Freedom. Promised, they did Lord, when we set sail from the tired shores of England. Freedom from the monarchial ruling of King James, and his fractured beliefs tainted in part by the Roman church, and in part by his love of self rule. It’ s a cold and brutal 1620 in November. You are with us Lord. You must be. We are still here.
While the seas ravaged our splintering cargo boat for days on end, my sickness fell not from the forceful swell of waves, but from the birth of my second child, Oceanus. A son without country, a birthplace between two worlds: the Old and the New. May the Lord grant you wisdom Oceanus, to lead a different life my child, one in which is not tainted of falsehoods conjured by men hungry for power and position, but by a life structured by the hands of God himself.
You know our greatest desire Lord was to separate from the Church of England and worship You in a pure and honest way. The turbulent oppression by those in rank was stronger than this forceful gale that now beckons us to our death. We would take these frigid winds and biting sleet if it meant living in your presence only. Here we are, the only way out, this passageway aboard the Mayflower. It is unfit for life, created for the rank and smell of wine and cargo. But cargo we must be if we are to see a new day. Cargo we will be if that is your will. (more…)
