Travel. A Journey. Before, during, and after. “Travel” seems to be a modern convention, whereas a “journey” has a timeless sense, and a feeling of purpose, a discovery. And what of the timeline? Before the travel/journey, we have the option of planning – or not. In all cases, in all times, the least necessary planning is figuring the mode of transport – feet, horseback, carriage, 747. Beyond that, the “before” can consist of intricate planning, or none at all. At this point in the epic, we find our characters in the “before” stage.” Travel almost always has an “after”; however, in this kind of story, it’s a fair question to ask if the “after” will ever show up. Back to the present preparation.
Interestingly, this segment begins with a rescue of the two travelers’ mode of transportation – the red boat.
Before departure, the main character thinks about “blank future days,” a sure sign that not much planning exists beyond modestly provisioning the boat. Our main character envisions an endless string of days with only Hart for company. That prospect proves both welcome and somewhat frightening. Another pre-journey discovery happens to be that the delay in leaving Chickopee has been imaginary. “I could have left at any time I chose,” observes the main character.
Weighing Anchor, Segment 2
The bank isn’t far away I tell myself
Shallow water even nearer to me
Keep going, I urge my two trembling arms
Keep kicking, I command my tired legs
In this way, inch by inch, I draw the boat
to the riverbank, wind her rope around
a tree stump – drop down winded in the mud.
As I catch my breath, I look upriver
where Hart keeps on struggling, limping toward me
When he arrives, his agony is clear
“Are you all right?” he asks with not one glance
toward the boat rocking now tamed and docile
“Yes – now – but for a while – I wasn’t sure
that I was going to make it to dry land –
or mud,” I say scooping up brown handfuls
“Why didn’t you let the boat go, idiot?”
“I could not.” Can’t he see what this boat means?
“Why not? You could have drowned out there, you fool”
“I’m asking myself the same question now
“I’m asking myself the same question now
but out there I just couldn’t let her go.”
“Her!?” Hart screws his nose up quizzically
“That’s the way sailors talk about their ships.”
This is not a ‘ship,’ and we aren’t sailors.”
“I have imagined I might be some day.”
“This boat’s not ours. We’ll have to give it back.”
Hart says this with irritation but I
ignore his curiously strong reaction
“Law of the sea. We salvaged her. She’s ours.”
“The owner won’t think so, I’ll bet you that.
Anyway, boats’r more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Who says that?” I stand up with hands on hips
“My father,” Hart says almost sheepishly
“My father,” Hart says almost sheepishly
“He’s not a sailor, nor has he been one”
“Maybe that’s why. He is not that stupid”
“Hart, this is dumb. We’ve got ourselves a boat
and you want to get rid of her before
we have even sailed her a mile downstream.”
“It’s not a sailboat. It’s got oars, not sails.”
“But we could rig a sail. It isn’t hard.”
“Like some stupid kite!?” he counters crossly
“No, not like a kite. A sail. You know – wind
go poof-poof – boat move across the water.”
at me fiercely and kicks the red boat’s side
which lands him butt first in the slippery mud.
I want to get to the bottom quickly.
“Because I picture you getting in it
and going away – and away from me”
“Hart, we’re leaving together – remember?”
“Yea, I know, but there hasn’t been a way
and now there is – right here – floating ready”
“What do you mean? You can’t be serious”
Instantly, I see possibilities
“We want to leave, and now we really can.”
“In this!?” Hart asks more than a bit doubtful.
“In this!?” Hart asks more than a bit doubtful.
“Why not? Look at the size of that high bow.
It could take big ol’ waves and not get wet
If we rig a sail, there’s speed with the wind
And look, at the back – a box for storage.”
“I was talking about paddling around
the river not crossing some great ocean.”
“Not the ocean, but we can go hundreds
and hundreds of miles south on this river.”
“You’re serious? You really think we could?”
“Of course. Why not? People have done much more
and for poorer reasons than we have now”
“It’s not ours. That’s the very least,” Hart says
“Law of the sea. Our salvage. Off we go!”
For some long moments we stand looking down
Suddenly I see all we need to do
is choose and all will tumble into place
“Yes. Right. Let’s do it! What d’we have to lose?”
“Do what?” Now Hart is again off balance
“Get out of this place for good in our boat.”
“Okay, captain. What do we do for food?”
“Easy. There’s lots of stuff in our cellar
and we can fish and get jobs as we go.”
Hart silently considers what I’ve said
I know him well enough to see it’s just
a matter of details now. Then he says,
“We have some old blankets that won’t be missed,
but what are we going to tell our parents?”
