Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Seed?

The 5th Day

Solstice is now past, forever lost, forever yet to come. Soon will arrive that special day when it is said a man's blood sings with the knowledge that the days are growing longer -- that Spring's rebirth is guaranteed -- that the primordial fear that darkness and frozen despair will reign again is buried beneath the tarnished leaves of Autumn. Only then it will be believed that the gnash of Winter's teeth will be but an angry cry against the claim of chaos on the Soul.


"I must believe -- must be true to hope." The shriveling woman shuffled aimlessly through the snatches and patches of crusty snow. The thought stiffened her resolve and spine such that no one could see the shriveling, for it was inside and of the spirit. One more day to find the secret. One more chance to present the gift. The keening wind scrambled her sunset cry, "All I need is to find that which in all the world my Lord treasures the most." A birthday gift that could be her salvation.

It mattered not to her that a medieval Pope had decided that the magick 5th day after Solstice be proclaimed the official day of the Savior's birth. Anyway, the specific date mattered little -- the commitment -- the promise was everything. The messenger that had come to her dreams scant months gone could have been from Buddha, Mother Theresa, Chief Joseph, Mohammed or the Divine Mother, for the voice was not of any identity remembered or imagined -- yet all, and above. A 'gift for the Lord's birth' was forged by childhood fancy and years of fumbled religious practice. For another the image might have been different. The voice more resonant or sublime. The power more gentle -- and forgiving. What she heard was the mirror of her own anguished heart. What she saw was the chime of heaven's stairs. What she felt was sorrow's joy and surrender to a choice of everpath. By agreement Christ's Charism became the condition and the test; and his celebration the limit of her search. By this gifted covenant she would either grow to the Light in eternal ecstasy, or return to the human state to complete her original committed bond on earth. Ellie was in a comma and hanging on life's edge.

Over the months she had searched her past, and eventually located the ancient bible containing her family's Christian legacy. This she placed on the altar in her tiny room. Nothing! She wrote down all of the thoughts of great teachers, poets, preachers and folk heroes. Not a whisper! She gathered petitions from the poor and the grapes of the earth and songs of nature. Nothing! She collected dust from the steps of every place of worship she could find and burned it with incense. Silence. She recorded the first cries of the newborn. She read great books and listened to tapes and burned up the Ethernet for a single clue. She spoke with oriental mystics and Wiccan Priestess and cloistered nuns. In all the world, what would her God and Ultimate Being, treasure the most? Time was almost gone.

As she stood calmly by the edge of a pond -- so lively in Springtime to be, now dead in the clutches of death black ice. Yet there was singing and laughter as children skated by, finding joy in even this. In the shadows she noticed a man silently watching too. His shoulders seemed slumped, but not from life crushing work. His fine features were deeply lined, but not with age. He shook slightly, as if the wafting laughter would knock him off his feet. "Oh, that I could return again to childhood -- to find the simple innocence of my life!" His moan was heard by no one save she, and she noticed a single tear begin to slide down his cheek. Instantly she expanded into the space of the meadow and found there a flower still in bloom. She plucked a vibrant petal and thereon captured the falling, spinning passion prayer of this tortured soul. She rushed toward the nursing home more in leaps and springs than stuttered steps.

When the man caught up with her, she was alone on the bed, covered only with a slight golden spread. The pale blue petal still held the teardrop, set on a small stone on the altar's rise. He lit the waiting candles and staggered back at the eruption of swirling light caught and spun by the jewel there. Impossible rainbows swirled and chimed their way across to the frail form. He sat and held her hand as her breath became less rushed -- then faint -- then gone. Still he sat throughout the night, caught in a mystery beyond understanding. As the first rays of sunrise gloried the day he felt a warmth in his hand. Within his grasp was a tiny hand -- within his gaze the most beautiful little girl he had every seen -- ever conceived. His Spirit nestled close unto his Soul.

Then gone -- fairie dream or divine vision? Now only peace …

A much younger man walked out and turned to stride into the blazing Christmas sun.

1 Comments:

At 5:01 PM, Blogger Imogen Crest said...

Great reading.

 

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