My life is a life of the open sea. In a one man boat I drift from locale to locale spending more time on the water than in any port. The ocean is beautiful-- the water is clear and a gentle sun permeates the clear blue sky.
There is, however, an emptiness in my experience: travel is not for pleasure but out of a deep sense of longing, a longing for reunion with a love from another time, another place, but a love with a sense of eternal continuity. This is what propels me onward, some sense of knowingness that she is out there. What is her name? Could she be out there? I will wander, floating, searching for the rest of my days.
Fish are plentiful and the sides of my craft are hung with netting. I retrieve a net holding a good sized 15” fish, fattened on the abundance of the sea. I clean the fish and set it to grill. The sun is setting in the west-- purple and orange fill the sky, and on the horizon I see the outline of the white stone city where I will plan to next make landfall.
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