Wednesday 8 November 2017

Cradle on the Ocean

Up and down the ship went, like a massive rocking cradle among the vast foamy waves in the dark. I will always remember that epic stormy night, when we finally crossed the sea and made it to the UK -at last!

After such a long wait, our time had come to make it to Cornwall. Just like a mythical promised land, magical Kernow was waiting for us at the end of that almost biblical journey out of Egypt… sorry, out of Ibiza. Crossing the sea was just the last part of the adventure -before that, it had been endless days on the road, across Mainland Spain, then France, under the blinding pouring rain flooding the highways, and driving among dozens of lorries passing by at warp speed next to our overloaded car. Half of Europe was travelling on those highways it seems... Among the splashing and humming, you could hear them blow their horns in every language -yet it was easy to understand they all meant the same: “Get out of the way, you're going too slow!”.

But after the endless frightening ride, we were finally on that blessed ferry, safely on our way to the land of pasties and piskies. As we left the shore, and as night began to paint our life dark blue, the waves started dancing to their shamanic song, and took the ship away with them, up and down, and up again, in and endless trip under the stars, lost in that almost hypnotic rhythm of salty water drops in the dark.

That huge ferry was rocking like a tiny cradle in the middle of the ocean, making it all ever so pleasant... for those who didn't get seasick. The truth, however, is we were around 5 non-seasick people out of a hundred who did get sick... It wasn't a pleasant sight, I must admit. Yet nothing could disturb the awesome peace of being embraced by the sea storm and cradled to sleep. I wish I could have showed them how…

There was one question in my mind: why were those kids feeling sick in the arms of Mother Sea, who was sweetly rocking us all, as though she was singing a calming lullaby with the foamy sounds of her waves? Were they missing their Mother Land, maybe? Were they lost children in the wrong arms, perhaps?

The answer never came. Not even when dawn paled the sky as we arrived to Plymouth.

I would have stayed on that boat forever. I miss that night of sweet slow swinging, just lying on the carpeted floor wrapped in that old blanket, feeling the powerful energy of the living water sustaining a huge piece of metal that was miraculously floating on the surface. Of course that piece of metal was actually our ship... but it's still surprising how such a dense thing can stay on the water without sinking. I guess miracles are just that -unexplain
able magic in our daily lives. Like a night on a ferry from Brittany to Plymouth.

And still... how I miss my cradle on the ocean...

Nieve Andrea, Cornwall (UK), 2013


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