words & art by shé

bookshelf

Tag: god

  • Trust

    Slap! Slap! Slap! Twenty times the whale slaps her mighty tail on the surface of the sea, and I laugh in wonderment. She is about a mile to the west as Habibi motorsails south, and when she is certain she has my attention (twenty more slaps), she leaps completely out of the water. Evidently heading…

  • Depth

    The depth-sounder reads 4.3 feet. Habibi’s draft is 4.6. Had we run aground? I was so close to the marina, sailboats only a few yards away. I turn and gun the throttle. Are we moving? The water churns with mud. More throttle. Slowly, slowly, yes. Hallelujah. When I hauled anchor at Isla Isabela, single-handed, without…

  • Comfort Zone

    “Go simple. Go solo. Go now.” – Audrey Sutherland, Paddling North I wasn’t exactly solo. I was in radio contact with a kindly buddy boat for a lot of the voyage south. But I was definitely single-handing Habibi — the only human on board. And it was great! I knew what to do and when to…

  • Super

    Audrey Kayak can carry provisions, even when swamped. The first excursion proved quite exciting when we rolled in choppy surf. I fell out and quickly stood and grabbed her nose handle, pulling her to shore. The only other thing that escaped the boat was the water bottle, which I rapidly retrieved. After I caught my breath, Rocinto,…

  • Make a Splash

    Last Sunday, 500 people swam from the mainland, past Habibi, to Deer Island. The annual migration began early, with a rhythmical splash on the portside. Ever vigilant to different noises, I saw a man freestyling by wearing goggles and towing a small bright orange inflatable. “A swimmer!” I thought. “Neato.” Then a panga motored by…

  • Coven of Two

    Hallowe’en is my favorite holiday. I love costumes, and roaming around at night. When I was thirteen, I dressed as a headless horseman in my mom’s velvet pants tucked into knee-high boots, with a black turtleneck covering my face. I carried a lit jack o’ lantern and strode the streets with my baby brother, tall…

  • Flowers

    “Is she pretty?” asked Rod Stewart. I’d just delivered a spray of dendrobium orchids to him from a fan across the room. We were in Wall Street, a Hollywood night spot I frequented to sell flowers. I shrugged. Beauty is subjective. He asked me to fetch her, so I walked back to the other side…

  • Godspeed

    “Godspeed,” wrote a friend recently, wishing me well on my journey. Upon reflection, I realized that the speed of god is not my speed. It is the speed at which things actually happen, whether I like it or not. Impatience is a strong suit: she runs me ragged and belittles self-care. Why aren’t you heading south already? Loser! I hate…

  • Habibi

    Beginning at the Berkeley marina, I drive south for days, seeking out sailboats and surfing when I can: Santa Cruz, Morro Bay, Santa Barbara, Oxnard, Long Beach, Newport, Dana Point, Oceanside, San Diego. Cross the border into México and check out San Felipe, Bahía Tortugas, Santa Rosalia. Spend an afternoon and night at Playa El…

  • Grace

    There are moments of grace and beauty. Blowing bubbles with Antonella was one of them. Let me set the scene: a church group sings nearby of peace and love and liberty; the sun is setting big and orange and low; for the first time in México, the tiny house is unhitched and plugged in; and…