The Healing

THE HEALING

I don’t know why I wanted to walk into the sea.? We’d been angling the planks of Town all day, shopping, grazing. Maybe it was the rareness of it all or perhaps the salt grasped me and led me there. It was useless to resist. But I wanted it revealed. Of course, I had my own notions of the ocean’s glory—the parting of the waters, the baptism of the holy, even the consumption of the dead. Would I be drawn to its glory or sink to its Odysean undertow? Still, it was such a glorious night. I had to go in. The question was who to walk with. I couldn‘t go alone but who was willing.

My friend came out of the gloom, transparent and dark. I dawned my clothes in the seaweed mixing with the water lapping the shore. He removed his shirt and we walked towards the glorious pool. Only the moon was full. I didn’t care about seeing. I just wanted to feel the sea around me. If I could only touch it with my finger tips, I would know it was there in all its power.

The healing was essential. How I had struggled through the terror of day—an eternity of nights, looking for a sign of change.

We waded softly from the shore. Then we were standing still. Sparkles of phosphorescence toppled the waves as they splashed and glowed. He spoke to me across the distance, marveling.

As we faced the light house at the end of the island, we knew we didn’t need it. We were safe off the shore but its beam revolved steadily, reminding us, protecting us and even glimmering  hope and foreshadowing resolution.

Our friends waited for us on the sand, wrapped around the old flag pole, and clinging desparately, fearful they too would be drawn into the water. The wind whipped the flag against the purple sky, wracking and ticking against the pole. We stood still.

‘It’s pretty chilly out here,’ one of them puffed.

‘They’re nuts,’ fervoured the other.

Trauma ruptured at the dread of another empty tomorrow. Then, the sea laid its hands across my face, salting me with even more anxiety. ‘Yes, it is wonderful,’ I responded.

The friends chattered, shivering on the shore, waiting, watching and  hoping for the healing too.

My head began to bow, nodding acquiescence. Is this the fate of the dream deferred? Does it fester or explode? What can we do now? Should we wander into the ocean and let the gods consume us? Maybe we can even reach that light house?

No, we decide, and turn back toward the sureness of our friends. The wait goes on . We look for our clothes scattered there somewhere. I watch my friend pick up his shirt.

‘You’re nuts! It’s cold! Let’s go back and have a drink!’