A journey of the heart can sometimes be like a journey into a hurricane.
In my youth, after becoming a certified scuba diver, I became a part of a team of people that sought extreme adventures. This adventure is about diving for sunken treasure. We prepared to dive for a Spanish Galleon in the Yucatan. A few years before, we recovered the large artifacts and placed them on the island Akamal. Now it was time to go for the small stuff. We arrived in Cozumel to find that the ship we reserved would not leave shore because of an impending hurricane. We finally found a small 36' day boat (no kitchen, no bathroom) whose captain agreed to the adventure. As we boarded at midnight, which I thought was strange, I could not shake off the feeling of dread, of impending doom.
We were at sea for a very long time, passing up other discovered shipwrecks before we finally found the treasure of our dreams. But to our dismay, someone else had claimed it, and very recently. We anchored near a deserted island for the night and discussed our next step. Suddenly a few young Indian men appeared in a canoe and their intended victim appeared to be me, the only woman on board. In an attempt to dissuade them from doing harm, we gave them all of our liquor and hoped they would leave. The fear and our dashed hopes probably led to the decision we made that night to go home.
At about 2 AM, we were awakened by the churning motor of our boat and wondered why the sudden move. Had the captain spotted our earlier guests? Actually, it was much worse. A hard, hard rain and wind was sweeping over us. The captain sensed something very wrong, like maybe that dreaded hurricane would soon be upon us. As a Mexican captain, he took pride in never using a radio, so we had no way of knowing. By dawns light the rain was so hard that it felt like embers burning our skin. All of our tanks had broken lose and lay somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, where it seemed we were headed. At one point the ship tipped up on its side and we all fell on Richard. His strength held him to the boat, but our bodies slamming into him dislocated his shoulder. We desperately tried to tie ourselves onto the boat. Looking up at the face of a wave was like looking up at a towering highrise on the streets of downtown LA.
Brian began throwing up, Bill curled up into a little ball, Jim escaped into the wheelhouse, Richard moaned in pain, and I began to sing every song I could think of. We rode the monstrous waves like a surf board, up the front and down the backside for a what seemed like a very long time until all of the sudden, at the top of a wave, the boat turned half way around, perpendicular to the wave and the captain gunned the motor. Now we really were acting like a surf board heading for shore. We listened intently to the already taxed motor, knowing that if it sputtered, if it died, if we should run out of gas, if we entered the shore inches inside the coral reef, we would be fodder for tomorrows treasure seekers.
Our boat, twisted and broken, finally crashed near a shoreline in a shallow pool of water. We sat there in a daze, pinching ourselves to see if we were really still alive. As we began to assess the damage a couple of men in a small canoe came out of nowhere. They motioned for our captain to board their canoe and then disappeared. When they returned they began to take us, two by two, somewhere unseen and we followed. This time we had no liquor to bargain for our freedom. We were completely vulnerable. Were they going to separate us then kill us off one by one?
They certainly could have. But here, the common language seemed to be compassion. They took us to the village, fed us, clothed us and repaired our boat. There were seven families on this island off the Yucatan. We were given the bachelors hut to sleep in. The following day, when I was alone in the hut, the group of bachelors came in and presented me with a gift, a piece of chocolate. I vaguely remember fearing that acceptance might mean I would have to marry one of them, but decided that I had better accept it and eat it, regardless of the consequences. I know they had treasured it for a very long time because it was the oldest, most rancid piece of chocolate I had ever tasted.
I slept in a hammock where a large geiko type animal thought it was his bed too. Similar, I guess, to how some of us share our beds with cats and dogs. That was fun to get used to. The little children would follow me in awe, teasing and laughing. I don't think they had seen blonde hair before. It was hard not to fall in love with every one of them. Within three days we were ready to head out. The farewell was like sorrow when family separates. Their island, also badly bruised by, what would be called Hurricane Anita, was left unattended while they gave of their time and effort to help us get back to sea. It was a humbling experience and the kind that gives you faith in humankind once again.
The treasure that we sought was not found, but another kind of treasure became ours. We took with us the vision of how we reacted in the face of death and how strangers reacted to our vulnerability. And the experience would lay a foundation on which our new lives would grow.
And so, I continue to journey, this time with my heart, knowing that the treasure I seek may not be the treasure that I find, but I go, knowing it may take my life, but also knowing that if I survive, my life will be better for the journey.
