Lady Serenity

Lady Serenity

         I remain seated for a while eyes closed, breathing deeply of the jasmine laced air. Despite my anticipation, there is no rush. In this place every moment should be savoured; each sense indulged in turn.

         As my heart slows to a normal pace, the radiant heat caresses all tension from my body; filling me with a sense of peace. I run my fingers through the pure white sand, wriggling my toes underneath its sun kissed surface as I listen to the melodic whispering of the nearby stream. Only when my impatience becomes unbearable; do I stand and look about me.

         My eyes turn towards the stream, a ribbon of silvery-purple, nestling between the ivory drifts. As I walk towards it, I search the nearest bank for the solitary set of footprints that I know must be there; then seeing them, I turn my steps to follow their path. For all my eagerness, I force myself to walk at a leisurely pace. The journey itself is an important part of the destination. It must not be rushed.

         The soft sand yields beneath my bare feet as I walk, yet despite the distance I travel; in this place, fatigue holds no meaning. As I follow the meandering path of the stream through the embracing sand drifts, my mind is unleashed from all thoughts and cares. I luxuriate in the sensations embracing me: the warmth of the sun; the tantalizing, stray breaths of air, the rasp of the simple white cotton dress, which caresses my ankles at each step.

         As the stream rounds the final rise, the aspect of the scene is transformed. I gaze in renewed wonder at the vast, silvery-purple lake that dominates the scene; transfixed by the flittering reflection of the rose tinted sky. White blossoms festoon the fringes of the lake, surrendering their fragrance to the balmy air, each visited in turn, by the small clouds of colourful butterflies that surround the lake.

         As my eyes explore the shore, I catch my first glimpse of Her. She is lying on an incline of a surrounding dune, motionless, but for the gentle fluttering of her veils in the wind, and the slow rhythmic rise and fall of her breast.

         She does not stir as I approach, but as my shadow falls across her, a slight smile curves the corners of her bloodless lips. Accepting the invitation, I curl beside her on the sand, and gaze in fascination at her perfect, ethereal features. We do not touch, but I can feel her warmth radiating towards me. I no longer feel alone and frightened, ashamed or confused. She is compassion, She is mercy, She is peace. She is the Lady Serenity.

         I lie in her tranquil ambience for a blissful age, before I notice the taste. I know this taste, but can’t seem to remember what it is. I concentrate on it. Savoury; fairly pleasant, yet somehow it makes me uneasy. That slight metallic hint…

         The world splinters and falls into darkness as the waves of pain bite into me. Gasping, I open my eyes to my world. The dimmed room: the broken furniture: the jagged edges of the broken ornaments. There is no serenity here; just pain, fear, anguish and loneliness.

         Slowly, with muscles protesting each movement, I rise to a sitting position, shuffling backwards to rest my back against the sofa. My hands explore the more tender areas of my body carefully; pausing, to closely examine the puffy, knoblike protrusion in my forearm. I flex first my fingers, then my wrist, wincing at the pain the movement brings, but knowing from experience, the pain is not severe enough to herald serious damage. Satisfied that no bones are broken, I rise jerkily to my feet and hobble into the kitchen.

         This was where the argument began. What was it over this time?

         I walk around the shards of the broken jar, crunching my way over pasta shells to reach the sink. On filling a glass, I swill the cooling water around my mouth, spitting the cloying taste of blood out, before hurriedly drinking the rest of the contents.

         He was upset when he came in, but I don’t think he told me why and I wasn’t about to ask. Any questions were sure to provoke his temper, so I had continued cooking, and tried to ignore his mood as best I could.

         I remember the accusations of infidelity, but he always comes out with those; they are his excuse to himself. He’s told me several times that he doesn’t believe I’d ever do anything like that. Something else, something I actually did must have got him angry. What could it have been?

         Images of him standing over me, features contorted in rage as he pounded and kicked at me, push to the fore. The pounding in my head worsens as tears of anguish run down my cheeks. Almost overcome with emotional fatigue, I push my questions away and try to blank my mind. Trying to figure out why doesn’t achieve anything; getting the house tidy before he comes back, might.

         As I carefully pick up the larger slivers of glass from the shattered jar, I don’t punish myself trying to figure out where it all went wrong; I already know. Nothing went wrong in my life, it just stayed wrong. The face of my abuser may be different now, but the pain has always been the same. The same hurt, the same loneliness, the same confusion and fear.

         But Serenity awaits me. I know I can find Her whenever I need to. She has always been there for me; always providing comfort, and respite from my pain. If I can find the courage, perhaps I shall stay with her. Perhaps I shall never come back.