Oops!

Hello all. Somehow my most recent entry (7-7--8) got placed behind an old one. Please click on this link to see my newest post. Thanks!

--Paul

Stromness, Scotland

Current Location: Stromness, Orkney Islands, Scotland
Current Coordinates: 58°′N 3°′W
Next Stop: Stornoway, Isle of Lewis, Scotland
Listening: Jimi Hendrix, The Star Spangled Banner, Woodstock, 1969
Above Photo: Entrance to Scapa Flow, Orkney Islands

Skipper At the Helm

Gitana left Lerwick, Shetland Islands Thursday morning at 0600 for Stromness, Orkney Islands. The passage took 24 hours and covered 120 nautical miles. Very calm seas, thanks to yet another high pressure system to our northwest. Arrived in Stromness at 0645 Friday morning.

Happy Fourth of July to all. Now that I've shown my political colors I might as well tell you of the first thing someone asked me as I stepped on terra firma in the Orkneys this morning. Another elderly man (I keep running into these characters) watched us tie up to the floating dock, taking notice of the American flag that flies at Gitana's stern. He looked at me, said "welcome," and then asked me if I {was} "ready to celebrate my independence from George Bush--Jujj Boosh." A classic Scotsman. I laughed. In an effort to try and reestablish some political benignness on Paulgrimage, I'll keep my response to myself.



Stromness is just near Scappa Flow--one of the great natural harbors of the world. It was used as a stopping point by the Hudson Bay company during the 18th century and later became famous for its roles in WWI and WWII. During the Second world war the Royal Navy made the perilous mistake of assuming that German uboats a) wouldnt' come as far north as the Orkneys on an offensive and b) wouldn't be able to bypass the sunken ships at the harbor's south entrance and make an attack and c) wouldn't be able to combat the strong currents that ebb and flow from the harbor during tide changes. However, a German uboat skippered by Gunther Prien came into this harbor in 1939 and sank British Destroyer killing Royal Oak killing 800 on board.





Also of note--Jack spent time here when he was 18 years old as a sailor in the Royal Navy. He teared up as we entered the harbor, clearly recognizing the place and its awesome scenery. He told me shortly after we tied up that he never would have imaged that he'd live long enough to be back here and that he couldn't believe the circumstances surrounding his second visit. The last time Jack was in Scapa Flow was in October of 1942.

Because I am abroad I feel an even stronger sense of patriotism this 4th of July. In many ways, I see this sailing trip is an expression of my own patriotism. Ironically, the farther away I travel the more profoundly I come to understand what is unique and important about America--most relavant for me are the passion for adventure and a desire to experience the unkown. We live in the best country in the world!

Happy Fourth of July! God Bless America!

--Paul

"I look forward to a future in which our country will match its military strength with our moral restraint, its wealth with our wisdom, its power with our purpose. "

- President John Fitzgerald Kennedy

Credo Quia Absurdum Est; One Pilgrim's Profession of Faith

Current Location: Stornoway, Isle of Lewis, Scotland
Current Coordinates: 58°12′ N 06°19′ W
Next Stop: Isle of Mull, Scotland
Listening: "After the Goldrush," by Neil Young, 1970, performed 1989

If you look up the word "pilgrimage" in the Merriam-Webster dictionary you'll find this definition: "a journey of a pilgrim; especially one to a shrine or to a sacred place." When we talk about pilgrimage in the Christian tradition we're often referring to a trip to the Holy Land to walk in the footsteps of Jesus Christ or of a 300 mile trek along "El Camino de Santiago" which stretches from southern France to Northern Spain to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela where the remains of St. James are believed to be buried. The Holy Land is also the focal point for pilgrimage in the Jewish tradition. Many Christian pilgrims also journey to the Vatican City to see the tomb of St. Peter, the first Bishop of Rome at St. Peter's Basilica. In Islam, pilgrimage refers to an obligatory ten day journey to Mecca in accordance with the "steps of Hajj."

In all three traditions, the reasons why and the means by which faithful people make pilgrimages are similar. We embark on spiritual journeys in search for more profound and meaningful relationships with God (however we understand Him/Her to exist). Self-sacrifice and stoicism are common to all pilgrimages. Individual steps along the way become outward manifestations of our faith and of our willingness to endure suffering to achieve spiritual growth and holiness. Further, the purpose and intentionality of steps is shared by all faiths. The premise here is that the totality of these individual steps will result in a superior understanding of God, His will, and of our purpose here on earth. We are all seeking this kind of enlightenment whether or not we are aware of it. But I believe that something more important must be absorbed before we map out our pilgrimages.

