Earlier this week I was reading about what differences define a traveler from a tourist, and the aspects of being brave to step out of your comfort zone to be a wayfarer rather than just a tourist in ones own life. Started reading some of the translations of Isabelle Eberhardt’s writings, and traveler’s blog, of which I can not recall the name of at the moment.
Happy reading, it is rough and a mess, but that’s the way it’s suppose to be, a single writing run from a free mind.
Today’s post is for Kellie Elmore’s (FWF) Free Write Friday, prompt topic of Resolve/Resolutions. To read other writers’ posts on the topic, and check out Kellie’s site and blog, follow the link below.
Thank you, Kellie.
Standing here on the bow at the edge of this icy world, the passage has closed behind us, and the way ahead, rambling collision of ice, in jumbled tangle of frozen blue. Where can resolve be found, caught out here on these deep northern waters. Might there be more than one resolution to decide upon, or has the ice shelf decided upon revolution to halt our onslaught deep into its domain. For our ship, our lives’ protector! Is but made of wood, with long timbers, masts, sail, rigging and ballast. What resolve can now be found in our freezing minds, we are now held fast, between past and future. Should the ships log now read, “We have sailed ourselves into the darkness of oblivion, and here we rest, waiting to be crushed by that which is more vast in nature than we, the bulk of a floating frigid past.”
Resolutions have been made, as the path ahead is shorter than the way behind, all powder, cannon and ball will be made use of, to set resolve to free us from such a desolate wasteland. As keg after keg and cannon after cannon, rips through the jagged blue platteau, a free path begins to open as black smoke and shattered ice it fills the air. With resolve, we have changed our luck, but a cracking and groaning of timbers follows, we be popped up as if a cork held beneath still waters, the shelf has closed beneath us. So here we now stand high and dry, with an open patha ahead, and still cursed by this vast frozen blue. More resolutions be made, as heavy ropes be lashed and cast over the side, as slowly our minds become dulled to any sensation of thought, but that of fear in not ever making it home.
A shout echoes a call, “Brave men and women take heed, our way ahead is clear, but first we must launch from our current static embrace upon this ridged blue below us, we need to haul ourselves up and out into the new direction.” All hands, we all, take hold with every last fibre of our being, as the once slack ropes pull taught in an instant lurch momentum takes over as the keel grinds across the blue ice with every joint, rib, and plank creaking and groaning along the brigs fifteen year old hull. Shouts begin to run along the line, harder, fast, haul away as many feet slip, slide, and dig in at the resolve to not be beaten, not to remain in a static frozen world were thought will fade, and the sleep weary tire. Music and song begin to find their rhy with male and female voices carrying far out towards an open sea, the sound of the brigs hull embracing the chill water of the new passage to freedom and home fills all of us with excitement, as fast we haul till the stern finds blue water.
We all keep pulling with the thrill of a new day about to start to the edge of the icey shelf, to board, haul rope and make underway into a rising sun, to home, and new adventures. As once again here on the bow, the seas of the mind and world are open spaces for free thought, and new days, what ever the destination, the resolve to move in any direction is the wayfarers’ home, and a traveler’s desire…