Mystery

I throw bottles in the sea and they follow their destinies for years and years. Every day, religiously, I come back. I sit on the pier. The big ships have gone. The quiet sea predicts a storm. Seven small waves caress my feet Iemanjá smiles. She is beautiful, our majesty of the sea. Something touches me. A bottle. There's a message inside. I don't know if I should open it. I don't know if I should read it. I don't know if I rip it up. I don't know if I should break the bottle or if I should take it home. I hesitate in ecstasy and emotion, contentment and fear. I shake. I freeze. One second goes by. One second is enough. (Mystery we don't understand.) (Mystery we can't translate.) The universe streches in front of me and I can't see the miracle. A wave breaks, pulling the bottle in an undercurrent, and before I can open its seal _it is gone (there it goes once again) toward the open sea. It's there. Impossible to be found. Patricia Evans