A Mermaid’s Tale

I have always gone to the water when I need to be reminded how to feel. 

She beckons me home over and over, and I have learned to hear her voice in the rain, in street puddles, and even pulsing through my own veins. 

I spent years praying to the ocean. Worshipping her as my own mother, asking her to nurture the lost little girl inside of me who desperately needed care. She brought me back to life over and over, reviving my body, mind, and spirit. And just as I began to settle into the familiar cradle of her crushing waves, she sent me away.

To the river, my child. She declared this at first in a soothing whisper that passed through my heart in the silence of her belly. But I was scared to listen. I was not ready to give up my sacred teat. 

Eventually she raged, roaring in monsoon like waves. Lovingly urging me to go, to listen and to trust. 

So I packed my bags, and headed west. I stumbled on my toddler legs to the the landlocked sanctaury I now call home. I still yearn for my mother. In the dark moments, I even curse her for sending me away. 

The river has been playfully calling to me. Asking me to become a pilgrim. To lay my body on her stones and share my secret stories. Not as mother to daughter, but as sister. To Laugh joyfully on her banks as we whisper of lovers. To wail deeply into her falls, grieving our lost dreams. 

I have resisted, stubborn in my isolation. Missing the way things used to be. But today I needed clarity. I needed support. I needed my sister. 

I went to her with a body full of fear. The mind had become so powerful I forgot how to hear my heart. How to feel. She asked me to dip my bones into her pools. I was scared. The buried rocks made for a murky bottom and I could not see as deeply as I wanted. I needed to see. LET ME SEE! I finally wailed as my heart burst out of the cage in my throat.

And in this moment of surrender, I remembered that I will never be able to see the whole picture. I want security before I jump in. To know exactly what I am consenting to. Yet trust does not deal in certainty, but rather in faith of the unknown.

My heart relaxed and I decided to dip a toe. More waves of anxiety pulsed through my system. I am not ready. The all too familiar voice whined behind my eyes. 

I have always been the type to shock my nervous system. To push through the pain and fear and jump in. But integration has been a challenge. The slow process of surrendering in every moment still feels like a foreign ideal. When I am in that life or death, flight or flight moment, I can trust. But what about the rest of the time?

Will forcing myself into the depths of the river soothe my anxiety? Or am I just feeding into the intoxicating pattern of chasing highs and lows?

I decide to walk downstream. Maybe there is a happy medium. A balance. A safer way to ease myself in. I find a shallow sun soaked spot that is perfect for lounging and a song immediately pours up from my pelvis and out of my lips. I am here. I am safe. I am home. 

Maybe I don’t always need to throw myself into the deep end before I know how to swim. Maybe I can take smaller steps that feel easeful in my system. Building confidence as I leisurely find my way.

The river dances through my hair as my shoulders relax down my spine and I am reminded of the safety in sisterhood. We are here to support each other in the remembrance of our song. And oh how sweet it is to harmonize with you.

It is a beautiful thing to live a life worth missing. But today I am reminded of the magic now. As I look backwards, I blind myself to that which sings to me here. The longer I listen to fear and longing, the more it sounds like intuition. But the way of the water always brings clarity. Cleansing and purifying the dry layers of stagnation built up in my fascia. 

I pray to the river, asking love for all. She flows steadily. I am at peace.