Thursday, December 31, 2015


by Ray Jason        

            It was a most unusual voyage.  I was sailing South in search of a world free of screens.  Still reeling from a month in El Norte, witnessing the tyranny of technology, I needed serenity.  I sought a peaceful lagoon, where people were not submissives - dominated by their TV screens, computer screens and Smart phone screens.
            When the anchor was down in one of my favorite hideaway coves, it felt like a great emancipation – a return to solitude and stillness.  Within a few hours I was absorbing the tranquility of the tiny bay.  I knew that I was truly being cured of the frenzy when the haiku began to flow.

This ancient form of Japanese poetry has appealed to me since my early days in college, when I was introduced to the great master of the form - Basho.  Basically, the poems are tiny snapshots of Nature.  But in their most exalted moments they speak to the sublime interface of the Human with the Natural.  They amplify the often uncelebrated aspects of the world around us that are elemental, commonplace and eternal.  And they do so with austere elegance.
The most standard form is three lines with the first and last comprised of five syllables and the middle line having seven syllables.  They should be immediate impressions of a real-time encounter with Nature.  They should not be abstract and intellectual.  They also require simplicity rather than ornamentation.  An old adage that expresses this perfectly is: “If the finger that is pointing towards the moon is bejeweled, that to which it is pointing will not be noticed.”


Monday, December 21, 2015


by Ray Jason           

            As soon as I finish this essay and send it out into the world to find its way, I will begin my own private Christmas celebration.  I will cast off the dock-lines, hoist the sails and head off to a little cove that will bequeath me the wondrous gift of Solitude.  My only companions will be the creatures of the Sea and the Sky and an occasional fisherman drifting by in a cayuco.
            What I will be seeking in this isolation is what has been lost in the current incarnation of Christmas – REVERENCE.  This holiday is supposed to pay homage to the birth date of the founder of Christianity.  But it has steadily deteriorated from a spiritual celebration into a materialistic, consumer frenzy.  It is not about Spirit.  It is about Stuff.       
            The object of my reverence will not be a god or a man-god or a man.  It will be Nature.  Whereas the existence of god cannot be proven, the existence of Nature cannot be denied.  My handsome little sailboat will be moving through it – through the waves of the Sea - powered by the wind from the Sky.  In a very real sense, my boat and I will be cradled by Nature. 

Thursday, December 10, 2015


by Ray Jason

Sometimes, when I am anchored alone in the far reaches of the Archipelago of Bliss, I will see a group of Indios gathered around a camp fire sharing stories as the twilight deepens into darkness.  Everything in such a scene is primal and elemental and authentic.  If there are children in the circle, I suspect that the adults are probably passing along their tribal story.  They are teaching the young their shared history and their common values. 
Because language was invented long before writing, the importance of oral story-telling was enormous in our early evolution as a species.  Stories DO MATTER – they are vital in our societal development.  And as humanity has progressed, so has the manner in which our stories are conveyed. 
Tribal campfire instruction was supplanted by medieval theatrical productions.  Shakespeare replaced the shaman.  But it wasn’t long before The Book diminished The Bard.  With the moveable-type printing press, far more people could have access to the shared wisdom accumulated during the human caravan.  In the 20th Century, the written word lost its pre-eminence due to the invention of movies and television.  These tools, that combined moving images with spoken words and music, were far more powerful than the story-telling systems that had preceded them.


Thursday, November 26, 2015


by Ray Jason          

            It was a genuine “laugh until you cry” moment.  Two of my absolute favorite people and their son were sitting across from me in a plush Palo Alto restaurant.  Five minutes into our meal I looked across at them and was astounded.  Spontaneously, but quietly, I leaned towards them and said, “Good god, you eat like refugees!”  They laughed heartily and acknowledged that their lives are so dominated by the need to constantly hurry, that they barely notice how revved up they are.  
            This was my first contact with the phenomenon that I call “The Invisible Frenzy.”  I was a few days into a month long visit to San Francisco to enjoy the company of my wonderful friends there.  But I was already frazzled by the insane velocity with which they conduct their day to day activities.  Was it so unsettling because I had been transformed by the slo-mo pace of my life in the Archipelago of Bliss, or had the speed of urban living accelerated that much in the seven years since my last visit?  Probably, it was a combination of both factors.

