My first week back at work was a 7-day work week. And Boss had gone for reservist on Tuesday. The day I came back, he told me that he had suffered. But I think I must suffer more for working without him, than he had suffered for working without me. He only had to descend to my level. I have to ascend to his. I guess I got to put my theories about toil and joy to the test immediately. Did I pass? And then I remember: “You don’t pass or fail at being a person, dear.”
I remembered the ocean on Monday night. I swam at SGCC, in water that was chlorinated, clean, clinical. I showered later at the club’s toilets, in heated water. Most times, I linger in the steam, enjoying the near-scalding water loosen my muscles and my mind. This time, however, instead of calming, the cubicle felt cloistered, the heat felt cloying, the water felt clammy. It was then that I longed for the ocean. I had this sudden great desire for its vast cobalt and its exhilarating cold. What is the 3m of a pool compared to the 16m of a freedive or the depthlessness of the open sea?
In the Song of the Sea (2014), I learnt about a whole new mythos. The director Tomm Moore is a talented Irish – his first film The Secret of Kells (2009) and this second one were both nominated for Best Animated Feature, and are both critically acclaimed. It is easy to see why. The visual style, writing, and music interweave to engender such a compelling sense of the other-world. This is my first foray into Celtic / Irish mythology. I doubt it will be my last.
A recurring visual theme in the Song of the Sea was this trail of fairy lights. Its moral message is trust: the curious wonder of a child prevails over the cartographical prudence of an adult. My discernment trail is lighting up – opportunities, possibilities, potentialities. How far will I follow the lights?