The Celestial Sea

by Marina de Nadous

  A.m. Mouse: Good Sir, yes again to your insight. Have just had an honest conversation with The Laird. Much to tell you; sincere Angel guidance. My Love, this is dramatic, yet soft territory into which we cross. In The Laird’s words: “this is not a decision for The Teaching Faculty, but for us three. We must decide how it is to be held——a shift in approach with no secrets.” He wasn’t sure about us doing the play? I have a spade and the bedding——X

  I spend the day getting ready for our night away. I won’t see the family until my return tomorrow afternoon. I pack everything we might need, from a spade to the cosy bedding we use in our Castle Boudoir; candles and diaries included. I brew a thermos of tea and pack a chilly bin of food. {Kiwi cold box}. We shall feast on our usual fare; corn thins, hummus, fruit and salad. I make sure the family’s supper is organized.

  Midday, Mouse: My Friend——I am re-reading your morning message; your words are a shower of healing possibility and unconditional love. Yes——it has been shining all the time——just ahead of us——giving assurance that we are on the right path. Thank-you for finding the strength——for standing tall and straight with our Angels, my valiant and brave Captain. So, the wind is up at last——a gentle yet powerful force coming from an unexpected direction and knocking us off balance for a while, but giving us time to regain our standing.

  I sense the filling sails——they are rippling with intention. I shall find the will to stand at the helm again; not just yet though; I need a while longer to cry into the sea. The torn sail is fixed for now——enough to get us to port anyway. The part-owner of The Boat came up trumps and found some materials. He rowed a long way, through choppy waters to reach us, pulling up alongside despite his disapproval.

  And now, My Love——now is the time to set sail one more time——before we reach dry land and leave our beautiful Boat. The harbour is not the quiet, private one we were hoping for——instead, a crowd will welcome us and we cannot walk down the gangplank together. My heart is breaking, but this is how it must be. We will need our swords——swords of courage, of honour, faith and love——‘Side by side with our swords, beside Angels we’ll stand, to alight upon shores of a beloved, known land. Let us pray’. X

  My quiet morning continues. I feed animals, fold washing and have a simple lunch in the sunshine. I log the growing pages of our long texts. I am storing them in a series of notebooks that are bulging inside their precious folder. And now, just as I have learnt all my lines for the play and vow to be brave and undaunted in front of all, the teachers decide to cancel the production! I was informed in the school playground this morning. “Well, well”——as Cordelia said: “you are having a free day, my dear.” I most certainly am. Apparently Big J. has discovered she will be away, and Little J. is struggling to learn her lines. This is what I have been told, but I am sure the disclosure of ‘Mary’s’ true relationship with ‘Joseph’ must have been the deciding factor. I am going to feel an outsider at this rate; an unwanted extra in our small community. But the main Advent Festival shall continue—yes, we still have that to stand up for. All is not lost.

  With the van packed and The Castle in order, I head down the hill to complete Sarah’s painting job. I shall wait for Lord Swallow; he is bound to take a while to get sorted. “I need to clean my room and get some work done before we leave;” I recall his words from earlier this morning.

  Early p.m. Mouse: Darling Friend——let’s get a hot, cooked chicken from the supermarket. I have some lettuce and tomatoes, as well as crackers. We are both tired and hungry. Let’s not waste any of this gifted time. I can always put off the painting work. See you really soon——X

  Adrian: How are you? I will come up to Sarah’s before long——if you are still there? Rethink of my hasty dismissal of your suggestion to flat-mate with her. Not very fair.

  Mouse: Sarah’s ex-husband is here——living on site. Come up if you like, otherwise I will meet you somewhere. Just let me know. A Leafy Glade beckons for a big un-wind and catch-up——X

  Adrian: Yes, come get me now. Please. Nobody home, but not for long.

  Mouse: With you in 5——X

  I pass The Laird and the children at the bottom of the hill on their way home. We wave. How bizarre and liberating; a permitted night away with my Lover. How many wives are granted that?

