Unity ‘I once owned a sailboat. In the evening sun we would ride on a dream, the mist of the sea carelessly caressing our sunburnt skin. And after we would dock. The night stars were mirrored on a monsoon of water and ice and we would sit on the edge for hours; hoping that today the sun wouldn’t rise. Let us have this night, let us keep this night. All the while the waves disfigured our beloved lights, like a living painting of a star struck sea in the middle of a stormy fight. Why can’t the sea stand still? The stars forever painted on the night sky. The stars were still, still in the sky. Years away not knowing the distorted fate their future held, yet dead, to us, in the past. Ash. Dead in the past. Ash.’ “Do you remember when we were in the isles? There was that tale that the locals would tell the children, that there is a certain breeze that breaks the winter and brings the sun, but this wind only comes if you act right and true toward difficult situations. You have to act right.” “Poetry huh?” laughed Numah who was leaning against an eroded wooden pole that was tightly tied to the ever swaying dock in the ocean shallows. “It’s too cold for poetry,” said Numah smiling. “But do you remember Numah?” asked Se’jus turning from the sea and swinging her legs from over the side of the dock toward Numah, finally resting against an adjacent pillar. Numah, still smiling, turned his head toward the sea as if avoiding the question. Numah loved Se’jus, there wasn’t any question about that. There were days that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, the way her sunset hair gently blew in the breeze on the days they would sail. And on those days her smile would destroy him, turn him into a pile of beautiful ruins. A smile sitting on her rose colored lips extending to her sky blue eyes. But there were also days he couldn’t look at her at all. The shame of not being able to live up to all she was, she was his miracle. “No,” said Numah softly lowering his head, “I don’t remember.” Numah remembered the day probably better than Se’jus, he just couldn’t bring himself to say it, cause once the clouds are unlocked, the flood awaits. That day meant something to them that Numah tried to ignore, he couldn’t acknowledge the tale for all it meant. “It’s getting really cold out here Se’jus, you don’t have to sit with me, we probably should go in anyway, it’s a foggy evening- the moon won’t give us much guidance tonight.” “I love it out here at night” said Se’jus, “ the way the stars reflect on the waves, a million miles away, yet right on the threshold of in reach.” There was a strange silence between the two, as if the very thought of them touching the stars had sent them into a solitary sleep, but so awake; an awakening that was remote and spacious and filled their souls with a longing that was in itself desired. But just as sudden as the space had surrounded them, Numah broke it with a certain voracity that lingered long after he left. Quickly getting up on the dock, Numah said, “No stars tonight dear, just fog, I’ll go start the fire.” The solemn setting was rattled by Numah’s ever decrepit will. The sea seemed sorry to let Numah go, and made quite a scene under the dock, shaking Se’jus as Numah walked to the cottage. The wind also joined in the protest and moved the seas in soft rebellion. Se’jus sat. Looking from her husband to the rocky sea, she watched the waves turn white under the winds confidence. Perhaps the rain is coming. The storm had already begun.

