Maktub

    In a way, the restoration of my own heart and soul, my internal landscape, was set to follow suit by similarly being set aflame; a trial by fire culminating with the promise of renewal and redemption in a place that had undergone the same. We were kindred spirits, that place and I, connected by causality, and born from the ashes.

    I leaned back in my seat as the wheels of the plane screeched upon connecting with the tarmac. The sun had just begun its descent over the horizon, its light glimmering across the grooved surface of the water and setting the silhouetted mountains aglow. There really is gold in these hills, I remember thinking to myself. Not the kind that you extract from the earth, but a precious substance that is harvested by the senses.

I am a sedulous soothsayer of sorts

seldom singing sonnets of solitude,

but of sanctioned solidarity, swallowing sad and spiteful spirits like those of sheep sent to slaughter--

surely sapped and stunned-- so that some stranger who seems senseless to the sun

can sigh seditiously. Sorry sucklings, sedated by sweet seduction, but sin surprisingly stems soft and sensuously showing not sanctified signs but shameful secrets

stowed ever so slightly with shocking discretion.

Still somehow from somewhere will soon sprout a smidgen of solace soaked strikingly with strength

springing from the source of the soul itself.

“I have sent someone,” Simon says, “to sew and to save.”

“Insolence”, says I..

It was 1337 as I walked across the dock and opened the door to the boat house. There was the attendant, sitting sloppily at his desk, and no other soul was in sight.  They left me, I thought.

“Are you still doing the orientation tour?” I asked.

“Nah mon, we cancel da tour fer t'day,” the tall and lanky Jamaican responded.

At that precise moment, Port Control came in over the radio.

“Marina, this is Port Control.  All clear.”

My eyes widened with excitement. Shawn, the attendant, looked over at me and smiled.

“I jus’ finished tellin’ everyone to go home and now you show up late, mon. You gonna get first class tour o’ the bay!”

He radioed a passing vessel. His friend had just taken one of the speed boats out, and with that, it was on its way back. Shawn motioned me to the door and told me to wait at the far end of the dock. I would be picked up there.

I half-walked, half-skipped out the door and I could barely contain my happiness. Finally, I thought. This was really happening.

I waited at far end of the dock for a few seconds before the boat came into view. It was ivory in color with cherry red strips along the side. The plush seating matched the exterior and the driver’s seat had a small roof overhead; the word, Hurricane, written on the side. She was beautiful, I thought. Two other Jamaicans were sitting behind the driver, who was of medium stature and sported a shiny, bald head. His sunglasses hid his eyes from view, but he was smiling from ear to ear. A squabble of Jamaican-accented English came from behind him. His friend, much shorter than the driver, stood up and helped me into the boat. They were both laughing and chattering like hyenas. I sat down, rather uncomfortably, and wore an awkward smile.

“We gonna take you on de tour real fast, mon.” said the driver. “You’d betta’ sit down tight.”

The two laughed as we pulled out of the marina, as I felt the muscles inside my stomach tightening. What had I gotten myself into? As we left the no wake zone, the driver gunned the motor, forcing me to faintly recall what I had for lunch that afternoon. In a few seconds, we had reached speeds of 43 knots; and we were on our way to the Northern Boundary of the bay. We zipped across the water like nothing I had ever experienced. The salted air blew across my face and caused my eyes to squint in order to see.  In a matter of minutes, we passed through Eagle channel and the motor came to a halt.  The driver told me to draw an imaginary line from Palma Point over to a buoy in the water on the windward side of the bay. No vessels were to cross this line, he instructed.  He sat back down and with a slight push of a lever, were on our way, again.

The driver pushed the lever further, causing the boat to glide even faster than before as we glided towards the Southern Boundary. I was afraid to ask exactly how fast--I was more concerned with my life, my grip, and the upcoming swells. A shrill of laughter, resembling something you might hear out of a Western film, came from behind me. I glanced back to see why and, for a brief moment, I left my seat. We were airborne. All that was left connected to the boat was my wet, slippery, tiny minuscule hand holding on for dear life. A moment passed, that might as well have been several minutes, and we were back on the water.  My expression was almost assuredly one of pure panic and all I could hear were the shouts of the Jamaicans and that of the stalling motor.

We were up again, and back down.  This happened every few seconds as the swells got higher and higher. The driver was not letting off the speed. This man is trying to get us killed--the thought passed in my mind every time we ramped off a swell. I tried to suppress the feeling of terror but each time I thought I had conquered it, we would launch up into the air and crash back down into the sea. I was drenched and dry, all at the same time. With each jump, there would be a spray of salt water that soaked my clothing and dampened my hair. But each time we would leave the water, it was as if I had passed through the exit of a touch-free car wash, drying my arms and face. I couldn’t tell you how long this went on, until finally, the driver eased off the motor. We were at the Southern Boundary. Two light houses created an imaginary boundary in the water, one on each side of the bay.  Out beyond the border was the freedom of the Caribbean.

For the first time in what seemed to be an eternity, I felt an incredible pressure surging from within.  It was the sort of thing one feels after remembering a hope or dream that had been all but lost; and at the same time, it was the awful feeling that arises in the pit of one’s stomach when something has been forgotten.  It came suddenly and without warning like hunger pains after a skipped meal.  

“You’ve forgotten everything”, said a young boy with a tear in his eye.  "You’ve been away for some time.  Has it been too long?“

Without hesitation, I responded.  

No. 

 I could still smell the salted air, and hear the sound of seagulls calling me out from the shore.  I could feel the wind at my back and the sun smiling upon my face.   I could taste adventure on the horizon.  

It would only be a matter of time.  

But time had been my enemy only moments ago, dragging it’s fat belly across the sun scorched sand.  It had laid down to digest my restlessness and it watched as I wearily trudged through the dunes unaccompanied and without a map to guide me.

No. 

The sand, replaced by the sea, now presented itself before me as an opened book--it’s pages still unwritten.  The belly of the beast, no longer full, awaited my lack of commitment and savored the next meal to come.  

Time would be my enemy no more.

I drew the sword at my side and pointed it at the beast, it’s brilliance shining in the sun.  Made of the finest and strongest of steel, and crafted by the ancients, it had been handed down over countless generations.  Along the hilt, alongside the precious stones and encrusted gems, there were runes--an archaic inscription that could be roughly translated into the following words:

Choice, not chance, determines destiny.

I thrust the edge of my sword into the beast, its belly spilling out every moment it had taken from me.  My foot came swiftly down upon its head, crushing it’s skull to pieces.  Never again would it bite at my heels.  

As the beast lay slain, its remains burst into a cloud of golden dust, sending the glitter in every direction, and creating first a sail, and then a mast.  The gilded particles then continued to form an entire ship from bow to stern culminating at the helm.  

The salted air filled my nostrils.  The sound of seagulls beckoned me out from the shore.  I saw the wind filling the golden sails and I felt the sun smiling down at me and lured me out toward the horizon.