling from a rope. They were saying something, but we couldn't understand. Were they wanting to sell us coconuts? The whole incident was surreal. Why would they paddle all that way to sell us coconuts? We stood there absolutely dumbfounded. The guy in the back held up a blue plastic jug and kept repeating the same unfamiliar syllables over and over. I shrugged. I didn't understand, and finally one of the men belted out, "water."

I turned to the Captain, "They want water. Can we give them some?" But it wasn't my call. I didn't know the rations we had. I didn't know how much longer it would be until we hit a port. The Captain looked at me in disbelief, "It could be a trick to get on the boat, I can't do it. I can't risk it."

And suddenly I took his look of disbelief. "But...," I mumbled.

More short choppy sentences were exchanged when finally the Captain looked at the men and said, "No." It was that simple. It was firm. Our pirates begging now, held up the jug and coconuts and pleaded for water once again which was followed by another "no."

The look in their eyes, the slumping of their bodies from effort and exhaustion made me hate everything about the Captain. It made me hate the fact that I felt so powerless.

"But can't we put the water into tuperware and toss it out?" I asked. And I too got a stern no.

Mirroring the men on the boat I too slumped down on the deck with my hands on my head, wishing I could help. Wishing that I wasn't part of this. I wanted to vanish away, I didn't want to be part of this.

The wind kept pushing us forward and the two men sat in their canoe. After dropping the jug and coconuts back to the floor of the boat, they didn't move. Their heads hung and sweaty bodies glistened in the sun, but stayed still. And slowly they began to fade away. Once the Captain returned below, I could feel tears streaming down my face. I was sorry that I wasn't stronger to help them. I was sorry for them. I was sorry for the stubborness of the Captain. And this guilt and remorse overcame me as I watched the two men melt into the horizon like they appeared.

To Be Continued...