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Rated: E · Essay · Fantasy · #2276142
My paradise fantasy. A piece written for The Writer's Cramp.
Strangely in Paradise


Let me tell you about my paradise.

It is the place I go to in my dreams. The place I go to when I meditate.

First let me describe what I wear in these fantasies. My hair is the long raven locks I dream of having. I am crowned with a lace veil that is held by delicate silver chains that drip teardrop crystals in the middle of my forehead and down the frame of my pale face. My dark eyes do not need the glasses I usually wear. I have on a silk dress of blue with heavier silver chains about my waist. I have my crystal and blue dream catcher necklace hanging down the front of me.

There is a path through the jungle that I must walk. I can hear the birds and other animals in the jungle chattering to each other. Some of the chatter is unidentifiable, and though I search the canopy I can’t find where their music comes from. The jungle is lush and green with exotic flowers and plants poking their heads through here and there to show off their bright unusual colors. Colors that I have not seen anywhere else in the world.

Just when I think I was brought here just to bathe in this psychedelic show, the jungle opens before me onto a gorgeous beach. After the cold, moist leaf floor of the jungle, the sand is almost hot on my bare feet.

I look up to my left and see a waterfall cascading down grey and brown rock from the ledge above. Odin, in the form of the tree of life like a great Ent, leans against the rocks soaking his roots in the churning pool below the waterfall. He beckons me to come sit amongst his limbs. I climb up and find his moss-covered bark to be soft and inviting. Odin sings with no words, just a whimsical sort of hum but with mouth open and a musical whistling mixed in. The sound comes to me not from the tree on which I sit but from the breeze that tickles my ears.

My attention is drawn to following the path of the stream at the end of the waterfall by the leaves and flowers that slowly swirl in its gentle flow. My mind drifts with it and I almost fall asleep, but I won’t let myself, or the fantasy will end.

Further down the beach where the leaves and flowers gather against the shore, there is a cauldron simmering on a small fire. Around the cauldron is bottles and vials of varied forms filled with powders, liquids, and other things I do not recognize. Next to the cauldron is a pile of books of all shapes and sizes. Some of the books I can tell are quite ancient.

Odin stops singing and with a movement of his limbs like a tree in a breeze he tells me to go ahead and investigate the scene closer.

I bend in the sand in front of the pile of books, those always drawing my curiosity no matter where I go. Some of the bindings are marked in writing that I can’t decipher, either because they are so old and worn or because they are in a language I don’t recognize.

“Those are the tomes of the ages,” says the most beautiful voice I have ever heard. “They have been passed down from all the witches that came before and will be added to by all the witches that are yet to come.” Again, the voice has come to me on the breeze..

I feel the soft touch of a hand on my shoulder, much like a butterfly had landed there. I look up and I know this woman to be Gaia, goddess mother of the Earth. Her hair flows down her sides like a green and blue stream. Her brown tunic that she wears is the color and texture of Odin’s moss-covered bark. Her skin is white as clouds and her deep purple eyes hold the knowledge of everything in existence.

Gaia helps me to my feet and guides me to the cauldron. Though she speaks in all sorts of languages I understand. She puts my hands with hers on the large ladle and together we gently stir the contents. Just when I think I know at least the color of the liquid in the cauldron, it changes, and Gaia laughs and says it does not matter. She begins to whisper in my ears all the secrets of the witches of old. She relates stories of the past and of the future. She tells me of the magick I posses within myself and how I will come to understand soon.

I become weary and tired of standing. The heat from the cauldron is getting to me. Gaia takes me to the pile of books. We sit together and she pulls me into her lap, stretching out her hand to show me to pick a book. I pick one that I don’t recognize the markings and Gaia smiles. She opens the book before us and begins telling me what the symbols represent. This is how I had first come to know the runes.

I stretch and yawn and Gaia and Odin each give knowing looks. I know it is time too.
I hug Gaia, then run to Odin and hug his trunk. I am sad to have to leave, but they remind me that it won’t be long ‘til I return. I go back down the path through the jungle.

I open my eyes feeling refreshed and inspired. I know that I touched that special place that belongs to only me where I meet with the spirits. I feel truly blessed.

word coount 962 wds
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