Sunday, 24 February 2008
~~~The Man on the Water~~~
Staring, transfixed, as the waves wash ashore. I sit here cold and alone, dampened by the sea spray. The empty sky mocks me with it's cold indifference. There's nothing here to lead me away from all the dark thoughts chasing each other around and around inside my head. I cower here, in pain and fear, never to be real again. And from the mist he appears. Walking atop the water, stepping over the waves, gliding effortlessly to the shore where I sit, hunched over and shaking. Curiously I watch as he nears, silent as death, the world around me stops for him. The roar of the waves is silenced and the call of the birds in the trees behind me are deafened. There is nothing but us. Him and I, staring across the expanse of the now silent ocean. He continues to walk towards me, keeping his steady pace. As I watch strange emotions run through me. Fear and the need to run show first, but curiousity holds me where I sit. Who can he be? This dark-cloaked man who walks among the waves; this cheap impersonation of Jesus Christ himself. He stops, still standing on the water for he dares not touch land, and stretches out a skeletal hand to me. His face is clouded in darkness and mystery, so I do not see his lips move, but I hear his deep voice inside my ears.
"Come with me, child. I will protect you."
He has the voice of my father, and the comfort this offers me is tempting, but I know this man is not my father. He is nothing even close to the one who claims his love to me and kissed my forehead before bed every night. This man is not that man. No man can ever be that man, but yet I trust this man on the water. The one who will not step on land or lower his hood so I may watch him speak. This man, this being, whatever he is; radiates a power I have not known nor seen or felt before. That fear, age-old and uncontrollable, warns me of danger; screams at me about the foul aura surrounding this dark-cloaked man, but my curiousity brings me to my feet. Curiosity leads me to stretch out my hand; it hovers centimeters above his own. He does not grasp my hand against my wishes, this is my choice, although he does not say it; I know it in my bones, deep in my heart and mind where only truth is told. I stare into his hood, groping with my eyes for some sign of who or what this stranger is, but I can see nothing. He will not give himself away, it is up to me to trust him.
Fear could keep me here, cold and alone, lost on this beach with nothing and no one to save me. Curiosity could save me, goad me to grasp his skeletal hand in mine and walk back across the waves to the mist he appeared out of. And so I make my choice. My hand lowers, but my eyes never leave his hood, and my fingers wrap around his. He pulls me forward, onto the waves. My body is light, feather-like, as I stand before him while the waves crash ashore underneath our feet. He turns, without words, and suddenly the roar of the waves is no longer silent, and I can hear the birds calling, as if trying to call me back to them. I follow him, my feet causing ripples upon the surface of the water that are quickly and violently destroyed by the waves. I leave behind no memory of my existance, and I never look back. The call of the birds is lost by the roar of the waves as we walk together, hand in hand, to the mist far out at sea, where I will now make my home. I know not what lies ahead, but the fear has left me. Now I am only curious about the mist that's swirling ever closer.