First breath after death

Publié le par hearthemaw.over-blog.com

She was laying in the green grass, in a vast and beautiful field surrounded by wild flowers; when, from the very far north came a whisper on the wind, swirling in three quarter time in a dance that never ends, dancing softly with the northern lights on the echo of the raindrops drums.
Through ancient forests over marshes and sunbeams, this whisper on the wind circled and came to the south, searching for somewhere and someone to waltz with.
And now, it was waltzing with this pond of poppies over there, a little bit further.
With every whisper spoken, a leaf fell from the trees delivering a shimmering message. And in synchronization to this symphony, the tall grass was singing the Ode to love.

Dressed in white, she rose to contemplate carefully this magnificent sight that nature had decided to offer that day. On this sultry summer breeze, she quivered beneath the sweet caress of the wind. While the fragrance of the summer bloom lingered softly, she was greeting the flowers, the sweet grass, the trees and the blue azure sky. She slightly brushed against the petals of flowers and the little heads of grass with her delicate fingers. And in a slow dance, she opened her arms widely and pointed them skyward. She danced the waltz with the breath of the wind, while the air was whispering softly to her how beautiful she was. Each whisper spoke a secret to her. And each secret hung from across the sky.

She leaned her head back, to feel the wind fondling her face, her hair and the nape of her neck. Breathless, she looked around for a moment: she was now contemplating this nature watercolor in the very earthly light.
She went away, but everywhere, she seemed to be witnessing the same magnificent scene… from out everywhere emerged a delight field of poppies that was stretching "à l'infini" ... as far as the infinite horizon across the sky.
Suddenly she could not contain her emotions. Among rejoicing and gloom she had forgotten how to smile and laugh. Yet this day she became intoxicated with pleasure and happiness.
In this immensity, she had followed the whistling wind that drove her into this small roadway. A small path bordered by trees all as beautiful as each other. Multicolored trees strutting around and opening their arms to show an infinite rainbow of leaves and fruits that no one could ever imagine.
After this corridor of trees, the field was going on and on as if it would never end. But the poppies were not dancing anymore, only the small head of the meadow grasses was staggering.

And there, in the middle of nowhere, a divine Palace towered.
An unknown feeling carried her until the porch. She pushed the huge door and was dazzled by the light that was escaping from inside.
In the shape of a Dome, the Palace was the perfect representation of the truly authentic Invisible Church. A Church that existed in the midst of all the differences, mistakes and sins of Men.
A Church that was holy, whose membership was known only to God. A Church that was inside everyone’s heart.
She was transcended. She discovered for the very first time the magnificence of a Palace. The fascinating statues bowed to her. And the stained glass window by which the light was shining, offered the most stunning firework.
While she was going into the Palace, she was exhilarated by this memorable time. If only it could last forever…
She then started the ascent of the stairs. She was following the endless stairs leading her higher and higher. Once she reached the very top of the Palace, she opened a door and went into an antechamber. The magnificent Mary was waiting for her with tenderness, with open arms.
Her sorrow was to be born, the sob burst out from her deep wounds. And now all her wounds were healed and her soul appeased.
She saw things shining like they would have never shined, and for the very first time, she loved life.
How couldn’t she? For the first time, the wind had sung and the flowers had danced for her.
Every rustling beings on this Earth had been tuned to the rhythm of her breath, to the beating of her heart … so that she could just laugh again.
The Lord of her Heart had released her from the sadness of her life and she could now enjoy the eternal bliss.
                x                                    x                                         x                   
At the same time, a woman whose face is marked by the brutality of life is sleeping in the street. Dressed in rags, she curls up instinctively to protect herself from the cold. Because where she lives, the wind does not waltz but ravages everything on its way. And where she lives, the whisper on the wind does not caress but whips.
A woman whose flaking hands and fingers are covered in filth and misery is collapsed onto the ground, on a small piece of cardboard.
Her face bruised by sorrow and alcohol, is almost covered by her tousled hair, and entirely unrecognizable. For her, each day has been a perpetual struggle. A struggle against the indifference of the society, of Mankind; a struggle for her fate and for her life... Alife so hard that she was always out of breath.
A woman whose rigor mortis worries two police officers taking in all the homeless to shelter them.
(two officers):
- "Madam Madam ?!...Wake up, you need to get under cover. It will be very cold tonight!
- (worried) Madam, can you hear me? You cannot stay outside that night.
- Madam Madam ... ....
- Wait ... Oh no,... I think she is not breathing anymore ...
- Very sad! One more that winter has not spared. "

From that moment she was the same person with this homeless woman.
Her sorrow was appeased  and her wounds healed. S
he was now free and would be one of those millions stars in the navy sky.
The last of the sunset had faded, only the cloud remained… and she was now, finally, breathing.

 

Publié dans Stories

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