Monday, September 30, 2019


by Ray Jason

       My little ship’s bow was pointed towards one of my favorite destinations. It is a tropical lagoon enclosed by the steep, lush hills of a full-climax jungle. But more importantly, I was also sailing towards a “state of mind.” This idyllic bay would provide me riches that are rarely savored in the low-grade mayhem that we call The Modern World. The treasures I was seeking were Simplicity and Solitude.
       For twelve days and nights, I would bask in a hideaway so pristine that it had never been violated by a siren or a car alarm. There were very few humans and most of my immediate neighbors were creatures who lived in the Sea and the Sky. Occasionally, a smiling local Indio paddled past in a hand-carved dugout canoe. The tranquility was so visceral, that when a boat powered by an outboard motor passed by, it was as jarring as a chain saw at a yoga retreat.

Saturday, August 31, 2019


by Ray Jason

      It was a “chilling realization.” As my brain processed those two words, I chuckled quietly. More accurately, it might be described as a “frigid, terrifying realization.” That’s because I was in the Far North – the High Arctic - on-board a fragile, fiberglass sailing boat, trying to make it through the Northwest Passage. It took 86 days from Newfoundland to Nome, but we did persevere and prevail.
       The realization that had disturbed me was the possibility that I might not make it back. One misstep and I would slide into a watery grave. It was so cold that the Sea surrounding our boat was frequently turning from liquid into slush on its way to becoming solid ice.
       The question that I had asked was “What would happen to my essays if I did not make it back?” The stark clarity and elemental reality of the high latitudes, imposes a need for no-nonsense truth. And so, as I stood my midnight watch while the rest of the crew slept below, I answered honestly. “They would probably be dust in the wind.”

Wednesday, July 31, 2019


by Ray Jason

      The great American novelist, Jack London, used to host elaborate dinner gatherings at his ranch in northern California. He would invite a mix of notable people from the worlds of literature, politics and business. Sprinkled among these well-known “thought leaders,” as we would describe them today, would be a group of “regular folk” from the neighboring ranches and towns.
       After dinner he would rise at the head of the long table and announce that they were going to engage in a debate. Then he would choose a topic such as “Should alcohol be made illegal.” Finally, he would pause for dramatic effect, and exclaim in a ringing voice, “I’LL TAKE EITHER SIDE!”
       I first heard this inspirational anecdote from my debating coach in college. He, and the four students who comprised our team, were packed into a tired station wagon headed for a tournament somewhere in the Deep South.

Saturday, June 29, 2019


by Ray Jason

Haiku master BASHO
       Elemental ecstasy – yes, that’s the feeling. A bliss so simple yet powerful that it finds and fills even the deepest pockets of emptiness within me. Here, in this quiet lagoon that is so authentic, I am safely cocooned from a world that is so artificial.
       With my back leaning against my sloop’s mast, I survey a panorama that would delight a hunter/gatherer rowing by in his dug-out canoe hundreds of years ago. Off my port-side, a predator bird perches alertly on a high branch, and up past my starboard bow a dormant volcano peeks through the morning mist.
       I sailed here seeking escape and solace. Too much study of the woes of this world, and too much failure at lessening them with the medicine of words, had drained me. I needed the replenishment that can only be found in solitude and silence.

Saturday, June 22, 2019


by Ray Jason

As Bolton and Pompeo - who are a human Axis of Psychosis -  attempt to force the U.S. into a war with Iran, it seems like a good time to re-post my most heart-felt anti-war essay.  This was first published in 2013 just as Obama was about to lob Cruise Missiles into Syria.  Fortunately, international opinion and lack of support from England was sufficient pressure to restrain him.

Of my 120 essays, this was the one that received the most appreciation and support from my readers.  I hope it touches you.

Saturday, May 25, 2019


by Ray Jason

      Recently, when sorting through some mementos, I encountered three short quotations that had helped launch the Sea Gypsy decades of my life. It was startling to discover how much power and enchantment they still possessed. Allow me to share them with you.

