antephialtic
“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”
The girl sat upright as she listened to the people grieve. They were placed in a horseshoe shape with the woman in the rainbow turban at its center. Her lips were gold, and her hair melted caramel. She sang with her hands as the females spoke, and with her eyes for the males. Gender was separated, with the feminine to the east and the masculine to the west.
What rises must fall, and the collapse belongs to the women.
The females nodded blithely and laid on their backs with heads propped up on the white pillows. A benign tradition, though the group was too tired to fuss over the details and decorum. Someone had sprayed the room with cedar, and the girl held hands with the forest while she listened to the wounds.
Witnessing is the most powerful gift, someone had said. Meditation is the subtle art of observation. Breathe deeper, and you will discover the Divine.
This group is full of advice though the girl questions the motive. She hasn’t had time to dig into the greenery, so she feels a bit lost and lackluster surrounded by so much grief. She imagined doves trapped in cages and then gets cross with herself for submitting to the fear. She imagined walking up to the gold cage and unclasping the little pin-lock to let the birds out. Even with the door wide open, the doves just sat there. Stupid things, thought the girl; they don’t understand their own freedom.
When she rose from the webbing, she tasted melted caramel and salt.
Photo source.
