NOTES TO THE NEW MOON
Fear is a cold and dry woman. I have slept with her hard breast pressed
against my back, her stringy arms around my waist. Her navel a piercing iron
mouth, pressed against my spine, slowly sucking my warmth, never taking too much,
for I was someone to feed her never-ending hunger; I was a good host. She caught
me while I was still young and tender. My marrow still growing and my
understanding slight. Her withered legs wrapped around my stretching limbs, she
was the tourniquet to my rising sap. I thought that pain was normal, what
everyone was feeling, what life was all about. It was what I saw all around- me; I knew
not of love. I can still smell the unsatisfied lust and need in her hair and I feel the
strength and ferocity of her embrace.
I learned as a girl what love was, (for me that is). I learned-that fear was the
only thing that you can trust, a base emotion that doesn’t sneak out the back
door or leave you high and then below ground. I began to love my fear, I comforted
my self against those long years with the knowledge that I would I’d never be barren,
I always had my fear.
Something I could count on…
I could count on it in any situation, in the face of any
confrontation. I became reckless,
bold and indestructible.
Fear was my friend my solace.
I went deep sea fishing once, when I was 10; as we cleared the bar and
headed out into the open sea of the Gulf of Mexico, I remember thinking that we
had just left earth, safe and solid earth. Just the open sea and the sky, (remember
I was young).
I was shown by large men with callused hands, how to set out my line
and adjust the drag if I got a bite. They talked of putting the hook in
and when to ask for help-as-they patted me on the head-and laughed at my
eagerness. When I felt the first pull of the pole in my hands fear hugged me so
tight that my breath came in short bursts and my stomach lurched. I fought the forty-pound
pound grouper for 3 hours, and the whole time the men wanted and waited to take
the rod from my frail little girl hands. They encouraged- me to give up, to hand it
over to them; they would let me have the picture that they took of the fish at the
dock. Nobody would ever know that I didn’t bring it in by myself.
I was so scared, I felt as though that rod were part of my arms, the
line was coming from somewhere deep inside my belly, tethering me to my pride. That fish swam with its fear of death, and I hung on with my little girl fear. By the
time it gave up and rose to the surface I was tired, – bloody, sore and completely in love.
All of that battling and warring had taken my-fear and turned it into love for
that wonderful denizen of the deep. I had fought hard and won. I wanted
the fish thrown back, free to swim again in it’s cold, deep blue home.
The men laughed and pulled (the not really all that large for a grouper) grouper over the side of the boat, and whacked it with-the gaffing hook.
Its giant lidless eye stared up at me, accusingly dead, and I cried. We were never enemies.
I have this dream periodically, the fish isn’t a fish anymore, it’s the
cold, dry woman.
I am still fighting her hard as she takes my line, and circles my back under my boat, diving
deep below me; engorged on my love and warmth, she hungry for more. Her
Capture means my freedom. I strap myself to this- back-less chair and take in my line
inch by painful inch, fighting when she is trying to rest, and resting when she is
trying to dive. I fight her until I pull her over the- side; hit her over the head and gut
her clean. I look for her eye, I feel good that I won. I have only just begun to leave
her and that life.
Combining faith with trust has brought me to the door of love. I have
through the years, been digging a well, one deep-and wide that has filled with the
Pure waters of my personal successes and failures. In that well, I dive from time to
time and soak up what experience has left me, and wash with the Sap of desire for
my future. On the sandy beach of my dreams, I lie in the sun and let the wind dry
Me, evaporating the pain of my past, leaving me lighter each time. I wish to be
whole, to be able to love; without fear of what could become of that love, or myself.
I am getting closer to that place. I am but a child of this world let me hold that
sweetness in my mouth for as long as I can stand it.
There is a saying that I am fond of, “You can’t find out, until you go in.” I am
on my way.
This column Orginanly published in The Deepwater Journal in Sept. of 98′ Tampa Florida
I found this today, and thought how true it still is for me…I’m still on my way, and yes I still have this dream sometimes.
It’s still powerful and provoking for me. Have a great day. Heather