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The fake Eden: Covered in red, buried in bloom
On a bright day, hand in hand with my possible savior, or the very start of my demise.
I see structures and symbols coming from the ground, majestic and beautiful, the sun shining through in all its might, but the further we go, the more peaceful and serene it seems.
Water flowing through a creek, gardens blossoming everywhere the eye can see.
My guests have no face, no body, merely presence as they lead me through, teaching me things, learning as I investigate my surroundings.
Deeper down I realize there’s a cemetery, no gravestones but there are people buried among the beauty of nature.
It’s when I hear the words whisper of a murder, my head pointed towards a direction of bushes that were red in color, growing over the identifying marks of the naked body, posed in such a form her modesty is barely maintained, the garden cradling her.
“She was murdered here, left alone amongst the land.”
Her skin cold, pale gray, almost the color of stone. It’s as if a hand reaches out to bring me closer to see, to investigate but I pull back and leave, disappearing into my next dream.
When I wake I research and write, ask the questions I feel I know the answers to already.
The dove and the serpent, crossing paths, waiting to see what I would choose.
What if that woman was me?
What if I peeled back the brush, the flowers and vines only to reveal my face, that child that was left behind, the woman that never got a chance to be.
What if it’s a trap?
What if I’m there to take her place?
To be killed and stuck in a vulnerable position, unable to speak any longer, unable to fight, unable to ponder.
I am left with a choice now that I am awake, now that I can think about it.
I can choose the path of the woman, lie on the ground and let the garden grow over me or be gentle as the dove, the lamb, putting my story and my faith out there.
‘Those who have ears let them hear.’
She will be silent no longer.
A warrior formed at the youngest of ages, realizing that her potentials been buried beneath that garden all along.
I have the faith, his strength, the heart of a lion but I walk amongst you a lamb, learning HIS ways.
Riding the camel back to ‘Egypt’ with my life before playing in front of me.
I will not bury this talent, I will not hide this mite. The story I have inside of me matters and it will be heard- I will make it on God’s good word.
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