The Mermaid & The Moon

In tonight’s bedtime story accompanied by the sound of ocean waves, you take a spontaneous getaway to a secluded beach in search of some much-needed relaxation. You find the remote location enchanting, and you enjoy being lulled to sleep each night to the sounds of waves outside the window. But as the moon waxes to full, the ocean’s music takes on a new quality, and you discover the source of its song: a mermaid. Face to face with a being out of legend, you learn of the mysterious connection between the mermaid and the moon.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon and Meditation Aquatic by 369, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Escape to an ocean side cottage and meet a mermaid in tonight's magical bedtime story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Listen to my voice for as long as it serves you,

And when you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story,

Knowing you can always come back to finish it later.

If you're still awake as the story comes to an end,

I'll guide you through a relaxing ocean breath meditation.

In tonight's story,

You take a spontaneous getaway to a secluded beach in search of some much needed relaxation.

You find the remote location enchanting,

And you enjoy being lulled to sleep each night to the sound of waves outside the window.

But as the moon waxes to full,

The ocean's music takes on a new quality,

And you discover the source of its song,

A mermaid.

Face to face with a being out of legend,

You learn of the mysterious connection between the mermaid and the moon.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves,

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back when the wind blows the water white and black.

T.

S.

Elliott The Love Song of J.

Alfred Prufrock It has never been said that you were one to leave important things,

Milestones,

Decisions up to chance.

You've always been the type to think ahead,

To plan meticulously,

And to control as many variables as you can.

But every once in a while,

When the air is just right,

Or the need is there,

You will admit that you've let yourself listen to the call of the unknown,

The spontaneous.

You've rolled the dice,

Or answered a voice that sings on the wind,

Whether or not the circumstances are under your control.

One looking back at the story of your life might not find a great adventure on every page,

But in the most unexpected chapters,

That reader would uncover wild and wondrous mysteries.

This is one of those chapters.

It was one of those things that lines up as if by cosmic synchronicity.

You've been feeling drained for a long time,

Going through the motions in your work and everyday life.

Every inch of you has ached for a retreat,

A vacation,

Even a short time away to recharge your batteries,

So to speak.

And it was when this very need hit its most critical point,

That out of the blue,

A childhood friend reached out for the first time in a long while.

You hadn't meant to fall out of touch,

It's just the way things seem to go as you get older.

People move cities,

Grow their families,

Change jobs,

And relationships evolve.

There's no less love between you though.

And when you answer her phone call,

You find that you simply pick up where the two of you left off,

As if no time has passed since last you spoke.

You spend some time just catching up,

Recounting the biggest events and changes in your lives over the last year or two,

Revisiting little inside jokes.

But soon she comes to the reason for her call.

My aunt,

She says,

Is selling the cottage.

You know exactly what your friend refers to,

The little beachfront cottage on Emerald Cove.

When you were kids,

You were lucky enough to be invited up there for a week or so each summer to stay in that charming beachside bungalow on a quiet ocean inlet.

Even now the memories seem clear as those sparkling waters.

Your mind fills with images of bright pink starfish clinging to the rocks,

Brilliant sunsets over the waves,

And splashing through the lapping water in the warm afternoon.

You would play for hours along that shore,

Pretending to be pirates burying treasure or mythical sea creatures.

And as these little flashes lighten your heart,

You also fill with bittersweet emotion.

To know that the cottage is being sold signals the end of an era,

A final closure to something already long past.

Your friend continues.

She was tired of the upkeep and doesn't want to make the trek from the city anymore.

It's a shame,

But it makes the most sense for her.

I'm sorry to hear it,

You say.

I have so many magical memories of that place.

I'm sure you have even more.

So that's why I called,

She says.

You learn that the process is moving quickly,

And that your friend's aunt hasn't been able to get up to the cottage to do the last of the preparation for the sale.

She's been looking for someone who's willing to make the trek,

Pack up some belongings,

And do a bit of light cleaning.

I'd go up myself,

But the kids have so much going on the next few weeks,

Your friend says.

But I was thinking about how much fun we used to have up there,

How much you loved the cottage.

