Origin Story- Forward

We take to the high seas, the patience for these weeks in port finally reaching its limit, as the tides of the call of the open ocean rise. As with any great adventure, this one begins with a single step, onto the deck otherwise empty but feeling as full as ever. I pat my pocket and feel the ever so slight bump of the penny within, and smile.

"So eddies swirl, of space or time or a little of each, who is to say from pocket?" It is no matter I consider, I mark my own pace and measure my own steps in much the same way I have since this journey began- nonsensically, subjectively, yet somehow steady record persists all the same. Here it persists as salt air breathed deeply from the helm of this sloop at sunset. With the confidence that this place does not fade when I close my eyes, and the gentle rocking of calm seas, I let myself drift, my thoughts drifting further, feeling for a moment as if soul seeps into every nook and cranny.

A glimmer pulls me back, a thought reels me in, eyes opening I find myself at the mast. The ocean air fills my lungs, how long has it been since I've smelled this? Anemoia sets in at the sea air, but perhaps somewhere, lost to my conscious, it is hiraeth. I let the scene wash over me like a flood for a minute; I imagine you excitedly scanning the ship from your corner, and the feeling that anything might be missing deeply here and now washes away like sand in a high wave riptide with you by my side, penny in my pocket.

"Suitor." I suddenly realize. "That's what we're missing, seemingly doubly true since even first realized. A suitor was requested by screen, and by dream scene gleaming silver suitor was seen, now by obscured thread such a needs seems outright interwoven from the beginning. My eyes set on gold, but my heart set on each, and I can picture each standing side by side on the same shore now waiting for their ship, this very ship, complete with hazel eyes and copper toned oroides, to come in.

My train of thought is interrupted by a squawk. I will admit to jumping a bit at this sudden and loud announcement that I am not alone, but immediately I am scanning the near sky above the ship for the culprit. A woosh of wings announces first the approach, followed by an alighting on the shoulder. I turn to confirm, but memory of a kind, almost foreign here, is already rushing in to fill the gaps. Sure enough a parrot, with unusual coloring for my experience, has landed on my shoulder to join me on this voyage- nearly all white with pink feather tips. I smile at my bird friend, both old and new, and exclaim "Hello!" which the bird echoes with a squawk in nearly the same tone. If a bird can smile this one does, as well as excitedly stomping back and forth in place and a bobbing of the head. While I remembered it differently, this specific distinction in color draws my mind to the notion that not every color palette would be aligned, especially if light were seen through different eyes, from different corners, and possibly even as multiple strands. With a soft shrug, so as not to quake my companion's ground too excessively, I dismiss and reconcile all at once this notion that I must know precisely how green and blue and white and pink (and yellow and green, it would seem) might all be connected. Instead I am glad for the company on this journey that might be considered long and/or short, depending on one's point of view. I scan for the moon and it does not take long to find- a crescent, a sliver really, only visible on a day like this, in an hour like this one. "Hello moon!" I say with a wave. My companion squints and scans before echoing "Hello moon!" Just like that our words are exchanged, but how much more might be communicated and arranged on this voyage? I feel my mind spark and energy fill me, an energy I have not felt manageably at this volume for some time. Thoughts overflow like a geyser into words, or perhaps like a plasma globe with voltage focused on contact, without harm.

"This stone and that share same source and same map

But cobbled arrangements are each unique

Same architecture links corner to cap

Blueprints prized for ordonnance's mystique

But such blueprints are not easily found

For many are forged, far fewer forged true

Walls without a door defines prison bound

What good is a mansion without a view?

You may claim this door open from your side

Please knock, come in, share a meal with me

Or do scooches bridge senses' great divide?

To make final knock unnecessary?

So cleanly this puzzle falls into place

I yearn to swap shared yarns in same same space."

I give my companion a cracker, wondering if that was always a cliche or if parrots actually enjoy such things. Sure enough, it is gobbled up with alacrity, and I make a note to pick up more. "Thank you!" I side eye my parrot friend, who squints and bobs their head happily. "You're welcome! Though where did you learn that element of courteous exchange, I wonder?" now scratching my bearded chin as I scan these vast, seemingly empty, waters. Deja vu whispers of an ominous night and a man overboard, forgotten but seemingly not entirely. As music plays and chairs are swapped, could it be it is I who has here taken on that role? This time deja vu heals scars with a sigh, of a night locked outside, as sun and moon scramble to cover their bases as they have once before. If what I see is what I get, and who accompanies me is who I suspect, then even along these replicated cobblestones, I believe my love will find me. I whistle a tune to help pass the time, ease the journey and/or aid the search, as the case may be from each eye seen. To my surprise, without a beat missed, my companion whistles along with me.

"A load shared by two, a burden uncanny, the loneliest voyage made joyous for one companion found, the high seas too found calm with fair winds, with no( o)ne else around." My companion gives an "oooo!" in response to my subtle throwing of voice, and I blush for having been heard so precisely. We whistle again, to allow time to pass, like waves beneath notice on the hull below. To my surprise, tune echoes off water all around; a most resonant pitch from sea's perspective, it would seem, are our paired and surprisingly soothing oral overtures found. 

Suddenly I remember the coin tossed into sea, and I snap back to awareness, feeling like at least a day has passed, though how much more I cannot say; it is night now. My companion still adorns my shoulder, and I consider that with this new form gained, does carrying old still carry meaning? I see tumblers sliding into place and clockwork precessing, unbroken, but still I am unbound from it in this place. I survey the sea, whose roaring calmness graciously invites, near'y politely demands, a piece of eight, clearing my throat and loosening my tongue, preparing to share such words and perhaps more.

"Such a fine garment

Are eyes fixed on what remains?

Blind men cannot say

Adorned with the stars

Fitted breastplate fashioning

Covered by the blood 

Robed in realm crafting

Cloaked by obfuscating mist

Scarved with dreamwalking

If I stood above

Then pulled you past me, might we

Dance eternally?

Away from this place

This cage of only good things

And evil heartbeats?

Very good awaits

With home as we define it

Close and inside us 

What good is a bet

When one can offer nothing?

Oh, what good indeed...

I've a coin or two

So I say 'Heads to the sea

Tails to the pocket.'"

With that I flip the penny overboard, unsure of how it will land, but feeling confident the terms will be upheld either way. For the deep we sail over tonight is not the sea of which I speak; and though a reflection drifts as we sail, the bird by my side reassures me that all who drift, as we and our reflections do now, are not lost. Nor this night will they be forgotten, nor by dawn recovered, but one soon will see us reach this shore, for we have nowhere else to go, and no other port will tarry this, our voyage.