I feel like I’m at high sea navigating in a broken vessel. I
can hear the cracks of the old wood struggling to stay together against the
waves. And there isn’t even a storm. Yet.
Every time one thing gets fixed something else breaks down.
When the water stops leaking into the pantry, then the sail rips. When the sail is sown a window cracks letting the cold air in. It is physically exhausting
and takes all my mental energy. It is also starting to chip away at my spirit.
I feel like the old man from the tale. It is me against the
sea, against the whale. I know the fight is already lost but still must hold my grip
onto that whale. I can’t let go. I wont let go. But the skin on my hands has
been scrapped raw. The salt on my exposed skin is beginning to burn. My eyes
can barely see from the constant exposure to the sun.
Sometimes I close my eyes and then all I can feel is the breeze on my face, the fresh water cooling my skin, the sound of the waves pushing me ahead on this adventure. Then I am grateful for this body of mine
which has the strength to hold on to the whale this ship has become. I am
grateful for every tense muscle, for every unbroken bone, for every deep breath I can still take, and pray. I pray for the status quo. I know
I’ll never get my shiny new ship back, but I pray at least I’ll be strong
enough to keep up with the speed that this ship is ageing at, so that I am
still one step ahead of it and able to fix it.
I pray to keep the status quo long enough to see the sun
rise, mature into a full hot day, and then see it slowly trade its brightness
for the beautiful and complex dance of pinks that is the sunset. Once the sun has
settled and the wind has cooled I’ll be able to let go of this rope. Let go of the whale, and let the
boat sink.
But not before. ‘Til then, it is me against the whale in
this broken vessel of mine.