Friday, October 30, 2015


by Ray Jason

Ray on his birthday 2015
As the years thunder by, I pleasantly discover that my needs and desires keep decreasing.  Health, Happiness, Friendship and Freedom are now the cardinal points on the compass of my life’s voyage.   Because today is my birthday, it is natural to ponder whether my Ship of Self is sailing smoothly; or whether it is struggling through troubled waters.  Fortunately, the year astern of me has been splendid, and the days ahead look promising.
For me, one of the joys and challenges of each birthday is to revisit my core knowledge of the world.  Being blessed with the philosopher’s curse of needing to understand the mystery of human existence, I use this annual milestone to reconsider “what I think I know.”  My approach this year will be to focus on the multitude of infants who will be born today and thus share the same birth date as mine.  What awaits them…???     


Thursday, October 15, 2015


by Ray Jason          

          One of the many reasons that I linger here in the Banana Latitudes is because the local people still have backbones.  Or to use a more creative description that a friend of mine favors – they have not yet been “sheepified.” 
First of all, they demand that the government do things to actually help the real people and not just the rich people.  For example, there are free clinics for pregnant women and there are local market days where food is available from farm co-ops at reduced prices due to subsidies.  Yes, the Third World is so backward that they haven’t yet figured out that you are supposed to subsidize rich, BigAg campaign donors and not the people in the pueblo.
And secondly, if the authorities initiate policies that are harmful to local interests, the people make their displeasure very apparent.  They start with acceptable procedures by going up the normal chain of command.  But if these fail, they engage in “direct action.”  And they do not waste their fervor and time on Lame Lefty symbolic gestures.  They do not stand beside a bridge with placards.  They shut the frigging bridge down with their bodies.  And, if a telecom giant jacks the phone rates up obscenely, it will suddenly discover that its transmission lines have been severed.
I have been directly inconvenienced by these monkey wrench gang tactics, but their bold and courageous fortitude both amuses and comforts me.  However, most of the other expats are horrified by such “radicalism.”  They are outraged that they have to go without internet for 18 hours.  But wasn’t part of the motivation for abandoning the First World, to escape a frenzied culture so driven by schedules and deadlines?

Thursday, October 8, 2015


Hello Everyone,

I hope you are all doing well.

Here is a very positive and thoughtful review of The Sea Gypsy Philosopher, which was recently posted at the excellent website called Resilience.  The author, Frank Kaminski, was very thorough and appreciative.  Thank you, Frank.

My book remains very reasonably priced at Amazon in the paper version.  However, there is some difficulty with the Kindle edition, therefore it is not available at the moment.  If you click on the book cover just to your right, you will be linked instantly to the Amazon page.

Be well, everyone!


Thursday, October 1, 2015


by Ray Jason        

         She walks alone and unnoticed down one of America’s scenic but barely-traveled highways.  Like any true pilgrim, she is penniless and her only possessions are the clothes on her back.  But she also carries precious cargo with her – the message of Peace.  For 28 years she quietly delivered her little peace talks wherever people were willing to listen.  She was The Peace Pilgrim.
            He arrives in a motorcade led by a phalanx of motorcycle cops and surrounded by his massive security force.  Overhead, helicopters record his every move and gesture.  Each stop during his visit is meticulously scripted by his handlers – including the incidents that initially seemed spontaneous.  He is accompanied by an entourage of 170 people.  He is The Pope. 
         Now you tell me which one of these people is HOLY!  Which one most faithfully represents the spirit of Jesus? 


Wednesday, September 16, 2015


by Ray Jason

The sailor within me was concerned.  But the poet within me was delighted.  This was no ordinary squall that was approaching from the north.  It was so gray and dark and menacing that it looked like molten lead as it churned across the bay towards me.  So I slipped behind a small mangrove island where I dropped my sails and set the anchor. 
As I was finishing that task, the deluge descended.  A burst of wind tipped AVENTURA over to starboard.  It also toppled me gently down onto the cabin top.  I laughed as I wondered whether the deepening voyage into my Middle Years was beginning to compromise my balance. 
When I began to lift myself up to go below and retreat from the rain, a primal voice from across the centuries prompted me stay where I was.  So I closed my eyes while lying on my back and let the warm equatorial downpour saturate me.  Within a couple of minutes the rain softened - and I felt an almost blissful contentment as I let it wash over me. 
I was not experiencing any deep philosophical insights, but there was a vague sense that if I remained there something might be revealed to me.  And a few minutes later this is precisely what occurred, but much differently from what I might have expected. 
Suddenly, I noticed that there was another person 15 yards away.   An Indio fisherman had silently rowed his cayuco nearby and was grinning over at me.  My ”laughing in the rain” behavior was very different from what he had witnessed with most gringos.  He paddled closer and quietly asked me if I was okay.  I sheepishly replied that I was fine.  Then we both smiled and he turned back to his quest for dinner.

