At Sea
In her eloquent book entitled Great Waters; an Atlantic Passage, Deborah Cramer begins with a verse followed by a definition:
“Passage n. 1. A transit or journey from one place to another. 2. A motion across time, as in the passage of time. 3. The passing from one condition or stage to another, as in the passage from childhood to adulthood.”
When we began this voyage we were to sail from Antigua to Portsmouth; a journey from one point to another, a voyage across the Atlantic. We had not set out to chart new lands. We did not try to set any new speed records. We were not out to prove anything, nor to claim any new land. We did not even expect to stop mid-voyage. Yet something happened along the way. We somehow managed to learn about the Atlantic.
We learned to regard these waters not just as water, but perhaps as habitat. We learned to view the wide expanses not just as a resource, but perhaps as a mesmerizing place for quiet contemplation. We did not try to conquer her, nor trivialize our time spent with her; rather we came to embrace her motions and her emotions, and to enjoy our time sailing with her. Perhaps we aren’t certain why we decided to come on this “passage,” but we can hardly forget crossing her and feeling her different moods. As Cramer states in her conclusion, “Twenty five years of scientific sounding of the sea have revealed that in ways too numerous to count, too profound to measure fully, Atlantic’s great waters are life-giving. For we who have finished the work of Adam and Eve, who have toiled in the wilderness and reclaimed it, who have subdued earth and come to rule over the fish and fowl, it is time to recognize this gift for the bounty it brings and to seek, in our thoughts, words, and deeds, to return it in full measure”.
Cramer thankfully reminds me that whether we believe it or not, whether we know it or not, and perhaps most importantly, whether we can all live in concert with it or not, we are all bound by these waters we call oceans. We send our letters and our packages and our telephone calls over them. We sail upon them and we fly over them. We gather much of our food from them and we often seek solace close to them. Regardless of how we treat these waters (for they can be cruel and violent one moment, and suddenly oftentimes without notion, calm before our eyes), they provide for us.
Each and every one of us is inextricably linked to and by the sea. We ultimately all come from it and we are all, in one way or another connected by it; all species, all cultures, all continents, and all people. We should take a little time to think about that. We need these waters and we need to protect them. They give us life and we should logically give something back. Just maybe, as the third definition of “passage” suggests, we can all eventually learn that the Atlantic (and all waters near and far), should be revered and respected, not plundered and spoiled. Have we not yet made the passage from childhood to adulthood?
In her eloquent book entitled Great Waters; an Atlantic Passage, Deborah Cramer begins with a verse followed by a definition:
“Passage n. 1. A transit or journey from one place to another. 2. A motion across time, as in the passage of time. 3. The passing from one condition or stage to another, as in the passage from childhood to adulthood.”
When we began this voyage we were to sail from Antigua to Portsmouth; a journey from one point to another, a voyage across the Atlantic. We had not set out to chart new lands. We did not try to set any new speed records. We were not out to prove anything, nor to claim any new land. We did not even expect to stop mid-voyage. Yet something happened along the way. We somehow managed to learn about the Atlantic.
We learned to regard these waters not just as water, but perhaps as habitat. We learned to view the wide expanses not just as a resource, but perhaps as a mesmerizing place for quiet contemplation. We did not try to conquer her, nor trivialize our time spent with her; rather we came to embrace her motions and her emotions, and to enjoy our time sailing with her. Perhaps we aren’t certain why we decided to come on this “passage,” but we can hardly forget crossing her and feeling her different moods. As Cramer states in her conclusion, “Twenty five years of scientific sounding of the sea have revealed that in ways too numerous to count, too profound to measure fully, Atlantic’s great waters are life-giving. For we who have finished the work of Adam and Eve, who have toiled in the wilderness and reclaimed it, who have subdued earth and come to rule over the fish and fowl, it is time to recognize this gift for the bounty it brings and to seek, in our thoughts, words, and deeds, to return it in full measure”.
Cramer thankfully reminds me that whether we believe it or not, whether we know it or not, and perhaps most importantly, whether we can all live in concert with it or not, we are all bound by these waters we call oceans. We send our letters and our packages and our telephone calls over them. We sail upon them and we fly over them. We gather much of our food from them and we often seek solace close to them. Regardless of how we treat these waters (for they can be cruel and violent one moment, and suddenly oftentimes without notion, calm before our eyes), they provide for us.
Each and every one of us is inextricably linked to and by the sea. We ultimately all come from it and we are all, in one way or another connected by it; all species, all cultures, all continents, and all people. We should take a little time to think about that. We need these waters and we need to protect them. They give us life and we should logically give something back. Just maybe, as the third definition of “passage” suggests, we can all eventually learn that the Atlantic (and all waters near and far), should be revered and respected, not plundered and spoiled. Have we not yet made the passage from childhood to adulthood?
