subject: Reflections of a First-Time Parasailor [print this page] Reflections of a First-Time Parasailor Reflections of a First-Time Parasailor
Slicing through the waves with its knife-like bow and defying danger with a shrug of its shoulder, the speedboat rapidly separated itself from the Port of St. Thomas. In it sat 13 passengersand I. What separated me from them was fear.
The red, flimsy fabric rolled into a ball and periodically ballooning from the wind bombarding it would soon serve as my lifeline. Was it too late to reconsider? The further we penetrated the bay and the smaller the port's buildings became, the less likely seemed my extrication.
Instantaneously, as if the boat's captain had been able to distinguish one spot of open water from another, he pulled the throttle back and the vessel ceased moving, cresting atop its own waves. The engine's sound died. I felt as if I were about to.
The captain pointed to two passengers at a time. "You and you," he said. "Then you and you'll be next."
If I had been invisible, perhaps he would not have given me my sequence, but, not surprisingly, I was the last to be chosen--giving me more time to drown in my apprehension.
One by one, the ascents commenced. Finally, in released relief, I rose. It was my turnand anticipation melted into impatience. Let me get this over with, I thought.
Nervously encapsulating myself in the harness and allowing the boat captain to connect it to his tow rope, I sat on the "launch pad" at the stern, daring not to glance at the almost-transparent, but now wind-filled fabric constituting the parasail in the rain-emitting gray above me.
The sudden burst of engine power signaled my launch and its sound was the last I was to hear. Plunging forward and slicing back into the waves, the speedboat took off and so, too, did I. Speed, the force of separation, filled the chute above me with lift-sustaining wind, and, surrendering to the sk, my aerial umbrella rose, lifting me from the bay as if I had been a body-departing spirit.
In seconds, the world receded and miniaturized. Even the sound of the boat failed to reach me, leaving me suspended 600 feet above St. Thomas Harbor on invisible wings, my feet dangling into oblivion below me.
Disconnected and isolated, I was left with the tiny, surreal image of the island below me, the strong wind which filled my parasail, and my thoughts. I had, in the process, returned to a state of pure beingness. Please, don't make me return, I silently begged!