Steps have been an important part of my Pilgrimage thus far both literally and figuratively. Those of you who read "The Floggings will Continue until The Morale Improves" know of the many tasks and chores I completed in Bodo that were all aimed at getting the boat in the water. In port, I'm given a list of chores that I must complete before I'm allowed to delve into abstraction (like I am now) at the local wi-fi pub or internet cafe. But I've also been going through many spiritual steps on Paulgrimage trying to achieve a deeper faith and greater moral clarity. Those of you who read "Abba-Solution" are aware of my attempts to give and receive forgiveness for all transgressions. But there is also a lot going on beneath the surface, not the least of which is trying to discern God's purpose for me during my time here on earth. During the long and frequently cold hours I spend on watch when Gitana is at sea I'm always looking for revelation on the horizon, celestial signs or messages to point me in the right direction, providential "aha" moments where everything "clicks." In essence, I'm trying to reconcile the metaphysical concept of God in my mind with His presence in the physical world that surrounds me. But the process is becoming mechanical, contrived, and I'm beginning to think that pilgrimage steps are merely means leading me to an intangible and abstract end.

Most pilgrims probably wouldn't readily admit it, but they've likely experienced these pilgrimage blues. The steps, the rules, and the process become overwhelming and exhausting. We lose sight of what we're searching for, or we're disappointed by what we are finding or by what we are not finding. Many pilgrims become afraid of what they are finding. The obsession with faithful steps towards God has claimed many casualties and has resulted in biblical drama galore. Delve a bit deeper in abstraction with me for just one moment. I promise, we'll return to the surface.

There is similarity in the pilgrim's desire to achieve enlightenment by means of the faithful steps of pilgrimage and St. Anselm's Ontological Argument for the Existence of God. Anselm lived a thousand years ago and became Archbishop of Canterbury, England. He was famous for his motto "Credo ut intelligam," or "I believe in order to think" and for his argument to prove the existence of God. I've given this argument quite a bit of thought during my hours alone behind the helm of Gitana and have only recently been able to wrap my mind around it.

Anselm argued:

1) God is defined as the being in which none greater is possible.
2) It is true that the notion of God exists in the understanding (your mind.)
3) And that God may exist in reality (God is a possible being.)
4) If God only exists in the mind, and may have existed, then God might have been greater than He is.
5) Then, God might have been greater than He is (if He existed in reality.)
6) Therefore, God is a being which a greater is possible.
7) This is not possible, for God is a being in which a greater is impossible.
8) Therefore God exists in reality as well as the mind.

Confused? Orverwhelmed? Your delirium is similar to what pilgrims experience as they try and connect the significance of individual steps made on their spiritual journeys towards a closer understanding of and relationship with God. An epistomoligist, Anselm believed that the mind itself was capable of making a pilgrimage and that because all knowledge came from God, the aquisition of it would bridge the gap between our metaphysical understanding of Him and His physical presence here on earth. Like Anselm, all pilgrims struggle to piece together their own theologies and understandings of divinity. The pilgrimage is the exact physical expression of this spiritual process.

Back to the surface, I mentioned earlier that there was something crucial that we must be able to accept before we map out our pilgrimages. Before we make our first step and before we delve into the depths of our souls looking for God's imprint, we must first be willing to believe in the absurd. "Credo Quia Absurdum est" is a Latin phrase of uncertain origin that literally means "I believe it because it is absurd." It is not neccesarily an opposing viewpoint of Anselm's "Credo ut intelligam," but it does point out an important difference in the agency of the faithful. The premise of Anselm's argument is similar to the motivation of pilgrims--the notion that we can reach God by bridging the gap between our metaphysical understandings of Him and His physical presence on earth by acquiring knowledge and/or by making faithful steps, respectively. This is a kind of active agency, where we come to see ourselves as vehicles of God's Will and His desire to reveal His will to us. With "Credo quia Absurdum est," we are merely witnesses and interpreters of God's will. By this logic, the purpose of the spiritual journey is not to reach God, but rather to surrender to the absurd premises of His existence and at best become a conduit through which He reveals Himself to the world. Before we can take even the first faithful step towards a deeper understanding of God, we must first be willing to free fall into faith, to fearlessly embark upon a journey that has no clear path. We must be capable of believing in the unbelievable, willing to accept the futility of our minds to ever completely understand what God is and how He works.

