Driven

So....she has run from me.

At first, when I turned around to find her gone, I thought she merely stood aside to let me worship at the altar of my god in my own way.
She was nowhere to be found, but still...I was unconcerned....until I returned to the hacienda, until I had the men conduct a search of the island.
Then I feared the worst, thinking someone had taken her to do her harm, or to get at me through her. Incredibly, my fears turned even darker, that she had fled from me....ME!!...and staged her own taking.

I put aside all thoughts of why, concentrating only on the where was she now. I hired a hundred men to span the globe, even as I did myself, to find any trace of her. The search seemed futile, until now.

A convent....she's taken refuge in a g** d**ned convent, of all things. A woman of her description has been found by one of my men and even now, I am on a ship, bound for the island off Brazil's eastern coast where she is reported to be.

And when I find her.....when...I...find...her....
There is no reason in the world she can give to me for this.
She is my wife.
And soon she shall learn what that means....to be the wife of El Sabatier.
She thinks she has seen me angry.
She has seen only a glimpse of what I can be.

I am a driven man, and anger is a very powerful propellant.

The Gifts of Being Home

We are home.  Espania.  Spain.

How perfect that the winds, the gods, the spirits have brought us to this place, and I feel it as I never have before.  Home.  With my wife, with Gabriella.  I am completely hers.  There is not one inch of me that she has not touched, held, healed, and I am content. 

I am content to be hers and have her hold my everything.  I trust her as I have never trusted anyone before and it is such a thing of freedom, such a lifting of heaviness from my soul.  It sounds trite but it is the only way I can put it.

I love her completely.

Tomorrow I will show her the island and with it my sanctuary.  I have never shown another living soul that.  I suppose I have never allowed anyone this close, trusted anyone so totally, as I do Gabriella.  If she has played me false, if this is all some trick of her magic, then I am doomed.  But I think at this moment I do not care, for I do not care to live the life I would have without her.

I gave her a small token of my feelings tonight, very small.  I was almost embarrassed at the trivial ruby stone set within the silver, at the smallness of its size.  I did not tell her of the ring's history.  I do not know exactly why, I tell her everything, and she has given me no reason to hold anything away from her.  Perhaps when I take her to my sanctuary tomorrow I will tell her of it.  It is the Sacred Lotus ring, handed down to me through my mother, the only thing I have of her, but that is not the most important thing about it.  It was my father's.  My real father's.  A man I never knew, never was told anything of, and until the day before my mother's abandonment of me, I never heard or saw anything about him from her.  That night, though, at the supper table, she pulled out the worn velvet pouch and put it on my plate, before we ate, saying only...."This was your father's.  It is now yours.  Open it later, we eat now."  And that was that.  The next day she left me and we never spoke of it again.       I never saw her again. 

I think I have dreamed of him, my real father.  I think perhaps some of the things I have written in my journal, those things way in the back that do not seem to connect with this time and space, are possibly of him.  But I have no clue, really.  I have no name, no nationality, no face....and no memories.         My father was Benito Santana, in all the ways that matter, save one.                   I was not of his loins. 

That has never been a concern to me, until now.  I did not think of it before I gifted the ring to my wife, but what if it has some evilness to it?  What if he was evil himself?  What if that was the reason my own mother never spoke of him to me? Or perhaps he was the opposite, a great man, greater than my mother could withstand.  I know what she was.  She was not.....great.   She was a whore.  A different man every night in her bed, in our home.  Still, she was the only parent I had, the only mother.  Until the day I did not have even her any more.

Well, what is done is done.  I felt it right to gift the ring to Gabriella...and only now, only she....none of my other wives have ever worn it, have not even known of its existence.

Only Gabriella.

She gave me a ring in return.  I am not sure how she did it, but she seemed to fashion it from the necklace she wears, one of sapphires, that she said her father told her was her stone.  A stone of destiny, that is what a sapphire is.  She placed on my finger a ring of one large sapphire stone, made from her own stones, and then kissed it.  I was quite at a loss without words, for once in my life.  Never has any woman in my life given me a ring, much less such a ring as this, made from their own stone.  I have given rings to all those who had mattered to me, but not once has anyone given me one in return.  Not even a wedding band.  Gabriella now has given me two.

I am a very fortunate man indeed.

 

 

Surviving The Hurricane

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - London
Somewhere upon the Atlantic Ocean

Honeymoon Trip, Day Six
September 1, 1888
Morning


I have heard it said that what does not kill us serves to make us stronger. I have learned through experience now that that is so.

I must shoulder much of the responsibility. I make no excuses but only write of the truth, the way it has been for me for so long now. I have been alone, since my last wife died, and at first was prostrate with my grief. I learned to survive but did so by taking the bricks of that grief and constructing a wall around myself, so that I blocked all interaction with others. I relished my solitude, believing it was the only way I could survive, the only thing I deserved, and to some degree I became protective of that solitude, holding it up in front of me like a shield. I let no one through. I thought that was the only way I could live. I did not realize that in reality it was actually killing me, bit by chipped away bit.

That is, until Gabriella chose to come to me, to enter my dreams and my solitude, relentless in her pursuit of me, and she would not take no for an answer. She brought me back to the living, to life, with her love. She did so unselfishly, without regard to what it might cost her, only thinking of how she could help me, how she could heal me. She perservered until I turned to look at her and began to allow her to unbuild the wall, brick by brick. Yet even so, realizing what she had done for me, what she meant to me, I was on a collision course, at odds with what she needed from me in return, not able to see that I was shutting her out and attempting to deal with things as I had been used to dealing with them....in solitude. I moved away from her, when what she needed, was ultimately what I needed, but could not see.

It required the intervention of a far wiser man than I to bring me to my senses, away from the irrational madness of solitude, and back to the gift that my wife truly is. I wish I could have known Joram Dufaigh in this lifetime. Gabriella's father is truly a remarkable man, a man I would love to learn from, and I will wear his ring with awed honor. It was, in fact, because of our rings.....mine formerly Joram's, Ella's formerly her mother's....that we were able to find ourselves in a better place.
Quite literally. But I digress there.

