Curated by March Twisdale
Around dawn, on Tuesday, January 3rd, Carla Dawn DeCrona completed her transition from this reality into the next. As her friends here on our Island and abroad learn of her passage forward, almost all have remarked upon the light my mother brought into this world. She was as bright in spirit as the glorious, sky blue of her eyes and the kind, warm welcome of her smile. In the months to come, we are pleased to share Carla’s writing – with her permission – in the paper and online, where we can better enjoy the vibrancy of her visual artwork: https://vashonloop.substack.com/.
A Pilgrimage Begins
At the sea’s threshold, my feet hug the warm sand.
Behind me,
the voices of chant rise,
echo off the cliffs,
ride the wind,
call the guides.
Glistening dolphins surge towards me,
singing in crisp, clear tones:
the Invitation is given.Behind me,
a life lays sleeping,
a warm, sweet ordinary life,
one I could not live.
Behind me,
mornings full of bird song,
sun on smiling faces,
shaded thoughts of freedom.
Behind me,
tiny dark eyes,
sharp as black stars,
piercing the lies I wore.
Behind me,
around the dying fire,
ash stained faces drum,
each beat cutting the cord,
each beat bidding me farewell.Before me,
the moonlight path lays bright.
My feet release the land, greet the sea.
Stepping into my kayak,
swaying softly in the glowing foam,
my breathing slows
matching the rhythm of the waves.
One long, deep tone,
links me to all the Aumakua,
opens the Songline.The dazzle of moon casts its spell.
Sinking into it, I lift my paddle,
snuggle into the close catch of my boat.
Leaning into the waves, I rock forward then back
breaking the bond with the land,
letting the water take me out, away,
into the wildness of the sea,
into the wildness of my life.Greeting me with puffs of air, murmured squeaks,
my dolphin escort gathers close.
We touch, edge to edge, skin to skin.
I long to fall into their number
move as one with them
dive deep into hidden realms…
but that mystery must wait.They brook no delay.
With a spray of cold salt water,
they fling themselves away,
leaping upon the moonlit sea.
Blinking the wetness from my eyes,
my arms already raised to fly,
I fall into the smooth rhythm of my stroke,
one with my oar, one with my craft,
one with the shimmering surface of the sea…The voices of chant ring out against the dark cliffs,
singing me on my journey,
fading in the distance,
as I unfurl my spirit to the night wind;
A Pilgrimage begins.
