Tomorrow the road will be my ocean, sunlight my wind, and I will sail bravely into silence. I will part the waves of dawn as they run up the shore of the snake black highway, I will let myself be carried far away by the rhythm of the undulating landscape out my window. I’m driving, you see. For eighteen hours.
St. Brendan, the Irish seafarer, had a coracle, a tiny little boat of wood in which he sailed the wild ocean in search of the wonders of his God. I’ve always wanted to do the same. Of course, for me, there are no uncharted seas. And for a boat, I just have Gypsy, my blue little car. She’s enough though, because I have found that a good day of solitary driving can be a sort of voyage. The space of my car becomes a coracle for my soul. It doesn’t really matter what road I take, because its my spirit that sets to sailing as soon as I’m free of the rush and roar of mainland home life.
I sail into myself. Silence rises up around me with the wide hush of a calm sky. The current of my speed, the swift flow of houses and hills, matches the flow of my thought. Then I am swept into the storm of an idea. Beauty lowers dark and thunderous on every horizon. The air sings with the cries of rising prayer. My thoughts stretch out before me like a strange new shore, rich and wild, ready for my exploration. I am driven on.
And I begin to think that silence is a wilder voyage than any I’ve yet imagined.