Читать книгу Forbidden Graces, Book One: Beginnings - Carol Inc. Bridges - Страница 6

“I must have been dreaming, a troubling dream about a time of great sorrow,” spoke Saffi.

“Umm,” groaned the lover, waking gently.

“I lost a child,” she said.

“No, this cannot be. We have children all around; I have seen them.”

“But, I felt this one was somehow mine, that he belonged to me and we would be close.”

“Are you not loved by all the children?”

“Of course. It was a dream.”But, later, as she stirred the tea, her mind circled back to a yellow house with tears in its room. She remembered lifting the tears, heavy in their small, soft clothing and putting them in her heart.

She remembered touching something seemingly separate from herself, then wondered, “How could that be?” Lifting her cup, she then saw the mullein herb bowing toward her, releasing itself from the garden soil, knowing it was about to become another form of life, to experience an entire new range of sensations, to share in a moment of complete satisfaction while the human was pleasured. She gave thanks to this spirit of the day, its comfort, its healing.

Yaro watched her. Deep blue eyes like small skies invited him to fly in, float into her consciousness. He recognized the invitation and leapt, without moving, into her memory. He saw himself there too, in the small room of the yellow house comforting her, saying, “Life is eternal,” and taking her pain into himself.

“I see,” he said as he returned. “We were so strong. We stayed together. It was hard. Let us go now and find the child who brought us these gifts.”

As they walked toward the singing forest holding the shared memory, the limbs of trees waved them by and lilies nodded to affirm the way. Everything knew. Across the valley, sunlight laid itself down before them, bending the grass, moving the turtles, skittering the birds, making the way. Saffi and Yaro walked briskly, lighter with every step until they could see him coming, the one who had cried, the son, the lost child.

So filled with gladness, words tumbled out, falling into piles like toys and stuffed animals. “I have them here,” he said, “the things you gave me,” though they could not see a container and were puzzled. “Myself,” he said, “I am made of those things, that which you showed me, your feelings, your words, the things you believed in and desired. I am all of these and more. I needed only a few years of your teachings to complete myself. And I had hoped to offer you more than I took. Please forgive my leaving.”

“Dearest child, the loss lived in our hearts, but created there a holy place where we became ever more grateful for that which we had shared.”

“It was this pain that washed my heart chalice clean,” said Yaro.

And Saffi hugged their child in the way only a mother can, for a long time, and let her sorrow slowly melt into the cauldron of awareness. The child was, indeed, himself, luminous and whole. There was no need in him. No longing in her. They were complete.

She saw him blend into the trees and sky and ground becoming at once part of it all and, yet, his own soul. She was satisfied. Love radiated from all things and she could tell no difference between them save the colors and sounds for every creature equally rested in God’s bliss. Even the tea.