Dora Point: Stone-Water Stories

A short story set to a soft instrumental soundscape. Told from the perspective of the ocean of a woman returning. A woman remembering that she is wild. Inspired by my own visit to Dora Point in Tasmania.

A story told with the intention of reminding us all of the truth of our natural world. That she is animate, alive, and feels deeply. To bring us back into connection with the relationship between nature and humans. To connect us to her importance, her spirit, her grace and ultimately to return us to our own loving nature.

Transcript

A woman arrives,

The water watches,

Sand track through scrub land,

Ferns and driftwood.

The woman stands for a moment atop the dunes that wrap themselves around the bay.

Half hidden by the swaths of maran grass that line the coast,

She appears to be entrapped.

Unsure of how to proceed,

Or perhaps undone,

Into temporary dissolution at the untouched landscape that has opened itself to her.

The woman descends forwards,

Hips swaying in synchronicity with the dance of the grasses,

Who are engaged in the eternal embrace of the easterly winds.

The woman marvels at the whiteness of the sand,

Softly pouring through bare toes.

She notices no other footsteps,

No one has walked here for a while.

She rotates slowly,

Drinking in her surroundings.

Not another human in sight.

It is as if she has stepped through a portal into another reality,

A different world.

She takes her time,

Each second expanded.

The woman has light hair that falls in ringlets upon her shoulders.

She has a small frame but is strong-bodied,

Shoulders built with muscle that gives an indication of power.

The woman is capable.

Her arms are toned in smooth lines,

Rolling land from collarbone to bicep to forearm.

The hairs on her arms are bleached from the sun,

Set against a light tan,

Intermixed with hundreds of freckles.

Her eyes mirror the ocean,

A deep piercing blue,

Hues of sunlight and aqua green.

She picks up many shells for closer inspection,

Murmuring words of greeting and praise for their intricate designs and subtle beauty,

Soothing lullabies in witness to their silent,

Graceful existence.

Questions of where did you come from and how long did it take you to arrive here?

In this resting place.

She puts each shell back where she found it,

Other than one,

Which she slides delicately into her pocket whilst whispering a soft thank you to the sky.

The woman wanders to the lulling edge,

Allows the water to find her souls,

Feels the cold move up her calves,

Brings her down into her body.

She sighs,

Closes her eyes softly,

Motionless other than the rise and fall of her breath.

The water wonders,

Questions of where did you come from and how long did it take you to arrive here?

In this resting place.

The woman returns and gazes upon the land as the land gazes upon her.

She observes the smooth granite boulders that form islands amongst the bay and line the coastal edge in great clusters.

They are blanketed in blazing orange,

Touched by fire,

Lichen,

The product of mutual relationships found in every fractal of creation.

Symbiosis between kelp and fungi,

Algae and mycelium,

The original creators of all life,

Painting rock with flame.

The woman feels a magnetic pull in her bones towards the rolling body of land mass.

She has a childlike fascination with the flow of rock and stone,

Deep time.

Humanity shrinks amongst the epochs that have passed,

The metamorphosis of earth that appears solid and immovable,

Yet flows like a river if you can zoom out far enough into deep space to reckon with it.

The mask wraps herself around the woman's shoulders,

Bathes her in soft pinks,

An indigo purple crawls along the edges of the skyline,

Reaches down to touch her jawline,

Mixing the calm stability of the lagoon blue with the fierce burn of the rocks.

A palette for returning.

The woman walks the edge.

The water watches.

A bed of rich moss,

The colour of forests,

Sits upon a family of stones and sighs upon the touch of her fingertips.

The woman sighs at the touch of wet earth meeting her skin.

Hello friend,

She says.

The moss replies by slipping into the woman's next breath.

There is a deepening.

Every life form shares a collective breath.

The woman stands tall and casts her vision over the scene before her.

The bay is still under the setting sun,

The surface crystallised.

Fractals of golden light glisten upon the surface.

The scene is distilled yet completely alive,

An empty landscape fall to the brim.

The water whispers,

Breathes an invitation into the wind.

Let me touch you,

All of you,

Immerse yourself.

The woman stills,

Looks around,

Wrestles with herself.

She is overcome by the urge to strip herself bare.

A craving pulls at her throat,

Her heart yearns to open,

Her body aches for the uninterrupted touch of the ocean's embrace.

She cannot recall the last time she swam naked,

She is afraid.

Eyebrows pinch,

Breath quickens.

