The Journey Within
I step over Boomer, the golden retriever speed bump in the bedroom doorway, and quietly make my way into the kitchen, a few minutes before the day’s sunrise gathers momentum. I put a pot of fresh water on the stove to make coffee, then turn on the small television we keep on the kitchen counter to see what’s happened in the world as I begin to make my connection to a new day.
While I’m no television junkie, it is nice to know what went on in the world the night before, and finding out the latest weather forecast before a day
on the water is a solidly good thing. In fact, I’ve just installed a satellite-television system aboard Growler, as a test to see if it will help us stay on top of current events while cruising.
After the fifth mindless commercial in a row on my regular news channel, I switch the channels to find someone, anyone, willing to tell me something meaningful.
I pass car commercials, ads for drugs and back pain lotions, frank discussions of silly products I can easily live without, infomercials for the latest exercise gadgets–so I continue to press the channel button on the remote. Cable television promised us hundreds of channels of all sorts of programming, but of what?
When I reach the TV Guide channel, which allegedly lists all available programming, I find the top two-thirds of the screen taken up for more commercial messages. Unfortunately, the rolling list at the bottom third of the screen moves at a snail’s pace and–as always, it seems–has already moved beyond the range of stations likely to be of interest.
I moved on with the press of a button.
When I get to a channel about the weather and related subjects, I have to wait before it covers my neck of the woods.
A mental switch flips on, and rather than stand in front of this mind-numbing monster, I turn off the television in disgust. Why does mankind spend so much time in front of this thing?
Later that day, I have an experience completely unlike my morning. I’m on the water, my eyes darting from gauge to chart to the view outside the helm windows.
Our speed is 15 knots, and Growler and I are headed up the bay. It is a solitary passage, and my psyche is definitely in “the zone,” a marked contrast to my mindless morning incident.
As my mind and eyes simultaneously dance around the boat amid the changing scenery, I feel a fluid synergy noticeably soothing, and I’m reminded of how mental this game is. Far from a spectator sport of passively watching the world go by–much like channel-surfing with a remote–I’m totally engaged, and most of my connection is cerebral.
Sailors have commented over the years that they feel running a powerboat would be a boring affair from a lack of physical activity. They don’t seem to understand that running a boat, whether sail or power, is all about being in the moment. There may be less physical work driving a powerboat, but the intellectual work required
to stay safe and complete a successful passage is every bit
as challenging.
To understand the machinery propelling us forward is one thing. It is something else to harness its energy and become one with it.
My experience takes me deep and deeper inside myself, and
I feel a remarkable sense of inner being.
Of course, it is hard to sustain such a state of grace, and the end of this day’s run brings my return to a reality that includes a world of relationships, schedules, and yes, more remotes. It seems sad.
Joseph Campbell once said the ultimate mystery of being can’t be described because it transcends thought. That may be true.
But one thing is clear. I need to spend more time in this place.
Bill Palatore
Editor-In-Chief