So I know it's terribly short notice,

And it's really no problem if you couldn't make the trip or weren't interested,

But.

.

.

Yes,

You say,

Before she even has time to finish the ask,

Before you've even had time to think about it.

It's as if your very heart screams yes,

Cutting through any reservations before they can surface.

This you think is exactly what you need.

A getaway to some place familiar and peaceful,

A task to occupy your hands but that lets your mind relax,

And an opportunity to refresh in solitude.

Before you end the phone call,

Your friend gives you some of the details,

Promising to send anything else you'll need along later today.

She offers profuse gratitude,

But it's you who swells with thanks at the perfect timing of all this.

Just the thought of escaping up the coast to that land of happy memories lightens your soul,

Makes the rest of your day that much easier to tackle.

Only a few short days later,

You find yourself driving up the coastline,

A window rolled down to breathe in the fresh air.

It's amazing how the atmosphere transforms as you travel further from the haunts of your everyday life,

How cool and energizing the air is when flecked with salt and the ocean's moisture.

The road curves around cliff sides and through sleepy,

Off-season beach towns.

In just a few short weeks,

They'll be bustling again with the first summer vacationers,

The streets crowded with surfers,

Families,

And cyclists.

You were a child the last time you made this trip,

And it looks different from the driver's seat.

A warm nostalgia tugs at your heart with every passing hour.

You make a stop in a small town,

The last one on the map before the turn toward your secluded destination.

Here you stock up on groceries for the week and supplies to have around the house.

The cottage is a good twenty or thirty minutes from the center of town,

So while it's easy enough to head back in,

You try to make sure you're covered for the week,

Hoping not to lose even a minute of the blissful quiet of Emerald Cove.

Satisfied in your supply,

You are back on the road in no time,

Turning onto the winding,

Rarely-traveled road that leads to the cove and cottage of your childhood memory.

It's late in the day when you make the final turn into the long,

Gravel driveway.

The sun droops scarlet over the rocks and the glittering water,

With such a vibrance that it's almost impossible to see the full impression of the place.

Getting out of the car,

You put a hand over your eyes to take in the property,

And it slides into focus like a watercolor memory blending to photograph.

What a treasure it is,

You think,

This place.

The cozy inlet is surrounded by tall,

Gray rocks.

These act like walls or thresholds,

Separating Emerald Cove,

A safe haven for dreams and fantasy from the ordinary world.

To those rocks cling brave,

Twisted conifers whose branches reach lovingly toward the water.

So close to sunset,

That water is calm and sparkling,

Catching the multifaceted hues of oncoming evening as it laps at the dusky sand.

And only steps from the water,

Cloaked in ferns and flowering azaleas,

Just as charming as you remember,

Is the little cottage.

Its lilac facade and wraparound porch with twin cushioned rocking chairs,

The French doors and big windows.

In all this time,

Amid a fast-paced world,

It seems entirely unchanged.

Your heart gives a little flutter at the sight of it,

And at the realization that,

At least for a brief several days,

It is all yours.

You breathe in the salty ocean air,

Feeling the little drops of moisture soften the skin of your face and wash away all your worries.

Yes,

You think,

This is exactly the thing you need.

A week alone in this sublime environment,

Surrounded by ocean and rock and dune and azalea,

These natural guardians of inner peace.

The cottage has a distinct and familiar scent which greets you upon entry,

Passing through the door,

Charmed with a brass knocker in the shape of a mermaid.

It's a citrusy and bright fragrance,

With notes of clean linen and sandalwood.

Standing in the foyer,

You can almost hear the sounds of joyful,

Childish shrieks and the pitter-patter of sandy feet running in from the beach.

The house is more sparsely appointed than you remember,

Clearly staged for showings,

But it's retained much of the original charm,

With some recognizable decor repurposed.

A mirror adorned with seashells and sea glass hangs in the front hallway,

And the remaining furniture is a mix of the same sea-foam green and pale coral you recall from the past.

You take a brief walk through the cottage,

Feeling the memory of its layout come back little by little.