Thursday, September 3, 2015


by Ray Jason            

            When the bus unloaded us at the Great Wall of China, our tour guide and her flock headed off in one direction, while I snuck off on my own.  Such behavior was symbolic of my life in general.  To escape the herd and transcend the humdrum has been a constant theme on my meandering Path.  That contrary to ordinary behavior rewarded me splendidly on that day, and it has continued to do so down the decades.    
            We had been instructed to “stay with our guide” who would mother hen us along the acceptable route over the rebuilt part of the wall.  But that beautifully restored section held little allure for me.  What sang to my wandering heart was the massive serpentine rubble that undulated across the hilltops and off into the misty distance.

Thursday, August 20, 2015


by Ray Jason           

           One of the great joys of my sea gypsy life is the ease with which I can alternate between solitude and camaraderie.  Scattered about the Archipelago of Bliss are many friends living on the shore or on their own islands.  They often invite me to come and anchor near their home and hang out for a few days.  I frequently do so.  These are always delightful interludes.
            But when the lonesome call of contemplation beckons me, there are many empty lagoons where I can linger alone.  There, my only companions are the creatures of the sea and the sky and my books and my thoughts.  But occasionally I will be joined by another sailing boat that is – how can I say this – different.  Most people would describe them as “outlaw boats,” but I consider them “emancipated boats.” 
            These are sailors who do not bother to check in with the authorities, but who wander the Wide Waters as sea vagabonds without a country.  I can easily ascertain this by making an offhand remark about how easy and inexpensive it is to clear into this particular country.  If they agree with that assessment, I know that they have not actually checked in, because it is neither easy nor inexpensive to do so here.  Then I will make another casual remark about the “unfettered freedom of the cruising life.”  Usually, at this point our eyes will lock and they will know that I know.

Saturday, August 8, 2015


by Ray Jason

            It’s early morning down here in the Banana Latitudes, and I am savoring the languor of the Tropics.  Sitting in the shade, with my back against the mast, I notice a small cayuco emerge from a nearby creek and steer directly towards me. Suddenly it feels like I have been swept back to the era of Captain Cook when the natives would row out to the visiting ships to trade with the sailors.   
            However, this local trader turns out to be a seven year old boy - with a cargo of coconuts and chickens.  I happily purchase four green “drinking nuts.”  When he offers me a fine hen, I pantomime what a hilarious ordeal it would be for me to control an unhappy chicken aboard a small sailing boat.  He laughs vigorously, flashing beautiful white teeth undamaged by sugar and civilization.  It pleases me to know that when he returns from school later today he will not vicariously butcher hundreds of “bad guys” on some video game screen.  Instead, he will fish for supper with some line coiled around a stick.

Thursday, July 23, 2015


by Ray Jason

This is the conclusion of my short trilogy dealing with the Sea Gypsy Tribe in a post-Apocalyptic scenario.  In order to understand it, I would encourage you to take a few minutes and read my two prior installments entitled The Stranger Arrives and The Shattering.  Just scroll down the page and they await you.



Hello again, Stranger.  Our medical volunteers have informed me that yesterday, for the first time since your arrival, you were able to speak.  That delighted our tribe immensely.  However, we were even more pleased to learn that the first words that you uttered were “Thank you.” 

I was also told that your efforts to communicate seemed very painful.  So the medical staff asked me to discourage you from trying to speak until the wound below your jaw has healed more completely.  As for your efforts to write with that broken right hand of yours, we again urge you to be patient.  However, your attempts with your left hand have brought considerable amusement to all of us.  One nurse describes your scribbling as a cross between Japanese and Thai with a slight hint of Brooklyn.        


Friday, July 10, 2015


by Ray Jason

This is a continuation of my fictional depiction of one possible Collapse scenario.  If you have not read my previous essay, “The Stranger Arrives,” this new one will not make much sense to you.  So it would be best if you scroll down and spend a few minutes with that piece.


During what our tribe calls The Descent, the initial problem was economic. But it soon became societal.  The threads of decency and compassion that normally hold the human tapestry together, disintegrated with astonishing swiftness.  In the USA, the entire population was more or less under house arrest.  The government tried curfews and martial law and gun confiscation, but they did not end the violence, they intensified it.
At this stage the trauma was limited to the United States.  It was not global.  So the big question for those who made it through the catastrophe is: How did it go from an economic and societal unraveling in one country to a global nuclear incineration?  How did The Descent become The Shattering? 