  I find Adrian in the garden wrangling pruning sheers and mind-talk. He is tired and stressed. Before long we are away on our final voyage, The Lady in Black and an old guitar as extra companions. “Where are we heading?” I ask. “Maketu,” he answers without hesitation. “Let’s find a quiet beach instead of Rangi Downs.” We drive until we reach a supermarket. Adrian’s disquiet keeps him in the car while I shop. I purchase a chicken, apricots and almonds, some more salad and a bar of chocolate. There, we are set. Life is so simple without children, {or grumpy, restless husbands I might add.} The freedom of a trip together is wonderful——and all allowed.

  The sun accompanies us along the coastal road. We pass high orchard windbreaks and weekend traffic as we head into our unknown and non-existent future. What a strange place to be; surreal, poignant, sad, exciting, desperate, intrepid; a spicy soup with all the emotions as full-flavoured ingredients. My Lord Swallow is silent; troubled by everything. The end of term pressures adds to our lovers’ tragic circumstance. His Lady takes control behind the wheel. She is on a roll with high intention and impossible potential still to the fore. The Small One is not with us——‘adults only’ tonight.

  After thirty minutes we turn into the coastal village of Maketu. “I came here a few years ago with a friend called Craig,” Adrian tells me. “We played our guitars in the local bar and were invited back to this old guy’s place for the night. I remember it well.” We park by the seashore in the middle of a small settlement. A handful of houses, a shop and a basic café surround the parking area. Many regions feel empty and deserted, and this is no exception. Empty roads, quiet beaches, and no queues——returning home to the U.K might be rather a shock. We are hungry and decide to stretch our legs before tucking into the mouth-watering feast waiting in the supermarket bags.

  The wind is blowing with gusto and galloping, sea-horse waves greet us from different directions along this interesting-shaped beach. A wide estuary enters the bay from the west, giving an illusion of two seas merging in a tempestuous tumble. The currents are strong as the waters meet. Unshod, Maori children feed the gathering seagulls while searching for driftwood. We pick up a few interesting pieces ourselves; many of them stained with the black marks of salt-soaked timber.

  We are feeling our way——so comfortable in each other’s company yet craving the seclusion and intimacy for which we have escaped. “Let’s eat here and then find somewhere for the night,” I suggest. So, after a short stroll we sit in the van with greasy fingers and smiles, unwinding at last, the food going a long way to relieve anxieties. Our lighter spirits have returned and this feels like an elopement! We pretend for a while that it is, knowing the truth lies more in the realms of an unwanted separation.

  “Where do you think we should go, My Love?” Adrian is happier and more relaxed. Driving towards the back of the settlement I am reminded of a private beach the family visited several months ago. I mention it, but decide it lies on the other side of our hometown. From time to time we take in Japanese students, {school parties regularly visit New Zealand to polish their language skills and families can earn a little extra by playing host. As well as financial benefits the cultural input is interesting.} The last time we hosted Japanese students we brought them to the beach I hold in my mind. Passing some newly constructed houses I look over my shoulder, noticing a house on a steep bank and wondering——might this be the same place? I honestly cannot remember exactly where that beach was. I turn to Adrian; “I’ve got a funny feeling I’ve been here before——oh yes! ——Look! It is the same place. How extraordinary that we should be here! We just follow this road around the corner and then; yes, the private beach sign: ‘Gold
coin donations please.’

  A white moneybox is strapped to a crooked, painted post and the gate is open. We decide to drive down and explore the possibility of parking up for the night. We can always pay on our way out. In New Zealand, ‘gold coin donation’ refers to the bronze, one and two dollar coins that are the standard currency.

  This place is a picture from Heaven. We drive down to the shore through a high-sided gorge lavishly attired in Native Bush and the ever-present gorse. The track is dusty. Overhanging trees and ferns offer plenty of privacy and surprise around every corner. And here we are; a stunning bay lies before us——waiting for us——prepared by Angels for the arrival of an unusual pair of fellow sailors and their vessel. These sailors are expert at seeking out the quiet coves for a safe night’s anchorage. Expert? Guided is more probable. We have never planned any of our adventure to date and the blessings continue to pour over our voyaging. We pull into a shady area ideal for parking above the water line. Blissful solitude wraps our quandary as we sit in silence watching the sun slide away; the peace and quiet just what we need. The owners may lock the gate at night but we don’t mind. They can always ask us to leave.

