At Home on the Depths

I have been enamored with the ocean my entire life. As a child, I loved walking out into the Gulf of Mexico, standing in knee-deep water half a mile from the beach and wondering if I had left the United States. As a young adult, I was fortunate enough to be able to spend a year living in a home from which I could catch a glimpse of the Pacific if I stood on my toes at my bedroom window. Now, I live just a few miles from the Chesapeake Bay and try to visit the beaches of the Delmarva peninsula at least once a year.

I find the ocean mesmerizing, inspiring, and, at times, intimidating. I have fallen asleep to the repetitive lapping of waves against a pebbled coast and have stood in awe as rushing waters crashed into cliffs, sending massive sprays of water towering over me into the sky. I have watched whales, otters, and starfish moving carelessly through the same waters which, at times, have swept me off of my feet and tossed me head over heels into the scouring sands of a stormy beach, leaving me scratched, bruised, and coughing. I have found myself trapped in sea caves by the unexpectedly swift return of the tide, forcing me to dash through Neptune’s grasping fingers and return home with my jeans covered in sand, seaweed, and salt, laughing as hard as I was shivering from the cold. I have more fond memories of the sea than I can possibly recount here.

Yet there is a small sense of dread within me as I prepare to spend the end of this month on a ship. Having been on an ocean voyage last year, I know what awaits me in the quiet of the night, in the rare moments of solitude and silence while standing at the ship’s railing. It’s the utter feeling of helplessness and isolation that only the ocean affords. I recall unwillingly staring off into the empty, empty blackness of the night, knowing that we were beyond the reach of any assistance, that we were a mere speck drifting over fathoms of inky darkness punctuated only by the mysterious movements of the aquatic denizens beneath us. It was in those moments that I was forced to consume the timeless knowledge that the elements that deliver life also deliver death.

I found myself frantically wondering how I could continue with this horrifying and awesome sense of separation for the next several days while confined to the ocean-bound vessel, especially since this was supposed to be a time of relaxation for myself and my family. As our trip continued, this feeling broadened and expanded, and began to occupy daytime moments whenever I couldn’t find enough distractions aboard the ship to pull my mind away from these thoughts.

And then one night at the aft of the ship, when I had been dragged back into the dreaded reality while staring into the distance at our solitary wake, my eyes were drawn skyward toward a presence that was even more overwhelming and impressive than the limitless expanse of ocean. It was the dazzling light of a full moon surrounded by the black sea of space. I was suddenly reminded of how our tiny planet is afloat in the middle of the unfathomable vastness of the universe. We are, all of us, always out at sea with nothing but the light of distant stars to keep us company. Yet I have always found this thought comforting and inspiring rather than terrifying or troubling. We don’t know what life will bring to us in the next moment, and we don’t know who or what might assist us if that moment delivers a trial, but we know that no matter what happens we will always be a part of the constant and imperturbable universe. Nothing can alter that.

Upon this realization, I found instant relief in knowing that the journey I was on in the Atlantic paralleled the journey I was on in life. Both were full of wonder and excitement, fear and joy, sorrow and love, change and consistency. Both were meant to be fully embraced in all of their aspects.

As an earth-centered UU pagan, my favorite hymn is Blue Boat Home by Peter Mayer. Written to the melody of a Christian song I loved as a child, it brings tears of happiness to my eyes whenever I hear or sing it. So it’s with the knowledge that I’m forever on a journey not unlike that of an ocean voyage that later this week I willingly head back out onto the mysterious depths of the sea to embrace both the wonderful celebration of life and the introspective terror of the vast unknown.

Blue Boat Home 

Peter Mayer

Though below me, I feel no motion
Standing on these mountains and plains
Far away from the rolling ocean
Still my dry land heart can say
I’ve been sailing all my life now
Never harbor or port have I known
The wide universe is the ocean I travel
And the earth is my blue boat home

Sun, my sail, and moon my rudder
As I ply the starry sea
Leaning over the edge in wonder
Casting questions into the deep
Drifting here with my ship’s companions
All we kindred pilgrim souls
Making our way by the lights of the heavens
In our beautiful blue boat home

I give thanks to the waves upholding me
Hail the great winds urging me on
Greet the infinite sea before me
Sing the sky my sailor’s song
I was born upon the fathoms
Never harbor or port have I known
The wide universe is the ocean I travel
And the earth is my blue boat home