“...whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul … I account it high time to get myself to sea as soon as I can.”

Herman Melville

“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by.”

John Masefield

There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t sit still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.”

Robert Service

       That final quotation is particularly important to the subject of this essay. When I first began to wander the Wide Waters, it was not because I felt forced to do so. It was because I chose to do so.
       But in today’s society, there is a large segment of the population that is scorned with such venom, that I believe that their best strategy is to escape from the abuse that is heaped upon them in the terrestrial world. I urge them to revitalize their lives with freedom, substance and adventure by heading out to Sea.
       Who am I referring to? You might have already correctly guessed. It is young, white, straight males. I am not recommending that they join a navy or a merchant marine, but that they sail away from the growing and darkening madness in their own little freedom ship. It is much easier and cheaper than you might think and I’ll explain all of that later in this essay.

Tuesday, April 23, 2019


by Ray Jason

How I will always think of her.
      Long ago and far to the North, a stranger gave me a little gift. It was a modest offering, but it proved quite meaningful at a crossroads moment in my life. Having recently returned from Vietnam, and seeking a way to make a living that would not contribute to the U.S. War Machine, I was doing a little juggling act on the streets of San Francisco.
      This was in 1971 when the American revival in street performing was just beginning. Scattered about the sidewalks, one could find mimes and singers and magicians. But there were no jugglers. I had learned basic juggling at a summer camp in my early teens, and decided to put together a little show to sustain me while I “got my head back together.” My assumption was that this would require a few months, and then I would settle into some sort of real job.

Sunday, March 24, 2019


by Ray Jason

When the world weighs heavily upon me, I find comfort in a modest little cafe that overlooks an even more modest little park, here in the Archipelago of Bliss. Many people would probably describe it as a run-down, dilapidated park. But I love it because it is a refuge from the frenzy and artificiality of El Norte.
       It is full of authentic, ordinary people chatting with friends while their kids play on the swings and sliding boards. They are keeping an eye on their children, but they are not hovering over them like Smother-copters.
       Scattered on the perimeter are benches where Indios from the out islands sell produce that they grow on their little homesteads. The police do not move them along and code enforcement does not ask for their licenses. These officials realize that non-First World folks are smart enough to know how to clean their own vegetables, and that they don’t need the government to sanitize them.
      Every once in a while someone brings a box of baby chickens to sell. The Indio kids are ecstatic 

Sunday, February 24, 2019


by Ray Jason

Before I found my way to the Wide Waters, I spent a lot of time on the Asphalt Seas. I hitch-hiked tens of thousands of miles around the U.S. during my college years. The catalyst for this was my desire to feast on the visual cornucopia of the continent. And I also hoped to discover the special American spirit of nobility and brotherhood that Walt Whitman and Woody Guthrie celebrated through poetry and song.
       I wore a rugged, brown, naval aviator’s jacket from a surplus store and carried a small, tough suitcase that I adorned with decals from my travels. This was well before the back-pack era and the relative ease of thumbing rides with hippies in VW vans.
       One other item that also traveled with me was an envelope filled with my favorite quotations. When waiting for a ride in some inhospitable spot, I would pass the time finding comfort in the wit and wisdom of these insights and observations.

