So here I am again, in my well appointed fiberglass barnacle on the edge of paradise behind a chain link fence, only this time no dogs parole the perimeter. Instead of smelling cordite and consumed jet fuel I’ve got whiffs of paint, diesel, vog (volcanic smog) and the occasional sun baked stinky fish dumpster next to the boat ramp wafting to my land bound boat. I’m entrenched here, stuck in barnacle mode, only coming out of my 26 foot shell to feed, crap and occasionally wash.
Captain Zardoz with no sign of angles in the LZ. My ethos is overwhelming my sensibilities. I live by my dreams but have learned to dream within my means and I’ve always made it work out for me (with occasional help from friends and strangers). It’s just a matter of humping it through the rough times to the next shiny valley or coastline beyond this swamp. I’m getting too old for this shit. I’d rather just stay in blissful barnacle mode but I can’t sustain that for more than a few weeks at a time. I have to deal with the other side of my nature which in fluid and transitional. Vagabond, hobo on life’s coat tails or at the helm. I need to move forward in some direction. Any sensible direction. It’s just a matter of packing lightly, picking a direction and not annoying the other passengers (while navigating around the ones that annoy you).
Like I’ve said, I’ve been here before and have gotten through it to the next plateau of my existence. Bernard Motisie understood the fallacy of focusing on a fixed destination. He understood the magic and uniqueness of the moment. The Zen of being involved with the sea and life in general. Honing your craft and your spirit to meet life on it’s own terms in what ever manner it comes to you.