Every so often a reader is inspired to wax lyrical about the joy they find in sailing. On this occasion, the joy happens to involve a chair in Mexico.
‘The Chair’ by Whye Waite.
There’s a magical place. A place with a specific chair, well, maybe two chairs, where time is bequeathed to stand still, where the outside world is cast aside like a stone and not allowed to touch you.
Where you are permitted, no, invited, to idle your mind, sit at peace, one with your soul.
A place so serene it’s often overlooked. It isn’t a fancy place by any stretch of the imagination.
It’s a daunting journey to find this oasis, yet once there, your emotions will flow from hidden places deep in your being.
Emotions you’ve seldom felt.
Your bare feet will transfer the region’s spiritual energy subcutaneously through unknown pathways.
The soft sand will wrap itself lovingly around your feet as you place one wet, ocean-soaked foot in front of the other. It will bathe you in a calming sheltered aura that rises seductively, unknowingly, around your legs, up past your waist, caressing your soul, enveloping every part of your being.
As you get closer to the chairs, one, in particular, will call to you. You’ll look around to see if anyone else is heading for it, but they won’t. This is your destiny; a time of mind-calming peace awaits.
Your life’s journey is about to become an altar placed at your feet.
The chair is spartan — wind- and ocean-tattered wood slats flare from its firm, tractor-seat-like wooden base. Four aged, faded piano legs make up its foundation. Spartan indeed.
It’s magic unknown by most who rest their carcass on its sturdy mount. Yet, for those who allow its place in history, a magical moment is at hand.
Sitting in the chair will reset your destiny.
A sentence-ending sigh will whisper past your lips. Your arms will instinctively raise and take their rightful place on the worn rests.
A warm ocean breeze will lightly toss your salt-stained, unwashed hair, and send a refreshing chill across your neck.
Days of adventurous sailing will blend peacefully with the tiki-hut bar behind you — the glassy bay cast in front of you, pearl-like wavelets lapping at the white sand. Staring out at your well-anchored sailboat ignites the flowing juices of the chair.
Leaning back causes the rear legs to dig ideally into the sand.
Rogelio approaches, offering cold beer. “Ahhh, si por favor,” spews effortlessly from your lips.
George nods his head in agreement. “We’ve come a long way,” he sighs.
“Indeed,” is all you can muster.
You allow the soft breeze to carry away your thoughts, vanishing with the ocean’s magic wand. Your feet dig into the warm, massaging sand, causing your head to tilt back into the contoured headrest.
The cold beer coats your throat as an all-knowing smile appears.
Words need not be spoken.
Thank you to Whye Waite, Tally Ho (crew, Baja Ha-Ha 2014, 2015, 2016, 2019) Nauticat 43, Puerto Vallarta, MX, for this fun and no doubt true story about Mexico.