Selkie

Selkies, lore-keeping, and prophecy.

¹

I have become quite enchanted recently with the myth of the selkie.
Often equated with other mythic figures such as mermaids and sirens, selkies are wholly unique. At once half human and half seal, they are only ever seen in one form or the other.²

While selkies primarily dwell in the ocean in their seal form, they are thought to have the ability to shapeshift into human form at will (though some myths purport this is involuntary and has much to do with the phases of the moon).

In most lore, selkies take the form of beautiful maidens and can be seen laughing, singing, and dancing together on moonlit nights, their pelts laid nearby.

But legend has it that if their pelt is stolen, they will become trapped on land, unable to return to the sea.

Perhaps the most famous archetype of such a tragedy is that of the selkie wife.

Below, I tell a poetic tale inspired both by this particular story of the selkie, and my own personal folklore.

At first, this poem began out of necessity as I grasped for a thin sliver of hope amidst trying circumstances. Then, as I learned more about the selkie, I decided to weave in another story, too.

I find much of what I write lately is expectant prophecy. And by that I mean: I want to believe that the small, needful hope that I so struggle to hold onto now is only a stepping stone towards my deliverance.

The brilliant thing about mythology is that, much like prayer, it invites you into co-creation. We do not just read myths, we participate in them.

In this way, I mythicize my life. I become lore-keeper of my story, carefully recording each sign and sigil that comes my way.

Trusting that each prayer I bring to the secret place will be fulfilled in due time.

Trusting that within each poem is the divine answer, echoing back.

³
I.
I wade out into the sea,
early light blushes soft beyond the offing.
The water is as nacre, lustrous and singular 
as if all is a gleaming garment and I 
a shining seam. 
In the distance soft animal bodies
rise out of the waves, their voices braying,
beckoning me to follow.

I remember afresh far-off mornings and mists 
that spoke forth dawn, 
and the selkies lying on the shoals
with their dark eyes and wild-song.
How I cried to them 
with the most needful voice: 
take me with you. 

But where was it that I placed my hide?
I could have sworn I left it on the shore
as I danced beneath the moon.
Who then claimed my pelt? I fear it was
thieved and hidden in a secret room
just out of reach.

II.
Oh, and what of the songs that were once
like prayers that became
as ash on my tongue?
What spells then rose to the stars?
What oracles were spoken out 
into the day-blind hours when all was pale 
and fogged over as glass?

I remember the first night I walked the moss-grass, 
how the evenstar’s light pooled around me,
silver and thin as I wept, whispering tales of tender beginnings
and a heart too wild to be tamed.⁴ 

To love what is mortal: my most important task. 

III.
Dark one, the menfolk called me, 
her eyes unbroken as the whale-road,
fair as the day before a storm.⁵
But oh,
what she could be.

I once found a baby swallow that fell
from her nest.
Before putting her back
I held her near to my chest.
Oh how she fluttered, her small breath like wind,
her wings twin embers, my palms
a hearth.

The longer I stayed ashore
the more I forgot who I once was.
Yet always the salt-air would steal back to me,
alluring my senses as I sipped tea near the fire,
my gaze drifting ever 
to the sea.

On a moonless winter night,
I dreamt of a kingdom bright with laughter,
glimmering just beneath the waves.

IV.
I don’t quite remember how it was that I found my pelt.
Did I conjure it with my yearning, or did 
the old gods decide to yield to my lament?
Perhaps it was something
in between.

But oh, what was my purpose in leaving 
the lambent foam of my birth?
Never can I return unscathed, I would greet
my kindred with mirth, yet they will receive me 
as I am now, grieved and worn.
Must I still try? What fickle things are these
crystal dreams and visions now that I stand
on the precipice. 
Daughter of two worlds am I—
the sea and the earth both home and yet
I pine.

Dare I?
Dare I?

V.
My sisters come near,
a merry song already on their lips.
Have I always held the prophecy in these quivering hands?

In the watery stillness I remember what once I had,
and the brag of my wild heart sings

you want your freedom.⁶ 

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1. Hannes Knutsson, Unsplash

2. Monaghan, P. (2008). The encyclopedia of Celtic mythology and Folklore. Checkmark Books.

3. Aldo De La Paz, Unsplash

4. Archaic form of evening star denoting the planet Venus, and less commonly Mercury.

5

A kenning (a specific type of poetic metaphor commonly used in Old English works) from Beowulf.
Kent-Drury, R. (n.d.). Kennings in Beowulf. Kennings from Beowulf. https://www.nku.edu/~rkdrury/202/kennings_in_Beowulf.html

6. An allusion to the Fleetwood Mac song “Dreams”