You are the captain of this ship. You know
exactly what to do when the waters are rough, and then you steer us in the
direction of calmer seas. I once drilled a hole in the bottom of our ship, and
it sank. I tried to patch it up again and I did so with duct tape. But a new
first mate came along and replaced it with wood. He would handle this ship better than I.
I
found that I was stranded out at sea so I swam to a lonely island. I went out
searching every day for your ship, but I could never find it. I found a ship
that looked a lot like yours, but I tore that one to pieces.
I
decided that I would become first mate of your ship, once I found it again. Still
I was lost. I saw other ships but I knew that they were not yours. They lacked the
class that yours carried and the control and supremacy the ship was made from.
Your ship was powerful—not because of the way it was built but because you were
in control. You were the captain.
Once
I finally found you, your ship was crumbling. You were unhappy with your first
mate because he did not know what he was doing. He had robbed you of your
confidence. The ship had lost its specialty, its distinction between common and
rare. The one time you needed saving, I was going to be there.
I
bought you a new ship, one made of steel so it would not sink. One I couldn’t drill
a hole in. This ship is unsinkable. Sometimes the water is rough but it will
not sink. It is because you are the captain of this ship, and I am your first
mate. Together we will keep this ship afloat.