The quaint first-floor bedroom,

Where you and your friend each had a twin bed and would stay up late,

Swapping stories and giggling over gossip.

The modest kitchen with its cozy breakfast nook and window onto the dunes.

The master bedroom in the loft,

At the top of a narrow staircase,

Which as a kid seemed impossibly steep.

Now it all feels much smaller,

Much more contained,

But still just as magical.

With the sun making its final departure over the water's edge,

You decide to eat a modest supper on the front porch.

It's quite cool in the twilight,

So you bring a wool blanket out to cozy up with,

And you sit in one of the rockers,

Calmly enjoying the incomparable tranquility of the evening.

The waves roll in,

The waves roll out.

Your breathing slows down to meet that natural rhythm.

And a constant ebb and flow.

You watch the play of color,

Even in the descending darkness,

On the shifting water.

The blues and emerald greens that overlap in the waves.

There emerges a symphony so sweet,

So subtle,

That it's almost a kind of silence.

The sound of the ocean,

The breeze through fern and evergreen atop the rocks,

The distant call of gulls over the water,

And the hum of crickets.

You stay in that rocker,

Swaying to the rhythm of the waves,

Until moonrise,

When the gem of a waxing moon glitters over the black water.

Your mind empties of all concerns or cares,

All obligations,

Outside of your need to be here,

Right now,

In a state of utter serenity.

There will be work to do on the cottage tomorrow,

But for now,

You simply surrender to the magic of returning to this home,

Away from home.

Soon enough,

You climb the stairs to the bedroom in the loft,

Where a bed is ready for you.

You open the window that overlooks the water,

Just enough to let in a night breeze,

And you climb into bed.

Pulling the covers close,

You take one last look at the moon,

Which shines right in through the window,

Gleaming a few days short of full,

And you close your eyes,

Listening to the sound of the waves and the symphony of the beach.

What a tender music it is,

You think,

And as you linger on the hinge of sleep,

A faint melody emerges over the swell of white noise,

Like a piper on the other side of dreams.

It isn't long before you slide into the deepest,

Most unperturbed sleep you've experienced in some time.

You spend your days at the cottage in a harmonious balance between labor and leisure.

The work you've come to do is really quite simple.

Movers will come eventually to haul out the furniture and staging items,

So the only thing for you to do is pack up smaller belongings nested in closets and storage spaces.

You devote a couple of hours each day to organizing photo albums,

Sorting through books and mementos,

And thoughtfully packing boxes.

But there's also ample time to relax,

With your toes in the sand,

And to walk the winding path over the rocks.

You end each day by watching the sunset on the water,

Tangled in the spell of twilight,

And drifting off under the swelling moon to the mystical melodies of the ocean.

On your fourth day,

The water is finally warm enough to dip your feet in without sending chills through your entire body.

You wade through the shallows,

Gathering bits of sea glass and unbroken shells,

Little remembrances to hold onto long after you've left.

You're amazed to find a palm-sized conch shell,

Perfectly intact,

Half-buried in the sand.

You turn it over in your hands,

Admiring the contrast of textures,

The rough,

Spiny spiral of the exterior and the smooth,

Pink interior.

Sparked by memories of childhood ritual,

You hold it to your ear.

Yes,

You think,

There it is,

The sound of the ocean echoes from within.

That night,

You place your treasures by your bedside,

Where they twinkle in the moon glow,

Streaming in through the window.

The moon grows fuller each night,

Its curves rounding out,

And perhaps it's the solitude and peace of Emerald Cove working a bit of trickery upon your mind,

But you feel as though the fuller it gets,

The more it tugs at you the way it tugs at the tides,

As if you are softly swooning toward it.

You climb into bed as usual,

Waiting for the sound of waves to gently lull you into dreaming.

But tonight,

For one reason or another,

Perhaps it's the glinting of sea glass on the nightstand,

Or the hypnotic beauty of the moon at this hour.

You don't slip as easily into sleep as usual.

And when that mystical melody arises,

The one that beckons to you each night from the edge of dreams,

You find that your curiosity for once overwhelms the need for slumber.

