Edward’s hidden theme
Haiku Heights prompt – Enigma
One morning she woke to find a beautiful quartz crystal on her pillow. How it had come there she knew not, but it felt comfortable to hold so she kept it on the coffee table by her favourite chair.
This time as she held it and stared deep into its light and shade her consciousness was thrust into a duplicate of herself and she entered another world.
Looking down on her frame asleep in the armchair she struggled to keep calm as the room morphed into a magnificent temple, its purple beauty intense in the dim light of the candles on the altar. There was a silver chalice and nine quartz crystals refracted candlelight into spectrums reaching high into the huge domed roof. A thurible dispersed the fragrant perfume of jasmine.
The power of the place was exhilarating, it ran through her being giving an exquisite feeling of pleasure. Just within hearing the sweet singing of Gabriel’s Keruvim lifted her spirit as light as feather.
The door of the temple came ajar puttering the candles. A chink of moonlight crept through illuminating the figure of the temple guardian dressed in a long robe of purple velvet. He lifted his wand in greeting and opened the door wide to reveal the brilliance of the full moon whose beams reached out to touch her. The Moon, reflected on water, formed a white island in the center of a lake.
At the edge of the lake a flat bottomed boat was tied up to a quay, its oarsman beckoned to her, she took the place he offered and the boat slid away from the shore. No words were exchanged, there was silence but for the swish of water as the oars brought the light closer. The oarsman began to circumnavigate the island near to its shore and in its mesmerizing silverness she saw the smiling face of an extraordinarily beautiful young girl with hair as white as snow. A face of complete innocence tugged at her heart, the blue eyes seemed to question the mysteries of the universe. The oarsman paused gazing into the distance before resuming his rhythm.
The boat continued and when it reached a third of the way around the island the child’s face gradually changed into that of a mature sensual woman. The Lady of Light stood on a fertile plane filled with grains and erotic ripe fruits. In the azure of her almond eyes there was knowledge, wisdom and insight. The oarsman paused as a sweet song filled the air.
Moon Goddess, Lady of Light
shining in the dark of the night.
Whisper to me the secrets of spirit.
Share with me so I can prepare
my lonely soul for flight.
Water lapped the boat as it drew away. On the island white light shimmered and shifted to obscure the vision of the Lady of Light. The boat ploughed on through inky still water in eerie silence until the light changed to reveal the third face of the lunar Goddess. She stared in wonder at the features of the Crone who had a beauty of her own worn through time and experience into a spirit that shone through her weathered features. The Crone smiled encouragement.
Understanding permeated her being as she gazed upon the Crone whose eyes reflected a peace and tranquility born of acceptance without longing. The pain of the material world would form her soul’s progress if she could find her own acceptance and let the waves of what had come to pass carry her beyond the stars to love and contentment.
The boat returned to the quay, she nodded thanks to the oarsman who bowed his head in acknowledgement. At the temple door, the guardian took her hand and led her to the altar. He placed one of the crystals in her hand and she allowed her gaze to penetrate within, in a kaleidoscope of colour she felt a shift of being.
Her consciousness returned, she shivered, but her crystal was still warm in her hand. When she looked into it she saw the smiling face of her late husband. The room had grown cold and it was dark but she felt comforted and peaceful. A full Moon lit the window.
A path working to Yesod to meet the Moon Goddess.
Picture, The Temple of Luxor with Orbs by Tigerbrite.
White flag iris
bleached by years of hot sun
retreats to earth ’till next spring.
glory of convolvulus
death of superstition
For Carpe Diem
When I was a child of 4 I picked some morning glory and took them into the house where there was a gathering of my grandparents and aunts and uncles. There then began a conversation about whose death these flowers foretold. They said “the child does not know”.