The Rebellion and the Exile Just as the dream had started, it ended with soft rain comforting Se’jus’ cheek. Her sky blue eyes opened, only to find complete darkness and the cold splash of the sea and the sprinkle of rain. The rain had started. The seas rebellion was now an all-out war, raging their offence against the dock and throwing Se’jus side to side with only a pillar to grasp. In a manner of mere moments Se’jus was utterly helpless, unable to find her bearing or walk off the dock. Incapable of sight by the rains increasing battle against her and its ally with the wind, Se’jus could barely muster a yell; “Numah!” she cried, trying to grasp for breath amongst an ocean of rain. Numah, sleeping soundly in the cottage was awoken not by her yell, but by a clasp of thunder that shook the entire foundation of their home. Jerking awake and noticing not only that the ocean had seemingly taken residence in the air, but that his wife was not in their beloved bed; put Numah on red alert with the realization of where he left her. Bolting like fire from the heavens, Numah jolted out of the door into the war of sea and sky. As if Numah had dove into the ocean, he was dripping wet from head to toe by the time he made it to the splintered dock. Se’jus was gripping the pillar tighter than Numah could the danger involved in his unplanned rescue, when he sprinted across the dock to his beloved bride. “Se’Jus!” Numah yelled, as he reached her rattled and shaken posture, “We have to go dear, grab onto my shoulder!” Weakly, Se’jus un-pried her hands from the pillar and flung her arms around Numah’s neck. Limply with scarce strength, Se’jus managed to hold on to Numah as he carried her across the dock. The wind, constantly blowing Numah off balance and constantly picking up, was flinging the sailboat back and forth hitting the dock in an almost perfect rhythm of wood shattering knocks. The sails were still up. An amateur mistake. The sailboat was going to be torn apart if he didn’t lower the sails, he couldn’t afford to let his vessel go, not when the storm was getting this bad. Once Se’jus was safely on shore, Numah raced back to the sailboat to try to save it; though the wind was battering the bow and stern in an almost perfect seesaw dance. I must cut the sails, thought Numah. The mast was fighting in the resistance, as if it was outstretching its arms, defying the wind with its right and left arms, but Numah had to kill the resistance; the battle was over when it began. Slipping to and fro around the dock Numah gained his boundaries for a moment long enough to leap in the boat and take its will. Like a bloodlust, Numah fetched the knife under the cabin, and with the wind and rain taunting him to execution, Numah started cutting the mainsail. But just at that moment, like a designed plan seized and orchestrated by the storm, Se’jus screamed out for Numah who, as a result, looked up to see the prophetic anguish of his wife. Not even a second after, a bolt of fire lit up the sky and pursued judgment on Numah and his little resistance ripping the pillar apart that was anchoring the boat and thus knocking Numah unconscious by the remnants of the fleeing unity of pillar and port. The winds vengeance was almost complete and with the boat loose and almost Devine direction of sea and wind, Numah was carried off ravenously into the void of Open Ocean. Just like the dream had started, it ended with the nightmare of isolation and exile. Though the fog had lifted in a traitorous aid to the storm, the warning was sent. The deed was done. The gods went to sit on their thrones and left Numah in a windless, dry cage surrounded by false hope. With no cloud in the sky; a painting of stale water colors frozen in a dreary horror. Numah, with awareness rekindling inside his slashed head, sat up slowly softly speaking his bride’s name, “Se’jus?, Se’jus?” As if hearing himself say that word lifted the veil off his marred consciousness, panic, then, was allowed to seep in the cracks which, in turn, seemed to create the catalyst of full realization and remembrance. Numah wept. The saltwater was purged from his eyes, and then rejoined its brothers in a pool of sea and sky at the bottom of the boat; all individualism lost, and qualities forgotten. Numah’s eyes burned and raged at the destined fate of his unplanned sojourn, and when night fell, he slipped- in resistance- into a dream that was to be his beacon. On the other side of the fog, still thick in vanity and loyalty to the storm, Se’jus laid on the shore, weeping at her injustice. Echoing in her ears was the sound of the silence now felt and heard all around her, as the waves mocked her with impertinence. Something that couldn’t even be rendered as a moan, escaped Se’jus’ lips with grave loyalty to her lost unity. One word, a desperate cry of awareness, and a mournful call to remembrance, “Numah.” With that, Se’jus collapsed again, in an almost lent against living, a fast in the ash of a once whole home; her wedding shroud, merely sackcloth. She dreamt all night, until the sun was shown in the grey hues of the lingering winter.

