Sea Journeys

sailing & dating fiasco!

Well, there I was, accepting an invite to crew on the Solent through Luffsail.  I should have been suspicious when XXXXX refused to meet beforehand.

It was very nice sailing weather, sun – lots of it—and a reasonable wind  - turned out to be F3, building to a very nice F4. The boat we were on sailed very well (but not very close to the wind… I know as I had to sail back from Newtown Creek).

I should have listened to my instincts as I thought there was something not 100% right about this when we were emailing each other. But I thought it was just me. However, when xxxx turned up at the marina, he was older and smaller than his luffsail profile indicated. People who lie on their profiles?? Should have gone home then!  But being the intrepid person that I am, I thought "Oh Sod it- I'll have a days sailing anyway".

Even at the start,  things did not look auspicious. We had slight engine problems - xxxx had to dismantle a bit of the boat to check. The engine started so off we went into the Solent . Just as we got out of the Hamble, he revealed that he was married, wife didn’t know about these jollies…slight alarm bells going off.

Things went from bad to worse. I was doing all the hard work on the boat as xxxx turned out to have quite bad arthritis. In the middle of the Solent- just going forward to adjust the sail, I found myself on the floor, stunned from the boom. "Ooops" he said "I havent had an involuntary gybe for years". THANKS. Could have been worse, I suppose- light winds meant I was just knocked over but not clobbered into the water, or worse!  Sore back of neck and head and a bit of whiplash. OK in reality other than a bad dose of shock (yuk,, white shaking and sick). I suspect he’d had a temporary black out (see later!).

We moored, went for a swim, then he decided it was time for sex (Yikes!!) and gropes even after I’d said no (several times).  I fended him off and got out lunch. He started to behave oddly and blank out, and then passed out with spectacular gurgles and noises and puked on me whilst I was putting him into a recovery position..  He came round and said he was fine "Must be the pills I'm taking for low blood pressure", but still couldn’t sit up without going dizzy and white.

Ah!  time to practice my new VHF skills!  But- OH Nooooo!  He refused to let me call out the emergency services, as he was a very well known member of a certain Solent yacht club and didn’t want to be identified (or, I assume for his wife to find out!).  We compromised, and stayed on anchor to see if he would recover- with the proviso that if he blacked out again, I was going to call out the coastguard anyway, despite what he said. 

We spent an hour on anchor whilst I rehearsed my pan pan medico bits, and checked the route back, tides etc. in case I was left with the boat.   Xxxxx still couldn't sit up without going white and shaky, so after much negotiation, I decided that I would sail the boat back as far as the Hamble entrance  and said that if he wasn't any better by then I would definitely call the coastguards. 

This was a relatively small boat  with a tiller. What fun (NOT)!  Xxxxxx lay on one of the cockpit benches (ok if he was horizontal.. didnt get dizzy) whilst I sat on the other, or stood with the tiller. Of course I was within arms reach.  So his hands continually sought out whatever bit of my anatomy was within reach.  "Oh lie on top of me- it will raise my blood pressure".. "come down in to the cabin, I'll feel better" etc. etc.  Being groped by a sick man whilst I was trying to helm and sorting out routes, tides, bouys etc. was one thing.. but worse was when  Xxxxx attempted to kiss me  and stick his tongue down my throat (still smelling of puke and with bits of food stuck in his teeth. Oh how attractive). I don't know why I didn't throw him overboard and call out the coastguards anyway!

And then to cap it all, when we got back to the Hamble, the engine failed. Fortunately he was sufficiently recovered to sail onto the pontoon.  Much to my astonishement he was then busy on the phone sorting out another days sailing on the next day- again with an unknown crew.

The cheek of the man.. the day after this he emailed to say "what a wonderful sail" and "what a good crew" I was, and could we do it again!  Not on your nelly! 

(turned out he had arterial stenosis)

Clipper Yachts

I have a particular interest in  the 2006 Clipper round the world yacht race (website HERE) - as not one, but two, of my friends are participating - Rick on Glasgow Clipper and Peter on Jersey Clipper. Both come from my village; both signed up for the race without knowing the other was doing it; and neither had sailed before.  What's more, Peter has recently celebrated his 70th birthday on board the boat and is, I beleive, the oldest person to have sailed round the world on the Clippers. Its been fascinating to hear the tales from the road (or sea!) as the race has progressed-   not only from Peter, but from the starlwart Jersey groupie - Peter's wife Mary, who has flown out to meet him at various stopovers. 

