Nature loves Courage
8 views
Skip to first unread message
Lydia Fell
Jun 8, 2010, 10:06:18 PM6/8/10
to flyingpiglog
06/08/2010 - Shroud Cay
Sometimes after I’ve posted a log, I get a few responses from people who enjoy living our adventure vicariously. I got several responses after the last post, due primarily to the pictures I posted. I must admit, if you’re sitting in an office, or in fact anywhere but in the Bahamas, the colors are indeed staggering.
One of the responses I got last week was from a friend who knew me for several years when I was still working, and still in the planning stages of cruising; before I sold my house, gave away my stuff, walked away from my job of 16 years and moved into a boatyard in Florida. While we hoped it was to be a five year plan, it turned out to take seven. Here's the recap:
We kept only what was absolutely necessary to cruising, and which could fit on the boat. The precious photo albums, family heirlooms (although “heirloom” is certainly a stretch) and classic books were passed to the kids; likewise the very few pieces of antique furniture that we had. The rest went to Sharing and Caring – luckily, they were only a couple of blocks away from my house and my van could drive itself there by the time I had finished unloading– and Skip and I set off from NE Georgia to St. Petersburg, FL in our last remaining vehicle, which was eventually given away too. We lived and worked on our boat for 6 months while it was up on blocks, through the extreme Florida summer and then Fall, and finally into the welcome winter months before we finally splashed her and set off on our maiden voyage.
Thirty six hours into that voyage we had a wreck, which you all know about, followed by the rest of the story.
The response from my old friend, who ended her email by telling me that she admired our courage for just chucking in our old lives and getting on with living our dream, gave me pause. Because for us, it didn’t seem to take courage at all; we were literally running for what was left of our lives. But her email coincided with something Art (my children’s dad) had just sent me, authored by the late Terence McKenna. And this is what he said:
“Nature loves Courage.
You make the Commitment and Nature will respond to that Commitment by removing impossible obstacles.
Dream the impossible dream and the world will not grind you under, it will lift you up.
This is the trick. This is how magic is done. It’s done by hurling yourself into the abyss and discovering that it’s a feather bed.”
When I read the above, (with a lump in my throat, I confess), I wanted to yell and scream and shout for joy. Because here, finally, I come across someone who has so beautifully and perfectly expressed my own belief system, and more than that, I’m living proof that it’s true.
The fact is, there is no abyss, except in our imaginations.
It strikes me that as the generations march on, their Abyss becomes increasingly more terrifying and tangible. Certainly the pioneers didn’t recognize an Abyss, or they wouldn’t have been pioneers. My grandparents’ generation weren’t afraid of the Abyss either. Perhaps it all started with our parents’ generation, who grew up in the aftermath of the Depression, and who learned to collect and hoard and save and hang on for dear life to whatever they managed to gather, giving great importance and emotional value to their possessions.
And that mentality trickled down to my generation, (with the exception of the commune-loving Hippies, who were actually on to something, I think); we gathered and we built the biggest nest we could, and then, two things happened. We had a technology explosion, and credit cards became available to everyone. And thus the race began.
The race, of course, was all about who had the most and the very latest and it was insidious throughout our generation. Very fortunately for me, I had a different mindset which had been sharply honed from being a single parent, and living in terror that I might not be able to cover next month's bills. Credit card, or any other debt other than my mortgage was anathema to me, and regarded as a sure nail in my coffin, which would multiply over to my children’s coffins too. So, I worked long hours and maintained a state of constant preparedness.
Ironically, if you’re keeping vigil for the unknown, you tend not to be a gatherer, which would slow you down in the flight mode. And if suddenly, an occasion presents itself favorably for hurling yourself into the abyss, it’s good not to have a lot of clutter tangling up your life.
So you see, what people regard as Courage in walking out of my old life, was more like running away. Surely, I reasoned, living the simple life on a boat, wrecks or not, couldn’t be nearly as stressful as the constant worry of just maintaining.
It took months after we moved into the boat yard, to shed all that stress. And as it dissipated, I began to feel a lightness of being that I truly didn’t know existed unless it was chemically induced. It was so heavy in my heart and in my mind that I felt positively giddy when it all fell away. I get a good reminder of it whenever we go back to the States for a visit, the constant, choking burden of it. I'm not gloating; I'm merely saying that I choose to be out of it.
I come back to the fact that Less is More.
