Floating by Dale Allen

Floating on my back in my home waters of Long Island Sound. Arms outstretched to each side.

Complete

Utter

Relaxation.

My Dad, Dan Morgan, used to do this. And then, he’d lie chest-down on the sand, head resting on his arms that were up and crossed under his cheek, feeling the warmth and support of the beach. I always liked seeing the way he knew how to relax and really feel pleasant experiences.

He was lots of fun at the beach, too. My brother, Doug, and my younger sister, Lee, along with a collection of childhood friends, would surround him in water that was waist deep for him. He’d submerge underwater, kneeling on one knee, while the other bent leg provided a step for us to climb up and then swing ourselves around to stand on his shoulders.  This was very cool for us kids! And then, a big jump forward to splash into the water!

“Again!”

We all took many turns. And Dad always included any nearby kids that looked on hopefully for a turn. He always included everybody’s kids.

My Dad is my second father. He came into our lives after my father, Allen Schmid died when I was 3 1/2 years old. When I was almost 5, my mother remarried. At 37, long-time bachelor for that era, Dan Morgan married my widowed Mom and came, heart-wide-open, into a family of four children who had all experienced the loss of their father. After they married, we left the house my father had built and moved into a new house in town. About 2 1/2 years after they married, my younger sister was born. My beautiful baby sister. My Mom and Dad kept my father’s tradition of having a family boat for summer weekends on the water. We’d fill that boat with food and even more family and friends… these long summer days were wonderful!

As I’m floating, I’m one with the gentle rhythmic motion of the waves. I am the waves. I am the Sound. I am the Atlantic Ocean.

My Dad came from an Irish-American family of six boys, who were legendary for their antics and humor – legendary! I have a newspaper clipping of a story about their giant pet pig, “Frankie” who got loose and ran around town. Everyone chased and called for the pig around town until finally it ended up in woman’s kitchen, having been drawn in by the smell of blueberry pie. “Morgan Pig Goes Berserk” was the headline.  But they also had a built-in, old-fashioned respect. I still love parades and decorum, like my Dad did.  My Dad brought that Morgan humor into a family that needed it. He rolled with all of the unsettled emotions of his new family. He rolled with everything. And my father’s memory had plenty of welcome room to be a part of our lives too.

My Dad’s mother, Grandmother Morgan told me as a little girl, “I told Gerald…”  (She looked upward to indicate her deceased husband’s presence beyond.)  “I told him that I would have a blond-haired little girl. He said, ‘Ann, you have six sons!’ But I told him that I would. And see…” (She looked up again and this time pointed a finger at her husband.)  “I was right! Here she is!”  And then she hugged me.  Many, many times she would invite me to tea.  I’d delight in selecting my own tiny teapot from her vast collection.  She’s fill with it with tea, and we’d sit and talk at her small table in the kitchen.  She made a little girl feel very special, and I learned a lot listening to stories of her world travel – solo travel – which was very unusual for the time.

My father’s mother, Nana Schmid, after her son died and my Mom remarried, introduced my Mom and Dad to others saying, “This is my daughter, Ellie and her husband, Dan.” We’d all visit them in Delaware where they’d moved.  We’d soak in everything we could get from them in word, artistic skill, woodworking, sewing, pug-dog-loving, Pop-Pop-humor that would sneak-up on you and delight you – and a very special kind of Nana-love that filled every nook and cranny.  Part of that filled-up feeling was their love for our full family then – all of us.

My mother’s mother, Grandma Wachowski who came from Poland as a girl, loved everyone in her own shy way. She was shy, but dependable like the ground that holds us up, and from which everything springs. She had fortitude, inner courage, commitment, and love. She runs like a low hum in me.

All five of us children belonged equally to all three sets of grandparents.  And we all belonged to each other equally.

Everyone belonged.

Our extended full family stories are abundant and rich. There are triumphs, there are tragedies, there are countries to leave, there are losses and gains, and there is humor, and music, and family feasts, and noisy gatherings.… Of all the stories, it’s the humorous stories we tell over and over.

With each wave, I breathe in the memories and visions. My human body floats in the water, the amniotic fluid of the earth…  the earth I came to, and of which I am made. We are all made of the Earth where life ever bursts forward in a cycle of birth, growth, death, renewal. Life, unstoppable. All around us in nature we see these cycles. We see nurturing to support the next generations – in trees, plants, birds, insects, animals.

We are made of this.

Floating, I am one with the ocean.  All of the fish and whales and dolphins swim through it, as if suspended. It’s like the Universe. The stars seem suspended as they move outward with the ongoing expansion of the cosmos.

I am the Universe.

There are no questions here.

No one is missing.

We came to Earth, and we are of the Earth. From the full expanse of the Universe, from All That Is, a point of consciousness begins a new human journey. A new human body forms in the ocean of the womb.  It seems we are drawn to life, we want to be here on the human journey. We sign-on for it: the whole human thing. That’s my sense of it anyway. And we have in us a remembrance of the dimension beyond the human mind and experience – beyond frailty and fear – a dimension of Love.  Earth, nature – that of which we are made – is in perfect balance and exudes this Love. It’s here.  It’s everywhere. Only our humanity, our thinking separates us. Early humans, our own foremothers and forefathers, had no separation. And indigenous cultures when unaltered by us, know this today.

At any moment in this human world and among our big human family, there is tragedy, pain, and loss – and we feel that from wherever we are.  At any moment in this human world there is also nobility, virtue, courage, care, nurturing and love – like the Love we came from.  It seems we sometimes have to make sure to see and feel that Love, and not overlook it. We tender humans all have our wounds. And though the magnitude of our experiences may differ, they put us on common and compassionate ground.  Sometimes, it’s not easy being human. No judgement can be passed on anyone’s journey.

We have such a limited view from our human perspective, but as my body floats, I see again the way we get little glimpses in our lives – little clues – from the Love we came from – that we are.  Things happen, circumstances, coincidences – things that are obvious enough for us to see, things that bring us the sense that something bigger than us is unfolding – is present –  something transcending time and our humanity. 

My father had died in the early morning hours on September 27th when I was 3 1/2. The woman who hit their car should not have been driving. (Only compassion and forgiveness for her.) Later that morning, my Dad was up and shaving as he prepared to celebrate his September 27th birthday. His transistor radio played as he shaved, and he heard the news about my father.  My Dad had known my father as part of a larger social circle. My Dad told me later in life that he heard an inner voice that morning as he shaved, that told him he’d be part of our family.  It came to him like a jolt, and it surprised him when it happened. 

Floating, I hear a playful shrieking, and I break my float to tread water and look around.  I see the source of the sound: a Dad with his arms upstretched, steadily holds the hands of his son who is standing on his shoulders. Near him, another boy excitedly jumps up and down in the water.  Both boys are laughing and yelping. It’s the most beautiful sight. It’s everything.

There are no questions. 

No one is missing.

(Meet Mago Contributor) Dale Allen