Sunday, August 29, 2010
Philosophers argue about the reality of fate, destiny’s navigator. Yet, for all that, the inexplicable urges I’ve felt throughout my life often struck me as signal buoys detailed on someone else’s maritime chart; buoys proclaiming treacherous rock and reef, guarding life’s shores.
I pass my time trimming sail and ensuring the even keel of the day-to-day exigencies of living. Frequently I try jobs or pastimes hitherto unfamiliar, adding nutrients to this Sargasso Sea of nature’s devising. The reason for this deviation from my plotted course originates with a deep, uncontrollable urge to go or to move to a particular place or to perform a certain task. The gratification of these urges brings about some unique and interesting diversions, like the discovery of a new bird soaring on trade winds of pleasure.
Such purposeful movement developed only after adulthood settled firmly on my shoulders. Then, urges started taking me all over the country to work at various occupations. Variety soothed storms of indecision; knowledge gained became Neptune’s trident. Oftentimes, however, the urgent need found fulfillment only after meeting a certain person, arriving at the scene of an accident to assist the injured, or save a drowning victim. Sometimes it proved as simple as discovering something hiding in forgotten coves along the shore of my spirit.
Twenty years ago I relocated to the south end of Flathead Lake in Montana. I’d almost made the stop seven years prior, but conditions made sailing impossible. I ignored it then. Finally, the urge reclaimed my attention in a more frantic, yet persuasive, manner. The course set, I could not deny the deep-seeded need to drop anchor in western Montana.
Upon arrival I discovered why. I needed to place myself in the rising tide of my true heritage. Yet another chapter in my firstmate’s logbook opened to capture my soul and send it wandering the waters of the past and the future. My life became the water’s flotsam. The current of whatever necessity rolled onto the beach at the edge of my destiny’s shore, carrying my life with it.
Now, I’ve returned. My latest port-o-call is the north shore of the Flathead. In so many ways my life’s journey has circumnavigated the western U.S., either with “permanent berths” or fascinating ports. Even now, I’m not allowed to get comfortable in my new berth.
The call is winding up to a scream. Soon new ports will gather on my horizon, awaiting a course change. These don’t call for permanence but rather a long look-see; a few days in port--long enough to capture the scene and flavor for use in a written piece. Then my ship will slip anchor and ride the tide to another glimmering new possibility.
Until next time,
*NOTE: As always the photos are courtesy of BJ Jones Photographry at: bjjoneseyes (at) shutterbugstorefront (dot) com