Monday, June 29, 2015


by Ray Jason

Welcome, Stranger!  We are the Pelican/Slocum Sea Gypsy Tribe.  I am currently our Spokesperson – a position that rotates regularly in our clan. 
Congratulations on surviving The Descent and the Shattering.  While you are regaining your strength, we will provide you food, water, shelter, medicine and perhaps most importantly - emotional comfort and reinforcement.  Your injuries are severe, particularly the wound beneath your jawbone, so please do not attempt to speak.     
When you have sufficiently recovered, we will tell you Our Story.  Then later we will describe Our Code.  If you wish to join us, there will be a probationary period during which we will evaluate your compatibility with our tribe.  Then we will convene a Council of Deciding and share our assessment with you.  If your skills and conduct seem valuable to our clan, we will happily accept you amongst us.  Should we, or you, choose otherwise then we will give you a supply of food and water as you commence again your wanderings as an Earthugee.    


Wednesday, June 17, 2015


by Ray Jason

            I refer to it jokingly as “THE QUESTION.”   It used to bother me, but now it just amuses me.  Usually, it is phrased like this, “Ray, how did you get this way?”  My standard playful response is, “Are you referring to what great physical shape I am in considering my age?”  This catches them off guard, but then they continue.  “No, I mean how did you get all of these … odd … and … radical … ideas?”  If I am feeling mischievous, I might reply, “Well, my parents were professors at Berkeley in the ‘Marxism for the Masses’ department.”

            Actually, my parents were not to blame, although my Mom would certainly applaud my determination to look at life as openly as possible.  So perhaps she was an accessory to the crime.  College was not the guilty party either.  I did have a few inspirational professors, but mostly Higher Education could just as accurately be called Higher Indoctrination.  No, the guilty party was - and is - BOOKS!
            But not just any books.  I’m talking about provocative books that seem to shout from the pages, “I bet you were not aware of this?!”  Books that shake your brain like a washing machine on the “agitate” setting, until the neurons are rearranged.  Books that reveal the beauty and majesty of life, but that also expose the ugliness and injustice.

Thursday, June 4, 2015


by Ray Jason

            Peer into this child’s eyes at your own risk.  They have haunted me for 18 months.  Every few weeks I look at this poignant image and try to decipher the message that those enormous brown eyes are sending to me - and to you - and to the world.
            I found this photo at Google Images and used it to accompany my final essay of 2013.  It is of a little gypsy girl in Romania who has just received a Christmas present from an aid worker.  It leapt out at me even though there were hundreds of other pictures.  Why did this particular one tunnel into my heart of hearts and speak to me so powerfully? 
  I have pondered this at least 20 times during the ensuing months.  But before sharing my conclusions with you, I would like you to pause for a few minutes and study this young girl.  I’d even suggest that you left click on the photo to enlarge it.  Now, what is she saying to you personally with those focused eyes and that enigmatic smile?

Monday, June 1, 2015


Hello Everyone,

Today is my blog’s second birthday; and so I want to reach out and thank all of you far-flung friends and strangers who have encouraged me these last two years.  Having come from a performing background, where the response to one’s efforts is very immediate, it is quite different communicating in such an indirect fashion.  It can get pretty lonesome on this side of the laptop at times, so your support is dearly appreciated.  Muchas gracias, as we say down here in the Banana Latitudes!

Certainly the highlight of these past 12 months is the recent publication of a book containing some of the best essays from my site.  It has been doubly rewarding because it is the first book that Dmitry Orlov chose to publish at his new imprint, called Club Orlov Press.  It was also a great experience working so rigorously with Dmitry when he spent this springtime down here South of Many Borders.  The manuscript went through 7 or 8 drafts and the cover took 4 or 5 tries.  But we are both delighted with the finished book.  It is mysteriously entitled THE SEA GYPSY PHILOSOPHER, and if you scroll several inches down this page you can learn all about it.    

The steady growth of my blog has also been very pleasing to me.  After the first year it had received about 47,000 visits and after the second it is now up to 111,000 – so a considerable increase.  And the country count has gone from 117 up to 140.  The fact that this improvement has been made strictly through word of mouth is quite heart-warming.

