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September 29
My Sector watch tells me it is nearly midnight. I cannot sleep for the
wonder of it all. The stars, I wish I could show you the stars. I put up
my oars for the day many hours ago. I took them out again to row and watch
the phosphorescent swirls created by the puddles my strokes leave behind.
The cyclones of sparkling light make me feel like some sorcerer's apprentice
who's toying with two very large magic wands.
Awe keeps me awake this evening, not insomnia. It is more than sitting in
the midst of one of nature's grand spectacles that keeps me on deck.
There are moments of great tenderness in life. Fleeting periods that must be
cherished. Life is a blessing. It is my own particular flaw that I am
best able to find this gentle notion of what it means to be a human being
when I'm off alone in some potentially hostile place. It is the memory of
this feeling that draws me to the mountains and to the ocean. I've had
the same sense of awe and wonder in civilization too, but here I find less
noise and more clarity. As William Blake would phrase it, it is as if I
can hold eternity in the palm of my hand.
If I choose not to live an "every slice wrapped" kind of life, it is
because so much of life lies outside the packaging. Out here, I may cut
my tender feet. I may sweat. The sun may burn and the wind may sting, but
there is richness here, beyond the wealth of nations. Open to all of us,
it is free for the taking, but one must not blink. Best to savor the moment.
Best to drink in the grace and the mystery, before falling back to a life
less sublime. Tomorrow, this will be just a memory. I would not have it
any other way. But, I do wish you could see the stars as I see them.
September 30 -- 11:00 AM Sector Time
Last night is INDEED just a memory. There is a lump in my throat that I
cannot swallow away. The sky is dark with clouds. The wind is up and
wave trains are crossing from different directions. I row not because it is
easy, but because these skies bring back haunting memories of last
September and the remnants of Hurricane Danielle. I expected the weather
to challenge my sense of well being from time to time, but I had no idea
how much the memories of Danielle would plague my thoughts.
I am receiving weather reports from both sides of the Atlantic. All of
them tell my brain there is nothing to worry about. But, the lump in my
throat does not go away. I spoke with Christophe Hebert in France on
Tuesday. He joked that if I did not slow down I might run into some rough
weather on the other side. It was a joke. He was only kidding. But the
truth remains, I came out here a month earlier than I would have liked.
Diana Hoff and I left on September 13. It was not the day of my choosing.
Diana chose the day. It is still hurricane season. (Hurricane season on
the other side of the Atlantic, Diana would point out - and she would be
correct.) Still, the lump in my throat remembers. September 13 was one
year to the day after I stepped ashore from the Independent Spirit. A
year ago, I was battered and beaten more than I ever wanted to let on.
This morning with the heavy clouds, I feel those old injuries not
completely healed. The lateral side of my right hamstring screams with
discontent. My fingers can still find the hole in my left
quadriceps muscle. This gap was the result of one of last year's violent collisions with
the rib that supported the roof of my cabin - until my shoulder knocked the rib off.
My right shoulder aches. I tell myself this is psychosomatic. It is all in my head. "We have
nothing to fear but fear itself." That is precisely the problem. I am afraid.
It is my 18th day at sea. By this point in my last trip, the boat had been
upside-down once, I'd lost communications and I'd tangled with waves twice
the size that are crossing with one another this morning. I should not be
afraid. I KNOW better, but I do not FEEL better.
If someone else were here, I'd be having the time of my life skipping
along the tops of waves, giggling with delight. By myself, I wish someone could
hold me and tell me that everything is going to be all right. The only
arms I care about are several thousand miles to the West. By the time
they could reach me to lend comfort, my mood would have lightened. I seldom
stay down for long. When the arms arrived, I'd be sipping tea with one hand and
steering the boat through monstrous swells with the other. I would stand
on the deck. Indignation would flash into my eyes. Placing my hands on
my hips and raising my chin, I'd say something tender and romantic like:
"What in the world are YOU doing here?" "I'm perfectly fine and I don't need
any help."
I am not an easy person to love, and definitely a difficult person to take
care of.
September 30 - 4:00 PM
Okay, okay so I'm quite over my fear and trembling. The sun has returned
with a vengeance. The waves are still bumping into one another, but the
rowing is far better than it was earlier today. I spoke with Christophe
early this afternoon and all is well with the world. He asked that I try
to send a picture. I will send two. One is of me and the other is of my
little toe that is much better now, thank you.
As ever,
Tori
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