Water Walkers
Photo by Venus Se7en
I ended Memorial Day weekend on the nearest beach with my favorite travel companion: Mommy. We broke a record lying seaside for sixteen hours in two days, warming our cocoa beaned bodies in the morning sun. The breeze, a kiss from Mother Nature herself as our sanded toes ambled to the tide. I love that 'edge of the earth' sense I get when visiting beaches. My curious mind questions the propinquity of Poseidon in the awaiting ocean or how far beyond the horizon would one see the hand of Atlas cupping this microcosm. We mistake Earth to be larger than it is, just as we sometimes overinflate our existence. Still, we are two-legged critters compared to the Divine and Ascended Masters, no different in their eyes from those smaller beings we often crush on the soles of our shoes. We are all God's creations.
There are only two fish in our immediate family, and my mother and I are neither one. This girl, in particular, can seasonally float, but I love the water, go as deep as my shoulders, and jump as many waves that come. Mommy and I verbalized our gratefulness for life, love, kinship, health, and gifts between us amid high tides and laughter. I remarked how clear the water was that day before noticing a peculiar shape at my feet: the first step in a series of stairs. Yes, stairs in the ocean, not of wood, concrete, or steel, but sand.
I couldn’t see the end of this irregular structure, so I began ascending it; I pointed it out to my mother, who hadn't yet looked below her waist to see what I did. She insisted that she wouldn't follow behind me but changed her mind as I got further away; I heard a gasp over my shoulder, and when I turned around, Mommy looked me square in my eyes, saying only two words: “Old Souls.” The book cover of my first poetry collection depicts a female painted in my likeness in all white walking on water, reflecting starlight, symbolizing her ancestors. And there I was on Memorial Day: shin-deep in an ocean, elevated by soil in the form of stairs. I might also add that my bathing suit was white; this was unplanned!
I faced the ocean once more, opened my arms, and proceeded ahead; eventually, Mommy caught up with me, and in astonishment, the pair of us looked in each direction as far as we could see and noticed no other people standing ankle-high on the water. We fell to our knees and gave thanks to the Creator, who has many names and appearances, one of which was a carpenter that said He was the way, the truth, and the life. The "Son-Shine" that watches us like the sparrow we sang about in Sunday school as children, never to forsake or leave us alone.
We believed this to be an anomaly yet designed for us to discover, so we immersed ourselves in the sea, holding hands; once above the surface again, my vision was a kaleidoscope of saltwater and sunlight. For the first time in nearly a year, I was unhappy with my phone upgrade. Unlike my previous device, this 90s Zenith TV remote control-looking receiver was not water-friendly, and I wouldn't dare risk running to the sand and back for my phone and get massacred by a wave upon arrival. Besides, by then, our fingers pruned like raisins, and Mother Nature's kiss in the wind was now a slap, so we wandered to the nearest restaurant for brunch and warmth.
At high noon, we unraveled the coral from our legs in the brine that billowed with celerity; our anchored limbs and lead bellies made leaping impossible, borderline nauseating. We were close enough to the sandbar, yet the sea level clambered; we couldn't go far this time, because although we entered the water from the same direction as before, that stairway to heaven washed away, and we knew we wouldn't see it again...at least not for a while.