Being good pilgrims is about surrender, not steps. This is true in life's pilgrimage and more specifically in all forms of human expression. For instance, the best live music that I've seen has been performed by musicians who interpret their surroundings improvisationally through their instruments. If you've ever listened to real jazz music (not Kenny G) then you know exactly what I'm talking about. The best speakers that I've seen are those who are capable of speaking extemporaneously, inspired by the spontaneity of the moment that they are witness to. The best art that I've looked at is impressionistic--it attempts to capture the essence of a moment in time with color on a blank canvass. And the best writing that I've ever read is written by authors who write from their stream of consciousness, uninhibited by the obstacles of proper grammar and language. But most importantly, the best pilgrims that I've known are those who see life as a work of art and themselves as instruments through which God continues to reveal Himself to the world.

Amen.

PS-- Happy late Birthday Claire! I love you! OO
(sorry about the photo Adam, much love to you also.)

Hurry Up...and Wait

Current Location: Shetland Islands, UK

Current Coordinates: 60°′″N 1°′″W ( just barely west of Greenwich)

Listening: "Steal My Sunshine" by LEN, 1999

Still in Lerwick and waiting on the weather to change for the better. The pattern so far has been to pull into port, do maintenance on the boat and then wait for a week for the weather to change. This is very frustrating, but you can't argue with the weather.

I'm spending most of my time reading my books for the M.A. program that I start in September in Florence. I'm also writing here, running on some of the best coastal trails I've ever seen, and taking as many pictures as I can.

On Sunday we went down to Sumburgh Head where there is a viking ruin called Jarlshof. I took lots of pictures, some of which I've attached below. Enjoy.

(Shetland Pony)

Last night Mike, Jack, and I went back down to the Douglas Arms for a pint and some celtic music. This was very neat--live musicians playing celtic music with everyone sitting around like it was someone's living room. It was fantastic!

We may have a break in the weather today after all. We've had nothing but S and SE winds at Beaufort force 5 and 6 since we've been here--the nautical equivalent of trying to drive into a brick wall. According to MagicSeaweed.com (our weather site) we're going to get some favorable winds for the next few days. Our plan is to get as far south down into Scotland as we can to make up for lost time. We hope to be in Cork by mid July.

Political trouble in Israel (pending conflict with Iran?) might change Gitana's course. Mike had originally planned to sail Gitana to Australia via the Med and the Red Sea but the latest edition of The Economist reports that Israel is rattling its sabers, threatening to invade Iran and destroy its nuclear sites. In Mike's words, being in the middle of such a conflict "would not be good."

This means that we might go into the Med only as far as Tunis, Tunisia (Northern Africa) where Mike has considered wintering the boat. He then would come back next year (perhaps with me) and head back out into the Atlantic past Gibraltar and then sail south down the western coast of Africa down around Cape of Good Hope. The passage from Cape of Good Hope to the western part of Australia is apparently very quick because you can catch the tradewinds.

Thanks again to all for reading and keeping up with my journey. I've talked to Mom and Dad back home and they keep telling me that all kinds of people are keeping up with it which is great. I'd love to hear from more of you! Drop me a line at evans2pm@gmail.com or leave me a comment on the page.

Most likely won't be back online until Saturday or Sunday. Until then.

Cheers! --Paul

Lerwick, Shetland Islands

Current Location: Shetland Islands, UK
Current Coordinates: 60°′″N 1°′″W ( just barely west of Greenwich)
Listening: I've Got a Feeling, by The Beatles, off of Let it Be (1969)
Next Stop: Stornoway, Scotland






Gitana finally parted with Norway on Tuesday morning June 24 around 0945. Our passage from Maloy, Norway to Lerwick lasted 38.5 hours. We encountered Beaufort Force 5 and 6 winds that mainly came from the NNE/ E directions. A stagnant high pressure system sitting off the coast of Norway gave us decent conditions. In-flight meals included a chicken stew and a penne pasta dish that went over quite well with the two other guys. Those of you who are aware of my past culinary deficiencies would be both proud and surprised to know that I have become quite a good cook. Or maybe, the other guys are just telling me that so they don't have to endure being thrown around the galley by waves while trying to chop up onions and potatoes that have to be thrown into a boiling pot of water that is fortunately on gimble atop the stove. Cooking at sea should be an olympic sport.

