Answering the Selkie’s Call

I am dreaming of selkies. The distinctly Scottish spirits of the sea that take the form of seals, slipping between the cold waves, and then transform into beautiful pale-skinned women who dance on the beaches in the moonlight.

In my dreams they are swimming in the waters of the Forth just outside my window. Their heads bob in the dark water, almost indistinguishable from the rhythmic rush and roll of the waves. They are calling me, these sea spirits. And I answer their call.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes writes about these beautiful creatures in the hauntingly lovely tale Sealskin/Soulskin. She tells us of a fisherman who spies a group of selkies in their human form dancing on the sand, the cool moonlight illuminating their skin and casting black shadows across the beach. He notices that their sealskins are lying close by, laid out carefully on a rock at the water’s edge. He quickly takes one, and when the moon begins to return to the horizon, and the selkies transform to return to the sea, one selkie is left behind, naked and completely distraught because her sealskin is missing.

The fisherman offers the selkie refuge in his home, and then, after time, his hand in marriage. The selkie agrees to stay with him for 7 years, after which he agrees to return her sealskin, so that she will be free to return to the sea.  During the years of their marriage, a little boy is born to them, and while the selkie loves her son very much, when the time comes for the return of her sealskin, she does not hesitate to request it from her husband.

Now, unknown to the selkie, her husband had thrown the skin into the sea many years previous, unable to contemplate being left wifeless, and his son motherless. But the longer his wife remained in human form, the more she suffered. Her skin begins to dry out terribly, causing deep fissures and cracks to open up in her flesh, and her eyes dull until she is all but blind. Her hair starts to fall out and her skin pales until it was almost translucent.

The couple argue terribly as the selkie pleads for her sealskin, and her husband, while seeing the physical effects of being without her soulskin, berates her for wanting to leave him and their son. Their little boy, listening to these fights, pulls the blankets over his head until he can bear it no longer, and runs out into the night to escape the sounds of his parents arguing. He runs to the beach where he trips over a bundle lying at the edge of the water. As he picks it up, an enormous seal splashes a little way out from the shore, and, just for a moment, the eyes of the boy and the old seal connect.

It was then that he knew that this bundle is the skin his parents had been arguing over night after night. He carries it home to discover that his father had left in a temper, and his mother is sitting on the floor of their little cottage, her whole being wracked with sobs. The little boy touches her shoulder and she slowly raises her head. He takes her hand and leads her to the bundle of sealskin that he found on the beach. She instantly recognizes it for what it is, and turning to hold her small son in her arms one last time, she disappeares into the night, the skin clasped closely to her breast.

There are, of course, many variations of this story, and we can each of us read an entirely different interpretation into it. And what always fascinates me about interpretations is that they change for each individual throughout time. So for me, in this moment, this is a story that reflects the kindness I seem chronically incapable of giving to myself.

The husband in the story is not my husband, but a part of myself that keeps my soulskin from me, that fears the changes that will inevitably happen should I exercise kindness towards myself and allow myself to find my soul’s home. It’s that part of me that tells myself to toughen up when I think about the departures lounge at Glasgow Airport. It’s the part of me that chooses the hard road. It’s the part of me that denies me that which the soft animal of my body loves.

And the child in the story is not my child, but a part of myself which can return my soulskin to me, restoring me to completeness and spiritual freedom. It’s the part of me that knows instinctively where my soulskin lies, and which carries it back to my door. It’s the part that recognizes the importance of giving myself what I need, what brings me pleasure, what brings me joy. It’s the part that communicates with the soft animal.

In the deep quiet of the dark night, I am dreaming of selkies. Beautiful creatures of the sea that swim between the chilled waves of the river Forth as it flows out to the North Sea. Spirits of the sea who, with their soulskins hugging their bodies, sing of completeness and of love. They sing of the importance of self-centering, of self-care. They are singing of kindness to ourselves.

Will you answer their call?