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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: December 19, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 19, 2018



The weather was a strange mesh of the elements, wind, sun and a lingering scent of rain. She sat as a breeze caught her hair, normally she would be infuriated by this, but she just sat and let it happen, tangling around her lips and eyes, blinding and muting her. A metaphor for her life, it was sad, she lacked control but somewhere along the way she had learned, learned helplessness. Too much of the bad not much of the good and very little lessons imprinting in her psyche, and now it would take a lot longer for her to recover. Meditation had always helped in the past, but it became further and further away from her grasp, but when she sat there in the dead silence of her own mind, images began to come to her. That was not to say that they were not in direct combat with everyday whirs of thought, a life online, a life undefined, working to survive, people she was unconnected with, all in a shallow pool of thought. She longed to drown and delve deeper, all along she had wanted to meet her spirit guide, the one who had been there from birth, but it was elusive.

She called out to her mind I am tired of waiting, I have been waiting long enough, I have screamed for death in my mind and still you leave me abandoned, I am isolated. Still nothing came, but after a time though she knew this creature could not be defined as the first guide, but another came, a woman, a dancer, an aspect of herself dressed in gold. The soft curves of her body on display with the exception of a coin belt, metallic skirt and a slip of a top. The woman had a crescent moon where her third eye ought to be and wild black curled hair. She was so close and yet her messages so far away, the longing was painful. She felt herself in a sort of den, much like what she imagined the opium dens ascribed in history, a thick cloud of smoke that made her feel dazed. She was hidden yet somehow the lighting of this place was golden, like the warmth of an evening sun setting in the sky. If only she could have seen more, been more, what would her life become? She could only hope it was the birth of something coming.

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