The Celestial Sea

by Marina de Nadous

  Adrian: Writing songs for my Lover. Hot, sweating. Edwin and I here, silent together. I’m playing, he’s meditating. Loving you.

  Late P.m. Mouse: The Rainbow waterfall——shimmering, iridescent blue twinkle against an inky background. I’m still there in that deep cavern with you. I am through The Garden Gate, holding your hand, exchanging spiritual balm through the smallest of touches with lips and breath. The blue lights wink at us; the other colours are hiding.

  You wanted me to explain where I went this afternoon. I am here alone if you would like to be in our Mountain bed at any time, My Swallow Man——all are asleep and The Laird away on his trip. T’would be beautiful to lie still and silent in your nobility, listening to the wind buffet our cabin hide-a-way——X

  Adrian: How was said Laird? Got the feeling to stay in said bed and rest this weary head. Balm indeed.

  Mouse: Laird was fine——a few jokes about my flirtatious afternoon——a few scowls at my tardy return, but very excited about the friend who came to collect him. “Just be good is all I’m going to say;” and off he went on his fishing excursion——Happy Chappy. Maybe see you? Loving you wherever you choose to lay your beautiful head——XXX

  I gave The Laird this poem before he left. He must be anxious about my friendship with Adrian. How can I possibly explain that another man has access to a part of me that has never been his?

  MY DARLING

  My Darling,

  Curled around your strong being I wake each morning,

  Knowing that you are there; will always be there.

  My Darling,

  Loving and eternally patient with me,

  Hours and weeks, months and years,

  Stoic, responsible, permanent and kind.

  My Darling,

  We share so much,

  Past, present, future, children, friends and dreams.

  Know that this will never change;

  Know that our bond is stronger than the wild storm,

  Know that I am here.

  I feel safe when you hold my strings,

  Thank-you for making them long and loose.

  There is a part of me that needs a certain light,

  Just as you need a certain freedom.

  We are one,

  My Darling.

  The Laird left The Mountain, a tear in his eye and a bag full to bursting with fisherman’s paraphernalia. He is a beautiful, genuine person; rich in knowledge and opinion yet simple and uncomplicated in many ways, or so he has always led me to believe. There are personal areas he doesn’t access; emotional, passionate thresholds he avoids. He could never give me the level of intensity I find with Adrian. Is it strange that my love for him can exist happily beside that I share with another? Do I love him as a son, rather than as a partner? In all honesty, I feel much closer to him when I am nurtured in a deeper way by Adrian.

  P.m. Adrian: Still thinking about coming to you, My Love. Needs some work in unloading the car, but could be good to go. See you in an hour.

  Mouse: Would love to hold you, My Friend——but don’t push it if you are tired. I’m sleeping in the Nesty Place anyway as all my bedding is in the wash. You could always slip in beside me in the early hours——X

  Adrian: Dear Mouse, you have been in my thoughts this night. I have talked long and late with Edwin. Very interesting. I am considering coming up now——feeling——My Love, sensible thoughts say stay home. Get organized. I’ll listen this evening——

  Mouse: Dearest Adrian, only half your text came through. I am here for you if you change your mind. Beautiful thoughts for you——for us. X

  Chapter 3 Sensible

  Monday 25th September 2006

  A.m. Adrian: He vacillates, virtue or vice? Villain or victim? Visible or vanishing? Vulgar or virtuous? Virile or vacuous? She views this variety, the vixen with her cubs. The vulture in the vault of the sky; it ventures through the veils, far above the vastness of the valley. He vindicates himself vigorously. Now the valiant victor, what is it that he values?

  I could hear disquiet in Adrian’s tone last night, and now again this morning. I don’t respond for a while, but he phones and all is well. “So, My Friend, am I the vulture?” I ask. “No, you are not, My Love, not at all. I was only playing with the words.” We plan to meet in the afternoon.

  Early P.m. Mouse: Just taking reluctant boys home after town errands. Still one more trip to make. Rinky and I would love an outing. Is Lottie at home? Maybe she could come too?

  Adrian: Are you going to the beach?

