Audio - A Journey Into Uncharted Waters

The mighty river of life

Credit: Jonathan Foster

This week, something a little different…me, actually reading this piece! Ta daaaaa

Hope you enjoy

1.

Fire. Yellow and green and blue and orange, flickering, pulsating, roaring, glowing, crackling, consuming and transforming this world into another, the other, to non-being, to where? Light and heat and shadow and movement, the elemental essence temporarily captured, never mastered, always wild.

Fire, a transformation, an unlimited potential, a gift of time and light and warmth and power, a tiny hearth deep in a cave, so strange and wonderful, coaxing perhaps the mind to flicker into life. A tool that shaped the fire-lighter forever, in allegiance with each other, an enslavement of the master, fire and hominid, each now in the service of the other.

Fire. An unknown unfurling slowly upon the world, with every spark of flint upon dry moss or spin of wood and wisp of smoke, that over aeons transformed the world and created the gods, only to chase them away, that embraced Mother Earth only to diminish her to chattels and provisions, that filled the shelter with warmth only to spread division and domination, from brethren kin and creature in wild land to property and possessor.

Fire. The first tool. The first shadow cast upon the Earth by the hand of hominid, with spirits and demons birthed onto the flickering cave wall. The first rupture. The world aflame.

2.

By the time we were half way between the islands the storm swell had whipped the sea to a liquid Himalayas, mighty mountain ridges over deep valleys, upon which we corked and were pounded and battered with no reprieve. We were well within the sinking zone, helpless upon this ocean roller-coaster, praying to the empty heavens for mercy.

Jordi, who had captained the vessel for 15 years, hollered and whooped with every nose dive, braced against the helm, bending his knees as the trawler’s hull slammed the furious North Sea over and over again, the bow sinking and bobbing as the rain and spray and waves united in fury against the quarter inch of marine acrylic cabin glass.

The wind and water bullied us, tormented us, pounded us with constant howling and whistling and thumping, an orchestra of fear that would, as the boat flung into nothingness, suddenly reach a calm lull, silencing everything in a breathless peace, where only the reedy whooping and hollering of Jordi could be heard, like a comical echo in a vacuum, before crashing into full swing again.

Sometimes, during moments of utter helplessness and vulnerability, when your fate comes calling, when the hands of the gods are wrapped firmly around your throat, when primordial fear is all you know and there is nothing left but hope or pray, sometimes an unexpected tranquility can take hold, like a single melodious violin emerging above the cacophony, or a small red trawler floating like a balloon. These are the moments, on the precipice of death, when you truly realise you are alive. When Meaning steps out from the shadows and Simplicity shines like a star and you understand the power of Love deep in your bones.

As our tiny trawler was tossed and thrown upon the gargantuan and churning ocean and a lone storm petrol made its way toward land, swifting and bending in the furious wind above us, I fell into an unheralded calm, a strange peaceful instant where I saw only those I love, only those moments of shared and joyous intimacy, of fellowship and friendship, of affinity and kindness, of giving and care. And then and only then did the tears come rolling down, not of fear but of gratitude.

“Keep that bawling for land, you idiot, it’s wet enough without your foolishness” Jordi’s laughing voice and hand squeezing mine before once more holding the wheel and whooping like a madman.

On this dynamic ocean our tiny ship rolled and yawed and swivelled, balancing on the precipice of being overwhelmed by the tempestuous furor, the ocean rising and rolling to its own invention.

There stood Jordi, with eyes wide open, bellowing back for all he was worth, as the sea, the sky, the sea, the sky, pitched and heaved in and out of view, his crazed expression, his joyful eyes, his fearless acceptance of destiny, if today be my day then come now gods, I embrace you. I am ready. I AM FOREVER READY.

Fearlessness is infectious. It spreads like joy. Jordi’s spirit filled the cabin. When I might have contemplated and pondered, now I too called forth my fate, when I might have felt my heart ache for all that would surely be lost, I too faced the fury and the frenzy, come on then, do your best, take me if you can.

And there we stood, side by side, challenging our angels and our devils to do battle, side by side we stood, pulsating with life on the threshold of death, in this storm, in this trillion refractions of the moment, in this glorious Now.

We, upon our tiny life sustaining bobbing boat, in the midst of wave after wave of looming death, accepting the fact of where we were, so that, without fear, without perpetual brooding and without blame, we could face death and embrace life and do everything possible to limp safely back to port, back to the hearth, back to home.

And we held on tight and hollered in joy at being alive at all.

3.

No one remembered from where the Fire came. They say Trickster brought it, the Raven or Coyote or the Hare or the Crow or Maui or Prometheus. Trickster stole Fire they say, because humanity was not to be trusted with such power, being prone to self-importance and easy to anger. Stone tools they may have, for the likely damage done with stone is narrow and local, but Fire, that has unbounded power, and humanity is prone to appetites and vainglory and vengeance.

In the beginning Humanity held Fire in such reverence, tended Fire and worshiped Fire. In the beginning Fire lived within the Hearth, from where Fire taught Humanity to chitter and chatter. Fire lit up Humanity’s heart and set aflame a Great Love and Humanity tended Fire and Fire tended Humanity.

4.

She placed a cup on the table in front of me, lapsang, bergamot and jasmine flowers blended with Ceylon, no milk, just a glass cup filled with rich deep red-brown steaming tea. I nodded in gratitude and wrapped my hands around this miracle of flavour and comfort.