“Easy. We tell them about the boat and
“Easy. We tell them about the boat and
we’re going to take a short upriver trip
to see if we can locate the owner
We don’t tell them until we’re done with school
and the river’s down a bit and it’s safe.
Meanwhile, from now to then, we hide the boat
and stock her up bit by bit over time
and when she’s ready we head downriver
and get a message back here that we’re fine
and not to even try to search for us.”
“Let’s do it,” Hart says with sudden firmness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Over the weeks after our pact and vow
we furtively bring supplies to the boat
floating in a dim hidden backwater
camouflaged with fallen leafy branches.
Each trip, we transfer a few provisions
away from our unsuspecting households
Often, we go separately at odd times
when pilfering has least chance of notice
On the jaunts alone to the hidden boat
I have ample time to observe details
of our splendid intention taking shape
We never doubt the rightness of the boat
The giddiness that bubbles up each time
I see her is sufficient proof of that
What troubles me is the blank future days
filled only with boat and river, and Hart
one long flowing contentment that cannot
possibly be as pleasant as it seems
I can’t see beyond the river current’s
one-pointed force pushing my life ahead
relentless, clear, unknown, unintended.
Leaving comes so sweet it hardly matters
Staying now so unthinkable I pay
no attention at all to this option
How strange that only weeks ago I feared
I would never leave – I could see no way –
and now even if the boat burns or sinks
I am so firm-intended I would just
walk away – yes, just walk away – just walk
I leave the boat and walk back to the road
There, I look down toward Chickapee and see
it as I never have seen it before
Always before, it had been a gateless
barrier, uncrossable, ending dead
Now this same road lays its back down for me
invites me to just walk its curving bends
Tears from nowhere well up and wet my cheeks
tears with no reason but still, wide relief
Why this sudden openness where the way
held barred and locked for all the years ‘til now?
Why this instant easy passage where none
existed or at least I could not see?
The shift is clear and startling as a bird
flushed into flight before my very eyes.
Yes, the bird! The different sparrow chirping
boisterously outside the teacher’s room
At once, I see the reason for the change
I’ve been waiting all these years for magic –
that one person, place, or thing to whisk me
to happiness with no effort on my part
Some magical one whose form I can’t name
the one who’s never coming – never was
I am my own magical rescuer
I see I have been waiting needlessly
I could have left at any time I chose
Although I’m still thankful for the red boat,
its message is much broader than its beam
It whispers, “You are free – always have been”
I could have walked out any time at all
Just choose and leave – choose and leave – walk away
When I tell Hart these truths, he’s not impressed
“You just saw the light? I’m surprised,” he says
“That explains why you didn’t run with Jani.
I have wondered about that all this time.”
“Why have you stayed?” I ask feeling foolish
“It wasn’t time until now,” Hart observes
“Never mind,” I say grinning. “It does not
matter since we will be gone in three days.”
“That’s more your kind of time,” he says smiling
Background
Once again, the subject of the “home town” arises. The protagonist can’t wait to leave, but has been waiting for some external force as a vehicle of rescue; in this segment the realization dawns that one can best rescue oneself rather than wait for some deus ex machina. This is only one of several insights that arise in this segment, proving that the benefits of travel can come even before one sets one’s foot upon the path. There’s an old saying, probably Zen: “Set yourself on fire, so you can see the path before you.” It would appear that the match has been ignited.
Exploration #1: Is there any travel or a journey that you wish to take, but haven’t? Why? Why not?
Exploration #2: When Hart makes the comment about “time,” at the end of this segment, there seems to be an implication that there’s a difference in viewpoint about the definition of time between the two. In the context of this segment, what are the two types of time? Are there more?
Exploration #3: Preparation for traveling (or a journey to be taken) can have varying attendant amounts of anxiety along with it. What types of anxiety does each character exhibit, if any? Can you identify with pre-travel anxiety, doubt, and worry?
NEXT: Weighing Anchor – Segment 3
You can read the full texts of Songs 1-5 by clicking here.
ReplyDeleteI would like to travel to "the land beyond beyond. To the world past hope and fear." I haven't gone because I would need a genie in a bottle to get me there.
I also want to roam the earth, all it's nooks and crannies, but am shackled here in Palmville, a fate better than death.
The main character (MC) could leave anytime, but doesn't for similar reasons. It's hard to leave the old ruts. I think Lao Tzu said it was best to stay in your rut. Eat your porridge. Go to bed when tired.
Hart's world is timeless as long as he can be with the MC. The MC is the one counting down the days. He says as much in the last line.
Travel prep time for Teresa is lots of work. She needs a look for all seasons. I'm like, toothbrush, check; passport, check; letter of introduction to Ali Baba, andiamo, baby.