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Across the Straits
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Across the Straits Across the Straits An attempt. Across the straits must swim, contest the rips and surges deep beneath. The water appears placid enough seen from the shore, only when you enter the water’s grip can you no longer ignore the undertow. You are a light upon the shore. Distant and shining, beauty luminescent. To reach you I must cross this turbulent strait between, risk life and limb and all accrued to your light win. Others I have seen head out on such a swim of faith and hope, using the strength accumulated to challenge frigid waters pull. Some reached that other shore and found cheapness and emptiness of a false light; simply a tawdry reflection of their own small desires or a light which gave them no heat and instead left them cold and weak. Some few, those favoured fate blessed few, have reached the other shore and discovered the light awaiting gave heat, fresh bravery. and a strength corded with sinews of the Earth; infused with a certainty more true than their own living breath. So many minutes, hours and days of looking across to the other shore trying to see what I didn't know I desired, searching for a light shining there for me; and on sighting the true light knew it shined for itself and the greater glow this light only took when the light saw and acknowledged my presence. That still lay in the future as I stood upon the shore contemplating entering those swift cold surging waters to reach a yearning not yet understood, desired without form. As if I stood beneath a great tree, and the only reason for climbing I could find in my thoughts was because the tree was there, and I could climb, not because there might be a view when I reached the top, not for ripe fruit which this tree bountiful might bear, and not for the sweet and golden heavens of the universe different which might be revealed at conclusion of my climb, in discovering the golden sweet refreshing and restful airs of that perch far above and away. More than once I set out in pursuit of a light, youthful naivety and hope propelling me forward against those powerful forces, and sometimes I failed for I considered the reward unequal to my efforts, or breaking clear of the current into a placid eddy I would stop pause, become becalmed, no longer moving forward or even sideways or back, simply floating aimlessly, until beneath me the eddy would collapse and currents fiercer than before would tear at my feeble attempts to move forward instead bearing me back to the shore where I had begun. Other times I might reach a light and for a time find its brightness and warmth desirable, then a flood, would wash me away or the shore on which the island stood would collapse and into the waters I would once more borne, struggling to keep moving and if luck were good be borne back to the shore from which I started or from some point similar, from which I could begin again...sometimes to a darker shore I was borne by currents wild and untamed, and here the shore was mango swamps, with stinking mud and the roots of the mango trees twisted and tangled, rising from the black sinking dragging mud. seeking to trap, trip, and hold in place the unwary, for some these darker shores sapped their will and strength, instead of moving on dissipated what strength they had in juvenile activities, then to either end abruptly or to age to quickly , to fade, and cease to be. Become shades of what they were when they gave off heat and life, instead they bore cold stone hearts and devoured the heat and life of others; consuming light when they could reach it. Destroyers of harmony, harbingers of strife, these vampiric shells of who they were and had become. And when they were encountered, in so many forms, riddled with so many flaws both obvious and hidden, one needed to be on your guard for their beliefs, addictions, and attitudes could be transferred, as infectious and easily as a common cold, and to throw off the thrall of their perspective on life was hard to achieve as it was an alluring offer, an easier path to take, to blame others for your life's failures, to blame the light you could not reach for the difficulty in reaching the light (though those so afflicted spoke of capture, and capturing the light, as if imprisoning the light would bring it to their reach - though their past experiences would have shown, and they must have known, the light dulled or died when imprisoned so). Though these wraiths for all the hatred, fear, and confusion, they sowed were to be more pitied than hated in return, for once they had stood on these same shores looking outward optimistically and circumstances, or trials unkind and unexpected, or curling Janus faced Fate had twisted and teased the roll of Life's dice, to cast them upon this shore as forgotten and unwanted flotsam. The tears they shed were crocodile tears, yet still they cried alone in the dark, and in some of these moments a spark of their former humanity would illuminate them, and you might feel a surge of empathy, before the darkness in their souls once more swept over them and the murderous uncaring monsters they had become was again revealed. Others I saw setting forth from the shore had neither doubts or fears, either knew too well their own hearts, or knew too little of the world to harbour fear and their bravery was based on ignorance not strength or wisdom; though Nature often has held fools unaccountable for foolhardy actions, and it seemed as many of these safely reached the light they desired on the distant shore as those who waited, considered, prepared and evaluated, the best light to which they would attempt a crossing. To which they would attempt a crossing, some dithered, calculating and evaluating on which light to pursue or the characteristics the light should possess, by the time they were ready to set the lights had been claimed, had changed in illumination and shine, or had turned their light away to shine in others or in pursuit of other endeavours, and sometimes you would see these procrastinators splashing in the deeper darker waters where the currents were most treacherous, turning from one direction to the next, spinning without sense of direction. Compasses gone completely awry, no North found or known; totally lost. You would find such happenings almost amusing, if you did not know, were unable to see how close you yourself were to the edge of nothingness, upon an edge of personal annihilation. Swimming towards a light, a point fixed and factual, world would turn askew, and light you sought fade from your view, a cold darkness instead sit upon the waters, your own breathing the only thing you could sense, all feelings growing rapidly numb, unable to identify from which direction you had begun to where you were headed, even where water and sky began and ceased. Often this would occur in the earliest hours of morning, those watch hours when chill grip of night most tightly shrouds the world, when doubts seem most real, misgivings and grievances most sharply felt, and all optimism and hope has settled lowest on your own personal barometer. The cunning weasels of doubt, Iago and the three Witches on the heath, seem most plausible in their arguments, when single decision or misstep can untie all the endeavours of many a day. Sometimes having left the shore, and once more out of my depth, I would