Under sail, West of Dominica
Bearing 220 degrees towards St. Lucia.
Late Night Meditations at Sea!
Humans are a restless mob. Even while content at home, we feel the urge to travel. The sea especially compels us to explore. What is it that we seek behind the horizon?
We have spent most of human history as nomadic hunters and gatherers. It was to our band’s advantage to keep moving so as not to deplete resource in one area. Even with villages, cities and states this peripatetic gene still echoes deep within our souls. We watch the sunset longingly, doting on the sunrise on unfamiliar lands. We leaf through brochures, study maps, read explorer’s logs. Most today are content with these substitutes, but a few still smitten with this primal genetic urge, pack bags and file for visas.
The energetic founder of Cold Springs Harbor Laboratories Charles B. Davenport, once claimed to have found evidence of a genetic trait he called thalessephilia—or “love of the sea”. While ignoring the fact that it was largely expressed in the sons of New England seafarers, his misguided eugenics might describe perhaps one aspect of this ancient desire to be traveling. At least we, who succumb to the need to come to the sea in ships, can at least claim a quasi-medical appellation for our peculiar needs.
To many it is the sea itself which is the ultimate destination. Its endless sweep of horizon hides endless promise. Our spirit stretches out to meet it; we are truly expanded by the sea. In our hectic world, a ship seems the appropriate pace for travel. The wind is our oldest propulsion; currents mysterious allies. We feel our dreams expand with the billowing sails. Winds direct them. One can only sail to Serendipity.
On this seeming directionless expanse, we gain bearing. Winds become destiny. At night under the incredible cauldron of star pocked blackness, we match the match tilt and sway across the heavens—another compass point in our journeys. Our heading is subliminity, our destination is the experience, our companions our treasure.
Bearing 220 degrees towards St. Lucia.
Late Night Meditations at Sea!
Humans are a restless mob. Even while content at home, we feel the urge to travel. The sea especially compels us to explore. What is it that we seek behind the horizon?
We have spent most of human history as nomadic hunters and gatherers. It was to our band’s advantage to keep moving so as not to deplete resource in one area. Even with villages, cities and states this peripatetic gene still echoes deep within our souls. We watch the sunset longingly, doting on the sunrise on unfamiliar lands. We leaf through brochures, study maps, read explorer’s logs. Most today are content with these substitutes, but a few still smitten with this primal genetic urge, pack bags and file for visas.
The energetic founder of Cold Springs Harbor Laboratories Charles B. Davenport, once claimed to have found evidence of a genetic trait he called thalessephilia—or “love of the sea”. While ignoring the fact that it was largely expressed in the sons of New England seafarers, his misguided eugenics might describe perhaps one aspect of this ancient desire to be traveling. At least we, who succumb to the need to come to the sea in ships, can at least claim a quasi-medical appellation for our peculiar needs.
To many it is the sea itself which is the ultimate destination. Its endless sweep of horizon hides endless promise. Our spirit stretches out to meet it; we are truly expanded by the sea. In our hectic world, a ship seems the appropriate pace for travel. The wind is our oldest propulsion; currents mysterious allies. We feel our dreams expand with the billowing sails. Winds direct them. One can only sail to Serendipity.
On this seeming directionless expanse, we gain bearing. Winds become destiny. At night under the incredible cauldron of star pocked blackness, we match the match tilt and sway across the heavens—another compass point in our journeys. Our heading is subliminity, our destination is the experience, our companions our treasure.