During one of my watches just as twilight had fully set (finally it gets dark!) in I saw in the distance what first appeared to be a large ship. However, after I took a bearing on the object on the horizon, I noticed that it was not moving. I also observed a more intense than usual glow coming from the object which actually made me a bit nervous. I had this mental image of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, thinking that perhaps I was sailing into a nuclear test site or something apocoplyptic like that. My fears subsided as soon as Jack popped his head up from the hatch and pointed shouting, (much like a little child spotting an ice cream truck) "there it is, the bastard!" "Bastard" sounded like this--"bahhstud!" I had forgotten Jack's eagerness to see the North Sea oil rigs up close and was delighted both in his satisfaction and with the reality that I was not about to meet my maker. The closer I came to the rig the more it looked like an enourmous skyscraper jutting up out of the water all aglow like a Christmas tree. It was one of the most amazing things that I have ever seen. I couldn't help but select John Williams' "The Imperial March" on my ipod as we sailed by the rig that looked so much like something out of Star Wars.

(photo borrowed from the internet)

We arrived in Lerwick, Shetland Islands at 2330 (11:30 pm) on Thursday night June 26. After cleating everything off and securing the boat we all went to sleep, exhausted after 38.5 hours at sea. Glad to finally be out of Norway and thrilled to be in Great Britain once again (2001, 2003, 2004), I shouted "God Save the Queen!" from beneath the hatch before closing it and crashing in my berth.






The next morning I came uptop and noticed that it felt like fall. The air was crisp and it was about 55 degrees-- a welcomed change of climate coming from Norway where it felt like winter. To hammer this point home, think of what Virginia feels and looks like during the month of February--that's what Norway was like virtually the entire time I was there with the exception of a few days where the sun's rays were intense enough to burn my hands as I scrubbed the deck. Hands still on the mend. It seems as though the seasons are moving in reverse as we move further south--Norway was winter, the Shetlands feel like fall, and I'm sure that by the time I am in North Africa in late July that it will feel like summer.






The harbor is located conveniently in the center of Lerwick. Shops, cafes, fishermen selling their catch, and strolling families all line streets that wind through the town's center in a grid-like fashion. The Union Jack flies high above the Port Authority terminal from which ferries bound for the Orkneys and points further south leave on a daily basis. Shopkeepers, waitresses, and other townspeople are nice, all classic embodiments of the British sensibility and disposition. We ate dinner at the Queen's Hotel the first evening where I had lamb for the first time ever. At the disappointment of my Skipper and senior crewmate, I refused to eat haggis. It's interesting that the male fascination with making/forcing one another to eat vile things doesn't recede with age. All the "dudes" out there know exactly what I'm talking about. After dinner that evening I went walking around the town looking for an authentic pub--not a nightclub, not a bar, or anything similar to the meat- market diveholes found in most large cities. I was searching for the real experience here. The way one determines the autheticity of a pub in Great Britain is to listen to the freqency with which patrons use the word "bloody" and/or how often they drop the "F" bomb. After sticking my head into the Douglas Arms for only a moment, I decided that the language was sufficiently offensive and decided to enter.




(photo borrowed from the internet)

Warning: Op/Ed piece begins here.

I was spotted for an American the minute that I walked into the door--Newbies, Carhart pants, and a North Face backpack all contributed to my walking advertisement American consumer aura. I figured out very quickly that not many Americans come to Shetland. I was a sort of a novelty in this setting, and quickly became a reluctant ambassador and defender of all things American when all that I wanted was a pint of real Guinees Extra Cold beer. But 5 pint deep Nathaniel Smith saw other reasons for my visit to his regular watering hole on this particular evening. "Where in the States do you hail from?" he correctly asked from an almost uncomfortable distance across the bar. "Richmond, Virginia, about two hours south of Washington, D.C,"I replied, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. I also explained how I got to the Shetlands and that I was on a 2.5 month sailing trip from Norway to Sicily. But Smith wasn't too interested in my voyage and quickly shifted the topic of conversation to politics, more specifically to the recent European tour of our President. "You know your man was just in the U.K--stood side by side with Gordon Brown, the bastard!--again, "baahstudd!" I was quick to correct Smith that while George Walker Bush might be the President of my country, that he was most certainly not "my man." The conversation went further, but I'll spare you the heartburn.






