Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,


And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;


And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,


And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,


I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide


Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;



And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,


And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.


I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,


To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;


And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,


And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.


'Sea Fever' By John Masefield

Something Compelling

This looks like a cool thing these guys are doing, filming the albatrosses on Midway Island. The broader picture and the inevitable situation we are facing is quite sobering indeed. It is hard for me to give a concise reaction or conclusion from it, because I see that the problem is much deeper than just plastic being thrown into the ocean - it's principles, values, man and society's view of life. This external problem has a root in the philosophical and also theological debates of belief. The way we view ourselves, where we came from, how we are meant to live, and how we treat others directly affects our world. There are physical ramifications of beliefs. We can change the way we live, we can even stop the use of plastics, but the true problem to which we must discover the true solution is on the inside.

Blue

I'm glad the ocean's my element. It's about 70% of the planet. And understanding her is the work of a lifetime, and not dull work neither. How she moves, the winds and currents and tides, it's simply fascinating. I've been reading Heavy Weather Sailing by Coles and it's deepening my respect for the ocean, as well as my appreciation for weather charts and the amount of knowledge we have at our disposal. His accounts of rough passages are greatly insightful into how weather systems work, and general ocean movement.

There was a fantastic sunset this evening that filled everything, reflecting pinks, oranges and purples off of anything, grey silhouettes of seabirds transiting the sky, the flash of the lighthouse and the sad moan of the mile buoy in the distance. The intensity of it overwhelmed me as I stood in what was perhaps a subconscious state. It didn't matter if I were happy or sad, heartbroken or hopeful, tired or fresh. There was only the Sunset, and the Ocean. Lines from a song floated in front of me,

Mother, mother Ocean

I have heard you call

I've wanted to sail upon your waters

Since I was three feet tall

You've seen it all

You've seen it all...

I don't know why I'm so interconnected with the ocean, but I'm thankful for it. There's a mysterious aspect to her that I don't understand, but perhaps one isn't supposed to. Perhaps it's the force that produces the allure that makes us want to know her and sail her. But she's home, and when things are bad, she can always swallow my problems and drown my tears. And when things are good, she can send me forward towards the horizon believing in dreams.

The Fantasy of Security

The strange society we live in gives us preset notions of how life should be lived. Go to school, find a job or start a business, work most of your life, and then the last 20 years or so do what you wanted to in the first place, if you're at all able to. If you're religious, then perhaps 10% of your income goes to the church and maybe you'll go on a mission trip a few times. You work to build your "empire," but what all for? These days we work for security, we live for security, we give up freedom for security. Why?

I've come to the realization that there is no security in this world. We like to think there is, that we can rely on something for certain no matter what happens, but it just doesn't exist. Outside the salvation of the soul through Christ there is no certain thing. So why worry so? Why deceive ourselves with this fantasy that doesn't exist?

It's true if you don't take action nothing gets done, and there is a healthy amount of attentiveness that should be taken to assure yourself agreeable circumstances. But more than that, why do we struggle with the worries of the future and the downward spiraling course the earth is on? We are not promised tomorrow, only today. Today! Seize it, do something with it, make it your own. It is a gift.

The Creation of Art

It is said broken people make the best art. Perhaps because they understand it the best. After all, art is an expression of humanity that cannot be communicated any other way, and brokenness is only a concept to describe what we barely understand. It is also said we must be broken before we can be renewed.

In retrospect, "good" experiences that make you "happy," give you a natural high, exhilarate your feelings don't necessarily increase your productivity or creativity. When things are good, when you think you've found the best thing in life thus far, what more is there to consider? When the world's at your feet and you think you can see the future, things become so much more expressable - easy to relate. We've all been there, in love, or just on top of the world, like that 60's pop song, or 90's pop song, or that new one... the one with all the same chords.

But when things are hard, when you've hit the rocks and the last splinter has been ground away by the sand, when you're just a piece of glass on the beach being worn away by sun and sea, that is advancement. A piece of seaglass doesn't become smooth from being on a shelf somewhere in someone's bedroom, it's from months, years of turmoil and chaos, storms and tides. It's the hard times that make the beauty shine through. And though there may be the same beauty at the heart of it, it is hardly the same piece that came from the glass blower's. From the outside you wouldn't know.

In some respects, it's possible that is what art must go through before it really becomes worthwhile. Or even gets created. I'm no expert, but there seems an initiation process of sorts before things become great, or great ideas are born. Lately I've been thinking about Dickens and Beethoven. Alot about composing, just the process of creating something. Like the prelude, or the novel.

I'm only stewing ideas. Merely because I'd never written songs before, and now I have. Maybe that's really typical. I don't know. I'd like to think of playing it someday, maybe it being popular in underground circles, in a small way.. and somehow one person will know it was written for them.

Philosophy of Rain

This weather has put me in a contemplative state. Or maybe it was walking into the closet door the other day that threw my thoughts around a bit. There's an irony to our best-laid plans of what we will make ourselves to be, our plans of success and fulfillment, and then the reality of being a puny speck on a planet in a corner of the universe.

I wonder how much the color of my room affects me. It's pink. I wouldn't have painted it pink, I probably would have made it blue. If it were blue, I wonder how much lonelier it would make me feel. Because I like blue, but it's apparently a lonely color.

Some great poetical lines from a Teitur song:

There comes a time

When you must stay in the moment

Though your heart is bleeding

And there comes a time

When you must walk away

Though your heart's still beating...

All my mistakes have become masterpieces.  

This is Terrible!

Well, it happened... I'm published. And quite embarrassed about it, to be frank. After 2years in the process, This is Terrible: The Writer's Lament is in print and available at The Word Shop, or from myself. It's a compilation of works from various writers associated with the Word Shop and particularly the First Tuesday Writers group. My submissions include a ten-minute exercise and a long short-story written at age 14 and edited and rewritten for years afterwards.

The last time I looked at Foul Weather Friends was when I submitted the final draft 2 years ago to the publishing project. Happy to have it finally out of my life, it seems almost foreign to see it in print all of a sudden. With my name on it. Ahhhh crap.

On first perusal, it's actually not too bad. The first thing that struck me was simply this: too many words. Just too many altogether. I wrote things elaborately, thoughtfully, skillfully actually, but they could have been stated much simpler. I definitely was reading O'Brian at that point. He has better command of the wordiness, though.

I suppose if anyone out there was even remotely interested in reading it I've probably turned you off by this point. However, you will be interested to know that the book features many great works by skilled and entertaining writers. Totally worth it even if you skip 6500 words in the middle.