After ensuring that no person is in sight,

The woman's face breaks into a smile so joyous it shadows the break of daylight upon a night-clad land.

The water smiles back.

At the edge of the bay,

The ocean roars.

Towering waves billow across the horizon line,

But the water here is still,

Ebbing.

The woman slowly undresses,

Descends into the ancient womb of the earth,

Head turns towards the last beams of a sleeping sun.

The water laps at her lips,

Her hips.

She submerges further.

The water kisses her nipples,

Cold,

Alive.

In the silence of grace,

She slips under,

Surrendering to the salt and the stars and the holy.

The woman unravels beyond self into oneness.

She emerges,

Letting the breath pour into her lungs.

The shells upon the shore,

Still warmed by the imprint of her touch,

Sing for her,

Adding their voice to the chorus of life that is in symphony.

They can feel the vibration of the woman's footsteps upon the ocean floor,

Trails of pulsing communion snaking through the land.

The woman stands at waist height.

The water pools in the ringlets of her hair,

Sliding down to the centre of her chest.

Shimmer pools at collarbones.

She invites the mountains to bear witness to her body,

Earth looking lovingly upon earth.

She is no longer afraid.

She allows the sun to penetrate through her,

Just before he slips beyond into the other side.

The woman floats upon her back under the indigo sky.

The woman is a cloud watching the clouds pass on by.

The sleeping giants beckon.

The woman climbs.

She passes seaweed and clams,

Speaking words of sincere apology for disturbing their timeless ebb and flow.

The woman tests cracks and crevices,

Fingertips sliding into holds.

The woman grips,

Pulls.

The muscles of her back activate,

Ripple,

Reflecting the surface she was immersed in.

She breathes into her body.

The water watches.

The rock purrs.

The woman leaps from ledge to ledge,

Platform to platform,

Rock to rock.

For each second that passes,

Her form slides into the primal.

Crouched on all fours,

Exploring,

Remembering.

The woman is wild.

The woman sits quietly,

Legs hanging over the edge of her preferred sitting stone.

Her hands run themselves over every line,

Every nook,

Every crevice of the surface,

Like rediscovering the skin of a lost love,

Mesmerized.

Every now and then the woman returns her awareness to the water,

Absorbed by the pools of purity.

The water plunges into the woman's eyes,

Washes through her inner temple.

The taste of liberation greets the water,

Infused with a sorrow that tastes like pine with a faint echo of bluebells.

The water journeys onwards,

Following the voice that calls from the eternal deep,

Deeper and further into the labyrinth of the woman until finally,

She arrives.

The soul of the woman who arrived at the water meets the spirit of the seas.

The woman gently weeps,

Atop the giant who holds her.

The blue wren perches upon a fern as the land welcomes the night.

He watches the woman remember.

The wallaby sits amongst the scrubland and sends a soft greeting of welcome through the air,

As she too watches the woman remember.

They know that there is no greater beauty to behold than a woman returning.

Upon the meeting of spirit and soul,

The woman expands to inhabit her whole being.

Her awareness changes,

Transforms,

Momentarily formless,

Suspended in spirit,

Solidifying once again into an earthen body.

The woman dives from the rock into the abyss of the ocean,

Throws her head back to the rising moon,

Chest bathed in white light,

Howling,

Howling,

Howling.

The land feels the shiver through her eternal spine.

The ferns prickle,

Goosebumps,

Salt tears fall into salt ocean,

Reunion,

Heart cracked open,

Returning home,

Prayer,

Power,

Alive.

The woman is powerfully alive.

The water is now a luminescent green,

Shining moon pool.

The woman wades to the shore,

Dresses in slow motion.

She turns to the bay.

A silent exchange takes place,

For language is not the only way to commune.

In each blink,

A star emerges,

Beginning their painting of constellations within the river of darkness that flows with the turning tide.

The woman turns,

Ascends the dunes,

Stands motionless,

Closes her eyes.

The only movement is that of the rise and fall of her breath.

Spirit sings,

The wallaby watches,

Stars dance.

She struggles to pull herself away,

Afraid that this magic will cease upon her exit,

That it was all a dream.

The blue wren perches next to her.

She greets him,

Hello friend.

He sends his reply through her next breath,

And with her exhale she understands.

With a bow to the sky,

The land,

The stars,

And the holy,

She turns her back and melts into the ferns.

The woman leaves.

The water watches.

Reviews

I enjoyed this story of wild sovereign strength and joy ✨💛⭐️

Evocative and so very beautiful 🩷 Touches the Soul 🙏