Tuesday, January 29, 2019


by Ray Jason

Something in the Sea awoke me. I wondered if the sound had only been from a dream, so I listened intently in the darkness. There it was again. It was near, but unrecognizable. I grabbed my flashlight and pepper spray and quietly slipped on deck to investigate. Nothing appeared unusual, but then I heard the sound again. It was up near the bow.
       The moon was half full, so I didn’t use the flashlight as I crept forward, because I know every contour of my boat like a sculptor knows clay. As I got close to the bow, I was startled by a sudden squawk and then the flapping of wings as a black-crowned night heron flew swiftly away. It had been fishing from my anchor chain.
       I chuckled and apologized to the fleeing bird, and then I went below to make some tea. There were still a couple of hours before dawn, but the unexpected encounter had jolted me awake. It seemed like an excellent time to seek some clarity on a topic that had been fermenting within me for a while.
       Recently, a young reader had written to me in muted desperation. He confessed that his life seemed like an indecipherable jumble of thoughts, emotions and insecurities. He said that he admired the way that I could discuss complex topics in such a clear and organized fashion. He was envious of how confident and free from doubt my life seemed to be.
       And so, in this peaceful, isolated cove I settled in with a cup of tea, my clipboard and its tiny light, to reassure that unknown reader that I too am often assaulted by a “jumble of thoughts, emotions and insecurities.”

Sunday, December 23, 2018


by Ray Jason

      Happy Holidays my unknown friends. I bring tidings of Joy! Certainly I am no wise man from the East, but I am a thoughtful man of the Sea. And although my gift may not be incense, frankincense or myrrh, it is still quite precious. I bring you Amnesty. I offer you emancipation from The Great Doom that has been prophesied for the last 30 years – Climate Change.
      Daring to share optimistic conclusions about this topic, is a fairly certain path to ridicule and attack. I recognize that the Green Police will put me in their cross-hairs. But the further that I advance into the autumn of my Life, the more I embrace The Need for Truth.

      Until a couple of years ago, I too, was a true believer in the man-made climate change theory. But my sea gypsy sense of adventure accidentally led me to more carefully study some of the evidence that was being incessantly 

Thursday, November 29, 2018


by Ray Jason

This sea gypsy life has rewarded me so richly. A philosopher’s yearning for knowledge, for understanding and for wisdom, requires certain conditions in order to be achieved. For me, those necessities are Solitude, Simplicity and Silence. These qualities are essential if one is to discern worthwhile lessons amidst the frenzy and cacophony of modern life. And they are abundant in my quiet, watery world.
       Long years of pondering the bigger questions, have convinced me that humanity is silently surrendering its independence to nameless, faceless social engineers. They have severed us from our historical brilliance as strong, self-reliant, members of the natural community. They have converted us into fragile, dependent clones in the artificial world of cyber-cities.
       These Life Programmers have transformed us from pioneers with rugged skills wearing sturdy clothes, into consumers with useless diplomas squeezed into skinny jeans. They have replaced face-to-face friendship with face-to-screen “connectivity.” And now the streets are strewn with hipster zombies who are as addicted to their devices as a ghetto junkie is to his fix.

Tuesday, October 30, 2018


by Ray Jason

It is dawn on the anniversary of my birth – long ago. I sit quietly and peacefully marveling at one of my favorite panoramas here in the Archipelago of Bliss. In the foreground, lovely ocean-striding sailboats gently tug at their anchors. Beyond them, the sun’s first rays accentuate the elemental beauty of the neighboring islands. And far in the distance is a range of mountains crowned by a sleeping volcano.
       Last year, on my Northwest Passage crossing, I saw the northern extremity of this mighty cordillera that stretches past my handsome sloop and extends all the way to Cape Horn. Will I one day see that legendary southern peak that has brought such ecstasy and agony to ocean wanderers?

       Blessed and cursed as I am with an overactive “introspection gene,” I become even more contemplative on my birthday. But how could it not be so, when one is in the Autumn of one’s life with the years thundering by and the disappointments mounting?
       These last five years since I started my Blog, which strives for a deeper understanding of the human project, have been rewarding but also very unsettling. Initially, my research via the internet was exhilarating. Here was information and knowledge without gate-keepers. Explanations and narratives that had seemed suspicious to me during my college years, could now be fully investigated.