A Confession Just as Numah had conformed to the temptress of rest, he revolted with slowly waking, swollen red eyes resistant to the reality of his inescapable condition. He awoke with the sun brightly overhead burning his salt-soaked, sore-scathed skin, and his dirty blonde hair was tangled and matted; a work proudly claimed by the sweat, blood and tears of the sky, soul and skin. His lips were as a desert land’s fault line, a formidable comparison to any viewer, and too harrowing for even a buzzard. Fatigue now, seemed to become his constant companion upon waking, and with alarm, Numah realized the hardship of his toils to come. What fresh water or food would he have-if any-on such an unprepared sailboat for such an unprecedented odyssey? Numah shifted his weight around through the boat without standing up-the weakness would overtake him- and dragged himself with much prevail, to his surprise, to the opposite end of the boat, where he had hoped he could dip his finger in the cool of fresh water, to ease such a restless thirst. Just as the lukewarm are cast out of the comforts of heavenly paradise, Numah spat out the soiled water. The sea had fought and won in the war against the rain, leaving Numah with an undying thirst. No cloud in the sky. No fresh water. Two days at sea, mostly in a restless sleep-state given, but still living, one more day left; Numah needed water. Now risen to a new level of awareness and alert, like a promotion of the senses, Numah darted throughout the boat-fatigue shoved to the wayside- looking for any nook or dip that would possibly contain his salvation. It seemed all for naught, but hiding in one shadowed corner- just below the bow- a dent in the transom was revealed and seemingly held its innocence all night against the sea. Numah carefully sipped the living water, as if a sacrament or relic blessed by the priestess of Pythia. His weathered lips were immediately purified by the cool of the water’s touch, his tears dared not tamper the only life left. Breath seemed to flood into him like the levy of life had broken inside and he thus let out a cathartic, deep sigh. An awakening came upon him-panic now ceased- and Numah felt he could breathe again, a once un-dead but lifeless creature resurrected by the remnants of war. It would not sustain him long. Numah would soon need water again, and eventually food would become priority. Plans started formulating in his mind, in how he could survive out in the deeps until he could get back to Se’jus. Se’jus, he thought, I have not abandoned you. I will return. It was a vast void of Open Ocean before him, no veil leant its embrace or gave comfort. Blocking the sun from his mourning eyes, Numah looked all around him trying to configure some way of direction or heading. It seemed to no prevail as the sun continued its ravenous assault on the sailboat, therefore leaving Numah in quite a disoriented state, as his earlier salvation now became mere vapor or dew on a drenched field that alluded to the summer’s presence. Illusion now gone. There was nowhere to go. The senseless ebb and flow of time and tide had worked their silent tyranny and now the void of ocean laid as barrier against unity. I will get back. I will get home. These thoughts echoed through all of Numah’s mind, taunting him in a mocking confirmation of the impossible. In a crude and exhaustive manner, Numah fashioned a rod from part of the splinted deck and tied loose thread onto the end of the rod from his ever unravelling and fading pants; he seemed to have hope where hope had gone. For even if he could gather food in such an unreasonable way he feared from his overzealous exertion that he would not live to bring the food to his satisfaction, there was no more rain water upon his vessel. Soon night fell, and brought with it the pains of failure, fatigue and famine. Numah’s eyes would’ve relieved tears, had he had any rebel left in them, and any strength to pursue a cathartic resolution. Suddenly a thought came, a call to flesh, a revelation took a hold of Numah, and dreary as it was, gave a sense of peace he had not found since awaking to the sky’s revolt on the two lovers many nights before. He would not be silenced in his final moments on this earth, his voice would find resonance in eyes of the future, and perhaps his hardships would be immortalized in the soul of the future reader. He would write; his voice would be heard. Now absurd as it was, in the cabin, though not loaded with essentials that were vital to his continuation, was a notebook and a pencil that Se’jus would use to sketch as they sailed around the bays, moments such as sunsets or any other item of aesthetic or eternal nature that presented itself true and beautiful. Scraping himself off the deck, Numah slowly made his way to the cabin-mind you too small for drapery against the daytime tyrant-and reached in to retrieve the small book more than half empty with the absence of Se’jus’ sketches, more time; they both just needed more time. With a deep breath and a commitment that reached to a sphere barely beyond a resigned being, but still blotched with a decaying hope, Numah began to write.

Hope On the other side of the fog, Se’jus stood on the splintered dock with anguish and longing in her eyes. The breeze blew her sunset hair, as if in attempt to comfort her sharp features. No smile sat on her rose colored lips, only a slight tremble that extended to the corners of her eyes- glassy now with a hopeless glance. She loved Numah, and this emptiness wasn’t as easily filled as the sky was with its daily routine of making its bed with sheets of grey covers and cold climate. Se’jus looked out to the sea, unable to find sight beyond the barrier of thick fog that seemed to show flattery in its imitation of her heart; once fulfilled with the sprinkle of spring showers in unity with Numah, now masked in a mast of mist and cold with his exile. Just as she was about to turn around and make her venture to a seemingly pointless sleep that only ended with another day to remind her of her absence, the wind picked up as if in crude conversation with her. “I am in no mood to chat,” said Se’jus aloud, and with the conversation seemingly over began to walk to her cottage. With only a few steps to journey before reaching her cold cottage door, Se’jus was overtaken with grief that was full of joy. She suddenly remembered when and where she and Numah met-not quite out of her mind, merely hidden-and touching her stomach as if trying to contain the butterflies that were building up and the overpowering nostalgia of love and loss. Se’jus remembered the ruins. This was where the foundation of her relationship was built, and still in sight. The site of the lighthouse. The site of the lighthouse ruins where they first took each other’s hands and committed them to unity. Before she realized it, her feet were leading her through her memories as she walked up the path of sand and cold rock, through some scarce trees, to the lighthouse. It still stood tall, as she remembered, only half or maybe less broken off and lying on the ground. The lighthouse seemed to stand as a broken man, overlooking the ocean on a high hill, keeping his post, yet unable to fulfill his duty; discharged with honors perhaps. The old soldiers’ limbs were bleached from rain and winter, and shone a dirty white, not quite fulfilled in purity but not yet too far gone. A great sense of importance washed over Se’jus as the rain seemed to mimic her revelation, now teeming down in a regular rhythm. I will restore you sir, thought Se’jus, as she looked at the great ruins. You will be restored to your former glory and Numah, you’re coming home.

