Awake. Her freckles crinkle with her smiling eyes as mandolins play sweet and solemn blended harmony. It reminds her of fresh pine needles, and hay and straw, tossed up into the air, and floating down in the sunshine with the glow of golden light.
Walk. As her hair bounces in her slim shoulders, she strolls down a slight slope of grassy meadow, with an elegant forest on either side of her. Sauntering along the green, lush path, she begins to hum. The mandolins continue a slow, dignified, yet happy, plinking melody, as if they knew the former ways of darkness….
At the edge, by the River, whose name is Loss of Sorrow, there are two trees, one on either side of her, with silver and golden leaves. The leaves drip droplets of silver and golden light which bounce into the River. The water carries the lights for many years to the Great Fall. The lights are the hints of joy for those who search in the life beyond the Fall. Still the music, with a moody, peaceful, joy, plays on. It rises and falls with the hills over the River. Onward she travels.
Sing. A carol of voices flows with the music in ascending and descending crescendos. Other strings join with calm refrain. The music and angels carry her across the Loss of Sorrow. At the edge is a throng of saints who know only Love. With warm eyes and smiles and kind caresses, they led her up a hill called Peace where marble slabs climb as a wide, clean stair. The chorus fills the air with tones of comfort and undulating symphony as everyone sings her reception song.
A man walks down the stair from a flat, rocky plaza where there sits the Noble Throne. The saints, in their song, circle around as the king kneels and cups her face with his gentle hands. His eyes, full of compassion, behold her tears. They fall through his fingers and dapple the ground and turn into lights of silver and gold. They trickle down to the River and find their way to a small city near a blue mountain range where the people replenish themselves of their joy and comfort.
She asks him “Why?” and sees his hands as he opens them for her. Then she understands.
But the people from beyond the Great Fall, though comforted, await with groans…
Oh Zahra. Oh God.
Walk. As her hair bounces in her slim shoulders, she strolls down a slight slope of grassy meadow, with an elegant forest on either side of her. Sauntering along the green, lush path, she begins to hum. The mandolins continue a slow, dignified, yet happy, plinking melody, as if they knew the former ways of darkness….
At the edge, by the River, whose name is Loss of Sorrow, there are two trees, one on either side of her, with silver and golden leaves. The leaves drip droplets of silver and golden light which bounce into the River. The water carries the lights for many years to the Great Fall. The lights are the hints of joy for those who search in the life beyond the Fall. Still the music, with a moody, peaceful, joy, plays on. It rises and falls with the hills over the River. Onward she travels.
Sing. A carol of voices flows with the music in ascending and descending crescendos. Other strings join with calm refrain. The music and angels carry her across the Loss of Sorrow. At the edge is a throng of saints who know only Love. With warm eyes and smiles and kind caresses, they led her up a hill called Peace where marble slabs climb as a wide, clean stair. The chorus fills the air with tones of comfort and undulating symphony as everyone sings her reception song.
A man walks down the stair from a flat, rocky plaza where there sits the Noble Throne. The saints, in their song, circle around as the king kneels and cups her face with his gentle hands. His eyes, full of compassion, behold her tears. They fall through his fingers and dapple the ground and turn into lights of silver and gold. They trickle down to the River and find their way to a small city near a blue mountain range where the people replenish themselves of their joy and comfort.
She asks him “Why?” and sees his hands as he opens them for her. Then she understands.
But the people from beyond the Great Fall, though comforted, await with groans…
Oh Zahra. Oh God.
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