The point being, I have begun to share with my wife....in all things. Joram said that together we shall have a life of untold happiness, but apart we would not survive. I think I had known that intuitively, but it took him to put words to the feelings for us. I am trying now, very hard, to hold nothing back from Gabriella. I am allowing her to breach my wall and see me for who I am. I will need her understanding, and her patience, but....truly....I am trying, just as I know, she is. I have told her...."mi aliento es suyo, mi cuerpo es suyo, mi corazon es suyo". I do not know how else to say it, except to perhaps add that.....I am committed to her....siempre.


Gabriella and I have weathered the hurricane that threatened to break us apart forever. The vows we made to each other as husband and wife have bolstered our love and we will survive, even become stronger in our love for one another.

Dawn breaks now, upon a new day, upon a new morning, and we are walking out into the sunshine together.

There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea.
You became the light on the dark side of me.
Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill.

But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and,
The light that you shine can be seen.

Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you,
The stranger it feels, yeah.
And now that your rose is is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey.

There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say.
You remain,
My power, my pleasure, my pain...baby...
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny.
Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby?

But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen.

Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you
The stranger it feels, ...yeah.
Now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey,

I've been kissed by a rose on the grey,
I've been kissed by a rose on the grey.

There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say.
(there's so much inside)
You remain
My power, my pleasure, my pain.
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny, yeah
Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby?

But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and
the light that you shine can be seen.

Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you
The stranger it feels, yeah
Now that your rose is in bloom,
A light hits the gloom on the grey.

Yes I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey
Ooh, the more I get of you the stranger it feels, yeah....

Now that your rose is in bloom,
A light hits the gloom on the grey.

We're Leaving Here Tonight

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - London
Somewhere upon the Atlantic Ocean

Honeymoon Trip, Day Five
August, 1888
After midnight

We are leaving.  Here.  Tonight.

Things between Gabriella and I have deteriorated since early this morning, in fact since we entered the fog and found ourselves on a forced sail to Carthia.  Carthia, despite being her home land, once cherished by my wife, holds nothing for her now but painful memories, and it is those memories that pull at her, claw at her and threaten the very bond I have with her.  I am sure that it is all Carthia.  We have never been so at odds, we have never been so accusitory and hurtful toward one another, and it all started, to my way of thinking, when we felt the pull of Carthia.

I am taking her away, now, tonight.  We are going anywhere, somewhere, just away from here.  I will not stand for anything to tear us apart from one another like this is doing.  I will take her back to the last point in our journey where we were happy with each other, connected, as she likes to put it.  She will have to give me some strong conviction as to why we should not go, and even then, staying will be at the risk of us.  

For my vote, I will not take the chance.  I will protect now what I have found with Gabriella and if that means forcefully dragging her away from Carthia, then that is my course of action.  And if she chooses otherwise, then I suppose I know the true meaning of that.  My plan is not to allow her a choice, but with Gabriella, I have learned, things do not always go as planned.

 

Dear my love, haven't you wanted to be with me
And dear my love, haven't you longed to be free
I can't keep pretending that I don't even know you
And at sweet night, you are my own
Take my hand

We're leaving here tonight
There's no need to tell anyone
They'd only hold us down
So by the morning light
We'll be halfway to anywhere
Where love is more than just your name

I have dreamt of a place for you and I
No one know who we are there
All I want is to give my life only to you
I've dreamt so long I cannot dream anymore
Let's run away, I'll take you there

Forget this life
Come with me
Don't look back you're safe now
Unlock your heart
Drop your guard
No one's left to stop you

Forget this life
Come with me
Don't look back you're safe now
Unlock your heart
Drop your guard
No one's left to stop you now

Scrawled across one entire page, in a sketchy shaking hand, the point of the pen pressed so hard that the paper has torn at the end of the last letter......

Damnit   woman

Fate Smiled at Destiny

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - London
Somewhere upon the Atlantic Ocean

Honeymoon Trip, Day Four
August, 1888
Late afternoon, near sunset


Gabriella and I are back on board the Anna-Maria for the moment, after having been forced from her a few hours ago.  We are not permitted to leave yet, but I think we both needed some time to ourselves to process what has happened.  I have so many questions, but Gabriella just looked exhausted, and so I can delay my interrogations, for her sake.  She is resting below in our stateroom and most likely as confused and as astounded as I find myself to be. Saying that it was an interesting occurance is the least I can say about it, but I am still not sure what it all means, so I shall not recount its telling here, except to say that I am still reeling from the possibilities of all that I have learned.

There are things that I have felt, things that I have written, that I have hidden, from others, even from myself. In the very back pages of my journal is a section of different scribblings, with no organization to them, just pages with dates at the top, where I have jotted down my secret feelings of that day. They made no sense to me, yet I wrote them, being awake and fully cognizant, not in some dream or sleep state, and not as Gavin, or anyone else in the present.

I wrote them as I am, they came from the mind of Antonio Sabatier.

They did not scare me, exactly, but often I would look at what I had written on the page afterwards and wonder where I had gotten the words, and the ideas, that had formed there. I was more curious, than anything. I suppose that is one reason I have often sought to collect so many volumes for my libraries, on various and sundry topics, where often when I had spare moments, I would just browse and read the odds and ends of literature, both fiction and non. I am not sure I was searching, at least not consciously, but perhaps I was. I presumed I was just thirsty for knowledge.

I even recall one of the first things I thought of doing when I knew I was moving to London was to ask Robert to have some books procured from local sources, about the land, the customs, the people, the history, even about the city of London itself. I suppose they wait for me now, in some place in the townhouse, but I have been too busy to find them and peruse their contents. I could not have imagined, at the time I asked that they be purchased, that I would be married and away on my honeymoon, almost immediately after settling into the townhouse on Park Lane.

Destiny does have a way of holding its own surprises in this lifetime....or any lifetime, I suppose I must now hasten to add.
Her fate has smiled upon my destiny.
And, together now, we will make our way.

      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *       *

Doctors have come from distant cities just to see me;
Stand over my bed, disbelieving what they're seeing.
They say I must be one of the wonders of God's own creation,
And as far as you see you can offer no explanation.

Newspapers ask intimate questions, want confessions;
They reach into my head to steal the glory of my story.
They say I must be one of the wonders of God's own creation,
And as far as they see they can offer no explanation.

