a mermaid's tears (part three)...

"Lying here on these sheets of blue, I am too /

longing for you.

We are one & the same, but from different worlds:

One from land, one from water /

the fisherman's son & a mermaid's daughter.

Beautiful one, I wish you could have longer stayed /

I am missing (so much)

the art & the love & the world that we made."

 

(c) Brent Harpur, 22/9/2012.

 

 

 

3.

 

In a dream (within a dream, now) I am with the crab. It sits on my chest, in the dark. Its shell is slightly aglow from the fire burning in the corner of the cabin.

 

"Why did the sea leave?” I ask, sensing deep inside I already know the answer.

 

"It felt shame. For all its ceaseless years of hissing and roaring and wearing things down. It needed to go away for a while; learn again to be calmer, stiller. More gentle, more soothing again.”

 

"And why do you tirelessly, all on your own, collect the tiny gifts that the sea has left behind, replacing them

with your tears?''

 

The crab slowly, thoughtfully replied:

 

 

“We all need a purpose.

 

 

And love is all we really have.

Without love, we are all alone. Adrift, alive,

capable of wondrous and beautiful things.

But, ultimately, alone.

 

 

If my tears can have a purpose,

then they have been worthwhile.

We can all do our part,

and slowly bring back the sea...”

 

I awake from my dream. My dream within a dream. I am still alone in this tiny bed. My cheeks and face are wet, my pillow stained & sodden with useless tears.

 

 

I rise, and quickly dress, a dull aching in my legs. It is the middle of the night. Apart from the gentle

crackling of the fire, all is very quiet.

 

 

I gently remove the blue pillowcase from my pillow,

take it outside. In the dim light, I find an empty rockpool. Gently, deliberately, I squeeze the tears from the pillowcase into it.

 

After I have done, I see the tiny shimmer of a pearl.

I reach into the tear-water, and take it delicately in-between my thumb & finger. It is cool yet warm against my fingertips. 

 

I slip it carefully into my shirt pocket. The moon, not quite full, watches me silently, basking me in its reassuring glow.

 

In its delicate light I can just make out the crab,

further up the beach, slowly making its way from rock pool to rock pool.

 

Tirelessly, patiently fulfilling its purpose,

doing its tiny part.

 

As I slowly return to the cabin, I wonder...

 

If my tears, and the wonderful, sensitive tears of the crab, are enough?

 

Maybe (just maybe) if we are patient enough,

these combined tears will eventually encourage the sea to return??

 

 

(to be continued)

 

(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.