After some hesitation and convincing yourself that the rising music is not,

In fact,

Coming from inside your mind,

You get to your feet and go to the window.

The scene below is mesmerizing indeed.

The near full moon hanging so low over the coruscating water that it almost kisses the surface,

Its reflection swimming dizzily just underneath.

Your eyes drift downward to the space where the waves meet the sand,

And you audibly gasp to behold the spectacle there.

The rolling waves are positively glowing,

With a phosphorescent blue-green.

The effect is breathtaking,

And it takes your mind some time to identify the source.

It must be,

You decide,

The lustrous tide of bioluminescent algae,

Or something of the sort.

You'd never known this beach to experience such tides,

But then again,

You've never observed its patterns this late at night.

What a marvel,

You think,

With a surge of gratitude for your friend's invitation to see this place one more time.

You watch the dazzling tide,

With its entrancing color shifts,

For a long time,

Letting the cool breeze kiss your face and hair,

And the mysterious,

Alluring melody wind around your mind.

You breathe in the scent of salt and flowers,

Until your eyes have drunk of the beauty long enough,

And sleep beckons.

But just as you go to turn away from the window,

Something catches your eye that you did not see before,

So swept up in the spectacle of the bioluminescent waves.

It's the silhouette of one of the rocks that protrudes from the edge of the shallows,

One whose shape you know well from years of imaginative play.

This was the rock you and your friend once pretended was an approaching pirate ship.

With the moon so wide and golden behind it,

The silhouette of the rock seems transformed.

The moon's glow is so bright that you must squint to bring its fuzzy edges into sharpness,

And then it becomes clear.

There is,

You're sure of it,

A figure perched atop the rock,

All dark against the moon but unmistakably organic.

There's someone sitting on that rock,

Out there in the water.

But who,

And how?

Emerald Cove is far from any public beach,

And it's hard to imagine anyone out this late for a solitary swim.

And then the haunting melody sounds again above the sound of waves,

And it occurs to you.

Might this mysterious figure on the rocks be the voice of that song?

Now overcome with curiosity,

You descend the steps from the loft and slide open the French doors onto the porch.

You don't even think to put on shoes or slippers,

And your bare feet meet cool sand as you tiptoe out onto the beach,

Hoping for a clearer look at the mysterious figure.

You stop just as the waves flick at your toes,

And for one brief moment you can see her,

Framed in an aura of moonlight,

Her hair long,

Falling damp about her shoulders and tangled with kelp.

Her skin takes on a greenish glow from the lights on the water,

And her hair is a little thin,

And at her waist,

Her human form gives way to a slender tail covered in iridescent fish scales.

Your eyes widen in disbelief,

But at the very moment of realization,

The very second you realize what she is,

The singing stops.

Her hair whips as she turns her head,

And you catch the gleam ever so briefly in her eyes.

Before,

With a flash of gold and green and moonbeams,

She dives from the rock,

Disappearing instantly under the waves.

You're left with lapping water,

Incandescent and humming,

Creeping with each wake closer to your feet.

You're alone with the ocean and the moon.

By the time you've returned to the cottage,

Rinsed the sand from your feet,

And crawled back into bed,

The whole affair has taken on the quality of an especially vivid dream.

You can't believe what you've seen,

Can you?

Was it only the hypnotic enchantment of the tide and the moon that conjured such a fantastical image?

You turn over in bed,

Facing away from the window,

And let your mind slow down as you at last succumb to sleep.

By daybreak,

The evening's strange encounter has all but faded into the aspect of a surreal vision.

You're hardly sure if you even witnessed the bioluminescent tide,

Let alone wandered out onto the beach,

Entranced by the silhouette of a mythical creature.

You go about your day's task,

Packing up the last of the loose items in the pantry into neat boxes and stacking them intentionally in the living room.

In the afternoon,

You take a longer walk along the dunes and even meet an older couple out with their dog.

You learn that they're the closest neighbors to Emerald Cove,

Retired and living at the beach year-round.

Inspired,

You ask them whether the area experiences the phenomenon of bioluminescent tides.

Oh,

Isn't it marvelous?

The woman replies with a smile.

