Transmarine
By Demecina Beehn
I woke up one morning at 3 am with a stark realization…I’m a mermaid. I’ve never thought of it before, but all of a sudden it hit me. Who knew a global pandemic could be an awakening? With the impending doom of free time for a furloughed workaholic, I knew what I had to do. Sure, I loved Disney’s The Little Mermaid growing up, knew every song, but an affinity for water I did not have; red hair and a petite bosom, I think not. See my hair is a brownish, reddish, black but grayish brown when the water beads on my oiled strands. My body curves and winds, just right, to make way for the beat of my ancestors when they dance for my success. Who ever saw a mermaid that looked like me?
All images courtesy of Demecina Beehn
So, what is calling me? Could it be my Trinidadian heritage?
My Carib Indian roots, the African blood that crossed the Middle Passage?
My people,
my Spanish speaking people,
my indentured servant people,
my Alabama cotton picking people,
my auto-making people,
my sugar cane growing people,
my drinking, liming, fêting people?
I close my eyes and the warm water of the Caribbean Sea washes over me. I let the tide gently pull me into the current as my body drags across the soft sand. I flick my tail and off I go, dancing in the reef, snuggling up to a shark or two. The water is clear, fresh, the salt is thick and healing. The salt protects me as I float and navigate the underwater streams. My entire body rolls, from the tips of my outstretched fingers to the tip of my tail; it takes all of me to swim. Reach. Pull. Flip. Swish.
Above hovers the brightest, most beautiful light I’ve ever seen. It is the sun, but not the sun. It is life; it is pure; it is love. My reddish, orangey, golden brown skin shimmers under its warm glow. I stretch my neck, my spine, my body to lean deeper into the warmth. I am happy. I am glistening. I am free.
When my eyes open, I realize I am in my bathtub, my tail flapping in the cold room air. I try to let the water slowly suck me back under, I need the safety of the deep, but every time I come up, I am still just in my bathtub. How does a fish out of water survive? I began to explore this new world that I had always been too busy to recognize and didn’t even realize could exist for me. I had worked so hard to contort into the box of humans for so long. How do you domesticate a magical being? You take their voice.
My mouth opens and a deep and long Om emerges; the water vibrates with the sound. My entire body vibrates. My voice becomes rich and stable. It is confident and clear, learning that it, too, is magical. You see, mermaids can send sonic waves across the deep, they can sing a beautiful entrancing song or they can screech the sirens howl, rocking you to your core; either way their voice is powerful and must be heard. My voice once had a mind of her own, she was strong and spoke with conviction; it is clear now she was practicing, to command the seas. Somehow in the world of humans she became fragile, defeated and complacent. My Om gets louder, more steady. My body begins to rock to a silent beat. My arms slowly rise above my head, sweet drops of water gently kiss my face. Stretch. Reach. Roll. The vibration waves through my body activating my hips. Sway. Om. Wine. Om. Dip. Om. Sway. Give thanks.
The world disappears when my head is submerged under water. I could live there. I could just never come back. I could heal the reef and breathe life back into the ocean.
Glub, glub, glub.
I hear the faint sound of my puppy panting, wondering why I’m under water. Her licks make beautiful ripples above me. It sounds like the distant waves of a slow tide hitting the soft warm sands of Jamaica or perhaps desert palm trees rustling in the gentle breeze. My breath holds for a lifetime it seems. Or am I breathing? Do I have gills? The tiny mystery hole above my right ear; was that where they began?
Leeza Robertson's Mermaid Tarot artwork by Julie Dillon
In my search for answers a friend whispers her name, Yemaya—the orisha of the old and new world.
Yemaya,
Yemenja,
Yemoja.
By every name she is mother of the ocean. The mother of the fish children. The divine feminine. She beckons me to her. I am her child. Yemaya is beauty and power, she is nurturing and giving, she will destroy you if you don’t mind her. I call her name, and she regally nods her head from a distance, as if to say “Yes daughter, I see you.”
You see, the ancestors brought her with them, to help them make the middle passage. Her name changed as they were forced to learn new languages and religions. Her protection expanded beyond the sea. Yet, somehow, she was always in the Caribbean. She was always watching. Her children traversed the choppy waters, the calm waters, they helped the African and Viking explorers travel the world. Her children, her many children, showed themselves to rescue slaves thrown overboard and protect the deep. Her name may change but her power remains. She is glorious.
It’s a wonder I moved to a dried-up oasis with legends of an ancient river running beneath a sea of fabricated wonders. Can my mermaid senses help find Wally’s river? Have I been awakened like the Fairy shrimp of Red Rock canyon after a rainstorm? What kind of mermaid am I? Am I a traditional, single color kind of tail? Am I a pelvic fin kind of mermaid? An angel fish or beta fish kind of mermaid? Am I a red tail, blue tail, beige tail? Can I find one that will fade to brown instead of creamy white? Do they make tails for Black mermaids? I dive into the absurdity. My divine feminine. My magick. Can I be domesticated? No! I can’t turn back. I won’t turn back. I have found my true life, my magical life.
So here I am, a Black magical mermaid in the desert.
Demecina Beehn is a Las Vegas-based cultural producer and art administrator. Her interest and scholarship focuses on elevating art of underrepresented communities and creating safe spaces for intersectional dialogue and expression. She holds a M.A. in Museum and Exhibition Studies from the University of Illinois - Chicago and a B.F.A. from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago with a focus in metal sculpture and artist books. She is currently Curator of Special Projects and Programs for MGM Resorts Art & Culture.
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