Photoart by Maggie Mae-Hymn
It was as if many versions of many selves came and went in the darkness, the wind. And she stood upon the ship. Filled with long-forgotten light. To imagine that the brilliant gem could do what it did, mingling its essences with starlight from many stars, mingling slowly like that. It brought her back from a strange dream – wistful moments that could almost be arranged into their proper sequences, their proper meanings. And the visible patterns of her life arose around her like smoke, a fog made of the feathery memory of wings. Born among waterfalls, she had this wish long ago. To become a bird carved from starlight; her feathers made of shining mist. To journey over moonlit seas. To fix the flowing radiance that filled her mind into coherent notions of selfhood. To clothe herself in the past and the future like translucent clothing. But sometimes even our wishes seem to be made of mostly elusive substances, too impossible to imagine. She knelt upon the floor of the ship. A weary darkness withdrew from her arms. The light played like music. She could hear voices, surf. A tingling of the distant sounds of many stars fell around her and kept falling through her form, through her transparent clothing into the wooden deck of the ship. She had to touch the wood. She reached out her hand. Below the ship there was nothing to hold up the hull. Night; a far ringing like a silver bell on a distant shore. Why is it always so difficult to really know what we might be made of, anyway?