 Excerpt
from Ode to Minoa
Birth
The one thing
Lilith missed since our return to Knossos was the dolphins.
I began taking her to Dolphin Cove in the mornings to swim with
them. It seemed she needed them to survive. When I could not take her, Danelle did.
Something strange but intriguing happened to her when she swam
with them. It was as though the life-force returned to her.
She became relaxed and regained her color. Her eyes recovered their deep spark.
At the same time, she terrified me, staying under the water for
periods of time that seemed beyond safe.
I feared for her. I would go down and, almost feeling as though
I were interrupting something, call her up to surface. Though she had not yet many words, when she
came above, she would say things like, “No, Mama. Stay longer,” or,
“Leave Lilith alone”. Sometimes
she would scream at me violently. It
became a daily struggle, one that I was losing.
It was exhausting. I
began to dread going.
One morning as we swam, I heard murmurings from within the water,
as though overhearing a distant conversation.
I lifted my head out of the water and explored the surrounding
waters and beach. There were no other people present. I submerged my head and again I heard it.
I lifted my head out of the water again to silence.
I shook my head and submerged myself again.
It seemed like the sound of many people talking all at once.
I tried to listen. A
dolphin swam close to me and as she did, one singular voice became louder. It cannot be, I thought to myself, but
as she swam closer again, the voice grew louder and clearer.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked her with the voice inside my
own head.
“We talk to those who are willing to listen,” the dolphin answered.
My heart pumped so loudly within me that it overpowered their
voices. I swam to shore to catch my breath. It must be the venom, I thought. It has given me the ability to transmute
the language of the dolphins.
Lilith had followed me to shore, tugging and pulling at my
arm. “Back, Mama. Back, Mama,” she implored. Then
she put her little face close to mine. “Happy, Mama?” she asked,
tilting her head to one side, eyebrows raised.
“Happy?”
“Oh,” I said, pulling her to me and hugging her for her sweetness,
but she tugged away and looked out toward the water, toward the dolphins,
longingly.
“Oh, no, Lilith,” I said, too loudly, quite scaring her so that
she burst into tears from the strong, sudden outburst.
“Is this what is happening to you?” I said.
“Can you hear them? Can
you hear the dolphins?”
She nodded her head eagerly, pulling me toward the water again. “Dolphins talk Lilith,” she said. “Yes. Yes. Back, Mama?”
So now I knew. The venom
was running through Lilith. I
had poisoned my daughter.
I wandered. I lay awake
at night. I worried incessantly. I sat beside her as she slept, asking for forgiveness.
I knelt beside her bed. I
rocked upon my knees. I stroked and stroked her head.
Together we returned to the dolphins.
Together we listened. These
dolphins—they had so much to say. It
was no wonder that Lilith was captivated by them; no wonder she became
angry when I pulled her into the above, interrupting a story.
Floating side by side in the water, we listened together, coming
up for breath at the same time. And
yes, it did seem I was able to stay under longer than before; the distraction
of the stories somehow lengthening the breath held within.
I tried to have the dolphins join us on the shore, in lower waters,
so that we did not have to be concerned about taking breaks for air.
But, unless I was fully submerged, I could not understand them.
It seemed water was the conductor of the sound; the water and
the transmuted venom within us a necessary combination.
The dolphins told us many stories of the many different things
they had seen within the waters and their encounters with beings who
made their homes on the edges of the lands since the Goddess had filled
the sea. They talked of a time when the earth was new, when the air was colder,
when the lands were in different places. Their stories were vast and varied, but the most captivating thing
about them, the thing that made one want to hear more and more, was
the sheer pleasure they took in telling them.
We would listen for a time, then bid them farewell.
I would be left thinking about what they had said, but for Lilith,
this did not seem to be the case.
She needed it and fared better in the days that we swam with
the dolphins, but it was not something she continued to think about
after it had ended. It was something she experienced fully as it
was happening. The experience
nourished her and filled her. Like
morning meal, it was a necessary requirement for the day, but not something
she was left ruminating over.
It was a relief to have the daily morning struggles at the beach,
for the moment gone. Though
I continued to worry over her desperately, I felt I was understanding
better this strange child. In her too, there seemed to be a great sense
of relief.
After a while of early morning listening, the dolphins began
to engage in long silences between stories.
During this silence, they and Lilith would turn their attention
to me. The silences made me uncomfortable; it was clear I was missing something.
But what?
See
the other two excerpts:
Introduction Initiation
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