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Compassion - Part Three
© 2008 Patricia McGurk Martin
Although preoccupied with the cast on her painfully broken wrist, Kaitlynn notices a large black, gleaming crow standing on the sidewalk not far ahead of her, and wonders why the bird isn't flying, or roosting on a tall building. The crow inhabits the bright surreal scene in a central, almost unnatural way through its strong presence, causing Kaitlynn to worry that it might be rabid. As she slowly approaches, the crow seems to steadily watch her from within its black, feathery aura low on the ground. With an acceptance of and a submission to a power surpassing her resistance, Kaitlynn inhales a deep breath as the large bird suddenly flies up into her arms. She feels a passing sharpness from the pressure of its claws on her skin, as the crow fully spreads its outstretched wings across the small girl's chest in the forceful, rational daylight.
The huge bird feels like an emblem permanently staining her, a black spiritual coat of arms armoring her, proclaiming, extolling, and emblazoning her small, abused body - fragile and in pain. On that scorching day in the hot Texas sun, the commanding crow remains on her chest for only a brief time as a powerful, living symbol of mercy. Startling her into a higher consciousness, the bird becomes one with her, electrifies-stuns-unites and stirs her with the contradiction of its powerful strength and feathery weight. The loud, raucous sound of the crow emerges as a compelling voice for her unspoken reflections and crystalline dreams, throughout the years of Kaitlynn's life. The powerful black bird anchors her safely on the temporal earth, while the young girl reaches without fear toward the ethereal, haunting mysteries of the vaporous universe.
The diaphanous, pellucid cosmos envelops her, embracing Kaitlynn/ and it is staggering, astounding, exalting, and astonishing in her free flight away from the agony of constant pain/ it is a cathartic flight from the paralysis of choices she never made/ the bridges she could not cross/ the beauty she did not get to touch/ and the comfort she could not ever reach/ in the degrading room she was suffocating, choking, smothered-not-moving and restrained Just-Like-Death. Her little wrist still hurts, but more potent and more compelling - she is released - she is justified - and standing in absolution as she reaches up and inhales the new breath she has sought, while walking freely again in the ice blue clarity.
Looking up like a mendicant from inside the yawning murky well / Kaitlynn surpasses the unyielding bricks and climbs over the rigid margins of reality / with the sublime purity of her soul's powerful expanse / its mysterious incandescence and lilting lyrical prayer. Her right hand frees the left, and her stature increases as she lifts up the monkey barrel of her expectations and throws her pennies inside, rolling the door of the suffocating hot room away - like a Dung Scarab Beetle. Living green phosphorescent Texas beetles are Kaitlynn's luminous witnesses on the mesh window screen, while sleeping gamblers are trading her hopes away in the safety margins of a small seahorse showdown / surrounding her in a rousting river readiness in the dark, dark, desolate ** despairing ** night.
The brilliant new day has been won, swirling like a churning vortex in the startling morning sky / like a ball of yellow fire in the blameless vast firmament of her unexpressed desires. Running like wildfire in her powder blue nightgown, the hot gypsum sand is under Kaitlynn's innocent feet as they take wing. Celtic drums beat powerfully, and are strongly echoed by the racing sound of Kaitlynn's loudly pounding heart. Tightly grasping a rough pink ball of desert rose crystals, she gazes toward the distant, scorched brown mountains of Mexico, as she runs. The gypsum in Kaitlynn's hand becomes a small, smooth ball of creation reflecting the unadulterated, visionary beauty of the earth's circumference. Her young thoughts flow righteously like a river into azure seas, through the false water of an enchanted paperweight with tiny silver stars - transformed inside the vast surging oceans, ageless with an irresistibly commanding-circadian-rhythm into a forceful passion, a gnawing hunger, a constant bone-wrenching yearning, and an unfathomable, burning desire for the deep, deep sound of the eternally **agonizing** **mournful** and **Ragged Voice of Justice**.
Watching the magnificent black crow fly up and disappear into radiant pastel heavens, Kaitlynn turns and begins the journey away from her merciless, unrelenting family. Through the years she keeps her brave "girl's heart" always, as well as her pure voice that is like a burning meteor in the dark night sky. Kaitlynn walks with queenly dignity as a mature woman, and just like Balthazar, she never returns to the phantom house in the sage-filled desert through which she traveled as a child. She found the meaning of her soul in the wicked conflicts with parents who did not ever know her, and was tried by fire every time she ingenuously spoke her mind as a young girl. Through her memories, Kaitlynn's parents still walk as unfriendly interlopers who trespassed on her emotional terrain, and have remained as the ghosts she cannot leave.
Kaitlynn dreams at night, not of the Lone Ranger, but of the resounding call of the black crow. She dreams of a resolution to the ragged voice now inside her soul as an adult - a raw, passionate voice that tears at the very fiber of her existence with its constant demand for justice. In the subdued half-light of morning, Kaitlynn dreams with a disquieting, increasing recognition that she has indeed become the powerful, wild crow.
** THE END **