159: To Do In the New Year.
In this new year (which I am hoping shall be a fortuitous one for all), I should like to go sailing. I haven't gone sailing since my accident, and I must confess I've a bit of a phobia now. I'm certain that it's a fairly understandable phobia, but the water is not to blame. The water didn't condemn my mother, the water didn't shame her and drive her mad. The water didn't put its hands around my throat, pressing its thumbs into the soft hollow where I draw breath. Water is not sentient. It chooses not if it is brackish or sweet, if it flows or stagnates.
No, this year, I should like to forgive the water. It was not the one that trespassed against me. And sailing seems quite a romantic pursuit, no? The taut ropes, the flapping of canvas against the wind, one's body moving in time with the waves. It is a way to be Ophelia without being in the theater. Or drowning. Again.
No, this year, I should like to forgive the water. It was not the one that trespassed against me. And sailing seems quite a romantic pursuit, no? The taut ropes, the flapping of canvas against the wind, one's body moving in time with the waves. It is a way to be Ophelia without being in the theater. Or drowning. Again.