“You,” she said simply, “are never to set foot on that boat again.” There was no challenge, no plea, no anger. Just a simple confirmation of a new reality. The imbalance, the gamble, the odds, no matter how favourable, were now beyond playing. The cost of loss too high.

I looked at Jordi, who looked back at me from across the table, held my eye for a moment and right then, at that moment, between us something shifted, something changed as she placed a cup of black coffee in front of him and laid her hand upon his shoulder. He was free to play the odds, but not I. She had a dominion over me, but not over Jordi. The light hand upon his shoulder was both a plea to accept this new reality and an apology, an acknowledgement that he was outside of her jurisdiction and would face his fate alone. But for me, the boat was finished. That was the end.

She had stood before two doors, behind one, we returned to harbour and behind the other, we did not. She had taken shallow breaths and panicked. She had taken deep breaths and found resolution. She had cursed and she had pleaded. She had traversed between anger and calm. She had nearly broken and she had willowed in the wind.

Then, she lit the fire in the hearth and tended it as the wind and rain whipped the house, and in the ritual of tending she gave herself space to open neither door, but to wait and see which door would be flung open by the hand of fate.

And then, finally we returned to the house like foolish children as our tears flowed and we held each other as if no boundary was ever between us. And we said nothing for a while for there are no words. Proud as we hominids are of our chitter and chatter, it is in silence when the most valuable and important things are said.

Jordi nodded. “He will never set foot on my boat again,” he said, and smiled and lowered his head.

“Sell the boat?” I said. “Do something else.”

He looked at me for a long time, trying to fathom my soul, trying to feel my inner pattern, never fully understanding me. Finally he broke from his search and said, “You know I can’t.”

And I did know. Jordi was his boat, an enslavement of the master, the boat and Jordi, each now in the service of the other, each bringing the other to life. The very spirit that fought the storm could not be retired away in some cottage or sold to some sport fisherman or day trippers.

I was in awe of a certain look in his eye. A look I did not share. Jordi was the spirit that took us from land to land, the spirit of discovery and curiosity. The spirit that threw caution to the wind and sometimes won and sometimes lay forever upon the ocean floor.

It was Jordi that opened vaults I had locked firmly, and as I sat at the table with the tannin and jasmine and bergamot tantalising my senses, I felt a creeping mourning that this adventuring spirit was now lost to me, a spirit that was all at once ferocious and tender and harsh and sublime. I could now only follow in the wake of Jordi’s spirit, as he opened new waters with his courage, his fearlessness and his rampant curiosity to push right to the edge, and then some.

5.

Fire had power, but no integrity. Fire could consume anything and everything and never be sated, the very act of consumption setting ablaze even more in a perpetual flame of destruction. Fire never knew when enough was enough, preferring to destroy itself by burning everything than to bow to wisdom and guardianship and tutelage.

And in the hands of Hominids, there was a time, when embedded in the rhythms and values of Mother Nature, Fire was tamed and held at bay as wisdom and guardianship and ritual tamed the wild inclinations. But Fire whispered endlessly in the ear of Hominids, enticing them toward vainglory, teasing them with promises of power and influence, encouraging their darker motives and belittling the ritual and the wisdom that held Fire at bay.

And eventually Hominids were seduced by Fire and fell under Fire’s power. And together they stormed across the land, and through time, to where we stand today, in disarray, amongst the smoke and flames, with no guiding integrity left to take the helm, having set Fire upon the world and upon every living creature until the balance was lost and the wise were turned to ashes.

6.

It was the bravest voyage of all that saved me. A journey into uncharted waters that redrew my maps and opened up a new universe. A journey that navigated the sea of pretence and separation and voyaged far into the soul. It was the unsinkable vessel of fraternity and kinship and trust, upon which I dissolved the self and tended the heart of another. It was Love that saved me.

We stood on the shoreline, she and I, hand in hand, amongst some twenty others, dressed in cheap dark suits and ties and black shawls and dresses, with Jordi’s name in flowers, ready to be cast upon the ebbing tide.

It was six years since the Great Storm from which he and I barely limped home. I never did step foot upon that boat again. But what if I had? What if I had taken the helm once in a while. What if I had tempered his flame with guardianship?

Would that have changed anything?

We all stood there on the shoreline, each of us entombed in our own minds, facing our own demons, asking our own questions, locked into our own voyages, imagining ourselves to be facing our fates alone.

Yet there we stood in solidarity, our lives weaving and blending like tributaries into a great estuary, always flowing through one another, blending with one another as we head toward the eternal ocean, We, the Mighty River of life, forever pouring into the Great Ocean of Eternal Rest.

And then, as a chorus of voices broke into song, Jordi’s wreath was cast upon the ebbing tide, a mere symbol, to which we sang our gratitude, to the one of us who was a blazing spirit, a man of light and warmth, so strange and wonderful, a flame now extinguished from our ancient hearth, floating one last time upon the sea, pushed further toward the sun by a wave of our tears.

7.

Have we time left to once more cherish the wisdom that held Fire within the hearth? Do we have it within us to ignore those who whisper that Fire can be ours to wield? Do we dare take the helm, before we too disappear into the Great Ocean of Eternal Rest? This we must know. Before we are all pushed toward the sun on a wave of tears.

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