  Mouse: Hi, My Friend——hot, hot day. Nearly finished errands. Fine idea to go to the beach. Can we take the dogs? Shall we come and pick you up? Need to kiss you before we head off though. Might expire otherwise——X

  Adrian: Come get me from School. I’m gardening.

  I love watching my man in his garden. Passionate concentration and ingenious creativity are his hallmark. He has built a fenced vegetable patch with his pupils below the main classrooms, just where the school grounds meet the wetland. He works unshod, his slim feet moving like a dancer’s through the rows of brasicas, pumpkins, sweet peas and potatoes. His linen shirt is unbuttoned and he doesn’t notice our approach. Eventually he turns and welcomes us with his beautiful smile. He has muddy smears on his face. Every fibre of my mind, body and soul leaps with desire for this man whose outstretched hands help us climb down the steep bank. The Minx and I help tend the thirsty plants, collecting water from a little stream that he and the children have diverted for the purpose.

  I don’t think I have ever met anyone who is as totally present to the moment as Adrian. Whatever he is doing, whomever he is involved with, he is one hundred percent engaged. Past and future hold no relevance. This can sometimes get him into trouble of course; there is an element of the maverick artist in his energy. As a Lover it is the greatest gift. We share happy moments as we work contentedly side-by-side, helping the gardener water the vegetables before we gather up discarded shoes and climb through the overhanging trees to reach the van.

  Piling in, dogs included, we head for the shore; an exhilarating coastline with unlimited golden sand and surfing waves. We park above the beach and run down to the water, leaping with excitement. What fun, we share the same vibrant love of life; an equal ‘joi de vivre’ as we race about on the beach with Rinky and the dogs, eventually running out of steam and playing in the sand. Adrian decorates a large area with an accurate, twelve-petaled flower while I pick up a shell and use the facing edge to make repetitive patterns along the shoreline. He comes over to watch. Rinky is busy playing in the waves.

  “Look at this,” I comment; pointing at the shell patterns——“they look like human embryos.” Adrian is silent, picking up the shell carefully, saying: “there is something I want to tell you. When I was much younger my girlfriend at the time fell pregnant. She had an abortion. I turned my back on the situation, not knowing how to cope. I often think of The Small One; who he or she would have been.” He puts the shell tenderly in his pocket. {Later in the week I find it hanging in his room, along with a pastel picture of a growing foetus.} “I shall tell my family about The Small One now. The time is right. We should be aware of his/her presence. Maybe some recognition; some inclusion is being called for.”

  And so, a little child enters our unusual life together——and it feels wonderful.

  There is no friend for Rinky today. Adrian is as inventive as ever with endless chasing games and a lesson in the art of ‘Dribble Sand Castles’. Taking handfuls of wet, dripping sand from the shore we let it slip through our fingers in a concentrated stream. The results are spectacular, Tolkien would be impressed. The next time you are at the beach, try it. We walk, we run and we make more patterns in the sand until it is time to head home; happy and tired, joyous and loved.

  P.m. Mouse: Virtual voices break across the vista of my soul. Voluptuous, verifying, visionary. What are they telling me? Such a vast volume of pure violet; a viaduct to virtual flight——a single violin,
playing Verde——vibrations from each verse——a man with a beautiful voice—his Lady in velvet——X

  Adrian: Hi, My Lover. Dreamy holiday feeling——swirls in the sand——late afternoon sun settling into dusk. Hands and lips and fingertips——conversations easy and warm. Promise of more——Love. Resting, I am. Coming to you in an hour. Do you want any supplies? X——A

  Mouse: What a dreamy flow of words, My Love. A blessed and right feeling to our union today. A moving forward into hallowed depths of communion——you for me, and me for you. I shall light the candles and prepare our Mountain bed. I am more than ready to melt into you and you into me. Drive carefully——M——X

  * * * * * * *

  Later than expected, Adrian: My Love, I am leaving now. Alarm malfunction.