Thursday, October 4, 2018


by Ray Jason

      The eye surgeon offered me a choice. She said that after the cataract was removed an artificial lens is inserted. She then gave me two options. Would I prefer to be far-sighted or near-sighted? I instantly chose the long view.
       After leaving the V.A. hospital, it dawned on me that this selection applied to much more than my human vision. Had I chosen the “near” lens, I would have been able to see my GPS more clearly as I continue to wander the Wide Waters in my lovely sailing boat.
       But with the lens that allowed me to see farther into the distance, I could more accurately pick out the stars that steer me when I do celestial navigation with my trusty sextant. The symbolism of this did not escape me. For I am a believer in the under-appreciated merits of “The Old Ways.”      
      When I first crossed oceans by myself, there was no Global Positioning System. And there could again come a time when there is no GPS. But those stars are eternal. They have guided mariners for a half a dozen centuries.

Saturday, August 25, 2018


by Ray Jason

      The Waters were calling me again. But not to embark on another frigid trip into the deep ice, like last year’s Northwest Passage voyage. This time the warm waters of the Archipelago of Bliss were beckoning me with a promise of solace and separation.
       I needed to get away from my quest to understand – at least for myself – how the world really works. So much time spent studying the riddle of how so few people can dominate so many people, had worn me down. Trying to comprehend the black pathology that drives some people to weave webs of secrecy and deceit in order to control others, had exhausted me.
       Fortunately, in less than two hours I can sail to a spot that never fails to comfort me. It is a little beach where there is no phone service, no internet and no connectivity. But there is a connection to what may be the absolute best medicine for world weariness – the laughter of children.

Tuesday, July 24, 2018


by Ray Jason

There are hundreds of harbors scattered around our wet, lush planet with dozens of ocean-ready sailboats anchored in them. Nearby there are marinas with additional blue-water cruising boats ready to cast off their dock-lines and head out. So how do you transition from being a sailor who admires my Sea Gypsy Tribe concept, to starting a tribe of your own? Here are some helpful suggestions.

  1. Right click on the “Escape of the Sea Gypsy Tribe” essay title. Copy it, and send it to other sailing friends who might also appreciate my ideas. If they find it appealing, then make sure they read the other essays that flesh out the strategy more fully. They are linked in the fourth paragraph to make it easy for everyone. You could also print them out and hand deliver them to any good prospects.

Sunday, July 15, 2018


by Ray Jason

For many years I have been arguing that ocean-going sailboats are the best survival pod if the world plunges into catastrophe. I have encouraged alert sailors, who understand the fragility and dangers of this historic moment, to band together into Sea Gypsy Tribes for mutual support.
       A well-stocked sailboat that can swiftly put to sea and avoid the initial mayhem, has the best chance of surviving any devastation. Whether it is a rapidly collapsing economy or a pandemic or the electric grid going down or nuclear horror, the safest place will be in a flotilla of like-minded, self-reliant sailor-folk, far from the fury of the cities.
       Your escape vessel will be propelled by the wind or by the diesel engine when it is calm. Solar panels and a wind generator will keep the batteries topped up allowing radio communication and on-board creature comforts. There will be plenty of long-life foods, a water-maker that converts sea water into fresh water, a good medical kit and sufficient firepower for a worst-case scenario.
       I have described my Sea Gypsy Tribe concept in several essays that are scattered throughout this blog. They thoroughly discuss both the “why to” and the “how to” details of such a positive life change. Hopefully, you will research them. You can easily find the first three here, here, and here. There are several more that flesh out my concepts even more fully and these are easy to locate if you scroll down my website. They all have the words “Sea Gypsy Tribe” in the title.

Friday, June 29, 2018


by Ray Jason

Scamper – yes, scamper – that’s the word I was searching for. The little Indio children were playing tag in a maze of mangrove roots, and I was looking for the perfect verb to describe their dexterity and speed as they chased each other. They were not running and they were not leaping - they were … scampering. And what made their game even more amazing, was the fact that they were doing this with bare feet.
While viewing this exquisite scene, in which raw Nature was their playground, how could I not contrast it with the “children’s recreation areas” of the so-called First World. Among the tangled branches and roots of this authentic jungle gym, there were many sharp spikes that taught them a valuable lesson. These kids learned to play with joy and abandon, but to also pay attention.
      I marveled at the stark difference between this playground, which was literally growing out of the Earth and the Sea, and the plastic, rounded-edges, garishly-bright, child-safe playgrounds of El Norte. Once again, my beloved Archipelago of Bliss, with its primitive wisdom, seemed to offer better life lessons than the advanced societies.

