There is a band, a few degrees north and south of the Equator, where there is no wind. It is called the Doldrums. In the days of sailing ships, vessels which strayed into this area would often be becalmed, unable to sail out, and never heard from again.       I sailed through the Doldrums in early June 1984, aboard the Navy ship USS Proteus. To a sailor accustomed to the high, rolling seas, sailing through raging storms with waves half as tall as the ship, it is a strange, eerie feeling to see the sea so calm, with only gentle, mellow swells. And sailing through this nautical graveyard, it feels as though one might yet encounter one of those ghost ships of old, with her ghost crew, still plying the waters of that dead, calm sea, moaning and wailing to good King Neptune, pleading for release from their dull, grim fate.       On a calm, clear night I stood watch in the radio room of the Proteus. My relief came at midnight, and I turned the watch over to him and strode out onto the weather decks. The night was utterly still, without the faintest stirring of breeze. The water was absolutely flat and clear, without the least ripple or swell – literally as smooth as glass. There was no sound but the faint rush of water beneath my vessel. I stood, absolutely transfixed in awe and wonder. The ocean disappeared below me, and the sky rose clear and clean above me, with more stars than you have ever seen. The moon shone bright upon the water, lighting a fairy path to infinity; and I stood, without time, without form, without location, viewing and creating. And the universe opened up to me. Copyright © 1990 Alan Little Return to Index