“There are those who seek truth and those who choose to embody truth - indeed each are noble courses of action.”
Ariadne spoke these words with conviction as her fingers, callused from a lifetime of dedication to the earth, combed her grand-daughter’s hair. The full moon rose high above the snow-peaked mountain, round as the child-filled womb beneath the young woman’s nightgown.
“Grandmother,” the expectant young woman said, “I am nervous. Not of birthing this child, but about the world in which she is to live. How can I find surety to support her needs when so many are in denial of the needs of this mother planet?”
“Sophia, tell your child this,” said Ariadne, “then she will know where to find her own answers:
The night is a time of listening, the sunrise and sunset are a time of presence and the day offers us hours of purpose. All the daughters on this planet hold a gift that remains wrapped until they are granted it. This is the gift of birthing and creation and it is the same gift that has created and destroyed worlds.”
Speaking with a gentle fire, the wise older woman continued, “You, your daughter and all the daughters of this world will know what to do, even though the land is shadowed and streaked by poor choices arising from envy, greed or lust. The light from these girls’ enlightened choices, born of trust, love, and compassion, can just as easily dilute this mess.”
The grandmother’s hands began to intricately braid the smooth brown ringlets with grace and ease. At that moment, Sophia’s mother knocked on the bedroom door, then entered with spiced tea and a thick knitted blanket.
“You’d better listen to this old mare,” Fiona said with a wink.
Continuing to weave silent prayers with her hands, Ariadne continued to speak, “The thing I have learned about magic is that it grants itself to those who wield it for truth with a purpose beyond their own. Miracles happen when you seek them in the wake of a prayer woven of truth. But first we must learn what truth tastes and smells like, and how to speak it with certainty. We can not re-write the scripts that others are enacting, but we can certainly recreate the story in which your soon-to-born daughter will play her part.
Unbidden, Fiona placed the clay tea pot and mugs on the nightstand, knelt down and reached beneath the antique dresser, pulling out a tin box wrapped in lace stained with time. Softly making her way to where her own aging mother and fertile daughter sat on the girl’s bed, she handed the old tin to Sofia, who lit up as Ariadne read out loud the label, in her own long-ago handwriting. It said, “Time Capsule -- to be given to my daughter, June 13th, 1932.”
“You see, Sophia, I had little hope back then as well, for the world seemed to be crumbling despite even the surest of prayers. But even through the hardships and grief that surrounded my life, I held onto the vision of the creation of your mother, and eventually you my dear and, quite honestly, the hope of helping to build a utopia for the next generation. These goals stoked my dimming flame. You see, even in times of great repression and disillusionment, we as women, are keepers of the cure, the antidote to the toxins that have been released. However, like many cures, healing the planet takes persistence, dedication, and a healthy dose of patience. Each generation is but the next layer of restoration and it may take many generations to complete this treatment.”
An owl’s song hung heavy in the night wind as Grandmother touched the time capsule.
“You can open this now dear or you can do what your mother did when I handed this to her when she was about to give birth you.”
“What’s that?”
“You can add to it your prayers, your visions and if you are ready, the story that you wish for the next generation. Read what has been written and feel just how much closer you have come from where we were. This is the proof that the cure is working and if you believe this, then you will know it only gets better from here on.”
All hands were rested on Sophia’s ripe stomach as they prayed that this soon-to-be-born child would be of the last generation needed to realize the cure. Together, as one, they prayed that this child would know a planet in balance.
A silence cloaked the room and even the owl held her song.