[Archive] The Ride and the Tide
Fresh, local champs, simple and pristine kids were we when we boarded. It was in the year of our Lord, and it was the fourteenth day of the fourth month. Then, our ship did set sail after a much protracted delay and many months behind its scheduled departure date. “It's a sea fever”, someone said. “No! It’s the heat on board”, replied another. Whatever it was, many didn’t make it past the first 365 nautical miles - a year gone and we were yet at sea.
We did spend many months at the “Municipal bay”. Thereafter, we headed for the battle for survival of the fittest. At that time, all else made no meaning. All we thought of was surviving. Life was triangular and predictable. Sleep, wake, and gaze at the endless pages of books were the order of the day. Then came the battle at the canal of Meghan-Bolt (MBI) - between the Red sea and the Mediterranean, an extension of the Atlantic. Not too many survivors made it through.
After that, we lost count of time. It was better facing life as it came. At least, so we thought. By this time we had been humbled, we had began to see and experience a new meaning to life and living. We had also began to understand that there existed no superman in anyone but only Him who’d given us life also empowers us.
For a little while, we stayed at the cape of New-Life to set sail again on the 16th day of the ninth month, that year. As we sailed with all hands seemingly on deck and an anticipated good weather, suddenly, lightening struck, and thunder roared against the clear weather forecast. “Oh, it’s a storm!” someone yelled. Like a burst pipe, sea water gushed in. “We bashed a rock!” cried another fella. Some men cried, some women wailed, some prayed while some others sang. Everyone had something to resort to as he thought was best. But then, we thought of His promises - the coast, the prayers of the saints, and basked in the light of all He had done and which we believed He would yet do. Praise the Lord! We made it ashore. It was the iceberg of Morris-Baker (MBII) we'd slammed onto; no thanks to the thunder-strike.
Days became weeks, weeks months and months became years. Then, we realized our voices had become deeper, our beards had began to grow, our emotions and passions had began to differ; no longer were they what they used to be. Our preferences were manifesting, two by two we began to see our selves – we were growing up.
At a quarter to the Rubicon, we could behold the coast jot out of the horizon; we could hear the cock crow as the day breaks forth; our eyes could see the streak of the morning rays as it stretches across the firmament; the cool embrace of the coastal breeze we could feel caressing our body and reinvigorating our souls. We believed it so we could see and experience it. Our hearts longed for the other side. And, we remained resolute to make it over. These words of His we held onto “...He who began the good work in you is able to complete it...”.
We were suddenly reawaken to reality when our boat's rudder rammed into Ongx-Paedsheer - the much talked about sea monsters which often mellow in wait for unsuspecting prey. At other times, we were told it gets eerily voracious. We fought so hard for our dear lives. We lost a good number of barrels in addition to a broken deck. Also, some of our strongest men had to remain behind in smaller boats to hold back Ongx-Paedsheer (OnG-Paed) while we set off for the home run.
Not so long had we started the home run were we held to a ransom for short of steam. A little less than 60 days we floated at sea. Our only thrust were the ocean currents. Few yards to the shore of New-world, we realized that one more time our might would be put to the test. Fortresses and arsenals stood tall and intimidating off the coast – the city was walled-in. So terrible some did feel that the many years at sea made no meaning anymore. “How foolishly had I wasted this many years of my life” some said. But we knowing that not at such a time as this would He that has brought us far would let us down, we withdrew to our drawing boards. For a moment, while I contemplated, I gazed at the horizon and from a distance, in the stillness of still, the refrain of victory embraced my tympanum, it brewed up my confidence, echoes of valiants gone before cheered beyond the walls of the fortress, and their words set my stapes to oscillate.
Past mid-year we shot our canon. For continuous days the battle raged with ceaseless sounds of shells and mortars. Then all became still...Suddenly, like one woken from a dream or a dream turned real, like light shown across the plains of darkness, like the lost finding the way home and like breaking morn on resurrection day, we'd conquered. Our feet we set on the shores of the land where perfection is ever sort but never attained and every trial is but a practice.
circa 2005
We did spend many months at the “Municipal bay”. Thereafter, we headed for the battle for survival of the fittest. At that time, all else made no meaning. All we thought of was surviving. Life was triangular and predictable. Sleep, wake, and gaze at the endless pages of books were the order of the day. Then came the battle at the canal of Meghan-Bolt (MBI) - between the Red sea and the Mediterranean, an extension of the Atlantic. Not too many survivors made it through.
After that, we lost count of time. It was better facing life as it came. At least, so we thought. By this time we had been humbled, we had began to see and experience a new meaning to life and living. We had also began to understand that there existed no superman in anyone but only Him who’d given us life also empowers us.
For a little while, we stayed at the cape of New-Life to set sail again on the 16th day of the ninth month, that year. As we sailed with all hands seemingly on deck and an anticipated good weather, suddenly, lightening struck, and thunder roared against the clear weather forecast. “Oh, it’s a storm!” someone yelled. Like a burst pipe, sea water gushed in. “We bashed a rock!” cried another fella. Some men cried, some women wailed, some prayed while some others sang. Everyone had something to resort to as he thought was best. But then, we thought of His promises - the coast, the prayers of the saints, and basked in the light of all He had done and which we believed He would yet do. Praise the Lord! We made it ashore. It was the iceberg of Morris-Baker (MBII) we'd slammed onto; no thanks to the thunder-strike.
Days became weeks, weeks months and months became years. Then, we realized our voices had become deeper, our beards had began to grow, our emotions and passions had began to differ; no longer were they what they used to be. Our preferences were manifesting, two by two we began to see our selves – we were growing up.
At a quarter to the Rubicon, we could behold the coast jot out of the horizon; we could hear the cock crow as the day breaks forth; our eyes could see the streak of the morning rays as it stretches across the firmament; the cool embrace of the coastal breeze we could feel caressing our body and reinvigorating our souls. We believed it so we could see and experience it. Our hearts longed for the other side. And, we remained resolute to make it over. These words of His we held onto “...He who began the good work in you is able to complete it...”.
We were suddenly reawaken to reality when our boat's rudder rammed into Ongx-Paedsheer - the much talked about sea monsters which often mellow in wait for unsuspecting prey. At other times, we were told it gets eerily voracious. We fought so hard for our dear lives. We lost a good number of barrels in addition to a broken deck. Also, some of our strongest men had to remain behind in smaller boats to hold back Ongx-Paedsheer (OnG-Paed) while we set off for the home run.
Not so long had we started the home run were we held to a ransom for short of steam. A little less than 60 days we floated at sea. Our only thrust were the ocean currents. Few yards to the shore of New-world, we realized that one more time our might would be put to the test. Fortresses and arsenals stood tall and intimidating off the coast – the city was walled-in. So terrible some did feel that the many years at sea made no meaning anymore. “How foolishly had I wasted this many years of my life” some said. But we knowing that not at such a time as this would He that has brought us far would let us down, we withdrew to our drawing boards. For a moment, while I contemplated, I gazed at the horizon and from a distance, in the stillness of still, the refrain of victory embraced my tympanum, it brewed up my confidence, echoes of valiants gone before cheered beyond the walls of the fortress, and their words set my stapes to oscillate.
Past mid-year we shot our canon. For continuous days the battle raged with ceaseless sounds of shells and mortars. Then all became still...Suddenly, like one woken from a dream or a dream turned real, like light shown across the plains of darkness, like the lost finding the way home and like breaking morn on resurrection day, we'd conquered. Our feet we set on the shores of the land where perfection is ever sort but never attained and every trial is but a practice.
circa 2005
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