A Tale of Two (Chapter 2)
The woman, some may call her a witch, an enchantress, a sorceress, too seductive with wild womanly ways; she felt the power of her magic deep within the depths of her waters. So many seeds to cast and spells to sow. The creative yearning bubbled within while she caressed her harp, blazed with gold, her gift from him as they had parted company 12 moons before. She sang her soulful songs on etheric chords of undying love that lingered on. In her crystal visions, consulting the stars, she felt the glow of Awen, of spirit, imbibe her being, infiltrate her sinews, awaken her bone song. So keenly, she felt the desire to gallop forward and grasp hold of the sprouting shoots and materialise the new beginnings dawning on the horizon, illuminating the expansive net of light shining out from her perforated heart. These perforations she had squirmed and squiggled and snarled against, sometimes deepening the cutting wounds, but now through the gaps her inner pure angelic light poured forth. Rebuilding from the shocks and shakes of her past. Rebuilding her wings to fly forward and envelope the world.
Her hand still quivered and automatically quietened her beating chest, she was still afraid to show its full luminescence. To be vulnerable, to admit she was scared, scared to be alone… scared to lose it all… scared of not ever being enough. To surrender to these fears without the engrained, entrained bravado, to admit she was just a girl who loved with an open heart and with a fierce passion, regardless of reciprocation… was she ready?
And the truth was that she did feel alone, a lonely wave adrift in a sea of time and void space; in that solitude she had looked into the crystal mirror and seen only stars in her eyes that gleamed with the brilliance of all her familiar cherished others, how was it she seemed to see his eyes in her own reflection? There was reflected back to her the clarity of expanded consciousness. She kissed the rain. The passion was real, she could not escape, the cellular memory instinctively intuited where to find him. It drove her from her lair, forward out into the open and the flames from this infinite magnetic pull allowing a renewal of sacred heart-led connection.
In the past lay the imbalanced disharmony of rushing too fast, of frustrated fighting and of nights spent with knives in her mind, in her flesh, tearing at her soul. It was her golden blazed harp she had turned to and stroked and caressed and held in the absence of him, the harmonic vibrations gradually dissipating the pain from the past as wave upon wave moved through her being.
In the coming days, her steps led her on to clear and cleanse her vessel, her surroundings, her temple, making space to receive more light, pausing somewhat satisfied with her quest to make way for the new. Upholding alignment to fulfil her visions of journeys filled with gifts from heaven. Something from the wild whispered to her still, while she surveyed the abundance of her father’s land surrounding her vantage point… ‘there’s more than all this’... She stripped off her robes and took her harp blazed with gold to the banks of the deep, dark loch. Losing herself to spirit, playing to the nymphs and imps that danced alongside. Cloaked shadows through the trees hid bristled faces, with darting eyes troubled by the radiance of her bare white bosom and her haunting sounds. Here, beauty lay. She sang all through the night.
In the morning, awoken from dreams of boats sailing through portals of light, she found gold bullion had been left at the door of her cottage, an unknown benefactor had heard the strange but wonderful sounds and been moved to gift the source. She needed to know it was safe to give and receive, she needed to know she was not alone, as the clouded thoughts lifted and freed heart songs. Her King had been there on his Chestnut steed, she had felt his heat from the earth that night, breathed his scent from the trees and heard his drumming heart-beat through her body. He could not yet dare to show his true colours yet the flames flickered alight anew.
She hoped upon hope and prayed upon prayer that his chariot of fire would return to take her forward in her knowing, she felt their primal rhythm dance through her body of bone and blood, her body of light, in anticipation. As she perfected her craft focusing on her inner strength and power, she sensed with new found clarity that finally they would be able to speak their deep truths, inching closer in trust, freeing blockages with clear sky-blue winds transforming vapour to wondrous words creating dreams with each utterance as their bright vital life force rose up aligned and shining, pulling them forth into expansive oneness of raw bone memory, bone song; their sacred dance unfolding, unfurling in perfection as was always God’s given plan.