Ooo, I believe: Fate smiled at Destiny,
Laughed as she came to my cradle:
"Know this child will be able,"
Laughed as my body she lifted,
"Know this child will be gifted
With love, with patience, and with faith.
She'll make her way; she’ll make her way."

People see me; I'm a challenge to your balance;
I'm over your heads; how I confound you and astound you to know
I must be one of the wonders of God's own creation;
And as far as you see you can offer me no explanation.

Ooo, I believe: Fate smiled at Destiny,
Laughed as she came to my cradle:
"Know this child will be able,"
Laughed as she came to my mother,
“Know this child will not suffer,”
Laughed as my body she lifted,
"Know this child will be gifted
With love, with patience, and with faith.
She'll make her way; she’ll make her way."

        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *

SHIP'S LOG
Addendum

After the last entry into my journal, I looked in on Gabriella.  I  stood at the door of our stateroom and watched her sleep for long moments, pondering many things....but most of all,  pondering the wonder of the creature that she is....and how blessed I am to be loved by her.  She could not know, she could never know, that the depth and breadth of that love she gives to me is reciprocated a hundredfold.  Even more than that.

She is so many things to me, all of which I did not realize I craved to be present in my life, until she came and brought them.  I am as dependent upon her for my life as if I was addicted to her and she some newfound opiate.  I want to touch her constantly, if only in reassurance to myself that she is real, that she is there.  Near her is not sufficient, I want to be with her, I want to hold her, feel her breathe.  Inside her skin with her is not too close. 

I would have gone over to her and taken her, take from her the love she exudes.  But my hand was stayed by the way she looked, too much like a little girl that I should be protective of,  as she played with the sleep angels behind those closed eyes,  too peaceful to disturb.  I could only stand and watch her in her slumber, and long for what she has brought to me to return, when she comes back from her dreams.  I worry for her, when those dreams are too hard for her, but it seemed not to be so at that moment.  She was quiet and content and I must allow her to be so.

I went back to the deck to savor a glass of Scotch, the first I think I had poured since that fateful night of our marriage, and watch the sunset.  A few weeks ago, that would have been a most acceptable ending to the day, being alone with my Scotch and watching the sunset.  Tonight, however....I am lonely, achingly so, a tangible sadness that I can feel, for the presence of the woman who slumbers below.  I am empty without her to fill that part of me that she has awakened, that part of me I never knew was lacking, until I knew of her.  I want to touch her, kiss her, so hard to take away her breath, her awareness, her soul, as I possess her.  I want to lose myself within her.

I want her. 

 

She Sang To Me

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - London
Somewhere upon the Atlantic Ocean

Honeymoon Trip, Day Four
August, 1888
Daybreak


Morning has broken, clear and pristine.
The sea is calm, the air is refreshing....rarely have I seen such a beautiful morning. Looking at this day from the way it is beginning, it promises to be a good day for sailing, and a good day for beginning the rest of my life.
Our lives.
For well have we weathered the storm of the night, Gabriella and I. She will not run from me, she will not leave. She has said as much and I believe her....for she sang to me.
Last night she sang to me.
I am filled with wonder at the depth of her love for me. More than that, I am humbled by her love. I cannot wait to begin this day because she will be in it with me.
I never thought to feel this way again.
I never thought I deserved it.
Gabriella has made me believe.
She has made me believe in love again, in the joy of the moment. She has made me believe in myself again, and that there is a future filled with possibilities.
Our future.

Torn

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - London
Somewhere upon the Atlantic Ocean

Honeymoon Trip, Day Three, 0300 hour
August, 1888 

I told her.

I was afraid she was withdrawing from me, that she was leaving me.

Ironic, isn't it?  It is the very thing she tells me she is so afraid of, that I will leave her.

I am not even man enough to tell her it is the same thing that I feel.

But I told her last night.  Blurted it out because she was leaving anyway.  I could feel it from her.  She kept saying she needed to be alone.  I was afraid she meant it.   It was not the right time, it was not the right place,  but I had no choice.

And now she knows.

I am not the man she believed me to be.

She will put it all together eventually.

She will soon understand that the marks on my back, the ones I cannot talk about, are from that time.

She will soon understand that the dream that haunts me is the one I lived, the one I cannot talk about, the one I think about all the time.

She will soon understand the closeness it keeps, lurking beneath the surface of my every waking moment, ready to pounce and steal my sanity permanently.

She will soon understand that it was not only my grief for Pene's loss that drove me to the brink of my sanity and beyond.  It was the loss of the one person that I shared it all with, the loss of one other soul in the world who knew and had given me absolution, who refused to stop loving me even when I could no longer love myself.

Even the children do not know all of it.  They do not know the choices I made.  They see me as some great hero, as the man who saved them, but they do not know it all.  I think sometimes Benjamen suspects there is something else to it all, but he does not ask.  We do not speak of it. 

He had to deal with it that way and I understand that.

I cannot burden him with it.  He has his own ghosts to live with.

Pene was the only other one who knew the whole of it but I waited too late to share it with her.  I waited until my distance, and my silence, had already become a wedge between us.  She left me a long time before she left me.  It was not her fault. 

That will not happen with Gabriella, for I have told her.  Too soon, I think, but she knows now, for better or worse.  But I will not let it bind her to me.  I will not let it destroy her.  I love her that much.  I know what I have to do.

 I shall give her the option, as I did not give it to Pene.  I  shall look at the charts in the morning, determine where we are, and sail the Anna-Maria to the nearest port of civilization.  There Gabriella can make her way back to Jon and Maddy, they will take care of her. 

I will not ask her to stay with me, now that she knows. 

How could she?

How could anyone?

I think when she goes, I will go, too.  I will not fight it any longer. 

The Claiming

Listen as the wind blows....from across the great divide....

Voices trapped in yearning....memories trapped in time....

On the sea she rises...... the moon is in her eyes....

She belongs to me as no other.....I've claimed her for all time.

