The ocean roars outside my window.
I look above my monitor and there she is, rolling back and forth, crashing against the rocks which lie like great sleeping beasts in the surging surf. The sand on the beach rolls to and fro, playing with the water like old friends. Nearby, the wind ripples through the short tan grass, moving it softly as though petting the wild mane of a giant lion.
As the waves approach the shore, the foam takes on the curious shape of unicorns in a mad dash for land, but ever stronger, the water pulls them back out again. Over and over, the sea unicorns run for shore – and over and over the sea pulls them back, bonding with them.
The wind pushes the clouds over the ocean, rapidly hiding and uncovering the sun. The color of the water changes with every shadow; greys and blues, turquoise and brilliant teal, greens and white, clear as glass. Far in the distance, the sun glints on the water, teasing me; could they be whales, arching and diving? Or is it the sea?
The land changes multiple times. From the tiny deck of our cabin to the sea, there is emerald green grass, barren dry bushes that wave like skeletal hands, deeply green bushes like short evergreen trees, rolling tan manes of great invisible lions, dry lightly brown sand, dark wet richly brown sand, the sharp uprising of dark mossy rocks, and the sea. In one sweeping glance, I take in a dozen worlds.
Seagulls whirl and spin in the sky, the wind currents battering them as they fly.
The tide comes in; water rushes toward our little cabin, perched here on the hill. My heart swells like the sea.
I think of home, and I realize – I am home. The sea is home to me. In all her moods, with all her colors, she calls to me. She sings to me a siren’s song, piercing my heart like an arrow loosed from a bow.
I could live forever here, in this little cabin on the hill, with the rolling moody sea just outside my window. She stirs my imagination, strengthens my magick, clarifies my mind, deepens my intuition. I feel so alive, so real, so raw. Healing and hurting, scarred and soaring, a paradox of emotion running through me like… like water.
I am a water witch.
I have always been a water witch, but I’ve denied it for years. I’ve claimed it didn’t matter. I’ve minimized and trivialized my deep need for the sea. I’ve pretended not to care. I’ve pushed it down and buried it and hidden from it until it became my very own deep dark secret – and all because I’ve been afraid to be fully, gloriously me.
But I won’t do that any more. The more true to myself I become, the more self-aware, the more deliciously in love with myself, the less I am able to ignore any part of me – much less, so vital and so integrated a part. More than anything else I’ve learned on this pilgrimage, I have learned this.
I am a water witch, and one day I will live by the sea.