I am happy to note that my blog remains commercial free - with no google ads and with no donation tab.  For you nice folks who have inquired, there will be an electronic version of the new book in the near future.  And for those of you who have been clamoring for an Amazon link to my first book, TALES OF A SEA GYPSY, I will try to get around to that soon.  It is very different from SGP.  It showcases the offbeat and funny side of my eccentric way of looking at the world and writing about it.    

Thanks again, everyone – may you all flourish in this upcoming year!


P.S. The new essay is almost finished.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015


by Ray Jason

In a world poisoned with sensationalism and hype, this little masterpiece entered my life quietly and without fanfare.  I did not know of it, so I did not seek it.  But it found me – and at a dark time when I needed solace.  It renewed my wounded belief in the transformative power of art.  It reminded me that a thinker/writer can touch people deeply and awaken and comfort them.

            It is called THE GRAVE OF THE FIREFLIES and it is a Japanese animated film.  The title alone is steeped in the mysterious inscrutability of the Orient.  One immediately realizes that fireflies don’t get buried, so what could this mean?  But to the sensitive, caring four year old girl, who found their dead bodies in the morning, it made complete sense to give them a respectful funeral.

Thursday, May 7, 2015


Hello Everyone,

I am delighted to announce that a book collection of some of my best essays has just been released.  It is being published by Dmitry Orlov at Club Orlov Press, using Amazon’s CreateSpace platform.  Because I greatly respect and enjoy Dmitry’s thinking and writing, I feel honored to be selected as the first title of his new imprint.

Instead of my normal essay, I am instead sharing with you Dmitry’s Introduction for the book.  Hopefully this, and your familiarity with my work, will inspire you to purchase a copy.  Since we operate in opposition to the mainstream, this book will rely on guerrilla marketing.  This means we are counting on YOU.  So besides buying a copy, please send all of the people on your mailing list a little note alerting them to this worthwhile collection of essays.  To make it even more convenient for you, we have included a link for ordering the book which you can also include in any message you might pass along to your friends.

Club Orlov Press is part of the movement to topple the old monolithic model of publishing, whereby the author makes almost nothing on each book.  The largest share of the price of THE SEA GYPSY PHILOSOPHER will actually find its way aboard AVENTURA.  So if you wish to read more eccentric dispatches from my philosophical wanderings, please buy a copy and spread the word.

Thanks so very much,


Book synopsis: 

This book is a collection of the best essays from Ray Jason's popular "Sea Gypsy Philosopher" blog, which now has readers in over 130 countries. Although he deals with controversial subjects, 

Friday, April 24, 2015


 by Ray Jason           

When I receive emails from anonymous strangers asking me where I am located, my usual response is, “AVENTURA is 30 miles west of Somewhere.”  This cautious approach is because my essays have undoubtedly earned me a spot on various governmental “person of interest” lists.  After all, one cannot gleefully describe the folks in charge of the modern world as Malignant Overlords, without aggravating them.  But my impact is probably so puny that I am less of a nuisance than a sardine to a supertanker.
            There is only one factor that dominates my personal choice of location.  I always try to keep my little ship close enough to the Panama Canal so that I can sail there in a few days.  That’s because of all of the various Armageddon scenarios a nuclear war is the one that worries me the most.  To survive it, AVENTURA needs to get through that canal and into the Southern Hemisphere.  This concern is not just the ranting of a lunatic screaming, “The sky is falling - the sky is falling - and it’s full of plutonium.”  No, this fear is based on a mounting body of disturbing evidence, which I will now share with you.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015


by Ray Jason          

 It was one of those “University of Life” moments.  I recognized once again that I had learned so little in school and yet so very much by simply listening to the messages that the world provides. 
There were three of them in the cayuco - an elderly woman and a grandson and grand-daughter.  I had just given them some cookies as a little gift, when the woman asked me if I had a wife.  When I said no, she asked me why.  Realizing that bachelorhood is very rare in Latin America, I knew it would be difficult to explain.  So I carefully answered in my best Spanish that I had never married because “I loved my freedom so much.”  There was a profound pause before the woman responded.  Then she fixed me with her eyes and answered me with seven decades worth of sadness, longing and resignation.  She said, “I understand.” 
As they thanked me again for the little gift and paddled away, I was heartbroken by this very personal example of how utterly unjust so much of the human condition is here on our wet, wondrous planet.  That’s because the reason that she understood my passion for Freedom, was because she had rarely experienced any in her entire life. 

