By Laurel

I find that I am in the middle of the ocean without a boat and I am exhausted from swimming for days, not to mention in dire need of food and drink. Suddenly, a small old boat, dinged, weathered and worn, pulls up next to me. An old man leans over and says, “Would you like a ride to shore? I have nourishing food, I have some crackers, the freshest and most delicious fruit you could ever taste, and some fresh water.” I am famished and I readily agree to drag my weary body into his boat. He seems a kindly old man, after all.

He gives me crackers and water and I eat them hungrily. The gnawing in my stomach begins to subside and after a rest I begin to feel somewhat restored. I reach down to put another cracker in my mouth and notice that it is quite stale and has a bit of mold on the corner. “I think these crackers may have gone bad,” I say. “Oh, no” the fisherman says, “Those are the freshest and best crackers in all the world. You’ve had a tough time and aren’t thinking straight. Trust me, those are good crackers.” Since I have been beaten by the elements for days, I figure he probably has a point. I must be seeing things.

I continue to eat the crackers and drink the water. Then I notice the water is very bitter and tastes like it is probably not fit for human consumption. “I think this water has turned. It tastes like it might make us sick,” I say. “Like I said,” the fisherman benevolently explains, “you’ve had a hard go of it. You might even have some permanent brain damage after what you’ve been through. Just trust me. I’ve been doing this for years. No need to be afraid, just eat the food, drink the water and you will be just fine. Out there, that’s what will kill you.” I suppose he’s right. After all, what do I know about sea travel?

We travel for days and I start to see little critters moving around on the floor of the boat. “Look! There are moles crawling around on the floor! They’re probably getting into the food and water!” “No moles,” the old man says emphatically. “There are no moles in this boat. Do not trust your eyes; they are not to be trusted.” I start to wonder about this old man. I am clearly seeing moles. One brushes against my leg. Soon, the bottom of the boat is swarming with moles. “There are some moles here,” the old man finally concedes. “Never you mind the moles, though. They won’t harm you.” I start whacking the moles, trying to get them off of me. I can’t sleep at night. “That’s silly to whack the moles,” the old man says. “I told you the moles won’t hurt you or bother you. Mind over matter. Forget the moles.”

But the moles make me extremely uncomfortable and since there clearly are moles that even the old man can now see, I start to wonder about the safety of the food and water I’ve been ingesting. I look down at my arms. There are rashes and spots appearing. I taste blood in my mouth and feel my gums swelling, I am tired and achy. “I think I have scurvy,” I say. “I need some fruit. You said you have the most delicious fruit. May I have some?” “Sure I do. Best fruit in the world, nothing better than this fruit.” He hands me a piece of fruit that is half eaten by the moles and rotting. I can smell the stench and my stomach churns. It is now pretty clear that the old man may have seriously clouded judgement from eating rotten food and water all of these years and I’m not sure if it’s in the best interest of my health to continue this journey with him. I look out over the water. Suddenly I see other boats—some beautiful, some old—but there are many other boats with kindly looking passengers and captains that look quite healthy.

“You know,” I say, “I’m really, really grateful for the ride you’ve provided me and the food you’ve given me. You’ve kept me alive and have provided such a kindness. But I think I need to go now. My body is telling me that I need some fresh food and water and I think you could probably use some too.” “Oh, wait!” the old man exclaims. “Before you go, look what I found!” He pulls a fresh unopened box of crackers, an apple and a sealed jug of water out from below the seat that he’s been sitting on the whole time. “Here is some new food. Forget about that other food I gave you before. This is the best and only safe food on the ocean.”

“No, thank you!” I say as I stand and prepare to disembark. “But enjoy your trip and safe travels! Oh, it also looks like one of those moles has gnawed a hole in the bottom of your boat. You might want to patch it!” I dive into the clear water. “I don’t patch holes! And you’re going to be eaten by sharks or drown and it’s all your fault! You should have been grateful for what you had!” the old man yells back as I swim away with strong strokes towards the boat next door with a really delicious looking fresh fruit tray on deck.

“Hello!” I yell to the captain of the boat next door. “Do you have rotten food and moles on board?” “Oh, no, we throw rotten food overboard! We’ve got some fresh, some stale (after all we’ve been out here for a while) but it’s all edible!” The captain calls back, “As for the moles, we’ve got a few, but we deal with them as they pop up. So you’re welcome to join us if you’ll have us. And if we don’t have what you need there are lots of other boats nearby!” “Sounds good to me!” I say, as I grab her arm and she pulls me on board.

Laurel is a convert since age 9, served a mission, has served in many callings and loves seeking truth from wherever she can find it in this beautiful world. She is a wife, mother of two teens and hopes to someday use her degree in counseling. She loves learning about psychology and spirituality, and taking long walks in the redwoods with her daughter, especially in the rain. She is currently still in the boat, responding to what a recent boat talk evoked in her.