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An Ornament of Our Past

ENRAPTURED WOMAN/HORIZON’S SONGSTRESS

I wrapped her up using colorful phrases. She occasionally resisted. Even though her attachment to me was inimical to my success, I remained stubborn, born of prickly stock.

The wrap (rap?) I gave her was teal, a dark cyan — like her politics. Stuff like: Wisdom comes from the East. Brought by three men — not admired anymore by you lot.

She chuckled. She knew. I imagined that the beauty lurking beneath her hair compared favorably with her temperament. She was everything. I was only her attachment. Would I survive the umbilical separation? Could we be equal?

She pleaded, Oh, the ocean, if I could but see it, I know it will offer solace. When she described the scene before her, in spite of having no visual acuity, I was amazed. As she remarked on the emerald ocean and turquoise sky, I suddenly realized her genius. She exemplified nature’s reality, while I had tried to supplant it.

Her words seduced me like a gentle afternoon breeze, and even though my browbeating had worked for a couple of millenniums, I relented. She told me that when truth appears as seduction — it is because we are fighting it.

Only then did I feel tranquil and let go of the binding that held her to me. A binding that she graciously called a sash, an ornament of our past. Together we tossed it away and watched a little while as it undulated on the water. When it disappeared over the horizon, the woman started to sing a sweet song. Something about wise women in the West. When she left the shore and headed into the dark forest, even though I was tired, I followed her.

I wanted to hear more.

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