Wednesday, March 25, 2015


by Ray Jason           

 It was a lovely sight in a glorious setting.  In one direction the primal jungle spilled down the hillsides to the sea.  And in the opposite direction it swept up the mountainsides until it was replaced by evergreen forest as it neared the slumbering volcano.  In the foreground a small armada of cayucos was departing the tiny village as the Indio children paddled home from school.  Their joyous chatter and laughter as they propelled themselves effortlessly across the water was echoed in the sky by the wild parrots that never seem to fly without gossiping enthusiastically. 
This tableau perfectly symbolized the upside-down sense of superiority that the First World lords over the Developing World.  At this exact moment in thousands of towns in El Norte, the soccer moms were waiting in long lines for school to let out.  They were en-bubbled in their massive, air-conditioned SUVs about to safely transport their children home.  They need these steel security pods because their “advanced Civilization” has become so perverse that human predators make it dangerous for children to walk or bike to school, like I used to do.     

Tuesday, March 10, 2015


by Ray Jason           

 The deep serenity down here in the Archipelago of Bliss soothes and inspires me.   Sometimes AVENTURA and I find a tiny lagoon that is so tranquil that the silence almost seems to speak.  In many spots the Jungle runs all the way down to the Sea.  Such symbolism comforts me, because they are both such essential incubators of Life.    
            Last week I found a bay so sublime that the voice of Nature was louder than the clamor of Humanity.  On a typical day I would see 25 dug-out cayucos being quietly rowed by extremely fit Indios.  Only rarely was the stillness disturbed by a boat with an engine.  Most of the human sounds came from happy children - laughing and playing in the shallow water.
            A little cabin on the shore caught my eye.  It seemed like a perfect hideaway for a writer, and I imagined Thoreau sitting on its tiny porch in the twilight savoring a day well-spent on reflecting and writing.  I believe that if he lived today he would choose a sailing boat as his platform for observing and commenting on Life.  A cabin on Walden Pond would be impossibly expensive; and he would chafe at the preposterous restrictions that the bureaucrats would demand. 
I have long felt that he too would choose the Sea Gypsy Philosopher life.  This intuition was recently reinforced for me when I learned that the final sentence that he uttered on his deathbed was, “Now comes good sailing!”  These thoughts led to a deeper meditation on how astonishingly different the world is now - in just the 153 years since his death.

Saturday, February 21, 2015


by Ray Jason

“Warning: The Historian General has determined that most of the information in this book is FALSE.  This is not accidental.  This is deliberate.”

The societal operating system that almost all history textbooks praise and defend - which we call Civilization - should actually be mocked and replaced. About 10,000 years ago it destroyed the previous template for human organization which was Tribal Living. 
That prior system existed for over a million years as Homo Habilis became Homo Erectus and then Homo Sapiens.  During that immense span of time, most people lived sustainably and peaceably.  Sometimes there were skirmishes involving territorial boundaries, but there was no expansionist warfare.  There were no Tribal Imperialists seeking to rule the world.

Sunday, February 8, 2015


by Ray Jason

One of my best friends wanted to see the movie ‘American Sniper’ and he asked me to join him.  I would not have done so on my own, but I realized that it could be quite unsettling for him - and he might need my help.  We are both Vietnam Veterans, but he was an infantryman and I was on an ammunition ship.  His experience was so gruesome, that he suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  The fact that he can function as a normal person amazes me.  If I had those images jangling around in my memory vault, I would probably be living under a bridge somewhere. 
            Twice during the film, the emotional intensity was so overpowering that he had to leave the theatre and catch his breath out in the lobby.  Although we had planned a hearty meal for afterwards, his system was so disabled, that he could only handle a bowl of soup and a beer.  But he made it home safely and when I checked on him this morning he was okay.

Friday, January 9, 2015


by Ray Jason 
AVENTURA happily at Sea
A cold front has lost its bearings and meandered all the way down to the Banana Latitudes.  The evening chill is quite refreshing.  In a celebratory gesture, I light AVENTURA’S kerosene lamps.   Normally, they heat up the boat too much when I am south of the Tropic of Discontent.  But tonight … they are perfectissimo!
            The warm, amber light is so different from the sterile, blue, fluorescent lamps that I use most of the time.  It not only illuminates, but it also pleases the senses with its gentle flicker and its subtle smokiness.  It enriches the already magical beauty of my little ship’s small, tidy cabin.
            The dark, gorgeous mahogany wood shimmers.  The polished brass barometer gleams.  The white, glossy bulkheads sparkle.  The stained-glass red rose that decorates the liquor cabinet, takes on a richer hue.  The stainless steel trim on the miniature fireplace shines.