The word, bliss, has been coming to mind lately. It came to my mind last night while motoring slowly along the bay from Jost van Dyke, a British Virgin Island. We had just eaten a delicious meal of local fish and pig on picnic tables next to the beach. Watching the twinkling lights of the other boats moored in the bay as we motored in the dinghy gently towards “Babe,” I couldn’t help but feel bliss. The kind you can’t really describe with words. It’s that feeling of utter perfection and contentment.
Like today, as we motored “Babe” across the US Virgin Islands chain to get back to St. John to moor for the night, I sat on the bow (front) of the boat while underway. The spray of the ocean felt cool, small spasms of tingles on my skin each time we hit a large wave. The taste of the sea salty on my lips. I think we rocked the baby inside of me to sleep, as the waves lulled us from side to side. My ears kept the howling wind in the background, echoing constantly across the sea. My sight was filled with the deep blue crashing and cresting in many directions, small white caps floating as waves crashed over each other. My mind blank and still. Calm and blissful.