I call out your name, but not in despair, never in despair. For you are my boy of summer, my sunshine, my days of plenty.
No, I cry out your name with all the radiance of a newly-formed star, with all the glory of a Parisian springtime in bloom, with all the reverence the moon holds for the sun, and he too for her in return.
Why, from the tip of my tongue to the back of my throat, you are there, the wind of change and the flame of eternity melding into one.
From the bottom of my soles to the tip of my head, every nerve singing its song of ecstasy and love, crying out your name, for all the world to hear.
“Long before I knew comfort, there was pain; a pin-pointed moment filled up with as much as anyone could possibly take, a moment then compounded exponentially by all the subsequent moments that followed.
But eventually, even pain becomes a victim of its own success, and so it too receded into the background, until eventually there was simply… nothing.
Until one day comfort finally came, all alien and new, and infinitely unknowable; I had no other choice but to view it through the lens I had been given, the lens through which every other experience of my short and rather pathetic life had been viewed.
Comfort then, at least at first, was as traumatic, as stressful, and every bit as painful as anything that I had known before.
How long before my brain was capable of asking, ‘Does this really hurt?’ I couldn’t possibly say, for time, a hostage in pain’s pincer-like grip, had become a slippery devil, and seemed as feckless as love itself.
And yet, eventually, my rigid muscles did relax, and my suspicions faded, because at last… at long-last, I’d found someone I could count on.” Cassandra Lethe
I was born of the Earth, as much as of any human mother, and yet it was Her bosom that suckled and nourished me as I grew. And into Her arms I still run for refuge. The human who gave birth to me had been too distracted by a need to compress as much pain and suffering into a single-point in space and time to ever be there for me. Let alone nurture me. But Mother was there.
And though I know Shee was with me always, it was high up in an Alpine Fir where I first heard Her sing. Out amongst the branches, amongst the pine cones and the bugs, there was Her voice singing, and whispering to me truths that no one else cared speak. And so I listened, and I learned, for many long and happy years.
I visit Her still, out there among the worms and the ferns, where Her primordial wisdom speaks in whispers, imparting a gentle knowing through Her subtle showing… that tips Her hat in such splendid ways; if only one is watching, and listening, and feeling.
Deep into Her darkness I often wander, alone for hours, yet never lonely, just once again that little girl with twigs in her hair.