Smith appeared to be at least 80, old enough to have been marked by or perhaps even a part of the Second World War. Here I was in his pub--for him, a personifcation of American relative youth and virility. For me, Smith was an aged (and slightly drunk) European Statesman, a personification of post war European Politics and attitudes about war and the desirability and use of military power. Smith used words that I won't reiterate here to describe the incongruency of our President's willingness to start war with his reluctance to fight in one. Again, all I wanted was a cold beer, but what I got was conversation about the implications of American foreign policy.

What I saw with Nathaniel Smith and what I believe to be paramount for all of Europe is a general distaste for war and the politics of good vs. evil-- the irrefutable antithesis of the policies set forth by the Bush administration. But President Bush is not alone responsible for this kind of thinking.






In the United States much is written about the "Greatest Generation"--Americans of Smith's generation who served in World War II who rid the world of Adolf Hitler and Japan, known as the "axis powers." Men and women from this period did exactly this--they saved the world from the forces of undeniable evil and oppression. They are absolutely to be credited for this. I believe, though, that their legacy (while an important part of American History and character) is what's affecting our relationships with the rest of the world. Unfortunately, we can no longer view the world through their eyes. Some powerful members of the baby boomer generation including Mr. Bush have inherited from their parents this kind of "good vs. evil" attitude about the world. In fact, Bush's use of the label "axis of evil" to describe the governments of Iraq, Iran, and North Korea is no doubt an appeal to this sort of oversimplification of global politics.


My experience with Nathaniel Smith in that pub brought me to this conclusion: The notion of "American Exceptionalism" that inspired this nation at its inception is now compromising its relationships with the rest of the world. The Bush administration has gone to great lengths to perpetuate the American Post WWII tendency to consider the world in clear cut binaries--good vs. evil, right vs. wrong, friend vs. enemy ("you're either with us, or against us"), and perhaps most significantly, Christian vs. Muslim. The total effect of this is a foreign policy that has alienated Europe (certainly including our drunk European Statesman Mr. Smith) and much of the rest of the world and also one that reveals the ironic weaknesses of a nation that boasts the most powerful military machine in the history of the world.

Again, I love America deeply and I believe strongly in its future. This is precisely why I am eager to see us change our foreign policy, amonst other things. It is also precisely why I have chosen to move to Florence, Italy to study foreign policy this fall.

Note: Op/ Ed piece ends here.

For a while I've owed you a more detailed description of John Charles "Gentleman Jack" Nye, the other crew member aboard Gitana until we reach Cork, Ireland. Jack is 84 years old but has the energy of someone half his age or less. He appears to be in good health, so much so that it is hard to believe that he is truly as old as he claims to be. But his age shows when you look at his hands. Jack's hands were toughened shoveling coal aboard a British destroyer in the Pacific during the Second World War and by working with metal and heavy machinery in the years following his stint in the Royal Navy. The same hardened hands now tend the same helm, lines, and rigging that I am responsible for aboard Gitana.

As I've said before, he's a real Dickensian character who finds commensurate truth in the Neoclassical wit of Alexander Pope and the many bawdy limericks and maxims that he recites regularly. He also loves to wear his Canadian tuxedo--fully aware of the implications of this fashion in popular culture.









Mike told me that Jack doesn't talk about his time in the Royal Navy during WWII unless you prod him. Last night at dinner I did just that. Jack opened up about his time in the war, telling of Japanese Kamikaze "dive bombers" crashing into his ship, leaving Sumatra in 1944 after being relieved by American forces and about two of his friends who jumped overboard after learning that the Luftwaffe had bombed their families and destroyed their homes back in Great Britain during their absence. The most amazing fact here is that Jack was 17 when all of this began. In describing all of this Jack still spoke as if the events had happened yesterday, the memories and awesome images coming back to him some 65 years later in a small Italian restaurant in the northernmost territory of his native country.


