Looking up to the heavens, the clouds dominated the sky, billowing, pregnant and bursting, sweetly kissing my upturned face with each droplet. The hues of gray, white, navy, and subtle hints of plum are reminiscent of Clouds by Claude Monet. The steady spring drizzle keeps the temperature cool, but if you run, the heat of your body alchemizes the rain; thus, now your circumstances become deliciously delightful. The heat of the earth suspends the cool droplets in the air, forming a Scotch mist of mythic proportions. The combination of the mist exhaled across the landscape of I’On elicits The Seine at Giverny, Morning Mists, only further reinforcing that Charleston is made to be painted in oil on canvas by an artist devoted to Impressionism.
“Say Yes to Heaven” by Lana Del Rey plays in my ears as Apollo and I navigate our way through the complex, leaping over puddles until we find the break in the buffer strip allowing us access to Mathis Ferry Road. Taking in the vibrancy of the varied green tree leaves, which contrasted so starkly with the muted neutral colors of the sky, I felt so loved, or in love, at this moment. It is as if Nature itself is aligning its blossoming for my awakening…
Lana’s voice enters, and she is simultaneously speaking to me and for me—the realities split. On one level, she is the Universe, speaking to me directly, reminding me that I am perfect in everything I am doing that feels natural. She knows my trials and tribulations but assures me it’s safe now to lay down my arms. Let the rain cleanse me of the fear holding me back because no matter what choice I make, I will always find my way back to Her loving embrace and my destiny. Her instructions are clear: If I want my Heaven, I must surrender entirely and trust in Her, and most importantly, myself. In exchange for Her protection, She demands a verbal answer.
“Say yes to Heaven
Say yes to me
Say yes to Heaven
Say yes to me
I’ve got my eye on you
I’ve got my eye on you”
On the other level, Lana’s voice and these lyrics are something I have never dared to utter directly to someone. The depth would drown anyone not of the highest aquatic level of proficiency. You might think you want me, but are you capable of truly embracing me in my entirety? I am a force of nature, a unique balance of polarities that should be treasured, not treated. My nature compels me to heal and love but also condemns me to often walk a path alone. I am seeking my Tribe, not a cult following. And as far as my lover? He’ll find his way to me when he’s ready.
As Apollo and I compete toward North Shelmore Boulevard, we race past the shops in I’On, over the bridge, and past the variations of historic home recreations in varying shades of pastel. We finally break at the park between Mobile and Perseverance. Ekaterina Shelehova’s introduction to “Earth Melodies” engulfs me as I walk out onto the grass, my steps matching the staccato of her breath, my body and arms gesticulating in concert with the power her voice invokes. At the start of her ethereal crescendo ascent, I sink to my knees, sitting back deep on my haunches. I interlock my fingers, bringing my hands up to my lips as I lower my head and pray the first prayer I’ve uttered in far too long.
Please, God. Mother. Creator. Gaia. Please forgive me for losing sight of the things that truly matter. Please forgive me for losing myself and forgetting that I am an instrument of and for you. I hear my ancestors beckoning in the call of the wind, and I am so eager to take on their charge. I am a child of the forest, I am a daughter of water, I am a descendant of warriors. Please help me find my true calling!
As the wind whips and the canopies of the trees dance, the rain soaking me through, it strikes me that my zodiac sign finally makes sense. I am an Aquarius, though I would’ve thought my sign to be a Water element, considering I have such an essential bond to Mother Ocean and other bodies of water. Though the Aquarian symbol is the Water-Bearer, my element is Air. Watching the storm brew around me, I finally understood that I am neither the water nor the air. I am the storm itself, powering the play, ravishing yet nourishing simultaneously. I have never been one nor the other. I am the solution, but if not respected, the cautionary tale.
I feel Apollo’s paws on my back, demanding my attention. He makes big steps from side to side with grand sweeps of his tail, not sure yet what I was doing but totally game to play. I bound up from my knees, using my hands on the ground to propel me forward like a track star, racing off toward West Lake. We sprint around the perimeter, coming to the top left corner on West Shipyard Road. We lunge at each other playfully, back and forth. I sing out the words to “Lost Boy” by Ruth B., dancing across puddles as if no one’s watching—except I am all too aware of someone in a first-floor window drawing back their curtain and gazing out. Whether in appreciation, jest, or jeer, it matters not.
I feel no sense of embarrassment or shame, only slightly remiss that there isn’t someone here with whom I could share this memory. Charles Bukowski wrote, “The problem is, we look for someone to grow old together, while the secret is to find someone to stay a child with.” There is magic and beauty everywhere, if you only believe enough to see it.
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