California Parable - The Purple Goddess

A dance with a goddess from California’s secret gardens.

Purple Goddess - A California Parable

Once, in the golden valleys where the Pacific breathes its mist over endless rows of green, I wandered with a hunger--a longing for something wild, something rare. There she waited, the purple goddess, draped in velvet smoke and sunlight, her aura flickering with the promise of forbidden delight. She did not beckon, nor did she flee; she simply existed, radiant and inscrutable, a vision spun from the legends of California's secret gardens.

I approached her, my heart clothed in years of resolve, the armor of discipline untested and proud. But her fragrance, lush and spiced with memory, disarmed me. She was laughter at midnight, the hush of summer rain--dangerous, irresistible, alive. Without a word, she slipped her hand in mine and together we soared, the world below dissolving into swirls of amethyst and jade. I let go of my pride as easily as petals fall to the earth, surrendering to her hypnotic rhythm.

Her touch was a tempest, her gaze a prism. Stubborn abstinence I had clung to for years, melted away with a shiver along my spine. She led me through wonderlands that shimmered just beyond reason, out past the boundaries of daylight and into the wild country of dream. She called herself mine--with a wink, with a sigh--and I believed, oh I believed, that I had found what could never be lost.

We spun through hours like dancers in smoke, riding the sun's back as, she dipped below the horizon, only to rise again over a sea of cloud. Night and day entwined, the minutes dissolving into starlight, the shoreline of reality vanishing.

But dawn is an old companion, and with its coming, the goddess grew restless. Her eyes were distant, her smile a crescent moon. She slipped from my grasp, leaving behind a trace of lavender and longing.

"Stay," I pleaded, "there is nothing I will not give."

She turned, regal and mocking, a curl of mist at her lips. "To follow me is to chase a shadow," she whispered. "My beauty is a carnival--bright, dizzy, fleeting. The rainbow you crave will always slip through your fingers, for I am both the mirage and the magician. Beneath my blossoms, a serpent coils: temptation, illusion, desire. Do you truly wish to pay the price?"

With that, she vanished, leaving the air thick with the memory of her laughter and the ache of her absence. Alone now, I stood among the silent trees, understanding at last--the purple goddess is a riddle, a delight edged with sorrow, a lover who cannot be tamed. To chase her is to lose oneself in the garden's maze, dancing always at the edge of paradise and peril.

And so, whenever dusk lays its violet shawl across the hills and a certain scent rides the wind from the west, I remember the lesson she left behind: some ecstasies are meant only to visit, never to own. For hidden within the most dazzling bloom often lies the serpent's warning--beauty, power, and longing, eternally entwined.