The Grand Admiral of the Seas: A Granddaughter's Psalm
Navigating the seas of time in a letter to my most resonant ancestor, celebrating courage, heritage, and the enduring connection between generations.
“Let those who are fond of blaming and finding fault, while they sit safely at home and ask, “Why did you do thus and so?” I wish they were on this voyage. I well believe a different voyage of another kind awaits them, or our faith is naught.”
- Admiral Cristóbal Colón, 14th Duke of Veragua
Dearest grandfather,
How can it be I have found myself in so similar a state? Did you not take this land for me? I know you did. I know when I listen to the blood in my arms and my legs that you found this place so I would have it. Sir, do I have it? I cannot tell. I can not tell. You are with me, father. I will see you again. I pray not too soon to know the spoils of discovery.
Let it be known; we have found this holy land for reasons totally foreign to tyrannical reign, though for now it runs in our rivers and swims in our lakes and muddies the reservoirs in our own rich soil. We are not gone, father, I will not let them take it. Please, my own Admiral of the Atlantic seas and of aching young heart, grant me your courage. To love, to find, to know the things that are true — that is your legacy; this legacy is our own. Grandfather, with what courage did you sail into those ice-wrought seas? With what fervor did you lift the sails with your many men who’d hence been forgotten?
Last night I was having a dream. When my friend woke me up, I was annoyed. Grandfather, I was dreaming of you.
I want to stay with you, sailing with you, mapping the skies and the lands and the rocks in the ocean, all day with you. Every albatross we count in my dreams, together, noting in half-cursive scribbles on napkins and ship-logs, is a spirit-song. You sing them with me. I sing them to you. You hear every one. I know you do. I know it when I smell the ocean.
Wading in the waters, I feel a shell beneath my feet. I pick it up, excited, and a little crab peers out of his smooth white walls, nervous, to see me. I laugh, and I smile. I smile and I hear your words as the crashing of waves on my legs, sometimes in the sunlight, sometimes under the whispering light of the moon.
I am the ocean, and I am the shell, and I am the little crab. I am the sand and the shell and the ocean, and I am you.
With what awe did you look into the eyes of your son, and did you know that one day, they would be mine? Your first night on the sea, that amber in the sun; did you imagine my daughter’s eyes, reflecting back to the earth that very same light? I feel quite sure that you did.
How could you not?
And what of myself?
Grandfather, you traveled so far; the bravest man this world can remember. Yet your courage, still more than your bravery, makes you Holy in my eyes and my heart. You have proved it, Sir, that I was not given this perfect Life to sit idly by, but rather to live it. To surrender myself to truth, and to each passing moment with my head held high, just the way you held yours when you saw this rumored and prodigal land. Such is the priceless inheritance you have left unto me and to us all.
Sir, there is no place I’d rather be.
My Admiral, thank you.
With all of my love,
your 17th great-granddaughter, Mia Alejandra.