This is a part of a story that is used as a visionary tool of transformation. Stay tuned for other segments as the situation unfolds.
She stands by the tree studying its linear pattern in the bark. No two lines are the same. Thanking the tree, she sways feeling a slight wind on her face. She reaches and feels the rough grooves with her shaking fingertips. Her hands haven’t stopped shaking since that night, the godless night, when her essence changed. Closing her eyes she understands that she and the tree are the same yet so very different. Neither have two lines the same but they all flow in direction. Reaching.
The woman knows, within her heart, that she can become the tree; a solid form perpendicular to sky, reaching. But there is something she must do first. Adjacent to the tree, there lies a grave. It is more like an underground cave. The woman crawls into the small entrance into a hollow cavity in which she could stand. Before her, half way submerged into the soft earth was a round form. The form was woven from silk her ancestors harvested. She envisioned aged hands of women wrapping and weaving layers they sealed with their own saliva. The silky pod like form didn’t seem to have an opening. She heard whispers of yesterancestor, not so much a sound, but a vibration, a warning not to disturb. The ancestors told her, speaking through her heart, what lies encapsulated in hand woven silk.
“Within daughter, lies the latent screams of 500 years of rape. The tears of 500 years of our babies, stolen from us and sold less kindly than cattle. It is pussy juice and breastmilk taken to serve a race’s greed. We can’t really tell you about all of the horror. We had to put it there, buried in the catacombs of our sacred tree to protect you. But know this. This form has sat, incubated and evolved. If you unravel it we do not know what will come out. Or what will happen to you. It is the completed power of wishful thinking.”
The woman, unscathed, felt a rush through her body and began to dance. She hummed a familiar sound, a continuous guttural mix, starting slow, as she began to spin with her hands stretched outward towards the sky. A single fiber from the pod, electrified by the sound of her voice extended outward, reaching for her. She continued to spin, a little faster. The fiber wrapped around her waist and her motion beckoned the unraveling.
The irredescent glimmers in the silk reflected the fractured light from the entrance of the cavern. She spun, eyes closed and, her motion, quieted the whispers of the ancestors. Loosing time, she spun, and the pod continued to unravel until all the silk was around her waist. The silk condensed into a single waistbead with opal and silver beads that can not be removed. She suddenly stopped when she sensed something phenominal. Facing where the pod once took from there was a oblong quartz crystal, liquifying before her very eyes, transforming into a levitating bubble of blue sea water.
*** to be continued ***