Now as the race draws towards its conclusion (Liverpool; 29th July) members of the clipper crews are starting to reflect on what the race has meant to them. Fascinating reading, and almost inspires me to sign up for next years race. Take for example a recent diary entry (HERE) by a member of Singapore Clipper:

" Silvery moonlight nights and clear starry skies makes one want to mull over the meaning of life and our place in this vast universe. Stormy seas trigger a full awareness of the insignificance and frailty of human lives. I learnt about patience, tolerance, and magnanimity. My experience and those around me on the boat has reinforced my belief in the resilience of the human spirit. I better appreciate the concern and care of loved ones, friends and strangers alike. I began to shed stereotypes and cast off prejudices."

And, another (HERE) also from Singapore Clipper:

The final countdown, 12 days to go after 180 days of sailing and almost 1 year on board of "our" UNIQUELY SINGAPORE. Yes, our boat, it became ours - a member of the family, which we dressed, nurtured, fixed and fixed again and which kept us safe in howling winds and crashing seas - a member of the family.

So are the others, I am just one of 51 who dared to venture out sailing our boat around the world, we are all members of the UNIQUELY SINGAPORE family. We share moments nobody can express in words but we understand, we just need to see into each others’ eyes. Many members of our family grew up on the boat, they changed character, became stronger, more assertive - as we all have .We have been here and done it - sailed around the world in a nutshell, across all oceans.

The final countdown, 12 days to go - one more stopover in Jersey, one more crew dinner, one more cigar to personally celebrate a safe crossing. I will treasure every moment still to come, every sail change, every watch, every sunrise and sunset until we tie the knot in the River Mersey, where we started our journey in September 2005.

The final countdown, 12 days to go - it will be hard to leave our new family behind, but every end is another beginning and I know I will see them again. Left is to thank all my friends who encouraged and supported me throughout, who have been there for me, day and night, who kept me safe from harm on this incredible journey of a lifetime.

The final countdown, 12 days to go - there is God; I have seen it - out here on the oceans where the world is still at peace.

A lonely impulse of delight

W B Yeats , of course. 

A poem that speaks to me, very deeply, of what it is to live completely in the moment; a moment which is so precious as to be worth everything.

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

Thich Nhat Hanh on the same subject: 

Our true home is in the present moment.
To live in the present moment is a miracle.
The miracle is not to walk on water.
The miracle is to walk on the green Earth in the present moment,
to appreciate the peace and beauty that are available now.
Peace is all around usin the world and in nature, and within us;
It is in our bodies and our spirits.
Once we learn to touch this peace, we will be healed and transformed.
It is not a matter of faith, it is a matter of practice.
 

 

Dreams

I am fascinated by dreams.  What they might have to say to me. Not the "housekeeping" dreams, (the ones that just seem to be sorting out whatever went on the day before, or what I've been chatting about) or the "anxiety" dreams  (and I'm sure the latter must be common to everyone. You know the sort: dreaming about taking exams without having done any revision, or arriving for a meeting wearing the wrong clothes- or none at all, or an hour late). 

No, the inexplicable, the numinous dream. The ones that contain people I have never met but whom I recognise in the dream. The strange man in the basement.  The strange house with rooms only I know about. Climbing a tower with a blind and deeply sorrowful woman  in a sea of grasping hands, holding a wedding invitation.  The strange light on the floor that transmutes into a row of stone lions.  My mother refusing to enter my  newly decorated room because its "too hot" . My dog swimming under the sea whilst  a man lifts out yellow revolving machinery.   Dreams of flying in  beautiful blue gowns with stars sprinkled around the hem.

Are these just manifestations of my over-active imagination, or a tapping in to a wider consciousness - or rather unconsciousness? The collective unconscious, as Jung would have it.  If I take time to work with the images from these numinous dreams- for example by painting or  by dialogue with one of the persons- they can tell me so much about aspects of myself and others that might just be emerging into consciousness. Its as if the dream has been sent  to me as a gift.

And as for lucid dreams...  what fun!  To actually know you are dreaming, and then to carry on dreaming but at the same time maintaining an awake observer is  very interesting.. and even more interesting when  you realise that you can influence what happens in the dream- at least your own response to what's happening -and maybe chose to react differently from normal.  And where does this cross over into vision work and shamanic  journeying? States entered into voluntarily from the conscious mind.    Such powerful work.  And what if all our life were really a dream?