feel denizens of these depths gliding by, a hint of an unusual disturbance in the water, a shiny belly or flank glinting evilly in reflection of those tepid whirling waters, and once something brushed close and I was smeared with a foul smelling black welt raising rash causing slime, and I knew these beasts were my own fears made real. One moment not, the next moment yes. Striking out from my shore to that distant shore, where a single light blazed calling me forth to cross waters treacherous and unsound, the currents tugged at me but could not hold me. This light held my attention and drew me forward across the spiralling black waters, and there was a purpose to each stroke and I drew strength from the light on which my gaze was fixed, and I thought I knew this light, could see its shape flickering in my dreams, could warm this world, bring clarity where there was doubt; illumination to darkness. The biting cold waters swirled and tugged and pulled at me as I swam, yet it seemed on this crossing, this swim, their grip could not hold me. More lights appeared, flaring and dancing around me, trying to draw my gaze. It seemed the purpose with which I swam, the intention in thoughts and action, drew their attention and interest. These lights called to my mind, a myriad of opportunities seemed to suddenly present themselves so I was almost blinded in the dazzle of the lights displayed before; and yet my eyes still found the single light to which I had begun swimming, and though for a time it seemed to grow no closer I still proceeded, and then abruptly as a dream I was at the shore where this light blazed. Where in the past the shorelines I had encountered had been rocky, and often steep, this shore was a warm golden sandy beach on a gentle slope leading up out of the water. The light was not much further up the beach and as I took my first step upon that shore the light turned, flickered, abruptly cast a shadow and took form. Where before a light, an un-holdable, un-embraceable, ideal had been, there was a flesh and blood human being. Beautiful and wet and shivering and cold, as I was myself; both having crossed the straits which divided us. More beautiful even than the light, for this human being was frail, exposed, and fallible, had taken belief and trust in me to be here. We embraced for what seemed a short time, and yet felt like forever. Then this other person spoke. I looked out from the shore and saw your light and I swam and swam, fighting the currents, the savage rips, and the bone reaching, cold leaching waters. I saw many others, less fortunate than I, struggling to continue, or failing to make any headway, and at one point there were a group all entangled, a raft of tortured wailing distressed souls all enmeshed together, struggling to head towards their own light or return to the place from which they had set out, and this great raft of people was gradually sinking, and some I saw turned to help, and instead of providing salvation or freeing someone, were instead entangled themselves a great confusion and terror inescapably settling upon them. Dante would have known their like. As the words finished I drew this person to me and felt their warmth, a part of the light which bleeding off us, illuminated our surroundings. The world now viewed was less bleak than it had been, there was a breeze not a gale blowing, and the waters closest to us were placid and calm. Great clouds loomed overhead but they seemed more manageable now. The storms and turbulence of life seemed to have receded, and where these storms seemed to exist was some distance from us. I now saw I had not swum from a shore across to another shore of a great river, the waters surrounding us were a massive heaving sea, which did not flow or move in one recognizable ordered mass instead it broke and turned and flowed and roared, ebbed and surged, in many directions simultaneously. It was willful, chaotic and malicious, and yet it knew not of our presence or our trials, and would not have known even of our existence. This sea was not bordered by two long parallel shorelines. No great continents existed, or countries of note, this world now sighted was composed of many, beyond counting or comprehending, small islands which were little more than jagged rocky outcrops thrusting up out of this turbulent unsettled coursing foaming sea. We clung close to each other, sharing our heat, still weary and shivering from the cold swim we had endured, though gradually warmth spread through our limbs, and our thoughts and hearts once more began to move, like an old clock which having been stopped is freshly oiled and wound, whose movements begin again; and with this action it seemed our eyes were opened to this world around us. To the incredible beauty and simple wonder, of existence, of life. There were shades of colour never before envisioned, tastes to be discovered, fresh scents exotic, aural landscapes never contemplated, and opportunities for life and loving, not previously sighted which now flourished. The storms while we remained on our small island were distant, and while we stayed upon the island regaining and building fresh new strength and confidence, this island flourished and more than one other couple passing, sighting the light which burnt bright from our island, and the warmth projected, were drawn close, and landed and stayed. Then came the day when we knew to live, to grow, we must once more challenge the swirling currents and surging waves, for we saw, and heard, of other islands like our own, which had grown stale, and the inhabitants had turned upon each other, yet fearing to live or challenge again the surging waters, remain locked there, together, bitter and toxic, cruelling all they touched, saw, heard or experienced. We had decided to head towards those great areas of light we now saw so much more clearly, and as we swam out, the cold water surged, and swirled, pulled and tugged at us, but together we were stronger, and more aware, could see dangerous waters ahead and either skirt around them, or together crash through, and safely navigate them. And one day the other person turned to me and said...there is so much darkness, so much cold and unknowable; so many crevasses, traps, and challenges, for the wise and unwary alike. This world can be simply capricious without reason or rhyme, and by simple fate overthrow all we might do, or achieve. And then, looking out I knew, where there is light there is hope, and where there is love there is light; and we must bind ourselves to those better things of life and live Thoughts in sensual pleasure to erotic writing writ. Feel free to travel - click - to my blog: An exploration introduction |
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If nothing else, please consider binding them all in a volume so they won't be totally lost, and perhaps self-publishing just a couple of volumes for yourself and select others. I would like to to do that with my poetry and short stories.....
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Mulleen, my dear...I read this earlier, and just could not comment then. I needed to reread and let the whole of it envelop me. I needed to experience it, not just read it, and then recover from the experience of it. Basically, I was speechless.....a rarity. My friend, if you are not already, you need to be published..this is exquisite work. Kat
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