ENTRY SEVEN

The 25^th of January, 2017

Not too many days at sea but I’m already enjoying the in-betweens. The time it takes to get somewhere. It always brings back the realization that there are so many fruits I haven’t tasted. So many beautiful songs I haven’t discovered. Spices I haven’t heard of. Intriguing conversations I haven’t had. Although I’m sailing in one, oceans I haven’t felt. Plants and trees I haven’t seen. Nature undiscovered. Books I’ve never read. Souls my heart has not touched. This Earth is incredible.

Spices…hmm. Well, we are headed North-West. Towards India, land of spices among many other things, land of…of everything, I’m told. That country’s seen the ebb and flow of massive events since the beginning of history. In fact, India may have been the beginning of it all. Ever. Its people have had it all and lost it all and fought back for it all – incredible drama; the terra firma of the biggest ideas. It’s a place whose children will grow up in a global superpower, yet knowing what it means to belong to an ancient civilization. Their epic continues to this day. And I can’t wait to know this story.

Trees I haven’t seen…hmm. Why’d I think of these? Trees are givers. And they’re keepers. And they stand the test of time, preserving secrets, cradling life, breathing life into us all, letting the dead leaves drop all the same, rooted deep into the bottom – the heart of who we truly are. Time is the keyword. The fact that they’ve been around for so long, witnessed so much. Quite like the country we’re headed to. It’s as though all our pasts are still alive. And trees keep a record of them. How is it then, that we’ve never seen ourselves em-‘bark’ on journeys when we come close to these vestiges of old and new and renewed? More importantly, how does anything anchored make us drift?

When my mind had wandered off quite the same, on trails with trees and spices, it was brought back by

The Cruz turning red. Hazard lights for when it sees something untoward approaching. Steering away from our straight and natural course, I saw the hang-up. A python coiled around what seemed like the burly trunk of a tree! What? Here? Bang in the middle of the high seas? Of my diagonal course in the Indian Ocean to India?

We were somewhere between surfaced and submerged. And I could see the trunk extending into the unfathomable depths of the Blue. I ran up onto the diving planes. The Tree was a Weeping Willow, with a little apricot ball, a little overridden by its droopy branches. The Sun. She was hanging around, reluctantly I thought, impatient to float away. As though she didn’t want to shine anymore. Afraid she’d throw light on a deep, dark, age-old secret…

Almost immediately, she slipped away and I could hear the eventide assure me, in just as many words as Loki said to Thor: “The sun will shine on us again”. To descend and follow the trunk to its deep-rooted end.

Goodnight Moon,

Kiz.

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