Meanwhile, it is absolutely true that once you make a commitment to hurl yourself into the abyss, Nature does remove obstacles. Everything falls into place with such constancy, and so surprisingly, that you’re left wondering how that just happened, and what you did to deserve such good fortune. This, to me, is the essence of Faith – being willing to let go and free-fall; Nature will supply the feather bed.
If I replaced the word Nature, with God, would you believe me more, or less? It doesn’t matter – either word works; it’s all the same thing.
Meanwhile, we continue to cruise north to Abaco. There’s been a scarcity of breeze here, let alone enough of a wind to sail, so we’ve been motoring for the most part. Yesterday, as we set off for Shroud Cay in the Exuma National Park, the sea was flat and glassy as a mirror, and we saw every detail on the bottom of the ocean twenty feet below us as if you could reach out and touch it. We didn’t see any fish, however, but even if we had, no fishing is allowed in the Park.
Once here and anchored, we took a 10 minute ride through the mangroves to the ocean side of the Cay, and along the way, discovered a sea bird, presumably sitting on eggs, just a few feet away from us. She had rounded out a nice little nest in the sand under a rocky overhang, and she had propped her wings up on the edge of her bed, giving herself some natural ventilation. You’ll see, eventually, from the photos I took of her, that she appeared to be entirely unafraid, although this isn’t unusual for Park creatures, who are never hunted. The lack of breeze has made our days on the boat terribly hot; even Portia has been uncomfortable enough that she’s resorted to panting. So I felt a bit sorry for this bird, bound by instinct to sit on her airless little nest, but at least she was, for the most part, sheltered from the sun. How clever our wildlife are. Seeing her in her wild state was an honor for me, and it’s what I’ll remember Shroud Cay for.
Tomorrow, we head to Norman’s Cay, where we look forward to visiting MacDuff’s and seeing Stephan (who owns and runs MacDuff’s) again. Since Norman’s Cay was without exception our best conching experience last year, perhaps we’ll find some more there. There’s something very satisfying about harvesting your own dinner.
Until later, be well; strive to be happy.
Love, Lydia
S/V Flying Pig
Morgan 46 #2
"The only way to live is to have a dream green and growing in your life - anything else is just existing and is a waste of breath."
Ann Davison
Sometimes after I’ve posted a log, I get a few responses from people who enjoy living our adventure vicariously. I got several responses after the last post, due primarily to the pictures I posted. I must admit, if you’re sitting in an office, or in fact anywhere but in the Bahamas, the colors are indeed staggering.
One of the responses I got last week was from a friend who knew me for several years when I was still working, and still in the planning stages of cruising; before I sold my house, gave away my stuff, walked away from my job of 16 years and moved into a boatyard in Florida. While we hoped it was to be a five year plan, it turned out to take seven. Here's the recap:
We kept only what was absolutely necessary to cruising, and which could fit on the boat. The precious photo albums, family heirlooms (although “heirloom” is certainly a stretch) and classic books were passed to the kids; likewise the very few pieces of antique furniture that we had. The rest went to Sharing and Caring – luckily, they were only a couple of blocks away from my house and my van could drive itself there by the time I had finished unloading– and Skip and I set off from NE Georgia to St. Petersburg, FL in our last remaining vehicle, which was eventually given away too. We lived and worked on our boat for 6 months while it was up on blocks, through the extreme Florida summer and then Fall, and finally into the welcome winter months before we finally splashed her and set off on our maiden voyage.
Thirty six hours into that voyage we had a wreck, which you all know about, followed by the rest of the story.
The response from my old friend, who ended her email by telling me that she admired our courage for just chucking in our old lives and getting on with living our dream, gave me pause. Because for us, it didn’t seem to take courage at all; we were literally running for what was left of our lives. But her email coincided with something Art (my children’s dad) had just sent me, authored by the late Terence McKenna. And this is what he said:
“Nature loves Courage.
You make the Commitment and Nature will respond to that Commitment by removing impossible obstacles.
Dream the impossible dream and the world will not grind you under, it will lift you up.
This is the trick. This is how magic is done. It’s done by hurling yourself into the abyss and discovering that it’s a feather bed.”
When I read the above, (with a lump in my throat, I confess), I wanted to yell and scream and shout for joy. Because here, finally, I come across someone who has so beautifully and perfectly expressed my own belief system, and more than that, I’m living proof that it’s true.