Last night was the first of this season.

You have good timing.

It only happens a few nights out of the year.

Back at the cottage later,

You find yourself heavily preoccupied with thoughts of the curious figure.

You count the hours till sundown,

Keeping busy by sweeping floors and scrubbing countertops.

The afternoon drags by slowly,

As if some cosmic force knows how insatiable your curiosity is for the wonders of the night.

You end up pacing the living room,

Ready to unpack and reorganize all the boxes you've put together,

If it'll only keep your mind occupied until dark.

That's when you recall the cover of a book you packed on the first full day at the cottage.

You find the tub of books and unseal it,

Rummaging carefully through for the one in mind.

It's a volume you remember seeing on the shelf from childhood.

Sort of a silly thing,

If you really think about it.

A coffee table book of sprites,

Fairies,

Elves,

And other magical creatures.

Designed to read like a biological reference.

It's filled with illustrations and diagrams of gnomes and sylphs,

Brownies and household spirits,

Each accompanied by summaries,

Folklore,

And instructions for interaction.

A sort of field guide to the magical,

Couched in the language of the mundane.

Charmed,

You flip through to the section on mermaids.

There are fascinating illustrations of merpeople,

Some which resemble the characters of your favorite childhood films,

And others that look like outgrowths of aquatic plant life.

You read about the sirens of Greek mythology,

Bird women whose alluring voices could coax weary sailors into the depths of the sea,

And who later came to be conflated with naiads and the human-fish hybrids of other folklore traditions.

There's mention of Rusalka,

A Slavic water spirit,

Undines who appear in the alchemical works of Paracelsus,

And permutations of merfolk from all over the world.

You read the tragic tale of Atargatis,

So defined as the first mermaid.

This Assyrian goddess of the moon,

Water,

And motherhood,

Fell in love with a mortal shepherd.

When her husband died,

Atargatis was so overcome with grief that she threw herself into a lake.

But the waters loved her so,

And wanted to look upon her loveliness.

So she was transformed into a beautiful creature with the tail of a fish.

The story moves you and stirs faint recognition,

Though you're sure you haven't heard it before.

You read on to learn about many other variations of water sprites,

Nymphs,

And fairies.

You become so absorbed in the book,

The wonderful pictures,

And the tidbits of folklore,

That you hardly notice the light changing outside the broad windows.

Soon the day dims to an orange and violet dusk around you.

And the sunset on the water reflects in glimmers across the walls.

You make something to eat,

Then prepare to sit your vigil by the water's edge,

Hoping to be visited again by the mysterious creature.

By moonrise,

You're feeling extremely serene,

Seated in a lounge chair,

Watching the waves roll in and out.

Here and there,

You almost doze off,

So content in this meditative state.

But when you cast your eyes upon the moon,

Full and bright and reflecting almost scarlet on the water,

You're left breathless and in awe.

You feel a twinge at its rapturous beauty.

Though you've enjoyed the peaceful solitude of the past few days,

You long to share the spectacle with someone,

To confirm that you're not just imagining this celestial majesty.

And soon,

The tides are glowing again,

With that neon blue-green.

All of Emerald Cove transforms by the light of the moon and the tide,

Becoming a sublime haven for the mystical.

Will she come again,

You wonder?

Will she sing?

Will she sing?

Or was it all a strange and beautiful dream?

You look to the rock again and again,

Awaiting her silhouette.

But it does not come.

The moon climbs,

Your eyelids tire.

You decide to hang it up for the night and dismiss it all as a surreal visitation.

Something to always wonder about.

But as you rise from the chair and take one last look at the luminous waves,

There comes again the haunting melody.

It rises from the water like a ribbon of silk and reaches your ears.

Your gaze falls on the glimmering golden circle,

The moon's reflection.

And there,

In the center,

It is broken by a darkened silhouette.

Unmistakable.

A head and shoulders protruding from the water.

You take a cautious step forward and the opal light of the moon hits just right,

Illuminating the upturned face,

Eyes bright and sparkling.

She is lovely and wild-looking,

With unruly hair that would blend seamlessly with plumes of seaweed or tangled aquatic mosses.

