The Selchie's Stars

My mother loved the ocean. The house of my childhood was in a dune-wreathed neighborhood, all color muted, the clips and clops of the horses muffled, the whispering hiss of waves and foghorn songs unrelenting; with a salty little patch of a garden that grew only iceplant and orange nasturtiums. My mother walked the strand every morning, and my father never allowed her to go alone, as if he were afraid she might swim away; he took his heavy pole and his great gleaming hooks and his lead surfweights, and my mother cooked sand dabs in breadcrumbs and butter for supper.

At six years old, it was only because I turned my myself resolutely eastward and walked forever toward the rising sun that I learned that the rest of the town lay sparkling in a harsh, dazzling light, as confident and content as a sun-soused cat. My father found me and took me home, to face my mother's hurt silence.

My mother thought the hard light away from the seamists vulgar, if not dangerous; and as I grew, so did she: ever more disapproving and disappointed as I turned away from the sea, wandering an inner wilderness of forests and deserts and snowy mountains, far away from her beloved waters.

As time passed we barely spoke to one another, old misunderstandings and small woundings and abandonments sufficing. Then, at twelve, away from home at summer camp in the valley, I made a discovery I thought would break us apart forever: stars.

At home the fog crept in every evening, piling grey counterpanes on the sandy cobbles until not even the moon could burn through, but there I lay on my blanket under a vast sky, stars uncountable, distant and grand and mysterious. I blamed my mother for keeping me from this wild beauty that made my breath catch in my chest, but I tucked that away in a secret place in my heart.

At fifteen, as if it weren't enough that we lived in this gloomy little place, where I tipped sand from my shoes, and kicked at the kelp, and tossed broken cockleshells back into the surf, my mother decided the family vacation was to be at yet another beach, miles north up the coast.

The dunes sucked at my feet, making every step a struggle; I lost my key among the driftwood stacks, and all I could think was: away, away, I want to be away from here, away from my mother who always looks sad, away from this soggy, starless place. In my mother's house by the sea, I shouted and stomped off and slammed my door, then slammed out again to shout some more, until my father put a stop to it, by saying merely, but in his quiet-and-dangerous voice: "That Is Quite Enough". And so it was.

We followed the river through a cool mossy wood to the sea, and the holiday beach was brilliantly sunny, and I nursed a small hope. The waves tossed droplets that caught the sun's fire, and my brothers built a mighty sand fortress with a channeled moat, though the water, salty as tears, only disappeared between tiny wet pebbles. We ate a sand-crunchy picnic of oysters roasted over a smoky driftwood fire, and drank lemonade, and I forgot to scowl. But as the sun set, the fog tumbled in, and I pointedly made my bed as far from my family as I dared.

In the deepest dark of that night, my mother woke me from a dream and said, "Come, Look"; and I saw that the fog had fled, and the stars burned more fiercely than ever before, or since. We sat there in silence, my mother and I, as a harbor seal, spotted silver and slate, crept out of the lapping water to nurse her fuzzy pup asleep on the cool sand, and I knew then that my mother loved me, and I her, but I tucked that, too, away in a secret place in my heart.

And soon enough, I found a young man, exactly like my father: kind, but watching me always, as if I might disappear like seawater into the sand. I told myself it was love, and he took me away, to a house in the mountains, half a continent away from any shore. I walked the riverbank every morning, and he never allowed me to go alone; he took his bamboo pole and his flies and his floats, and I cooked brown trout with pine nuts for supper.

But the longer I lived there, the sadder I became, until I was as empty and ethereal as the mists I had escaped, and he watched me still, eyes troubled; and I began to think: away, away...

One night I dreamed I was walking along a beach under a starry sky, and a seal looked at me with her great, dark, lonely eyes, and spoke to me in my mother's voice. I packed in a panic that very morning, and flew away from my bewildered husband, but I arrived home too late; my mother had died, and there was nothing for me to do but take her ashes to scatter on the holiday beach.

Among her things I found a folded skin, spotted silver and slate, with a note in her elegant hand: "This was mine, but I never had the courage. Now it is yours: use it; for life is short, but the sea is eternal".

So I carry it too, to this coastal resting place; where the river rushes forever into the arms of the sea, and I pour out my heart's secrets, onto the sand.

Written by Lisa Phoenix

I just Love this story and wanted to include it in my blog for safe keeping. I did not write it though, it was written by a fellow blogger. Her story is very eloquent I thought and she has a true understanding of the selchies. There were times when I did not keep in touch with my own Mother as much as I wish I would have... and I regret each and every moment of that time. I can not even imagine what it will be like for me to not hear from my Sons for lengths of time... although I know that time is coming someday soon. All my life all I have ever wanted was children and I now that I have finally had them I can not imagine living my life without them in our home. Yet I know that they must go out and venture on their own. I want them to. I want them to enjoy all of the wonderful adventures that life can bring... and experience the exuberance of being your own person... on your own. But at the same time I can not imagine the heart break that I will endure when I do not see them everyday. Life is such a turmoil... so beautiful and grand... and so heart breaking too. That is the cycle of life. The saying that if you truly Love something then you will enventually have to let it go... is so very true indeed.

So this is where I am suppose to reclaim my own life again I guess. But that is so very very distant. And I don't have a fraction of the "All" that it took for me to live the life that I led. I relive it all the time in my mind... but that is not the same. I have wonderful sweet memories but no health or stamina to be able to do it some more. I feel like such an old old lady. Content to sit and knit, read, and dream of days gone by... yet I long to be able to go to the places I use to frequent... the tops of mountains, the coastal wilderness, the desert vastness, the deep forests, the deep sea, the rocky northwest islands, the hidden beaches. How I Loved to be in the middle of the desert on a full moon night with only myself and my dog, Yuca... sitting by a warm fire that I had made. Or hiking a trail to the glacier ice caves with her leading the way and her finding our way back on the trail at night, or her finding the way back down from the mountain top through confusing patches of snow and dirt... with me being paniced being lost on the mountain, but knowing that I could trust Yuca to find the way back to our Jeep... she always did... every time. And how I Loved going snowshoeing with her during the frozen January and February full moon nights... being amazed at the inches long hoar frost on the branches and the glittering diamond covered snow fields. Yuca would bound through the snow drifts with only her small nose poking through sometimes. I think she use to do that on purpose because she knew that it always made me laugh... to see how silly she could be. How I miss her sleeping next to me on our bed... always feeling so safe and Loved... knowing that 'she' was there. I am Blessed to have witnessed and lived so much beauty in my life. I would just like to get healthy enough to be able to see a little bit more before I have to leave this life. So my current endeavor... lessen this aweful disease to get healthier... atleast a little bit.

Selchie...