I recently sat down with my favorite cousin over dinner and a few drinks. She is the one cousin that is as close to me as a sister could possibly be.
The conversation turned to religioun and spirituality. I’m a devout Christian. Highly liberal and spiritual in my Christianity, but the Bible is my go to book. My cousin on the other hand is spiritually agnostic and doesn’t see or understand how God can operate on the everyday level of our individual needs and desires. She is highly sceptical of the spiritual and mystical. She admits to its existence, but not the magic of it.
The conversation was elusive with very little understand on either side. We are always respectful but it felt like I was speaking Spanish and she was speaking French. We had some understanding, but mostly misunderstandings with both us shaking our heads at the other.
I walked away feeling like I was a raving mad woman talking about God manifesting his presence in my life in the manner of signs and symbols.
Later that night, I was showering and playing the conversation over and over again in my mind. I was also listening to a beautiful Celtic song that told the story of a woman forcibly betrothed to a man four years her junior, only 14, and her lament to her father. It’s haunting and beautiful. Then I stared at the ceramic mermaid that my daughter created for me last year, and I heard the call of Luna, my fictional character absorbed with mermaid lore. I dually contemplated the Celtic song and thought what a lovely short story it would make. Then I anticipated the day my first novel, Luna’s Tide, would return to me with edits and revisions from my friend.
I realized in that moment that I just might be a mad dreamer who talks to God, hears stories in the wind, weaves tales from songs, and can hear a young half mermaid maiden in a child’s ceramic gift. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’m a dreamer, and if that means I’m mad. Then let madness be my song and my story.