The Daydreams of a Believer
Jeannie Zokan
It’s been hard to think about anything but the oil spill since the violent wound started gushing this past April. “Ground Zero” is only one hundred and thirty miles from Pensacola Beach, the beach I can ride my bike to, so it’s not surprising that my mind wanders to the Disaster now and then. I know it’s on the minds of many, but I’m curious about something. Is anyone else having fantasies of being the one that caps that leak and brings all the animals to safety? Or of being the person that finally gets through to Tony Hayward, bringing him to his knees in long overdue remorse?
I also fantasize that when President Obama or Anderson Cooper visit the coast, they stay with my family, getting a first-hand view of life here. And I imagine producing an award-winning documentary with local children explaining the effects of the Disaster. A sunny little eight-year-old would give me a sound bite like, “Sea turtles will be extinct, and they are my second favorite animal.”
In another dream, Jimmy Buffet uses my lyrics for a new verse in his sweet and poignant song, “Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On,” about Hurricane Katrina. He’ll sing them when he visits the area, after he takes my family and me out to lunch. Here they are:
(Hey, I didn’t say they were good…)
My favorite fantasy, though, is that I convince everyone to believe, together, that the oil spill is stopped and our coast is cleaned up and restored. Oprah Winfrey said, “What you believe has more power than what you dream or wish or hope for. You become what you believe.” After I convince everyone to believe we can find a solution, I’ll sit on Oprah’s couch and she and I will talk about how believing stopped that oil spill.
I think I daydream about doing big things because I care so deeply and feel so helpless. The beach is a significant part of my life. It’s like family, and it’s where I go to play with my children, do some yoga, take a walk, watch the waves roll in, look to the horizon for dolphins, and connect with something much bigger than I am. I miss the beach, and all I can really do is breathe in, breathe out, and try to believe that it will survive.
I also fantasize that when President Obama or Anderson Cooper visit the coast, they stay with my family, getting a first-hand view of life here. And I imagine producing an award-winning documentary with local children explaining the effects of the Disaster. A sunny little eight-year-old would give me a sound bite like, “Sea turtles will be extinct, and they are my second favorite animal.”
In another dream, Jimmy Buffet uses my lyrics for a new verse in his sweet and poignant song, “Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On,” about Hurricane Katrina. He’ll sing them when he visits the area, after he takes my family and me out to lunch. Here they are:
The oil came, it washed up on our coast
And it’s so sad, we all just stand and cry,
On our white shores, stained with coffee tar
The stuff we had to have just might kill us all.
(Hey, I didn’t say they were good…)
My favorite fantasy, though, is that I convince everyone to believe, together, that the oil spill is stopped and our coast is cleaned up and restored. Oprah Winfrey said, “What you believe has more power than what you dream or wish or hope for. You become what you believe.” After I convince everyone to believe we can find a solution, I’ll sit on Oprah’s couch and she and I will talk about how believing stopped that oil spill.
I think I daydream about doing big things because I care so deeply and feel so helpless. The beach is a significant part of my life. It’s like family, and it’s where I go to play with my children, do some yoga, take a walk, watch the waves roll in, look to the horizon for dolphins, and connect with something much bigger than I am. I miss the beach, and all I can really do is breathe in, breathe out, and try to believe that it will survive.
Jeannie Zokan has lived on the Gulf Coast since 1992. Her work has been published in "Emerald Coast Review," "The Hurricane Review," "Islander" and "Navarre News." She and her husband Chris have two daughters and two dachshunds, and all of them love the beach.
The Spill
In 2010, when the Deep Water Horizon Oil Spill exploded and threatened the way of life that Gulf Coast residents know and love, West Florida Literary Federation offered an outlet for expression. During the six months when the uncapped well gushed, and for one year following the successful capping of the well, writers, poets and photographers from across the country sent us their words, thoughts and feelings, thereby providing a literary record of the Deep Water Horizon environmental disaster. Here are the best of the submissions.CONTENTS
Photo Essay
A Tale of Two Beaches: The BP Oil Spill, Before and AfterProse
Nirvana No MoreWe Need New Legs
Watching the Beach Workers
The Daydreams of a Believer
Viewpoint
The Last Swim
Poetry
HUCKSTER (OIL SPIEL)SLOW DROWN
Pensacola Beach
Our Loss
He Got His Life Back
Haiku
THE REAL QUESTION
EXPLOSION OF THE BP MACONDO OIL WELL
Brutal Performance
Black Gold
B R I T I S H P E T R O L E U M
Dangerous People
All Is Not Well & Other Unpleasant Realities (Courtesy of BP)
Four Haiku
But, especially,
The Blackness Carnivals
Mississippi Coast Lament
Tarballs
Reaper Screaming in The Gulf
Capped
spill
DON’T TOUCH OUR PROFITS
ONLY A MEMORY
DAY FORTY-FIVE OF THE DEEPWATER DISASTER
THE ENERGY POLICY ACT
Black Death
