An airplane passed over head on its course to Miami and he watched its shadow scaring up the schools of flying fish.
"With so much flying fish there should be dolphin," he said, and leaned back on the line to see if it was possible to gain any on his fish. But he could not and it stayed at the hardness and water-drop shivering that preceded breaking. The boat moved ahead slowly and he watched the airplane until he could no longer see it.
It must be very strange in an airplane, he thought. I wonder what the sea looks like from that height? They should be able to see the fish well if they do not fly too high. I would like to fly very slowly at two hundred fathoms high and see the fish from above. In the turtle boats I was in the cross-trees of the mast-head and even at that height I saw much. The dolphin look greener from there and you can see their stripes and their purple spots and you can see all of the school as they swim. Why is it that all the fast-moving fish of the dark current have purple backs and usually purple stripes or spots? The dolphin looks green of course because he is really golden. But when he comes to feed, truly hungry, purple stripes show on his sides as on a marlin. Can it be anger, or the greater speed he makes that brings them out?
This little reflection by Santiago reminds me of that scene from Dead Poets Society when Robin Williams/Mr. Keating hops on top of his desk and talks about looking at the world in a different way. That's what Santiago is doing here. He's thinking about what his world looks like from the window of an airplane. How much smaller and bigger it is all at once.
Tonight's post is going to be short. I'm tired, and I have "miles to go before I sleep," as Robert Frost says. This will be just a check-in, to say that I am alive and functioning. Nothing huge and catastrophic happened today. It was just . . . busy.
Of course, these days, nothing really seems huge and catastrophic in comparison to what's going on in Ukraine. Vladimir Putin wreaking military Armageddon on a country and its people. Last night, I heard about a young Ukrainian girl who was one her way home after delivering medical supplies to a veterinary clinic. The girl encountered some Russian soldiers. She was shot and killed in the street. (A friend of mine, who currently lives and works in Ukraine, communicated this story. The girl was a former student of my friend.)
This is what's going on in the world. Innocent people being murdered. Men, women, and children. Sadly, this is nothing new on the face of the planet. We've all heard/seen it before. Nazi Germany. Stalinist Russia. Rwandan genocide. Humans are very good at killing each other on massive scales.
Ukraine puts things into perspective. My problems are tiny. Insignificant. Everybody I love is safe and healthy. I don't have to worry whether a bomb is going to fall on top of my house. Or that my daughter is going to be raped and slaughtered by soldiers on her way home from school. I am incredibly blessed.
I could ask you all to pray for Ukraine right here. That would be appropriate. I believe in the power of prayer. Yet, I know, by the time I type the last period on this post, more people will have been murdered in that country, and any prayer I utter will seem . . . not enough.
I'm not sure how this all will end. How history will judge us as we sit back and watch Ukrainians be massacred. Many weeks ago, we knew this was going to happen. Here we sit. It's happening. T. S. Eliot wrote, "This is the way the world ends / This is the way the world ends / This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a whimper."
Saint Marty is feeling a little like a hollow man tonight. Whimpering these words.
Here's a way to bring a little light into the world of someone I care about. Vote for my sister-in-law, Cindi Carlson, who is up for a very big prize:
