By Annabelle Kennedy, TIWP Student 

“It is dark, it is ancient, and it is deep.” —Audre Lorde

In my society, the ocean is sacred. It encompasses the world, a blue black void, filled with all manner of creatures both horrifying and heavenly. It is dark, it is ancient, and it is deep. It is so deep that no one has ever quite reached the bottom. 

We created our legends there, our myths and gods and cities. Selu, the goddess of the deep, of home and the surging waves. Duj and Mare, twins rain and thunder. And Vita, quick-footed and quick-tempered goddess and guardian of the coral reefs and shallow waters were the children run in play

The Five Great Heros and the Sea Witch, the sirens, the sea daemons and their king Tenebris, who rules the darkest depths of the ocean where the vents spew boiling water and the rocks are black as oil. All of these were passed down through generations. 

Our cities were built close to the ocean, our lifeblood and food source. Our children grew up running among the black-sand beaches and the crashing waves. We read them stories from faded and worn paper flecked with bits of salt and seaweed. We taught them our legends and prayers and encouraged them to do the same to their children. We did not mind very much if they chose to walk a different path. After all, Selu cared for all who sail the ocean and dip their feet into the waves, believer or no. She was kind, and merciful, and murderous. But who wouldn’t prefer a merciful goddess to a merciless one? 

She would only ask if you bring them in as supper – the red-backed crabs and the silver fish that dart in swarms and the lobster pulled deep from the vents – that you do it with mercy and goodwill in your heart. They are her children, after all. 

And should you have a heavy heart, a day when your tears salt the earth and you feel empty and numb, go to the sea. The water will hold you. The water will not let you drown. She will be there, and listen, and understand.