I created the image of Tesauro with water-colour coloured-pencils. I hope that you enjoy it!
Perhaps the delicately rising and falling melody of the flutes and violins guided my thoughts to create a certain state of mind. Sitting in the warm sand with my hand on my phonograph on a pale grey sky day, I felt my spirit rhythmically pull itself forward, fluttering, aching—and then tremble and fall with the music—with the undulating waves. And with each throb of the music, my spirit, and the waves, my yearning to rise to meet the sea increased. An unknown force—the longing to be pulled, pulled me to stand. The sand slid between my toes; enchantedly, I crept to the water’s edge.
The water seethed in to rush up to my ankles. Cold sand softly swallowed my feet. Wind lifted and fluttered through my dark hair; my eyes widened as I concentrated on the harmony of my spirit and the waves. I shuddered. The water pulled away, lifting and pulling her inside of a glimmering clear surge. Like a painting of a mermaid in sun-lit water, I saw her hair flaring in a dark halo around a pale face, and her white effervescent dress reflecting all of the colours of light. She seemed to be suspended by that wave for an hour as I watched. Such an hour during which I gazed at this sight was consequently beautiful. My eyes watered. At once, the wave let her down and abandoned her there in the wet sand. She looked directly into my eyes, as if she knew with longing that she would see me… But she was at once astonished at my outward appearance. Her hair and her pale dress were coiled so that they clung around her in a cocoon. She propped herself on her small pale hands, spreading her fingers on the firm dark sand, looking mystically up at me, into my eyes. She looked into my mind. Absorbed me into her dark glinting ocean eyes. My lips grew numb. I lost consciousness of my self. The world felt as if it were about to twist and revolve too fast, and disappear away.
Her cool wet fingers curled around mine before I knew that I was standing over her in the shallow water.
“Oh,” I murmured shyly in astonishment, and felt my face glow warmly in nervous delight.
She was smiling a way in which expressed that she meant something. As if she knew a mystery that was hidden. And the water rose and fell over us. We were gripped by its strength, and yet, I did not feel the cold pressure. Never held my breath. Her small hand clasped my large bony one firmly, her thumb curled around my knuckle, and as the water dragged us away, she pulled me away with it, drawing me further—deeper and deeper into the blue. I could feel the power of her heart as she propelled us forward, kicking her legs, the water growing darker and darker.
She twisted as she swam, weaving skilfully and quickly as a fish. She pulled me effortlessly and smoothly. She kept looking back at me, smiling the little mysterious smile. Below, pale rings of sunlight wavered and flashed. I gazed wonderingly as we slowed and drifted downward. She let go of my hand, and floated down like a soft white ghost. She was a little white flash of sunlight in the water. Her skin and her billowing dress reflected shaking traces of pale blue light like an angel in a dream.
I followed her to the ocean floor; white catfish flew up around us and vanished. She pointed to long green tendrils swaying, with delicately transparent white and pale purple flowers. Her coral garden was dark and peculiar. Her world was a fantasy, and she was the mystical being supposed to inhabit it. We slid in long slow strides along a path slippery with weed. Little pale blue fish flitted among intricately stemming branches. The portside of a sunken ship rested against the next small hill of coral.
The lady floated down to the deck scattered with grey-green weed. I began to say something about the fragile beauty of the ship, but stopped as I realised that the words I was about to use were inadequate.
She twirled on her toes. “This is my home,” she said, her voice in a whisper like a crashing wave. She took my hand and we stared up at the ocean’s surface: Rippling sunlight, bent by the waves, so far away. “This must be a dream,” I murmured.
“That may be true,” she said softly. She said it in a tone which suggested that she slightly disagreed with me, which made me quite confused.
‘How could she agree yet disagree with me at once?’ This was merely one of her strange abilities which I would soon know more of, I knew, if I stayed here and did not wake now.
She tip-toed to the bow of the ship, and I imagined a perfect summer day in which we glided in a boat across the great flowing waves. But, under the sea was where she belonged. I wished that this moment would last forever. In my excitement, I wished, but also worried, ‘What if she were to vanish now?’
I treaded to her with my arms unconsciously outstretched.
She turned to me and whispered, “Do not worry about me; only remember me, for I am always here.” She touched my forehead lightly with her fingertips.
She moved across the deck in slow bounds. I trailed confusedly behind.
The door of the cockboat hung drifting behind her. It was in the darkness that I realised that she illuminated by gathering together all of the light around her.
But all of this occurred in barely a moment, for the next thing which happened was that the water was pushing me back up the shore. Sand and shells harshly rubbed my back. I sat up, touching the rash gingerly. The water was cold. I sprang up and shivered terribly. I muttered regretfully, “Oh, but.” Had I fainted and then been washed to shore? “Perhaps I have woken now,” I whispered dejectedly.
The woman was gradually being pushed to shore by the waves. Her head appeared, and bobbed. A few more waves pushed, and she drifted near to say, “Here I am! Did I not tell you not to worry about me?”
I watched her strange face. In the water it reminded me of the reflection of the moon. “Um…” I mused. “I think that I would like to know…” my voice trailed off, for I was weakened in the wonder of trying to find the right words.
Her strange blue eyes narrowed slightly, and she said quietly, “You may.”
“Are you a sea-witch?” asked I with quick enthusiasm.
“An icy witch?” the woman pondered. Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “I do not believe that I am,” she said thoughtfully. “What is ice?”
I laughed. “No, a sea-witch,” I tried to explain. I raised my arm over the water. “Look, sea. And you seem to be a magical lady who lives within it.” I hesitated, before musing further: “You…” I gazed in silence as the intensely present luminous lady rose before me.
She murmured with a certain keenness, “I am.” The late light of the sun flashed across her skin as if it were made of scales.
A wide-eyed boy standing beside a mysterious spirit. She watched me with shining eyes. I was frozen with fear. I held myself quite still, as I pondered thought upon thought, each causing the next to be deeper and leading me further into the darker. The modest thing to do would have been to simply thank her for the experience, and never return. ‘In her eyes, is my heart ready?’ my voice echoed in my mind. My voice was so small, like a fish swimming in a plastic bag. I felt that the bag was about to burst. With a fear so great that it was difficult to breathe, I knelt, and looking up at her, I now had to say, “I cannot live without you now. I would feel that I had left a chance of knowing what true love is behind.” I reached up and took her hand in mine—cool and soft like water. “Please do not leave.” My lips grew numb.