From One Taste, by Ken Wilber

"If you are having a dream and you think it's real, it can get very scary. Say you are dreaming you are tightrope walking across  Niagara Falls. If you fall off, you plunge to your death. So you are walking very slowly, very carefully. Then suppose you start lucid dreaming, and you realise it's all a dream. What do you do? Become more cautious and  careful? Noo, you start jumping up and down on the tightrope, you do flips, you bounce around, you have a ball - precisely because you know isn't real. When you realise it's a dream you can afford to play.

The same thing happens when you realise that ordinary life is a dream, just a movie, just a play. You don't become more cautious, more timid, more reserved. You start jumping up and down and doing flips, precisely because it's all a dream, it's all pure Emptiness. You don't feel less, you feel more - because you can afford to. You are no longer afraid of dying, and therefore you are not afraid of living. You become radical and wild, intense and vivid, shocking and silly. You let it all come pouring through, because it's all your dream.

Life then assumes its true intensity, its vivid luminosity, its radical effervescence."

On the sea again

..or looking at it!  25 knot winds gusting to 40 knots were sufficient to encourage John, Finn the dog and I to have a leisurely stroll enjoying the sights of Weymouth harbour and shopping at a farmers market in the sun. Finn  the dog does not appreciate too lumpy a sea and, in weather such as this, prefers to sit in John's lounge window watching the comings and goings from the visitors' moorings (see picture above... now who wouldnt enjoy that view whilst eating breakfast each morning?).

Actaully, I think Finn  the dog isn't that interested in boats, but  really likes his superior position in relation to other dogs strolling along Weymouth harbour. The comings and goings from the visitors' moorings may be of more interest to humans - especially those thinking about buying a boat in the not too distant future!  In this respect the comings and goings were particularly interesting this weekend as Weymouth was the destination of the JOG (Junior Offshore Group) race from Cowes. So about 60 yachts on the moorings to oogle - one of my favourite pastimes at the moment (along with  actually sailing of course).

Speaking of which, we did actually sail on Saturday, prior to the high winds arriving.  The planned overnight trip to Lyme Regis was abandoned in favour of a leisurely cruise down  past Durdle Door to Lulworth Cove for a lunch stop, returning in the strengthening winds to Weymouth just before the rain started. John is  a great teacher  and was very patient with his inexperienced crew member.. but also let me do much of the sailing of Tir Na nOg - his nice little yacht (a Hunter Horizon 32) as well as the chart work, tidal calculations etc.  It was good to learn some new things as well as refresh my memory about things done on my day skipper training.   By the end of the day I was knackered, I have to admit... maybe this was because of all the pulling up and putting down of the anchor in Lulworth cove when we couldnt get it to bite.

Being back on a boat was so good. I don't understand why it feels this way for me, but it enlivens me and gets the energy coursing through my system.  It its normal sychronous way, the universe (or rather the Panhala mailing list- thanks, Joe) delivered an  appropriate poem - this one by James Broughton.  Oh yes... sailing coaxes my spirits to busk and bounce alright!

Lessen the doldrums
of fellow bipeds
Coax their spirits
to busk and bounce
Squeeze their chakras
Ungum their works
Use any trick you know
to redeem humanity
from impotent glum
Inject with joy
Inseminate with light
the wombs of mankind

From Little Sermons of the Big Joy by James Broughton

And this is the glorious picture, also from Panhala, which I can't resist posting here

Song of the Soul

I am still poised on the brink, in my voice sessions, of allowing my heart to sing its song.  I both long for, and fear deeply, the possibility of speaking and singing from my heart - or rather perhaps the longing and fear is for the possibility that I will be met there; met in Rumi's field "beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing".  And how it would be to completely surrender to being in that space with another, to give up all notions of control, and to live from my heart:    "When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase “each other” doesn’t make any sense".

Here's an apposite Kahlil Gibran poem

Song of the soul

   In the depth of my soul there is
   A wordless song - a song that lives
   In the seed of my heart.
   It refuses to melt with ink on
   Parchment; it engulfs my affection
   In a transparent cloak and flows,
   But not upon my lips.
   
   How can I sigh it? I fear it may
   Mingle with earthly ether;
   To whom shall I sing it? It dwells
   In the house of my soul, in fear of
   Harsh ears.
   
   When I look into my inner eyes
   I see the shadow of its shadow;
   When I touch my fingertips
   I feel its vibrations.
   
