In the middle of the ocean I am alone, clinging to a piece of driftwood. All my paddling, all my energy and direction is fruitless. For every inch of headway I make, another great wave comes along and sweeps me back to square one again. My fate is not my own, my destiny lies somewhere in the currents and the waves, and I do not know where they will take me. I may wash up on a friendly shore, or smash to pieces on the breakers, or perhaps I will just float and float here until I cease to be. On the sea a compass is just a pretty bauble, and courage is something to leech the strength from your bones. On the water you cannot hope, you cannot think, you can only drift, aimless on the tide, and pray.
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