The terrestrial travels in southern México are complete. Tomorrow the pelagic travels resume. I am sitting in the shade near the water. A light breeze keeps me cool during this warmest part of the day. It is a tranquil Sunday afternoon. Frigate birds glide silently overhead, never flapping their wings. The water in the marina is calm, with just the hint of a ripple from the breeze. The palm trees sway ever so slightly. The jungle covered hills are dark green in the afternoon sun, the sky a light blue, the water a shade or two darker. In a few minutes I will walk to the beach, swim a mile or so straight out to sea, past the people playing in the surf, past the jet skis and parasail boats. Just a mile from shore it is a different world, quiet, calm, serene. I will float on my back out there for a few minutes, then swim back to the other world, refreshed. Tomorrow I will sail further out into the sea. Why? What is the reason, the purpose? I’m not going anywhere in particular. I’m not doing anything in particular. Or am I? Some of us swim, some of us sail, some of us play music, dance, farm, paint, cook, build, create, make, repair. Why? Because it’s what we do. It’s our part in the game, in the grand opera. Of course there are twists and turns in the plot; I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and I’ll be someone else tomorrow. What will I do then? In this moment I will swim.