Jack eventually left he UK because he was put off by the rise of the Labour party and the expectations amongst the British public that "the government owed them something." He tells the story of a bar fight in Surrey, South England on July 5th, 1945 when he refused to acknowledge the election of Labour Party candidate Clement Atlee who replaced Winston Churchill. Shortly after the barfight Jack moved to Canada where he started Nye Manufacturing LTD, a metal fabricating business that his two sons now run. By the way, Jack won the barfight.







Above all, the most important thing that you need to know about John Charles Nye is that he is at peace when at sea. Even after his tragic experiences during the war and an unsuccesful and nearly fatal attempt to cross the Atlantic by himself (to mark his 80th birthday), Jack can't wait to be by himself on watch, looking out at the horizon at oblivion, curious and unafraid of what's ahead. I sense that this trip for him is also a pilgrimage--a fearless journey into his past where he is for one final time confronting his successes and failures, his demons, reconciling the uncertain future conjured up by his youthful imagination with the path that he has followed and the choices that he has made in the many years since his first experiences at sea in the Royal Navy during WWII.

It's late Saturday night now and the pub that i'm typing in has turned into one of those diveholes I described earlier in this post. It's time for me to go.

We're likely not leaving here for Stornaway before Tuesday. We've got winds coming from the south and the southwest at Beaufort force 5 and 6 through Monday and there is a low pressure system that might be moving in later that evening. To clarify, Stornaway is about 210 miles southwest of Lerwick via the North Minichs, part of Isle of Lewis. I'll do my best to give more information tomorrow, but for now, I'm being overwhelmed by the crowd of party goers overtaking this pub. Cheers!

"There has been a good deal of comment—some of it quite outlandish—about what our postwar requirements might be in Iraq. Some of the higher end predictions we have been hearing recently, such as the notion that it will take several hundred thousand U.S. troops to provide stability in post-Saddam Iraq, are wildly off the mark. It is hard to conceive that it would take more forces to provide stability in post-Saddam Iraq than it would take to conduct the war itself and to secure the surrender of Saddam's security forces and his army—hard to imagine."

Paul Wolfowitz, House Budget Committee testimony on Iraq (February 27, 2003)

So Long, George

Current Location: Maloya, Norway (poor weather, forced to stop)

Current Coordinates: 61° 56' 18 N, Longitude: 5° 6' 48 E

Next Stop: Lerwick, Shetland Islands

Listening: "Deacon Blues," by Steely Dan off of 1976's "Aja," ABC Records

George Carlin died today. Though he was most well known for his controversial comedy routines about religion, politics, and sex, there is another less popular dimension to the man that I hope you will join me in celebrating today. George Carlin was a decent man, an honest man, a human being of rare and good will who never hesitated to speak his mind or express what was in his heart with the simplest and most direct (and often offensive) language. Carlin battled drugs and alcohol his whole life, but managed to get ahold of himself in his final years on earth which ultimately made him a more intense, honest, and hilarious person. Carlin's choice of material was fearless, carefully deconstructing, criticizing, and poking fun at the flaws and quirks of the human condition.

Much of what I wrote in my last entry was inspired by an essay Carlin wrote in the wake of his wife's death. In fact, I almost incorporated it into the body of what I was writing. Here it is now.

This is the George Carlin that I'd like to remember. A passionate man who had a quick wit, a way with words, and an honest charm.

Rest Peacefully, George. Heaven is a funnier place.

"The Paradox of Our Time," by George Carlin

"The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness. We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things. We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less. These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete... Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side. Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent. Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind. AND ALWAYS REMEMBER: Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."

Amen George.

On Passion

Current Location: Alesund, Norway

Current Coordinates: 62°28'10"N 6°9'30"E

Next Stop: Lerwick, Shetland Islands

Listening: "The Divided Sky," by Phish, 10/31/94 Glens Falls Civic Center

Quick General Update:

I'm still in Alesund, although it looks like we'll finally be clearing out of here tomorrow around noon. Mike and I checked the forecast this morning and it looks like we've got decent conditions ahead, at least ones good enough to push us across the open ocean to the Lerwick, Shetland Islands. The passage will take us approximately two days of straight sailing. For those of you paying close attention (thanks by the way), expect another post on Wednesday or Thursday of next week.

