Wednesday, November 03, 2004


the child, eleven

And so began the sweetest days of the Child's life. Days spent in the company of the Master, her Beloved. Days spent walking together, her small hand in his, her eyes feasting on his dear face - as he delighted in her delight in him. His voice filling both her ears and her hungry heart as he spoke songs of love into her.

Mornings and noons, evenings and under the stars they spent together, as the Child's love of her Beloved grew and flourished, filling and renewing her, giving her wings as the eagles as it were. For her heart soared in delight of him. His face was all she saw, or wanted to see.

And on a certain day, as they sat together, his arm round her waist, her eyes sparkling as they lingered on his dear face, he leapt of a sudden to his feet with a shout and a laugh. Taking both her hands, he called to her, 'Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.'

She giggled as he pulled her to her feet. 'The voice of the turtle?' she asked.

'Of the turtledove, my precious dove,' he declaimed. 'The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. Come away!'

She laughed, his poetry filling her mouth. 'Draw me, I will run after thee.'

His smile was contagious. 'O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs,' said he, 'let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.'

How lovely her blushes! 'My beloved is mine, and I am his,' she replied breathlessly. 'He feedeth among the lilies.'

'Among the lilies,' he agreed. 'Starr, mine own, my beloved trusting girl.' His hand caressed her sweetly uplifted face. He bent over her, to join his smile to hers.

'Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,' she whispered as she stretched up to meet him, 'for thy love is better than wine.'

He chuckled as he did as she requested.

'Sweet wife,' said he, when the kiss was accomplished. Sighing, peace-filled, she rested her cheek against his chest, her ear over his beating living heart. 'Beloved husband,' said she.

For a long moment they neither moved nor spoke. And then he lifted his eyes and said, 'Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense. Wilt thou come with me, my sister, my spouse? To the orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard, Yes, spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices. Come, my love, to the mountain of spices...'

He stepped out, his hand drawing her after him. But she hesitated.


'I... I went upon the mountain once, with Mathilda. And there was a woman there. She...'

Compassion made his features all the more sweet. 'Yes, I know, my love. She greeted you with anger and with hatred. As she does all those of my house. Do not fear her, sweet Child. I don't.'

'But you're...' she began, about to say that he was the owner of the mountain. When the very thing she was about to say comforted her. Of course he was the owner! And she his promised bride. Why then should she fear? Squeezing his hand, she laughed and said once more, 'Draw me, I will run after thee.'

'My good girl. My trusting girl. I will not lead thee in a way thou shouldst not go. Come.'

'My Beloved, I come,' said she.

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