Every sailor and wanna-be sailor, whether they know it or not, is in direct contact with a personal god or gods - however many there may be. What we sailors fail to appreciate is that the gods are constantly trying to get in touch with us, but we ignore their messages since we are either too busy sailing or drinking beer. Keep this thought firmly in mind next time you untie your dock lines
Noah
FIRST TIME BOATER ARkER - PHILOSOPHER A not what you think book!By Viggo P. HansenAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Viggo P. Hansen
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-6643-7Contents
REVELATION AND DEDICATION.................................IX1. THE BEGINNING.........................................12. THE BIG ANNOUNCEMENT..................................93. HEAVENLY CONVERSATIONS................................274. DAY ONE...............................................375. ARK BUILDING..........................................376. THE CRUISE............................................437. A SURPRISE VISITOR....................................558. TENSE MOMENTS.........................................699. SAILING ON AND ON.....................................7510. ARRIVAL...............................................8111. FREEDOM & HUMOR.......................................9512. CELESTIAL BAR AND GRILL...............................11313. KUDOS & WHERE ARE THEY NOW............................12314. CAPTAIN NOAH'S TEN CARDINAL RULES.....................127
Chapter One
THE BEGINNING
My revelation begins with a historical perspective and is mostly told in the present tense. It is true that the clear irresistible clarion call attracting hordes of humans into boating is rooted in the fact that life began, after the Big Ka-Boom, in a liquid environment, i.e. the oceans. Even today, following the usual and preferred conception methods, techniques and slipups - animals begin life sloshing around in a nice tepid salt-water solution called the amniotic fluid until it is time to independently begin breathing polluted air without a hose attached to a female.
However, our primordial wet experience, though difficult for most to remember, is never completely erased from our long term memory cells. Since this is true, it is only natural that we continue to "yearn to return" to those halcyon carefree moments of thrashing about in a warm saline elixir, nourished with flavored sweet mother's milk. Today many sailors equate this earlier experience to an adult cruise with Club Med.
Ah-so - we are all born wanna-a-be sailors because of these early in vitro comfy experiences. However, shortly after our birth, and due to capricious mixing of genetic materials, along with governmental educational practices that leaves everyone behind, most humans quickly stray wildly from the Maker's idyllic Garden of Eden concept. After Adam & Eve figured out what was under their fig leaf, a population explosion occurred naturally. Then, wouldn't you know it, people straightaway began beating the daylights out of each other, clearly exemplified by the dysfunctional brothers Cain and Abel's sibling tiffs, that finally led then to a really nasty climax.
Needless to say, this aberrant and ungrateful human behavior was anathema to the beneficent Creator's grandiose plan of blessed harmony, replete with hissing asps, organic clothing and restrictions on apple munching. But once these naive primitive folks began dropping their leafy drawers, listening to conniving snakes, and got into eating applesauce, mankind's maudlin history quickly followed. Sex, apples and snakes sold then and still do today. Today the difference is - many snakes have law degrees.
Perhaps about 5,000 or so years ago, as believed by some King Jimers, God and Goddess Almighty became clinically despondent with the incessant political and religious bickering among all their now mostly nude creatures. However it was primarily the carnivores, dominated by know it all humans who rebelliously evolved way beyond the Garden of Eden's ban on eating sweet red Macintosh apples. Instead they greedily evolved to eating raw, juicy red meat, later to become medium rare. Not only that, but they also began listening and taking advice from hissing asps, who evolved to become renowned bankers, legal counselors and financial advisors.
These rebellious and downright ungodly activities, highlighted by one spirited religious war after another; each war designed and ballyhooed to end all wars, led to a celestial crisis. "Enough already", said the generous Creator Almighty God. He decreed that a momentous meteorological event was to occur, as clearly chronicled in Genesis OT. OT is Old Testament (not overtime) for you sports fans.
