When The Siren Sings

A small sail boat weaved from grocery coupons, and coloring book pages bobs up and down on the Sea of Motherhood,  and there I am sitting in the vessel-just waiting for water to seep in and consume me.
It’s a sad sight-a weathered sailor staring off into the horizon as her boat is tossed around carelessly.
I don’t look around me, I already know there is nothing but me and the sea.  I don’t even blink when Sadness’s clouds blanket the sea and cry on my shoulders.

I am headed to Independent Island-it’s where I live.  It is a lush island, with trees of Life sprawled throughout it’s interior; peppering the land with the cover of experience. I am the queen there.
When I am ashore, enforcing my rule, each day is mine and mine alone.  The sun shines every day-even when it rains-and the breeze from the beaches taste like Freedom.  I walk the entire island as I please.  I venture it’s twisting and turning paths through Friendship Forest, climbing various branches and reinforcing the bonds that have been there for ages.  I am not burdened by the responsibilities of maintaining the stability of Independence Island.  I love my title and my rule.
I am proud to say I have created the perfect balance of peace and adventure.

Now I just look at it from my tiny boat; it is but a small speck on the horizon.
So how did I get here?


When the shores of Independent Island were first flooded with the Sea of Motherhood, I couldn’t have been more happy.  It was the pinnacle of existence for my thriving island.  I thought since I had conquered the island, the sea would be no problem for a powerful queen like myself. Sometimes being queen of your own Independence Island can make you overly confident and under informed.
This was one of those times.
My shores foamed with promise as the sea waves pulsed upwards; splashing only what I wanted to see upon the sands.  Each wave brought new hope, new challenge, and I was steadily watching them roll in while packing for when the tide was high enough to carry me off on what was sure to be a conquest.

I was eagerly packing my inner belongings in a fabulous yacht-completely different from my current sailboat, which was now starting to show signs of water log.  My yacht was lavish and new, filled with things I was certain I needed for my epic voyage.  After anticipating and celebrating the approaching tide for months, it was finally time to shove off.  I, Independence Island’s Queen, took one last entitling look around the landscape before pushing my foot deep into the soul sands in order to heave myself into my new, flashy (and a tad expensive) yacht.
I never looked back after that.
I almost laughed at the idea of missing the island I governed.
The Sea of Motherhood had a current that grabbed hold of my opulent ship and whisked it far away from the island with great haste.  I brushed the sand off my feet, completely unaware, at how precious those bits really were to me.

At some point in my journey, my lavish yacht was capsized-surely by a Practicality Squall, which ravaged the Sea of Motherhood quite frequently. I managed to barely stay afloat in the difficult waters, find a sailboat drifting aimlessly, and climb aboard.  Without giving a second thought, I pulled on the main sheet to adjust the main sail.
That was the magic of the Sea of Motherhood; once I set sail, I realized I knew how to sail the whole time.
It came naturally to me.
Once my yacht had been swapped out for my current sail boat, I started achieving tasks I had only read about.  I was able to steer my sailboat using the winds of Intuition, I prevented further capsizing using various knots of Love to hold my sails tight.  At some point I even became a master at scrubbing the infamous Poop Deck.

During a dead run, I sliced through the sea with ferocious pride.  I perched myself to the right of the Nurturing main sail, with a steady hand on the tiller.  I could hear the faint sound of a ukulele strumming in the distance; the soft melody was the soundtrack of the Sea of Motherhood.  I poked my head over the side of the boat to see the famous Reflections of Love race past my vessel. The sea sprayed my face with memories and treasured moments-each drop sweeter than the last.  I soon learned that this was the allure I needed to stay on my boat; to keep sailing through the challenges and sacrifices needed to complete my voyage.  I became so engulfed in the adventure that I was oblivious that I was slowly losing all memory of Independence Island-and my rule over it.

Years went by before I realized I hadn’t been anywhere near Independence Island.  My epiphany was accompanied by the recognition of what I had become. I was bloated with Bitterness at the sea for taking me so far away from the island.  My hair felt long and stringy; a product of endless sea spray.  As the shroud of the sea is lifted from my eyes, I saw that not only had I not seen my island in years, but I was nowhere near it-I had sailed painfully off course.
I had somehow, somewhere, submitted myself completely to this adventure.
I had somehow, somewhere, focused my attention more on maintaining the integrity of my meager sailboat and it’s buoyancy than the well being of it’s own captain.
I had given up my queendom for life on the Sea of Motherhood.

It was time to open up the nurturing main sail and take back my throne.



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