In Blue Water



I have been known to stick myself in a spot that is not where I should be and to hang on as if it were the only thing afloat in the middle of a giant sea.

 I fled to one such place long ago and it took me in. I grabbed with all my might, holding my breath for unfathomable time against the rush of up and down breakers. It was an anchor, that place, tied to solid ground deep six below the ripples and waves. I clung because I was tired and treading so faintly that my eyes were half-full of stinging salt water.

I suppose I loved that place more than I loved myself at the time.

I dreamed of it again last night. I was snorkeling in blue water and came upon something. I cleared my mask and looked again. Through the fog of deeper water back-lit by hindsight, I could make out that what I was seeing was the place I loved.

I swam closer as it shimmered and faded, shimmered and faded, shimmered and faded. Up close, I could see that the books on the shelves were not mine. I could see nothing other than packages of Ramen noodles in a pantry which I had kept fully-stocked. The beautiful but heavy dresser I had struggled to move into place was now filled with clothes that would fit someone else. Curious Christmas stockings I would never have bought hung on the mantle and on the island in the kitchen was a half-empty glass of wine.

It was all so murky that I pulled again at my mask.

And then it was gone.

I awoke, short of breath and with a firm grip on the blanket.

I turned over and in the light of the moon I began to think about places I have loved. My grandmother’s house, the house my boys grew up in that sat high on the hill above the river and the house of my dreams with the view of the meadow.

I felt my breath slowly ease and let go of my grip and slept.

And in the dream that came next I was on solid ground and the view was very clear.

Pool in Nevis
“You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy. So let them go, let go of them. I tie no weights to my ankles.” C.Joybell C.

42 thoughts on “In Blue Water

  1. “Through the fog of deeper water back-lit by hindsight, I could make out that what I was seeing was the place I loved.”
    This line took my breath away. You are such a sensual writer Stacia. Many people write beautiful prose with great visualizations but you…you hit all the senses and it’s amazing.

  2. Add me. Barbara’s comment is so well said. In the period just before and after my father’s passing, I had two of the most amazing dreams. And the surprising thing to me was that when I remembered them on waking, I could understand exactly what they were telling me. Your post has brought them back to me as if it was only last night.

  3. This post is so deep in introspection and deeper meaning and so well written that I had to read it twice. Letting go of old weights and beginning with new dreams makes for a happy ending, like waking up from a nightmare.

  4. I wish I had your poet’s touch, but since I don’t, I’m thrilled to enjoy yours, Stacia. The passing is such a strange feeling, you’ve captured the mystery so well.

  5. For some reason, the word ‘Deep’ pops into my head!
    I’m just finishing a book about brain plasticity and in it they talk about the value of dreams in assessing how we should go forward. Sometimes we can’t let go of something until we understand why we are holding on to it.

  6. Wow, Stacia. I echo Barbara’s sentiment on the ‘back-lit by hindsight’. Amazing.
    As we prepare for my Uncle’s funeral, I find myself holding on to the Shore that existed when he was with us. It is so sad to move forward. And dreams? Oh how I treasure dreams of my Dad. I may shed tears during the dream, but I wake with a warmed heart having felt his presence again.

  7. The rich and palpable melancholy you so powerfully evoked in this post will resonate in me for a long time–as it clearly will for so many of your other readers. You have distilled in this tale the piquant and poignant beauty that resides in the search for wisdom that helps us traverse sorrow without drowning in it. Thank you for this loveliness, dear lady.

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