The fact is, there is no abyss, except in our imaginations.
It strikes me that as the generations march on, their Abyss becomes increasingly more terrifying and tangible. Certainly the pioneers didn’t recognize an Abyss, or they wouldn’t have been pioneers. My grandparents’ generation weren’t afraid of the Abyss either. Perhaps it all started with our parents’ generation, who grew up in the aftermath of the Depression, and who learned to collect and hoard and save and hang on for dear life to whatever they managed to gather, giving great importance and emotional value to their possessions.
And that mentality trickled down to my generation, (with the exception of the commune-loving Hippies, who were actually on to something, I think); we gathered and we built the biggest nest we could, and then, two things happened. We had a technology explosion, and credit cards became available to everyone. And thus the race began.
The race, of course, was all about who had the most and the very latest and it was insidious throughout our generation. Very fortunately for me, I had a different mindset which had been sharply honed from being a single parent, and living in terror that I might not be able to cover next month's bills. Credit card, or any other debt other than my mortgage was anathema to me, and regarded as a sure nail in my coffin, which would multiply over to my children’s coffins too. So, I worked long hours and maintained a state of constant preparedness.
Ironically, if you’re keeping vigil for the unknown, you tend not to be a gatherer, which would slow you down in the flight mode. And if suddenly, an occasion presents itself favorably for hurling yourself into the abyss, it’s good not to have a lot of clutter tangling up your life.
So you see, what people regard as Courage in walking out of my old life, was more like running away. Surely, I reasoned, living the simple life on a boat, wrecks or not, couldn’t be nearly as stressful as the constant worry of just maintaining.
It took months after we moved into the boat yard, to shed all that stress. And as it dissipated, I began to feel a lightness of being that I truly didn’t know existed unless it was chemically induced. It was so heavy in my heart and in my mind that I felt positively giddy when it all fell away. I get a good reminder of it whenever we go back to the States for a visit, the constant, choking burden of it. I'm not gloating; I'm merely saying that I choose to be out of it.
I come back to the fact that Less is More.
Meanwhile, it is absolutely true that once you make a commitment to hurl yourself into the abyss, Nature does remove obstacles. Everything falls into place with such constancy, and so surprisingly, that you’re left wondering how that just happened, and what you did to deserve such good fortune. This, to me, is the essence of Faith – being willing to let go and free-fall; Nature will supply the feather bed.
If I replaced the word Nature, with God, would you believe me more, or less? It doesn’t matter – either word works; it’s all the same thing.
Meanwhile, we continue to cruise north to Abaco. There’s been a scarcity of breeze here, let alone enough of a wind to sail, so we’ve been motoring for the most part. Yesterday, as we set off for Shroud Cay in the Exuma National Park, the sea was flat and glassy as a mirror, and we saw every detail on the bottom of the ocean twenty feet below us as if you could reach out and touch it. We didn’t see any fish, however, but even if we had, no fishing is allowed in the Park.
Once here and anchored, we took a 10 minute ride through the mangroves to the ocean side of the Cay, and along the way, discovered a sea bird, presumably sitting on eggs, just a few feet away from us. She had rounded out a nice little nest in the sand under a rocky overhang, and she had propped her wings up on the edge of her bed, giving herself some natural ventilation. You’ll see, eventually, from the photos I took of her, that she appeared to be entirely unafraid, although this isn’t unusual for Park creatures, who are never hunted. The lack of breeze has made our days on the boat terribly hot; even Portia has been uncomfortable enough that she’s resorted to panting. So I felt a bit sorry for this bird, bound by instinct to sit on her airless little nest, but at least she was, for the most part, sheltered from the sun. How clever our wildlife are. Seeing her in her wild state was an honor for me, and it’s what I’ll remember Shroud Cay for.
Tomorrow, we head to Norman’s Cay, where we look forward to visiting MacDuff’s and seeing Stephan (who owns and runs MacDuff’s) again. Since Norman’s Cay was without exception our best conching experience last year, perhaps we’ll find some more there. There’s something very satisfying about harvesting your own dinner.
Until later, be well; strive to be happy.
Love, Lydia
S/V Flying Pig
Morgan 46 #2
"The only way to live is to have a dream green and growing in your life - anything else is just existing and is a waste of breath."
Ann Davison
Reply all
Reply to author
Forward
0 new messages