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| Three Worlds by M.C. Escher |
Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage
To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea.
Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage,
And make a Northwest Passage to the sea!
-- From Northwest Passage by Stan Rogers
Cruising Mind
For a third of century, now, Anke and I have been tracing a convoluted line across our home waters of SouthEast Alaska in small, engine-free sailboats.
When the wind is fair, we reach or run down the long, straits, fjords and sounds, usually close along shorelines. Marvelling at the detail sweeping by, unfolding mile after mile. Seldom pausing to touch and taste.
With the wind against us, we zig and we zag. Long tack out on long tack in, touching close only at the inshore turns. We console ourselves with the long view. The open and close of mountain, valley and lanes of the sea. Drinking in sweeping transitions from abyss, up the timbered slopes to snowy scapes, each as perfect and aloof as the other.
And when the wind fails, we creep along, exploring every crook and crevice. Getting to know the barnacles by name. Rowing ashore to investigate any prickle of interest.
The world spills in through our senses, writing itself into the very annals of our minds.
Our minds become a chart, of sorts.
One composed of the myriad points of contact with specific places along the coast. Profiles of headlands. Lines of sight and their relative motions. Currents and plants and scent and the look of stone. The play of light and shadow as seasons roll, one into the next.
Memories and mind connect each point of contact. Fill in the gaps with imagination and experience. Project beyond in surmise and speculation. Weave each lone word into a story, or better, a yarn.
Like a ball of yarn in the labyrinth, our minds - as much as any paper chart - guide us where we will.
Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage...
The land is not so savage, any more, though plenty enough so to curtail the lives of those unwary or unlucky. And wide as ever. There is plenty of white, uncharted space -- terra and mara incognito -- in our minds' chart.
As we sail on, will our minds fill until they reflect our world perfectly? The multi-layered boundary between our selves and our world dissolve?
Until, one day, we are as still... as at one... as fully immersed as that fish in a'swim Three Worlds?
To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea.
Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage,
And make a Northwest Passage to the sea!
-- From Northwest Passage by Stan Rogers
Cruising Mind
For a third of century, now, Anke and I have been tracing a convoluted line across our home waters of SouthEast Alaska in small, engine-free sailboats.
When the wind is fair, we reach or run down the long, straits, fjords and sounds, usually close along shorelines. Marvelling at the detail sweeping by, unfolding mile after mile. Seldom pausing to touch and taste.
With the wind against us, we zig and we zag. Long tack out on long tack in, touching close only at the inshore turns. We console ourselves with the long view. The open and close of mountain, valley and lanes of the sea. Drinking in sweeping transitions from abyss, up the timbered slopes to snowy scapes, each as perfect and aloof as the other.
And when the wind fails, we creep along, exploring every crook and crevice. Getting to know the barnacles by name. Rowing ashore to investigate any prickle of interest.
The world spills in through our senses, writing itself into the very annals of our minds.
Our minds become a chart, of sorts.
One composed of the myriad points of contact with specific places along the coast. Profiles of headlands. Lines of sight and their relative motions. Currents and plants and scent and the look of stone. The play of light and shadow as seasons roll, one into the next.
Memories and mind connect each point of contact. Fill in the gaps with imagination and experience. Project beyond in surmise and speculation. Weave each lone word into a story, or better, a yarn.
Like a ball of yarn in the labyrinth, our minds - as much as any paper chart - guide us where we will.
Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage...
The land is not so savage, any more, though plenty enough so to curtail the lives of those unwary or unlucky. And wide as ever. There is plenty of white, uncharted space -- terra and mara incognito -- in our minds' chart.
As we sail on, will our minds fill until they reflect our world perfectly? The multi-layered boundary between our selves and our world dissolve?
Until, one day, we are as still... as at one... as fully immersed as that fish in a'swim Three Worlds?
Sailing is where I learned the difference between to and towards.
ReplyDeleteAh yes, and often the best of it lies along the difference.
DeleteDave Z