Her skin from this perspective takes on a greenish tinge,

Though you're unsure how much of that comes from her,

And how much from the reflections of bioluminescence in the water.

The very strangeness of her,

The alienness of her appearance,

Makes her all the more awe-inspiring.

This is not a fairy-tale beauty,

But a creature who inspires wonder.

You think back to visiting an aquarium in your youth,

And being simply awestruck at the curiosities,

The unusual colors and shapes of those who inhabit the depths,

How they've evolved and transfigured.

And you are inexorably drawn to her,

This unfamiliar being out of another world.

Before you realize it,

Your feet are in the water,

Kissed by lapping waves glowing under the algae.

You must meet her.

The mermaid's song acts like a bridge as you walk out into the shallows.

You feel no sense of fear or danger,

Like those unsuspecting sailors of Greek myth.

Those were stories dreamt up to warn of perils on the open sea.

This is something else.

This is something else.

There's an innocence,

A childlike quality to the fascination you feel,

As if she holds the key to something you've been missing for a long time.

When you reach the edge of the moon's gilded reflection,

Her singing stops,

Her eyes lower from the sky to your face.

You are shoulder-deep in the mild water and face-to-face with the mermaid.

She floats there,

A playful smile in her glowing eyes and an air of inquisition.

She is as curious about you as you are about her.

A thousand burning questions enter your mind.

Where does she come from?

Are there more like her?

Is she a creature of flesh and blood or something more ethereal?

But you bite back on the flood of inquiries and let only one fall from your lips,

Hoping she can even understand your language.

Why do you sing,

You ask,

Then add with some haste,

It is such a lovely song.

The mermaid's eyes flick upward toward the moon.

She is framed in its golden haze and the rippling reflection.

I sing to please my mother,

She replies,

Her gaze still firmly locked on the heavens.

And she is smiling tonight.

Her mother,

You think,

The moon,

Mother of the tides.

And your mind swims back to the pages of the book that lies in the cottage,

To the myth of Atar Gatis,

Moon goddess and mother of mermaids.

It makes a sort of poetic sense to you,

Submerged in her waters and acquiescent to her tides.

Here,

Says the mermaid,

Holding out a hand,

Come into her light.

You take her hand,

And with the lightest gesture,

She pulls you into the golden circle of the moon's reflection.

It's funny,

And maybe it's in your head,

Because the moon,

Unlike the sun,

Does not radiate heat.

But the moment the moon glow falls upon your face,

It's as if rays of tender warmth cascade down upon you.

You turn your eyes upward,

Smiling,

And feel a sort of tingling throughout your body,

Bathing here in moonlight.

It's like your whole body drinks of the glow,

Soaking it up in light form.

Soaking it up in light form from above,

And liquid form from the water.

You've never felt anything like it,

A purely rejuvenating experience from head to heels.

Then,

With no warning,

A look of puckish jubilance crosses the mermaid's face,

And she plunges underneath the water,

Vanishing from view.

All you see is her hair,

Blooming behind her like algae.

Can this really be the end of your encounter,

You wonder?

Then,

With a burst of courage and curiosity,

You inhale deeply,

Hold your breath at the top of the inhale,

And plunge your own head underwater.

The moon's brilliance,

Combined with the bioluminescence,

Provide more visibility than you could have imagined in the night sea.

You blink against the salty brine and find the mermaid's face again,

Shining in the water,

Her hair swirling round her face like a cloud of sea moss,

Her scales a greenish-gold glitter.

On the sandy floor are gleaming shells and starfish,

The flash of bright coral further off.

The mermaid reaches toward you with both hands,

And places them gently along the sides of your neck.

Something changes in you at the instant of her touch.

A bright,

Cool breath seems to enter your body,

Energizing you throughout.

It's like taking a drink of cold,

Refreshing water after a long thirst,

And you realize that you can breathe.

The moon's light penetrates through the waves,

Rippling and glimmering against the ocean floor.

The mermaid opens her mouth and utters a note of song,

This not so clear as the melody you heard carried on the waves,

But dampened and tremulous in the water.