Thursday, June 14, 2018


by Ray Jason

      There is a frigid clarity in the Far North. The question was - would it benefit me or bedevil me? Along with the bone-numbing cold and the unimaginable desolation, would there also be insights awaiting me in the barren ice?
        I hoped so, and that is why I took two blank journals with me. One would record the daily ordeal of pushing a 42-foot fiberglass sailboat through the 5,000 miles of The Northwest Passage. The other would help me navigate the Inner Voyage.
      Throughout my essays I have often spoken of the philosopher’s need for solitude. Without such isolation, it is difficult to distance oneself from the mundane and focus on the meaningful. But on this expedition there would be a paradoxical irony for me in this regard. On the one hand, I would be in a vast geographical area that was almost completely uninhabited. But I would also be in a small sailing boat along with four other people. And this situation was quite difficult when one “needed a little space.” It was not like you could just go for a swim.

Friday, June 1, 2018


by Ray Jason
Amongst the ice in the Northwest Passage

Hello Everyone,

Today is the fifth anniversary of my SEA GYPSY PHILOSOPHER website.  Normally, on this occasion I review the joys and tribulations that I experienced while trying to write another year's worth of essays that hopefully are powerful, provocative and poetic.  But, as many of you have noticed, my tiny nano-corner of the Blogosphere has been completely silent these last twelve months. 

I decided to take a sabbatical because I firmly believe that anyone who dedicates much of their life to Ideas and Words, must periodically challenge their beliefs, and question their biases.  Therefore, I have done so. 

Now I'd like to share some of these new conclusions in the hopes that such revelations might be helpful in some small way for you - my mostly unknown but treasured readers.  My goal will again be to create one new essay about every two weeks. 

Although my site abstains from a "comments" section, I do encourage you to contact me through the direct email address which is provided for you in the right hand column.  It is usually possible for me to respond to most of the people who take the time to do this.   


As for The Big Adventure that I was embarking upon when I last wrote to you, it was a great success.  We triumphed in our attempt to sail a 42-foot fiberglass production boat through the fabled and extremely dangerous Northwest Passage above the North American continent. 

Don't let anyone tell you that the ice in the Arctic has melted, and that anybody can effortlessly jaunt right through.  In fact, a high- ranking Canadian Coast Guard officer claimed that probably none of the sailboats attempting it in the Summer of 2017 would make it through.  But most of us persevered, and struggled through ice fields that often seemed impenetrable and endless.  Some of the vessels did get trapped for days at a time.

Ray in the Northwest Passage
Back in my natural habitat
I joined the boat in St. Johns, Newfoundland and then spent 86 consecutive days and nights aboard, until we arrived in Nome, Alaska.  For a man who has lived an almost inconceivably solitary life, this was supremely challenging since there were 4 other people aboard this 42-foot boat.  Then to heighten the adventure, toss in the risk of being crushed by ice or devoured by polar bears.  Certainly, we all earned our Explorer merit badges.


As I begin this second incarnation of my little blog, I will strive to make the website a bit less "heavy" and a bit more enjoyable.  All that time in the High Latitudes convinced me that there is so much that is admirable and valuable about a person's "story."  And through the years many of you have asked for more information about my particular long and watery road. 

So, in the near future I will include some nice photo sections from my street performing days and from my around the world juggling journey and from my sailing voyages.  I will also index the blog so that it will be easier to find your way to essays on specific subjects such as the anti-war pieces or my Sea Gypsy Tribe concept. 

