A RAINY DAY
It is a rainy day. Clouds fill the sky obliterating it from view. Like my face when it is not before your eyes -- though I am ever with you.
Even from this distance I feel the song catch in your throat. You learned it from the man in the moon who is really a dancer, as you know. He's a fine dancer. So elegant of manner and agile for one who has been around (and round) for so very long. But then, how long is long? You often wonder about these things. You pause so many times in the course of your day to give thought to what might be lurking in the cupboard someone told you was bare. You want to look in there because the curiosity never leaves you.
You are at present standing in the center of a large room. Your skirts are full about you, the color of the little gingham ribbon that fastens your braids close to your head. The room is dark. It snowed last night and the windows are covered in drift. The shadows fill the corners and the corners of the corners. All is quiet yet you sense movement everywhere. There seems to be a tall man sitting in the chair. There, in that one by the fireplace. He leans now and lights the fire filling the room with light and a warmth that it didn't have before.
The room stirs itself. This new feeling of light, though but a faint glow, touches sleepy places in both you and the room. A tiny mouse scurries into the newly roused space. It darts around in a smooth little circle to the delight of the fire.
In this room you are aware of a silent breath that fills the air with the knowledge of itself. You listen. In you is a response. Quiet time is all that is needed. Quiet time is all that is required. The breath is your own.
You are feeling peaceful, standing there as you are, making not a sound -- not even when you breathe. You breathe not all the time as you used to. Less effort is required of you now, for you feel very good about your place in this world that you once called so dark and gloomy.
You no longer see the dark and gloom though you tell me that you do. You are attached to them merely by memory. I, myself, have never seen anything dark and gloomy. I would like to sometimes, though you assure me that it is a very unpleasant feeling. I am not afraid of unpleasant feelings, never having had one. I am not sure what is unpleasant about unpleasantness. Your frenzy intrigues me.
You have wondered where I come from. You only wonder because you don't remember your own origins. We come from the same place you and I. I speak in puzzles, you say. Yet you listen carefully, for what I might say next is a source of great hope to you. You tell yourself that next time you will understand what I mean. You want to very much.
I have come to tell you to listen to your inner song. You are, in fact, a song. Your song comes out in words now. Do not be afraid of these words, they are merely symbols that you use for a little while. Do not be afraid that you use symbols or require symbols. Do not make too much of this.
You and I come from a place of such quiet beauty. A place where the trees dance standing still. You dance with them. You've always known how. Every step. We are all joined in the delight of this dance. You are much beloved among the trees and you visit often. You have been a favorite from time immemorial. Ah yes, be assured of this.
You are in a dream now, but the truth you seek has not abandoned you, though it fills you frequently with despair not to remember. Not to see. But know this: you are here with us, the trees who love you so. Beloved one, gentle creature of the skies, you are one of us.
You are filled with the Light you think has abandoned you.
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Words & Picturesİ by Arlene Graston
All Rights Reserved
