I couldn't go to Kineo with the knowledge that I was only 15 minutes away from my favorite place in the world, more beloved than Caratunk, more beloved than West Forks, more beloved even, than Iceland. Growing up, I spent almost every weekend and at least one week every summer at my family's camp on a small man-made lake (man-made by virtue of flooding from a dam) called Brassua. A lake I haven't been to in several years since my parents sold our camp. When they told me they were selling, I reacted badly. I was upset and heartbroken, and like a bad breakup, I couldn't bear to look at my lake again, knowing I no longer had a place there to go.
I went back today for the first time in years, stopped at the scenic overlook to snap a picture I've taken hundreds of time growing up. But, I wanted to touch the water, so the only place I could think to go was the boat landing, which was blissfully empty.
I spread her healing waters over my blistered shoulders and cried.
My Brassua, my beautiful haven, the place I, as a baby Pagan explored animism before I even knew what animism was, where I would spring along over the rocks barefoot, swim in the water that most people would call too cold, explore the growing-in clear cuts and old boat landing where the ravens nested, losing myself in my thoughts and listening to the loons at night. My dear, beloved Brassua, I am so sorry I left you for so long. I have many Mothers in this life, my human mother, who brought me to camp, the Kennebec river, who I've always lived near, and Brassua, who held me in her cool waters and soothed my soul. At the heart and soul of my animism, is this lake, this living, beautiful lake that taught me that everything has a spirit, and mine in inextricably entwined with it. When I cried at the shore, it was because I was home and she welcomed me back as if I'd never run away from my feelings.
I promise you, I will make the effort to come back, even if I have to go to the boat landing to access your healing waters again.
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