A paraphrase of the Sea Lion story from John
Eldredge’s book, “The Journey of Desire”
Once upon a time there lived a sea lion who had lost the sea. He lived in a country known as the barren lands. High on a plateau, far from any coast, it
was a place so dry and dusty that it could only be called a desert. Of course, it must seem strange to you that such a beautiful creature should wind up in a desert at all. He was, mind you, a sea lion. But things like this do happen.
How the sea lion came to the barren lands, no one could remember. It all seemed so very long ago, in fact, it appeared as though he had always been there. But as you know, once you have lived so long in a certain spot, no matter how odd, you come to think of it as home.
There was a time, many years back, when the sea lion knew he was lost. In those days, he would stop every traveler he met to see if he might help
him find his way back to the sea. But no one seemed to know the way. On he searched, but never finding. After years without success, the sea lion took refuge beneath a solitary tree beside a very small water hole. The tree provided refuge from the burning rays of the sun, which was very fierce in that place. And the water hole, though small and muddy, was wet, in its own way. Here he settled down and got on as best he could.
Had you journeyed in those days through the barren lands, you might have seen the sea lion for yourself. Quite often in the evening, he would go and sit upon his favorite rock, a very large boulder, which lifted him off
the burning sand and allowed him a view of the entire country. There he would remain for hours into the night, silhouetted against the sky. And on the best nights, when the wind shifted to the east, a faint
smell of salt air would come to him on the breeze. Then he would close his eyes and imagine himself once more at the sea. When he lay himself down to sleep, he would dream of a vast, deep ocean. Twisting and turning, diving and twirling, he would swim and swim. When he woke, he thought he heard the sound of breakers.
The sea was calling to him. The sea lion loved his rock, and he even loved waiting night after night for the sea breezes that might come. Especially he loved the dreams those memories would stir. But as you well know, even the best of dreams cannot go on, and in the morning when the sea lion woke, he was still in the
barren lands. Sometimes he would close his eyes and try to fall back asleep hoping the dream would return, but it was gone. Now the sea lion was not entirely alone in those parts. For it was there he met the tortoise. This tortoise was an ancient creature, so
weathered by his life in the barren lands that at first, the sea lion mistook him for a rock. He told the tortoise of his plight, hoping that this wise one might be able to help him. “Perhaps,” the tortoise mused, “this is the sea.” The sea lion swept his flippers once against his side; gliding to the end of the water hole and back,” I don’t know.” he said. “It isn’t very deep.” “Isn’t it?” Somehow, I thought the sea would be broader, deeper. At least, I hoped so.”
It was in May that the winds began to blow. The sea lion had grown used to wind, and at first he did not pay much heed at all. Years of desert life had taught him to turn his back in the direction from which the wind came
and cover his eyes with his flippers, so that the dust would not get in. Eventually, the winds would always pass. But not this time. Day and night it came, howling across the barren lands. There was nothing to stop its fury, nothing to even slow it down. For forty days and forty nights the wind blew. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The sea lion lifted himself to have a look around. He could hardly believe his eyes.
Every single leaf had been stripped from his tree. The branches that remained, with only a twig or two upon them, looked like an old scarecrow.
And I do not need to tell you that there was no longer any shade in which to hide. But worse than this, much worse indeed, was the sea lion saw next. The
water hole was completely dry.
Three weeks after the wind ceased to blow, the sea lion had a dream. Now, as I told you before, there were other nights in which he had dreamed
of the sea. But those were long ago and nearly forgotten. Even still, the ocean that filled his dreams this night was so beautiful and clear, so vast
and deep, it was as if he were seeing it for the very first time. The sunlight glittered on its surface, and as he divided, the waters all around him shone like an emerald. As he swam in the quiet deep, the waters turned to jade, cool and dark and mysterious. But he was never frightened, not at all. For I must tell you that in all his dreams of the sea, he had never before found himself in the company of other sea lions. That night there were many, round about him, diving and turning, spinning and twirling, they were playing. He had never experienced the sea like this in all his dreams.
Oh, how he hated to wake from that wonderful dream. The tears running down his face were the first wet things he felt in three weeks. But he did not pause even to wipe them away; he did not pause, in fact, for anything at all. He set his face to the east, and he began to walk as best a sea lion can.
“Where are you going?” asked the tortoise.
“I’m going to find the sea.”
