Ocean Murmurs

In the light where you stand

There are no boundaries

between you and me;

only the white wakes

that mark the course 

of wandering seafarers:

lines all too soon erased

by my journeying waves.

My waves dashed and roared

as ashore you built your dreams

of fire and of pain

as at night you sang your songs

of sorrow and of gain.

I am a cradle of waves

for the one who dreams,

a mirror for the one who dives

and sees her own face

reflected in my own.

And my shells sing the stories

of these two faces

and these two lives:

the one who dreams

and the one who dives.

Listen, just listen

to the ocean’s voice

which is the only voice

through which I can speak to you

which is the only voice

through which you can hear me.

Lay your head on my shore

and take your time

take all the time you need

just lay your head on my shore

and hear my waves break

bringing you far stories 

with their murmurings.

Let me caress you, calm you

as the soft breathing of my waves

shifts the thin line of foam

from ebb to flow

giving light back to your face.

And the waves break

as the ocean breathes

and my shells speak

of ages past and an age begun

when the light and the mirror 

and the dream and the dreamer

are one.

Overview - Underwater Sculpture by Jason deCaires Taylor

The Veiled Goddess

In the west of the Nile Delta in the times of the Pharaohs was a sacred centre called Sais. In the heart of the centre stood a temple, and in the courtyard of this temple stood a statue of the goddess. Engraved upon the statue’s plinth was this mysterious description: “I am all that has been, all that is and all that will be, and no mortal has raised my veil.”

The Greek writer Plutarch, who tells us of this inscription, further tells us that the statue was that of Isis, although the centre is now known to have been dedicated to a more ancient goddess known as Neith. The goddess Neith had associations with weaving and the loom, and this powerful creator goddess was said to have used her loom to weave the world into existence. The power of Neith was therefore not so much that she could create, but that she could create without the need of a god. Neith was complete unto herself.

It was Neith who gave birth to the life-giving sun, Ra the great, who went on to create all things in the world. Ra is so powerful, so glorious, that even now we know that we cannot look directly at his face for too long without risking damage to our eyesight. But what of Neith? The mysterious inscription tells us that no mere human has raised her veil. Is the inscription a warning? Would the sight of the face of this goddess be too overwhelming for us to bear?

This idea is echoed in the Greek myth of Semele, the mortal woman who begged mighty Zeus to reveal his face to her. The god obliged, and Semele was struck dead on the spot. But is this idea what is also intended for Neith? The fact that feminine Neith is a goddess, not a god, seems somehow to alter the picture. In the nineteenth century Neith became a favoured subject for artists who, surrounded by the growing advances of the time in science, interpreted the subject of lifting the veil of Neith as uncovering the secrets of the natural world. In this interpretation, each new discovery of science was lifting the veil of Neith just that little bit farther. It is science that is raising the veil of the goddess! But is it?

Gnosticism, which itself is steeped in such mystic ideas, suggests that there are two different kinds of mysteries: there is the kind of mystery that might not be known to us now, but will in time come to be known. But there is also a more powerful kind of mystery: the kind that by its very nature is mysterious, that always will remain an unknown. The inscription on the statue of Neith clearly tells us that the goddess is eternal, that she is beyond time. She is “all that has been, all that is and all that will be.” These are things that no mortal can know. We cannot know of things which are yet to come. We cannot raise the veil of the future. 

The veil of wise Neith remains lowered. Her features always will be hidden from us, and for that we should be grateful. In refusing to lift her veil the goddess has given us a precious gift. We cannot know what is to come, and so we must learn to live in trust.

Sculpture  Le Souvenir by Marius Jean Antonin Mercié, 1885, detail