Travelling for a long was connected to going ‘ somewhere’. It had to be different.a break from the routine.fresh gushing of waves to make me awake.it will be a tranquil experience with minimal worries. Imagining an escapade like a kid chasing his lost ball.
Then finally, I threw the textbook concept out of the dustbin.there was a growing sense of seeing differently.
‘ the real voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes’ – Proust
We are already everyday travellers sailing across this ocean.there is a joy, thrill when we are very young.like young Calvin exploring the space,fighting monsters with his spoons.artists endowed with a clean shining slate.as we reach in the middle,there appear giant glaciers,sharks ,storms.stranded with little food with a streak of aggressive madness.there is the chaos of achieving, gathering,counting things, men and everything in the universe.the indoor cabin of the ship makes us hang.there is also a search for an expert captain .be it religion, our familial ties,kids, bosses,sportstar,celebrities.thunderstorms,swirling dark clouds, shrieking ravens remind us of living as a corpse.progressing slowly,somehow,old and stiff ,the clocks rings hauntingly calling us to fulfill the ritual.cold and jittery with a long list of todos,most of the people travel frail and gloomy.the promising start and a terrible end.
This voyage can be light,free and joyous.if we play it as a game,not a war.not the same old survival myth.maybe, what I speak is also a conjecture.maybe,regretting once your ship reaches the shore is worst that even sinking like a tipsy bartender absorbed in his half empty yellowish- green glass.