You surely cannot blame a benevolent God for becoming testy. An aside, it was also revealed to me that it was not the apple's fault that sex and wars became glorified sporting events. Apples have finally been exonerated and evolved to become a significant health food based on their rich natural organic ingredients, but only after overcoming a controversial biblical history. As we today know, apple strudel and apple cider are accepted as nutritional and tasty, but it wasn't always so. Sorry for the digression. God's more profound problems centered on life and death issues and apples were but an irritant along with serpents and scratchy loose fitting green apparel.
Ungrateful, narcissistic, and bad mannered animals thought God; where did the missus and I go so wrong? This searing morality question became an obsession with God. He felt ethically obligated to do something, even if it was wrong. What the hey, thought God, I have already made one major creation snafu, irreverently referred to as my Big Ka-Boom; so whatever I do now, surely cannot be much worse.
"You know Goddess; I really must have made some egregious miscalculations in our erstwhile glorious creation scheme that has allowed animals to stray in so many off-the-chart directions. Was it the mischievous DNA molecule - that funky double helix thing that betrayed me? I for sure never anticipated probabilities that seemingly allow for so many strange permutations. You know, there really is no end to probabilities, is there?"
"My dear God Almighty, do not be so hard on yourself for this unholy mess. The almost infinite probabilities lurking in your tricky molecules are truly difficult to comprehend. Let me gently remind you Dear, since you flunked developmental math three times, perhaps if you had tried a fourth time you might have passed and saved yourself this heart rendind grief. Flunking math is like shooting oneself in the foot, eh Big Guy?"
"You are so right my precious Goddess, I really did OK in single digit addition and subtraction, it was multiplication and division that were my mathematical Achilles heel. What shall we now do about this immorality soup we are in?" Asks a deeply troubled God, meekly seeking solace from his ever trusting, gorgeous, faithful and understanding Goddess. She was so smart - and cute.
God, having been an early-on feminist by creating the first women from man's ribs, pleaded with his Goddess to partner in some serious discussions on the evolutionary debacle occurring since their creation. But they agreed to omit any reference to mathematical stuff. They further agreed that humans were now totally consumed by slaying, slewing and begetting - and this unsavory process was accelerating. Begetting had become essential to sustain the escalating slew and slay business. Was the problem really a faulty DNA, a topic God was not going to discuss since it might also reflect on a defect in male ribs? This line of inquiry could backfire. They indeed had a tangled problem, but assigning fault was something the Two did not want to explore.
The ever gentle sweet Goddess suggested they first try adding some romantic activities, like drawing, music, line and square dancing to help civilize their earthly miscreants. God thought this was a powerful idea and so they began to surreptitiously educate humans in the "fine arts." Initially, these primitive art forms consisted of colorful cave paintings and rhythmically beating together small flat river rocks. This rock music was challenging since it often resulted in sore thumbs.
Art really did catch on, but not as they had hoped. The God and Goddess's arty ideas quickly led to salacious literature (dirty stories), bongo music (rap) and nude art (porn). Sadly these well meaning artistic efforts spurred the mucho-macho slayers and slewers to new heights of mayhem, now emboldened by primitive Souza drum beats and naughty cave finger paintings. Wars were exciting and glorified heroic killing events creating pitiful literature, garish music and gawd awful gruesome murals. Museums proliferated to house this "artsy" stuff. Wars became accepted as the preferred method of maintaining social order. Much of this slaughtering was done in the name of a variety of emerging gods who constantly agreed to disagree. The original God and Goddess rightfully concluded, "How wacky is this?"
Dung (not dang) became God's favorite and personally guarded expression as he daily surveyed his run amok creations eagerly procreating in order to quickly kill each other. This steamy and stormy repetitive cycle of sex and violence was clearly ungodly and personally embarrassing for a peace loving God and Goddess. Furthermore all this warring activity naturally led to extravagant over consumption depleting precious natural resources. The entire earth was in physical jeopardy and moral decay. It had to be stopped - but how?
