He came in. He sat down. He took off his shoes. He sighed. She fell. She dropped the book. She broke down. She cried. Another box of broken things, another chair that doesn’t creak. I barely know you anyway so you don’t owe me anything. Chrysalis, that’s the past. Butterfly, the painting I made. I wish I could hold you, slowly your wings begin to droop just outside my door. He came in. He sat down. He took off his shoes. He sighed. She hollered. She moaned. She blacked out. She died. Just a little bit of this and a little bit of that. He’s alone and she’s gone, no more spare wings under the bed. She’s an explosion and he’s due to arrive, too many bad ideas anyway. Cocoon, something is happening. Butterfly, velvet air. You’re gone, inside us all, dying and trying to get through another dead day. I put my head under water, I looked for fishes and dreams. There was nothing but me, hooked, my eyes closed. There is nothing but worms and my splashing wings. Could I love you? Perhaps when you spread open your heart, blue to the sky. Could I bring you back from the dead? I doubt it, I already left empty handed. Empty room. I’m always flying west and resting on flowers. Empty, I feel, not an eye to see. Inside out, these bodies of us, on the other side scraping the inside walls. Under the ground, only the lonely covered in dirt. Everything he ever did was wrong and everything she ever did was silent. He’s not wrong, he’s missing. She’s not silent, she’s gone. Heartless, he gave it to me. “When you died you went back to the light.” She said. He laid there listening to her heart…
I reached up and stroked his muzzle with the side of my hand, I don’t know why or if he liked it, I didn’t really think about it, it just happened. He was so soft and warm and for the first time he seemed almost calm, serene. He closed his eyes and I just kept stroking him. What a beautiful stallion, such a divine creature I thought to myself. After a few minutes I rested my head against his strong, pulsing neck as I continued to stroke him and I too closed my eyes. I could hear his deep breathe and smell the sweat on his sleek black skin. We had a certain chemistry between us, as if nothing could stand in the way of our union. This meeting was part of my destiny and just as important as the rest. The union of not the body but of the essence of being. There is something more than the body that draws us to another. The way most people only see the surface of things is why everyone is sad. They cannot look far enough into each other to see what it is they were looking for, something they were missing. Instead they only see the outside and forget that there is something more that has to be felt mysteriously between two souls, not obviously just because of our bodies. All witches know about these lunar secrets, the magnetic pull that souls have upon one another is so powerful they can find each other anywhere in the universe and most of the time we don’t even know it’s our very own soul that has called from afar to the other, “Come to me, help me, I need you, remember me wherever you are” And the one you secretly called in your dream shows up and changes your life forever in a way that nobody else could. I feel thIs is who Pan is for me. I felt like I could stay here forever but as grandma always said, “Nothing lasts forever.” But let me also remind you, I will be there when you call me as fast as my black stallion can run.
After awhile of peaceful resting we took off again into the valley of white. The pale pink horizon stretching out before us into eternity. It wasn’t long though until I began noticing a few trees on the edges of the stream and as the stream started becoming more like a river the trees grew thicker and taller on it’s banks. It was a wide, white path of gigantic rocks and shimmering sand paralleled by a roaring white river and giant sycamore trees. The trees themselves were a less pale shade of white. The scenery was astounding, breathtaking. The purity of the landscape made me feel as if I had died and gone to a heavenly realm, like if I looked into the white fluffy clouds I might see the angels that I could hear softly singing in the zephyr breeze. Even Pan seemed to slow down a bit and take notice of the glory of nature herself. Then after awhile of peaceful travel enjoying the beauty of white, I saw a vulture fly by which was strange because it was black, as black and shiny as Pan, yet with a violet sheen to it’s feathers. Then shortly after that I began to feel a mysterious pull from the trees on the left side of the white sandy highway. I am a witch and I do have a sixth sense and this time I knew something was changing behind the scenes and so I started to look around as we rode through the white, wondering why I was overtaken by this lunacy, as if the astral current was more potent than the breeze itself. Then all of a sudden, from out of nowhere a strong wind blew as the distant trees howled and instantly a little girl stood before us, she had materialized out of thin air. Even Pan seemed surprised and came abruptly to a halt. This little girl looked to be about five years old and she was naked. She had silky long white hair and pale white skin. Her eyes were a shocking, translucent blue and her cheeks had a subtle pink hue as well as her lips. She was angelic just standing there serenely watching us come into her stillness. She didn’t talk at first, she glanced at Pan and then she just stared at me. She wouldn’t stop staring. I wanted to do something for her, she seemed so vulnerable, so delicate in the immensity of where she stood as a frail, tiny flower upon a stark and barren vast of white. Then I heard a small voice say, “My name is Azalea. Nobody comes here.” I was speechless. Her voice was magical and it rang out in it’s smallness echoing long after she was quiet. Then she spoke again, “Do you belong to the Dark Sun?” Again, I could not answer her and Pan was quiet as well, very still in her presence. She was as etheric as an orchid and yet direct in her penetrating gaze. This little girl I wondered, was she a mirage, some sort of oasis upon the sands of endless white? Her tiny body held some queenly command over this place because when the vulture flew over us again she lifted her slender arm towards the sky and the large, predator bird swooped down landing on the ground beside her. “This bird,” she said, touching the head of the vulture, “Is also a butterfly but