The Loom

She sat in the dank again, a cellar of unknown origin. She succumbed to the inertia waiting for him. The whole creation she had just spent months weaving and retrieving had grown it’s own wings and taken flight. So she waited for it’s return. A picture, an invitation, a breath of fresh, anything to summon her from the overwhelming stench of this decay.

So she closed her eyes and ran in memory. The chains of her captors weave were far to heavy, for the grace and elegance in her to once more disentangle. The heavy brocade of the nightmaresque, Edwardian tapestry, had for the moment, effectively blocked the light required for her to man the spindle and unravel.

So, she remembered golden light of stalks of wheat for miles of space in air and stance she stood under the sky and daydreamed casting her own light to the ground beneath her. She felt the soles of her feet send the earthen energies of ancient connection into the ground beneath and tasted sweetly of the sacred horizons. For miles stretched the sight and the wind rushed to meet her, stopping short and adoringly to caress her, with its’ feathered hands of sightless love.

Back in the present, she breathed again the heavy dank stench of hatred, intolerance, greed,and its patent captivity. Her soul attempted to defy the wither, the recoil, the peaceful deity of her soul shedding fleshy tears in defiance of.

So, she thought instead of magenta, a color. The magic hour of photography is always bathed in it. That space of sunset where you realize that this mortal life is heaven. The streets are golden and the ruby streaks of marigold laden, softening into pink and amethyst laden love of color and sight is majesty. She breathed it in, the smell of earth and twilight. A marvel, to behold and be the creator and the creation…

Her captor and his chains pulled and abrupt end to her mental flight. She sat up and stood cursing the unorthodox and intermittent pain in her flesh. She allowed herself a silent smirk of triumph, that merely imprisoning her wasn’t enough for his dominating masochism. She thought as well, how odd it was to be compeating with a weaver over which was clearly far beneath her league and skills. So upon every victory, he chained her up, tied her down, and literally caused her to breathe of his inferior quality.

So while waiting for the truth, beauty, and quality of her work to speak its manifest, she would need more hands to get out from under this. She turned one more time to natures breadth. Moons and monsters and shifts, that walk upright in the darkness and she with. Real terrors and shadows and creeping slithering things hidden that she delights in sighing with. For you see, the ethereal glow of the moon infused her and she stares backwards at the sun, teasing in the cool comfort of the night that cloaks her.

In these ponderings, she fell asleep and dreamed of water,of rivers, of lakes. The moons light gliding across the lake that rocked her in its sacred depths. Hallowed be thy name her thoughts whispered to her in her sleep, hallowed be thy trust.

Her dream shifted to another moment, the river was deep and clear, just a little green from its volume, her body weightless, effortlessly floating, playfully really...It began to rain, oh the glory, in the river, ozone, and the rain pattering off the watery surface.

She dreamed as well of the cool serenity in loneliness, the shelter of trees over the river as you glide through natures cathedral, silent and profound in a canoe. A place in which even the largest of fears can be assuaged and one can find the capacity to feel awe.

So from these memories she escaped the dungeons of greed and fear and intolerance if only for a moment, and if only to draw a breath and continue. Until the victorious moment of release, came through the power of love's victor and lifes' ultimate and always triumph over death.

She awoke sweaty and, for once, strangely calm. Ahh, the moment of truth, she thought, and drew the blinds. Sunshine, light, blue and white, pure colors of saturation, bird songs and whispers of freedom, a moment to taste of life, a life where fear had released its chains from her mind.