Thursday, January 10, 2008

Shipmates

above, from Answers To A Child's Questions About Death,
Guideline Publications, April, 1979

I come from a work tradition of teamwork, whether it was a marketing project that required cooperation between many disparate individuals; whether a theater or television production that employed creative workers and technical workers; and most importantly, a ship's crew that required technical know-how and creative solutions to complicated issues. Life is like that, and Shipmates know that, and this journal tries to fumble and marlinspike its way through, bad analogies and all.

Nowhere on land is there a true sense of crew or an appreciation thereof. If you thought the crowds at Christmas were bad, that's how I usually perceive The Beach and everyday interaction thereupon. What's so important about this ratrace that you would sacrifice anything to win it? Can't you see we all come to the end eventually? That there's no need to beat me to the next stop sign? Every time I see some overpaid ballplayer , or string-armed celebrity, or equivocating politician, or bad driver justifying their bad behavior as though they really believe it won't affect anyone else, I lose a little more bearing.
But I can recall former Shipmates and remember the time they helped haul that line, or furled that topgallant, or caught (or tossed) that line, or stood there on the quarterdeck and raised my spirits while I was at the helm.
Or hopped up on my lap and purred.
I've lost too many of those Shipmates.

Thanks for your patience.

4 comments:

bitterandrew said...

I'm so sorry.

Large said...

The good thing about shipmates is that on a dark night watch you know they are there even though unseen always looking out for their shipmates and while others stand for you so you can go below for awhile and perhaps read a Psalm

I'll take the helm for awhile old friend, go and be with your shipmate..make plans for the crew that will be awaiting you on
T'other side

(upon retiring below and looking at the sailmakers bench Thirdmate finds an old notebook open and by moonlight sees )


The Sailors 23rd Psalm:

The Lord is my pilot, I shall not drift.
He guides me across the dark waters.
He steers me through deep channels.
He keeps my log.
Yea, though I sail ‘mid the thunders
and tempest of life,
I shall dread no anger, for He is with me;
His love and His care, shelter me.
He prepares a quiet harbor before me.
He anoints the waves with oil
My ship rides calmly.
Surely sunlight and starlight
shall guide me on the voyage I take,
And I will rest in the heaven's port forever.

ThirdMate said...

Oh. Wow. Talked down from the fore.

Thanks, Shipmates.

karie said...

YES. VERY DEEP THANKS!