By golly, agreed the God and Goddess, if art doesn't work let us as a last ditch desperate effort try scaring the willies out of these misfits by introducing the un-comfortable features of going to hell - if they don't repent and improve. Results of these scare tactics were totally ineffective, eating fatty foods even increased, wars and sex continued unabated. Bad jokes prevailed. "I am going to hell to play golf and beat the brains out of my buddies."
Philistines (the stock brokers of that day) thrived by brokering bets on the reality of hell - safe bets since it was an unknown, until you died. However, if you were uneasy about a potential hellish future you could invest in "Get the Hell out of Hell" futures cards. These became an economic bonanza with no refunds. And so the big top three ring circuses rolled on, clowns, lawyers, quacks, freaks and politicians alike plied their chicanery, all taking advice from snake oil soothsayers in the name of their god. Vipers to this day still get a bum rap since they always seem involved with issues of morality. Time passed ever so painfully and slowly for the chagrined, distraught, and guilt ridden God and Goddess. Then one brilliant starlit night, when God, in a restless but reflective mood while sipping His cognac, decided to again discuss this irksome situation with His beautiful long haired emerald eyed understanding Goddess. After all, it was her that had conjured up fine arts, which hadn't worked any better than His concept of eternal damnation. Each had tried their heavenly best to instill civility in their creations without much success.
God had delayed this verbal confrontation for fear His Goddess would blame Him for the entire mess, since He had indeed created the universe, the Goddess and humans, while simultaneously flunking basic math. A perfect celestial storm. The Goddess who was demurely waiting in the wings - so to speak - was also eager to address this nagging moral problem, but certainly wanted to stay clear of any sensitive rib talk, as well as God's occasional uncontrolled wrath.
This time God charged straightaway into the nettlesome topic by suggesting it was high time to begin a major earthly rehab to correct the ungodly activities now festering in their beautiful Garden of Eden. "We have gone from art to hell, neither worked, it is now time for one gosh darn awful rainstorm, followed by a humongous flood and really begin creation anew." Proclaims the frustrated and suddenly re-energized God Almighty. Cognac can do that. "This will be a new Genesis, Beta Version Number 2. And this time I will micro manage it and you Goddess will leave snide math asides the hell out of it!"
"Oh dear God, oops, sorry God, l didn't mean to take your name in vain." Blurted the startled Goddess, as she choked on her half-full glass of merlot. She had taken to drinking vintage wine since Post Eden there remained some lingering uncertainty about fermented apple juice's long term affects on one's sense of decency and intellectual curiosity. God and Goddess had agreed that at least for now wine was fine and indeed it became her drink of choice at their private heavenly happy hour.
The Goddess reluctantly agrees that all this unseemly mayhem is bordering on chaos and must cease, but she was not at all comfortable with God's impetuously proposed "rainy season" deconstructionists approach. Although Goddess is not an engineer and also never succeeded at remedial math, she intuitively senses many hydraulic problems associated with all that water sloshing around in their high desert, but doesn't want to go there with God's current rambunctious mood. But something has to be done, and done soon. After lengthy and intense discussions, she concurs with God's master plan. "I'll dig out our galoshes and slickers in the morning; now let us get some rest. By the way I do have a splitting headache tonight." Dung.
Next morning the God and Goddess together prepare a first draft designed to swiftly undo what had happened to their original bucolic Garden of Eden. The Goddess sadly reminisced about her once luscious arboretum that had yielded sweet red Macintosh apples, shiny green fig leaf butt covers and provided a homey habitat for all those cute slinky hissing spitting vipers. We must begin anew they optimistically agree, while savoring their breakfast of Godly fortified oatmeal and enriched lo-fat camel yogurt.
"You bet, my dear Goddess, it is out with the old and in with the new and while we are at it we will keep pesky mathematics out of the new world, no more pi-s, unless they are apple, ha ha - a little funny to begin the new day." chortles the charged up God.
"Let me again warn you about maligning mathematics." Warns the Goddess. "Take pride Dear, you did really well with your finger and toe counting. Always remember that mathematics is made by and for the Gods, and you are truly doing OK, you just need to do your homework more often."
