Setting sail
is quite the sort of task
that,
of an entrenched,
lifelong land creature
is a bit much to ask. . .
To step toward
and attempt
to journey forward
on something else
than solid ground
may feel, at first,
unnatural
and of high risk, , ,
And yet,
there’s something
that still draws one there–
the sky, the sun,
the moon, the clouds,
the warm, the cool,
the movement of the air–
now slow, then brisk–
and distance
that spans and circles
wider, broader, deeper,
than any on land,
you’d chance to tread. . .
And, for the vast
and fearsome magnitude
of blue waters spread before you,
your early instinct
might well be
to breach it with
a giant ship,
sturdy, heavy,
steady, even keeled,
to feel protected,
fortified
and sequestered
from the sea, the weather,
and the nature,
high and wide. . .
Or,
you could choose to sit
and feel and think
a little longer,
and, instead pick
to switch things up a bit,
and sail with something
rather smaller,
which you can’t pack nearly
so full,
but with which you’ll really
feel it all–
the weather, wind, and waves,
and instinctively respond,
adjusting at each
micro-moment
to each element,
and also to the whole of it,
Whatever fear you boarded with,
or sadness, anger
lurking in some corner
deep in you,
has a chance,
as your sea legs
and feet
learn the sea
as they command,
grip,
and are servant to
your little schooner
or your ship,
it has a chance to
shift and morph
and maybe even
through your breath
or through your pores
to exit you,
release,
and dissipate
through kindest entropy
or to their more proper
owners go.
And that’s a possibility,
that while ashore,
or on some great big
fortress of a ship,
might well have never come to pass,
nor brought you
a fresh realm of possibility,
which opens up
when you surrender
to a less defended
but much freer
kind of flow.