Tan Of The Sea - A Story of The Niyamas
Tom Cowan
There is a boat, called Tan Of The Sea. A beautiful wooden craft, shining, well made, sturdy and elegant. Tan floats gracefully atop deep blue waters, bobs up and down on the grey green chop chop of estuaries, glides and glitters through silvery inlets and outlets.
Above this ever flowing watery world Tan holds up well. Sometimes the boat is at home in the suck suck of waves, forgetful of being a boat at all, the spray over deck, on board, in wood, through and through. Wood as water, bow as waves.
The boat is well cared for, regularly cleaned, dry docked as necessary, wood waxed and resealed. Water tight; even the knots are smooth like the skin of sweet chestnuts. (Sauca)
Tan is a boat made for sailing and off slippery shores the sails are set. Little more is needed than wood on water, water on wood, a life is lived as it should. (Santosa)
Keeping up pace with seagulls and sea birds, gannets and boobies, Tan’s sails are blown with wind, brushing the sea top like a flattened stone, heart shaped and light. When the wind withers Tan pushes on, a little rudder, offering a turn towards the right, keeps the boat steady in a direction, forwards. Always aware that if the rudder should fail, Tan could lose sight of being a boat at all and become lost at sea, thinking that this wooden ship is one minute a bird or drift wood. Onwards, forwards, let the waves part and chop chop, the rudder relentless in its task. (Tapas)
Other boats ask, Tan how does your deck shine so bright in the sun? Your sails so crisp and clean against the sediment of the seas?
“Ah”, says Tan, in only a language that boats can speak, I learnt it all from those that glimmered on the horizon like a lighthouse torch to guide my way, boats carrying small figurines, that learnt how to pull ropes, tackle and tie knots with ease. (Svadhyaya)
But Tan, still, another boat, cried, how do you feel when you’re alone at sea? Not bewildered, lost, and frightened by the starless indigo of the skies?
“Ah” says Tan, in only a language that boats can speak; I am never lost and alone, sad or sorrowful at sea. For this boat is just the visible part of me. Under my belly lies a crystal clear depth, full of all potentiality. This vast field of water is the rest of me. (Isvara Pranidhana)