In grad school one of my mentors, the poet Marvin Bell, would often assert that the worst things a sailor can have at sea is an anchor and two oars. (or something like that) He was quoting someone I think, and referring to writing poetry and the poet’s way of living. And I’ve tried to live that way, letting my life unfold naturally without any assumptions or assertions about where it should go or what it should become. And I’m grateful for that bit of wisdom. The sea has taken me places I never thought I could go or even imagined could have existed. I am the woman-son I am today because of that wisdom.
But now I feel that period coming to an end. I find myself looking at the moon rather than the ocean. Because I’m not a lone sailor wandering the ocean anymore. I am the ocean. I’ve expanded. I’ve deepened. Great blue whales don’t pass under me anymore, but exist within me. The tides and currents are visible in my face. It was inevitable, I suppose.
But even the ocean is like a sailor without anchor or oars, moved along, connected, by that strange force that bends space and time. It’s seems like the most natural next step – to begin a life lived under the gentle and lonely pull of the moon.