For our hero, the King of his Kingdom, his unconscious dreams still lured him on. His prosperity had been guaranteed as the efforts of this toil over many years began to materialise. As with this, his confidence and self-assurance grew, he stood taller, feeling calm and stable, walking with poise, easing out dramas and scattered emotions that had surrounded his inner and outer kingdoms in years gone by as a younger less astute young King. This new beginning in prosperity, he recognised had been birthed from the essence of love itself, from an unseen divine invisible mist that he allowed to infuse into his core and direct his actions.
He sensed the potential for fire to reignite. And yet he was still somewhat hemmed in by his walls and by his clansman. His red stallion, Ducati, his gift from her 4 seasons before, gazed over the castle walls, their eyes met in knowing. They longed for adventure, for movement, for passion. In building his empire, the stone walls had partially seeped into his body, his veins, constricting his true heart and soul. His kindness had built comfortable lives for the precious children surrounding him, could all their needs truly be met if he unleashed his spirit, unleashed his spark? Could he nurture them and himself in the deepest corners of nature, if his thirst was quenched?
He hesitated, knowing his electric wizardry was at the tips of his fingers… Ducati snorted impatiently. He imagined galloping over the hills and down gullies, along river banks, rugged coast lines and through sun kissed vistas. He imagined her arms around his waist, the scent of her hair, the touch of her soft skin, her harmonious voice in his ear: a symphony of sensory magic. A jarring pain in his right shoulder, jolted him back to the now: just as her heart has broken open, his pain had forced him to shed many layers of past identities over the years, indeed the word ‘King’ meant so little to him now… he heard the whisper of the wild, like she.
He stepped forward to the precipice of his walled garden and puffed out his chest ready for action and the inevitable reaction, but feeling somewhat giddy and light headed, his hand grasped for support. He was dead beat tired and his mind was still his fiercest foe, today he was not able to fight through. Feeling battered and bruised from his inner and outer conflicts and from haranguing mothers’ words still ringing in his ears. Today he must only rest and breathe in his garden woodland, his revered sanctity. He breathed in the knowing that the day was soon to be nigh. One of his trade-ships was due to dock within the week. Filled with gold from distant lands, payment from an ally in return for his wise council and brave soldiers, personally trained with his modus of strength in body, mind and spirit. This would be the final stepping stone, he felt clear, to trust his wolf-sharp instincts, leaving no friend behind but speaking the harshest of necessary truths of his impending abdication, he would set forth on Ducati with all his wits about him prepared for any enmity. His clan would consider him impetuous, immature, impractical... So be it! Although from the outside, his castle walls looked strong, impressive and luxurious, gilded in gold, he knew that inside a dysfunctional fog gripped the minds of those too set in their ways. He knew that generation upon generation of his ancestral Kings before him had lived in the same dysfunction and he could hear his ghosts whooshing, swirling, whirling and ushering him on to choose a novel path for his own sanity and for theirs, to find balance between his duty and his destiny.
Days past like all the others before them. He could feel her thoughts sometimes, feel her invoking his spirit and the pull to her would not dissipate, often he wanted to escape what he considered must be her spells! And yet another deeper part of himself felt her tender, compassionate beauty, her magic and heard her heart-song. He mused on combined forces, a formidable blend no doubt. At the heart of the matter, he only yearned to celebrate his deep and stable connection with his soul mate of soul mates. He yearned for the deeper contentment and commitment that he knew was meant for him. He could feel the opportunity approach to express openly their truest love, feelings and vulnerabilities. He wanted to shed his internal walls gripping his spirit and throw his arms wide open to embrace her fully. He hoped she would still see the beauty of everything they had been through, the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. His kind heart only wanted the best for everyone.
As the sun rose the following day, the scent of spring was in the air. He rose, well rested, Ducati pawing at his stable door, the day had dawned, news reached him that his ship had docked early. Our King said his warm farewells and his see you laters to his beloved children, kissing their fresh faces and breathing in their pure nature. There was no struggle, only love. He mounted his steed and felt the power of Ducati between his loins merge with himself as he fired off toward our heroine’s cottage. He let out a low guttural growl, feeling his whole-body shudder with electricity, as the rhythm of horses’ hoofs quickened, the phoenix within rising with unbridled fervour. A King of mediocre men no more, he headed out on his quest, as a hero of loving hearts.
To be continued…
(Chapter 1 - see earlier blog post).