The Celestial Sea

by Marina de Nadous

  We know it well,

  This gives us energy to plan and invent,

  It has a hidden spice that ignites.

  And this one here, see the lozenge shape?

  We feel like making music with it,

  Voices and fingers lubricated well.

  This one’s a favourite, I can tell,

  A familiar, round, soft heart-shape with a creamy centre,

  We like to lie in cosy nest-mode when we choose this.

  And look! ——There’s the rich, spicy one with fizz,

  ——Slapped hand——better not take that just yet!

  Maybe later, we will need permission first.

  Remember, we have to share the tin.

  Oh bother——but there again,

  Maybe it’s just as well,

  Otherwise we might scoff the lot too fast,

  And not savour each morsel.

  In the meantime, rhyme and verse will serve us well.

  Now, here’s the one I was hunting for,

  The simple, plain finger,

  Teaches us to linger on a prayer

  And light a candle.

  And do you know,

  A wonderful, quite extraordinary thing?

  All these shapes and flavours come out of the same biscuit tin!

  BISCUITS OF THE FOREST

  {Information found inside the lid} A tantalizing, special selection suitable for all year round consumption. Hand-picked ingredients of the highest quality, available only through “Sherwood Forest Co. Ltd’.

  STORAGE INSTRUCTIONS: Treat these biscuits with due care and attention and they will never go stale, or run out. Remember to keep the lid on at all times.

  SERVING SUGGESTION: These biscuits are better nibbled, not munched, preferably at dawn, in fine company, and if possible, under gorse bushes.

  PACKED & APPROVED BY: Celestial Inc. July 2006. Expiry date: 0000000000. Detection not possible. Every crumb swept away for customer peace of mind.

  N.B: A second and third layer has yet to be uncovered. Crinkly paper and mouth-watering moments. Customer satisfaction guaranteed.

  Any complaints by telepathy to: The Angelic Toast Co.

  P.O Box Paradise 1

  We laugh, knowing we will revisit the silly verse, hearing the relevant innuendos and wanting to add to them. But not now; now we have other things to discuss. “I’ve acquired a mobile phone,” I say. “Oh, that’s great! Show me and I will tap in my number. You haven’t used it yet? Need a lesson? Okay, here goes.” After an efficient session on the wonders of modern technology I am set. “Now we can send each other messages whenever we want. You can be Mouse and I can be Adrian,” my Friend adds with a flourish. “I suppose I had better away; try and move the motor. Thanks for the new battery. I can usually get her going when nobody else can. See you tomorrow perhaps?”

  Saturday 12th August 2006

  So——I have my own mobile phone. Well, well. This is a new and surprising addition to my life. I wonder if I can remember my lesson from yesterday. The morning is busy with domestic arrangements and I forget I have the phone in my bag. A loud buzz surprises me suddenly. How exciting——my first message.

  A.m. Adrian: Can I buy some eggs from you?

  Mouse: I’m already in town at the Go-Getter’s hockey game. If you want any eggs——or ‘eeeegs’ as you Kiwis say——I will have to entice you back up the hill, Sir.

  Adrian: I need to talk to you about The Workshops. What are you doing tomorrow? What da plan?

  Mouse: What da plan?

  Adrian: Lunch or tea tomorrow?

  Mouse: Not sure yet. I’m collecting Rinky from your house this afternoon; she is playing with Lottie, {Big J’s Granddaughter}. Might I see you then?

  The Go-Getter’s hockey team is doing very well in the town’s league tables. For a small school we are surprisingly good and often come home the victors. Today is no exception. Five nil to us; a group of jubilant boys and girls with satisfied Maori coach gather outside the gates of the town’s Intermediate School. Our goal-scoring hero heads home with his chauffeur mother. The Laird is at work today and will be upset he missed the game. The tables have certainly turned; last year the wee fellow was too shy to get out of the car and watch the sport, let alone join in.

