Riding and Resting
A smile crossed the maiden's lips; jewels sparkled on her ears. It was Christmas, and though the world roared and spat with frozen tempest turmoil outside the leaded glass, there was a yellow glow inside of fire and wine and laughter that was altogether festive. There is a time for battle and a time for rest, a time for desolation and a time for celebration, and her heart relished in the times of laughter and warmth when she could let go and just ... BE.
"Be happy!" her father said as he picked her up by the slender waist and kissed her. "Be blessed," her mother said as she embraced her at length with love. "Be careful," her brother's eyes said as he eyed her cautiously from across the room ... "Be yourself," said her mentor as he peered past her liquid eyes and spoke to her soul ... So much had happened these past few days. Even in times of retreat the battle seemed so near. Yet, the maiden's heart longed hungrily in these times to sense again what made her who she was. Underneath the armor and sword that she sometimes felt forced to bear--the heart that beat wildly, love that chased, hope and joy so often stuffed and shadowed, very frightening fears, and lush dreams.
"I don't know how to be myself," she whispered to her mentor as the flames sent their silhouettes dancing across the rug. His knowing smile penetrated her heart. "Ah, you've known for a long time," he said. "How?" She laughed. "You always say I know so much ... but-" "If you didn't know, you wouldn't be in this battle." The maiden looked into the flames, trying to hold back tears. She knew it was true. She had been called a leader, a warrior, a rider; she knew these things. Yet, she still felt so barren and adrift. Was there not more she was called to be? A lover ... she often felt so alone. A princess ... bedecked in royal garb and resting, not smelling of horse and sweat, riding in dew-soaked clothes through fields in kingdoms not her own.
The mentor left his chair and slid onto the carpet. Resting his arm on her knee, he took her hand. His eyes were full of firelight. "A daughter ..." He looked as if he was about to say something else, but her head dropped onto his, tears dripping in his hair. "The fight is hard," he said softly and sincerely, "but you are still you, the truth is still true, and you will always be loved in this castle."
The maiden sat for a long while, eventually ending up on the rug, her ruddy head in his lap. He stroked her hair and she soaked in the warmth of his love. The love made her feel real again, like the beloved princess and wild-hearted lover she was. The two shared quiet laughter and much silence. Later he would leave her again and eventually she would leave, for the trail that marked what was still unfinished. In the meantime, eternity bent down with a gentle reminder that the truth was still true ...
"Be happy!" her father said as he picked her up by the slender waist and kissed her. "Be blessed," her mother said as she embraced her at length with love. "Be careful," her brother's eyes said as he eyed her cautiously from across the room ... "Be yourself," said her mentor as he peered past her liquid eyes and spoke to her soul ... So much had happened these past few days. Even in times of retreat the battle seemed so near. Yet, the maiden's heart longed hungrily in these times to sense again what made her who she was. Underneath the armor and sword that she sometimes felt forced to bear--the heart that beat wildly, love that chased, hope and joy so often stuffed and shadowed, very frightening fears, and lush dreams.
"I don't know how to be myself," she whispered to her mentor as the flames sent their silhouettes dancing across the rug. His knowing smile penetrated her heart. "Ah, you've known for a long time," he said. "How?" She laughed. "You always say I know so much ... but-" "If you didn't know, you wouldn't be in this battle." The maiden looked into the flames, trying to hold back tears. She knew it was true. She had been called a leader, a warrior, a rider; she knew these things. Yet, she still felt so barren and adrift. Was there not more she was called to be? A lover ... she often felt so alone. A princess ... bedecked in royal garb and resting, not smelling of horse and sweat, riding in dew-soaked clothes through fields in kingdoms not her own.
The mentor left his chair and slid onto the carpet. Resting his arm on her knee, he took her hand. His eyes were full of firelight. "A daughter ..." He looked as if he was about to say something else, but her head dropped onto his, tears dripping in his hair. "The fight is hard," he said softly and sincerely, "but you are still you, the truth is still true, and you will always be loved in this castle."
The maiden sat for a long while, eventually ending up on the rug, her ruddy head in his lap. He stroked her hair and she soaked in the warmth of his love. The love made her feel real again, like the beloved princess and wild-hearted lover she was. The two shared quiet laughter and much silence. Later he would leave her again and eventually she would leave, for the trail that marked what was still unfinished. In the meantime, eternity bent down with a gentle reminder that the truth was still true ...