Greece 'n' stuff

Jet-lagged.

It’s 2:00 in the morning, and I just put on a pot of coffee. And for some reason, Leonard Cohen is playing on my iTunes. Perfect time to catch up on blogging, right?

I’m not going to bore you all with endless prattling about my trip to Greece, but I do have one thing to share with a few specific people who will find this interesting. On the ferry between Athens and Santorini, I was struck, as always, with this fiery, consuming fascination for the water. So, I sketched out some prosetry, and I’m presenting it here with a very special dedication to the people who like to tease me about wanting to commit suicide in the ocean. It’s just a first draft and not what I would ever call good poetry, but I’m throwing it out there just so Jo and Sigma have some more fuel for their endless teasing of me. See? I sacrifice myself just to make you guys happy.

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She hides secrets, the ocean.
Stolen from sailors, dictators, peasants, fish.
She steals them as she drags the unwary into a frothy green death.

If you listen closely, you can hear a word now and then.
A whisper.
An echo.
Each ripple, crest, wave sings a chorus.
The secrets of the ocean revealed in mumbles and hisses.
But if you really want to know her secrets, you have to make a sacrifice—
And you have to be chosen.

You’ll know if she calls you;
The whispering starts.
She beckons to you with the temptation of secrets.
Odysseus.
Alexander the Great.
Your ancestors.
Their whole history lies hidden in her depths.

It starts innocently enough.
She offers you pleasure first—floating in the waves, feeling the sand bury your feet.
Then when she has you captivated, she shows you her darker side.
Violence.
Terror.
And before you know it, the fear consumes you.
She’s all you think about.
You long for her.
She sings like a siren until you go mad from the longing.
And then—

The sacrifice.
You think it’ll be something simple, like Odysseus sacrificing his men for safe passage.
But it’s never simple; there’s only one sacrifice she wants.
She wants to add your secrets to her coffers, and there’s only one way for her to steal them.

Then…
The last glimpse of the sun, the sky.
The world turns green and eddies around you.
After a few seconds, the agony takes hold,
But that’s all part of the sacrifice.
And then the secrets are revealed—
The messenger? The corpses of the dead who were also stolen by the ocean.
They grab you—slimy and phosphorescent green—
They pull you close and whisper in your ear.
They speak of history and war,
Love and loss.
You’d think it would take a while, to learn all these secrets, but it doesn’t.
Only about a minute.
About the same amount of time it takes for you to die.
And then… you’re wise—fulfilled at the moment you come to the end of yourself.
After that, you take your place among the chorus.
You whisper your secrets.
You become the mystery that others seek.