A SWIMMER IN THE SEA OF TIME

A SWIMMER IN THE SEA OF TIME

     She was just seventeen when she swam her first and last lifetime. She'd wanted to do this for most of her life, ever since her other sisters had returned telling tales of untold riches and adventure. Riches they never returned with. Adventure they longed to return to.

     

     Bedtime stories. Fairy tales. That's what all the kids at school said. That's what her parents told her.

     

     But she knew better. After all, her name was Dysis and she was a goddess of time, a daughter of Chronos.

     

     She would come to understand later why her parents had tried everything to dissuade her from swimming in the sea of time. Until she made her first and final journey, Dysis couldn't fathom their fervent and seemingly false admonishments.

     

     Finally, her seventeenth birthday arrived like a welcome wind, Dysis felt free. Seventeen was the year when a child was considered to be an adult and autonomy was bestowed upon them. Dysis could not and would not wait, despite the pleas from her parents. She had become a student of time, had learned how to slip into its streams which ultimately would lead to the seas, and now that she was no longer shackled to her parents, she slipped away.

     

     Nothing could have prepared Dysis for her experience. She had forgotten who she was. Yes, she was a goddess of time, a daughter of Chronos. But she also represented the sunset and therefore everything she saw on her swim was an ending, without a new beginning. She saw the end of empires and the end of civilizations. The end of species. The end of words. The end of music. The end of tears. The end of civility. The end of humanity. The end of planets and stars and universes.

     

     Dysis saw the end of time itself. Tears flowed from her eyes and merged with the sea, mingled with time. Dysis turned away to head back to her home. The current was strong. It tried to sweep her away, tried to end her. She swam fiercely, forcing herself to shut her eyes so as to see no more. She knew the streams and could go by feel. She slipped back into her own stream, finally safe on the shore.

     

     Dysis angrily confronted her sisters. The children at school were right. Their stories had been fairy tales. “Why did you tell me lies?” she asked each one.

     

     Each replied the same. “I do not know what you are talking about. I saw riches and adventure. I lived a thousand happy lives in the sea.”

     

     Dysis did not have tales of untold riches or adventure. The taste of ash was in her mouth. She vowed never to swim again but knew that the siren song of the sea would lure her back.

     

     And it did. And she went back into the sea of time again and again.

     

     The first time back, Dysis was terrified. Gradually, Dysis became fascinated. Fascinated with endings, fascinated with death. She began to embrace death and see its beauty beyond the initial terror. She stopped thinking of what she was seeing as an ending and more like a capstone, a denouement, a resolution. The tears she cried now where no longer tears of pain but rather, tears of joy.

     

     And each time she swam home, she told tales of riches and adventure. Riches she returned with. Adventure she longed to share.