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.

      This particular seaside is especially nourishing to my philosophical temperament because the beach becomes completely empty at night. The boats and buses depart back to the nearby town, and my beloved AVENTURA and I have this idyllic sanctuary to ourselves. This allows me to process and ponder the day’s impressions.
       My recent sojourn there was a blend of sunlight and deluge. A tropical downpour is most definitely a Force of Nature. But even as the grown-ups would scatter for cover under the trees, the children would squeal with extra delight as the raindrops pelted them. Some would lie on the water’s edge with their mouths open, drinking from the sky fountain.
       The children rapidly forged new friendships as they splashed, flopped and laughed in the water. The scene was so universal and elemental, and it was comforting knowing that it was being duplicated in a thousand other places as the Earth spun through its daily revolution. Why did this simple tableaux move me so deeply and heal me so profoundly?
       Was it because we float in our mothers’ water? Could it be because our misnamed planet is actually 71% water? Or is it because of the astonishing power of water to eventually cleanse even the most grotesque battlefield? I don’t have the answer, but for me water IS an answer that soothes and renews.
       After the visitors leave the beach, I have an early evening ritual that I indulge in. I hang my solar shower in the rigging and place a towel nearby. Then I dive into the sea and swim about 30 yards up ahead of my little ship’s bow. I then roll over onto my back and float slowly down to the boat. I repeat this for about 20 minutes and then I climb back aboard and luxuriate in the hot shower.
       After drying off, I go below and fetch the ingredients for my Tarzan Tea. This includes a coconut, a machete, a lime and a bottle of rum. Seated with my back against the mast and drink in hand, I let the sun’s descent and the stars almost timid appearance transport my thoughts where they wish.

       Most of the kids on the beach had been Latino and Indio, with a few white youngsters mixed in as well. These were definitely children without borders. The sea, the sand and the sun were all unifiers. Laughter and smiles transcend all languages.
       But despite this holistic unity, my thoughts turned to how different the daily experiences of these kids would be. Those returning to El Norte would be immersed in a force field of artificiality and confusion that the youngsters down here south of many borders would luckily escape. In fact, the odd phrase “The White Child’s Burden” sprang into my consciousness.
       These happy youngsters – so new to the world and so innocent - would have to fight their way through a totally unnecessary emotional and cultural labyrinth erected by clue-less (and possibly malicious) adults.
       They will be told that the difference between boys and girls is not biological - but is cultural. The boy children will face a future in which they have to suffer from unwarranted accusations of “toxic masculinity.” The grownups will force feed these children the lie that girls and boys are just the same in their interests and abilities.
       The labyrinth that they will have to escape also has monsters within it that further confuse and frighten the poor children. Which bathroom am I supposed to use? Why are drag queens being elevated to role model status? How can I deserve “white guilt” when I don’t even know what it is? Why does the innate boisterousness of boys need to be dampened with drugs laced with dangerous side effects?


       As the twilight deepened, I suspect that my animal neighbors in the sea and the sky, noticed my posture slacken as the tragedy and sadness of these realizations swept over me. I slumped against the mast and tried to comfort myself with the understanding that most of the children that I had seen today would not have to suffer from these adult abominations.
       And I found solace in the fact that for years I have been offering my readers a solution to this misguided approach to child-raising. I have tried to inspire them to sail away from the “real world” and embrace the sea gypsy life. By doing so, they can raise their children in harmony with Nature - and in harmony with the authentic pathways that have nurtured our children for a thousand generations.