  Mouse: We are both well rested then, Lord Swallow. Come slip into our warm nest. Come slip into your waiting Lady. Don’t drive the carriage too fast around the corners——X

  He arrives, undresses and joins me in bed by the fire in our Mountain Cabin. But it is all too fast. My Lord Swallow is uneasy; feeling like a sneak. He needs time to unwind, to feel into our integrity and meet me in the present rather than on some fantasy trip. “You are not with me,” he says. “Look at me, tell me how you really are; what is going on in here?” Placing his hand over my heart he is insistent. “I need to meet you in your true emotion. You English, really, you are too held; too frightened of your emotions.”

  Yes, he is right. He touches my years of unaddressed, emotional issues from being sent away from home too early; of cultural conditioning at boarding school and ‘stiff-upper lip’ syndrome——yes, I am too held. I have never been challenged like this before. He will not connect with me until I am vulnerable before him. This is what he gives me; his junior years fading into insignificance as my proud spirit is humbled and brought into check by his infinitely senior control. His insistence; a powerful command that I drop any pretence, allows him to access his deeper self too. He wants to bring my ‘esoteric side’ right down, into my very centre. For all his idealism; his spiritual identity; his artistic, apparently flighty nature; he is most certainly Earthed and reassuringly solid.

  Adrian is indeed an unusual and gifted man; able to build a bridge, grow beautiful vegetables, butcher his own sheep, whittle, sculpt, draw, play ten different instruments and touch me with passionate, sensual challenge. The pioneering, Kiwi male meets the celestial realms of Angelic intuition and artistic fluency. How lucky am I? He told me recently that his previous relationships have been shallow; based more on the physical with women chasing him rather than taking the lead himself. And then he would get bored; the conquering over, nothing left but flattery. He doesn’t want that any more. I listen to him, wanting to be led, which is a most unusual position for me. I am usually the one who leads in everything; certainly in my marriage and domestic life.

  We sit up, pulling woollen jumpers over our heads to keep out the creeping cold, re-stoking the fire and settling the dogs who always move whenever we do. Cups of tea and cuddles accompany us as we chat long into the night. Adrian talks about his grandfather who died when he, Adrian, was just entering his twenties. His name was Arthur; a skilled woodworker and gardener; slim and tall like his Grandson. I enjoy hearing about him; his beautifully kept tools and organized shed. “I have some of his tools you know; perhaps I should look out more of them”.

  “Arthur?” I ask. “That’s another name I have always liked——hmm——Arthur. You must take after him in lots of ways. Do you think the unborn Small One has something to do with your grandfather? I wonder; just a strong feeling that has come to me. Perhaps he is Little Arthur?”

  And then we are ready to be intimate and close again. Our connection is razor sharp, yet gentle and considered too. Concerns about integrity are uppermost in Adrian’s mind; the questionable action in taking another man’s wife becomes more serious every day. “And where are you with it all?” He asks gently. I look long and honestly at him. “This is a totally separate part of me; I know it may seem strange, but that’s how I feel. I have never welcomed anyone to this side of myself. These are uncharted waters. We sail together as novices in this Ocean, My Love. This Sea belongs to none but us. We sail through the deep swell in extraordinary union. No, this is being taken from none other. My integrity lies intact.”

  I lie above him, taking him into me time and again. “My womanhood is making friends with your manhood; hello—oh— hello”. “Mmm—this is really, very, very nice”, he whispers in my ear.

  WILL YOU?

  Will you——————

  Go beyond with me?

  Will you——————

  Go deeper with me?

  Bypass all conquest, surrender to vulnerability,

  Forget passing encounter.

  Will you——————

  Be my fellow sailor for always,

  No matter where we are,

  No matter to whom we are attached?

  Will you——————————

  Keep The Boat afloat

  In your heart and soul with me?

  Tuesday 26th September 2006

  We are up early; sharing breakfast with the children in our usual way. Adrian helps me pack the car for our few days away in Taihape; about four hours drive south. The Laird is already down there. I am to pick him up near Lake Taupo where he has been fishing with his pal, Steve. We’ve been invited to stay on a beautiful farming estate, owned by close friends of Ricardo; The Laird’s best friend in England. In fact, it is the home of the generous folk who put us up last December in their Taupo fishing lodge. They are very welcoming and we are looking forward to the visit, especially as they live relatively close to the Ruapehu ski slopes.