  Our perfect spot chosen, Adrian and his dog take an evening stroll while I tackle the vehicle and turn it into a wondrous Seaside Palace, complete with embroidered pillowcases, soft rugs and candles. The back of the van makes a perfect double bed, albeit a little undulating with the curve of the now horizontal seating. I worked out the mechanism earlier this morning, so I am a dab hand. It is a ‘one person’ task and although Adrian offers to assist I prefer to sort it myself; I am an interior decorator after all. As I complete the seat wrestle and duvet spread I watch Lord Swallow walking along the quiet beach. This is the man I love——at one with his homeland, his eyes scanning the shore for hidden treasures. He appears worn and thoughtful tonight as he embraces our final gift in all its sadness and glory. I am a visitor here, I realize——yes——a visitor who feels very at home beside this fine man and his impressive talent and passion; his waiting potential; his eagerness to become. We suit each other.

  A car swings down the track and parks relatively close by as the sun takes its final salute. A father and his daughter drag boogie-boards down to the water for an evening’s swim. Adrian asks them about the regulations of this private sanctuary. “Oh, it’s Friday night, the owners will be out in town somewhere; shouldn’t think they’ll even bother coming down. They live in the white house at the top of the track,” the friendly man replies. “It isn’t high season yet; the gate will most likely be left open all night. Anyway, nobody owns the beaches do they? Just the track leading down here.”

  Perfect again.

  Sitting on the grass above the sands we plough through the usual rounds of School and Big J. issues; “picking over the bones again,” I say with a twinkle in my eye. “Are you teasing me?” “Too right,” I reply; “I most certainly am.” Adrian asks me to be firm with him; to dig deep and unlock his true side, leaving no stone unturned. I consider his demands, not sure if I can do ‘firm’ in a satisfactory manner. I might make him cross if I get it wrong. Looking out across the evening bay we are treated to a spectacular display. A single grey cloud spills a shower of golden rain to the east, glimmering in a cascade fall to the water while to the west; an upright Rainbow reaches from Heaven to Ocean in a direct hit. We are silent for a moment—— “amazing——do you think this has been staged especially for us?”

  It is time to rest; at last. We have waited so long for the chance to lie together for an undisturbed night. As we light the candles and climb into our waiting nest I look around me in disbelief. Am I really here? On a beautiful beach one only ever dreams about, on the far side of the world with my longed for Soul Mate under a sky of golden rain and sensational Rainbows? What on earth have I done to deserve this? And here he lies; naked and noble beside me, waiting to undress me slowly——to claim me on every level. The candlelight flickers gently over his long limbs and fine features. The soft light caresses us both, whispering the beautiful truth; that we love each other. With gentle fingers touching secrets, and eyes that hold The Key and The Gate we walk into our exquisite Garden. In silent benediction, with whispers of soul adoration and a touch of artists’ promise we open each other’s inner sanctuaries. The sun sleeps at last but we lie awake in lovers’ balm for many hours.

  Finally we rest, but fitfully; so in tune that we wake continuously and turn to one another throughout the night. At first we think not to make love completely, but restlessness and melancholy shake our peace and we realize we need to go there. He takes me under him firmly. He is masterful yet gentle, his masculine strength dominant and beautiful over me. Rhythms and velvet welcome, powerful surges that match the incoming tide, smiles and wide eyes in this closest of human bonding; we belong. How can we possibly say goodbye?

  The morning sun shines through the van’s windows. We wake early; if you can call it wake. Neither of us has really slept. The thermos of tea is still warm and we snuggle under the bedding together; sharing a cup.

