finding the essence, at sea

{ The practice of soulful travel is to discover the overlapping point between history and everyday life, the way to find the essence of every place, every day... }
~The Art of Pilgrimage

As I write, I'm looking ahead at the horizon: an endless expanse of roiling blue sea reaches up toward layers of grey upon grey, where a palette of clouds hangs heavily with the weighty task of containing the bright sky above. Our ship is tossing, rolling, riding each undulating wave, and as it carries us forward it feels as if the motion is the sea's language channeled into me through the vessel, its messenger.

Many of my fellow passengers are visibly green with seasickness. They smile weakly at me, holding rails, closing their eyes, vainly fixing their gaze on the Andes rising to our east. The breakwaters are huge, and each swell slaps the side of the boat, sending foamy spray up several stories to splash against the porthole glass.

My own stomach quite enjoys the movement. For me, it's like being on a gentle rollercoaster, with a cup of tea in one hand and a pen in the other. The upward pressure as we ride a swell, the exquisite pause as the wave crests, and the gentle release are all comforts. A hand carrying us, lifting us over the ocean. A cradle and its lullabies.

I imagine that this place, these waters, have sung this same song for an age, and brave travellers have pondered its language for thousands of years. How lucky I am to be here.