orotund
“I am always interested in that relationship between outer reality and inner desire, and I think it is important to pay attention to the inner voice because it is the only way to discover your mission in life and the only way to develop the strength to break with whatever familial or cultural norms are preventing you from fulfilling your destiny.”
Rings of Gold.
A white dog the size of a saucer was running along the narrow path that led to the park. Wearing a red collar with a small bell, the dog jumped and rolled in the muddy leaves. His coat was immediately a garish brown. A lanky boy with an olive shirt ran up to the dog and plucked it from the earth. He kissed it on the nose and set it in his jacket pocket; it was long as a robe and the color of harvest.
The girl watched behind her thick bangs. She was lying in the park under one tall tree whose leaves danced in the shade. A light breeze shook the branches. Born of a fairytale, the girl watched lovers lean into each other's arms, their longing naked and visible.
We create intimacy through sharing our vulnerabilities with others- the girl knew this because she read it in a book about Kashmir Shivaism. She had never directly experienced such an interaction. Knowledge was as impressionable as the action, or so she thought.
The girl did not have a blanket, so she laid her jacket on the grass and reclined with her legs crossed. She placed her hands on her body and looked up at the sky. It was not reaching for anything; the sky. It was up there reflecting the water to the people, so all the girl could see was blue.
She closed her eyes and thought to put a bit of music in her ears when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
A woman in her later years was looking down at the girl.
She had short dark hair streaked with sand and eyes the color of mountains. Lines etched her eyes and mouth. She smelled faintly of something sweet. Her hand was light like someone had placed a linen cloth on her arm.
The girl sat up as the woman squatted down beside her.
‘Hi?’ said the girl.
The woman nodded.
‘Ioana,' the woman said, placing one palm on her heart. 'I am Romanian. Ioana.'
'Sabina,' the girl said back to the woman, repeating the gesture.
The woman wore a paisley shirt decorated with pink and purple flowers so light they looked white. Her shirt was tucked into a long brown skirt with tiny white buttons down the front. She had a leather satchel at her waist and a small white book in her hands. A yellow figure was embossed on the cover of the book. The woman saw the girl looking at the book and set it down on the girl's lap.
An androgynous figure wrapped in yellow robes with palms held upward toward the sky looked up at the girl. Around the person's head was a wide halo of light.
'Jesus,' said the woman, pointing at the book.
Dates- the woman smelled of dates. A warm, sugary scent bubbled in the woman's aura. The girl placed it as the woman knelt on the soft earth beside her. She pointed at the book and said something the girl could not understand.
'I only speak English,' the girl said. It was not an apology.
The woman nodded; she reached into her satchel and brought out her phone. The girl sat back and breathed in the calm as the woman typed her message and had it translated. She turned the device to the girl to read.
'Jesus died for us, to open our hearts. We had to feel His pain to understand and accept our own.'
The girl looked up at the woman; she looked very happy and grounded. She was smiling, and her eyes were bright with hope. The girl nodded. She thought for a moment to respond and then sighed.
In these situations, it was perhaps better to receive.
The woman typed into the phone once more.
'Pain is what brings us Beauty. We need the two poles to attract and repel; this is what gives birth to this life. Jesus knew this very long ago.'
The girl smiled and nodded. The woman continued.
'The cross is the representation of the opposing directions. North, South, East, West; he in the middle of it all with his crown to the sky.'
The woman pointed at the book.
'You understand?'
'Yes,' said the girl.
The woman nodded and typed.
The girl softened into the aroma of the elderly woman as she pulled threads and wove images from the length of her life.
'You have a good heart. It is very open. Jesus Loves. You Love. We all Love.'
As the woman presented this sentence, she touched her chest and drew a small necklace beneath her blouse where a small wooden cross hung on a black rope.
'Tată fiu duh sfânt,' the woman said quietly as she touched the cross to her browline, heart, and shoulders.
'You,' she pointed at the girl and pushed the cross into her hands.
The girl repeated the gesture as the woman recited the words.
The wind picked up, and gold leaves fluttered around the woman and the girl. The woman went into the phone once more.
'It is the strength of the three, the Holy Trinity. The triangle is your heart.'
When the girl finished reading, she saw that the woman's eyes had filled with tears. They smiled at each other. The girl noticed they were holding hands lightly, with the cross in their left palm.
The woman let go first, leaving the necklace with the girl. She wiped her eyes quickly and collected the book where it had slipped onto the grass. She placed the book in her bag and stood up.
The girl rose with her and presented the woman with her cross. The woman took it and waved her hands at the girl for her to step forward. The woman took her index and middle finger and motioned with her hands to close her eyes. The girl obeyed.
With eyes closed, she felt the woman slip the necklace over her head like a crown. The cross landed lightly above her heart space between her breasts.
The woman touched the girl's head, heart, and two shoulders. She kissed her lightly on each cheek and left.
When the girl opened her eyes, the park had blurred. All she could see were rings of gold.
Photo source.
