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A Tale Of Eternal Memory
Chapter Eleven.
I see the memory of a sleeping child, rosy cheeks and tussled blonde locks accentuating her angelic face, which radiates with the pure light of innocence and serenity.
She sleeps in the comfort of security, with an unshakable trust in the Goddess who brought her into this imperfect world.
I see her as a miniature reflection of she who speaks to my Soul.
She is the Mother, and she is the spirit of rebirth.
I perceive her heavenly adorned countenance as an archetype of the waxing spring tide, when the quickening occurs and new buds and shoots rise from her fertile womb, that a barren land might reawaken unto new life.
Her sacrifice of maidenhood, to bear the fruit that shall sustain a shadowed future is superlative in its sacredness.
In the center of her luscious red pomes I find a star--a secret encryption that unifies the
elements of creation and manifests outwardly, to form all things, in all realities, in all sequences of Life and Time.
Her essence is cloaked in sweet-scented and ghostly white blossoms, which dance about her lithe and sensuous trunk and branches, like a thousand pale moths fluttering slowly in the summer air.
Hers is an Otherworldly beauty, and she calls to my rugged and mystical heartwood with a longing to be touched and felt and explored in a place beyond time, beyond limitation, beyond all worldly sorrows....
She is my Orchard Lady, and I am the Keeper of the Oaks.
In my mind I view a lovely memory, of her waiting for me beside her silver stellar chariot, pretty face painted with a secret smile, eyes like perfect skies and perfect seas shining with a hidden desire.
In the back of her chariot, I beheld her eternal image reflecting from the spirit of a little girl, who sat with a fidgety air and gazed at me through the screen of her looking-glass.
She raised a tiny hand and squeaked adoringly, insistently, for the comforting attention of her Mother.
So young she was, and yet so wise in her instinctive display of vulnerable need, which cunningly drew her Mother's attention toward her with a need to soothe.
I watched the Mother call her name, coo with a soft nurturing tone and draw from her Daughter's fretful and pouty face a priceless smile, from her glum voice a treasured song of
laughter.
Such lovely games they play, the Mother and the Daughter.
I see the Daughter as a pristine reflection of the Mother, the way her bottom lip presses upward when pouting, when dissatisfied; in the way she calls with a secret intent to be
comforted, cared for, loved, fulfilled.
The Mother indeed calls to me with an identical instinctive urge as the Daughter calls to her, for I possess a connection to her being that defines me as her Comforter.
I remember watching as the Mother and Daughter rode their chariot away, leaving me alone yet in possession of an invaluable eternal memory.
She is the Mother, and yet her spirit calls to me in the secret voice of the Maiden, that I might chase her twirling form through the groves until I capture her in my arms, and soothe her inner longing once and for all.
She is a princess, and I am her secret prince....
© Leonard Rocco Grillo
I see the memory of a sleeping child, rosy cheeks and tussled blonde locks accentuating her angelic face, which radiates with the pure light of innocence and serenity.
She sleeps in the comfort of security, with an unshakable trust in the Goddess who brought her into this imperfect world.
I see her as a miniature reflection of she who speaks to my Soul.
She is the Mother, and she is the spirit of rebirth.
I perceive her heavenly adorned countenance as an archetype of the waxing spring tide, when the quickening occurs and new buds and shoots rise from her fertile womb, that a barren land might reawaken unto new life.
Her sacrifice of maidenhood, to bear the fruit that shall sustain a shadowed future is superlative in its sacredness.
In the center of her luscious red pomes I find a star--a secret encryption that unifies the
elements of creation and manifests outwardly, to form all things, in all realities, in all sequences of Life and Time.
Her essence is cloaked in sweet-scented and ghostly white blossoms, which dance about her lithe and sensuous trunk and branches, like a thousand pale moths fluttering slowly in the summer air.
Hers is an Otherworldly beauty, and she calls to my rugged and mystical heartwood with a longing to be touched and felt and explored in a place beyond time, beyond limitation, beyond all worldly sorrows....
She is my Orchard Lady, and I am the Keeper of the Oaks.
In my mind I view a lovely memory, of her waiting for me beside her silver stellar chariot, pretty face painted with a secret smile, eyes like perfect skies and perfect seas shining with a hidden desire.
In the back of her chariot, I beheld her eternal image reflecting from the spirit of a little girl, who sat with a fidgety air and gazed at me through the screen of her looking-glass.
She raised a tiny hand and squeaked adoringly, insistently, for the comforting attention of her Mother.
So young she was, and yet so wise in her instinctive display of vulnerable need, which cunningly drew her Mother's attention toward her with a need to soothe.
I watched the Mother call her name, coo with a soft nurturing tone and draw from her Daughter's fretful and pouty face a priceless smile, from her glum voice a treasured song of
laughter.
Such lovely games they play, the Mother and the Daughter.
I see the Daughter as a pristine reflection of the Mother, the way her bottom lip presses upward when pouting, when dissatisfied; in the way she calls with a secret intent to be
comforted, cared for, loved, fulfilled.
The Mother indeed calls to me with an identical instinctive urge as the Daughter calls to her, for I possess a connection to her being that defines me as her Comforter.
I remember watching as the Mother and Daughter rode their chariot away, leaving me alone yet in possession of an invaluable eternal memory.
She is the Mother, and yet her spirit calls to me in the secret voice of the Maiden, that I might chase her twirling form through the groves until I capture her in my arms, and soothe her inner longing once and for all.
She is a princess, and I am her secret prince....
© Leonard Rocco Grillo
