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↑ Vantage pt for Jay Levine at tippity top of crow's nest before he jumped.

Das Boot: the first and perhaps most profound of the Dreamscape categories in that it describes not only the day-to-day adventures of a Caribbean escape, but also a moment that was much of a fulcrum or a rubicon for everyone involved, both a gathering and a dispersal. They were all twenty-four or twenty-five years old, an age where everything in the past seems like prologue and the next turned page is where the story really begins. There was a lot of debate about what comes next: plans hatched, destinies reconsidered. And soon after: Sebastian heading for Brazil, Christoph to Argentina, Helene to New Zealand, our pal Jayson and Natalie both to New York City. And the more we studied these pages, the stronger the urge became to apply allegory and deeper significance to everything that was written. And although 'reality' strongly resists such neat and tidy structuring, nonetheless here it is.

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Das Boot i (14/33)

December 14, 1990

Choose a different dreamscape

So what happened today? I can barely recall… seems ages, a lifetime… eons aging, let’s see… well, woke in Contraband Bay…

[… just witnessed Sebastian informing our young friend of our intended departure + subsequent sayonara tomorrow AM. Sad. He genuinely adores the boat and us and all we represent (I assume: freedom, knowledge, $$?), and he doesn’t want to let go. It has been, I know, an adventure of the highest magnitude and as I try to picture our boisterous and inventive post-dinner debates and debacles through his eyes, I encounter only brief glimpses of my own childhood and listening to grownups laugh through the floor from the kitchen or dining room. And that I know is most incomplete and insubstantial. This island is his home and holds virtually all he knows first-hand. Encapsulated. A bubble-gum toy. (MOST inappropriate… yet once written: indelible in my book!). An intricate landscape of human emotion from birth to death bounded on all sides by a sea so massive and unbridgeable that the horizon curves in fish-eye. This is his life and the life he invited us (with no slight hesitation, I imagine) to observe this afternoon: Nattie + myself venturing up the twisting steep road to the opposite village, then down a brief cemented pitch between coconut + palm trees to a  cluster of bungalows which house his entire living lineage from youngest cousin to grand ma-ma. They received us with graciousness, tact and hospitality, with gifts of fruit and conversation. We sat in a room the size of our henhouse, glass bead curtains afforded a glimpse of another room, same size. But clean. Fresh. Homelike. At the bottom of the cement path, a knoll reached out toward the sea so far below, sparkling and splintering (yes… accepted!) in the sunlight.

We ate delicious vanilla ice cream from a truck that played Pop Goes the Weasel in a continuous loop. 

But one of my most enjoyed periods of each day has been post-dinner discussions where we touch on subjects such as Sebastian’s future and respective vocal abilities. Tonight, launched a circular review of pop song memorization and recitation. Beautiful!! I was gasping for breath, rocking in my chair. 

Chris and I both determined that we are land people, as opposed to sea people. Stability. Chris spoke of sunny verandas with comfy chairs and walls of glass affording delicious, panoramic seascapes. I had to agree. Oh for cool sheets, a stable bed. Full breakfast in spacious, stable, room. Quiet. 

Sebastian builds worlds around himself. He uses only the finest and most durable materials to fashion a playground of intricate beauty and fascination. He then chooses from a vast selection of potential playmates and invites the lucky few around him. It is for them to join in all that this world offers. To partake in the richness and challenge and rewards and privilege. For them to hold tight and lever their own end of the weight and to remember, always, that they are part of a network and therefore ultimately responsible for the success and failure of the whole But not really. Sebastian supports the contraption w/confidence worthy of applause. Nothing can go wrong because it is, after all, his construction So the hard part, in the end, for the casual participant, is to accept the position of a piece in the network of another’s design. We are invited to play and succeed and rise high in triumph, but always it is within Sebastian’s design.

But that’s not bad. I’ll take it. Especially if one chooses to view it all as dessert. Whatever… 

I haven’t expressed myself adequately. But the angst in Brangues has yet to make its unpleasant presence known. Cool dude. I’m radical hip! 

Tomorrow we head for Tobago Cays early. Without, sadly (but better, all agree, in the end for all involved) Mr. Dexter.


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