"Get back on course." The deck officer leans in the hatch. He's the nervous one.

"Let go, I'm taking the wheel!" the Boatswain is angry.

"What's the matter with you? You were doing good, then all of a sudden, you're ten degrees off and the officer's yelling at us."

You have no response. You let him take the wheel. You retreat to the log desk.

"I'll pull my own watch," the Boatswain says.

"Fine," you say to yourself, determined to relieve another Boatswain on the helm next watch.

Off hours, you're reading Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge" You want a mystical experience, you want The Truth. While you read, you dream of climbing mountains to reach a guru, to meditate in a cave.

You search the ship for a private spot. Not your rack, not the Head, mess decks, or any of the passageways.  Out on deck there's always people around and people watching. All the way aft on the fantail you can stand outside at the rail if you have a few swabs to clean, it's a standard practice. You bring out two swabs from the Bridge. You tie a strong knot around the base of the heads, a series of half-hitches up the handles and tie the long lines to the rail and throw the swabs overboard. You smoke while the ship drags the swabs through the roaring white water of the screw churn. After you've lingered over a couple of cigarettes, you haul in the swabs, which are now brilliant white, the cleanest swabs you've ever seen.

You approach the Hawaiian  Islands on your 20 to 24:00 watch. When you're relieved, the seas are calm, the night air is soft, comforting. There's a big moon up in front of the ropey, thickness of the star curtain. On the starboard horizon you can see the silhouette on the big island and ahead is Maui, the ship is on course to Molokai. At dawn, you'll be blowing the hell out of the side of one of it's hills, for practice and training. Now, the ship has been slowed down, not wanting to arrive at the off-shore artillery firing range too soon.

The ship glides through the moon bedazzled water, threading the islands. You want to soak up the moment. You sneak out on the Fo'c'sle, hoping you can stay above deck in the glorious night. You know they could see you, if they look, you're hoping they won't.

You move out to the bow, to the narrow eyes of the ship. You stand like the flag pole, your arms behind you on the railing on each side, rise to your toes, arch your back, lift your head into the sky. You feel apart of the ship. At the slow speed in calm water, you push quietly through the warm night air.  Below and behind you at water level the bow is smoothly slicing the water, you gaze up into the live sky, feel the gorgeous sparkling clouds of stars connect to you. Specks of light blue color fill in between the stars and coalesce into glowing fuzzy light that seems to enter your skin. The night turns bright blue, the stars become yellow and red, tiny green flecks of light project from your body dancing between you and the light sky. A electrical charge starts in your toes and travels up your legs and spine out to your arms, up your neck bursting out the top of your head and showering you with warm pink vibrating light, you're tingling all over. In front of your eyes the skin becomes an expanding membrane until you are looking at the inside of your face dissolving into the luminous air. You're filled with warmth, you see yourself and the cosmos melding into vibrating loops of unearthly electric blue in a sea of hot orange space. You understand the nature of particles, you see deep into the living space within and without you.