It is no less enchanting,

You find,

Like the autumn breeze,

It is no less enchanting,

You find,

Like the aural embodiment of a moonlit wave.

The song ebbs,

Dispersing like foam.

In a few moments,

Splashes of color erupt all around you until they coalesce.

Little fish,

Orange and turquoise,

Are emerging from the depths and the shallows,

Coming together to form a school around you.

They swirl like a milestone,

Encircling you and the mermaid,

Their glittering fins catching the moonlight in motion.

Each one is a delight to the eye,

So shimmery and bright as they move.

Your gaze jumps between them,

Following the flashes,

But soon you try to focus on one at a time.

And in narrowing your gaze,

You notice that each of the bright,

Iridescent fish has,

Tucked under one or more scales,

A brilliant gemstone or a shining pearl.

They are a swirling school of precious treasures.

The whirlpool made by the movement of the fish whips your own hair out of place,

So you imagine it plumes like the mermaid's.

She is smiling still,

With pure,

Bewitching revelry in her eyes.

You follow the mermaid as she kicks back to the surface,

Breaking the water with a splash.

Your lungs fill with sweet night air.

It feels different now,

To breathe normally.

The moon seems to have drifted further away,

To have shrunk in the night sky,

Almost half its size.

You no longer feel like you could reach out and touch it,

You sense your time with the mermaid growing short.

But there is still so much you want to ask her,

So much you long to know.

Why me,

Is the question that rises to your lips.

Why have you called me out here?

The mermaid laughs,

A bright,

Musical laugh,

Like the breaking of bubbles.

You were landlocked,

She responds with a smirk.

Welcome back to the water.

With no more parting words than that,

And with only a flash of fins and moonlight,

The mermaid dives again below the surface,

Leaving a trembling wake behind her.

You are not alone,

You are not alone,

You are not alone,

You are not alone,

You are not alone.

You tread still in the shallow water,

In the dwindling reflection of the moon,

Its glow fading to a pale silver.

The bioluminescence in the tide slowly recedes,

Then vanishes,

And soon there is little light on the water,

Save the reaching moon and the twinkling stars.

And in a bit of a daze,

Your body still tingling from the kiss of the moon's rays,

You slowly swim back to shore.

With your damp clothes tumbling in the dryer,

You change into linen pajamas and brew a pot of tea to sit with by the fireplace.

Seated in front of the fire,

You have a view of the midnight ocean through the French doors.

The flames reflect off the panes of glass with playful orange and amber.

Creating the illusion of a fire blazing atop the rolling waves.

The tide is a bit stronger now than before,

When you were submerged.

You drink your tea and ponder the mysterious encounter with the mermaid,

The memory of it still buzzing in your fingertips.

At last,

Sleep overtakes you,

And you extinguish the fire and make your way to the loft.

The mermaid does not return the next night,

Even as the waning moon hangs low over the ocean.

Nor does she visit again for the rest of your time in the cottage.

There are times when you wonder if the whole event was something you imagined or dreamed.

But other times,

When you feel yourself inwardly swoon toward the tide,

Or your heart lift at the laughter of waves on the shore,

You have no doubt that she really called to you,

Inviting you for a brief moment into her moonlit world.

And soon,

The time comes for you to pack up your belongings and take your leave of Emerald Cove.

It's a bittersweet parting as you leave behind not only memories of a beautifully restorative week,

But a childhood of experiences and imaginings.

Before leaving,

You stand on the beach for a final time with your toes in the sand,

And you offer thanks to the ocean's spirit of play,

To the pirates and sea creatures you once masqueraded as,

To the mermaid who sang you to sleep under the waxing moon.

But you're not really leaving,

You realize.

You carry Emerald Cove,

The silhouette of the rocks,

The feel of the water,

And the song of the sea with you.

You had been so thirsty,

You realize,

Before coming back here,

And you leave sated,

Having drunk of the very essence of the ocean.

You fill your bag with the gifts of the cove,

The bits of sea glass and the unbroken shells,

The conch which brings to life the sound of the ocean waves.

