The First Disconnections:

"If a man dwells on the past he robs the present,

but if he ignores the past he may rob the future.

The seeds of our destiny are nurtured by the roots of our past."

- M. Po

exerpt from chapter 2, the first disconnection
I was young, of course, and pretty damn happy. Fully connected, there was no real distinction between us. Together, we formed a light that shone to heaven. Our communication: perfect. Immersed in warmth, security, I wanted for nothing, was part of a greater being, protected, by her. Then it ended: from tranquil dream darkness into the unknown waking light, from water into air, torn from my happy place; I cried in the arms of a stranger.

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exerpt from chapter 4, introduction to the sea
At the seashore, every day after school, alone, my imagination tumbles into sand canyons, crawls across the beach scrambles with hermit crabs, travels to distant worlds in inter-tidal pools, swims in the natural aquariums formed in basins between rocks exposed at low tide. The breaking waves on the beach tumble smooth the harsh edges of abandoned bits of broken bottles. These bits, once sharp, dangerous, offensive, are returned by the sea as elegant and smooth bits of "sea glass." Lost lobster buoys wash onto the beach, and are then tugged back by the waves, sent up and dragged back over and again, unable to escape the cycle. On higher ground, bits of bloated and spongy driftwood from boats which did not survive the last storm lie salt encrusted in the sun. The slippery boulders of low tide, rocks garnished with a drapery of seaweed, challenge my climb to the oceanfront, to the closest possible point to the sea, to the surging, breaking waves.

My face turns toward the wind. When facing the exact direction of its source, the wind blows equally across each cheek, each ear. My nose lifts to the Scents who ride the wind: salt, the fishy smell of seaweed at low tide. Spray hits my face, salt taste on my tongue. I linger in thought, alone.

Alone, I walk, sing to myself, find a meditative stride. There is no one to disrupt my thoughts, and without interruption they travel to their own local infinity, cleave the interstellar gloom. It is my choice to be alone, my preference. In the thoughts of other children my age I find only chaos. No other mind, no other soul calms me as does that of my mother. In reverence to her, in her absence, I remain silent, and find her in my world of thought.

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exerpt from chapter 7, "the second disconnection"
Without any memory of transition, I find myself on the beach, sinking into the soft wet sand, gazing out to sea. Waves curl and thunder onto the shore, wash over me, return to the sea, blend with the soul and memory of my mother who will no longer live a mortal life. The waves continue forever, salt in the air, salt on my tongue, they mix with tears as they break, as I stand in disbelief. She is here ... calm ocean spirits fill my heaving lungs, ease the pain. Mother ocean, la mère, la mer, ocean waves assuage the pain of my soul. The solace of eternal waves, regular, dependable, on the shores of the world, carry her spirit forevermore. The presence and energy of the port, the sea, the fishermen, the rocks, the smells, the sand, imprint upon me. They are my guardians now.

Cool salt water carried by the wind touches my face. I am calmed by her touch. In the limitlessness of silence, the dynamic silence of the wind, the ocean understands everything I think; she understands everything I feel.