Stranded At Sea

When I gazed out from the rectangular window at the sleeping giant made of charred bricks and steel, there waiting amidst the descending fog, was a future illuminated by our what ifs and what can be. For some, their future stood amongst the clarity of all things, while for others, the ember of that clarity began to die. As a child, I once allowed my imagination to venture out into the cavernous depths of the unknown to weave a future so grand I’d live to die for it. On a gigantic stage, hugged by ashing lights, was my notion of what can be if I committed to it wholly, and not partially.

 

At age 18, I finally took sail, leaving home, I was ecstatic about discovering the world. The boat drifted from dock to harbor to beach. My spirit mingled with geniuses, gems, and misfits. By age 20, my sailboat began to slow. The wind shifted and began to blow against my sails. The cold gusts chewed through the sails. By age 21, my boat seized all motion and settled in the middle of the sea. Far from land or any dock or harbor, I had been left alone with myself, and with God. God had been mute. My mind was shouting. Shouting until my ears ring and my bones shudder from exhaustion.

 

I had lost sight of my destination but I believed that it was there, expecting my delayed arrival.

 

I could still feel the hope, faintly, flowing through my narrowing veins. When the sun would rest it's light and give the sky to the moon, my heart would serenade the stars. Even when the sky was too crowded with clouds for me to see the stars gleaming. My heart sung about what can be. It moved over to make space for fulfillment, but every morning the space was vacant, and I was still stranded at sea.