I close my eyes and listen for the story. It wants to be told and emerges through me:
A few hours ago – my heart was open,
Open and unafraid.
Now it is closed
Protected by big wooden doors.
Through cracks in the doors an orange/red light speckled with white oozes out.
I slip through a crack and find myself in a spacious cave-like chamber.
I feel small but safe, the light being warm and comforting.
Ropes, spiraling wavy ropes, appear from somewhere up high in the smoke-like light.
I decide to climb one and quickly reach the top.
The view is sensational; open and embracing.
From my perch atop the rope I see people – little people, like dwarfs and goblins – squeezing through the cracks. They busily mill around, the dirt floor solid beneath their feet. They know their purpose and feel content.
An Elf climbs a rope near the one I occupy. He reaches for me. I feel it too intimate for us to touch and smile shyly. He graciously receives my smile, then climbs back down.
Below, the little people are getting together benches and a very long table. They set the table with bowls and spoons. On either side of the table they align two long troughs; these they proceed to fill with light blue sky.
The elf climbs back up, this time on MY rope. He gently pulls on my foot, suggesting that I get down and join in the festivities. I obey and he leads me to the head of the table, where I’m asked to be the queen and to sit in the queen’s chair. I feel awkward and tell them I do not wish to be the queen. Instead I initiate that we all stand up and hold hands.
A flood of goodness soars through me. It runs through my hands, then spreads to my heart – our hearts – where it comfortably settles.
I see a small bed off to one side, the bedding very white and clean.
I lie down. The bed is too small, so I stretch it pushing my arms and feet in opposite directions until it fits perfectly.
I feel tired, relaxed and peaceful. My work is done and done well.
Everyone leaves quietly through the cracks in the doors.
After a while, I get up and leave in the same manner.
Looking back on the old doors, I see the beautiful colored light shining through the many cracks and openings.
I spin around in jubilation, my arms high above my head.
I walk Home.
Zitta – written on 10/23-2008