Yesterday, I took the ferry from DI to Fort Morgan/Gulf Shores. It takes about 30 minutes to cross the mouth of Mobile Bay here at it's narrowest. Somehow my Midwestern head struggles to reconcile the size of the Bay on a map versus the oceanic-like reality I experienced.
During my trip, I finished the last of Stephen King's Mr Mercedes on audio book. I passed by Lulu's and the Florabama and my Buffet loving heart was happy. (Hey, don't judge). I scored a new state in my letterboxing quest - FL. I drove through Orange Beach, Perdido Key, and Gulf Shores - a swirly carnival feeling series of towns that reminded me of spring break in Daytona, and not in a good way. The energy of these places was awful and I wanted to scurry back to my tiny island where none of this exists. But I stuck it out and scored my box. WHEW!
What I really wanted to write about today was the ferry ride over. I had a lot of misgivings about putting my car on a boat. They are all irrational. I wonder where they came from. I loved this trip. The steady wind whipped my hair into rollercoaster knots, my shirt flapped up revealing my fish-white belly or tattooed back. It made me laugh. One of the reasons I come to DI is I love wind. It's been really calm (weirdly calm) the last few days, so having the wind spin around me like a flamenco dancer lit me up. I don't know why I like wind. I just do.
There are dolphins leaping and spinning OUT OF THE WATER. I have seen them feed and ride the wake of a boat. But I have never seen them do this. Leap all the way out of the water and spin like a battle top. I am a goner. They seem so excited, so joyful. And so am I. I am having one of those transcendent moments where I feel one with my surroundings. I BELONG out here on the water. Not in it. ON IT. I am whole here. How once I was the water. How that was stolen from me. And the joy is extinguished. I am crying (Yes, on the public ferry). How dare someone do that? Now I am sad and furious. Eventually the joy returns, but it is not the same for having been tainted by the anger-sorrow. It is less pure. It is more guarded, more afraid. And I can see that the theft of joy has happened in my life over and over until I no longer recognize it. I certainly don't expect it any more. And in the rare case where the stars align and I am in it, I am terrified the joy will be taken away again. Sometimes in that terror, I am the saboteur of my own loss.
This is the piece of my life that needs healing most, this separation from source, from who I was supposed to be. There is still time to be her. I want that more than anything. I want to let go of old worn out fears, fears that have no meaning anymore. I want to embrace the wind. I want to be the dolphin.