In conclusion, I am greatly looking forward to again becoming a tiny part of your lives.  In this increasingly chaotic and bewildering world, my hope is that I will become for you ... a Blog Over Troubled Waters.

All the best,


Thursday, June 1, 2017


Today is the fourth anniversary of my little blog.  It has been a delight sharing my unusual perspective on the world with you, and I greatly appreciate your support and encouragement.  Thank you so very much.

Highlights from these last 12 months include the publication of my 100th essay and clicking over a quarter of a million visits to my site.  Most amazing and pleasing.  

Special thanks to Naja who edits The Blue Paper in Key West.  They have re-posted almost all of my essays and I greatly cherish having their readers aboard.

I continue to keep my little sharing space as pristine as possible with no ads, no donations tab and no Patreon link.  Financially it is a challenge - but emotionally it is a reward.

As revealed in my recent essay entitled IN PRAISE OF UNSAFE SPACES, I am about to embark on an exciting and hazardous adventure (all true adventure involves danger).  I will be crewing aboard some friends' boat as we attempt to sail the Northwest Passage - up where the polar bears roam.  As someone who has always aspired to being both a philosopher and an adventurer, this is a perfect opportunity for me.  

The voyage should take a few months.  Will post essays whenever I can, but the internet availability will obviously be a significant issue.    

It will be intriguing to see if this radical change in latitude and temperature changes my perspective.

You'll be the first to know.

Thanks again,


Thursday, May 25, 2017


by Ray Jason            

photo by Ray Jason
Years ago, I nick-named this modest little spot The Domino Triangle.  It was too tiny for an actual building, so a tarp had been slung to provide shelter from the sun and the rain.  Beneath it was a folding card table and some battered chairs, where the locals would play dominoes. 
            When the tropical heat would begin to lessen in the late afternoon, the men would start gathering.  They arrived with beer and a little pocket money.  They also brought something that is increasingly rare in our modern world – modest, earth-bound happiness.
            Their conversations revolved around the elemental concerns of bedrock Humanity – too much work and not enough pay, the entertaining inscrutability of wives and girlfriends, and the follies of their grandchildren.  Nobody was discussing how many pixels the next iPhone camera would have or how Amazon’s stock price is so high when they never turn a profit.


Friday, May 12, 2017


by Ray Jason

Monique and Jack - 2 young sea gypsies
The waters of the Archipelago of Bliss have been a wondrous reservoir of inspiration for me as I meander through my Middle Years.  My secluded life amidst these tranquil islands has blessed me with a perspective and clarity that is difficult to attain by those chained to the cacophony of the Real World.  
But since my earliest conscious dawning in my teen years, I have been attracted not only to a life of thought, but also to the call to action.  Jack London, Joseph Conrad and Richard Burton were the type of literary figures who appealed to me because they combined both words and deeds. 
Lately, I have been questioning whether the comfort of these peaceful lagoons has seduced me away from that combination of adventurer and philosopher which so exhilarates me?  Have deeds succumbed to words?  Peering into my heart of hearts, I have to answer, YES.
So it was time for a change.  Fortunately, the gods of adventure smiled upon me with an exciting possibility.  Some highly-skilled sailors, who are also very dear friends, invited me to join them in an attempt this summer to sail across the legendary Northwest Passage.  When they offered me this opportunity, I immediately thought of Alan Shepherd’s line in the movie THE RIGHT STUFF when they were recruiting him to become an astronaut: “Sounds dangerous … count me in!”        