  “Can we read our recent writings, My Love?” I ask. “I have a text message I never sent you:

  Mouse: About our Book and the title——I think it should be something nautical; after all, we continually return to the ocean on our beautiful Boat, and then there is your family connection with boat building. I imagine you as a man at home on the sea. And now——quite suddenly, out of the blue comes the memory of a photograph——the one The Laird brought back from his initial visit and job interview out here——the one of you teaching in class. Behind you is one of your chalkboard drawings. Can you guess what it is? Yes——a beautiful Boat in full sail——a magnificent vessel, leaning into the wind; part of your Main Lesson I presume? Can you believe that?

  Why has its relevance waited until today? And why did The Laird choose to display it so prominently on the kitchen wall? No need to ask really. ‘The Celestial Sea’ by Adrian & Mouse——dedicated to Little Arthur——one of your chalkboard drawings on the front cover. Yes? In fact, I’m sure that is the name of The Boat as well. The follow-up book, {hopefully there might be one}, could be titled ‘Dry Dock’, and who knows, there might even be a third——‘Setting Sail’. Hmm——My Darling, please keep writing to me, as I will to you. Just some thoughts I wanted to jot down——an unexplained coincidence that is surely more than that. Go gently, My Friend. X

  We are quiet for a while, the destiny significance sinking in. Do things like this really happen? I know we are both wondering——surely only in stories, not in real life? I recite the end of the very first poem:

  Dipping the crest of each wave as it rolls,

  Pure Spirit alive and lighting our way.

  Side by side with our swords, beside Angels we’ll stand,

  To alight upon shores of a beloved, known land,

  Let us pray.

  “Is that the poem at the very beginning; the one about The Celestial Sea that you recited to me on The Mountain? The one you gave me when I left for Europe?” Adrian asks. I laugh; “yes, of course it is, didn’t you realize?” “Did you write it?” He asks again. “Silly question,” I respond. “None of it was planned; the ocean theme, the wording, your chalkboard drawing; it just happened to fit all our adventures. How strange and Angel-directed is that?”—— “I didn’t realize you had written it,” Adrian admits. “Of course it makes sense now, but at the time this dimension was completely new to me.” We smile together. Blessings indeed.

  Our conversations continue well into the morning. The same discussion goes round and round——the possible scenarios and outcomes——our optimistic Lovers’ refusal to believe there is no other way. We don’t succeed. There is no other choice but to end our relationship. No cars make their way down the track; no mobile phone calls disturb our peace. We are here alone with The Angels, who accompany us in reverence as we tread our sad and joyous path of thwarted love. The tears come to me again——ah, it is good to cry. “Please cry with
me,” I ask of him; this fine man who lies distressed beside me. “I really need you to share the tears; please.” His sudden outburst shocks me. “Don’t push me so! I can’t go there——arrgh——I want to but I can’t!” He punches the pillows, scaring me somewhat. “I have to get out. I have been in bed too long. Where is my notebook?” I hold him close before he leaves, letting him take me again in his need to release the anguish. He comes quickly, just for himself, as he has done once before. This is about old, old issues, as well as the tragedy that is unfolding before us.

  I watch Adrian’s retreating figure. He finds a distant rock and perches with a considered frown, his dog concerned but resigned at his feet. I can tell from her body language that she is used to this. I tidy the van, feeling bad that I am pushing him. But, he did ask this of me and it is too important to ignore. I am undeterred. He returns with a furrowed brow but less tension. We decide to go for a stroll together, followed by a breakfast of crackers and apricots. We shall write up an agreement to sign and seal our decision before we leave. Yes, that feels positive. Hand-in-hand we stroll in sad happiness along the warming sands. The tide is right out and the freedom under our feet excites us both. “Let’s dance,” I say. Holding each other firmly we spin together, mastering a fast polka. Our dance steps leave wistful traces on the soft beach. They will be washed away with the incoming tide. Adrian produces a little camera; he takes several photographs. Holding each other close we laugh at the self-made tragedy. We laugh with the sheer joy of being one, joined as man and woman as we were always meant to be.