 

 

Raven hair and ruby lips
Sparks fly from her finger tips
Echoed voices in the night
Shes a restless spirit on an endless flight
Wooo hooo witchy woman, see how
High she flies
Woo hoo witchy woman she got
The moon in her eye
She held me spellbound in the night
Dancing shadows and firelight
Crazy laughter in another
Room and she drove herself to madness
With a silver spoon
Woo hoo witchy woman see how high she flies
Woo hoo witchy woman she got the moon in her eye
Well I know you want a lover,
Let me tell your brother, shes been sleeping
In the devils bed.
And theres some rumors going round
Someones underground
She can rock you in the nighttime
til your skin turns red
Woo hoo witchy woman
See how high she flies
Woo hoo witchy woman
She got the moon in her eyes.

What does SHE want?

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - London
Somewhere upon the Atlantic Ocean

Honeymoon Trip, Day Two
August, 1888

 

I just don’t know what she wants.

 

It seems to change as often as the direction of the sea’s breeze.

 

I thought…. so much of our love had been shared with me acting like some sort of savage beast, blindly groping at her, wild to feel her, taste her, smother her with my desires and needs.

I thought...for once I would go slow, pay particular attention to what she needed, explore every nook and cranny of her body while listening to the sound of how she was breathing, so I would know what she liked.  You do not always have to say those things aloud, in fact it can be more exciting to discover them quite without the benefit of words altogether.

I thought….I would show her how much I loved her by taking the time to be deliberate, unhurried, to worship her body with my hands and. . . other things . . . to show her my love.

I thought I might please her, for once, and give her the ultimate gift.

 

She would have none of it. 

 

I have never bedded a woman like her, never been in love with such a creature.

I am so…….I do not even know what I am. 

I know that I cannot be angry at her, I threw away my anger, and now it sits at the bottom of the sea, unreachable.  I am not sorry for that, I would not be angry with her anyway.  I do not know what to be, I would be what she wants me to be, if only I knew what that was. 

 

I am….frustrated, of a certainly.  Confused, most definitely. 

And more in love with her than I have ever been with any woman in my life.

I wanted this to be such a time of sharing, of open communication for us, just she and I, with no one else.

I thought…..all my life I have thought….that love was enough and that everything else could be amended and rectified if only there was love.

There is love between us, of that there is no doubt. 

It grows with each day that I spend with her.  For me, it does.

I want to please her, I want to lay the world at her feet, I want to adore her.

I want to be her anchor every night, I want her to need me, I want to be there for her.

I know what I want.

And I know what I won’t.  I won’t give up.  I won’t give in.

I will try harder.  I will hold on as long as I have to, but I pray I find the answer soon, because this way….this is no way.

I know that I want her.

 

I just don’t know what she wants.

 

 

 

The Raven Returns

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - London
Somewhere upon the Atlantic Ocean
August, 1888


THE RAVEN RETURNS

I find myself on the Anna-Maria in the midst of our honemoon, imagine that!! It has already been an ordeal, this marriage, and so short a time we have had with it. Some things have been marvelous, some things unsettling, but always it has been eventful. Gabriella, alone, brings such a zest for life to me that each day the dregs of the way I was recede more and more. I will not say she alone has been my salvation, because for that to occur one must be open and receptive to it, so that the reason lies quite likely with both of us, but I am glad to be alive, more glad than I can remember ever having been, and I look forward to the days, now that Gabriella is in them with me.

With Gabriella resting below deck this afternoon, I was alone in the pilothouse of the Anna-Maria keeping watch over her direction when I chanced to sight a bird above in the cloudless blue sky. Not unusual in and of itself, but we are at the moment far from shore, with nothing upon the horizon but sea in all directions, and without some nearby spot of land, why would a bird venture out this far? I was curious and took out the spyglass for a closer look. It was a raven, huge and glossy-feathered, a black speck of darkness in the otherwise perfect heavens, and I shuddered with the sight of it. I do not know why, exactly, it was an involuntary reaction on my part, and I have no basis of fact for my negative reaction to seeing it....merely a feeling. Sometimes I dismiss such feelings as having no validity, but as of late, and especially since being with Gabriella, I am thinking these are signs of some unknown important to which I ought pay some attention. Fate? A few weeks ago I would have said no, under no circumstance, but now, I am not as sure. Gabriella thinks we may have been destined from a long time ago, even from a previous life, to be together, or so she said. I will not go that far, but I must admit, I am appreciating more and more her insistence that things, at least some things, seem meant to be.

I had my journal open, ready to pen my impressions of the days thus far of our honeymoon, having been too otherwise engaged to do so before, and I thumbed through the entries to see if there had been any past encounter with a raven of which I had written. There was nothing about a bird, but there was indeed an entry about a raven. It was one of the early entries, from several years ago; I had not browsed through that part of my journal since I had written it, I suppose. As I read the words I had written there so long ago, I well remember the time that sparked it, a time of unknown personal disquiet for me, a time when I would hear in my dreams the voice of a woman, yet never know more about her, or know what she said or even know what my dreams would mean. So vibrant and vivid did the dreams become, and the feeling that I should know more, but not having any knowledge of even what to search for, I feared I would disturb my household and took to riding in the dense forest during the nights. I thought I might be going mad, my earliest thoughts of such, when I could find no respite from the voice.

Raven in ancient lore is always a messenger, a creature that brings a warning to be heeded. I do not know why I should have any warning right now, but I cannot help but think I should pay attention to it, and to the words that the Raven of my past left with me, as recorded in my journal from years ago:


I have taken to riding when the such thoughts threaten my sanity - hard and fast through the woods in the deep of night - and I am sure that my stallion will be relieved once these irregular outings cease - or at least he will be more rested, not having his sleep interrupted in the middle of the night. Trouble is....I know not when that may be....or how to bring it about. And so, for now....I ride, late into the night, to chase the thoughts of her from my mind.

Which is how I came to meet the Seer, a woman named Raven, quite a beauty and aptly named, for her hair does shine like a raven's wing. It was but a few nights ago on one of my restless journeys to nowhere that I happened upon her....and the words she had for me have haunted me ever since.

"Pride will be your downfall if these words you do not heed. The forest is deep and the path is long, but narrow. Stray but a step, and you will find that the forest is not only deep, but wide. Many who go there find the adventures they seek, but for those who do not take heed of the warning, the forest becomes a tomb."

