SARGASSO SAILS

CHAPTER 15

RETURN THROUGH THE MIST




   Time for reflexion...how long had I been in the Summerlands? How much had I contributed to the balance or imbalance of nature? One thing was certain...since the volcano blew, there was a shortage of wind. I drifted through paradise with my engine still useless and the main flapping.
   How much had the war depleted the Islanders' resources? Would the freshwater springs continue to flow and nourish? Would Mother Nature continue her benevolence? I recalled reading how the Phoenician wars had depleted the forests around the Mediterranean, thus altering the climate in that region forever. What damage did the volcano do to their ecosystem?
   Daydreaming past Emerald Isle, glittering in bottom sun. I still had not used my snorkel on this trip and was beginning to regret my hasty departure. What unspoilt coral gardens were hidden in these coves? What of Atalantoll? I guess the mysteries of the White City will remain for the rest of time. Time...that word still creeps into my vocabulary.
   Coco Key on the starboard...a little less verdant than I remembered. Why don't I just stay in these idyllic lands? Is there something about human nature that is never satisfied? Do we possess a certain gene that makes us look upward and reach forward? I guess it will be nice to see the gang at Tiki-Key again.
   And what of these incredible paintings that are still on Coco Key? I never did get the chance to question Bunky about them. Knowing him, he would have some sort of deal I couldn't refuse. It then occurred to me that there was no writing or visual arts in the Summerlands. Curious. Music and intoxicants seemed to be their only extracurricular activities. Maybe if one learned to hear before they looked, painting and liturature would manifest themselves with more aural qualities. How many people actually sat themselves down with headphones, closed their eyes, and listened to all the components in a musical composition?
   Rewind...retrograde...revue. How many 're' prefixes describe the sensation of going backwards? Was I going backwards in order to move forward? Now, as I re-entered the Mist, I realized that backwards can be fun. I remembered the days of musique concrete, when armed with splicing blocks, we manipulated bits of tape into various sequences. The backwards loops were always the most interesting.
   I also recalled the time when a group of friends were watching a movie about tornadoes. In one segment, a cow was sent airborn. For the longest time we amused ourselves by making the cow fly backwards and forwards at various speeds with our remote. Imagine the culture shock if I had shown that segment to the Islanders.
   Returning through the Mist was not the least bit terrifying. I just went along for the ride, figuring my odds were pretty good for getting back to the right spot. Fear is after all, mainly the lack of understanding. Once I had accepted the reality of my situation, I sat back and enjoyed it. I was also relieved to think that I wouldn't have to deal with what I called the border bullies. Enough of us had been brutalized by them in the past to realize that power does corrupt. I had not left the country after all, but simply journeyed to a new dimension where passports and documents did not exist... a utopia that the visionary John Lennon had imagined. I thought about the Summerlands once again, but there was no turning back.
   As before, Sargasso was momentarily becalmed, as the Eye climbed to the top of the mast. it did not seem as ominous this time. It was still a chaotic night with the lights returning, but I found this part of the journey quite rejuvenating. Relaxed, I took in the show that nature had bestowed upon me. Sounds cascaded past me...arpeggiating...doppling...sforzandos...pizzicatos...surround sound. What would it be like to have an extra set of ears. Would evolution grant this gift to devoted listeners?
   And then, through a kaleidescope of lights, I emerged into the main channel. My battery power had been restored. The engine worked. I brought down the sails and returned to the dock. I could hear music coming from the Tiki-Key.



ON TO THE EPILOGUE "POUR ANOTHER DRINK"
NEVER MIND...THE NEXT CHAPTER SOUNDS GOOD