Thursday, April 27, 2017


by Ray Jason

Thank you for your brilliance Norman Rockwell
The wind arrived swiftly.  The waves built more slowly - but also more dangerously.  Suddenly AVENTURA was no longer gently tugging at her anchor.  She was lunging and jerking perilously.  I let out more chain to calm her, but the seas kept pounding us.  The gorgeous little island with its massive coral formations had protected me from the prevailing winds for the last two days.  But now that we had swung around 180 degrees, those reefs were a million-machete menace.
 I had snorkeled them that afternoon and their beauty had dazzled me.  However, their contours had worried me.  In many places the water depth would drop from 15 feet to 2 feet in only a few yards.  Dashed against them, my fiberglass boat could quickly be punctured, filled with seawater and destroyed.  I would lose my home, my magic carpet, my companion.

Saturday, April 1, 2017


by Ray Jason

I was awoken this morning by a tropical alarm clock – the joyous sound of wild parrots flying above my anchored boat.  Their airborne chirping reminded me that the last thing that I heard as I dozed off the night before was also from the non-human world.  It was the raucous barking of a troop of howler monkeys.
            Perhaps it was because my sleep had been book-ended by these emissaries from the realm of Nature - but I felt radiantly refreshed.  Lying in my bunk, I noticed that an amber shaft of equatorial sunlight was resting on my chart table.  And there, sitting in the middle of it was a little gecko sunning itself. 
A feeling of cleansing jubilation swept over me.  It felt like something momentous had transformed the planet as I slept during the night.  It was as though the long-rumored pole shift had occurred.  But it was not a geographical reversal, it was a philosophical upheaval.


Suddenly, the ordinary people of the world had awoken to the fact that war was not about spreading democracy and ousting hideous tyrants.  It was a fraud imposed on the regular people by the irregular people – who are awash in money and power and who benefit obscenely from war. 

Thursday, March 16, 2017


by Ray Jason         

           It was the last full moon of winter.  My little ship, which was facing north, gently veered around to the east - as though she too wanted to admire the luminous moon as it rose above this jungle lagoon.  Some unknown instinct had prompted me to write this essay not in the daylight or not by lamplight, but under the spell of moonlight.  I abide by such mysterious murmurings.
            So I sat on deck with my back leaning against the mast.  In my lap was a pen and my trusty clipboard, but tonight it had a small book-light attached to it.  Beside me was a cup of soothing green tea.  This seemed appropriate - because the catalyst for this essay had been an old Chinese proverb.  That morning it had sailed back into my consciousness after years of languishing in my philosophical backwaters.  It states with almost unsettling clarity and simplicity a truth that Humanity seems to be ignoring. 
            “If we don’t change our direction, we will end up where we are headed.”
            My philosopher’s mission is to meditate on the sweeping trends that impact the human caravan and to not be distracted by the transient frenzy of day to day events.  My quest is to separate the message from the background noise.  An effective way to do this is to focus on our most elemental needs.  Some of these basics include: water, food, jobs, security and entertainment.

Thursday, March 2, 2017


by Ray Jason           

TOR HOUSE - photo  by Ray Jason
          My heroes do not score touchdowns or lead armies or star in movies.  Instead, those in my Pantheon think deeply and dream elegantly and write poetically.  They are secular saints, who tried to decipher the mysteries of the human condition and who shared their discoveries with all of us.  Out of reverence for their quests, I have tried to visit some of the places that were crucial to their personal and artistic development. 
I sat on the stone foundation of Thoreau’s tiny cabin next to Walden Pond and marveled at his 19th century journals.  They are so full of wisdom that still resonates 150 years later.  But my joy at being on that hallowed shoreline was tempered by my awareness that nowadays his message is but a muted rustling of leaves in a distant forest.  His insistence on the need for humanity to stay connected to Nature and to be suspicious of the glories of Man is even more vital today than it was in his era.

