A Woman's Heart

As fragile as the hopes of a child; as delicate as translucent China; does her trust abide. A woman's heart is, to the undiscerning eye, displayed as precious, but whose true nature as oh so undisclosed.  For in the course of her travel she must bundle up warm, for the world is a cold, cold, place. As well as the air sometimes is thick with the smoke of its funeral pyres.

            So it’s prudent to protect the silken feathers; to not stain the brilliant white of divine providence her wings of flight.  So she clips them clean of their plumage.  Then tucks them under a heavy Gabardine cloak; unobtrusive and indistinct. They tarnish easily, and the stains remain for eons if given chance to set.  Better to hide them carefully until one of her kin shall come to recognize her in the disguise of ordinary; then bring to her words of encouragement and wisdom so that they have counsel upon what they both have found on their treks to the frontier; combining their studies, their knowledge that they purchased with their very wounds.  So then in shared knowing the light of wisdom and compassion bleaches out the dark injured places.  In quiet communion they gain the warmth of the suns life sustaining sustenance.

   On that meeting of minds and heart they can then fly high.  Yet the launch often requires the loving gentle hands of caring to hold the delicate fingers of a doubting flyer.  As she stands on the edge of her nest there are misgivings.  Looking at the beauty about the world she wonders at its invitation.  Its activity invokes fear of the unknown, so she attempts to shield herself.  Oh the heart aches for sharing such vivid colors, as too beautiful music waiting to be sung; to be heard.  But the lonely soul walks its path for a reason.  Not for suffering in and of itself.  No, those are the lost that are absorbed with accumulating more comforts from their cold; from their suffering of predisposed lack.  The solitary soul that walks with wings folded is the sojourner of enlightenment.  As she lies in her bed and contemplates her true self.  

There is a spirit that continues to tend his thoughts and emotions on caring for her.  Yes, she is that delight...that perfection with the glowing presence.  She is all that light and more.  Awakening perhaps....or perhaps she is the light that awakens in him the recollection that he too is of her cloth.  That if in communion of hearts and thought they hold each hand in courage.  Then smiling, with quivering lips and hesitant footholds on the rim of their security, should they loose footing, a strong support is waiting to steady.  A partner to stand with, not take on their burden, Not seduce to believing that anyone but themselves is sufficient to face the world as they are.  

No promises beyond acceptance, where wisdom is adequate to empower confidence in themselves; then they both have courage.  With great glee they leap to fly with new wings. Replete with lift, they are carried high above the mundane.  High to where clouds grow; to embrace heavenly energy so dense and golden that waves can be seen with the naked eye.  Their eager fingers pluck the weaving bands of flowing amber honey and linger on the elegant flavor.  Taking great gulps of its life force, exhale and bust with the souls heartfelt laughter; embracing it with fervor in their flight of joy with being home.