Weary in her revelry she slept through
the exodus, her selkie coat well hidden above
in a shield of long straw shadowing the sun
keeping her safe, well protected from love.
She was faithful where she was led, not her
choice to be, a new place and way to serve.
She was true and devoted to word, spirit, creed,
even though she ached deeply for another.
She longed for water without knowing why
yet steadfast in her journey well run.
One day making bread, her food for the living,
from above selkie hide came undone.
A single drop, only one, oil glistened a call
to return to the shore of her yearning.
Her long slender finger lifted oil to her lips,
a recollection, a scent still languishing.
This woman of fidelity finally tasted and smelled,
remembered the raw deep sea of her beginning.
She walked to the sand without a look back and
slipped into her soul wild.
I am that woman of faith on my journey
from a life safely thatched and shielded.
I am grateful for Your grace, drop of oil,
passion in me, anointing a new life wild.
We sang, chanted, drummed, heard stories, and broke bread together. It was an amazing time getting to know a group of strangers pulled in by the same Spirit.
Stefan told a story of the selkies of Irish lore. And although his point for telling the story may be a bit different from what I gleaned, it was a powerfully moving story for my faith journey.