whale Sound Reflection | Sea Cape Cod by Michael Mosier

Sea Cape Cod by Michael Mosier

Coming soon: Link to Waterfront Photography, in historic downtown Hyannis, Massachusetts, Cape Cod, USA 02651

January 16, 2011

Sound Reflection

Filed under: Blog — Michael @ 9:55 am

Greetings and salutations from the sand, sun and surf of Cape Cod, Martha’s Vineyard and the great island of Nantucket!  So good, as always, to be with you on this Sunday morning, the sixteenth day of January, 2011, as, as evidenced above, you can see I have been taking time for some “sound” reflection, aboard a vessel on the Nantucket Sound, “The Eagle”, bound, as you can also see in the far distance, for Nantucket Island, an island roughly 30 nautical miles from Cape Cod proper, Hyannis, to be specific, due south/southeast.  On a cold winter’s day, there is no one on the 222 foot ship, a ship that holds cars, trucks, food supplies and the like delivering those goods to the island everyday.  That service, combined with Island Airlines, Cape Air and the like, serve as vital life lines to the roughly 15,000 souls who live there year round.  I lived on that island when trying to become a writer in the year 1997 when I quit one of my corporate group insurance (employee benefits) positions, well, took a sabbatical really, for, like in the God Father movies, as Al Pacino would say, “every time I try and get out, they pull me back in…”, and as I arrived on the island, a good friend of mine was there to meet me and we grabbed all of my gear, threw it in the back of his Bentley, just kidding, pick up truck, and headed on down to the southern most part of the island–Surfside beach, a tiny, tiny town, not even a town really, within a tiny town on a tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.  Now, I have never been much of a seafaring kind of guy, “you have always fancied the sea sir”–credit film Heaven Can Wait)…at least back then, being born in Denver, Colorado after all, and so, adjusting to a real culture based “situation” on the sea was an adjustment of the highest proportions.  I took a job as a ticket agent at Island Airlines and worked with the pilots and other crew to help put bags on the little 402 Cessna’s and make announcements, quite often as it turned out, such as, “the airport will be closed for the remaining afternoon, and perhaps the next week, due to heavy fog in the area, visibilities are at, well, 0-5 feet, and that’s just here on the ground!” I rode a bike everyday down a heavy, rocky unpaved bike path two miles one way to the little, tiny, tiny airport and I loved it.  It beat the 85 mile one way commute I had from Newburyport, Massachusetts to Portland, Maine everyday, one way I say again, and thus, was in a sort of fairyland of happiness for awhile.  However, it was not as easy as I thought to write in a nautical theme park if you will, even in the winter where I tend to get my best writing done.  The social scene in Nantucket in the winter is vital to keeping your sanity, if you happen to be a social creature like myself, and by not always going to the local watering holes that offered no real inspiration, I found myself increasingly isolated and therefore, after a few months of trying to put pen to the paper, gave up my dream and eventually, as Al Pacino predicted, slid back into the corporate milieu I was so desperately trying to get out of, for I knew, deep down in my soul, that “Something stunk in Denmark”. I now KNOW that the third time IS the charm, for it was when I returned to Boston, after, the second time in 2003, when I was nearly KILLED on Nantucket by the Nantucket Police Department, suffering a severe head injury that left me with PTSD and a scar that still needs healing, when I returned from Utah, of all places, for after that incident, of my head being “slammed dunked” on India street, I ran as far as I could from those monsters, and just like, from the mountains of Park City, Utah, I returned  “home” to Boston, where I was ironically, “homeless”, yet, eventually I landed back on Cape Cod, thank GOD, for I love Cape Cod more than any place on planet earth, and, subsequently, began putting the pieces of my shattered life back together and pick up where I started from to begin with– which was write about what was REALLY going on in this crazy world, and at least give it a college effort to make sense of it all, mostly for myself, for, as E.M. Forrester once said, “Why is it that the words we write for ourselves are so much better than those we write for others?” (because it heals YOU)  I was thinking about that the other day as I strolled the beaches of Madakat on the eastern shores of the ‘far away island’ they call Nantucket.  I was contemplating why there is so much angst and fear, hate and violence in this great nation of ours, could it be that we cannot hear our own voices, our REAL VOICE, above the constant dog whistles of Madison Avenue wizards?  It couldn’t be that simple right?  Is that right?  My thoughts of how that happened to me while I worked like a dog in the insurance industry, selling things people did not want to buy, applying pressure when no pressure should have been applied to begin with, gave me the hope that I could write about such things and perhaps add something to a country that needs hope now more than EVER!  As the ship steamed into the dock, I jumped on that sacred Indian ground, still, even if some Englishman changed it’s name years ago.  It was still my “far away island” and always will be, for I did not allow hate to enter my heart and block the LOVE that remains.  My very best to you and yours on this day of reflections and grace, may WE all pray for Gabby Gifford’s recovery and for the victim’s families, the surviving victims, and victims of all violence everywhere in the world, especially to YOU out there, who may not “believe” that your voice is worth hearing, let alone saving, let me tell you this–IT IS. PRESERVE THE WILDERNESS! Peace~M

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