The Furious Spinner

We is in the middle of a flood. A big one. We have become a river, or part of a river. Outside the rain is pouring, pouring, pouring from the sky, as though all the stars have become pitchers overflowing, overflowing with star milk. Mario is on the couch next to me, sleeping—although he would swear he wasn't if he saw me watching. We're listening to the new Enya album. I hope I like it better than her last one. I gaze at Mario, rumbled, tired, his hands across his belly, and I am filled up with love. Overflowing! I think of Sissy Maggie Mermaid who fell in love with everything and everyone, and I know what she felt like.

I woke up at 4:30 a.m. this morning. I lay in bed listening to the wind shaking the house and the rain pelting the windows. Ahhh, winter in the Pacific Northwest—although it has come a bit early. We completed our month-long healing ritual for the community last night, standing in the driving rain for a long while, walking in an almost-lake that had been a field a few days ago. As I started walking toward the center of the field, I thought, "Give me a sign that this will help." Just then that same bird who had circled me the other night called out again. At least I think it's the same bird...After we finished, I ran up to the Old Oak and gave it a hug. Yes, I have been and always will be a treehugger. This morning at 4:30 a.m., I tried to figure out how I could give everyone a kit to start their own Old Mermaid Sanctuary—just something to encourage people, because telling anyone how to do it would be antithetical to the Old Mermaids. They are not doctrinal. I imagined Old Mermaid sanctuaries all over the world. Places of peace and beauty, loving, connected to the whole community of creatures, Visibles and Invisibles. Ahhhhh. Feels good envisioning it.

When Mario and I were hiking somewhere this summer, we came to a spot where we thought a bench would be nice. Wouldn't it be grand to donate money in the name of the Church of the Old Mermaids to have this bench put in? Wouldn't it be great to donate books in the name of the Church of the Old Mermaids? Etc. All over everywhere and back again, we imagined all these good things and great deeds with the name Church of the Old Mermaids attached to them. And wouldn't everyone who saw that just sigh, "Ahhhhh." Feels good imagining it.

Then we drove to Vancouver today in the torrential rainstorm. I should say we drove in the moonsoon! (I like that typo: moonsoon. I guess because it was the day after the Full Moon.) It is almost unbelievable the amount of rain. Yellow leaves fly from the trees like flocks of finches. Waterfalls stream down the hillsides. It is all water. Watery, watery, watery. As though the Old Sea is returning. Most creeks are reaching flood stage. I look for Old Mermaids everywhere. We're an hour early to the doctor since I messed up the time, so we drive to the nearby library and I do some work. Then it's back to the doc's. I am so nervous I want to puke or run or scream. I try to keep grounded, and I breathe. I listen to the ringing in my ears and my heart beating. Then the doc comes in and gets all her instruments ready. I tell her that I didn't take the steroids, that I worked with my family doc to try and correct the cause of these polyps; I've been on an anti-inflammatory diet. I don't tell her about all the other things I've been doing. (How would I explain the Bee Goddess or the Old Mermaids? How would I explain listening to the ringing in my ears and hearing, "The flowers know everything and the trees know even more"? She looks up into my left sinus. "Oh, Kim, this looks really good!" Then she goes into the right sinus, the one where the polyps had started, and she says, "It looks great! This is miraculous. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it." Ahhhhhh!!!!! I say, "Give me some sugar." And we embrace. She tells me to keep doing what I've been doing—whatever it is—and come back in six weeks.

I feel light and shocked and awed.

We drive to Portland. We hope everyone is being careful since it is difficult to see. Once we stop, we're still in a river. Our feet get soaked from flooded roads. We don't care. We keep our arms around each other and run across the river road. I don't mind the water. I don't mind anything. Today I am part of the river, part of the flow.

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All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2007 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.