The Brightness and Darkness of Lucifer
like seed pearls moon-spilt
beads of light skitter and dance
lead me to the deep
It was after midnight when I found myself in trouble. My solitude, so eagerly sought, now put me in peril in a way I hadn’t foreseen. Earlier, when I’d pulled open the heavy wooden door of the beach sauna, I’d been looking for refuge. I’d peered into the darkened space, heady with the scent of hot cedar planks. Everyone had gone to bed. I slipped inside.
There is always a moment when a role becomes a burden. For outdoor guides, that moment comes with exhaustion, usually at day’s end. Until then, every minute has been spent helping others. Even when guests have retired for the night, the guide is preparing for the next day. I’d been up since 5:30 that morning, loading kayaks, giving instruction to my group of six novice kayakers—aging professionals who had chosen beds over Therm-a-Rests—cooking, cleaning up, entertaining, as well as paddling from Tofino—on the west coast of Vancouver Island—to the Vargas Island Inn in Clayoquot Sound. And now the beach sauna’s heat offered pleasure; its quiet darkness offered sanctuary. Leaning against the worn hand-milled boards, I was lulled by the sea as it washed the pebbles of the nearby beach. Hush, it soothed, even as I fretted over the safety of the kayaks. Yes, I had secured the boats. Yes, the gear was out of the tide’s reach.
Hush.
Moisture pearled on my breasts and arms as heat soared outward from the wood stove. I closed my eyes and imagined the fern-laden Sitka spruce towering above my head. The sauna shack was perched above tideline in a curved bay, ringed with old-growth rainforest. After supper, walking to the end of the beach, I’d looked up at the wall of trees, feeling their astonishing mass. Against them, the silhouettes of campfire folk shrank, almost to their vanishing point.
The tide of my day ebbed through my pores. Droplets became a sea, my skin swept with the purging of sweat. Eventually, I peeled myself from the grain of the wood and heaved the door open, giddy with the first breath of cold air. Now for the cold water immersion. No hesitation. The beam of my flashlight guided me as I ran, tender-footed, over pebbles. There was no moon and I felt the water’s edge before seeing it. Putting down my flashlight with my towel, I positioned it as a beacon, to guide me back to shore. My eyes closed tight as my head went under.
When I surfaced, gasping and blinking at the viscous salt of sea and sweat, I noticed the haziness of my light. The yellow beam was diffuse. I looked around. In the blackness, I made out the pale opacity of a sea mist. I riffled a hand through the water, wondering what it meant. Would tomorrow’s trip be offset by a cold swaddle of mist? Or would the fog vanish the way it had come, in sly increments, slinking from the sun? My musings were interrupted by a flash of brightness: green light, erupting from my fingertips. Bioluminescence—the stuff of myth and magic.
On the west coast, bioluminescence is usually only seen when the water is at its warmest, in late summer or early fall. It’s a chemical light, like that of Will-o-the-wisp’s—the mischievous elf of English folklore, whose candle leads the innocent into bogs, or to the cliff’s edge. Like undersea fireflies, tiny plankton produce glowing sparks as their internal chemicals react to being disturbed. Just by moving, I could make light—uncommon, miraculous, cold light.
Sinking deeper in the water, I trailed my arm outward, watching the lines of it flicker to life. I stirred the ocean with both arms, appointing myself choreographer of the miracle brightness. Glowing white-green beads strung together in ribbons, flaring and dying as they moved through the black water. A new universe opened itself to me as I swirled and swam—enchanted. Over there, a detonation of flashes; over here, a constellation, the exact shape of my hand; down below, a dark space arrowing up between my lambent, open legs.
Yes, Will-o-the-wisp tricked me, distracted me, pulled me out to sea, deeper than my feet could touch. Unconcerned by the cold water, I twisted and twirled. And when I looked around, I had eyes only for the brilliant mating of two chemicals—luciferin and luciferase. Lucifer, from the Latin, lucem ferre, bearer of light; Lucifer, the morning star, now named Venus. Lucifer, another name for Satan.
How long was I distracted? Minutes? Seconds? How to measure timeless moments? A sudden chill shook me from my delight. I looked for the beacon. It wasn’t there. My beacon was invisible and so was the shoreline. Fog and darkness were all I could see. But I couldn’t be far from shore, could I? I would see it soon. I waited, searching. I waited longer, searching harder. I saw only blackness. This couldn’t be happening… I—
I was lost at sea, mere lengths from the beach. Alone, in cold Pacific water, on a remote island, I was shrouded in fog and darkness, unsure which way to swim, my life depending on the right choice. I sharpened my vision, eyes straining, body now hard with fear. Surely the trees would save me and the looming shadow of them would rise above the mist?
I saw nothing.
I pictured something I could see. A memory of the tide table, its columns of numbers marking the days, this day’s date circled in pencil. Ebbing, the tide would be ebbing. With every tight breath I was being drawn out to sea. I thought of the sleeping guests, tired from their long day and too far away to hear me. I thought of them waking next morning to my disappearance. My legs kicked harder as I treaded water, oblivious to the bioluminescence, turning myself in circles. I didn’t dare swim. What if I swam the wrong way?
I listened for waves on the beach, but I heard only the ripple of my own hands as they palmed the surface. I lifted my nose, longing for a trace of campfire smoke, but I smelled only the wetness of salt. I lifted my arms pole-straight above my head and sank, exhaling bubbles and reaching for the bottom with my feet. But I felt only the inky water that surrounded me. In the darkness, I began to function on two levels at once. Survival instincts guided my body while thoughts blossomed in my mind.
Like many people, I’d heard that those faced with death would see their lives pass in front of their eyes. But my life lay within me, tidy and complete—peaceful. In that moment, it didn’t matter if life ended now, or later. All moments became one moment, distilled into a single sensation. Why was I taught to fight death, I wondered, when instead there could be this sense of perfection? Death’s beautiful secret lay before me, tantalizingly unexplored. But my father had always taught me to fight. I’d grown up with tales of his escapes from snakes, sharks, deep jungles, Himalayan peaks. Failure to survive would be just that—failure. My father had been a meteor, streaking the bright sky of my young life. How would he judge me for “giving in” to death after an error in judgment? How would society judge me? In my brush with Lucifer, would people see the brightness of Venus, or the darkness of Satan? Might my private moment of perfection be declared a tragedy?
The inviolable nature of my death-secret perplexed me. I would want others to know that I’d died well. And yet, I could see the allure of a gift so personal that it could be felt by no one but me. I thought again of my parents, wondering at their own death-secrets. A sense of potential swelled within me, instead of grief. Then my palm brushed something soft and my thoughts vanished.
I gasped and turned, kicking hard. The motion of my feet disturbed more plankton and there, in front of me, was a long piece of bull kelp, Nereocystis luetkeana, ignited into whiteness, lit to perfection. I watched the graceful blades streaming silver in the current. I saw them reaching away from me, finning and sparkling as the water rippled the length of them and hurried on out to sea. I saw my body sliding toward them, being carried the same way.
A small clue, but my only clue. I faced myself away from the blades of kelp. Away from the open sea they pointed toward. I made my choice.
And I swam.
As I swam, my eyes refocused on an imagined shoreline. I barely breathed, longing for the beacon to appear. I swam with confidence and doubt slamming together within me. I swam with the brightness and darkness of Lucifer. I swam with a secret within me. I swam until my feet grazed the bottom and I heard the hush of water smoothing pebbles.
Hush.