Thursday, February 16, 2017


by Ray Jason        

Photo of AVENTURA by Tor Pinney
       When the world of “today” weighs too heavily upon me, I find solace in the world of “yesterday.”  And I do not have to travel far to find that comfort.  In fact, I am surrounded by it.  That’s because my little sailing boat – which is also my little home – is a bridge across to the Old Ways. 
       The building of boats is one of the earliest chapters in the book of human history.  Tools and fire and dugout canoes were all essential to the beginning stages of the voyage of humanity.  And lazing about in the Archipelago of Bliss, keeps me directly connected to this heritage.  Every time a weathered Indio sells me a fish from his cayuco, I am looking down at a hand-carved canoe whose design harkens back even further than the Pyramids.
       This pleases me.  For I believe that a philosopher’s task is to seek out that which is elemental and enduring; and discard that which is artificial and ephemeral.  My job is to distinguish between events that are only important in the moment and those that are genuinely momentous. 
       But often this is an emotional burden.  My last three essays, which examined the Social Engineering that almost invisibly controls our existence, left me saddened and depleted.  So I have decided to let my senses and mind wander around my little ship, and rejoice in how splendid she is - both tangibly and symbolically.

Thursday, February 2, 2017


by Ray Jason          

            I spend a lot of time away from people – so that I can better understand people.  But today I needed to surround myself with real people.  A week of intense research on where Humanity is being herded has profoundly shaken me.
            I’m sitting in my favorite cafĂ© here in the Archipelago of Bliss, gazing out on the main street, which should be called Avenida Anomaly, since it is so detached from the modern world.  It is delightfully out of synch because for every passing car there are 10 bicycles and 20 pedestrians.  Across the street in the park, Moms entrust their children in the playground to their older brothers and sisters who welcome this responsibility.  On the sidewalk an old man with a wheelbarrow full of coconuts slices them open with a machete and sells them to his lifelong friends.  The entire scene is a testament to the philosophy of “live and let live.”   
 This is in stark contrast to those in the bejeweled dungeons of power who are colluding to hypnotize and enslave the common man.  The term that best describes their hidden campaign of conquest is Social Engineering.  In my two previous essays on this topic, I tried to distill down to one sentence the goal of those who are masterminding this cultural takeover.  They seek greater and greater control by fewer and fewer people.


Thursday, January 19, 2017


by Ray Jason

There is only one town here in the Archipelago of Bliss, and although it is in a beautiful seaside location, it has avoided the curse of gentrification.  You would never confuse it with a cutesy, sterile, tourist destination that beckons to the cruise ships.  But even though it fails the “postcard perfect” test - it gets an A for Authenticity.  And it would get an F from any Social Engineer.
            In my previous essay, I discussed how those who are obsessed with ruling the world are attempting to steer and control the entire planet as though it was their personal Maserati.  The term that I long ago coined for these alpha villains is The Malignant Overlords.  I am delighted to report that their efforts to impose their Social Engineering on this little community have been an abysmal failure. 
            Here is some evidence that supports this claim.  The people here are not addicted to television.  Instead, they are out chatting and laughing with their neighbors on the streets and in the park.  There are no suburbs, and there are certainly no massive highways since almost nobody owns a car.  In fact, water taxis are the main form of transportation.  And no one worships the god of consumerism here.  You can’t buy a Rolex watch – excuse me, time piece – or a Gucci handbag here.

Thursday, January 5, 2017


by Ray Jason

I rowed ashore at twilight because I wanted my little gift to be more dramatic.  My time in the islands was ending, and this little Indio family had made my weeks anchored off their simple homestead so exquisite, that I wanted to leave them a memento of my visit.
            As I stepped out of my dinghy, the littlest child was her normal enthusiastic and inquisitive self.  At four years old, the entire world just seemed to her to be one gigantic magical unfolding.  Ah, if we adults could only retain that sense of enchantment.
            I displayed the odd, pancake-shaped object that I had brought with me, and then started to blow it up like a balloon.  Both the parents and the children were mystified.  Once it was inflated, I held it in front of them ceremoniously and then with a flourish of my other hand I pressed a button that turned it into a light.  The kids clapped and laughed and their mom and dad smiled.  After presenting it to them, I explained that it was powered by a miniature solar panel that did not require electricity.  They were delighted by this farewell offering which was both magical and practical.