Back from Paradise

I'm astounded by how quickly the salt and sand have washed from my hair and skin. How quickly this experience has been washed from my body (never from my mind). From crystalized and sun-stained to smooth and bronze.

I have just spent three luscious days aboard the Matador yacht off the coast of Queensland. We spent the bright, spotless, azure days touring the WhitSundays. We hopped off to lounge on Whitehaven beach, blanketed in silica sand as light and fine as powdery snow. I was part of a small group, sleeping below deck or above as the night skies allowed, eating fresh and tasty food, snorkelling in the depths of the mysterious great barrier reef (amazed by the colour and enchanting creatures mere feet from the surface), counting the familiar constellations (everyone with their own knowledge and contribution) until we lost ourselves in the vastness of the universe and the conversation turned to something deeper. It is a trip I want to take again and again until the ocean sends me away, tosses me back onto the land. I have always been intoxicated with the expanse and haunting uncertainity in the seas. But I realize now that I have never known the water truly before now.

I am trying to keep my mind grounded now that I am back on dry earth. My legs sometimes sway and my dreams are liquid, languid and flowing. Amazing.