Shapes in the Shadows

Sometimes I think I see things moving in the water. I think I see shapes churning in the shadows behind the boat and wings unfurling just beneath the bow. Other times, I think I see forms reaching out of the waves on the horizon.

The glances I have of these forms are always short-lived—just fleeting motions like swallows darting across the sky. The forms initially appear to me as birds or whales, and I try hard to define them, but when these initial forms fade, I’m left staring out over the open ocean again, wondering if I’d seen anything at all—wondering if it was just a trick of the light.

It’s been challenging, during these last few weeks, to adapt to the constant transitions of life at sea. I’ve felt a steady wind of emotions that have, at times, left me feeling unsettled. My body’s responses to the sea have not always been kind. Periods of work and rest happen at odd intervals, and consistency has evaded me completely. Every moment is a moment of transition. Moments are never quite aligned—never quite full or regular or part of something that falls into place.

As we reach the end of our passage, I find it difficult to define myself in this period of constant transition. But, in the uncertainty of being undefined, I’ve grown to feel some freedom. It’s a form of relief to be unbounded and intimately at the whim of something greater. Here, I am separate from my habits and the comforts of my life on land—I am separate from myself, in a way, and the constraints I impose on myself.

As I’ve grown more comfortable here, I’ve started to see the moments that blossom in the transitory light. I feel the warm hands on my back comforting me, the pride in my growing callouses, and the power of being at the helm of the ship. I’m embraced by that soft and rich orange color of the early morning light. I’m entranced by the waves at night that live in a black and white haze of motion. And I’m captivated by the visitors we receive, which, while few, are of immense beauty—the passing clouds, the quick but forceful squalls, and the sea birds that swirl around our boat.

I’d like very much to define this time for myself—to abstract it away into some line that I can relay to my friends or some blurb for my resume. I’d like, too, to be able to capture the moments of light I feel so deeply that live in this boundless space. I’d like to hold the songs sung under a blaze of stars, the sleep deprived smiles, and the little moments of peace for as long as I can. But I have as little luck in capturing the moments of light as I do in trying to make out shapes in the ocean—or in trying to hear my name in the movement of the wind. It all eludes me.

So, I’ve settled, for now, on savoring the light as it passes.

Diego Rafael Perez