In this lifetime, Jan Faust has been a nurse and a social worker. She is now
involved in creating websites for people (www.queenangel.com) and exploring
her passions, one of which is writing.
To learn more about Jan, visit www.searover.com/jan
Tears for the Sea
by Jan Faust
"The sea breathes life into me, it is from whence I came." is my hallmark .
This morning when I awoke, there were drops of salt water on my eyes. I was
dreaming of the ocean. I long for the sea with its tidal rhythms and the
unmeasured reverberation of the waves on the shore. It's hard to believe
that only five days ago I was surrounded by the sea and have returned to
this place I speak of as home.
I was by the ocean with friends. From a small craft we hired to take us out
to the reefs we plunged into the sea, to be engulfed. "Serene" describes
what it is like for me to be immersed in the liquid that breathes life into
me, and yet I can not sojourn there without support.
I am emotionally affected by the sounds, smells and sights of the sea. It
is more than peaceful. I feel like I belong in and under the ocean. It is like
being in the womb of my mother again, hearing nothing but bubbles in the
place of the maternal heartbeat. Although I spent time amid the exquisite
minutiae that inhabit the ocean I felt blue after this particular dive, I
did not linger by the sea to just relish its existence. I was called back
to this place I speak of as home, not able to enjoy the ebb and flow of the
tide or the caress of my toes by the grains of sand.
Living in this landlocked state is painful, maybe that's why it is always
so difficult on my return. And then, I'm afraid I will never be able to get
back to the place I love, the sea. I wonder.....which is really home?
I have been apart, because of duty, from my ocean home for untold months. I
last experienced the ocean when diving in the Bahamas. I plan to next dive
in the Gulf of Mexico …I have been told of the beauty there. Tonight
especially I miss my home the ocean.
I sit, apart, at my computer, longing to smell the sea in my nostrils, to
hear the screech of the gull and the sound of the surf's pulse as it washes
the sandy shore...I think back to the season when I was a child playing on
the beach at Padre Island. Childhood is a special time when we are
protected from the harsh realities of life… wild sea oats surrounded me, the sand was
hot under my bare feet and there was a small tidal pool left by the
receding tide, in it was hermit crab struggling to return to his watery home. Under
the watchful eyes of my mother who, was not far away, I waded in the tidal
puddle, squatting down to look at the hermit crab. The cool water was a
pleasant contrast to the heat of the sand which had blistered the soles of
my feet. On these trips to the beach I would walk the shore line looking
for shells and drift wood. Often, I would wade out into the surf where a
special shell called to me.
In the evening after a day spent gathering oysters, clams and crabs my
father would build a large fire on the beach. In this fire my family would
steam supper in a pot from the days catch. Those were special times of
bonding with my family sitting by the fire on the beach taking pleasure
from the feeling of our taut, sunburned skin, full stomachs and exhaustion.
I am of simplicity and solitude. Still, I have become weary of life alone.
At night I lie alone in my bed aching for the embrace of another person.
Yet there is no one in my life who elicits in me a feeling of contentment. The
person for whom I look is not someone on who I can lean. The person I look
for, it is someone to walk beside me, hold hands with and share my most
inner struggles. This is not a physical need it is one of spirituality. It
is not a want for anything sexual. My need is akin to the need of
companionship. Still, this feeling is unmistakably skin hunger.
I am a solitarian person who is uneased by the intrusion of inconvenience
in my life. Having lived alone for some twenty years fighting life's battles
alone, with out the support of a companion by my side to help buffer me
from the day's unsought events, I am prepared to change, ready to do some thing
different, to accommodate bother. A buddy of sorts is what I hope for.
Sexuality has nothing to do with what I suffer from, it is simply contact
that I need.