And the waves will take him in again.
Nov. 13th, 2002 10:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaI always knew he wouldn't stay.
When Ben first sailed into Baltimore Harbor, I thought he'd be here for a week or two. He was full of plans to sail up the Saint Lawrence Seaway into the Great Lakes, and from there to work his way over to the Mississippi. He wanted to sail across the Atlantic to Europe. What he didn't want to do was live on land. Ever. I never imagined that his visit to Baltimore would stretch into something over two years.
He stayed in marinas over the winter, hooked up to electric power to run the lights and the ceramic heaters. In the summer, he anchored out in the harbor and ran his computer off the solar cells above the cockpit. I'd stand on the end of the pier and he'd come over the broad expanse of water to collect me in the dinghy. I'd climb down into the warm dark cave of the aft cabin and be rocked in the arms of the waves.
We explored the restaurants of Baltimore together, both of us firm believers in the art and sensuality of food. We saw the tropical fish at the aquarium and the mosaics at the Baltimore Museum of Art together. We drove up to a converted monastery in the mountains and curled up together on an ancient leather couch beside the fireplace. He came home with me for Thanksgiving and charmed my entire family.
I always knew he wouldn't stay. Our song was about leaving: "I'm a rover and I'm bound to sail away. I'm a rover - will you love me anyway?"
It's not in my nature to go to sea. It's not in his nature to live on land. The moment when we first joined hands contained within itself the moment when I stood on the pier this morning, looking down at the Ulysses and raising my hand in farewell.
My name is Calypso and I have lived alone
I live on an island and I waken to the dawn
A long time ago I watched him struggle with the sea
I knew that he was drowning and I brought him into me
Now today, come morning light
He sails away after one last night
I let him go.
My name is Calypso, my garden overflows
Thick and wild and hidden is the sweetness there that grows
My hair it blows long as I sing into the wind
I tell of nights where I could taste the salt on his skin
Salt of the waves and of tears
And though he pulled away I kept him here for years
Now I let him go
My name is Calypso, I have let him go
In the dawn he sails away to be gone forever more
And the waves will take him in again
But he'll know their ways now
I will stand upon the shore
With a clean heart and my song in the wind
The sand will sting my feet and the sky will burn
It's a lonely time ahead -- I do not ask him to return
I let him go
I let him go
-Suzanne Vega
When Ben first sailed into Baltimore Harbor, I thought he'd be here for a week or two. He was full of plans to sail up the Saint Lawrence Seaway into the Great Lakes, and from there to work his way over to the Mississippi. He wanted to sail across the Atlantic to Europe. What he didn't want to do was live on land. Ever. I never imagined that his visit to Baltimore would stretch into something over two years.
He stayed in marinas over the winter, hooked up to electric power to run the lights and the ceramic heaters. In the summer, he anchored out in the harbor and ran his computer off the solar cells above the cockpit. I'd stand on the end of the pier and he'd come over the broad expanse of water to collect me in the dinghy. I'd climb down into the warm dark cave of the aft cabin and be rocked in the arms of the waves.
We explored the restaurants of Baltimore together, both of us firm believers in the art and sensuality of food. We saw the tropical fish at the aquarium and the mosaics at the Baltimore Museum of Art together. We drove up to a converted monastery in the mountains and curled up together on an ancient leather couch beside the fireplace. He came home with me for Thanksgiving and charmed my entire family.
I always knew he wouldn't stay. Our song was about leaving: "I'm a rover and I'm bound to sail away. I'm a rover - will you love me anyway?"
It's not in my nature to go to sea. It's not in his nature to live on land. The moment when we first joined hands contained within itself the moment when I stood on the pier this morning, looking down at the Ulysses and raising my hand in farewell.
My name is Calypso and I have lived alone
I live on an island and I waken to the dawn
A long time ago I watched him struggle with the sea
I knew that he was drowning and I brought him into me
Now today, come morning light
He sails away after one last night
I let him go.
My name is Calypso, my garden overflows
Thick and wild and hidden is the sweetness there that grows
My hair it blows long as I sing into the wind
I tell of nights where I could taste the salt on his skin
Salt of the waves and of tears
And though he pulled away I kept him here for years
Now I let him go
My name is Calypso, I have let him go
In the dawn he sails away to be gone forever more
And the waves will take him in again
But he'll know their ways now
I will stand upon the shore
With a clean heart and my song in the wind
The sand will sting my feet and the sky will burn
It's a lonely time ahead -- I do not ask him to return
I let him go
I let him go
-Suzanne Vega
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no subject
Date: 2002-11-13 10:50 am (UTC)Wow. It must be especially hard to send your love off to an adventure that he's happy about, and be happy and sad at the same time.
Yes. Because if he didn't want to do this, he wouldn't be the person I fell in love with. This is something he's really yearning for, however much he'll miss me. It will be good for him - I see that as well as he does.
Yeesh. It's not like we'll never see each other again. I have to remind myself of that.
"O my beloved, how can you want to go where I cannot follow?"
I understand why. And he understands why I don't wish I were going along. I think that's part of what makes this feel tragic in the Greek sense - it's a sad thing that arises from our natures, not from something random or external.
(I promised myself one day of being melodramatic about this, and it's not over yet, so I remind myself firmly that I don't need to feel bad about doing so. I'll restrain the urge to apologize.)
no subject
Date: 2002-11-13 02:06 pm (UTC)