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viewsWritten on Water
By BCBlogger, Monday, February 15, 2010, 5 comments
I spent part of the afternoon on Valentine's Day staring over the edge of the pier into the swirling water below. I love watching the surge of ocean waves as they near their end on shore. This often slow moving swell rolls towards shore, gaining speed, gaining speed, gaining speed until. . .it peaks, crests, crashes. Of course, the best part about that, is that the wave never really ends. They morph into some new vibration. They aren't what they were before, but they're dispersed, sent backwards into the wash. It's all energy, see? It's unending. Wind (created by the heat of the sun and the cool of the night) that triggers a lifting movement of metric tons of water and that water heads to shore, undulating. . . waiting for all that lies underneath to form it into various types of waves: the hollow curl over a reef; a fat shoulder over a sandbar; some breaking deep, some breaking shallow. Some crash. Some lap. All the while, far off, out in the ocean, moving air, wind - heated and cooled swirls and churns, making new waves. It never ends, this transfer of energy.
And it's the same with people, I suppose.
I stood there, leaning out a little over the corner on the left side. The pier sways sometimes, and yesterday was one of those days. It's nothing you'd notice if you weren't really looking to feel it. But I do. And I did. I stood there feeling the boards beneath my feet; I was staring out at the ocean, hoping to see a message. A message from God, from nature, from him; any sign that he was out there still, his spirit free and his energy wild and on the loose. . .as it so often was in his life. And I did get a message, just like the day of his funeral. Or, at least I think I did. I want to believe that I did. I want to believe that the dolphin (Yes, Atlantic Bottlenose Dolphin are what we have. Not porpoise.) that surfaced was my comfort and confirmation for the year. "Out here, somewhere, in the air or the water or the sun, he lives." The child-like part of me that believes in such things accepts that moment with an open and trusting heart. The dark side of mind sneers "You see those f**king things nearly every time you surf. There's nothing different about today. There's no f**king magic dolphin. Your brother is dead. Gone. Nothing. He's not here. He's' not there. He's not anywhere. It's been ten years. No magic dolphin. Idiot." I hear it. I feel it for a moment, but I don't respond to it. I've learned to ignore that voice. It's a voice that usually lies. And even when it tells the truth, it serves no purpose other than to hurt. And yesterday, I didn't want to hurt any more than I already did. So I just accepted that is what she believes, but I chose to FEEL the heart-bursting joy and relief of Kid-Me. "Somewhere, his spirit is alive. He's not the same as he was before, but he's here. He's out there. He's here somewhere. He came forth from energy, crashed on shore and has simply gone back to the source of all of this. . .all of this energy. The-sun-the-moon-the-stars. . .everywhere. Nowhere. Somewhere."
I took a few furtive glances around to make sure no one was watching me. And, as I have done nearly every year for the past 10 years, I leaned over and casually dropped my arm over the side. I opened my hand to release the letter, ink and tears, wondering if someone will see me and perhaps bust me for littering. It's paper. It will dissolve. It will melt into the ocean, just like his ashes, and deliver the message that I repeat like a mantra every day of my life: "I loved you. I love you still. I miss your presence every day of my life. I am here. You are not; not anywhere I can see. But I am o.k. We are all, for the most part, o.k., but it would be so much better if you were here. Are you here? I love you. I love you. I love you. Always. Your sister."
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5 Comments
Sorry. . .no paragraph breaks!
DO NOT listen to that voice Amy
Charlene - thank you for the
I love your writing
My favorite play of all is Twelfth Night. In the first act Viola is standing on the beach, freezing and soaked, having barely survived a shipwreck. Her beloved brother was on the ship. She wonders if she dare hope he might also have somehow survived. The Captain (who helped her get to shore) tells her:
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you and those poor number saved with you
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself,
Courage and hope both teaching him the practise,
To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.
Thank you for your beautiful writing. <3
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