How she knew of my almost nightly travels into the woods, I do not know, but truly she has the Gift. Her words of the present were unnerving, but not nearly so asher words of what might be:

"The path you must take will not be straight, nor will it be easy. Choose you the wrong direction and your travels will end in disaster. A great loss, you must be prepared to accept. Do not attempt to prevent the loss, or your life will be forfeit."

And that I could not share with Pene, for it would bring ill will to this trip of hers we now find ourselves in the midst of - it is bad luck to begin such a journey with the ominous words of a Seer, as it is. Quite clearly I recall my reply to Raven then and what she said to me afterwards:

"My life means nothing if I cannot give it for those I love. It matters not, then.....that I forfeit it....if my actions save one I love. That....I would gladly do....again and again."

"Forfeit your life if you must, but know this ... by doing so, you also forfeit the life of the One who can save them all. That One is yet to come. Forfeit your life, and you also forfeit Hers."

What else she said to me, this woman with the Gift, or the Curse, of Second Sight, I shall keep private, even from these pages. What she said of me alone, well...time only can be the Truthmaker there. But if her words do foreshadow future actions on my part....I can only pray to Gwyn Ap Nuad that I choose wisely indeed...guided by His Hand.

So mote it be, if it be Thy will, Gwyn Ap Nuad. I pray for your strength and guidance at first light. And if it be your time to come for me, come swiftly, and let me bring honor to you with my death. In the name of the warriors who have gone before me, and whom one day I will join in the afterlife. Hear my words and grant the wishes of my heart.

I wonder now again, as I wondered then, what the message of Raven was. It is disquieting, but no known, absolute answers lie within my grasp, even now the same as then. But I do have for comfort the words of the wise woman that I am now married to, so I will put my trust in our bond and in the words she has said to me....that all things happen for reasons.

 

When The Paint Fades To Black

I found Gavin's journal.

It is worse than I feared, much worse.  I have not much time, I only meant to jot down a word or two in case something happens and I do not return....in case I cannot bring her, or us both, back.  I may have already waited too long to go, for the paint fades even as I write, but I thought that the differences in the dreams....Gavin's and mine....might mean that I would do harm to her, or worse.  I could not live with that.  If it did not kill me outright, then I should take upon myself the duty that fate neglected and by my own hand provide justice for her.  So I hesitated, not knowing what it meant, indecision my tether. 

But...no matter what chance I think I shall be taking....I cannot let her go alone.  I owe her that, given the same as my vow to her.  I think, perhaps that was a reason for her mother's help to me, when we stood before the fire together.  Unspoken, her mother was nevertheless asking me to be there for her daughter, be what she could not be.  I do not remember answering her, but I survived the experience.  That must have been answer enough.  I told her, I never break a promise. 

I have also told her, more than once, I am but a man.  I think she expects me to be the answer to some long sought ideal of hers, but I am bound to disappoint her in that.  I am no hero, no god with feet of clay. God knows how many of man's weaknesses I actually possess and I can be no one's salvation.  I shall not even try, for that would of a surety doom us both to hell.   I cannot save her, hell....I cannot even save myself.

For posterity, I want it known that even if the paint fades to black, once..... I did love her. 

What Is Beautiful?

Last night she called me beautiful.

I know the truth of that.

The features of my face are too chiseled, too harsh at times. I tend to frown when I am deep in thought, my mouth disappears into a thin tight line of concentration, my eyes crinkle at their corners, and surely I look fierce, my complexion too dark and gruesome, exacerbated when I forget to apply the razor by a dark shadow of stubble. I do not look friendly or easy to approach for casual conversation at those times, pehaps appearing too raw and brutal around the edges. Dark and sinister. The Black Panther is an apt description then, to be sure.

My body is still in relatively good shape for a man in the midst of his life as I am, the muscles retain their strength still, the flesh is toned. But its surface is marred repeatedly with scars of past grievances done to it, making it flawed and imperfect. I have a long jagged scar along one side beneath my ribcage and a thin line of a white scar along one inner thigh, from knee to groin, both made by blades that were sunk deep enough to end my life, but on different occasions. My left palm is bears an old scar of a numeral that was once burned there, although the scar is quite faded now and the flesh long healed. I have faint scars about my wrists where ropes that bound me sliced into the flesh as I struggled to escape, and thin white lines that lie across my back where my flesh was ripped by the skillful application of a leather bullwhip, both of those received when I was captive to men who would have sold me into slavery, as they did the others they held against their will. One of my shoulders and arms bears the jagged scar of a past encounter with the razored claws of a wild beast, and now the other one will soon wear the mark of a bullet meant for someone else.

I am not beautiful.

She looks at me through the eyes of her love. That is the only way she could call me so. I think she is brave, quite possibly the most courageous person I have ever known.

She sleeps so peacefully now as I hold her, her body draped against and across mine, while I scratch out these few words in my journal. How she sleeps now with me, her position, somehow this gives her some stability in her dreams, some measure of being tethered, I think. I do not pretend to know the way of it, but without me here, I think she goes to another place in her sleep, a place that is sometimes not comforting or peaceful, a place of apprehension, maybe even danger. She painted last night in her sleep, she was near me in our bed, but not on me, like now, and it somehow let her move, let her act. We all have nightmares, but it seems to be so vivid for Gabriella.

What did she do before I was here? Who was here to hold her and keep her safe? She must have been so frightened every night, scared to know where her dreams might take her, yet still she faced those nights. Did she face them alone? If so, she is so brave. She is an amazing woman, my wife.

I have to find Gavin's journal, I have to understand precisely what he dreamt. I know I have it somewhere, but I am loathe to move and disturb Gabriella. Last night I called her "Highness". Later on she told me who her father was. She thinks I should not recall, as she said it when my rationality was bound by the serpents of passion, but she has yet to fully understand me. The panther watches for a long time, his body still as he observes it all with his eyes and his ears, and only springs to action when he has weighed all the variables, considered all the possible consequences, and planned his movements very carefully.
I heard her.
I am only being still momentarily as I consider the possibilities.