   The deeds of my hands heed its
   Presence as a lake must reflect
   The glittering stars; my tears
   Reveal it, as bright drops of dew
   Reveal the secret of a withering rose.
   
   It is a song composed by contemplation,
   And published by silence,
   And shunned by clamour,
   And folded by truth,
   And repeated by dreams,
   And understood by love,
   And hidden by awakening,
   And sung by the soul.
   
   It is the song of love;
   What Cain or Esau could sing it?
   
   It is more fragrant than jasmine;
   What voice could enslave it?
   
   It is heartbound, as a virgin's secret;
   What string could quiver it?
   
   Who dares unite the roar of the sea
   And the singing of the nightingale?
   Who dares compate the shrieking tempest
   To the sigh of an infant?
   Who dares speak aloud the words
   Intended for the heart to speak?
   What human dares sing in voice
   The song of God?

Kahlil Gibran
   

The urge to travel

“To us travel was a subject of study and an expansion of the mind…....   Now I ask you, patient reader, if you own a horse why haven’t you surrendered to the pull of the horizon? What keeps you from giving in to the same sundown madness that pulled your forefathers and mothers towards the beckoning sea?
Why, as you read this, do you not listen to the stirring of your own blood?
Find your courage! Change the rhythm of your life!”
From: CuChullaine O’Reilly “In search of Equestrian Freedom” (Click HERE  to read full article)

 
It actually makes some sense to me that 5,000 men answered polar explorer Ernest Shackleton’s famous want ad: “Men wanted for hazardous journey. Small wages. Bitter cold. Long months of complete darkness. Constant danger. Safe return doubtful. Honor and recognition in case of success.”

For me, travel has always been an adventure to be approached with an open mind and a flexible plan. Not for me the package holidays to lie on the beach (though I’m not averse to lying in the sun!) but rather a journey –  maybe even in some senses a pilgrimage. Whether it be a cycle ride from Swindon to the Mediterranean, a trip to explore the underground caves in the Taurus mountains in turkey with 11 hairy men, perfectly balancing on a limestone cliff over space with just fingers and toes on rock, flying on astronaut training flights with Nasa suspended weightless over the Mexican gulf…... I travel and I am changed.  It may be an exotic trip with a ticket and passport and anti-bacterial wet wipes.  It may be the journeying of my life from one lily pad to another ...  whatever it is, it may well  turn out to be the most important part of being alive. 

The urge to travel is well described by Kent Norburn in “Letters to my son” (from Spiritual Literacy: Reading the Sacred in Everyday Life, p. 259)

“That is why we need to travel. If we don’t offer ourselves to the unknown, our senses dull. Our world becomes small and we lose our sense of wonder. Our eyes don’t lift to the horizon; our ears don’t hear the sounds around us. The edge is off our experience, and we pass our days in a routine that is both comfortable and limiting. We wake up one day and find that we have lost our dreams in order to protect our days.

Don’t let yourself become one of these people. The fear of the unknown and the lure of the comfortable will conspire to keep you from taking the chances the traveller has to take. But if you take them, you will never regret your choice. To be sure, there will be moments of doubt when you stand alone on an empty road in an icy rain, or when you are ill with fever in a rented bed. But as the pains of the moment will come, so too will they fall away. In the end, you will be so much richer, so much stronger, so much clearer, so much happier, and so much better a person that all the risk and hardship will seem like nothing compared to the knowledge and wisdom you have gained.

 The more I travel, the more I realize that what I own and possess in the material world is of little consequence in the greater scheme of things. Cycling down to the Mediterranean, I had with me everything that I needed to live happily for a month all self contained on one bicycle: my travelling “home”.  Much better than possessions, riches came from the interactions with people along the way: the gift of friendship, the small gifts of coffee or a meal, or even a place to stay. An evening in a French wayside inn sharing wine and stories with the owners.    The curiosity of children about our bicycles and their laden panniers. The glorious views going up to the top of the Massive Centrale, or descending into gorges in the Auverne. Small French street markets to buy goats cheeses for lunch.  In touch with the natural world and moving at a natural pace.

 CuChullaine O’Riley again, this time about travel on horseback:

The rare riders who undertake such a journey become saddle bound pilgrims leading a life based on physical freedom. Their horse takes them on a daily journey deeper away from the never-ending search for consumer products and shows them the way back to the nomadic principles of the past; grass, water, fire, and contemplation.