"Thanks Kid. I needed that reassurance on this glorious morning." says God. The God and Goddess's renovation scheme required many more creative measures than simply drowning ungrateful and misbehaving earthly bums. "First, I must find an inside leader." muses God. "Otherwise, if these human rascals get a hint of the proposed liquid calamity headed their way, they may all start building arks and bobbing around and I will never catch them, we would be faced with a massive ark "sail away ha ha" problem. No, I must select a leader quickly and secretly get our project under way. Initially I will choose and test this desert nomad guy, Noah. I have been watching him for some time; he is sort of smart, but not too smart and I think he is deathly scared of water. These are the qualities of a good ark captain."
God's draft plan evolved quite simply, drown everybody; except for this one poor ne'er-do-well camel driver named Noah, his sharp-tongued wife Sarah, a few of their lazy kids, and one female and one male of every species. Then start anew by having these selected pairs engage in making whoopee. But what are the probabilities that this will work any better than before, wonders a somewhat skeptical math phobic God. Just what are the chances? Stop it - I must leave math out of this.
The drowning schema was to become a monumental water works project, eclipsing the Chinese Three Gorges dam of later times. God mentally envisioned Noah constructing the world's biggest ark ever, and loading it up with lucky designated survivor pairs. Then it would rain and rain for some forty days and nights creating a massive body of water that would float the ark. The plan was perfect, or so it seemed at the time.
Reflections: Today every single, married and/or otherwise sexually connected, sailor owes Noah their gratitude. It was this naive humble man of the big dusty desert, who was handpicked by the God and Goddess to save just one couple of every meat eating and vegan species from extinction through excessive water consumption.
Noah's resume clearly revealed he had no prior naval education or experience in ways of deep blue waters, although, like cats, he innately knew to stay on top of the murky water at the oasis where he regularly tanked his camels. He also knew by instinct that anytime you get into water deeper than your midriff, you must react fast. It is believed that aversion to sinking in water is a genetically hard wired trait found in everyone who puts to sea, regardless of the size of his or her boat - or brain. As the adage goes, do not let the water in your boat get above your belly button. It was Noah's obsessive "fear of water" that raised him to number one standing in God's search and screen process to find an ark captain for the coming deluge.
As we now go on to extensively explore nomad Noah's exciting nautical life, it is my fervent wish that we remember and honor this ark-man of the sea, who was exclusively selected by God because he was hydrophobic and God was set on drowning everyone. Perfect match - survival depends on not drowning. Noah would go on to boldly demonstrate that there is hope for everyone to become a proficient ark sailor, even first time out, as long as they remain petrified of drowning.
Noah proved the ultimate nautical truism.
"Folks with drowning phobias make better sailors."
We Begin.
Chapter Two
THE BIG ANNOUNCEMENT
A rugged bearded sand dune landlubber of long ago, by the simple name of Noah, arose sleepily one sun drenched morning in his godforsaken tattered windblown tent, loosely tethered on one of the arid knolls in the unknown Rat-a-tat Desert. Like a newly aroused cat, Noah rubbed tear moistened sand from his eyes with clenched fists. Oh, boy thought the ever optimistic Noah - another jolly day in our windy dusty desert begins anew. "I just can't wait to go a-romping in the dunes."
Noah's wife Sarah, no beauty queen at this time of day, arose more slowly and got the coffee pot boiling without muttering a word. As though she had a premonition of what was to happen she did not exude Noah's jolliness. Quite the contrary. Sarah remained dour while the coffee pot gurgled nosily away filling their homey little tent with its familiar refreshing aroma. Nothing like fresh coffee in the morning.
Soon the squatting Noah was leisurely smoking his stinky old hookah and enjoying his wife's first cup of freshly brewed coffee. Life in the early morning desert was a good time for Noah. Sarah was busily shuffling around in a typical pale grey Bedouin robe still wondering why she was up. But this is pretty much how she felt every morning.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Noahby Viggo P. Hansen Copyright © 2010 by Viggo P. Hansen. Excerpted by permission.
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