The
Swan
I hadn't slept well the night before and found myself
in a state of depression. I was losing my perspective, and my
life was getting unmanageable due to not keeping the focus on
myself and to giving that dearest God of mine a few days off.
Ticket in hand, coming out of a dry drunk, there I was on the
Block Island Boat in hopes that the sea and air would restore
me to sanity. On arrival, I started to walk down the right side
of the island where I stopped to nourish myself with some fruit
and honey. Then I laid down in the grass on the busiest corner
where the post office, bank, and market sit. I raised my Laura
Ashley dress up as far as the law would allow, placed my baggage
under my head, and waited to be rescued. After a half-hour of
looking like Jane Russell in "The Outlaw," I decided to take charge
of my own happiness. That was my job. First I walked toward the
beach area about a mile or two, then turned and, putting one foot
in front of the other, found myself on the opposite side of the
island. Amy Dodge Lane, read the sign. I turned right up the dirt
road to my son's house. In my unconscious somewhere, I was looking
for a friend. Along the way, I saw a pond with water lilies and
turtles resting on rocks. Any moment I expected a deer to show
himself or herself for it was quiet and safe. The day was dry
and cool. The sun felt good and I felt good. Most of my depression
had blown out to sea. My light, blue dress that hung almost to
my ankles was blowing like the sheets on the clothesline that
Jay had made. He was breaking for lunch. I waved. He waved. The
tools of his trade were placed about and I felt like a pioneer
lady coming in from picking blueberries. I dropped my knapsack
and sat myself down. Come in, he beckoned to me. No thanks. I'll
stay out here while you have your lunch. "Come in. Come in. He
had been doing some cleaning, LOTS of cleaning, and was anxious
to show off his labors. We talked and shared our feelings more
like two intimate friends than mother and son. He'd been living
alone without his significant other for a month or so. She had
visited over the weekend and had asked how he was doing living
alone. Well, it's like this,"" said he. ""There's a pond at the
foot of the Spring House and there are two swans that have lived
there for a few years now. They mate and have their little cygnets,
repeating the process year after year. This year though, early
in the Spring, only one swan was there, floating up and down with
no mate in sight. After seeing two swans for so long, the one
swan looked so lonely that I felt sad. Yet, each day as I passed
the pond with my truck, knowing that I, too, would be alone soon,
I would get strength from the single swan who seemed to be making
the most of it. I also sensed he was keeping things in order and
not pursuing any other mate. Rather, he was getting on with life
and, if his mate did return, the nest would be ready. A few days
ago, I noticed the mate has returned. Now when I pass by, and
there's not even one swan in sight; I know they must be in their
nest and soon I will see not only two swans, but a family."""
I said, "How do you know if it was a he or a she that left?" Jay
said, "Does it matter?" The gender did not change the story. Could
it be true that all things come to those who wait? Or is it in
our solitude that we find our strength and from that loneliness,
we discover our God. After the quietness cleans our ears when
the cup of life is empty, and our souls have been rejuvenated
through this spiritual process, then we humbly raise our empty
cups for a refill of life's precious gifts that were hidden from
us before. Then the swan's mate returns. On that beautiful day,
high on a hill on the island, sharing this story with my good
friend, I believed.
Copyright; Ruth
Mahoney 27-Jun-88
