The South Westerly Monsoon winds have carried me much father into the Pacific than expected and certainly more than is forecast for this time of year. It’s been pretty much perfect sailing conditions for days now, either reaching or running with the wind and Ahyoka gliding through the water. Everything comes to an end though, and today I find myself in the transition zone between the monsoonal winds of Asia and the trade winds of the Pacific, each fighting the other for dominance, causing wind shifts of 180 degrees and hours of calm. When there’s no wind out here the heat of the tropics has nowhere to escape to and nothing to cool it down. It becomes oppressive. Suffocating even. The air conditioning on the boat is temperamental at best and doesn’t work at all when the boat is sailing as air bubbles get caught in the water intake and the pump stalls. With Ahyoka almost stationary I knew the AC should work, but it required me to bleed the lines. A job that necessitated me moving a large amount of my stores and then spending an hour in the bilge. I emerged dripping in sweat and smeared with grime from Victoria Harbour, but the AC was working – Woohoo! What a difference this made. Lee Kwan Yu once famously said that Singapore’s development as a first world nation state wouldn’t have been possible without air conditioning. Anyone who’s spent time with me in the tropics would know that my thick ancestral Scottish blood has never truly acclimatised and that I need my AC just as much as Singapore did. I napped downstairs today in the cool, crisp and luxuriantly dry air, grateful for technology and all it enables.
As the sun slowly started its afternoon descent, I moved to the shade of the bow. My favourite spot and time of day to read. Having finished Moitessier, I’ve now shifted gears to Barbarian Days – A surfing Life, by Willian Finnegan. Reading this surrounding by waves and water seems fitting.
The afternoon light was filled with deep golden hues. There were no clouds on the horizon, so the sky was able to display the full spectrum of oranges, reds and yellows a truly great sunset imbues. As I sat there, Neil Young’s Harvest Moon came on. A beautiful track which always reminds me of Mel and our relationship. At that very moment, 50 m off the port bow I see my old pal, my spirit guide, my dolphin. This time he wasn’t alone. He brought his family with him for this encounter. The one that cemented our bond. His message was as clear as it was powerful. He seemed to say, “I see you. We see you. And we know why you came. Why you truly came. You’re safe now, my brother. Its time. It’s time to grieve.”
And he was right. It was time.
I’d been holding in my pain and my sadness for too long. It was time to accept my marriage, my beautiful, wonderful marriage to my sweetheart was over.
My tears came from somewhere deep inside. From a place I didn’t know existed. It felt as deep as the ocean I was surrounded by. As far away as the stars I gaze at each night. As expansive as the horizon that surrounds me.
I cried for a future that is lost forever.
I cried for the pain I’ve put Mel through.
I cried for losing my best friend.
I cried for not being the husband I’d hoped to be.
I cried for the way our business partnership was left.
I cried for Axel and for not being able to do enough to save him.
I cried for dreams that would never be fulfilled.
I cried for Loky and Naryth, who so desperately need a stable and secure childhood, but who are now just more divorce statistics.
I cried for the love that I’ll never get back.
But most of all I cried for Mel. Pure, kind, gorgeous, caring Mellie. Goodbye my love.
It took a long time for the darkness of the night to take hold. The sun seemed to be hanging on and giving light to the ocean, to me, for far longer than happened on previous nights. I found the warmth of the sun comforting, but I was also ready for the cool, dark night to take hold. I was sad, but I was also strong. I said goodbye to my dear friend the Sun. Thanked my Spirit Guide for reminding me why I came and sank into the cushions, allowing the dark evening shawl to be draped around my shoulders. This was why I came. To grieve, but also to grow. I sat there listening to the lessons of the sea for hours, surrendering to grief and embracing sadness.
I specifically didn’t enable the comments section on the blog as the internet is so full of hate and I didn’t want my journey to be polluted by trolls. However, Lachie convinced me to turn it on and promised that he’d vigilantly police any nastiness.
All is ask is your comments, like this blog, are kind, honest and from the heart.