In ancient times, the sea was the home of Chaos.
I could write that the sea symbolized chaos, but that word symbol is too easily brushed aside. As if symbols are merely tame bits of literary frippery with no power to unleash the deepest truths of our lives. Like opening the floodgates.
To the sea.
For these ancients, the sea was unfathomable. The sea bedded monsters. The sea could surge forth, at any time, and swallow up land, homes, lives.
Death, darkness, oblivion, terror. This was the sea.
And if you love beach vacations and find it hard to understand how the play of light on dancing waves could ever have been a harbinger of doom, then you will read the twenty-first chapter of the book of Revelation with surprise. And disappointment.
Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. (Revelation 21:1)
But if you are like me, you will sigh with longing.
If you are like me, the mere act of sifting through an overfull kitchen drawer for a thermometer hiding somewhere in its depths while the milk you had intended to turn into yogurt boils away on the stove is all it takes for Chaos to begin seeping in.
A moment later and the failed yogurt, the waste of good milk, the scorched pot and the murky kitchen drawer have caught you in their surge. One glance around and you are lost in an ocean of legos and marbles and bits of paper from the morning’s craft and a sticky puddle you cannot explain.
Now you are drowning because it is so humid and your kitchen is a furnace and the baby, the beautiful curly-haired baby, abandoned the slip’n slide after five minutes and is now tracking wet grass and clumps of mud from kitchen to dining room to entryway rug.
One day there will be no sea.
Yes, the sea is a symbol and my kitchen drawer is a symbol and whoever told you a symbol isn’t real? Whoever said it was not possible to drown in symbolic waters?
But if it is possible to drown, it must also be possible to swim. It must also be possible to open your eyes and observe the play of light on dancing waves.
To stand before the unknown and the unmanageable and discover, not the hiding place of terror, but the birthplace of beauty.
***
Beautiful words, Christie. I’m finding that summer is an excellent time to learn how to swim.
Thank you, Kelly. It’s true! Summer in all its excess is exactly the right time.
This is my life at the moment. What threatens to drown me is also a churning sea full of symbolic beauty. We just have to have the eyes to see it, yes? Your writing leaves me with deep sighs and exhales when I didn’t realize I was holding my breath. Love you Christie. Hugs.
So much love to you, too, Shelly! I have no doubt you are up to your neck in these high (treacherous, gorgeous) waters. A favorite song/prayer right now for me is a new praise song by Hillsong United called Oceans. I imagine it could mean something for you too this summer.
Goodness sakes, this is fine writing. And that last photo? Glory. THANK YOU!
Thank YOU, Diana. You do a writer’s heart good, you surely do. And, yes, that last photo (taken by my sister Kelli Campbell this Easter) is glorious. I’m so glad she captured it – that stairway rainbow greets me nearly every day. It is a special sight.
“But if it is possible to drown, it must also be possible to swim.” I spent a whole year focusing on the word FLOAT — because sometimes even swimming seems too overwhelming, and I find it a good first step just to stop the fighting of the waves and let them carry me. And the view from there brings a good amount of light-dancing, too. Praying a special season of “sealessness” for you the rest of this summer.
Beth, I love that word! Thank you for sharing it here. I’ll be holding on to it this summer, I’m sure.
I would say, “Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.” but that seems way too childish for this. Oh well.
May what scares us and threatens to drown us also buoy us up. Swim!
Good words, Tresta! Maybe I should listen more carefully to the things I tell my kids. 😉
Yes. learning to swim in fits and starts right now. Metaphorically, of course–but it’s so very real.
I always love your words, friend. XO
Thank you, Kris. And, yes. Metaphor is as real as bread, as real as wine.
But….there is a river!!
(Beautifully true, thank you)