Author: Marilyn Barnicke Belleghem M.Ed., is a Registered Marriage and Family Therapist.
See more at www.mbcinc.ca

Judging by the distance to Tintagel Castle, I know I can run to catch up with the others even if I take a few minutes to try to call home. Again, no line is available. Turning from the call booth with blurred vision from my own tears of disappointment, I follow the packed earth path downward to the castle. My sadness is the result of my loving feelings for my family. I am glad I have someone to love.

I walk beside a gurgling stream, more slowly than intended, not really trying to catch up. It is easy going and I breathe the clear ocean air deeply. The path flattens for a short distance before climbing up to the castle gates. I quicken my steps and lift my chin. Jack's words flash through my mind, "Keep your chin up!"

I smile at the familiarity and helpfulness of the phrase. I feel his affection in the memory of his encouragement. With a warm smile consciously placed on my face, I step through the gates to find myself on the high edge of a cliff that overlooks the sea and a magnificent towering island. The island is connected to the mainland by about fifteen feet of rock. The ruins of Tintagel Castle create a silhouette against the sky.

I have read stories set here of storms and horses, love, and passion. My immediate thrill of the expansive view is cut short by Tom calling me. He is about to recite another one of the long historical monologues.

I want to daydream my own visions and feel the energy of this place first hand. I do not want to stand and listen. I position myself at the edge of the group. Only half listening to Tom's words, I scan the vista. Barely tolerating the drone of his voice, I stay put as long as I can. I slowly edge away.

Once free, I wander alone down the very steep steps, holding fast to the iron railing. I am filled with a tense excitement that draws me right down to the beach.

I look back up the cliff and see most of my companions scattered along the steps, making their way down to the sea. Barbara and Joanne have decided not to climb down. A few other tourists are on the beach, but it is virtually deserted. I stand at the edge of the churning water and smell the salty damp air. I love the energy!

There is a cave to my left and I tingle with anticipation as I move alone along the rocky beach and into the massive stone vault. The surrounding rocks are dark and wet. Moving into the shadows, I see that it is an archway and not a closed cave. Massive waves from the incoming tide are smashing the beach, both behind and in front of me. I walk into the edge of the waves. The swirling, foaming water laps at my boots, threatening to get over the tops. I am determined to get into the centre of the arch, without getting wet feet. It is a powerful spot, full of the noise of crashing waves and the distant cry of seagulls. I have a sense of being deep in the earth, on the very frontier between water, land, and air. The challenge is met and I retreat from the swirling torrent.

I can feel the wetness of the salt sea on my smiling face. I know this is an experience that has returned me to the innocent excitement of my childhood. Like a carefree and careless youth, I have scampered into the danger of the crashing water. I feel no fear. Only now, as I see the tentative approach of the others who hang back on the steps, do I reassess my actions.

A sea otter is frolicking, just off shore, in the wavy water. I laugh at the sight and point him out to the others. A large black Labrador retriever is playing with stones about the size of tennis balls. They are being rolled in by waves. Sally tempts him to leave the rock and chase a piece of driftwood. He leaps into the waves, retrieves it, and then drops it at her feet. She throws it again, and the dog again drops it on the shoreline. As Sally stretches to catch the stick, it retreats on an ebbing wave. She steps forward, her hand clasping the wet, slippery wood as a wave crashes into her and soaks her running shoes and pants.

The group gathered to watch start to laugh at her plight, but soon stop as we hear her angry cries of surprise and disdain. The water is cold and the wind is cool. I turn and climb back up the many well-worn steps until I reach the stone gateway where I started. I can see Sally trudging up behind me. I turn to go up the steep, narrow steps that lead to a small stone archway into the remains of what was once the castle.

Having just been to the centre of the opening under this island, I am determined to go to the very top. I scramble up a combination of rough stone steps and grassy slopes. I look about the rugged terrain to find the highest point on which I can stand. I want to talk to the wind and thank God for the beauty, the majesty, and the power of this place.

The wind is blowing so strongly I feel as though I will lift into the sky. My plastic raincoat billows out, trapping air like a kite. I imagine soaring high into the sky like a great, pink bubble and sailing with the seagulls, which appear to be having such a wonderful time riding the wind.

Here I can feel my inner readiness to say YES to life, to transcend my insecurities, fears, and the limitations I put on myself and have allowed others to put on me. I feel free enough to fly from my past conditioning and open myself up to any opportunity the world can offer me.

As I free myself in a fantasy flight, I realize my Quest is inward. I know at this point that what I am seeking does not lie in some soggy field or damp cave at the edge of the sea. What I am seeking I carry like a secret within. Like the sculptor, who speaks of freeing the being from within the block he is about to carve, I am on a Quest to free the being that is my Self.

Author: Marilyn Barnicke Belleghem M.Ed., is a Registered Marriage and Family Therapist.
See more at www.mbcinc.ca

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