A small boat in a rough sea. I identify, lately, with that image.
For five years I fell off the side of a panga boat into the Caribbean Sea on a daily basis. Winds from the east flattened the waves and we skimmed over turquoise glass on our way to the dive site. West winds ruffled the water and made for a choppy ride. A storm blowing in from the south or north created ripples or mountains depending on the wind speed.
The local boat captains navigated all of this. As long as the panga motor could outrun the waves before they swamped the low back of the boat on the way into shore, the captains powered out through the watery mountains and we fell backwards off the boat and sunk below the surface chaos.
Well, yes, there were those occasions on returning home when we leaped over the side the instant the panga cleared the opening of the cove and drug the boat to shore hoping to outrun a threatening wave. There was even one memorable time when the waves caught us and the boat sunk in plain sight of the dive shop and the sunbathers on the beach.
But, for the most part, as long as the wind was consistent, the little boat bobbed on the rough seas and was waiting to bring us home at the end of our dive.
In a confused sea, the wind can’t make up its mind what direction it wants to blow. Waves kick up from all directions with the occasional rogue to make the boat captain’s life even more interesting. A confused sea left a boatload of disappointed divers standing on shore cussing the weather while a Mayan boat captain shook his head no and no and hell no.
So, in this time of my life, when nothing seems constant, I remind myself that the weather will change. But mostly, I remember dropping down through roaring waves into a world of such contrasting peace it always put a smile on my face big enough to leak salt water in around my regulator.
Peace is here. I just have to fall backwards into it.