Lost at Sea
The breeze from the Indian Ocean moved across my skin like freshly ironed silk as I stood on the fantail of the aircraft carrier looking up at the night sky. It is an impressive sight to look upon the fires of those uncountable stars. If you were to take the grandest starlit sky that you could imagine, then imagine it after God has thrown another bucket of stars across the dark. That is like the night sky at sea can be.
Flight operations had secured several hours earlier, and I used the opportunity to escape from the steel interior of the ship. I tried to get some fresh air at least once a day to deliver my senses from the smells of jet fuel and sweat that pervaded my world. Days are long when the ship is underway. The fifteen or twenty minutes of fresh air I could get in the evenings rejuvenated me.
There is no deeper dark than the dark at sea. The stars are bright in the sky, but they don't lower themselves to light the deck of the ship. Warships practice light security and no white light is allowed to breach the weather decks. White light travels for miles at sea. The only light on deck is what meager light your retinas can collect from the moon and stars. There seemed to be no moon in the sky on this night. I could barely make out the vague shapes of the aircraft parked around the flight deck.
I stood there for some time letting the stars persuade me that my home wasn't really all that far away, when I sensed someone's presence. Half way through a turn toward the feeling, my arms were grasped and I was being pushed toward the catwalk.
I remember calling out, trying to figure out what was going on, when I heard a gruff voice say, "This just ain't your night swabby, you're going for a swim with the...
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...me small drinks of cold fresh water. I grabbed for the canteen, but didn't have the strength to take it.
"It's a lucky thing we spotted you, shipmate." another voice said to me.
I was lifted into a stokes type stretcher and a blurry face appeared before me "They've got the two dudes that tossed you in custody. It seems like it was a case of mistaken identity. They thought they were tossing someone else over." He laughed a quick short "Ha!" and looked at me like I was the hero, and not him. I would have cried if there had been any water in me to spare.
The chopper followed the octopus wearing my boots and landed on the deck I had left four days earlier. I felt the stretcher being offloaded, bouncing me toward sickbay. I looked at the sea one last time with burnt red eyes before they brought me into the interior of the ship and I said to it, "I beat you!"
When they finally found me the next morning sleeping in the barn I thought for sure I was going to be beaten within an inch of my life. I was utterly amazed when they beat me lightly and were told to take care of me so as not to become ill.
The seat of faith resides in the will of the individual and not in the leaning to our own reasoning, for reasoning is the freedom of choosing what one accepts as one’s will. In considering the will was created and one cannot accuse the potter or the clay, Milton writes to this reasoning, as “thir own revolt,” whereas the clay of humankind is sufficient and justly pliable for use as a vessel of obedience or disobedience (3.117). The difficulty of this acceptance of obedience or disobedience is inherent in the natural unwillingness in acknowledging that we are at the disposal of another being, even God. One theme of Paradise Lost is humankind’s disobedience to a Creator, a Creator that claims control over its creation. When a single living thing which God has made escapes beyond the Creator’s control this is in essence an eradicating of the Creator God. A Creator who would create a creature who the Creator would or could not control its creation is not a sovereign God. For who would not hold someone responsible for manufacturing something that could not be controlled and consider it immoral to do so? To think that God created a universe that he has somehow abdicated to its own devices is to accredit immorality to the Creator. Since the nucleus of Milton’s epic poem is to “justifie the wayes of God” to his creation, these ‘arguments’ are set in theological Miltonesque terms in his words (1. 26). Milton’s terms and words in Paradise Lost relate the view of God to man and Milton’s view to the reader. Views viewed in theological terms that have blazed many wandering paths through the centuries to knot up imperfect men to explain perfect God.
In Rick Riordan’s The Lost Hero, the protagonists Jason, Piper, and Leo embark on a challenging quest to rescue Hera from the clutches of the awakening Gaea. Their quest is filled with life-threatening obstacles that can be seen from different points in the novel such as in the beginning, at the climax, and at the end. Jason, son of Jupiter, waking up on a bus holding hands with Piper, daughter of Aphrodite, apparently his girlfriend and Leo, son of Hephaestus, while having no memory is part of Hera’s plan to unite the Roman and Greek demigods. As the prophecy states, the camps must unite and a team of seven of the most powerful demigods shall be tasked with a mission of defeating Gaea’s forces. To others, this plan is a suicide mission, but the team shall prevail as long hope remains.
Peter Schrag presents the ills of California?fs current politics in an angry and persuasive tone. He says California used to be ?gboth model and magnet for the nation—in its economic opportunities, its social outlook, and its high-quality public services and institutes?h; however, California started to fade after the passage of Proposition 13, the initiative of tax limits (7). Schrag?fs work clearly shows what is the problem in today?fs California, and it is easy to understand even for those who have little knowledge of politics. By focusing on issues of ?gneopopulism?h which is easy to find in California?fs diversity, he succeeds in giving his readers the sense of crisis not only about California?fs politics, but also the national wide politics because California is the place ?gwhere the new American society is first coming into full view?h (23). Schrag says, about California politics, that: For nearly a generation, there has been increasing focus among scholars, politicians, and journalists on the growing gaps in California—ethic, social, economic—between those who exercise political power and the larger population, and particularly those who are the most immediate users of its public services. What has gotten little discussion is the dynamic of the plebiscitary process itself. While it?fs ad hoc in nature—each measure is decided by voters on its own apparent merits without much reference to the wider context—it has a larger cumulative effect through which statewide majorities restrict the powers of local political majorities, which are often nonwhite. Almost by definition, it is also a device of impulse that tends to be only marginally respectful of minority rights or interests, and that lends itself to demagogic wedge campaigns designed to boost voter turnout for other political purpose. (21) Schrag divides his project into five sections. The middle sections, ?gThe Spirit of 13,?h and ?gMarch of the Plebiscites,?h in which he carefully discusses each important measure in the last two decades, show why so many issues rose. In the first section, ?gGolden Moment,?h Schrag describes ?gCalifornia?fs heyday of post-World War ‡U optimism?h and how it crumbled. Citations from magazines prove that California was a really paradise even from the nationwide view. Schrag also notices that the demographic change deeply relates to California?fs politics in the last t...
In Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost, the antihero Satan, is examined after his banishment into Hell. He is forced out of his home of Heaven due to his unruly behavior. He faces the dismal future of misery and torment with an absence of hope and happiness. He did value these things and clearly mourns their loss, yet he does eventually accept his fate. Attempting to rationalize his situation, Satan realizes he has lost all hope and happiness but he has gained the rule of a kingdom of his own and the door to an eternal war with his arch enemy, God.
When I look up at the stars at night, I just have to wonder who or what is
What decision in life can we make on our that, wont affect the life of others, or harm them. How come when we try to protect our most loved ones, there the ones getting hurt the most for our actions that we tend no to acknowledge. Well back before Christ was born there lived a group of people called the Anglo Saxons who where mighty warriors that always set out to sea on voyages or adventures. Many of them died or got lost at sea, never being able to return to their homes to see their loved ones. In this essay we will discuss three messages from three different texts, the “Wanderer” translated by Burton Raffel, “Wanderer” Translated by Charles W. Kennedy, and “Wife’s Lament” Translated by Ann Stanford, each poem tells a different message form different situation and points of views.
This place was terrible. They took our clothes away, forced hundreds of us into tightly packed rooms, literally stacked on top of one another like a can of sardines. I was missing you all so much and needed you at the time for comfort. I could not stand it anymore as we rocked back and forth, weeping and angry. As I was bleeding terribly, I forced myself to unlock my hands from the chain. At that point I didn’t care how much pain I was in, all I wanted to do was escape. When I finally did escape and free the others, this raging power came upon me to takeover the ship. The others and I killed all but two of the Spanish on the ship. It felt good to let out all the anger that was built up inside of me and I felt accomplished and powerful.
They lie above the night sky, darker than even the deepest seas. Sparkle with bright light, just like a pearl, but they seemed no bigger than a grain of sand.
The place is gone and as the speaker stands out under the stars, the mind notices the dimness and smallness. Taking time out of the long day, the speaker has time to process the sights seen throughout the day.
The fear of being sent, either by force or self enforced, into exile was a common fear of the Anglo-Saxon society. This exile could be interpreted both as an exile on Earth and exile from Heaven to Earth. To be exiled means to be utterly alone with only thoughts to accompany a person. The possibility of exile was terrifying to the Anglo-Saxon people because they were so dependant on the village or town they lived in along with the people in it. A warrior would live to serve his lord in battles. Without a lord or community, there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. As the Christian religion crept into Anglo-Saxon culture, religious metaphors also began to show in the ancient text. The exile these people feared could also be interpreted as being banished from heaven to live on earth. From this interpretation, it was thought that if one lived a good life, he or she would be reunited with God eventually.
Night shows how at night we can see beautiful objects that are hidden in the sky and behind the stars. Stars appear in the sky every night and they hold so many things that the people have to learn about. They hide so much behind twinkling lights. “The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are inaccessible; but all natural objects make a kindred impression, when the mind is open to their influence.” (Emerson) With a limited telescope, we can see moons, planets, galax...
Fear has taken a hold of every man aboard this ship, as it should; our luck is as far gone as the winds that led us off course. For nights and days gusts beyond measure have forced us south, yet our vessel beauty, Le Serpent, stays afloat. The souls aboard her, lay at the mercy of this ruthless sea. Chaotic weather has turned the crew from noble seamen searching for glory and riches, to whimpering children. To stay sane I keep the holy trinity close to my heart and the lady on my mind. Desperation comes and goes from the men’s eyes, while the black, blistering clouds fasten above us, as endless as the ocean itself. The sea rocks our wood hull back and forth but has yet to flip her. The rocking forces our bodies to cling to any sturdy or available hinge, nook or rope, anything a man can grasp with a sea soaked hand. The impacts make every step a danger. We all have taken on a ghoulish complexion; the absence of sunlight led the weak souls aboard to fight sleep until sick. Some of us pray for the sun to rise but thunder constantly deafens our cries as it crackles above the mast. We have been out to sea for fifty-five days and we have been in this forsaken storm for the last seventeen.
Just after this quick bend, the crew became visible helping people on. Just before I entered the transportation unit, I looked down at the gap left between the door and I. The metal around the entry door was rusted and worn, which gave me an eerie feeling. Reluctantly, I stepped aboard and felt uneasy as I saw those responsible for taking us to our destination. I would soon know for sure, how I felt about my now plausible career.
I was smacked in the face by a gust of hot, humid Texas air as I found my way off the bus. The once brisk morning was getting hotter by the second. My friend Kristi and I looked towards our left and there she was, the Norwegian Sea. The cruise liner that we would be on for the next week. It was the biggest ship I had ever seen up close. Ten stories high and nearly 1000 feet long. It had an intimidating presence that took one's breath away.