The Sailor

Act 1: Waiting for Wind

The sun rises once again, and he with it

This day, another identical to the seeming countless before

He gazes into the sea beyond him, but for what?

The sea remains as unknowable as in days past, as it seemingly always would.

The sea creates no paths for the sailor; this much he knows

Alas, if it did, what use are they now?

The wind that once carried him has gone away.

Who was he now, this sailor without wind?

It had been so long now, his time at sea

But through struggle and strife, the wind had been there, guiding him along his quest

Now, he wondered:

Was he truly a sailor, or merely a man, unable to carry on in the vast sea?

The day was gone now, the sun setting beyond the sea

He turned his gaze back to its steady waves once more

He called out to the sea once again for a strong current, or for his wind to return 

The sea returned no reply

As he drifted off to sleep at the rocking of the tide, he began to feel the breeze once more.

Act 2: Wind Arrives

The sailor arises from his slumber

This day immediately shows itself, distinct from those gone by.

Far away, it seemed, was the sunset of yesterday,

And yet the night still covered him.

He was unsure of what had awoken him, if not the sunrise;

Suddenly, terribly, he realized;

The sky’s horrific roar struck him with a fear he had not yet discovered until now.

A storm had arrived to the sailor, catching him while he slept.

He stared out at the sea blankly, utterly frozen.

For so long now, he had called to the sea, and it had offered no reply.

Now, to his dismay, it felt that the sea was screaming;

It boiled below his feet, crashing its way towards him with each passing wave.

The cruel sea had judged him, he thought to himself;

He was not fit to be a sailor.

He turned from the sea, then, to his ship.

The ship was all that had gotten him this far, in truth;

Its sails swept up in what had seemed to be the endless winds of his good fortune.

He sat now, at the foot of his mast, slowly turning his gaze to the hanging sails.

His gaze fell back to his palms, realizing this would be his end.

He was no sailor;

He was a failed man.

Assuredly, he had weathered storms before, but none like this;

This storm, he knew, would require a sailor, not him.

Training his eyes back on the sails, he accepted his fate, the broken man he was.

Tears formed in his eyes as he listened to the scream of the sea that he once thought he sailed

One fell from his cheek onto his open palm as he listened to the thunder bellow above him.

He knew, any time now, that the screaming sea would capsize his ship, him with it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, only to open them again slowly.

Was it a tear in his eye, or did the sail truly shudder, if only for an instant?

Suddenly, it made no matter to the man;

Wind! He screamed back to the sea, Wind, Wind!

He knew now that it had been screaming,

For a scream was all he would be able to hear through the storm.

Act 3: The Shore

He raised the lens to his eye

The eye that so long had been searching

The eye that had seen storms he never thought possible

The eye that had guided him through turbulent seas

The eye that had so long been searching, finally finding

At long last, the shore appeared in his lens

Long and arduous this journey had been for the sailor

And, he knew, it was only beginning

The sea, after all, was the sailor’s place of being

There was no sailor without the sea

What he faced now, new and different; the jungle

It excited him all the while, for he had survived the sea
The sea had taught him much

He thought back to the words of his mentor;

That which does not kill you makes you stronger.

He had never truly been capable of knowing these words, until the storms

Mighty they were, and as he reflected now he remembered their crashing blows

He would never forget these, and the moments at which the sea broke him

Here he was, alas, no mere man, but a sailor, borne of the sea

The highest heights, achieved through traversing those lowest of valleys

The sailor now knew what it meant to be born again

To be cast, unwillingly, into ashes

To travel through hells and torments and all of the devil’s pleasures

To know temptation, rage, apathy, sorrow, and all of the tortures of man’s own mind

And to come out, bloodied, yet unbowed

These words he found long ago, in some old shop or another

He’d carried them with him all these years, simply admiring their sound

The man had said them, but the sailor had lived them

The sailor knew that only through the sea could he experience this

The product of his suffering, unwilling though it was

He had made this strife his own

The cross thrust upon him 

But carried, in the end, by simply himself, and those true Simons of his own life

His reflection carried him close enough now

The shore was growing near, so he cast his anchor downward

The small boat he must paddle the rest of the way was a shadow of his ship

This journey allowed him only what was necessary

So, taking his time, he discerned the items he must bring

He must know, now, what was useful for the sea will not always be useful for the jungle

A mistake now would be costly, he knew

So, carefully, he chose

Loading up his boat with only these items, he lowered himself to the sea

Its waters were calm now, the setting serene

The clouds were gone, but so too was the wind 

Alas, the sailor had what he needed; two oars to guide him the rest of the way
Stepping foot on shore, all of the emotions of his journey wiped over him at once

Some emotion, utterly indescribable, took hold of him

He began to cry

Triumph over the sea, won at last

But the knowledge that he must now take the jungle on, terrifying all the while

He knew that this decision had to be made

Removing his blade from its place, he started towards the vines

The journey now his, the power of storms and oceans in his hands

The jungle was his to own, should he succeed

The sailor had arrived to shore. 

Choosing the man once more, he entered the jungle.