My body is a boat sailing towards a harbour when suddenly a storm swells up and crashes up against the hull, and the boat spins and nobody can hear it groan above the thunder, and the rain, and the swells of the busy sea. Sometimes the storm ends and the boat comes to rest in the same direction, back on course, its deckhands tired but steady. Sometimes the storm throws the boat onto another course, and the previous habour feels like a dream the boat once had, a dream of a destination which is long past, but perhaps one day will be found again. When this happens its destination is, once more, the open sea. When this happens nobody can see a change in the boat – the boat looks like the very same boat that it was before the storm – but the boat is now a different boat, a boat with a new outlook (it sees endless blue instead of rugged lines of grey and green), the current crashes in a different fashion upon its oars, its crew have different needs as they re-start their journey into unknown futures. A boat with a new direction is new by all but the superficial details – look now to the surroundings, look now to the seasick crew in need of supplies, look now to the horizon coming up to meet it. The boat has multiplicities of realities within it. It changes with the tides, when the storm is bad. Its storage is vast and its wood is strong. I am this boat, my anchor cut off. Not one person onboard has a compass that works. But look at my battlements! I might not transport things to where I was headed, but I will take my crew on a journey, and I will look after them and protect them with all I have, and all that the sea provides. I will not sink until my journey is done: my journey to everywhere and nowhere, my journey to nothing but ‘completion’. I will unfold my sails for my ailing crew, and fill them with hope for another bright day.

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