Beneath the waves, beneath the waves. My boat is sailing beneath the waves. Where no flame burns and the streets are lit with gold and amber. Where the seasons shimmer upon the surface and echo in the belly of the ocean. Winter is a warm jet, Autumn a tattered net, Summer an opening frond of life and Spring a pearl not yet round and ripe.
Beneath the waves I hear the song before the song. Reverberating with no tongue. A hulking beast made light and lythe by the caress of green-blue water. Silver fish move as a shoal. All is instinct. Ran slowly cracks the sea-bed wide and beneath her green nets the souls of sailors stir and sleep, stir and weep, stir and dance in the amber-lit halls of the deep-sea Gods.
Broiling sea coils above. Nine roaring daughters of Ran and Aegir smash as waves and ride the writhing body of the fanged sea-belt. The spirit of fire spits in his belly and longs for freedom. Jormungand, world serpent, the taste of Thor, hammered God still worries at his tongue and stings its root. Bucking upon the cold waves he is looped about the land.
Salt-water meets fresh and becomes shore. There, upon the pebble-pelt of the sand two logs lie sleeping. Foosteps of a God, no two, no three, patinate the edge of the world. There, in that place was breath given, lustre of life, soft skin, pulsing red blood. Teeth, nails, hair. Ask and Embla. Standing now, looking out to sea. We the human-born salute the ocean that bore us here. Smoothed us, suckled our bones, stole our sap. Beneath the waves. Beneath the waves. Twice-born we now emerge: truth-seeking, roaming spirits, seers, healers, tellers of tales and sharers of song we are the adventurers of this Middle Earth.
Gather now around the fire that found no home beyond the belt of the land but here, at our hearth, knows peace, loves laughter, breathes as we breathe. Come in from the sea my friend, for come morning-time it will call you still.
For all the adventurers, however far you have journeyed – Magin Rose
