The darkness pulls together just before the light steps in. Two persons, sister and brother, walking home after a magic music evening at one of their favourite jazz clubs. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong. Four young, angry men. Seeing only colour of skin. Humiliating, dehumanizing, torturing. Bringing two young, bright souls to the brink of death. She wants to die now, knowing that what they have taken from her she can never get back. It is over. Done. Let me go.
He is already far gone. The fingers that create the most divine instruments have been broken, reduced to nothing.
Darkness now. Triumphant young bloodthirsty men leaving high on adrenaline and covered in human blood.
Stillness. Two lifeless bodies under an oak tree who had to witness what love is not. What life is not. What light is not.
In the darkest contraction of despair, she steps in. The bringer of light. The Light Queen. She is not a stranger to atrocities. She holds the most broken ones in her arms, covered in the tears and blood.
She steps in knowing she is one of us. She brings the light we need and the light we forgot we are born with. The light we think we lose when darkness falls upon us.
Fierce.
She holds a young sister and brother this early morning. A young woman who had so many dreams and now wants to die. A young man who had the warmest fire burning in his heart and was able to build it into the violins he created.
She is rocking them both. Singing to them, reminding. We are not our bodies. We are the light within. We are not our thoughts, we are the light within. We are not what happens to us, we are the consciousness within. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
Wake up from the pain and the horror. Wake up.
Dagen skall åter ny, stiga ur rosig sky, Sankta Lucia, Sankta Lucia.
The day will rise again. You will rise again.
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten