The Captain and the Ship

William Ernest Henley said, in his poem “Invictus”: I am the master of my fate and the captain of my soul.

I’ve mentioned numerous times that I am increasingly compartmentalizing myself into two separate entities: my mind and my body. This morning, for absolutely no reason, I was thinking of captains and their ships, and it occurred to me that it was a great analogy for life.

While I’m probably more aware of it than most, in a very real sense each of us is both the captain and the ship. The captain…the mind…steers the ship…the body…through the often stormy seas of life. And as each of us is physically different…some ocean liners, some tugboats…captains vary in ability and skill. But a ship without a captain, or a captain without a ship, is basically helpless.

Unlike real life, the captain boards the ship the moment it is launched and stays with it until it, as it must inevitably do, sinks, taking the captain with it.

I’ve always been very proud of my ship. Despite my frequent complaints that it was not nearly as attractive as I’d have liked it to be, or as graceful to maneuver, and tended to run aground from time to time, it has been a very good ship. It truly hurts me to see the bright, shiny paint of the hull fading, rust forming on the steel plates, and the once bright and crisp flags flying from the masts increasingly tattered and faded. Odd sounds emanate from the engine room, and while it tries its best, to keep up to its former self, its top speed has dropped considerably.

As captain, I watch with envy as I am passed by newer, faster, far more attractive vessels, all fresh-paint, shiny smokestacks undented and unfaded. They pass with seldom an acknowledgement, to leave me bobbing in their wake.

It’s taken me far too long to realize that, while I may not be the best captain on the sea, I really haven’t done too bad a job. I’ve sailed on while more than a few magnificent liners plowed head-first into icebergs. During the early “war years” of the AIDS epidemic, I remained afloat while watching in horror as so many other ships, and captains, were torpedoed by the virus, floundered and sank.

I’ve never comprehended those captains who deliberately scuttle their ships with alcohol, and tobacco. They know when they take them aboard that the danger is there, but they just don’t care, and keep packing them into the cargo holds far beyond their capacity until the ship sinks under their weight.

So: we are each captain of the ship of our body, and it behooves us to steer it wisely and do whatever we can to keep it seaworthy for as long as possible. No matter what we do, the day will come when the ship goes down, taking us with it. But as for me, mine will not go down without a fight...and with great gratitude for the pleasures of the trip.

Therefore, brothers and sisters, let us close with a reference to another poem, John Masefield’s “Sea Fever”: And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by. Amen to that.

-----------

This blog is from Dorien's ebook of blogs, Short Circuits, available from UntreedReads.com and Amazon.com; it's also available as an audio book from Amazon/Audible.com. You can find information about Dorien's books at his web site:  www.doriengrey.com: