A rain squall drives me from the cockpit to a blissful sleep down below. For most of the night I am functionally passed out, and rise only occasionally to look around. No fear. Contentment. The ocean and I are no longer separated. I believe that all is well.

In happy dreams I return to the primitive San Blas … the Cuna Indians are on board with me. There is an arranged encounter with a Cuna woman to mate with someone's daughter. My visit has not ended, these people have sent their spirits with me. They know the distress of the mutants, of we who have evolved away from nature. Perhaps the Cunas have helped to heal me, and they visit me now to celebrate my return. My spirits are in better shape. The future is optimistic.

Flow of thought speeds through my mind when unhinged from the constraints of verbal communication. I exchanged no words with the Cuna Indians because we shared no common language, and thus could thoughts flow to their own local infinity. They were not with their ankles tied. They flowed at infinite speed.