My Mother Sea

What is it that I want to say?
There is a secret dream in my heart. I have hinted at it to a few... in different times and different ways. I want to master a skill - to become so good at it that it is like breathing or blinking and takes no effort or rather the effort it takes is of a level to which I am so used that it seems like no effort at all - as when, while hiking the Appalachian Trail, 15 miles a day became easy for us - so normal we barely felt winded and would attempt 20 or more without much thought. With so many interests I have flitted through my life like a hummingbird - tasting all but truly knowing none - because there is so much out there to taste and so little of me to know it all - or is it that I have known it all before and some things I just need a taste to remind me - while others are the heart's true home. I have met people who have been doing one thing their whole life - and they are masters of their world. I am intrigued and envious of these people. I have been the ultimate in well roundedness - have exposed myself to countless possibilities and have dabbled in wide varieties of worlds but have felt like a poser in many of my worlds just getting by - by the skin of my teeth - because i haven't done anything long enough to truly master it. But how oh how do you choose one thing to focus on when the world is so full of amazing things to be....
As I sit on the bow at any time of day - I never tire of the water. I think of that morning with Donald in LA, lying on the beach, how peaceful and serene and completely safe and sheltered I felt . I have said so often that it is only by the ocean that I feel like I can truly relax and let go of all the endless meaningless yabber that goes on in my head. The ocean around me talks to the ocean within and the cacophonic maelstrom steadies and joins it's rhythmic beat - slow and patient - like one who has all the time in the world, and knows it's own strength, and need not bother with silly little bits of leaf and twig that flow away like flotsam and jetsam. I watch the surface of the water spin away in a myriad of colors - some which have no place in the spectrum of water... red and orange iridescence like drops of oil smearing over a rippled surfacing bending and stretching and rejoining it's shape - greys and whites flecked with rose skudding across a rough chop dancing with the wind in a regular pattern like checkerboard mince tossed with light....

when these fill my mind
there is no room for anything else
as it has all washed away anyway

for the first time in my life
i am learning to listen
i am learning to be still
i am learning to tie a bowline

all good things