you won’t know until tomorrow.” For some reason Pan knelt down as if I should dismount him and so I did and immediately Azalea walked over to me and reached up for my hand. I bent down and took her little hand and peered deeply into her glowing blue eyes, her eyes seemed to go back forever as if I could never come to the bottom or the end of this immaculate child. I felt like I was floating inside of her and that she was inside of me with a force of purity that seemed impossible. I don’t know why, but the next thing I knew, warm tears began to stream down my face and I started to silently cry. I wanted to protect her but I didn’t know how and besides she didn’t seem to need my protection somehow she seemed ancient like a great flower that could never die and I just felt clumsy, hollow. Her presence commanded some sort of queenliness and yet I wanted to hold her and wrap her in soft, pretty blankets. My heart was beating loudly and I could hear Pan breathing behind me, consoling me compassionately as if he understood that there is no such thing as time here upon the white sands of eternity. Her tiny hand was cold and delicate and yet the power that I felt emanating from it was unearthly. I know I needed to say something even though words keep seeming to get in the way. “I love you.” She whispered. her eyes as gentle as her voice, “I love you too.” Just popped quietly out of my mouth and I don’t know why. I didn’t know her, we didn’t know each other and yet I can’t explain that it was so much deeper than a physical meeting. What I mean is that this wasn’t a touch or a word between two strangers inhabiting vessels of flesh. Our communion was not limited to our ages and our separate bodies but what was felt between us was something else much more sacred than the confines of the vessel that contains us, the transient vessel that is given a name and born into a family. This recognition was beyond the grave of children or women, inside the nest of the immortal, invisible, intangible love that is without any cover of flesh or womb. Barely, besides these bones I do not have you, I only have me. Then I wonder are you in there divine little girl, making a kingdom for me? She leaned in very close almost like the old spider lady looking for something inside, examining me somehow. Then she said, “You don’t know do you? This is the Skeleton Garden of Mother, she keeps dying.” She just sighed. “How did you get here?” I asked. “We don’t remember.” “Who cares for you?” “Nobody.” “How do you eat?” “The butterflies drop food from the sky.” Why do you call it a Skeleton Garden?” “We create things from her bodies without their skins.” “Her bodies?” I asked, “Where do the bodies come from, how do they get here?” “She is just here, every morning lying dead, day by day.” She replied, “The butterflies turn into vultures and then they surround her and we eat while they eat and by the afternoon the bones are ready.” She motioned her hand in the direction of the trees and said proudly, “We build everything for her. She is our mother. We pray to her skeletons that cannot be destroyed by death.” She closed her eyes as if remembering something, then she said, “She left us in charge of the fire.” I was confused and asked, “What did you build? What fire?” She lightly giggled and the vulture responded by fluffing her feathers gently, “You don’t know very much princess.” She solemnly added, “The Dark Sun gives us everything we need. I hope he gives you something too. Come with me, I’ll show you.” Her small voice rang through the air as she let go of my hand turning around like an echo from long ago with the shiny vulture loping by her side, she began to walk towards the trees. “Come with me.” She said, “It isn’t far.” I looked at Pan and he had already taken steps to obey her and so I did too. I wiped the tears from my wayward eyes and I followed the mystical, virgin white, little girl into the sycamore trees. Now, I have nothing left but her small sweet voice in my head…moonlight.
Butterfly, my human heart, I am cloaked as the royal, monarch, In the diamond canyon where you spiral. I am the rainbow zephyr. I never hurt anyone, don’t hurt my rare, tender body, pierced by a pain that builds cocoons. Be me, pure in a white horse body instead. Nebulous, clusters of pearl, deep in the valley’s ocean of stars, find me for yourself, echo soft ghost there’s probably room beside you underneath her bed. I never had these things and now I’m old, drifting flowers are forgotten. Destroyed. You think it’s about me, frail porcelain, her insane asylum. Can you give me something softer to hold, real like a kitten in pink? I had a diamond ring but I didn’t want it, I wanted you shining instead. When he covered his eyes I didn’t say a word, a summer dipped in mortal sadness, young life zipped up in a plastic bag. Holy matrimony. Carry me with you into the forest of crowns, wild with life, blue sapphires all around me. Immortal ring. I kissed an old flame inside of a circle, I drew a pentagram on his chest and I then said goodbye. What does it mean to touch someone you can’t see? What does it mean to be touched by the blind? Light through the canopy trees, tangled in a love that hurts, don’t we all? What does it mean to be with the lightless, near death experience of you without clouds? I can’t miss this, the shadows that hover like dead children over their weeping mothers. You are always bigger in my big dream and I’m so small like a tiny, pink baby. You step right over me looking for what you’ll never find without me. I watch you crawling and I wonder what does it mean to be found by the lost? Vultures fly by in the dark sent by the queen, in the forest where you left me undead. Vultures in the morning, they become butterflies somehow painted with four moons and shafts of his knife. Feed me, anchor my bones in this earth. She’ll be here forever, every sunrise we find her lying dead, brought back to life by our prayer, we as her ghostly children. I don’t understand any such haunting, the sacred bath, her drown face down in your water valley of white flowers. On the water, swan child, drifting, floating, spiraling inside of me, the blue pearl, who is white with no shell. Skeleton on the water, bones brought home. Moon horse who is floating upon the twelve dreams of her. Underneath what we’ve become is the crescent, sharp and ready to kill. I love dying with you on the throne.
Swan Song. Queen Child. Sharada Devi