ENSLAVED BY OUR STUFF

by Ray Jason

      We were still … and we were solitary.  The wind had been mute for two days.  Our only companions were our brethren in the sea and the sky.  No other human presence disturbed this deep blue mirror, stretching to the horizon.   AVENTURA and I were becalmed but content.      

            I rigged a shade awning and went below for a chilled drink.  My tiny refrigerator is powered by a solar panel.  A cold young coconut was awaiting me.  I opened it with my machete, inserted a straw and savored it beneath the awning.  My back rested against the mast and my thoughts drifted as aimlessly and contentedly as my boat.  Gradually, the word “contentment” inspired a meditation on what I consider one of the great curses of the modern world … Stuff. 

                                                  

THE ROAD TO THE FUTURE LEADS TO THE PAST

by Ray Jason

An ordinary sunset was about to turn extraordinary.  AVENTURA was resting between voyages - way down south in the Banana Latitudes.  We were anchored in a cove so serene that the birds seemed to fly at half speed in order to preserve the tranquility.

            A native cayuco slowly emerged from behind one of the islands that frame this tiny bay.   A man and a woman were gently rowing their dugout canoe through the pale, peach-glazed water.  When they swung their bow around and faced the west, I recognized the young couple.  They had stopped by yesterday and traded a freshly-caught fish for some cooking oil.

            They stowed their oars in the cayuco and drifted about 30 yards off my starboard side.  She leaned her back against his chest and his chin cradled the top of her head.  Although the twilight panorama that we were savoring was only mediocre, I suspect that their contentment was as transcendent as mine.

            Suddenly, this exquisite peacefulness was destroyed by the roar of an outboard engine as a shiny American powerboat came blasting through our little sanctuary.   Two overweight guys laughed drunkenly as they watched their wake nearly capsize the little native canoe.  I looked over at my neighbors and shook my head in disgust.  They responded with body language that said, “Sad, sad, sad.”