  I collect Rinky from Big J’s house at teatime. Adrian is waiting for me, kissing me gently when a clear moment appears. We stand by the sliding doors; the bay shining in the distance and my heart shining in his. He has already had a short haircut; smart and trim, although I think I prefer the shaggy version. “Come here, My Friend,” he says. “Let’s go down to my room for a catch-up; the girls are happy enough upstairs for a while longer.” We settle back into the old routine of snuggle and close whisper. There is so much to talk about and never enough time. He kisses me again——so softly that I lean into his Angel being with relief and deep joy; sensual promise a mere breath away. “Would you like another poem?” I ask. “I wrote several while you were away” “Oh, yes please,” he answers, closing his eyes as I begin my long verse. It is wonderful to have him home. I know the poem by heart and stroke his brow while I speak. I run my fingers through his hair. I know he likes my English accent.

  HE STANDS, SHE WATCHES

  Tall and straight, my Prince he stands,

  The breeze in his hair, see his beautiful hands

  Directing the throng as they learn a new tune,

  Intent on his being, his voice and his song.

  His calm, priestly presence; such balance and poise,

  Is lending a stillness to replace the noise of a world in a rabble.

  Still, he’s waiting to know

  Which road he should travel, fast lane or slow?

  Builder or gardener, leader of light?

  Servant or teacher, priest, warrior bright?

  Healer or poet, father and brother?

  Caretaker, helper, entertainer or lover?

  Perhaps he knows, in the light of all schemes,

  That he can be, is already, each one of these dreams,

  With his bearing so royal and intention so kind,

  Of noble desire, you always will find.

  Yes, I am his Lady, here in the shadows,

  Watching and waiting from leafy green bowers.

  I’ve seen him before he has ever seen me,

  And that is the way it surely should be,

  For I am not free to make myself known,

  Only time, and The Angels, can lead us both home.

  Every turn of his head, every crease of his smile,

  Send cascades of delight through my being and his child.

  Yes, I have known him before, and he draws me, oh how he draws me

  To open that door.

  And so I am treading the forest path slowly,

  Each step; recognition of pleasure and joy, and insight most holy.

  And here we are standing in a clearing so cool,

  On opposite sides of a mystical pool,

  It’s enticingly clear and wonderfully real,

  No longer a question, a riddle or maze,

  That I have no other choice but to meet his soft gaze,

  Where we spark, and we know, and I dream of the days,

  When entwined in our hearts we become something quite other;

  A single——pure majesty——entrusted lover.

  “Did you really write that for me?” He asks ——“Mmm——Can you say it again?”

  Rinky the Minx and I drive up the hill, back to our Mountain Eyrie in time for tea. We chat about the afternoon; she is almost as excited as her mother to have Adrian home. “Next time Lottie comes to play we are going mud swimming,” she announces with decision. “I’ve told her about the pool Adrian began digging before he went away. Is he going to make a pond?” I love the way children’s minds jump from one subject to the next with indirect link, although I can see how thoughts of Adrian have led her to the muddy ditch. “Perhaps,” I reply; “if he has time. Oh, look!” I point out the wild t
urkeys on the road. “They must live in that field——they’re often on this bend. Can you see the white one? I’m surprised they survived Christmas.”

  Sunday 13th August 2006

  I wonder what Adrian is up to today? He must have lesson planning to address before tomorrow. I always find it difficult to step back into routine after a break away. Does he feel the same? Should I send a message? No, I’ll leave him in peace. We are off to church this morning. The rest of the day is quiet.

  P.m. Adrian: Would you like some chokos, {Kiwi vegetable resembling a prickly pear that grows on vines}, and some flax? Shall we meet up tomorrow? I’d like to talk with you.

  Mouse: Yes, Good Sir. I would like that very much. What time?

  This text communication is fun and so immediate. I wonder where Adrian found the chokos. I have cooked them once before; a basket of free vegetables outside the school shop saw me returning home with a bag-full one afternoon. They have a slippery, firm flesh similar to marrow, without much flavour. They are best diced and cooked in a cheese sauce or added to soup. Their slippery texture leaves a peculiar coating on your hands; even soap won’t shift the residue. I shall wear rubber gloves when I cook with them again. The other vegetable new to me is kumara, a Maori root vegetable that must be a member of the sweet potato family. Along with pumpkin it is often served with a Sunday roast. Oven-baked in large chunks, or included in the traditional, Maori ‘Hangi’, {a meal baked underground}, it is an important carbohydrate in the Kiwi diet. Every supermarket displays rows of pumpkin and kumara. The pumpkins remind me of my time in America.

