T
hrough the binoculars, I see the goal of our voyage at the horizon.
A journey that made me lose my grip on the compass and my sturdy foothold. A trip where I sank furthest down in the murky deep.
Dived right into the divine.
My anchor is still searching for some sort of hold to hang on to. Emptiness still feels too subtle, too unusual and too uncontrollable.
I remember Nora’s wisdom. ‘Without a set goal, I can’t get lost.’ Her destination is not anchored in any mental self-realised image that must be reached. Her inner compass is anchored in her heart.
Macaroni and water are on the table in the cockpit. No-one has eaten anything.
The windmill’s constant whine. Bo hums, rocking beside me.
The toilet door bangs below.
Glittering lights surround us and appear to brush the surface of the water.
The evening’s first shooting star.
My eyes close for my customary prayer, affirmation.
We sail with the wind now. Follow the rhythm of the sea. Follow the rhythm of life.
My form seems once again to dissolve into formlessness and love.
Saltwater runs from my eyes. A deep thankfulness for the wonder of life’s beauty and love. So much love.
Life’s nectar and elixir – boundless, relentless love.
Bo laughs unexpectedly and takes me partly back to identification with form, when I wonder what he’s laughing about.
“I’m laughing that I, many years ago, was shown a message in connection with that story I shared… when I protested against the building project in my hometown, remember?”
“Yes, I remember!”
I light the lantern on the table and wait for him to continue.
"It occurred a few weeks after my ‘tree-strike’ was done and the building was back in full swing. I needed to take the bus at one point and it was very hard to find the right way among all the roadblocks and detours in the public transport system. A pink, neon sign lit my way at the end of a temporary tunnel we needed to walk through to get to the bus stop. It said, ‘Just follow the road, you’ll find the right way soon.’ He laughs again and pats me lightly on the shoulder.
“It is alarming how many of life’s messages and signals we miss because we’re not attendant.”
He considers what I just said, and says, “But if one isn’t attendant, one is surely not ready yet, I think.”
“Exactly! And I don’t want to waste any more time on ‘not being ready.’”
It was our last night on board and for some reason I suddenly felt a little melancholy.
“I think it is because I feel I primarily benefit the highest purpose with my existence on this boat at sea, far from civilisation and from our, to a large extent, ego-dominated society. And the risk to lose myself once again in this societal structure (and what is demanded of us to survive in it is so great)…”
I sigh despondently.
“I want to believe and have faith in that one is precisely in the place one ought to be in. But with the requirements and the constant distraction away from our essence, persona, heart and life it is undeniably harder for someone like you, or me, who has had a taste of the truth beyond illusion.”
“Yes, I do understand what you mean, Val! False identification is still, certainly the root to all suffering.”
The boat rocks us gently forward. The sea and the stars embrace us. Mother Earth blows exactly the right amount in the sail.
We sail with the wind now.
An emptiness and silence pervades the atmosphere. A silence not broken when the boat’s bow cuts through the rippling ocean surface or when the sea’s murmur whispers in my ears.
An emptiness that requires no filling.
Empty of ego and full of divine love.
Orion’s glittering belt rests over us among innumerable stars that continue where the horizon ends and mystique takes over.
Yet another silent shooting star.
Yet another silent prayer.
“Let my gaze be firmly anchored within until I see what I am seeking and is what I already am.”