Once upon a time a starry-eyed girl set off on a voyage in a tiny boat with sails made of hope.
One day the wind slowed and so did her boat. She pulled the oars but invisible undercurrents stopped the boat. She hesitated but changed her course and the boat entered deep waters.
A developing storm quick and strong shook the boat. She rowed harder but couldn’t override the winds. The fog veiled the horizon. She cried and shivered loosing control of the boat but stayed afloat.
The Fairy who oversaw seas that night noticed the girl caught in a whirlwind.
“I’ll help her, – she announced to the God of Seas, – “I’m a Fairy on Duty; she is under my protection and will stay the course. On her quest for a mirage that lured many she unexpectedly reached another shore: lush, real, embodying everything she longed for.
She can’t see through the fog of tears. She struggles in the storm. She risks losing everything that’s near.
Hers is a trusty boat. She’ll need it for her future trips around the island for she is going to live there. She’ll need to pick up her oars but loosen her grip for it isn’t her who’s in charge now”.
“I know, – smiled the God of Seas – ‘Help if you must but don’t interfere. Use neither words nor images but make sure she notices”.
“Why? How?? Wait…..have you….???”
“Hush! Find the way”.
By then the girl surrendered to the relentless storm.
She dropped her oars and curled up in her boat.
She saw herself as if from some distance: hopeless, lost at sea and thought: “Why….. did I ever ……entered the waters….?”. Exhausted, she nodded off.
Suddenly she felt some tiny movement of air, an ephemeral feeling very near her which sharply contrasted the raging winds which bashed her boat. She didn’t move but took notice.
The storm raged on. She stayed with that out-of-nowhere feeling.
There’re no words she’d normally use; not even images she’d just about do with. A feeling…an elusive something she couldn’t name…..as if she already arrived…a fleeting visit from her unknown future.
It felt real. It made her feel warm and safe, at home, right in the the eye of the storm.
She opened her eyes and picked up the oars carefully navigating the whirl. The sails caught the wind. The fog cleared and the boat entered low waters.
An island, crystal clear in it’s most exuberant colours was just in front of her.
She dropped the anchor, kissed her boat, and swam to the shore.
Writing by Irina Kotlar
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