The Mystery and Wonder of You.

A short story written to my brothers daughter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About life. Mystery...

The others, that see you...

 

The pain, God the pain was unbelievable. Sweat... was running as streams, down her Mothers face. It was finished. The labour of love, that had only just begun. The nurse, she watched.... do all the necessary things, that professional staff do in this place, where such things are done. There is a slight worry, that nag her... in the cleaning of her daughter, of all the slick aftermath of her womb. Wiped away delicately in the small sterile, stainless steel infant tub. An acute tension in her, that they have a delicate care for the miracle. That she had just suffered so, to bring into what she knew in her self. Was a sometimes uncertain, fragile world. Like the small precious wriggling of life. Now only all pinkish red wrinkles, looking truly annoyed. To be brought rudely from that place, of utter protection. That only her, as a pregnant Mother had understood. In her womb, her own daughters world of water and a supreme connection, to her heartbeat... shared. With her joined creation.

For a time. In that precondition... to this world!

Where a name had been chosen to grant her, Arielle Justine. A place in this world, to become. Those first few seconds held, like one heart beat. As they laid, her on her Mothers breast. The joy that said, any and all that pain. Was worth anything, for a Mother to have looked. For that forever, first time...

Into her Angels eyes...

Regression... to be taken back. Maybe, in a journey of memory. To a time before the preamble, to hold the story... of what had came before, that event. The sequence, a chain of reality and potential that exist there... a bundle wrapped, in her Mothers arms. Only that, at that moment does a thing long to exist in an eternal essence. The Angels desire, to go back to that world. Her world of warm water, that engulfing safety. Nurtured...

And now, there is no turning back!

No choice in the matter, and a life unfolds. From a place, that only the new born remembers. At that moment of conception. A life, created. An entire concept is written, into a strand of wonder... that will become, Arielle. Is it a science to be discovered, this DNA that now determines everything about her.

This Angel. The possibilities that now exist, in a created marvel.

This wee bit, of heaven... Smiles.

There are no words to explain this, words do not yet exist. Yet all that is emotion, is ties that bind and weaves the substance of creation. Into form. The memory of the the spirit soaring through the pattern of The Matrix... a maybe at some point learned of memory. Where a choice was made. And, the essence of a soul was called. To swim this ethereal myth... a somewhere between. To be imagined. A Kingdoms dream... where Angels sing. The joy of chosen. This maybe, world within worlds. That never end in the continuance, that the form and from that point forward. Will forever, have to choose from. Life...

There comes a statement made. That, in that past, a presence. Is left behind. The joy of that place, to be replaced and that after this times journey... The Angel. Must return. This the promise made, and the Maid of Heaven. Understands. The sadness of limitation. To have to leave this world of limitless freedom. That is a constant that sings through her continuance, an omnipresent wonder. That nurtures, an Angelic soul. To leave this abode, is true pain. The separation of which. Can, only be... Imagined.

Small short paragraphs, that are written into Arielle. Known, only to her. Maybe in time. Others may see this, in her. Tease that memory to swim to the surface... call her a Brat. “I'm not a Brat... pretty” she wrote. An Uncle who admires, to post back. 'very pretty'! Maybe, he imagined. What he saw...

Writers will do that, it is thier stock and trade. I can only imagine a Mothers pain. I will never experience that... I'm a man. Only that. Simple. One in one word, to describe the thing, that I am. Man, the counter point, to Woman. The building blocks of life. One this man, this writer can only imagine in the joy that is to be received as that triangle of the fulfillment of procreation attends. The third child. Why? As the Mother and Father, are... children. Children of The Abode. Called, as you where. As, I was...

All these short small paragraphs, that make up world within worlds. The extended marvel, of all the things we behold. In limitless space. Once known. Contained, in a form. We in some form or another call heaven. A paradise, imagined. A feeling that is tied, to our emotions... that place. Where, we knew...

Love.

Author's Note

My niece lives in Costa Rica and I don't get to see her often, she is collage studying nursing. I wrote this to her in a letter.

Reviews

[Bubo]

I think this is very deep and giving. Birth of a child is one of the most wonderful things on earth, creation stemming from two and act of birth, is a miracle in itself.
When we are born we are clean souls.........new beginnings, and over time we adapt, grow, learn and build, but the child born will never remain a clean soul, for there is no freedom really to be so.
Your piece was very thought provoking, and love for your niece evident. Watching a child grow is precious, and we can only hope they grow to be happy, loved, and compassionate.

[nono]

Now this is a story, sometimes people write just a few sentences, but you give the whole thing. I really like this it's strong beautiful and it's kind that you would write something so sweet to her. I can only imagine a light up smile on her face when she read it. Beautiful!

[Angel Bird]

"magna cum laude - a real chef d'oeuvre"

Shining in its magnificence!

Brilliant!

[jenniewren (J.W. Bouwma..]

this is such a surreal pondering write. i found myself drawn into the learning.. and then i cam across this phrase:

Small short paragraphs, that are written into Arielle. Known, only to her

we truly are all a collection of small short paragraphs; the ones we write for ourselves, and the ones that others write for us. it makes me ponder which side of the glass are they able to be read from? do you see the words that others have written to comprise me? or do you see the words i have chosen to clothe myself in.. i suspect my view often includes others' words that do not often apply to the who i truly am. i'm attempting to draw over those erroneous words with bright crayons. but.. it's a hard task as people seem to be able to add prargraphs to my person faster than i can write over them. but then.. i guess there are more of them, than me...

[Marie Harrison]

What a dear tribute to the birth of your niece and to your part in the world as a Man and a former child. A lot of deep thought went into this touching write. I've never had children myself so I can understand your point of view, eventhough I'm not a man. It's a beautiful writing.

[Ashley.M.E]

This is really sweet, I bet you niece loved it.