Storm.

Unpredictable; winds picking whitecap flecks from the peaks. Sea turning dark. No matter what he did to predict the turn of the weather and the tides – the capricious ocean and savage gales arose seemingly from nowhere.

On the Ocean that was meant to be home.

Before, he had seen distant squalls arise and pass him by. Maybe another ship out there far beyond his inexperienced view had felt the unbridled and unconquerable savage forces. Maybe they had learned to sail with it. Or perhaps they had met rocks and been ripped apart.

He shuddered at the young thought of what that might mean. Beaten. Bloodied. Cowed. And yes there was worse. Much worse. Oblivion.

What could he do except create his existence in this sailing – harnessing the fair winds and favourable tides; reading and riding the waves and exhaulting in the joy of power within the ocean he called home.

On the day he was tested, the sailing had been smooth; the winds at his quarter and a powerful broad reach skipping him through the gentle deep blue-green roll beneath the hull, dolphins diving and riding at the prow. Playing with the surf and the shout of his innocent joy on the winds.

In a moment the sky darkened and the wind rose against him. The sails backed suddenly and cracked loudly as the ropes that had held their fullness ran slack and whipped across the deck. He ducked their threatened blows.

He said No.

The sky darkened further. The sea to his westward side pulled back to reveal the bared saliva slicked teeth of the rocks the ocean had hidden from view. The wind pushing at his opposite side, sails badly set to counter the crushing force.

He said No.

Defiance rushed him to the side of the ship where he released and crashed the weight of the unhelpful sails to the deck, sidestepping their weight and fall. A new lone canvas, a jib, allowing him to navigate – barely – the arrowing gale pushing him into the shoals. All his might taken to bring the sheet in tight and sail so, so close to the wind. No margin. Nothing more than a whisker to keep him true. The ship slowly angling beyond the starved rocks, clamouring for the vulnerable flesh of the hull beneath him.

So close now. The sound of his breathing. His heart.

He said No.

And with a whisker the hull passed by the narrowed gap. The last razor rock making a lunging unrewarded bite through the waves for the soft underbelly of this infant inexperienced sailor.

Who said No.

Who lived.

Who sailed on.

All of creation witnessed his barely breathed escape. His survival. His mastery of this first desparate challenge of wind, tide and darkness. In his young forgetting he lost that he had won, survived. Beaten the challenge. Stayed open and sailed on. Always sailed on.

Into light.

In time, in his remembering, turning the memory in his wiser hands. Seeing again. Choosing to. Through old tears and rage. Letting go. Letting be. Bowing to and forgiving the savage rocks. The capricious, unpredictable winds. The force of the tides. His mastery arising from their presence and challenge. Now, finally understood as the gift.

Of this life.

Of his soul.

He sailed on.