  Monday 14th August 2006

  Adrian and I have a blessed ‘catch-up’ in his room after morning school today. The sun is shining although it is cold; perfect weather to be wrapped up together. We kiss each other for long, long minutes; butterfly caress and open invitation in our velvet touch. We talk of my being a Thumbelina wee girl while he is my Swallow, come to take me away through the endless tunnels of selfless work and out, into the light; into our shared sky of joy-filled abundance. At last I have found my Soul Mate, and he, his Lady. Or perhaps we are fellow sailors in this beautiful land surrounded by rippling, enticing bays and secret harbours. I lie in his embrace on his cosy bed, whispering in his ear:

  “How about some more poetry?” I reach for the purple book that holds the growing pages of my Love-struck scrawl———

  BUCKLES AND VELVET

  The Leafy Glade beckons the Prince and his Lady

  As they play and they chase through the last dappled light,

  Enticing with lips and with hands they take flight,

  Away from all eyes, save those of Angels and birds.

  The Glade is a soft, quiet place,

  Where small birds linger and drink in the light.

  If you wait a while you will find,

  Buckles and velvet, breeches and lace,

  Scattered about, discarded in haste,

  In these lovers desire to entwine and unite,

  Under moving green leaves, long into the night.

  This chamber shall be our Leafy Glade; our forest retreat when we are not at sea, we agree, snuggling deeper into the hidden corners of his basement——the Minstrel’s den, along with one cat, one dog and the familiar tools of his teaching trade. I like the way he piles his towels so neatly, stacked on a shelf in the middle of the room.

  Tuesday 15th August 2006

  A deluxe house perched on the hill facing the classrooms takes my attention as I drive up to School this afternoon—a concrete monstrosity with huge windows. It must claim stunning views of the harbour. The new building looks out of place against the ancient hill and the landscaped slopes seem strange in the rural setting. The cows have wrecked the planting a couple of times. The dwelling would be awarded with ‘nouveau riche’ status back home. I park the car and saunter towards the courtyard. Pick-up time is sociable and I chat to several new friends. I haven’t seen Adrian today. I’ll send him a message later on.

  * * * * * * *

  P.m. Mouse: The Lady Thumbelina bids her Prince, Lord Swallow, goodnight. May butterfly wings brush his beautiful body as he slumbers. Know they fly from her over the Land of Elves.

  Wednesday 16th August 2006

  I lie awake for a long hour this morning, re-running Monday’s conversation. How exciting and comforting it had been. “You know, I read that Angels feed off the beautiful things we humans manifest,” Adrian had said. “Pure love and joy is nectar to them. I have a feeling we are providing plenty of that.” I close my eyes, sensing his arms about me still, his mature spirit holding mine so safely. I cannot describe the joy I feel in his presence.

  The school day begins with a quick hello on the drive. Adrian is on his bike and stops to chat through the van window. The sun is shining again, as it so often does, and we are delighted to see each other.

  A.m. Mouse: Good morning, you gorgeous biker you, despite the attractive headgear——just don’t wear it in the Leafy Glade and I promise not to wear my bath-hat, {unless we are feeling particularly silly Angels, which is highly likely}.

  Adrian: So much to explore; music, etc——

  Mouse: My Friend Adrian, yes. So much to explore and more; layers of crinkly paper to unfold. I think we both know what we are holding in our hands——exquisite nectar for Angels; may they guide us always. Your very own Mouse——X

  Excitement and anticipation accompany my phone as it slips back into my pocket. I have here, in the palm of my hand, my Lover on tap whenever I have a thought, feeling or wave of desire to share with him. Ever one to steer clear of technology I think with a wry smile how surprised, and shocked, my closest friends and family would be. It’s just as well I am on the other side of the world! There is no way in Heaven or on Earth that I would find myself in this delectable position if we hadn’t moved from Northern shores. I have always followed the set protocol; albeit in my mind a free spirit. I have never physically rebelled or stepped out of line. This is my gifted chance——and yes——I am going to take it. I am going to run with it as far as I can for I have a strong, intuitive sense that this beautiful man before me is the key-holder to my Garden Gate.

