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.”   

           

IN PRAISE OF PANTHEISM

by Ray Jason

Deep ocean full moon

It has been 23 years since a mystical experience jolted my consciousness.  But the memory of that event remains so vivid, that it could have been only 23 seconds ago.  AVENTURA and I were Westbound in the immense Pacific.  There was no land within a thousand miles in any direction. 

Several dolphins had surrounded us, but they were behaving in a strange manner.  Instead of frolicking in the bow wave as they normally do, they were repeatedly circling from bow to stern.  I tried to decipher this, and guessed that they were pointing out the majestic full moon looming directly ahead.  Or perhaps they were agitated by the

SAILING AWAY FROM INSANEISTAN

by Ray Jason

The chicken is in the cayuco

         My new neighbors seem to like me.  This is quite lovely - because they are dolphins.  And it is even more wondrous because they are a mother and her child.  Today is the fourth morning in a row that they swam a lazy circle around my boat. 

Each day I greet the sunrise with an enthusiastic blast from my conch shell.  It connects me with my post-civilized, feral self.  It also seems to amuse the nearby creatures of the sea and the sky.  No people are disturbed, because I am the only human animal in the vicinity.  More importantly, it attracts the mom and her baby dolphin.  They arrive just after I serenade the sun with my tribal horn.

Yesterday, the little Indio boy who sells me fresh coconuts from his tiny cayuco, also brought along a live chicken.  Although he offered her at a good price, I declined.  But I did buy some of her eggs.  Their yolks are so intensely

NEVER STOP RUNNING, NAPALM GIRL!!!

by Ray Jason

The Sea was mild and soothing as I sailed alone in the western reaches of the Caribbean.  It had been four days since my last human contact.  Such exile does not disturb me - it comforts me.  The wind was light, and the waves were small and melodious - like the cello phrase in a string quartet.

          Although quite relaxed, I was also vigilant, because my position was near the busy shipping lanes between the Panama Canal and the Yucatan Channel.  Suddenly, I sensed a nearby hazard.  My first scan of the horizon revealed nothing.  On my second, more careful sweep, I saw her – a gray smudge of a ship, still half below the undulating cusp of the Earth.  I took my binoculars from their rack and focused them.  What I saw slammed me backwards - both physically and emotionally.   She was one of them – a gray, military transport vessel that was all too familiar to me.  I had served aboard one - a U.S. Navy ammunition ship in Vietnam.

THE SEA GYPSY TRIBE - FURTHER THOUGHTS

by Ray Jason

          My Sea Gypsy Tribe essays, which outline my unusual strategy for dealing with the possibility of a major societal Collapse, have now been orbiting the Blogosphere long enough to generate considerable discussion.  These articles have been republished by at least four influential websites.  The debate in the “comments” sections has been undeniably “lively.”  In this article, I will address the two main objections that were raised. But before doing so, I can happily report that nobody exposed a flaw significant enough to lessen my belief in the merit and achievability of my concept.

Pirates 

     It was quite amusing to observe that almost all of the comments about the threat of piracy were from landsmen.  Those of us out here in the cruising fleet do not even lose nanoseconds of sleep worrying about this supposed danger.  This is not because we are devil-may-care adventurers who laugh at fear, but because we understand how TINY this threat actually is.  You have a much greater chance of being killed by a golf ball while walking your dog near a country club, than by getting fed to the sharks by buccaneers.     

         
    

THE SOLACE OF HAIKU

by Ray Jason

     It was a subtle, delicate, watercolor sunset.  The sky was not ablaze with vivid reds and oranges battling for attention, but was a serene panorama of gentle saffron and peach.  I was seated on AVENTURA’s cabin top with my back against the mast, drinking what I call Tarzan Tea.  It is the water of a young coconut which I have just opened with my machete.  My notepad and pen are within arm’s reach as I settle in for the last stage of my IMMERSION TIME.

AN OPEN LETTER TO CHRIS HEDGES

Hello Chris,

            For many years I have admired the powerful brilliance of your thinking and writing.  But for me, what is even more remarkable is the way that you have sculpted such a principled and incorruptible life.  So I am writing to express my heartfelt gratitude.   

And there is an additional reason for my letter.  It is to suggest a less painful way that you can continue to press your campaign for a world of justice, peace, equality and happiness. 

THE SEA GYPSY TRIBE START-UP MANUAL

by Ray Jason

Dinghies at rest as the tribe holds a council?

In my last essay, I proposed an unusual response to the possibility of global societal collapse that previously has not been suggested.  My core message was summed up in these 30 words:

            “I believe that if there is a near extinction catastrophe, a sea gypsy tribe has the best chance of both surviving and replenishing the human population in the wisest manner.”

THE SEA GYPSY TRIBE

by Ray Jason

AVENTURA'S Earth Flag

         A fine sunset is beginning to pastel the sky.  I am seated on AVENTURA’S cabin top watching a great blue heron standing motionless in the twilight shadows, patiently awaiting its dinner.  The melancholy is heavy on me tonight.  These pristine, quiet, un-peopled places do that to me. 

My sweet, strong sailboat and I have been together for over a quarter of a century.  While aimlessly meandering amidst some fond memories of our decades together, I am suddenly jolted by an unpleasant realization.  It is all so profoundly different now. When we first sailed together, she was just a sea-going magic carpet, transporting me to far-away lands, plush with exotic creatures and cultures.  But now she has also become a survival pod, protecting me from the possibility of societal collapse.

AN ANTI-WAR LAMENTATION

by Ray Jason

       I am rowing home to my boat, which is anchored in a beautiful, isolated cove near Key West.  Suddenly, the solitude and peacefulness is shattered by the sound of two military jets shrieking back towards the nearby airbase.

As I cover my ears and look scornfully towards them, a sport fishing boat comes blasting out of the mangroves with 500 horsepower ensnared in its outboard motors.  I wonder to myself if the fish that they will catch in their $100,000 boat will taste any better than the one that I just speared from my little rowboat.

When they pass beside me and see me covering my ears, they holler over to me, “That’s the sound of freedom.”  I nod noncommittally.  For the remainder of the day my mind could not stop thinking about what I wish I could have said to them.  If only we could have shared a beer and some grilled fish and some open-mindedness, I would have tried to give them a different perspective on the true essence of that sound.

THE VAST PICTURE

by Ray Jason        

          I am lying on my back on the deck of my sailboat in the far reaches of the Pacific Ocean.  It is night and the sky is plush with stars.  I am alone … and in voluntary exile from humanity – immersed in an elemental realm of sea and sky and wind and wave.

Such timeless immensity inspires reflection; and suddenly with shooting star swiftness, I realize that seeking to understand “The Big Picture” does not probe deeply enough.  Instead, we must try to comprehend “The Vast Picture.”