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A warm tropical sun caresses our bodies. Clean, cool water beckons us to go snorkeling. The British Virgin Islands overwhelm the senses with their spectacular physical beauty, especially as viewed from a boat. Luminescent water reveals more of the sea’s beauty. A school of small, deep-blue fish swims in synchronous harmony over and around boulders on the sea floor. One can almost hear the music of their movement.

In the same way, I can also hear another sound — distant, old, human. It is the wail of slavery. Slave ships anchored here at The Baths off Virgin Gorda after their Atlantic crossing from Africa, to wash their human cargo before delivering it to the auction block. Chained in coffin-sized spaces, slaves often had not been on deck during their six- to twelve-week passage. I imagined the joy of the fresh air and the cool water on their bodies. But as one horror ended another began.

The Baths are granite boulders, one and two stories high, tumbled on each other as though a giant hand had cast them like so many pebbles. Millions of years of wind and waves carved grotto-like passages. Sitting on deck, I am struck by the contrast of God’s beauty and human cruelty; the confinement of slaves and the liberation of sailing — on the water, I feel I am in a holy place, a sacred place.

When I bought my first sailboat, I was seeking adventure, new places, and family and friend time. I wanted to pit human skill and a well-designed boat against wind, wave, sun, and storm. Sailing is a contest between the human — boat and crew — and the natural world. What I didn’t know was that I was embarking on a spiritual journey as well. 

Awakening

It started with an “aha” experience. I was solo sailing from Block Island off the coast of Rhode Island to Old Saybrook, Connecticut, on my way home to New York City. My crew had left that morning. The day was overcast with winds of 12 – 15 knots and a forecast of unstable weather and possible rain. But the skies didn’t look too threatening, so I raised sails and got underway. Setting my course, I turned on the autopilot and settled down with a cup of coffee and some music from National Public Radio. A life jacket lay beside me, if needed. Wind Dancer is a comfortable boat with galley, head, and sleeping berths for six. I felt at home in her care.

I picked up Thomas Moore’s Care of the Soul: A Guide for Cultivating Depth and Sacredness in Everyday Life. In his introduction, Moore proposes that “soulfulness” is tied “to life in all its particulars — good food, satisfying conversation, genuine friends, and experiences that stay in the memory and touch the heart.”

I read on, glancing up occasionally to be sure no other boats were nearby. Moore continues: “One person might care for the soul by buying or renting a good piece of land, another by selecting an appropriate school or program of study, another by painting his house or his bedroom.” Excitement raced through me like a fast-moving current. I shouted to the winds, “Yes! Yes!” This is what I experience while sailing! I put on my life vest and moved to the bow, where I could feel Wind Dancer’s graceful rhythm, the bow moving through two-foot waves, the sound of the parting water, the wind and the boat moving together as gifted dance partners.

Thomas Moore changed my life. He helped me recognize the spiritual nourishment I experience on Wind Dancer. She takes me into the natural world of whales, dolphins, flying fish — a powerful reminder that we humans are only a small part of God’s creation. Nighttime passages reveal a sky where stars shine brightly, undimmed by city lights or obscured by skyscrapers. I could now understand the fascination of the ancients with the movement of the heavens.

Similarly, few are privileged to see the effects of a sunset on every horizon. Three of us were sailing out of the Cape Cod Canal into Buzzards Bay one summer evening. The bay is between the Massachusetts mainland and the Elizabeth Islands, and drops down for several miles to Cutty Hunk, our destination. Clouds rimmed the sky. As the sun sank, the western sky lit up in brilliant oranges, reds, and yellows. Then we looked around. There was color on every horizon. Blues, grays, and pinks in the east. More muted colors in the north and south. Overhead was a single cloud, like a yarmulke, with subtle shades of pink and orange and blue. It was like sailing down the center of nature’s grand cathedral with stained glass overhead and all around. There was a hush on the boat, a sense of awe. Awe, I think, is a gift to the spirit.

By Nelson Price

Read more @ http://spiritualityhealth.com/articles/sailing-sacred-spaces