Beached Boats

341

One day by the sea, let it be today, you are bobbing in a boat on the water. While the world is asleep, you are accompanying the silence of your surroundings with a cup of tea in your hand, the sea is at its calmest, there is not even a ripple against the body of the sailboat. A slight haze foreshadows the hot July day to follow. The sun is rising slowly from behind the hills, the new day is in no hurry to arrive, everything is in perfect harmony, but you are trying not to disturb the order of things, almost destroying your own existence. It’s futile. You are overwhelmed, the salty water of the sea where you thought you belonged hurts old wounds and you find refuge in the earth. A dusty path catches your waking eyes; it seems as if no one has ever walked it.

You start walking with shoes that are not suitable for the path you are preparing for. The land holds you, you stagger. Weren’t you the one who lost the balance of life not long ago? Every rock you leaned on, every rock from which you drew strength slipped out from under your hand one by one, first fighting and then accepting. Every broken promise, every unfulfilled dream has begun to wound deeper these days when you realize the brevity of life. Giving up on yourself again has thrown you off balance.

You’re beginning to understand Montaigne better. It was impossible to understand him at a young age; you had to try, then fall, get up again, get hurt, or even give up. And then you should have reread your “Essays”. Thinking of Montaigne’s “inner castles”, you continue walking alone on the path.

Was it not he who said that when the inner fortress is not built correctly, it is vulnerable to the fluctuations of the outside world? That even in the smallest chaos, you will lose your bearings, drift and finally lose your balance. How firmly he had built his inner fortresses in his secluded tower, and you?

A wave had washed you ashore, just like the boats you saw in the distance. They were standing in the middle of the barren land. In the absence of water they were hopeless, unable to find their balance. You continue on the dusty roads without the you in your brain ever shutting up and without realizing exactly where you are walking towards. You are suddenly awakened by the presence of an old villager smiling at you. “Good morning,” you say, “Good morning, my daughter,” he says in a sincere voice, his movements have slowed down, his hands are the color of earth, dry and hard. His face is full of the lines of experience. How much he laughed, you say, looking at the thin lines next to his lips. And he obviously cried a lot; his eyes tell the story. He is wearing brown trousers and a slightly lighter shirt. It’s as if he is now where he was, whereas he is the earth.

“Do you know,” he says, “there is a church at the very top; nobody knows it, nobody goes up there, but whoever goes up and descends the stairs backwards, all the wishes he made at the top will come true, but it is very far and difficult.” “Have you been up there?” you ask. He smiles, tears come to his eyes, “I used to go out with my lady a long time ago”, he says, and falls silent. You ask, “Which path should I follow?” He says, “There is no path.” Was there a path to walk in life, what kind of question was that? “Don’t be so angry with yourself, don’t think about it,” he says. “Listen to your heart, my daughter, it will lead you to the stairs, and when you get there, the hard part begins, cleanse your ego with every step, and when you get to the top, pray, then walk back the same way. Remember, beauty appears to those who seek it.”

You keep walking with the effect of that moment out of the Thousand and One Nights. Your heart first takes you to the boats visible in the distance, you find yourself in their instability, in their barrenness, in the touch of each broken and battered board.

As you bend down to touch the paddle, you notice the lake ahead and feel how thirsty you are. You move quickly towards the lake, the water is like ice and you want to swim and drink. It may be 40 degrees, but when you get into the water, you feel every single cell of your brain freeze, that state of numbness makes you happy and you can’t think. Through the water you see the stairs a little further on, you look up, then a little more, a little more and finally you see the church at the top. As you wonder if you can get out with your knees shaking, you shout like Don Quijote, “I draw my strength from my weakness”. This is perhaps your first challenge to yourself and you start climbing the stairs. With each step your breath and ego are cleansed. You stop and listen to the song of the cicadas and then go on, climbing the kilometers of stairs one by one. The moment the sun reaches its zenith, you reach the zenith of your journey.

Tired but proud. Everything makes more sense to your sweating body at that moment. When you raise your head towards the sky, you see the old forgotten church carved into the rocks. Each wall is decorated with frescoes. The picture of the moment of “Baptism” catches your eye, you feel cleansed. The time is yours and yours alone, you begin to descend the stairs backwards, just like the old peasant said, praying for new beginnings, inner fortresses, your own existence, balance and love. It was night when he passed by the lake and reached the beached boats. Millions of stars illuminate the unstable boats, and in their beauty you continue to walk in your own time. All you can think about is reunion. And love. If you really, truly and wholeheartedly love a person and if you can touch their life – yes, yes, you think that even just one person is enough – then maybe your life will be saved and your life will be meaningful for you.