There is one thing I have already considered, and therefore decided.
I do love her.
I love looking at her so deep in peaceful slumber. I love being her sanctuary when she sleeps.
I want to memorize the way she looks as she sleeps in my arms.
I know we cannot stay this way forever.
I am not sure where we go from here. Perhaps I do not have to know. Perhaps all we can have is today, or just a few todays strung together. It is she that has the Sight, and not I, thankfully so.
I do not think I want to know, how long.
We have right now. Today. We will have that, by God.....we will.
And it will be beautiful.

A beautiful and blinding morning
The world outside begins to breathe
See clouds arriving without warning
I need you here to shelter me

And I know that only time will tell us how
To carry on without each other

So keep me awake to memorize you
Give me more time to feel this way
We can't stay like this forever
But I can have you next to me today

If I could make these moments endless
If I could stop the winds of change
If we just keep our eyes wide open
Then everything would stay the same

And I know that only time will tell me how
We'll carry on without each other

So keep me awake for every moment
Give us more time to be this way
We can't stay like this forever
But I can have you next to me today

We'll let tomorrow wait, you're here, right now, with me
All my fears just fall away, when you are all I see

We can't stay like this forever
But I have you here today

And I will remember
Oh I will remember
Remember all the love we shared today

("Awake" by Josh Groban)

She's Got A Way

Events of the past few days have compiled one upon the other, like a slowly moving steam locomotive that could not be stopped, building and building in its momentum, until it rumbled out of control.

Perhaps I feel this way because I slept through a good many of the hours and am not cognizant of occurrences during that time, but I think somehow it is more than that. I wonder, now having a moment to myself to do such, if I am as much in control as I thought. I always prided myself upon that, being in control. I should have confessed that to the priest, pride certainly is a grievous sin, to be sure, but I did not, having only one sin on my mind that night, or rather, morning. That I am not in full control, that thought should cause me great consternation, and serious sleeplessness, but I must confess, if only in this journal, that it does not. Indeed, I have been sleeping better and better than I have in quite some years, as long as my wife is in my bed.

There’s a word I never thought to write again. Wife. I thought at first discovery that was a grave error made on my part, no matter how I made it. But experience has taught me to step back, have patience, and sit with a thing before I snap to a judgment. In retrospect, I am glad I did. She has a way about her, this woman…my wife…and I cannot call to mind what it is, but I am engaged fully in things when she is with me. And I am not sorry. Nor do I want out of the position. I told her….well, I told her a great many things last night, before I sealed the words with the action of a man quite on the edge of his passion. She brings that to me, as well. Yet, I digress. I told her that life makes no promise of fairness to anyone who passes through it, that we all take chances, with no guarantee of results. I told her that my life was worth nothing lived alone, and priceless with her in it. I told her that I was quite in love with her.

I cannot explain it, perhaps because love usually defies explanation. I did not realize it until I said the words to her.
But they happen to be true. She has come to me, somehow, and I will not question it further. Her love has pounded at the rock of my heart, over and over, waves crashing against the bulkhead, time and time again, reaching out to me, and last night I chose to take her offering and ride the tide with her.

I move forward with no regrets.

There is one small nagging worry at the bottom of thisall, and that is, I have had the dream again….not my own, but Gavin’s. It has been so long since I had it, that I did believe it purged and dissolved. Quite obviously that was wrong, but what it means in its appearance now, I do not know. The dream is hideous still, to be sure, but it was not precisely as I recalled. Somewhere I have the tattered journal of Captain Severe and if I can put my hands upon it, I can read how it was back then. Perhaps I can then begin to make sense of it, but even then, perhaps not. It is a dream, notwithstanding, and dreams often make no sense. The thing is….Gabriella told me I had acted while I dreamt, that she found me on the balcony, dancing with a dagger. I do not remember this at all; it was a night of raging fever brought on by the gunshot wound in my shoulder. (Whoever aimed for her and missed will have my wrath to deal with once discovered. It will not go well for him.) Because of my wife, because of her ways, she was able to bring me back to myself, and out of the fever of the dream. That Gabriella did this for me, I have no doubt, for I am here, and well again, to write these words.

This, then, I know: I am not the same without her. I do believe I love her, even as I admitted to her. This is the last; it has to be, for I could not survive the demise of another love. It would be my end and rightly so.
I will do all that I can to keep her safe and keep her here, then, for God help me if she ever goes from my side.

 

She's got a way about her
I don't know what it is
But I know that I can't live without her

She's got a way of pleasin'
I don't know why it is
But there doesn't have to be a reason
Anyway

She's got a smile that heals me
I don't know what it is
But I have to laugh when she reveals me

She's got a way of talkin'
I don't know what it is
But it lifts me up when we are walkin'
Anywhere

She comes to me when I'm feelin' down
Inspires me without a sound
She touches me andI get turned around

She's got a way of showin'
How I make her feel
And I find the strength to keep on goin'

She's got a light around her
And everywhere she goes
A million dreams of love surround her
Everywhere

She comes to me when I'm feelin' down
Inspires me without a sound
She touches me and I get turned around

She's got a smile that heals me
I don't know what it is
But I have to laugh when she reveals me

She's got a way about her
I don't know what it is
But I know that I can't live without her
Anyway

My Sin

I walked the streets looking for some sort of absolution, looking for a priest that would give that to me.
All that kept coming to mind was...her.
I hate her. No, I love her.
I never want to see her again. I cannot wait to see her again.
I need her. I hate the need I feel for her.
I want her. I want to be alone.
God help me, I need to confess my sins.
God help me, I want to sin again.

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The Hound and the Hare

I have pinched myself until I am black and blue.
Be the events of the past few hours and days but a dream of some monumental nightmarish proportions I should have waked by now.
And still I recall the events too clearly, in too much detail, as if I had lived through them. I feel like the hunted hare trying to outrun the hellish hound set upon his tracks who skittles into the hollowed log and comes out the other end, dazed, confused, darting about in frenzied flight, running anywhere just to get away.
I did that....married the woman, apparently, although my Scotch-soaked brain did not recall it, and then took to my frenzied flight, only to be cajoled back by her henchman, into some ghoulish occurrence so out of sync with reality that I should doubt my sanity yet again.
But even if a product of my mind, in one way or another, insanity or dream, I cannot deny the reality of what happened next, nor my feelings for her. She brought a fire to my loins too easily, so eager was I to embrace it, that all else was lost.
I was lost.
And woke tangled up with her in her bed to find our reportedly forgotten vows of marriage quite thoroughly and completely acted upon, by the both of us.
Round one to the hell-hound, hare on the ropes and bleeding badly.
I responded just like the animal who has but two choices for survival, fight or flight.                Fight I had tried already, with dire results, and no escape. Tis how I ended up in such a mess. Flight, then. I made some hasty excuse for leaving, having some business to attend to, of course, isn't that always the way of it, and escaped to the prison of my own making, my London townhouse.
But I could not get her out of my mind.
I need help. The guiding hand of an unseen power and I know hardly where to begin....save to return to the altar of my God. Yet it is too far, I must seek Him in another refuge now. I shall walk the streets until I find a sanctuary here in London, bend my knee to the Father, and confess my sins. Too long has it been since I was shriven and purged of such.
I know not what else to do.