Baptism ‘I once owned a sailboat, in the morning hours as the golden kingdom would rise to take its dominion over the night sky, we would untie the sails. The morning breeze was cool, and alluded to the coming day. Under our feet the boat would gently rock, the sea our mother and comforter. Peace and loving companionship and unity prevailed, we should’ve known then, we should’ve seen the sea put on the cloaks of Brute’, should’ve seen the wind slither amongst us in paradise with evil intention.’ Numah looked up out into the void, the sun was still reigning in its kingdom, and as a peasant Numah endeared his harsh penance. Was it cooler now? Did the sun ease its strength while whipping its servant? Numah laid the pencil down on the notebook. He felt a sort of confession in his letter, he knew his body was not long for this side of exile, but maybe writing would be a gateway to the entrance to the other side, his soul felt lighter. With this Numah closed his eyes accepting-though not fully-the fate that had been dealt to him. His strength was waning, he would awake-he thought-in a new land, and perhaps Se’jus would guide him in his dreams to the conversion of the afterlife. As the dream had started, he felt lightness and serenity carry him. It was okay. Everything was okay. What might’ve been two days in a dream, Numah awoke. The sun was gone, yet yielded no stars or moon. A cool droplet slid down his cheek, was he crying? Then another slid down his cheek, as if a revolution had begun. Seconds later he felt the cool pang of tears slide on the sunburnt skin of his arm. It was raining. The droplets gained more and more members in the revolution, and raided the sky and sailboat in a counterattack against the drought. Numah was soon baptized, and as if a priest was lowering him to salvation, Numah leaned back to take a drink from the sky’s gauntlet. Feeling revived Numah shot to the cabin and threw his notebook out of the rain, there was a small cup that held some pencils and other miscellaneous items, and so he dumped the contents of the cup and let it become full to the brim with baptism. The conversion lasted nearly all night, though no heavy wind nor high wave came to assault. His body was revived by raining rite. Though this was no salvation, for six years this pattern would emerge, and as he would write he would drink, but never thrive. For six years Numah rode on the midnight sea, sometimes a breeze would lend a hand in his endeavor as he sailed by the stars. For six years Numah journeyed on the Open Sea in a quest to regain his unity, emptiness growing with severity every passing year. Until the seventh year, when Numah hit the wall of fog and cold.

The Death and Life of the Old Soldier On the other side of the fog, Se’jus finished her work, the sweat of her brow beaming in the winter sun as she put down her hammer. “Well old soldier,” Se’jus started, “just look at yourself, your former glory is restored.” Se’jus smiled and marveled at her recreation, but her smile no longer rose to her sky blue eyes. Her smile, just like her spirit, sat in acceptance of the prevailing possibility of no return; for her and her husband. Tears brimmed on her eyes, as she lifted her weary hand to bring life into the old lighthouse. She gripped a lever with weathered fingers and pulled the soldier from deaths grip into light. As if the Pharos of Alexandria had been resurrected, the glow started to grow and as the lens spun the soldiers sight pierced the threshold of fog. Se’jus sighed and with her head down and a silent smile, she walked one last time down the spiraling stairs to the cottage, went inside and slept.

A Stars Gasp The dream had only lasted a few moments, Numah was dreaming of the day he went to the isles. Dreaming of that lost happiness faded by the face of familiar indifference. That day he saw the stars as they really were, the pathetic last gasp off self-importance and purpose sent out among the cosmos in a desperate search for some state of survival. All Numah could do when he saw their words light up the sky, was say “I’m Sorry.” The images of Se’jus were snatched from him as his eyes were invaded by a flash of lightning. Numah sat up quickly, and looked around to see where the storm was, but only saw fog all around and only felt the calm rock of the sea. This was no storm, Numah thought. Again the flash nearly blinded him, and suddenly an indescribable feeling welled up inside of Numah, sweeping the cobwebs away from his soul while passing. This was a lighthouse. Without delay Numah began maneuvering the sails to point to the lighthouse, it was as if the breeze was cheering him on as it rose in applause to his cause. He was almost there now, he could see the dock.

Restoration It was cold. Se’jus had been sitting on the dock for hours, sleep that comes quickly leaves quite the same. Her strength was failing, she’d known for some time now. Gently the breeze brushed her hair, as the dock rocked her; the world was singing her to slumber. Just as her eyes saw the drawing of the curtain, a sailboat slowly came out of the fog and ushered in restoration. No words were spoken when their eyes met; no words were available. Once on the dock, Numah gently took Se’jus’ hands in his and the clouds were unlocked. Tears streamed from their eyes like the rain that separated them, but soon embrace turned to hold as Se’jus’ life began to slip away. Gently, Numah sat Se’jus down with him on the dock and looked out to sea. “Come now Se’jus, let’s watch the stars.” With that Se’jus drew her last breath, that certain breeze that breaks winter and brings spring. For she had acted true, and truth requires sacrifice. Only an hour after coming to unity, Numah buried Se’jus and along with her that small notebook that brought the rain. Inscribed on the last page next to her heart were the words that would resonate like the gasp of the stars: Through the wind the waves crash on, marking the moments our lives describe. A call is made to flesh and bone, in silence the hope of the coming tides. The constant pursuit for truths’ define, perceptions askew we lost our own. Let awareness reign throughout these times, to let the lighthouse guide us home.