Walking along the beach to catch the launch that will take us to the Seadragon. A line of plastic along the shore. There is nothing here that I have not thrown away my self. Crisp packets, bottles, wrappers.
The launch arrives at the Seadragon. The boat is smaller than I imagined and the women are bigger. They are three dimensional, not just profile pictures. They move about, bustling and alive. They do not speak in bite size tweets.
The skipper who I am to put my trust in is called Imogen. I am used to giving my power away to men but putting my trust in a young blond beautiful woman is new to me. Luckily Imogen exudes capability and calm.
Deep places in me are being challenged, beliefs that women are the weaker sex and that men are in charge. Thousands of years of it in every cell and I have a whole month with these extraordinary women to contradict that and birth a new vision within my body, heart and mind.
Night watch. The moon is a tangerine smile, the sky rich with stars.We see dolphins dancing in phosphorescent waters. A locust drops into the cockpit and we discuss wether or not to kill it. By 4 a.m there are thousands of them and we spend the next day picking them out of our shoes cups and beds. We hose, hoover and shoo them off the boat. The challenge of the locusts has bonded us as a team. Amongst their hard black bodies flutters the tender wings of a butterfly. I am reminded of the story of Pandoras box. We have brought hope with us as we cross the Atlantic. A welcome guest.
– Sarah Mooney, resident storyteller!