We Collide

We collide.
Fire and ice.
Day and night.
Right and wrong. Right or wrong.
I do not know.
I only know this thing between us scares me.
Not for me. For me I have no care.
For her.
But something scares me more.
Being without her.


The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you

I'm open, you're closed
Where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find
You and I collide

I'm quiet you know
You make a first impression
I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find
You and I collide

Don't stop here
I lost my place
I'm close behind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
You finally find
You and I collide

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When All Else Falls Away

I stood in the center of the fire with her. I stood in the center of her fire. Is that one and the same? I think perhaps it is. I have done them both, and survived. I have sat with pain, and survived. I have watched everything else fall away, save for Truth, and still....still....I am here. And now.....now I have claimed her, and no matter what, now I will protect her, with my life, my words, my deeds. She is mine. She is my Truth. And I will be true to that honor. Forevermore. ......A. Sabatier It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon... I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful to be realistic to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,“Yes.” It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. "The Invitation" by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Cheers to An Old Friend

Gavin Savere has surfaced.
I thought his purpose had been served and that he was gone. Not so, apparently.

Captain Savere was a most unsavory character, to be a man of honor's alter-ego, which is what I must assume he was, being born of some inner desire my consciousness had no knowledge of. He was tough, yet not uncaring; lawless, yet not without mercy; a thief, yet not without honor. Gavin was an enigma, then, and some personality strong enough to carry....well, both of us...which was the purpose of his creation, I suppose. It is not unusual that I should empathize with him, even yearn again for the ruthless abandonment with which he lived his life. But I have always been a man of encumbered responsibilities, not that I swayed from them, not at all. Sooner or later Gavin had to surrender to that, even as I had to acknowledge it again.

Timing was my fatal flaw. Too late to save my wife, too late to save the children. That I had saved them before was no excuse, it being my destiny to do so repetitively, until I got it right, I would guess.

Is that to be Gavin's legacy, then? A return so that I get it right, a second chance where none is warranted or deserved, a reprieve from damnation, a precarious balance upon the edge, not knowing which way to fall? The falling is of course inevitable, I am but a man.

I think too much. That is Sabatier.

What is Savere in this situation? I think I know too well how to answer that. The amnesia faded long ago and left me with two halves, inside the one, and I know them both. Savere would take to his berth, to his bottle, drink himself near to oblivion, or even past it, and therefore save himself the embarrassment of further action.

I think to try it his way, for once. It can hardly do a harm and who knows but what an unexpected answer may lie within the good Captain's presence that he be willing to share. The Anna-Maria will be my cushion, should I fall, and none shall be the wiser for my demise, done in solitude. So shall pass my night and my disappointment with it, perhaps even my anger, although that may be asking too much of the unscrupulous Captain.

Day will break me soon enough. She always does.

Mine to Possess

I settled into the house in London......a stylish three-story brick Spanish colonial on Park Lane near the corner of Chapel Street directly across the street from Hyde Park and just down the street from Grosvenor House, the townhouse of the Duke of Westminister.......

 

.....yet it was not home.

I went out searching for something that would give it warmth, something that would comfort me in the long stretches of time when I reside there alone.
The walls were so bare and I thought perhaps something upon them...something to bring them back to life....would be the answer.
I chanced upon a shop a short walk from the townhouse, ducking inside to procure shelter from the weather, and found there a treasure trove of paintings that were unlike any I had ever seen before.
I was captivated by the style of the artist, and shuffling through the offerings, I chanced to hear a commotion in the next room, which I discovered, upon inspection, to be the artist herself.
Her selection of color, the adherance of paint to the canvas, depending upon where she had chosen to place it, were unlike any I had other seen, and then I saw the masterpiece.
She was actually painting my sanctuary, and the time I spent there in asking for guidance for the rest of my life, and I was at first suprised, then offended. She had intruded upon my life, my space, into a place that was solitarily sacred to me.
I had to have the painting.
But no matter what I offered, she would not accept.
She refused to part with it.
I felt the anger rising, my blood boiling, how dare she! She had seen something of my life that was sacred, secret, something she was not given permission to see. Not from me.
That she could have refused to give me what was rightfully mine....I was livid with the thought of it.
This is mine to possess.
No one will deny it to me.
This is my battle to win and I shall prevail.

Arrival in London

Aboard the Anna-Maria
SHIP'S LOG
Day Ten

I pointed the bow of the Anna-Maria into the headwaters of the English Channel yesterday. With the wind in her sails, I should make the mouth of the Thames by nightfall, able to coast into her river's waters and navigate the remainder of the journey by the simple light of the night.

My staff should have already arrived at the townhouse, making it inhabitable after its many years of desertion, and my man Robert will have already secured a berth for the Anna-Maria at the London docks. I am sure the Master of the Harbour has by now received my letter and payment for such, by Robert's hand, and he should be anticipating my arrival.

I cannot decide which to be the better truth, my eagerness to know what London holds for me, or my loathing to leave the peace I have found upon the sea again.
Perhaps the two can marry.
Perhaps I will take into consideration the notion of more time to be spent in the exploration of England's coasts, since the Anna-Maria will be with me, and I can make good use of her services. There is some business I must attend to, as Benjamen wants to profiteer the winery at Pantera, and I have promised to make inquires as to English merchants that might purchase his excellent spirits. Also I must make my presence known to the Queen and extend the greetings and good tidings from His Majesty, King Alfonso, as a recognized courier of the Spanish court. I shall enlist Robert's aid in the diction of letters to procure such meetings as one of the first orders of business to which I attend.