There's another sound,

Too,

When you hold the shell to your ears,

Though you'd venture to guess you were the only one who hears it.

A whispering melody,

A haunting song that sings to you as if from beyond the veil of dreams.

A song that swells like the waves and changes with the phase of the moon.

You carry this song in your heart,

Henceforth.

It breathes from and with you,

And ever binds you to the tides.

Embrace a slow,

Easy breath,

In and out,

Like the waves of the ocean.

Listen to the waves and feel your belly rise and fall,

Like the ebb and flow of the tide.

Imagine how the wave swells,

Unfolds,

And breaks against the shore,

Depositing shells and sea glass and treasures.

And as it pulls back along the undertow,

Another wave rolls in,

An ever-churning motion.

Breathe.

Feel how the inhale reaches to nourish all the corners of the body,

Bringing sweet oxygen along the bloodstream,

And how the exhale can remove unwanted tension,

Signaling to your body that it's time to slow down,

To soften.

Now the inhale brings in fresh,

Clean air,

And the exhale carries out anything that's not useful.

Notice the softness and the inevitability of the transition.

Between inhale and exhale,

The top of the inhale like the crest of an ocean wave,

The bottom of the exhale like the scudding of the undertow.

Feel that softness travel over your body like a wave of relaxation,

And traveling up from the tips of your toes into your legs,

Hips,

Belly,

Back,

Shoulders,

Arms,

Neck,

And head.

And rolling downward from the crown of your head,

Over the neck,

Shoulders,

Arms,

Hands,

Back,

Chest,

Belly,

Hips,

Legs,

And down to the tip of your toes.

As you breathe naturally,

Keep tuning in to the sensation of the wave,

The softening and relaxing of every part of your body,

From the tips of your toes to the crown of your head,

And from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes.

Notice the softness and the inevitability of the transition.

Rising and falling like the waves of the ocean,

Cresting and breaking,

Rolling in and pulling away.

This ebb and flow is the most natural thing in the world.

The ocean never stops,

Shaping and molding the cliffs and coasts through all the seasons of the year.

Just as your breath continues,

Rolling in and out,

Nourishing your body and mind,

Even when you stop thinking about it,

Even as you sleep.

Even as you sleep,

Your life,

The things you love,

Your emotions,

Your experiences,

These may ebb and flow too.

Pulling away and returning in a constant cycle,

We let go of our attachments,

And we grasp and cling to the objects of life,

Like the ocean.

We evolve constantly,

We shape others,

And we ourselves are shaped by constant change,

By love,

By friendship.

Be like the breath,

Be like the tides.

Let yourself be changed and shaped and nourished by those things that serve you.

Carry them in your heart,

Whatever distance there may be,

For what goes out to sea on the undertow may return on the next wave.

Return to that which you love,

To those memories that shape you.

Carry them forward.

Good night.

Reviews

I’ve listened to this story a few times and finally heard it in full.
The story is lovely and your voice very soothing.
Thank you for sharing this with me.
I have enjoyed it immensely.

Absolutely beautiful

Fantastic! I love these stories! Thank you for sharing!

This was a wonderful story, the narrator had a wonderful calming smooth voice that helped me relax I will definitely listen to this again.

An enchanting story that always helps me relax and fall asleep. Thank you for this bedtime balm.

Amazing, thank you so much.

So lovely was the story allowing me to fall asleep quickly. Your voice is that of an Angel. Your voice gives me a feeling of peace and comfort.

Beautiful story that lulled me back to sleep. I look forward to listening again to hear more! Your voice is lovely. Thank you so much and many Blessings 🕊️💕

Sweet and mellow, got me to sleep over and over on a light sleep night 🙏🏽🙏🏽😘

Thank you, Laurel🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻Had been listening many times already, never meeting the mermaid. In the middle of this night, I woke up right at the encounter: how delightful! Your descriptions are beyond, really…🙏🏻🌟💫🌟✨🌟🙏🏻

Beautiful story. I would love to visit a cottage like this someday.

I felt amazing although this story and was asleep in no time. I wish I owned the cottage by the sea. sweet dreams xxx