  Adrian walks the dogs before we leave, collecting firewood for the day. He is on the hunt for woodwork timber. Hand-made, rustic ladders are next on his agenda. The spring sunshine is glorious and we are suddenly really hot; T-shirts and sandals weather.

  We are all aboard by ten o’clock, including Anthony, a neighbour’s son; a keen snow-boarder like my boys. Adrian has offered to look after the livestock again; as well as one crazy puppy who loves him like a second master——funny, that. He waves from the cabin deck as we bounce our way down the stony drive. Fifty minutes later we reach Rotorua and I am already tired; passionate nights to blame of course! Sleepiness threatens to overtake, so I stop for some food and a quick, ten-minute snooze. Refreshed, we are on our way again, eventually locating the fishing lodge after a further two hours driving.

  The fishermen greet us with a good haul for the freezer and a guided tour of the most shack-like lodge I have ever seen! Things come pretty basic in many parts of New Zealand. Peeling paint, mouldy walls and a concerning lean to some of the walls take me by surprise. One entire wall is dedicated to family holiday photos. Fish and kayaks, boats and swimmers, children and adults; the grins from faded pictures speak loudly. I notice the drawing pins are rusty. They certainly know how to ‘go for it’ here. For all its dilapidation, this is obviously a much-loved, holiday home.

  We arrive at our destination in time for supper. The house is interesting; historic by Kiwi standards; the most up-market home we are likely to visit in the North Island. {The other end of the scale to the fishing shack!} Our generous hosts treat us to a formal dinner in the dining room; a delicious meal of roast beef and home-grown vegetables, ice-cream and fruit compote with expensive wine. The recognized etiquette and polished voices remind us so much of England. We chat as we eat; exchanging news about mutual friends before we retire to a drawing room that could easily belong in Britain. A roaring fire creates a familiar atmosphere; enhanced by the cut glass whisky tumblers, floral chintz curtains and small talk. A friendly yet formal environment, the house boasts a throwback to Britain fifty years ago.

  P.m. Mouse: Well——here we are in the height of luxury. Stunning house built in 1936. The family is charmingly excited to see us. Lots of common ground and connections. Am v
ery overtired. Had to stop for a snooze in Rotorua! Warm thoughts for you, My Love. How wonderfully you interact with my brood. Such blessed rare harmony at home with you today on our Mountain. Huge thanks for all you do for us——for me. I shall be wrapped up with you in our secret love tonight-X

  Wednesday 27th September 2006

  We sleep in antique beds covered in blankets and old-fashioned eiderdowns. The temperature is definitely lower here; woolly jerseys and thick socks are hastily pulled on as extra layers. My decorator’s eye takes in dated wallpapers and a patterned carpet along the wood-panelled corridor. The original 1930’s floorings and fittings are interesting. This style is all the rage back home. The ceilings are pleasingly high; complete with original glass light fittings. The house has been home to the same family for nearly 70 years. The walls are lined with family pictures and souvenirs from pioneering days; land being cleared, the beginnings of the house construction and rows of traditional, public school photographs. I recognize our hosts’ sons amongst the classic prep school pictures of today. They wear British-style uniforms and easy smiles. The latter appeared for dinner; pleasant and strangely conservative in their neat shirts. The whole place is an English time warp; intriguing and delightful; both.

  Another family member and close friend of Ricardo is also staying with her young boys. Vicky is a sparkly, irreverent character, immediately warming to The Laird’s over-the-top character. She invites us to visit her own farm in Havelock North before the year’s end: “Perhaps lend a hand with some sheep mustering?”

  After a hearty breakfast The Laird sets off for a spot of wild turkey shooting. As you might imagine, he is very happy sitting astride a quad bike with his gun at his side. Rinky and I are given a guided tour of the beautiful farm with introductions to the pet sheep and elderly horse. The Kune Kune pig is called ‘Kitkat’, which makes us laugh. The garden planting is spectacular; very English with established borders and formal rose beds. I love the mature deciduous trees. I miss them from home; we don’t see many further north. All the native trees in New Zealand are evergreen.