The Ninth Wave

1

The metal boat was no more than 9 feet by 6 feet. White paint peeled with rust spreading all over. The boat's condition changed day-by-day, along with my hope. I didn't know where I was exactly. Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean anyways. I didn't know how many days I had been floating with a desperate determination that was rendered aimless by the waves, which were far more powerful than any stroke I took with my paddles. 

2

I craved sleep. At night I lay on my back and looked up into the sky. I wanted to see the heavens but all I saw was black. I began to believe there were no stars, no moon, no light behind the thick clouds that had been throwing down rain for too long. The rocking of the boat left me in a dazed state, neither awake nor asleep. Though it was subtle, morning always came as an undetectable amount of light that crept into the sky and dully illuminated the boat and water—the only two things I could see. 

3

Then there was hunger. Sharp. Heavy. Unrelenting. It tore at me and left me shaking and moving on my hands and knees. My mouth tasted rancid and helped with the pain because it took away some of my appetite. I thought I saw a fish jump into the boat. Or my heart would skip a beat as I momentarily imagined I had an apple tucked away in my jacket. 

4

The ocean sounds never changed. There was the noise of waves smashing against the side of the boat. There were the waves crashing into each other. There was wind, I think, but I couldn't hear it over the waves--the echo of the winds I suppose. There were no birds this far out. There were no plants to rustle. There was no silence. 

5

I had to do it. I let go. Of what? you might ask. Of desire. Desire enslaves you to your own plans, and this boat was full of desire. All night and all day I took a bucket and one scoop at a time emptied out the hunger, the sounds, the sleep, the sensations. I lay back down on the bottom of the boat. Everything changed.

6

I still hurt. But I felt, and that was something. 

7

The days kept passing and I learned patience, humility, bravery, hope, trust. I looked for love. 

8

The ninth wave came. It passed over the whole boat, washing it clean. The white paint was entirely gone and a blood rust covered every inch. I took a grain of sand from my eye and tossed it. Land grew. I got out of the boat, knelt down on the solid land and cried. The water disappeared and people appeared along with new sounds, foods, and sights. I picked up the now shrunken metal boat, strung it onto a string, tied it around my neck and walked on with a strength I had never felt. Someone was with me, and I learned love. 

9

I believe all things, I hope all things, I have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things.