She sighed,
her own breath moving in time with her heartbeat, the steady rhythm measuring
her moments in time. Her eyes moved with a seagull soaring on an updraft. I
have been like that, she thought; carried in the belly of the
wind to seek life, to find love . . .
"Where
is love now?" she whispered.
Does it live
in the heart? Red centre of life, beating its own incessant tattoo. Incessant,
that is, until it stops, she reminded herself. Dear heart, pumping
ruby-red blood to all the cells of the body, and the spaces between the cells.
So many spaces . . .
. . .the space between the first hello
and the last goodbye. The space between midnight and dawn in a night filled
with pain. Or pleasure. The space between Earth and the blue, blue sky above.
The space between sunrise and sunset on a long, turquoise day of leisure.
How many
heartbeats are there in a lifetime? Someone had probably
worked it out, but she had no real desire to know. Some things, she believed,
should stay a mystery.
"Where
is love?" she asked again.
Does it live
in the belly? Round, soft place, rising and falling with the breath. Full, rich
place, etched with life-lines and the signs of long, larghetto lunches.
"Where
is love?"
Does it live
lower still, in the soft folds of mysterious sex, the exquisite places of
pleasure? Petals of flesh, flower of a thousand names, ripe with colour and
fragrance, nectar and ambrosia. Lips above, lips below; perfect harmony in the
shape of a woman,
"Where
is love?" the woman asked one last time.
Does it live
out there in the space between I and thou? Third body of infinite possibility,
forming even as we meet, even as we speak . . .even as we touch; a living
thing, sending up shoots like an exotic plant in the hothouse of our exchanges.
The woman
stretched, one hand coming to rest in the sand below her sun-lounge. Her
fingers lightly rolled the beads of grit left in swirls by tiny crabs delving
in the under-world. Tracks in the huge expanse of life, like the paintings of the
Dreamtime, drawn in dots and circles.
She stretched
again, rolling onto her back, long hair spilling over the edge, brown arm
reaching for the shade of an old, straw hat. The movement attracted the
wandering beach-traders, like fish swimming to investigate a ripple . . .
"Sarong?
You need sarong?" chirped the first voice.
A sleepy
shake of her head.
"Massage?
You want massage? I give good massage."
Another shake
of her head, smiling now at the abundance on offer. So much attention just for
reaching for a hat!
"What do
you seek?" asked another voice, deep and soft.
The woman
peered into the golden light to find the velvet voice. Standing perfectly
still, a man smiled down at her like a statue of
Shiva, sunlight blurring the edges of his lean body.
"Love,"
she said. "Peace. Tranqulity."
He smiled and
sat, folding gracefully to sit cross-legged in the sand.
"How much for tranquility?" she asked mischievously.
"Ah,
very cheap today," he said, eyes sparkling. "Special price for
you."
"How much?" she asked, engaging the process that would end in a purchase.
"All
your thoughts, dark and light," he answered, pointing to the black and
white fabric tied around the shrine at the edge of the sand, reminder of good
and evil.
"Mmmmm."
She liked her thoughts, the rippling, air-born arrivals of words and images,
stories full of tarradiddle and history. Could she pay the price?
"And all
your feelings, happy and sad," he added, watching her.
"Mmmmm."
Feelings, those clotted strands of anguish and delight that flavoured the
blandest days and nights. Would her life lose all taste without them?
"And all
your opinions of yourself. Big and small," he said. "And all the
opinion others have of you."
She sighed.
How would it be to fly free of the judgements and sentiments, letting them fall
away like the grains of sand she was dusting from her fingers?
"It's a
deal."
"Come," he said. "The ocean will wash it all away."
The woman sat up slowly and followed him to the sea, their reflections shimmering in the sheen left by the ebb-tide.She laughed as the first waves broke around her legs, water bubbling up to her thighs. They walked further, waves breaking around her hips, splashing up to her chin. She stopped, spinning in circles, hands flat against the water, a Dervish, whirling and whirling to find the point of stillness.
She walked
deeper, the tide tugging at her legs, as if someone called from the depths. Her
guide’s hand held her steady as the waves surged in, breaking with bubbling
foam and gentle thunder.
When the
water reached her breasts, he moved behind and stood close. Hands on her hips,
he turned her back to face the sand. They stood, looking back the way they had
come, the breakers rolling past, iced with white froth.Suddenly he
lifted her and, with a thrust, sent her gliding to shore on the crest of the
next swell. She flew, riding the peak, thoughts, feelings, and opinions
streaming behind . . .
Washed clean,
she coasted to the shallows.
Sliding gently to rest, she lay on her back, arms and legs spread,
letting the current bounce her back and forth. The sky looked very big.
He waited,
standing in the surf, until she sat up. When she looked for him, he walked in
and offered her his hand. She stood, body tingling, and together they walked
back up the beach.
They sat for
some time, her on her lounge, him behind, cross-legged in the sand, as the
setting sun made shadow puppets of the children playing in the shallows. She
turned to thank him, but he had gone, leaving as silently as he had come.
There, where
he had been sitting, was a ruby-red hibiscus, petals dancing flamenco in the
breeze. She picked up the flower, so light in her hands. Hibiscus. Flowering
for a day, then dropping, raining all the colours of the sunset down to Earth.
Is that where
love lives? Is that life? A brilliant flower, blossoming for a moment in time
and falling when the time is done . . .
She smiled
tranquilly, aglow with the last light of the sun.
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