Salt Water

'There's nothing that cannot be cured by salt water,' to paraphrase Isak Dinesen - meaning tears, sweat or the sea.

 

After one week cruising the Channel Islands, I am feeling well and at peace. Taking my blood pressure today (as I am diligently supposed to do) it is at 118/73 - the best yet - and I announce that I just need to spend the rest of my life sailing, I guess.

 

I love the sea.I love the colors of the ocean, the way the sunlight sparkles on the peaks of the waves, the swathe of Milky Way at night; the playful dolphins, bellowing elephant seas, elegant island fox; the whistling call of the murrelets and peep-peep-peep of the oyster catchers. I love the way the boat is awash with the scent of sage at night; the rock and roll of the sea as I sleep, the warmth of the sun, the wisps of fog curling over the mountaintops, the delicate wildflowers that struggle in the barren scapes, the wind whistling through the rigging, the majestic flowing kelp forests, the juxtaposition of volcanic and sedimentary rocks on the islands, the fresh wind blowing through my snarled hair.

 

Everywhere I see God's hand in this magnificent creation. It puzzles me to think anyone would perceive this all to be a freak of evolution: the miscreation of some frozen rock crystals, a mutation, a big collossal accident. It all seems so deliberate, so beautifully designed. Pure unadulterated nature is so calming and healing; it was designed for us: to nurture us, and delight us. And I don't think God created this all so we could muck it up: I feel strongly our job is to preserve and protect the natural places, which I have been so incredibly blessed to experience so many of.