The Seventh Vision (28 February, 2023)

Mother is like a bubble. She floats from the depths of the ocean upwards towards the surface. When Mother reaches the surface she is like a pearl. She grows bigger, thicker, harder. The pearl cracks, emanates heat, then becomes a dust over the ocean. The dust forms a tract on which Mother can stand. She is nowhere and she is everywhere. She is like a teardrop staining the dryness of land, only she is the substance, and the water is that which expands infinitely around.

Who are you? 

Are you also lost? 

If so, can you help me?

I am at the entrance of Okeanos.

I want to return to Earth. 

The water is a tinged aquamarine. The waves crash and bellow and storm. The voice that Mother has heard echoes but is lost against the salty slaps of the breeze. Mother wonders if the voice belonged to someone real, or was a figment of Mother’s imagination. Mother recalls the name the woman mentioned. Okeanos. The river which circumferences the limits of the earth. And yet Mother smells pungent bream, tastes olive in the air, sees in the distance a far off island with castles and houses and shoreline.

Is she truly at the world’s last border?

She recalls this island upon which she stares at. It is a land of dry dust and pointed shrubs and white painted buildings. She knows where she is at and yet it feels so far. This is because of the storm which tore apart the stitches of time for ten days. The winds howled and tossed the great waters of the world about and cracked the earth apart. Spirits and flames and sunbeams danced at the chaos. And in the midst of that a great voice called out to find his home. That man knew decades of agony, which came from decades of knowing who he was and who he belonged to, but with no discernible path to get back to his loved ones. At the end of this journey the man returned to his land but as a result of great sacrifice.

Mother does know how many serpents or cyclops she would have to slay to return.

She must return. No matter how much she circles the earth she knows which land has given her ancestry, her family, and her sense of self. She has love for the people who have made her life what it is. She knows it is they that she must serve.

But where is the direction homeward, when all she sees is ocean?

Small stars are bathing in the waves. They shoot back and forth from the sky, boiling the water as they emerge. Milky foam bubbles. And in those bubbles are other voices, trying to find their way home.

Where am I? 

How do I return? 

I am a good person who deserves to be back in the world.

I will find the right path as long as you can help me.

Mother is not like Charon. She is no guide of this world. The voices screech and bawl until Mother shuts her ears with her hands. The stars take their orbital shapes, and they throw themselves back into the universe as if they are deserting this earth. Giant whirlwinds swirl in their departure. The waters of Okeanos hiss and crackle and cry.

Mother taps her feet against the surface. Her feet do not quiver or trip. She takes a step forward.

Water becomes salt.

She takes another step forward.

The salt becomes a cake under her feet.

Mother asks herself where she is going. Her mind gives no answer.

Yet Mother plunges forwards.

Mother walks through the depths of the ocean on the path she creates for herself.

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