Our autohelm is finally fixed after a week of waiting around on Frank in Oslo. We got the device back and did everything we could yesterday during a 4 hour day trip around Alesund to make it malfunction. There was no "link failure" between the autohelm and the GPS, so we're assuming that there might have been a weather related problem with some of the electrical contacts between the two devices that has now sorted itself out.

We sail to the Shetland Islands tomorrow. I'm very excited to finally get to Scotland.

The Reality of Passion

Moments after boarding Gitana almost a month ago now, Skipper Mike handed me an essay that Robert Pirsig (Zen and the Art of Motorcylce Maintenance, Bantam, 1975) had written called "Cruising Blues and Their Cure" that was originally published in Esquire magazine in May of 1977. In it, Pirsig calls into question the popularity of sailing as an "escape" activity and supplants conventional romanticism with concrete, realistic images of what life at sea is really like. He writes, "Everything is breaking down on this boat," and "money is running short," and "the people back home were friendlier, and most notably and ironically,"all this is just running away from reality."

However, ask Pirsig points out, all of this calls into the question the true nature of reality. In our society the word "reality" informs a lifestyle structured by a 40-hour-a-week 9-5 job where car payments, mortgages, "reality" tv shows at night, online dating, and church on Sunday define the perameters and the dimensions of our existence. But I believe that our complete subjectivity to this way of life is a symptom of a much greater problem.

I believe that in America we have replaced passion with convenience.

But before we can understand our misunderstanding of reality, let's look more carefully at another word. Hold this spot.

In theological terms the word "passion" literally means "suffering." When we talk about the Passion of Christ, we're referring to the pains and suffering He endured for sake. We're told that Jesus Christ suffered for humanity because of our imperfection, because of our mortality and because of our fallibility (See "Abba-Solution"). Islam, too has a word that approximates the same meaning--hold your breath--it's "jihad," a word that has taken on all sorts of sensational and zealous meanings in America since 9/11. But "jihad" literally means "struggle," which invariably involves some degree of suffering. Now that we've arrived at a more thorough (but perhaps less user-friendly) understanding of the word "passion," we're ready to deal with my claim.

In America we have gone to great lengths to minimize the amount of passion in our everyday lives. The internet and vast media that we subscribe to effectifvely distance and protect us from eachother. There is less real interaction and very little willingness to move beyond our comfort zones (e-zones?) where we might encounter an "unsecure connection" with a real live person. (I debated using the word insecure before connection, but I fear that I'm starting to sound too critical.) We have replaced real adventure with web surfing, emotion with emoticon, down-time with friends with downloading alone, and so on. In our relationships we have replaced commitment with "let's see if this works out," "us," with "me" and "I." We prescribe drugs that even us out, lift us up, drag us down, and as always, we drink too much. We do all that we can to smooth out the ups and downs, turn down the volume, and lessen joy and pain that are neccesarily constant companions in life's journey. I'm fearing that the total effect of this kind of reality is that we are replacing love with apathy, life with death, and much needed passion with convenience.

But the sea has waves, and like it or not, this is where we're forced to endure ups and downs, weather storms, and trust shipmates with our lives. If things get nasty, (and they do) we're forced to manage with the resources and conditions present--there is no "logging off" or "reset" button. There are no numbing agents, no synthetic highs. We are forced to deal with our failures, our weaknesses, our regrets, and yes, our successes too. The permanence of the sea forces us to weather the storms of our ephemeral lives. And, thankfully, it forces us to be passionate once again.

If you go back to my description of Skipper Mike, you'll see where I've described him as possessing a "stoic spirituality" that I initially mistook for cruelty or callousness. After having been at sea with him, I now have a much greater appreciation for Mike's spiritual nature and for his understanding of what reality requires of us.

"When the doors of perception are cleansed, man will see things as they truly are, infinite."

--William Blake, English Poet, 1757-1827

PS-- If you haven't done so already, do yourself a favor and click the link above in the "listening" section that says "The Divided Sky." Some of the fugue stuff going on at the beginning is a bit esoteric and hard to follow but if you endure (or if you fastforward) you'll watch the guitar player channeling divine energy during the last 5 or so minutes of the clip. That, my brothers and sisters, is passion.