  Thursday 18th August 2006

  Will Adrian text me this morning? I lay awake for a good part of the night, brimming over with anticipation; my imagination keeping him close. I decide to send an early message.

  A.m. Mouse: Rainbows——Nectar——Crumbs——Garden Gate. Up with you half the night. Good morning, My Friend——X

  Adrian: I’m not finding it easy to step back into my usual roles at school. Feelings of resentment from the other teachers keep hitting me——and at the bottom is disappointment that my presence isn’t a relief. ‘Where have you been, you being of wisdom and love?’ Yes, there goes my ego. Build me up buttercup. So excuse me Mrs. Mouse for sounding off, you lovely woman, you. Had a word leap out of my computer today——‘Disobedient’——Oops. Is it just my creation from a negative space last night? Hmm——you sound good.”

  Mouse: I love your humble self-analysis, My Priestly Lover.

  We are all busy today. Adrian and I don’t spend time together, although we bump into each other in the car park at three o’clock.

  Friday 19th August 2006

  It is a day of preparation. We are going skiing; our first trip of the season. The three and a half hour drive south is an adventure in itself. Adrian has agreed to housesit; to care for bouncy puppy and general menagerie. He arrives early and we have time together, alone. I fill our mugs with homemade soup. “Mmm——I love soup,” he thanks me appreciatively. We sit astride a kitchen bench delighting in each other; provocative suggestion, bodies so in tune——teasing, an acknowledgement of perfect, physical harmony. “I can do cartwheels, can you?” I flirt, playfully. We kiss goodbye on the deck with a surprising lack of inhibition.

  Am I just a hopeless romantic, let loose after a decade of suppression? The purple book is bulging with poetry and prose. He fills me——entirely; eve
ry box is highlighted and ticked. Our two wooden swords lie hidden on the top shelf above the desk. I know they are there. Adrian has expressed concern over using me. I hope I am not using him. Whatever we hold between us is too real to ignore and the question over using each other doesn’t appear relevant.

  CATCHING RAINBOWS

  I desire you——your eyes, your hands, the safe harbour of your strong arms.

  I need you——your fingers, your lips, your key to The Garden Gate.

  Come lie beside me, where waves of passion wash over our own, private shore,

  Where we linger on the sugarcoated rim of a pink champagne glass.

  Your manhood, ripe and empowered, pulses through me

  And we dance in ecstasy across

  The Garden of Heaven——catching Rainbows.

  Mouse: {from the ski cabin.} Supple bodies, kitchen benches, cartwheels——I want to move to slow, beautiful music with you; unbuttoning each other from top to toe and slipping between the sheets of our fireside bed. I’m there with you now, whispering magic words in your ear.

  Adrian: Mmm——feeling that too. Messages are taking 6 hours to come through. Nice to be here on The Mountain; planting and making and sleeping and thinking of you——on the land, in the kitchen, in my arms——with spades and soup and pens and words. Yes, a good and timely match of many levels.

  Yum. Slide well my friend.

  Saturday 18th August 2006

  A.m. Mouse: Thank-you for such a lovely message. Take me with you——to school, to The Mountain, in your car, everywhere. Treasure from Heaven, take me.

  It is good to get away, if only for a short break. The breathtaking views all around, the cold mountain air and the village of Ohakune fill us with winter holiday excitement. The wooden ski lodge is part of a motel complex. It is well equipped with comfortable furniture and a ski-hire shed on site. The owners are interesting; the Deputy Principal of the local school and his wife run the business during the winter months. I imagine they do well. We skied on the other side of Mount Ruapehu last year; at a place called Whakapapa. Maori ‘Wh’ is pronounced as an ‘F’, which usually brings a snigger from the English speaking fraternity. Some of the established Pakeha families don’t use the Maori pronunciation. They use the ‘W’ instead. Whakapapa is more of a tourist/ski destination without extra amenities or local community. We prefer the village atmosphere of Ohakune. I imagine it might be similar to some Canadian ski resorts——in a quiet sort of way.