Absolute Perfection

Sailing closely hauled through spray with cheeks wet
heeling 25 degrees facing straight down at the port side of the cockpit
feet firmly placed against the side of the locker
my hand gripping hard the tiller as it pushes back just as hard.
This is the meaning of life, the religious ritual that taps any spiritual side of me.

There is no spiritual side of me. I don't believe that some master sargeant in heaven is commanding the troops and knows if we have been bad or good. There are no commands to eat fish on Fridays or separate meat and milk by a 20 minute wait. There is no use taking the wafer and wine kneeling or putting little leather boxes on your forehead and inside your elbow. Facing east is just one of 360 directions we can face.

So where is the spiritual side of me? In the spray of millions of tiny prisms through which I can see the blue sky and blue water. My hand reaches over the side into the water and feels its refreshing coolness. I know that I am alive and in tune with some kind of universe. It is Absolute Perfection.