But that is not to say I cannot proceed at whatever pace I so choose. It is not as if I have to eek out a livlihood, but I should like to have some type of activity fo fill my days. I dare say nights as well, but that would be asking for too much. Besides, I am capable of sitting with my ghosts now, in the dark hours, and holding onto my sanity.

Most assuredly....I can do that now.

It is the first day of July, 1888.
The first day of my life and the course it will take in London.
And I can do this now.

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This Is My Time

Aboard the Anna-Maria
SHIP'S LOG
Day Six


I never want this to end.
I dropped anchor at dusk last night and this morning awoke to witness the most glorious sunrise. I feel like I am reborn anew, even as this day is.
I swam to a small island that I could see from the deck of the Anna-Maria so that I might walk along the pristine sand there. I am in no hurry. This is, after all, my life.
And this is the first day of the rest of it.
I am on uncharted shores here, this I know, but I am not afraid. Even my disturbing dream has abated, moved to the back recesses of my mind, and I worry no more of its meaning.
It will surface when it is time and I will be ready and able to deal with it when it does. Or it will not come again.
Either way, I am at peace with it.
As I am at peace here.
Calm. Serene. Sane.
I have never felt so sane.
This is the time....this is my time....and I am ready for it.

 

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Bliss

Aboard the Anna-Maria
SHIP'S LOG
Day Four

BLISS

I am in love with her, I think.

The sea, I mean, of course. Today has been yet another glorious day with her, just she and I. I have not even bothered with the encumberance of dress, preferring instead to let the sun be my clothing. I shall offend no one, for there is no one to offend, save the dolphins that have decided to be my company.

I sighted them this morn when I climbed the rigging and stood near to the top, they were but a little way off my port side bow, running interference underneath the water's surface. For what, I could not say, but they stayed most of the morn right in place. Such sleek and graceful animals, I shook out the canvas and filled the sails, letting the Anna-Maria speed along to see if they would stay at her lead. They did, and I suspect thoroughly enjoyed the game, tossing their gleaming bodies up out of the water with ease, even at such a speed, then plunging back to the sea, dodging each other's bodies with lightning-like reflexes. What a gift, to be able to watch them as they moved in perfect harmony, one with the other, and even with the Anna-Maria, as they accepted her, and therefore me as well, as part of their world, without condition.

How simple it all seems at this moment.
How carefree, how blissful.
Even the haunting of my sleep seems but far removed and far, far less irritating, in the light of such a wondrous day.
I shall not dread the night, then, for empowered with such a day as I have had, I can deal with anything that comes to me in dreams.
I am strong now. She brings that to me. My joy, the sea.
And I am grateful to her.

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The Sound of Absolute Silence

Aboard the Anna-Maria
SHIP'S LOG
Day Two

 

I am in my element once again. 

Why it did not occur to me to seek her out sooner, I do not know, but I am here now. 

The sea.

 

This morning I woke to the sound of absolute silence, liberated from the sounds of any other human being, and it was glorious.  Not that I will not miss my family and friends I have left in Spain, for I shall and I know how much I shall.  Their love buoyancied me when I was drowning in grief, these past few months.  I can never repay them for their support, their honesty, their devotion to me which never wavered, no matter what my state of mind or being. 

 

But there is something restoring to my soul to be alone, on the sea, and in her absolute silence. 

 

Even the dream that I continue to have, for I have decided that it must be a dream, I must have succumbed to the stress of kneeling in prayer all day and all night and given in to sleep, to have seen such a vision at my sanctuary's altar....even that dream has loosed its hold o'er me somewhat here.  I still have it, the identity of the woman still haunts me, as she comes to me each night, and walks around in my sleep without revealing her true identity.  I first thought it was Pene alone, for I know the voice I heard, and hear, can only belong to my wife.  I will always know her sound.   But the face I glimpsed in that fleeting moment before she melted into the daybreak was unknown to me, its features unclear and foreign. I am a religious man, but not a spiritual one, and I am not a man used to blindly accepting a thing.  I hunted extensively through the periodicals and books of my library, but nothing there held definitive answers for what I thought I was experiencing.  It was Pene's voice who called me "ashke", but why would she tell me to go to London, the exact words......"London.  Seek the treasure in London."....save she be a ghost or a dream?  There is no scientific proof that ghosts exist and the individual elements of dreams when dissected are nonsensical.  Science acknowledges that. 

The value of dreams lies in their message, not in their messengers.

 

That is how I have decided that I can sit with this.  One night in my dream I will know her, she will show me her face.  I must have patience.  I think it is but a test to see how patient I can be and I will rise to the challenge.  I have but little choice, this is in someone's hands other than my own.

 

The sea is being so sweet to me today, the waves gentle and soothing, her hue so crystalline blue that I believe I can see beneath her surface into her very depths.  She is a rare gem that sparkles just for me, just for the touch of my hand as I trail it in her waters.  She comes alive as I touch her.  She and I are companions to one another on this day without need for any spoken words.  She gives to me her strength and I take it, hungrily, as a starving man who is at last being fed the only thing he craves....the silence of understanding.

 

There was a time when I dreaded another day but no more. 

I look forward to another day, if it be like this one.

 

Voy con Dios.

 

 

A New Chapter

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - Benvenuto
Upon the Atlantic Ocean, north from the coast of Spain, long. 47.4, lat. 16.1
June, 1888
Bound for London, England
Day One

I feel as if I am beginning a new chapter in my life. 

I feel as if I have triumphed over the darkness that had gathered and threatened to destroy what time I had left, but the strange thing is....I do not feel as if I have done it alone....exactly. 

Not that I can say who...or what...has been with me, but there is a presence, if only my overwrough imagination, that I now follow.  Hardly do I care where it might lead, the point being that it has me on the move again, believing that there is something yet in life I am to accomplish, and given me a mild curiousity, that I admit is growing, as to what that might be.  Indeed, I find myself hopeful now as I look around the corner, excited to be expecting something more to do. 

The surprise has been that I am not to do it in Spain.